Dear sir, You are so kind, that I am peevish with myself for not being able to fix a positive day for being with you; as near as I can guess, it will be some of the very first days of the next month:  I am engaged to go with Lady Ailesbury and Mr. Conway to Stowe, the 28th of this month, if some little business which I have here does not prevent me; and from thence I propose to meet Mr. Chute at Greatworth.  If this should at all interfere with your schemes, tell me so; especially, I must beg that you would not so far depend on me as to stay one minute from doing any thing else you like, because it is quite impossible for me to be sure that I can execute just at the time I propose such agreeable projects.  Meeting Mrs. Trevor will be a principal part of my pleasure; but the summer shall certainly not pass without my seeing you.

You will, I am sure, be concerned to hear that your favourite, Miss Brown, the pretty Catholic, who lived with Madame d’Acunha, is dead at Paris, by the ignorance of the physician.  Tom Harvey, who always obliges the town with a quarrel in a dead season, has published a delightful letter to Sir William Bunbury,(401) full of madness and wit.  He had given the Doctor a precedent for a clergyman’s fighting a duel, and I furnished him with another story of the same kind, that diverted him extremely.  A Dr. Suckling, who married a niece of my father, quarrelled with a country squire, who said, “Doctor, your gown is your protection.”  “Is it so?” replied the parson; “but, by God! it shall not be yours;” pulled it off, and thrashed him—­I was going to say damnably, at least, divinely.  Do but think, my Lord Coke and Tom Harvey are both bound to the peace, and are always going to fight together:  how comfortable for their sureties!

My Lord Pomfret is dead; George Selwyn says, that my Lord Ashburnham(402) is not more glad to get into the parks than Lord Falkland is to get out of them.  You know he was forced to live in a privileged place.

Jack Hill(403) is dead too, and has dropped about a hundred legacies; a thousand pound to the Dowager of Rockingham; as much, with all his plate and china, to her sister Bel.  I don’t find that my uncle has got so much as a case of knives and forks, he always paid great court, but Mary Magdalen, my aunt, undid all by scolding the man, and her spouse durst not take his part.

Lady Anne Paulett’s daughter is eloped with a country clergyman.  The Duchess of Argyle Harangues against the Marriage-bill not taking place immediately, and is persuaded that all the girls will go off before next lady-day.

Before I finish, I must describe to you the manner in which I overtook Monsieur le Duc de Mirepoix t’other day, who lives at Lord Dunkeron’s house at Turnham-green.  It was seven o’clock in the evening of one of the hottest and most dusty days of this summer.  He was walking slowly in the beau milieu of Brentford town, without any company, but with a brown lap-dog with long ears, two pointers, two pages, three footmen, and a vis-a-vis following him.  By the best accounts I can get, he must have been to survey the ground of the battle of Brentford, which I hear he has much studied, and harangues upon.