I told you we were to have another jubilee masquerade:  there was one by the King’s command for Miss Chudleigh, tire maid of honour, with whom our gracious monarch has a mind to believe himself in love,—­so much in love, that at one of the booths he gave her a fairing for her watch, which cost him five-and-thirty guineas,—­actually disbursed out of his privy purse, and not charged on the civil list.  Whatever you may think of it, this is a more magnificent present than the cabinet which the late King of Poland sent to the fair Countess Konismark, replete with all kinds of baubles and ornaments, and ten thousand ducats in one of the drawers.  I hope some future Hollinshed or Stowe will acquaint posterity “that five-and-thirty guineas were an immense sum in those days!”

You are going to see one of our court-beauties in Italy, my Lady Rochford:(31) they are setting Out on their embassy to Turin.  She is large, but very handsome, with great delicacy and address.  All the Royals have been in love with her; but the Duke was so in all the forms, till she was a little too much pleased with her conquest of his brother-in-law the Prince of Hesse.  You will not find much in the correspondence of her husband:  his person is good, and he will figure well enough as an ambassador; better as a husband where cicisb`es don’t expect to be molested.  The Duke is not likely to be so happy with his new passion, Mrs. Pitt,(32) who, besides being in love with her husband, whom you remember (,lady Mary Wortley’s George Pitt), is going to Italy with him, I think you will find her one of the most glorious beauties you ever saw.  You are to have another pair of our beauties, the Princess Borghese’s, Mr Greville(33) and his wife, who was the pretty Fanny M’Cartney.

Now I am talking scandal to you, and court-scandal, I must tell you that Lord Conway’s sister, Miss Jenny, is dead suddenly with eating lemonade at the last subscription masquerade.,(34) It is not quite unlucky for her:  she had outlived the Prince’s love and her own face, and nothing remained but her love and her person, which was exceedingly bad.

The graver part of the world, who have not been given up to rockets and masquing, are amused with a book of Lord Bolinbroke’s, just published, but written long ago.  It is composed of three letters, the first to Lord Cornbury on the Spirit of Patriotism; and two others to Mr. lyttelton, (but with neither of their names,) on the Idea of a patriot King, and the State of Parties on the late King’s accession.  Mr. Lyttelton had sent him word, that he begged nothing might be inscribed to him that was to reflect on Lord Orford, for that he was now leagued with all Lord Orford’s friends:  a message as abandoned as the book itself:  but indeed there is no describing the impudence with which that set of people unsay what they have been saying all their lives,-I beg their pardons, I mean the honesty with which they recant!  Pitt told me coolly, that he had read this book formerly,