Last Thursday, the Monarch of my last paragraph gave away the six vacant ribands; one to a Margrave of Anspach, a near relation of the late Queen; others to the Dukes of leeds(52) and Bedford, lords Albemarle and Granville:  the last, you may imagine gives some uneasiness.  The Duke of Bedford has always been unwilling to take one, having tied himself up in the days of his patriotism to forfeit great sums if ever he did.  The King told him one day this winter, that he would give none away but to him and to Anspach.  This distinction struck him:  he could not refuse the honour; but he has endeavoured to waive it, as one imagines, by a scruple he raised against the oath, which obliges the knights, whenever they are within two miles of Windsor, to go and offer.  The King would not abolish the oath, but has given a general dispensation for all breaches of it, past, present, and to come.  Lord Lincoln and Lord Harrington are very unhappy at not being in the list.  The sixth riband is at last given to Prince George; the ministry could not prevail for it till within half an hour of the ceremony; then the Bishop of Salisbury was sent to notify the gracious intention.  The Prince was at Kew, so the message was delivered to Prince George(53) himself.  The child, with great good sense, desired the Bishop to give his duty and thanks, and to assure the King that he should always obey him; but that, as his father was out of town, he could send no other answer.  Was not it clever?  The design of not giving one riband to the Prince’s children had made great noise; there was a Remembrancer(54) on that subject ready for the press.  This is the Craftsman of the present age, and is generally levelled at the Duke,(55) and filled with very circumstantial cases of his arbitrary behaviour.  It has absolutely written down Hawly, his favourite general and executioner, who was to have been upon the staff.

Garrick is married to the famous Violette, first at a Protestant, and then at a Roman Catholic chapel.  The chapter of this history is a little obscure and uncertain as to the consent of the protecting Countess,(56) and whether she gives her a fortune or not.

Adieu!  I believe I tell you strange rhapsodies; but you must consider that our follies are not only very extraordinary, but are our business and employment; they enter into our politics, nay, I think They are our politics(57)—­and I don’t know which are the simplest. they are Tully’s description of poetry, “haec studia juventutem alunt, senectutem oblectant; pernoctant nobiscum, peregrinantur, rusticantur:”  so if you will that I write to you, you must be content with a detail of absurdities.  I could tell you of Lord Mountford’s(58) making cricket-matches, and fetching up parsons by express from different parts of England to play matches on Richmond-green; of his keeping aide-de-camps to ride to all parts to lay bets for him at horse-races, and of twenty other peculiarities; but I fancy you are tired:  in short, you, who know me, will comprehend all best when I tell you that I live in such a scene of folly as makes me even think myself a creature of common sense.