from whom nothing but the benefit of his subjects could ever have torn him.  And here let Calumny blush, who has aspersed so chaste and faithful a monarch with low amours; pretending that he has raised to the honour of a seat in his sublime council, an artisan of Hamburgh, known only by repairing the soles of buskins, because that mechanic would, on no other terms, consent to his fair daughter’s being honoured with majestic embraces.  So victorious over his passions is this young Scipio from the Pole, that though on Shooter’s-hill he fell into an ambush laid for him by an illustrious Countess, of blood-royal herself, his Majesty, after descending from his car, and courteously greeting her, again mounted his vehicle, without being one moment eclipsed from the eyes of the surrounding multitude.  Oh! mercy on me!  I am out of breath—­pray let me descend from my stilts, or I shall send you as fustiin and tedious a history as that of Henry ii.  Well then, this great King is a very little one; not ugly, nor ill-made.  He has the sublime strut of his grandfather, or of a cock-sparrow; and the divine white eyes of all his family by the mother’s side.  His curiosity seems to have consisted in the original plan of travelling for I cannot say he takes notice of any thing in particular.  His manner is cold and dignified, but very civil and gracious and proper.  The mob adore him and huzza him; and so they did the first instant.  At Present they begin to know why—­ for he flings money to them out of his windows; and by the end of the week I do not doubt but they will want to choose him for Middlesex.  His court is extremely well ordered; for they bow as low to him at every word as if his name was Sultan Amurat.  You would take his first minister for only the first of his slaves.  I hope this example, which they have been so good as to exhibit at the opera, will contribute to civilize us.  There is indeed a pert young gentleman, who a little discomposes this august ceremonial.  His name is Count Holke, his age three-and-twenty and his post answers to one that we had formerly in England, many ages ago, and which in our tongue was called the lord high favourite.  Before the Danish monarchs became absolute, the most refractory of that country used to write libels, called North Danes, against this great officer; but that practice has long since ceased.  Count Holke seems rather proud of his favour, than shy of displaying it.

I hope, my dear lord, you will be content with my Danish politics, for I trouble myself with no other.  There is a long history about the Baron de Bottetourt and Sir Jeffery Amherst, who has resigned his regiment but it is nothing to me, nor do I care a straw about it.  I am deep in the anecdotes of the new court; and if you want to know more of Count Holke or Count Molke, or the grand vizier Bernsdorff, or Mynheer Schimmelman, apply to me, and you shall be satisfied.  But what do I talk of?  You will see them yourself.