bears half of it, was there, with one of those whom the newspapers call great personages-he dressed like Edward the Fourth, she like Elizabeth Woodville,1 in grey and pearls, with a black veil. Methinks it was not very difficult to find out the meaning of those masks.

As one of my ancient passions, formerly, was Masquerades, I had a large trunk of dresses by me. I dressed out a thousand young Conways and Cholmondeleys, and went with more pleasure to see them pleased than when I formerly delighted in that diversion myself. It has cost me a great headache, and I shall probably never go to another. A symptom appeared of the change that has happened in the people.

The mob was beyond all belief: they held flambeaux to the windows of every coach, and demanded to have the masks pulled off and put on at their pleasure, but with extreme good-humour and civility. I was with my Lady Hertford and two of her daughters, in their coach: the mob took me for Lord Hertford, and huzzaed and blessed me! One fellow cried out, "Are you for Wilkes?" another said, "D-n you, you fool, what has Wilkes to do with a Masquerade?"

great personage. The King was very indignant at the mésalliance; and this marriage, with that of the King's other brother, the Duke of Cumberland, to Mrs. Horton, led to the enactment of the Royal Marriage Act.

Elizabeth Woodville was the daughter of a Sir Richard Woodville, and his wife, the Duchess of Bedford, the widow of the illustrious brother of Henry V. Her first husband had been Sir John Grey, a knight of the Lancastrian party; and, after his death, Edward IV., attracted by her remarkable beauty, married her in 1464.

In good truth, that stock is fallen very low. The Court has recovered a majority of seventy-five in the House of Commons; and the party has succeeded so ill in the Lords, that my Lord Chatham has betaken himself to the gout, and appears no more. What Wilkes may do at his enlargement in April, I don't know, but his star is certainly much dimmed. The distress of France, the injustice they have been induced to commit on public credit, immense bankruptcies, and great bankers hanging and drowning themselves, are comfortable objects in our prospect; for one tiger is charmed if another tiger loses his tail.

There was a stroke of the monkey last night that will sound ill in the ears of your neighbour the Pope. The heir-apparent of the House of Norfolk, a drunken old mad fellow, was, though a Catholic, dressed like a Cardinal: I hope he was scandalised at the wives of our Bishops.

So you agree with me, and don't think that the crusado from Russia will recover the Holy Land! It is a pity; for, if the Turks kept it a little longer, I doubt it will be the Holy Land no longer. When Rome totters, poor Jerusalem! As to your Count Orloffs denying the murder of the late Czar, it is no more than every felon does at the Old Bailey. If I could write like Shakspeare, I would make

4 Count Orloff was one of the Czarina's earlier lovers, and was universally understood to have been the principal agent in the murder of her husband.

Peter's ghost perch on the dome of Sancta Sophia, and, when the Russian fleet comes in sight, roar, with a voice of thunder that should reach to Petersburg,

Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow!

We have had two or three simpletons return from Russia, charmed with the murderess, believing her innocent, because she spoke graciously to them in the drawing-room. I don't know what the present Grand Signior's name is, Osman, or Mustapha, or what, but I am extremely on his side against Catherine of Zerbst; and I never intend to ask him for a farthing, nor write panegyrics on him for pay, like Voltaire and Diderot; so you need not say a word to him of my good wishes. Benedict XIV. deserved my friendship, but being a sound Protestant, one would not, you know, make all Turk and Pagan and Infidel princes too familiar.

Adieu!

WILKES-BURKE'S PAMPHLET-PREDICTION OF AMERICAN REPUBLICS—EXTRAVAGANCE IN ENGLAND.

TO SIR HORACE MANN.

STRAWBERRY HILL, May 6, 1770.

I DON'T know whether Wilkes is subdued by his imprisonment, or waits for the rising of Parliament, to take the field; or whether his dignity of Alderman has dulled him into prudence, and the love of feasting; but hitherto he has done nothing but go to City banquets and sermons, and sit at Guildhall as a sober

magistrate. With an inversion of the proverb, "Si ex quovis Mercurio fit lignum! What do you Italians think of Harlequin Potesta? 1 In truth, his party is crumbled away strangely. Lord Chatham has talked on the Middlesex election till nobody will answer him; and Mr. Burke (Lord Rockingham's governor) has published a pamphlet 2 that has sown the utmost discord between that faction and the supporters of the Bill of Rights. Mrs. Macaulay 3 has written against it. In Parliament their numbers are shrunk to nothing, and the session is ending very triumphantly for the Court. But there is another scene opened of a very different aspect. You have seen the accounts from Boston. The tocsin seems to be sounded to America. I have many visions about that country, and fancy I see twenty empires and republics forming upon vast scales over all that continent, which is growing too mighty to be kept in subjection to half a dozen exhausted nations in Europe. As the latter sinks, and the others rise, they who live between the eras will be a sort of

Podesta was an officer in some of the smaller Italian towns, somewhat corresponding to our mayor. The name is Italianised from the Roman Potestas

Hajus, quo trahitur, prætextam sumere mavis,

An Fidenarum, Gabiorumque esse Potestas (Juv., x. 100).

2 The pamphlet is, "Thoughts on the Present Discontents," founding them especially on the unconstitutional influence of "the King's friends."

3 Mrs. Macaulay was the wife of a London physician, and authoress of a "History of England" from the accession of James I. to that of George I., written in a spirit of the fiercest republicanism, but long since forgotten.