hich he figures, that I brought to Cordon's Pride that spring:

"10 SOUTH PARADE, BATH,
"March 12, 1774.

"DEAR RICHARD:--Miss Manners has come to Bath, with a train behind
her longer than that which followed good Queen Anne hither, when she
made this Gehenna the fashion. Her triumphal entry last Wednesday
was announced by such a peal of the abbey bells as must have cracked
the metal (for they have not rung since) and started Beau Nash
a-cursing where he lies under the floor. Next came her serenade by
the band. Mr. Marmaduke swore they would never have done, and
squirmed and grinned like Punch when he thought of the fee, for he
had hoped to get off with a crown, I warrant you. You should have
seen his face when they would accept no fee at all for the beauty!
Some wag has writ a verse about it, which was printed, and has set
the whole pump-room laughing this morning.

"She was led out by Wells in the Seasons last night. As Spring she
is too bewildering for my pen,--all primrose and white, with the
flowers in her blue-black hair. Had Sir Joshua seen her, he would
never rest content till he should have another portrait. The Duc de
Lauzun, who contrived to get two dances, might give you a
description in a more suitable language than English. And there was
a prodigious deal of jealousy among the fair ones on the benches,
you may be sure, and much jaundiced comment.

"Some half dozen of us adorers have a mess at the Bear, and have
offered up a prize for the most appropriate toast on the beauty.
This is in competition with Mrs. Miller. Have you not heard of her
among your tobacco-hills? Horry calls her Mrs. 'Calliope' Miller.
At her place near here, Bath Easton Villa, she has set up a Roman
vase bedecked with myrtle, and into this we drop our bouts-rimes.
Mrs. Calliope has a ball every Thursday, when the victors are
crowned. T'other day the theme was 'A Buttered Muffin,' and her
Grace of Northumberland was graciously awarded the prize. In faith,
that theme taxed our wits at the Bear,--how to weave Miss Dolly's
charms into a verse on a buttered muffin. I shall not tire you with
mine. Storer's deserved to win, and we whisper that Mrs. Calliope
ruled it out through spite. 'When Phyllis eats,' so it began, and I
vow 'twas devilish ingenious.

"We do nothing but play lasquenet and tenni