! Let the Prince Regent and his garters and his
orders, and the merchants and the aldermen and everybody hide their
diminished heads! What are they and their gifts to the Philosophers'?

This is literally a sword made by Sowerby from the iron from some
meteoric stones lately fallen--of course in honour of the Emperor. There
is an inscription on it something to this effect, but not so neat as
the subject demanded, and it is to be presented to Alexander--who does
not deserve it, by the by, for having entirely neglected Sir Joseph
amongst all the great sights and great men, which has rather mortified
the poor old man.

LONDON, _Monday night_.

They are off, and in spite of all my friends' predictions to the
contrary, I am here.

Edward went this morning to Portsmouth on his way to Havre, but the
Havre packet is employed in pleasuring people up and down to see the
ships. Not a bed is to be had in the place, so he has secured his berth
in the packet, if he can find her, and get on board at night after her
morning's excursions.

Standing room is to be had in the streets for three shillings; seats are
putting up in and for two miles out of the town; all the laurels cut
down to stick upon poles; in short, everybody is madder there than in
London.

Can the English ever be called cool and phlegmatic again? It is really a
pity some metaphysicianising philosopher is not here to observe,
describe, and theorise on the extraordinary symptoms and effects of
enthusiasm, curiosity, insanity--I am sure I do not know what to call
it--en masse.

One should have supposed that the great objects would have swallowed up
the little ones. No such thing! they have only made the appetite for
them more ravenous.

The mob got hold of Lord Hill[37] in the Park at the review, and did
literally pull his coat and his belt to pieces. He snatched off his
Order of the Bath, and gave it to Major Churchill, who put it in the
holster of his saddle, where he preserved it from the mob only by
drawing his sword and declaring he would cut any man's hand off who
touched it. Some kissed his sword, his boots, his spurs, or anything
they could touch; they pulled hair out of his horse's tail, and one
butcher's boy who arrived at the happiness of shaking his hand, they
chaired, exclaiming, "This is the man who has shaken hands with Lord
Hill!" At last they tore his sword off by breaking the belt and then
handed it round from one to another to be kissed.