[Footnote 3: 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.]

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?"

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 Orloff's[1] denying the murder of the
late Czar, it is no more than every felon does at the Old Bailey. If I
could write like Shakspe