n] in
Oxford Road, which is almost finished. It amazed me myself. Imagine
Balbec in all its glory! The pillars are of artificial _giallo antico_.
The ceilings, even of the passages, are of the most beautiful stuccos in
the best taste of grotesque. The ceilings of the ball-rooms and the
panels painted like Raphael's _loggias_ in the Vatican. A dome like the
pantheon, glazed. It is to cost fifty thousand pounds. Monsieur de
Guisnes said to me, "Ce n'est qu'a Londres qu'on peut faire tout cela."
It is not quite a proof of the same taste, that two views of Verona, by
Canaletti, have been sold by auction for five hundred and fifty guineas;
and, what is worse, it is come out that they are copies by Marlow, a
disciple of Scott. Both master and scholar are indeed better painters
than the Venetian; but the purchasers did not mean to be so well
cheated.

The papers will have told you that the wheel of fortune has again
brought up Lord Holdernesse, who is made governor to the Prince of
Wales. The Duchess of Queensberry, a much older veteran, is still
figuring in the world, not only by giving frequent balls, but really by
her beauty. Reflect, that she was a goddess in Prior's days![1] I could
not help adding these lines on her--you know his end:

Kitty, at Heart's desire,
Obtained the chariot for a day,
And set the world on fire.

This was some fifty-six years ago, or more. I gave her this stanza:

To many a Kitty, Love his car
Will for a day engage,
But Prior's Kitty, ever fair,
Obtained it for an age!

And she is old enough to be pleased with the compliment.

[Footnote 1: Prior died in 1721.]

My brother [Sir Edward Walpole] has lost his son; and it is no
misfortune, though he was but three-and-thirty, and had very good parts;
for he was sunk into such a habit of drinking and gaming, that the first
ruined his constitution, and the latter would have ruined his father.

Shall I send away this short scroll, or reserve it to the end of the
session? No, it is already somewhat obsolete: it shall go, and another
short letter shall be the other half of it--so, good night!

_GREAT DISTRESS AT THE FRENCH COURT._

TO THE HON. H.S. CONWAY.

PARIS, _July_ 30, 1771.

I do not know where you are, nor where this will find you, nor when it
will set out to seek you, as I am not certain by whom I shall send it.
It is of little consequence, as I have nothing material to tell you, but
what you