ate
his acts _From our Palace of Bridewell, in the tenth year of our reign_.
He has, however, met with a heroine to stem the tide of his conquests;
who, though not of Arc, nor a _pucelle_, is a true _Joan_ in spirit,
style, and manners. This is her Grace of Northumberland [Lady Elizabeth
Seymour], who has carried the mob of Westminster from him; sitting daily
in the midst of Covent Garden; and will elect her son [Earl Percy] and
Lord Thomas Clinton,[1] against Wilkes's two candidates, Lord Mahon[2]
and Lord Mountmorris. She puts me in mind of what Charles the Second
said of a foolish preacher, who was very popular in his parish: "I
suppose his nonsense suits their nonsense."

[Footnote 1: Second son of Henry, Duke of Newcastle.--WALPOLE.]

[Footnote 2: Only son of Earl Stanhope.--WALPOLE.]

Let me sweeten my letter by making you smile. A Quaker has been at
Versailles; and wanted to see the Comtes de Provence and D'Artois dine
in public, but would not submit to pull off his hat. The Princes were
told of it; and not only admitted him with his beaver on, but made him
sit down and dine with them. Was it not very sensible and good-humoured?
You and I know one who would not have been so gracious: I do not mean my
nephew Lord Cholmondeley.[1] Adieu! I am tired to death.

[Footnote 1: He means the Duke of Gloucester.--WALPOLE.]

P.S.--I have seen the Duchess of Beaufort; who sings your praises quite
in a tune I like. Her manner is much unpinioned to what it was, though
her person remains as stately as ever; and powder is vastly preferable
to those brown hairs, of whose preservation she was so fond. I am not so
struck with the beauty of Lady Mary[1] as I was three years ago. Your
nephew, Sir Horace, I see, by the papers, is come into Parliament: I am
glad of it. Is not he yet arrived at Florence?

[Footnote 1: Lady Mary Somerset, youngest daughter of Charles Noel, Duke
of Beaufort. She was afterwards married to the Duke of
Rutland.--WALPOLE.]

_BURKE'S ELECTION AT BRISTOL--RESEMBLANCE OF ONE HOUSE OF COMMONS TO
ANOTHER--COMFORT OF OLD AGE._

TO THE COUNTESS OF AILESBURY.

STRAWBERRY HILL, _Nov._ 7, 1774.

I have written such tomes to Mr. Conway,[1] Madam, and so nothing new to
write, that I might as well, methinks, begin and end like the lady to
her husband; "Je vous ecris parceque je n'ai rien a faire: je finis
parceque je n'ai rien a vous dire." Yes, I have two complaints to make,
one of your ladyship, the other