and Hungary, all is sent thither,
and yet the wretched people have not subsistence. A pound of bread sells
at Dresden for eleven-pence. We are going to send many more troops
thither; and it is so much the fashion to raise regiments, that I wish
there were such a neutral kind of beings in England as abbes,[1] that
one might have an excuse for not growing military mad, when one has
turned the heroic corner of one's age. I am ashamed of being a young
rake, when my seniors are covering their grey toupees with helmets and
feathers, and accoutering their pot-bellies with cuirasses and martial
masquerade habits. Yet rake I am, and abominably so, for a person that
begins to wrinkle reverendly. I have sat up twice this week till between
two and three with the Duchess of Grafton, at loo, who, by the way, has
got a pam-child this morning, and on Saturday night I supped with Prince
Edward at my Lady Rochford's, and we stayed till half an hour past
three. My favour with that Highness continues, or rather increases. He
makes everybody make suppers for him to meet me, for I still hold out
against going to court. In short, if he were twenty years older, or I
could make myself twenty years younger, I might carry him to Campden
House, and be as impertinent as ever my Lady Churchill was; but, as I
dread being ridiculous, I shall give my Lord Bute no uneasiness. My Lady
Maynard, who divides the favour of this tiny court with me, supped with
us. Did you know she sings French ballads very prettily? Lord Rochford
played on the guitar, and the Prince sung; there were my two nieces, and
Lord Waldegrave, Lord Huntingdon, and Mr. Morrison the groom, and the
evening was pleasant; but I had a much more agreeable supper last night
at Mrs. Clive's, with Miss West, my niece Cholmondeley, and Murphy, the
writing actor, who is very good company, and two or three more. Mrs.
Cholmondeley is very lively; you know how entertaining the Clive is, and
Miss West is an absolute original.

[Footnote 1: French chroniclers remark that the title Abbe had long
since ceased in France to denote the possession of any ecclesiastical
preferment, but had become a courteous denomination of unemployed
ecclesiastics; and they compare it to the use of the term "Esquire" in
England.]

There is nothing new, but a very dull pamphlet written by Lord Bath, and
his chaplain Douglas, called a "Letter to Two Great Men." It is a plan
for the peace, and much adopted by the City, and mu