SIR WILLIAM YOUNG TO THE MARQUIS OF BUCKINGHAM.

Stratton Street, June 7th, 1788.

My dear Lord

No intelligence having arrived from St. Vincent's since my last
letter, my mind is most restless, and so occupied with the
contingencies which another letter may clear up, and decide,
either that I am to see my father this summer, or to see him no
more, that I am unfit almost for any employment but that of
walking to the Royal Exchange and back again, on inquiry after a
ship. It is most necessary, however, to the health of mind, to
avert it occasionally from such a subject, so doubtful and so
covered with gloom; and I cannot better do it than by writing to
your Lordship, thus engaging at once my attention under the
impulses of sincerest friendship, and grateful sense of duty. Of
events in the political circle, to the intelligence of the
newspapers of this day, I will add the death of Ashley Cooper,
and the succession of Mr. Rose to the office of Clerk of the
Parliaments. I understand he will resume, notwithstanding his
seat in the Commons, and continue Secretary of the Treasury. It
is expected that on Monday will be moved the new writs for Sir
L. Kenyon, Chief Justice; Arden, Master of the Rolls; Macdonald
and Scott, Attorney and Solicitor-General; and Rose, Clerk of
the Parliaments. The marriage of Fox and Miss Pultency is
something more than common talk; at the Duke of York's ball he
sat three hours in a corner with her; attends her weekly to
Ranelagh, and is a perfect Philander. The Duke of York lives
almost with Lady Tyrconnel, and there has been some _fracas_ on
Mrs. Fitzherbert declining Lady Tyrconnel's visits, as a lady
whose character is contaminate! These, with the suicide of
George Hesse, form the leading topics of the _beau monde_. Of
our political career, I can only say that I made a good guess
when I stated the 20th of June as the close of our sessions; the
intermediate time has little business pending that will engage
debate, excepting the reform of the Scotch boroughs, on which
the alternative for or against is equally a Scotch job. Sheridan
takes the lead in it, and comes plumed with his laurels gathered
in Westminster Hall. His speech there contained some wonderful
stroke in the declamatory style, something fanciful, poetical,
and even sublime; s