Lord G. Germaine's coming into office seems to have been a greater acquisition on the side of Government, than on his. Office adds dignity and respect to some men; others, who derive no dignity from it, generally lose by it. This I think Lord G.'s case. He seemed to speak with much more weight, before he was in office. The Ghost of Mindon is for ever brought in neck and shoulders to frighten him with. Willes (Wilkes) and Sawbridge have attacked him more than once with the British Cavalry; and thus, he must either turn absolute knight errant, or else put up quietly with constant affronts. The news-papers must have given you the general features of this year's politics. The complexion of them, I own, is somewhat altered; and so much, that I dare say you will hardly know 'em again. You will soon grow used to them, however, and upon very little acquaintance, will be as intimate with them as ever. So much for the affairs of the Nation. You, who hear no politics, will be astonished at this boar (sic), but must excuse it from me, who hear nothing else. Indeed, there is another operation which breaks in upon this subject, i e., the game of Commerce. Lady Betty has taken to this game, and she makes all the world, bon gre, malgre, play at it till five o'clock in the morning. I live there almost; what with Balls, Bt (?), Tessier, Commerce, Supper, and Quinze, I am never out of the house. They have invited me to go to the Oaks, this Christmas, but if Castle Howard is too far, the Oaks, I assure you, will be much farther. I rather think I shall go for a fortnight to Bath. You have heard of Gen. Scott's death. George's motto for his achievement is --sic Dice placuit; and for his sarcophagus--Dice Manibus, &c. . . . (135) The American Prohibitory Bill, to prevent trade and intercourse between the American Colonies and Great Britain and the West Indies. (1775?) Dec. 19, Tuesday.--I write to you before dinner, and before I have all the opportunities which I might have before night of sending you news, for fear that it should happen as it did last Saturday, that I fall asleep, and so let pass the hour of the post. The cold drives me to the fire, and the fire into a profound nap, in which every earthly thing is forgot; but it shall happen no more, that a post goes without something to indicate my existence. Last night and the night before I supped at Lady Betty Stanley's. Their suppers are magnificent, but their hours are abominably late; however, they do not discourage my Lord of Worcester from staying them out. We are very merry, all of us, and I think Mrs. North the merriest of us all. At 2 this morning, the Bishop and I were almost left alone; the rest of the company were in their domino's, and going to the Masquerade. I have seen nobody to-day to tell me what passed there.