There was an English lady of influence in St. Petersburg, of whose great wit and penetration the Russians stood in the most profound dread and awe. I shall never forget the unbounded rage with which they related an anecdote of her, which showed how deeply they felt the cut they had received, and how true they knew her words were. Soon after the _Battle_ (?) of Sinope, one of the Russian nobles was so obliging as to call on her, expressly to hear what she would say concerning that _glorious_ feat of valour or cowardice, and in the course of conversation remarked that it must be very disagreeable to her to reside on the quay. “Why so, your Excellence?” “Because,” replied he, “it must be so annoying to you to hear the cannon fired in honour of our victories!” “Oh! dear, no!” was the reply; “not in the least; it happens _so very seldom_.” The Russian, finding he was no match for the English lady, remained silent, and was soon glad to beat a retreat to hide his discomfiture. In revenge we were told that “she would not be invited to their balls,” as if to be excluded from their dull feasts of frivolity were a severe punishment and an irremediable misfortune. It was really ridiculous to see what puny efforts the Russians made to show their anger at the English: they would pass you in the street, and not bow, although they had previously been well acquainted with you. It may be judged to what an excess they carried their resentment, when I mention that even children behaved in the same manner. I was well acquainted with a lady who resided at one of the Institutes in St. Petersburg, and I was in the habit of frequently calling to see her; before the Declaration I was always met with smiles, and, according to the established custom, the young persons used to bow as they passed us; but as soon as they knew that the war had commenced, we heard them continually make the remark one to the other, “Ne la saluez pas, ma chère, c’est une Anglaise!” All the shop windows in St. Petersburg were filled with plates inscribed “The Glorious Battle of Sinope,” as the Russians are pleased to call that fearful act of cowardice. On my arrival in London I found the very same representations, or fac-similes of them, displayed, with the far truer designation of “Horrible Massacre!”