If you were a woman I should tell you the new fashions. The beaux now carry their watches in their muffs, and the women are taking, more and more, to what Charles S――――y calls undress uniform, so that soon Madame Eve will be the fashionable maker of gowns!――but I must not nourish your provincial blushes. Lord R. tells me that your General is a sad brute, for when his sister――a pretty thing she was――spent all her money at cards and hanged herself, the man said: “Poor Fanny, I always thought she would play till she would be forced to tuck herself up.” Horace Walpole says, when she meant to die, she wrote with a diamond on the window-pane this out of Garth’s “Dispensary”: “To die is landing on some silent shore, Where billows never break nor tempests roar.” But why should the woman die when she had a diamond left to gamble with? However, the Duke of Cumberland is his patron, and that is enough. F――――x lost the other night at White’s, they say, £1000 and―― I looked up and said: “The rest does not seem to be of interest or to say more of the general.” “No, but always look at the postscript of a lady’s letter. There is more about your general.” It was true, for I read: P. S. I meant not to tell you of Braddock’s affair with Colonel Gumley, who was his friend, but I may as well, even if you think it incredible. A letter is a fine way to talk, because you can never see the blush you may cause, and may fib without being vexed by contradiction until so long after that you have forgotten all about it. But what a pother I am making about my harmless gossip! When Braddock quarrelled over cards with his friend, and swords were drawn, Gumley (you know, Lord Pulteney married his sister) cried out: “Braddock, you are a penniless dog. If you kill me you have no money, and you will have to run away.” So with that he tossed him his purse. Braddock was in such a rage that Gumley easily disarmed him, but he would not ask his life. As we rode on I said it seemed to me to show that our general was foolishly obstinate, and that I liked the other man better, but neither very much. His lordship said: “Yes, yes; it is a wild and a silly life. The woman is heartless, but what she says may serve to put you on your guard. These people think London the only part of the world worth a thought. The other letter is of more moment. It is from Colonel Conway. I have inked over these names; they do not matter. He is of another clay.” _London._ MY DEAR LORD: My nephew, Mr. Henry Wilton, carries this letter to you, and any kind attention you may feel disposed to pay him will oblige me.