Wednesday.

Thro' Manchester Square took a canter just now—

Met the old yellow chariot[1] and made a low bow.

This I did, of course, thinking 'twas loyal and civil,

But got such a look—oh! 'twas black as the devil!

How unlucky!—incog. he was travelling about,

And I like a noodle, must go find him out.

Mem.—when next by the old yellow chariot I ride,

To remember there is nothing princely inside.

Thursday.

At Levee to-day made another sad blunder—

What can be come over me lately, I wonder?

The Prince was as cheerful as if all his life

He had never been troubled with Friends or a Wife—

"Fine weather," says he—to which I, who must prate,

Answered, "Yes, Sir, but changeable rather, of late."

He took it, I fear, for he lookt somewhat gruff,

And handled his new pair of whiskers so rough,

That before all the courtiers I feared they'd come off,

And then, Lord, how Geramb[2] would triumphantly scoff!

Mem.—to buy for son Dicky some unguent or lotion To nourish his whiskers—sure road to promotion![3]

Saturday.

Last night a Concert—vastly gay—

Given by Lady Castlereagh.

My Lord loves music, and we know

Has "two strings always to his bow."[4]

In choosing songs, the Regent named

"Had I a heart for falsehood framed."

While gentle Hertford begged and prayed

For "Young I am and sore afraid."

[1] The incog. vehicle of the Prince.

[2] Baron Geramb, the rival of his R. H. in whiskers.

[3] England is not the only country where merit of this kind is noticed and rewarded. "I remember," says Tavernier, "to have seen one of the King of Persia's porters, whose mustaches were so long that he could tie them behind his neck, for which reason he had a double pension."

[4] A rhetorical figure used by Lord Castlereagh, in one of his speeches.