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."