Ican now, my dear aunt, give you the accounts you desire of this country. Every thing you have been told concerning the young Prince, pupil of the Count de Roseville, is infinitely short of the praise he merits. It is impossible to be more polite, more amiable, or to behave with more dignity. He brings to my mind the definition of La Bruyere, who says, ‘False grandeur is fierce and inaccessible; as it knows its weakness, it endeavours to hide itself, and will only appear when it means to deceive, and is not likely to be discovered to be what it really is, that is to say, really littleness. But true greatness is free, mild, familiar, and popular … It loses nothing by being looked at; the more you know it, the more you admire it … and one approaches it at the same time with freedom and with humility, &c. &c.’ The Prince has as much knowledge as politeness. He is equally unaffected, good-humoured and sensible. He has, without any attempts to shew it, all that variety of wit and delicacy which is improved by a good education. He does not speak to an old man with the same tone and air with which he talks to a young one: and, if he addresses himself to a Lady, it is with that gentle and softened voice which gives to the most common expressions the appearance of deference and respect. He speaks in a plain but correct manner; and every thing he says appears obliging, because he listens to the answers made him, and never interrupts you by his inattention. He has a very pleasing smile, which he does not lavish on every one alike; but has always an open and serene countenance, which expresses better than I ever saw goodness and benevolence. He protects and encourages arts, sciences, and letters; and he does it with great discernment. He has just founded two prizes of gold medals to be given annually by the Academy of ***; one for men of wit and learning who compose the best work in the course of the year: and the other for painters and sculptors.