We spent an evening last week with Mallet, who is grown to an enormous size, exactly the shape of a barrel, but looks well, and eats and drinks more than you ever saw him. G. Scott was there, just the same man; none of them changed but Mallet, — a most thorough courtier. He has got a French cook, who dresses dishes they admire, but which Mrs. Millar nor I could not taste. They, with other company, spend this day with us; but I shall entertain, I think, with better English "disches." George's stomach is as good as ever for roast beef, and a noble digestion. As to Mallet, he talks for ever, and well; but he never will do Marlbro's life, nor, I believe, any thing else. He seems to be quite easy without his wife, with his daughter Bell, who has just as much sincerity as himself.