last, the very day of his appearance at the House of Commons. He went
thither without the least disturbance or mob, having dispersed his
orders accordingly, which are obeyed implicitly. He did not, however,
appear at the bar till ten at night, the day being wasted in debating
whether he should be suffered to enter on his case at large, or be
restrained to his two chief complaints. The latter was carried by 270
to 131, a majority that he will not easily reduce. He was then called
in, looked ill, but behaved decently, and demanded to take the oaths and
his seat. This affair, after a short debate, was refused; and his
counsel being told the restrictions imposed, the House adjourned at
midnight. To-day he goes again to the House, but whatever steps he takes
there, or however long debates he may occasion, you may look upon his
fate as decided in that place.

We are in hourly expectation of hearing that a nymph, more common still
than the two I have mentioned, has occasioned what Wilkes has failed in
now, a change in an administration. I mean the Comtesse du Barri.[1] The
_grands habits_ are made, and nothing wanting for her presentation
but--what do you think? some woman of quality to present her. In that
servile Court and country, the nobility have had spirit enough to
decline paying their court, though the King has stooped _à des
bassesses_ to obtain it. The Duc de Choiseul will be the victim; and
they pretend to say that he has declared he will resign _à l'Anglaise_,
rather than be _chassé_ by such a creature. His indiscretion is
astonishing: he has said at his own table, and she has been told so,
"Madame du Barri est très mal informée; on ne parle pas des Catins chez
moi." Catin diverts herself and King Solomon the wise with tossing
oranges into the air after supper, and crying, "_Saute, Choiseul! saute,
Praslin_!" and then Solomon laughs heartily. Sometimes she flings powder
in his sage face, and calls him _Jean Farine_! Well! we are not the