amours. He told miss C-- the other day, in broken English, that,
in the course of the last year, he had made six bastards. He
owned, at the same time, he had sent them all to the hospital;
but, now his father is dead, he would himself take care of his
future productions. This, however, was no better than a
gasconade. Yesterday the house was in a hot alarm, on account of
a new windfall of this kind: the sisters were in tears; the
brother was visited by the cure of the parish; the lady in the
straw (a sempstress) sent him the bantling in a basket, and he
transmitted it by the carriers to the Enfans trouves at Paris.

But to return from this digression: Mr. B-- advised me to send a
requete or petition to the chancellor of France, that I might
obtain an order to have my books examined on the spot, by the
president of Boulogne, or the procureur du roy, or the sub-delegate
of the intendance. He recommended an advocat of his
acquaintance to draw up the memoire, and introduced him
accordingly; telling me at the same time, in private, that if he
was not a drunkard, he would be at the head of his profession. He
had indeed all the outward signs of a sot; a sleepy eye, a
rubicund face, and carbuncled nose. He seemed to be a little out
at elbows, had marvellous foul linen, and his breeches were not
very sound: but he assumed an air of importance, was very
courteous, and very solemn. I asked him if he did not sometimes
divert himself with the muse: he smiled, and promised, in a
whisper, to shew me some chansonettes de sa facon. Meanwhile he
composed the requete in my name, which was very pompous, very
tedious, and very abject. Such a stile might perhaps be necessary
in a native of France; but I did not think it was at all suitable
to a subject of Great-Britain. I thanked him for the trouble he