The papers will have told you that the wheel of fortune has again brought up Lord Holdernesse, who is made governor to the Prince of Wales.  The Duchess of Queensberry, a much older veteran, is still figuring in the world, not only by giving frequent balls, but really by her beauty.  Reflect, that she was a goddess in Prior’s days![1] I could not help adding these lines on her—­you know his end: 

        Kitty, at Heart’s desire,
    Obtained the chariot for a day,
      And set the world on fire.

This was some fifty-six years ago, or more.  I gave her this stanza: 

    To many a Kitty, Love his car
      Will for a day engage,
    But Prior’s Kitty, ever fair,
      Obtained it for an age!

And she is old enough to be pleased with the compliment.

[Footnote 1:  Prior died in 1721.]

My brother [Sir Edward Walpole] has lost his son; and it is no misfortune, though he was but three-and-thirty, and had very good parts; for he was sunk into such a habit of drinking and gaming, that the first ruined his constitution, and the latter would have ruined his father.

Shall I send away this short scroll, or reserve it to the end of the session?  No, it is already somewhat obsolete:  it shall go, and another short letter shall be the other half of it—­so, good night!

GREAT DISTRESS AT THE FRENCH COURT.

TO THE HON.  H.S.  CONWAY.

PARIS, July 30, 1771.

I do not know where you are, nor where this will find you, nor when it will set out to seek you, as I am not certain by whom I shall send it.  It is of little consequence, as I have nothing material to tell you, but what you probably may have heard.

The distress here is incredible, especially at Court.  The King’s tradesmen are ruined, his servants starving, and even angels and archangels cannot get their pensions and salaries, but sing “Woe! woe! woe!” instead of Hosannahs.  Compiegne is abandoned; Villars Coterets[1] and Chantilly crowded, and Chanteloup still more in fashion, whither everybody goes that pleases; though, when they ask leave, the answer is, “Je ne le defends ni le permets.”  This is the first time that ever the will of a King of France was interpreted against his inclination.  Yet, after annihilating his Parliament, and ruining public credit, he tamely submits to be affronted by his own servants.  Madame de Beauveau, and two or three high-spirited dames, defy this Czar of Gaul.  Yet they and their cabal are as inconsistent on the other hand.  They make epigrams, sing vaudevilles,[2] against the mistress, hand about libels against the Chancellor [Maupeou], and have no more effect than a sky-rocket; but in three months will die to go to Court, and to be invited to sup with Madame du Barri.  The only real struggle is between the Chancellor [Maupeou] and the Duc d’Aiguillon.  The first is false, bold, determined, and not subject to little qualms.