[Footnote 1:  In a previous letter Walpole mentions the enactment of the Royal Marriage Act by a very narrow majority, after more than one violent debate.  It had been insisted on by the King, who was highly indignant at his brothers, the Dukes of Gloucester and Cumberland, having married two subjects.  Singularly enough they were both widows, Lady Waldegrave and Mrs. Horton.  And this Act made the consent of the sovereign indispensable to the marriage of any member of the Royal Family except the descendants of princesses married to foreign princes.]

I hear the credit of the French Chancellor declines.  He had strongly taken up the clergy; and Soeur Louise,[1] the King’s Carmelite daughter, was the knot of the intrigue.  The new Parliament has dared to remonstrate against a declaration obtained by the Chancellor for setting aside an arret of 1762, occasioned by the excommunication of Parma.  The Spanish and Neapolitan Ministers interposed, and pronounced the declaration an infringement of the family compact:  the arret of 1762 has been confirmed to satisfy them, and the Pope’s authority, and everything that comes from Rome, except what regards the Penitential, (I do not know what that means,) restrained.  This is supported by d’Aiguillon and all the other Ministers, who are labouring the reconciliation of the Princes of the Blood, that the Chancellor may not have the honour of reconciling them.  Perhaps the Princess of Stolberg sprung out of my Sister Louise’s cell.  The King has demanded twelve millions of the clergy:  they consent to give ten.  We shall see whether Madame Louise, on her knees, or Madame du Barri will fight the better fight.  I should think the King’s knees were more of an age for praying, than for fighting.

[Footnote 1:  The Soeur Louise was the youngest daughter of Louis XV.; and, very different from her sisters, who were ill-tempered, political intriguers.  She, on the contrary, was deeply religious, and had, some years before, taken the vows of the Carmelite order; and had fixed her residence at the Convent of St. Denis, where she was more than once visited by Marie Antoinette.]

The House of Commons is embarked on the ocean of Indian affairs, and will probably make a long session.  I went thither the other day to hear Charles Fox, contrary to a resolution I had made of never setting my foot there again.  It is strange how disuse makes one awkward:  I felt a palpitation, as if I were going to speak there myself.  The object answered:  Fox’s abilities are amazing at so very early a period, especially under the circumstances of such a dissolute life.  He was just arrived from Newmarket, had sat up drinking all night, and had not been in bed.  How such talents make one laugh at Tully’s rules for an orator, and his indefatigable application.  His laboured orations are puerile in comparison with this boy’s manly reason.  We beat Rome in eloquence and extravagance; and Spain in avarice and cruelty; and, like both, we