In Flanders it is the custom for the monks to assist at all fires.  It appeared to me a very whimsical spectacle to see monks of all colours, white, black and brown, running hither and thither with their frocks tucked up and carrying pails.

The Chevalier de Saint George is one of the best men in the world, and complaisance itself.  He one day said to Lord Douglas, “What should I do to gain the good-will of my countrymen?” Douglas replied, “Only embark hence with twelve Jesuits, and as soon as you land in England hang every one of them publicly; you can do nothing so likely to recommend you to the English people.”

It is said that at one of the masked balls at the opera, a mask entered the box in which were the Marechals de Villars and d’Estrees.  He said to the former, “Why do you not go below and dance?” The Marshal replied, “If I were younger I could, but not crippled as you see I am.”—­“Oh, go down,” rejoined the mask, “and the Marechal d’Estrees too; you will cut so brilliant a figure, having both of you such large horns.”  At the same time he put up his fingers in the shape of horns.  The Marechal d’Estrees only laughed, but the other was in a great rage and said, “You are a most insolent mask, and I do not know what will restrain me from giving you a good beating.”—­“As to a good beating;” replied the mask, “I can do a trifle in that way myself when necessary; and as for the insolence of which you accuse me, it is sufficient for me to say that I am masked.”  He went away as he said this, and was not seen again.

The King of Denmark has the look of a simpleton; he made love to my daughter while he was here.  When they were dancing he used to squeeze her hand, and turn up his eyes languishingly.  He would begin his minuet in one corner of the hall and finish it in another.  He stopped once in the middle of the hall and did not know what to do next.  I was quite uneasy at seeing him, so I got up and, taking his hand, led him away, or the good gentleman might have strayed there until this time.  He has no notion of what is becoming or otherwise.

The Cardinal de Noailles is unquestionably a virtuous man; it would be a very good thing if all the others were like him.  We have here four of them, and each is of a different character.  Three of them resemble each other in a certain particular—­they are as false as counterfeit coin; in every other respect they are directly opposite.  The Cardinal de Polignac is well made, sensible, and insinuating, and his voice is very agreeable; but he meddles too much with politics, and is too much occupied with seeking favour.  The Cardinal de Rohan has a handsome face, as his mother had, but his figure is despicable.  He is as vain as a peacock, and fancies that there is not his equal in the whole world.  He is a tricking intriguer, the slave of the Jesuits, and fancies he rules everything, while in fact he rules nothing.  The Cardinal de Bissi is as ugly and clumsy as a peasant, proud, false and wicked, and yet a most fulsome flatterer; his falsehood may be seen in his very eyes; his talent he turns to mischievous purposes.  In short, he has all the exterior of a Tartuffe.  These Cardinals could, if they chose, sell the Cardinal de Noailles in a sack, for they are all much more cunning than he is.