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(46) against the mistress, hand about libels against the Chancellor, 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 Barry.  The only real struggle is between the Chancellor(47) and the Duc d’Aiguillon.  The first is false, bold, determined, and not subject to little qualms.  The other is less known, communicates himself to nobody, is suspected of deep policy and deep designs, but seems to intend to set out under a mask of very smooth varnish; for he has just obtained the payment of all his bitter enemy La Chalotais’ pensions and arrears.  He has the advantage, too, of being but moderately detested in comparison of his rival, and, what he values more, the interest of the mistress.(48) The Comptroller-general serves both, by acting mischief more sensibly felt; for he ruins every body but those who purchase a respite from his mistress.(49) He dispenses bankruptcy by retail, and will fall, because he cannot even by these means be useful enough.  They are striking off nine millions la caisse militaire, five from the marine, and one from the afaires `etrang`eres:  yet all this will not extricate them.  You never saw a great nation in so disgraceful a position.  Their next prospect is not better:  it rests on an imbecile, both in mind and body.

July 31.

Mr. Churchill and my sister set out to-night after supper, and I shall send this letter by them.  There are no new books, no new Plays, no new novels; nay, no new fashions.  They have dragged old Mademoiselle Le Maure out of a retreat of thirty years, to sing at the Colis`ee, which is a most gaudy Ranelagh, gilt, painted, and becupided like an Opera, but not calculated to last as long as Mother Coliseum, being composed of chalk and pasteboard.  Round it are courts of treillage, that serve for nothing, and behind it a canal, very like a horsepond, on which there are fireworks and justs.  Altogether it is very pretty; but as there are few nabobs and nabobesses in this country, and as the middling and common people are not much richer than Job when he had lost every thing but his patience, the proprietors are on the point of being ruined, unless the project takes place that is talked of.  It is, to oblige Corneille, Racine, and Moli`ere to hold their tongues twice a-week, that their audiences may go to the Colis`ee.  This is like our Parliament’s adjourning when senators want to go to Newmarket.  There is a Monsieur Gaillard writing a “History of the Rivalit`e de la France et de l’Angleterre."(50) I hope he will not omit this parallel.