ou may look upon his
fate as decided in that place.

We are in hourly expectation of hearing that a nymph, more common still
than the two I have mentioned, has occasioned what Wilkes has failed in
now, a change in an administration. I mean the Comtesse du Barri.[1] The
_grands habits_ are made, and nothing wanting for her presentation
but--what do you think? some woman of quality to present her. In that
servile Court and country, the nobility have had spirit enough to
decline paying their court, though the King has stooped _a des
bassesses_ to obtain it. The Duc de Choiseul will be the victim; and
they pretend to say that he has declared he will resign _a l'Anglaise_,
rather than be _chasse_ by such a creature. His indiscretion is
astonishing: he has said at his own table, and she has been told so,
"Madame du Barri est tres mal informee; on ne parle pas des Catins chez
moi." Catin diverts herself and King Solomon the wise with tossing
oranges into the air after supper, and crying, "_Saute, Choiseul! saute,
Praslin_!" and then Solomon laughs heartily. Sometimes she flings powder
in his sage face, and calls him _Jean Farine_! Well! we are not the
foolishest nation in Europe yet! It is supposed that the Duc d'Aiguillon
will be the successor.

[Footnote 1: This woman, one of the very lowest of the low, had caught
the fancy of Louis XV.; and, as according to the curious etiquette of
the French Court, it was indispensable that a king's mistress should be
married, the Comte du Barri, a noble of old family, but ruined by
gambling, was induced to marry her.]

I am going to send away this letter, because you will be impatient, and
the House will not rise probably till long after the post is gone out. I
did not think last May that you would hear this February that there was
an end of mobs, that Wilkes was expelled, and the colonies quieted.
However, pray take notice that I do not stir a foot out of the province
of gazetteer into that of prophet. I protest, I know no more than a
prophet what is to come. Adieu!

_A GARDEN PARTY AT STRAWBERRY--A RIDOTTO AT VAUXHALL._

TO GEORGE MONTAGU, ESQ.

ARLINGTON STREET, _May_ 11, 1769.

You are so wayward, that I often resolve to give you up to your humours.
Then something happens with which I can divert you, and my good-nature
returns. Did not you say you should return to London long before this
time? At least, could you not tell me you had changed your mind? why am
I to pick it ou