You have, I hope, long before this, my dear lord, received the immense letter that I sent you by old Monin.  It explained much, and announced most part of which has already happened; for you will observe that when I tell you anything very positively, it is on good intelligence.  I have another much bigger secret for you, but that will be delivered to you by word of mouth.  I am not a little impatient for the long letter you promised me.  In the mean time thank you for the account you give me of the King’s extreme civility to you.  It is like yourself to dwell on that, and to say little of M. de Chaulnes’s dirtv behaviour; but Monsieur and Madame de Guerchy have told your brother and me all the particulars.

I was but too good a prophet when I warned you to expect new extravagances from the Duc de Chaulnes’s son.  Some weeks ago he lost five hundred pounds to one Virette, an equivocal being, that you remember here.  Paolucci, the Modenese minister, who is not in the odour of honesty, was of the party.  The Duc de Pecquigny said to the latter, “Monsieur, ne jouez plus avec lui, si vous n’etes pas de moitie.”  So far was very well.  On Saturday, at the Maccaroni Club (which is composed of all the travelled young men who wear long curls and spying glasses), they played again:  the Duc lost, but not much.  In the passage at the Opera, the Duc saw Mr. Stuart talking to Virette, and told the former that Virette was a coquin, a fripon, &c., &c.  Virette retired, saying only, “Voila un fou.”  The Duc then desired Lord Tavistock to come and see him fight Virette, but the Marquis desired to be excused.  After the Opera, Virette went to the Duc’s lodgings, but found him gone to make his complaint to Monsieur de Guerchy, whither he followed him; and farther this deponent knoweth not.  I pity the Count [de Guerchy], who is one of the best-natured amiable men in the world, for having this absurd boy upon his hands!

Well! now for a little politics.  The Cider Bill has not answered to the minority, though they ran the ministry hard; but last Friday was extraordinary.  George Grenville was pushed upon some Navy Bills.  I don’t understand a syllable, you know, of money and accounts; but whatever was the matter, he was driven from entrenchment to entrenchment by Baker and Charles Townshend.  After that affair was over, and many gone away, Sir W. Meredith moved for the depositions on which the warrant against Wilkes had been granted.  The Ministers complained of the motion being made so late in the day; called it a surprise; and Rigby moved to adjourn, which was carried but by 73 to 60.  Had a surprise been intended, you may imagine the minority would have been better provided with numbers; but it certainly had not been concerted:  however, a majority, shrunk to thirteen, frightened them out of the small senses they possess.  Heaven, Earth, and the Treasury, were moved to recover their ground to-day, when the question was renewed.  For about two hours the debate hobbled on very lamely,