en them bad counsel. I
therefore say no more on what would make me so happy. Adieu!

[Footnote 1: Edgehill was the first battle in the Great Rebellion,
fought October 23, 1642.]

_FALL OF THE DUC DE CHOISEUL'S MINISTRY._

TO SIR HORACE MANN.

STRAWBERRY HILL, _Saturday evening, Dec._ 29, 1770.

We are alarmed, or very glad, we don't know which. The Duke de Choiseul
is fallen! but we cannot tell yet whether the mood of his successors
will be peaceable or martial. The news arrived yesterday morning, and
the event happened but last Monday evening. He was allowed but three
hours to prepare for his journey, and ordered to retire to his seat at
Chanteloup; but there are letters that say, _qu'il ira plus loin_. The
Duke de Praslin is banished too--a disagreeable man; but his fate is a
little hard, for he was just going to resign the Marine to Chatelet,
who, by the way, is forbidden to visit Choiseul. I shall shed no tears
for Chatelet, the most peevish and insolent of men, our bitter enemy,
and whom M. de Choiseul may thank in some measure for his fall; for I
believe while Chatelet was here, he drew the Spaniards into the attack
of Falkland's Island. Choiseul's own conduct seems to have been not a
little equivocal. His friends maintained that his existence as a
minister depended on his preventing a war, and he certainly confuted the
Comptroller-General's plan of raising supplies for it. Yet, it is now
said, that on the very morning of the Duke's disgrace, the King
reproached him, and said "Monsieur, je vous avois dit, que je ne voulois
pas la guerre;" and the Duke d'Aiguillon's friends have officiously
whispered, that if Choiseul was out it would certainly be peace; but did
not Lord Chatham, immediately before he was Minister, protest not half a
man should be sent to Germany, and yet, were not all our men and all our
money sent thither? The Chevalier de Muy is made Secretary-at-War, and
it is supposed Monsieur d'Aiguillon is, or will be, the Minister.

Thus Abishag[1] has strangled an Administration that had lasted fourteen
years. I am sincerely grieved for the Duchess de Choiseul, the most
perfect being I know of either sex. I cannot possibly feel for her
husband: Corsica is engraved in my memory, as I believe it is on your
heart. His cruelties there, I should think, would not cheer his solitude
or prison. In the mean time, desolation and confusion reign all over
France. They are almost bankrupts, and quite famished.