ill, and in great danger. I would not
alarm you, as there were hopes when he was at the worst. I doubt he is
not free yet from his complaint, as the humour fallen on his breast
still oppresses him. They talk of his having a levee next week, but he
has not appeared in public, and the bills are passed by commission; but
he rides out. The Royal Family have suffered like us mortals; the Duke
of Gloucester has had a fever, but I believe his chief complaint is of
a youthful kind. Prince Frederick is thought to be in a deep
consumption; and for the Duke of Cumberland, next post will probably
certify you of his death, as he is relapsed, and there are no hopes of
him. He fell into his lethargy again, and when they waked him, he said
he did not know whether he could call himself obliged to them.

I dined two days ago at Monsieur de Guerchy's, with the Count de
Caraman, who brought me your letter. He seems a very agreeable man, and
you may be sure, for your sake, and Madame de Mirepoix's, no civilities
in my power shall be wanting. I have not yet seen Schouvaloff,[1] about
whom one has more curiosity--it is an opportunity of gratifying that
passion which one can so seldom do in personages of his historic nature,
especially remote foreigners. I wish M. de Caraman had brought the
"Siege of Calais," which he tells me is printed, though your account has
a little abated my impatience. They tell us the French comedians are to
act at Calais this summer--is it possible they can be so absurd, or
think us so absurd as to go thither, if we would not go further? I
remember, at Rheims, they believed that English ladies went to Calais to
drink champagne--is this the suite of that belief? I was mightily
pleased with the Duc de Choiseul's answer to the Clairon;[2] but when I
hear of the French admiration of Garrick, it takes off something of my
wonder at the prodigious adoration of him at home. I never could
conceive the marvellous merit of repeating the works of others in one's
own language with propriety, however well delivered. Shakespeare is not
more admired for writing his plays, than Garrick for acting them. I
think him a very good and very various player--but several have pleased
me more, though I allow not in so many parts. Quin[3] in Falstaff, was
as excellent as Garrick[4] in Lear. Old Johnson far more natural in
everything he attempted. Mrs. Porter and your Dumesnil surpassed him in
passionate tragedy; Cibber and O'Brien were what Garr