The reason why Foote did not produce his "take-off" of the Duchess of Kingston as Lady Kitty Crocodile has never transpired. According to one account, he had threatened to caricature her in the hopes of levying blackmail on her to stop the production; according to another, he received threats that made him fear for his life, or at least a public horse-whipping, if he proceeded, and he altered the character. But he was very angry, and to be revenged he produced a piece, _The Capuchin_, which was the original _Trip to Calais_ altered, but his satire was transferred from the Duchess to her chaplain, named Jackson, whom he held up to public scorn as Doctor Viper. Jackson was furious, and trumped up a vile charge against Foote, by the aid of a coachman whom the actor had discharged from his service for misconduct. Foote had made so many enemies that those whom he had wounded and mortified found the money for a prosecution; and the case was tried at King's Bench before Lord Mansfield and a special jury. But it broke down completely, and Foote was acquitted. As soon as the trial was over, his fellow dramatist Murphy took a coach and drove to Foote's house in Suffolk Street, Charing Cross, to be the first messenger of the good tidings. Foote had been looking out of the window in anxious expectation of such a message. Murphy, as soon as he perceived him, waved his hat in token of victory, and jumping out of the coach, ran upstairs, to find Foote extended on the floor, in hysterics. In this condition he continued for nearly an hour before he could be recovered to any kind of recollection of himself. The charge, and the anxiety of the trial, broke his heart; he never thoroughly rallied after it, and sold his patent in the Haymarket Theatre to George Colman on January 16th, 1777. By the terms of this agreement Colman obliged himself to pay Foote an annuity of sixteen hundred pounds. Having in some degree recovered his health, he was advised by his physician to try the south of France during the winter; and with this intent he reached Dover on the 20th October, 1777, on his way to Calais. Whilst at Dover, he went into the kitchen of the inn to order a particular dish for dinner, and the cook, understanding that he was about to embark for France, began to brag of her powers, and defy him to find any better _cuisine_ abroad, though, for her part, she said, she had never crossed the water. "Why cookey," said Foote, "that cannot be, for above stairs they informed me you have been several times _all over grease_ (Greece)." "They may say what they like," retorted she, "but I was never ten miles from Dover in all my life." "Nay, now," said Foote, "that must be a fib, for I myself have seen you at _Spit-head_."