Well, sir, what I foretold you has happened, and you feel already the effects of your bad conduct. You have been faithless to your king, and you are now treated by others in the same manner. They use you as the monkey did the cat. You are deceived, and since they find they can do with you whatever they please, they laugh at you now, and it will not last long before they send you with contempt about your business, and lest you should tell tales, they may very likely imprison you for life, or send you by some means or the other into another world. This will be the due reward of your treachery, cowardice, and mean actions. I prognosticated all these things to you in my last letter of July 8: since that time my friendship for you, of which I have given you undeniable proof, has grown very cool. You do not deserve that it should continue, since you have been unable to follow good advice, and to do what your honour and your duty require of you. You have, on the contrary, chosen to persevere in your wicked course of life. If you at that time had followed my advice, you would have set the king at liberty, by saving him, and your praise would have been immortal. You would then have satisfied the duties of a good subject, a faithful servant, and an honest man: you would have gained the applause not only of your countrymen, but even of all Europe: they would all have united to procure you rewards according to your merit, and proportionate to the services done to the king and to your country. And certainly nobody would have been more deserving of rewards. But now you are detested through the whole kingdom, and are everywhere laughed at. Much was expected from your loyalty, your love for the king, and from a sense of your own duty; but people were mistaken. You are now punished. You are infamous among the whole nation, and your name is mentioned with horror. At court you are laughed at and entertained with vain hopes; an imaginary greatness is shown you. You are treated with the empty title of Count, which will remain a monument of your want of faith, your weakness, your meanness, and your reproachful conduct. In the meantime, Struensee insults the king and the whole of the royal family, not because they have offended him, but only to show his unlimited power. He arrogates all honours to himself; he makes himself master of the kingdom, the concerns of the government, and of the king, whom he dishonours before the whole world; he disposes of the revenues of the kingdom in a despotic manner, and against all order. This wretch dares to place himself on a level with his master by drawing up an order, by which the signature of his name acquires the same authority that, by the constitution of the kingdom, only belongs to the signature of the king. Your meanness and unwarrantable conduct have assisted to raise him so high; you could have prevented this, and, therefore,