A dinner did not often pass without an argument between him and the Duke, which was carried on with a great deal of heat on both sides. On such occasions Lazowski never gave up the shadow of an opinion, and being gifted with more natural fluency than the Duke, he had usually the better of the argument. This was equally to the credit of both. His employment was chiefly drawing up memorials upon political subjects for the Duke’s information, who was a vain man, and, without doubt, figured in conversation by this subsidiary assistance. His vanity appeared in one circumstance in which he attempted much more than he could perform. While he was in the bath, or dressing by his _valet de chambre_, he had three secretaries, to whom he pretended to dictate at the same time. One of them told Lazowski that it was scarcely credible how they were fatigued by his incessant blunders. Yet in France, perhaps, this very attempt gave a sort of reputation. It was suspected that he merely attempted this in imitation of Cæsar, who did the same thing, but in a very different manner, it is presumed, from the D. de Liancourt. With a view similar to that of retaining Lazowski, he gave an apartment to Jarré, an officer who had long been in the Russian service, and afterwards became famous for burning the suburbs of Courtray. He was well known in England as General Jarré, and placed at the head of the Military Asylum at Wycombe. While I was in France, M. Jarré published an octavo volume under the title of ‘Crédit National,’ a whimsical work, in which the arguments were very ill supported. Lazowski always showed me great friendliness, and I returned it with great constancy and truth. Among all the men I met with in France, attached to the higher classes or constituting them, all were infidels, and poor Lazowski of the number. He never lost himself so completely as when he entered into an argument upon the truth of Christianity with the Bishop of Llandaff, for, though civilly done, the Bishop ground him to powder. The latter, of course, thought him nothing but a frothy Frenchman, like most of his countrymen, with Voltaire in his head and the devil in his heart, all of whom would have talked the same language had they had the same opportunity. Before Lazowski and his pupils had learnt English, Symonds took them to Cambridge, and introduced them to the Bishop, who, understanding that the young men were of high rank in France, and knowing that he spoke French himself with difficulty, put on his canonicals to receive his foreign guests, and, entering the room with a most stately air, addressed them all in Latin, hinting to Symonds the propriety, as Latin was the language of that learned University, and, therefore, in using it he was classically right. The Frenchmen, of course, replied with plenty of bows and grimaces to every learned sentence rolled out in most majestic tone from the Bishop’s mouth, but giving no other answer. The Bishop was at last compelled to address them