Do you believe me, my good Sir, when I tell you all these strange tales?  Do you think me distracted, or that your country is so?  Does not this letter seem an olio composed of ingredients picked out of the history of Charles I., of Clodius and Sesostris, and the “Arabian Nights”?  Yet I could have coloured it higher without trespassing on truth; but when I, inured to the climate of my own country, can scarcely believe what I hear and see, how should you, who converse only with the ordinary race of men and women, give credit to what I have ventured to relate, merely because in forty years I have constantly endeavoured to tell you nothing but truth?  Moreover, I commonly reserve passages that are not of public notoriety, not having the smallest inclination to put the credulity of foreign post-offices to the test.  I would have them think that we are only mad with valour, and that Lord Chatham’s cloak has been divided into shreds no bigger than a silver penny amongst our soldiers and sailors.  Adieu!

RODNEY’S VICTORY—­WALPOLE INCLINES TO WITHDRAW FROM AMUSEMENTS.

TO SIR HORACE MANN.

BERKELEY SQUARE, March 3, 1780.

As my last letter probably alarmed you, I write again to tell you that nothing decisive has happened.  The troops of the Palace even rallied a little yesterday on Mr. Burke’s Bill of Reformation, or Reduction, yet with evident symptoms of caution; for Lord North, who wished to defer the second reading, ventured to put it only to next Wednesday, instead of to-day; and would have carried a longer adjournment with still greater difficulty, for his majority was but of 35, and the minority remained 195, a very formidable number.  The Associations in the counties increase, though not rapidly:  yet it will be difficult for the Court to stem such a torrent; and, I imagine, full as difficult for any man of temper to direct them wholesomely.  Ireland is still more impetuous.

Fortunately, happily, the tide abroad seems turned.  Sir George Rodney’s victory[1] proves more considerable than it appeared at first.  It secures Gibraltar, eases your Mediterranean a little, and must vex the Spaniards and their monarch, not satisfied before with his cousin of Bourbon.  Admiral Parker has had great success too amongst the latter’s transports.  Oh! that all these elements of mischief may jumble into peace!  Monsieur Necker[2] alone shines in the quarter of France; but he is carrying the war into the domains of the Church, where one cannot help wishing him success.  If he can root out monks, the Pope will have less occasion to allow gras, because we cannot supply them with maigre.  It is droll that the Protestant Necker, and we Protestant fishmongers, should overset the system of fasting; but ancient Alcorans could not foresee modern contingencies.

[Footnote 1:  On January 8th Sir George Rodney defeated the Spanish fleet, which was on its way to join the force blockading Gibraltar, and took the commander himself, Don Juan de Langara, prisoner.]