The politicians of London, who at present are not the most numerous corporation, are warm on a Bill for a new regulation of the East Indies, brought in by Mr. Fox.[1] Some even of his associates apprehended his being defeated, or meant to defeat him; but his marvellous abilities have hitherto triumphed conspicuously, and on two divisions in the House of Commons he had majorities of 109 and 114.  On that field he will certainly be victorious:  the forces will be more nearly balanced when the Lords fight the battle; but, though the Opposition will have more generals and more able, he is confident that his troops will overmatch theirs; and, in Parliamentary engagements, a superiority of numbers is not vanquished by the talents of the commanders, as often happens in more martial encounters.  His competitor, Mr. Pitt, appears by no means an adequate rival.  Just like their fathers, Mr. Pitt has brilliant language, Mr. Fox solid sense; and such luminous powers of displaying it clearly, that mere eloquence is but a Bristol stone, when set by the diamond Reason.

[Footnote 1:  In the session of 1783 Fox, as the leader of the Coalition Ministry in the House of Commons, brought in a Bill for the reform of the government of India on the expiration of the existing Charter of the Company.  It was denounced by Pitt as having for its principal object the perpetuation of the administration by the enormous patronage it would place at the disposal of the Treasury; and, through the interposition of the King, whose conduct on this occasion must be confessed to have been wholly unconstitutional, it was defeated in the House of Lords.  The King on this dismissed the Ministry, and Pitt became Prime Minister.]

Do not wonder that we do not entirely attend to things of earth:  Fashion has ascended to a higher element.  All our views are directed to the air. Balloons occupy senators, philosophers, ladies, everybody.  France gave us the ton; and, as yet, we have not come up to our model.  Their monarch is so struck with the heroism of two of his subjects who adventured their persons in two of these new floating batteries, that he has ordered statues of them, and contributed a vast sum towards their marble immortality.  All this may be very important:  to me it looks somewhat foolish.  Very early in my life I remember this town at gaze on a man who flew down a rope from the top of St. Martin’s steeple; now, late in my day, people are staring at a voyage to the moon.  The former Icarus broke his neck at a subsequent flight:  when a similar accident happens to modern knights-errant, adieu to air-balloons.