I could to corrupt him with six more, but he is immaculate—­and when our posterity is abominably bad, as all posterity always is till it grows one’s ancestors, I hope Mr. Deard’s integrity will be quoted to them as an instance of the virtues that adorned the simple and barbarous age of George the Second.  Oh!  I can tell you the age of George the Second is likely to be celebrated for more primitivity than the disinterestedness of Mr. Deard-here is such a victory come over that—­it can’t get over.  Mr. Yorke has sent word that a Captain Ligonier is coming from Prince Ferdinand to tell us that his Serene Highness has beaten Monsieur Contades to such a degree, that every house in London is illuminated, every street has two bonfires, every bonfire has two hundred squibs, and the poor charming moon yonder, that never looked so well in her life, is not at all minded, but seems only staring out of a garret window at the frantic doings all over the town.(1050) We don’t know a single particular, but we conclude that Prince Ferdinand received all his directions from my Lord Granby, who is the mob’s hero.  We are a little afraid, if we could fear any thing to-night, that the defeat of the Russians by General Weidel was a mistake for this victory of Prince Ferdinand.  Pray Heaven! neither of these glories be turned sour, by staying so long at sea!  You said in your last, what slaughter must be committed by the end of August!  Alas! my dear Sir, so there is by the beginning of it; and we, wretched creatures, are forced to be glad of it, because the greatest part falls on our enemies.

Fifteen hundred men have stolen from Dunkirk, and are said to be sailed northward—­some think, to Embden—­too poor a pittance surely where they thought themselves so superior, unless they meaned to hinder our receiving our own troops from thence—­as paltry, too, if this is their invasion—­but if to Scotland, not quite a joke.  However, Prince Ferdinand seems to have found employment for the rest of their troops, and Monsieur de Botta will not talk to you in so high a style.

D’Aubreu, the pert Spanish minister, said the other day at court to poor Alt, the Hessian, “Monsieur, je vous f`elicite; Munster est pris.”  Mr. Pitt, who overheard this cruel apostrophe, called out, “Et moi, Monsieur Alt, Je vous f`elicite; les Russes sont battus.”

I am here in town almost every day; Mrs. Leneve, who has long lived with my father, and with me, is at the point of death; she is seventy-three, and has passed twenty-four of them in continual ill health; so I can but wish her released.  Her long friendship with our family makes this attention a duty; otherwise I should certainly not be in town this most gorgeous of all summers!  I should like to know in how many letters this wonderful summer has been talked of.

It is above two years, I think, since you sent home any of my letters—­will you by any convenient opportunity?

Adieu!  There is great impatience, as you may believe, to learn the welfare of our young lords and heroes—­there are the Duke of Richmond, Lord Granby, Lord George Sackville, Lord Downe, Fitzroy, General Waldegrave, and others of rank.