ARLINGTON STREET, _Sept._ 13, 1759.
With your unathletic constitution I think you will have a greater weight
of glory to represent than you can bear. You will be as _épuisé_ as
Princess Craon with all the triumphs over Niagara, Ticonderoga,
Crown-point, and such a parcel of long names. You will ruin yourself in
French horns, to exceed those of Marshal Botta, who has certainly found
out a pleasant way of announcing victories. Besides, _all_ the West
Indies, which we have taken by a panic, there is Admiral Boscawen has
demolished the Toulon squadron, and has made _you_ Viceroy of the
Mediterranean. I really believe the French will come hither now, for
they can be safe nowhere else. If the King of Prussia should be totally
undone in Germany,[1] we can afford to give him an appanage, as a
younger son of England, of some hundred thousand miles on the Ohio. Sure
universal monarchy was never so put to shame as that of France! What a
figure do they make! They seem to have no ministers, no generals, no
soldiers! If anything could be more ridiculous than their behaviour in
the field, it would be in the cabinet! Their invasion appears not to
have been designed against us, but against their own people, who, they
fear, will mutiny, and to quiet whom they disperse expresses, with
accounts of the progress of their arms in England. They actually have
established posts, to whom people are directed to send their letters for
their friends _in England_. If, therefore, you hear that the French have
established themselves at Exeter or at Norwich, don't be alarmed, nor
undeceive the poor women who are writing to their husbands for English
baubles.
[Footnote 1: Frederic the Great had sustained a severe defeat at
Hochkirch in October, 1758, and a still more terrible one in August of
this year from Marshals Laudon and Soltikof at Kunersdorf. It seemed so
irreparable that for a moment he even contemplated putting an end to his
life; but he was saved from the worst consequences of the blow by
jealousies which sprang up between the Austrian and Russian commanders,
and preventing them from profiting by their victory as they might have
done.]
We have lost another Princess, Lady Elizabeth.[1] She died of an
inflammation in her bowels in two days. Her figure was so very
unfortunate, that it would have been difficult for her to be happy, but
her parts and application were extraordinary. I saw her act in "Cato" at
eight years old, (when she could not stand alone, but was forced to lean
against the side-scene,) better than any of her brothers and sisters.
She had been so unhealthy, that at that age she had not been taught to
read, but had learned the part of Lucia by hearing the others study
their parts. She went to her father and mother, and begged she might
act. They put her off as gently as they could--she desired leave to
repeat her part, and when she did, it was with so much sense, that there
was no denying her.
[Footnote 1: Second daughter of Frederick, Prince of Wales.--WALPOLE.]
I receive yours of August 25. To all your alarms for the King of
Prussia I subscribe. With little Brandenburgh he could not exhaust all
the forces of Bohemia, Hungary, Austria, Muscovy, Siberia, Tartary,
Sweden, &c., &c., &c.--but not to politicize too much, I believe the
world will come to be fought for somewhere between the North of Germany
and the back of Canada, between Count Daun and Sir William Johnson.[1]
[Footnote 1: Our General in America--WALPOLE.]
You guessed right about the King of Spain; he is dead, and the Queen
Dowager may once more have an opportunity of embroiling the little of
Europe that remains unembroiled.
Thank you, my dear Sir, for the Herculaneum and Caserta that you are
sending me. I wish the watch may arrive safe, to show you that I am not
insensible to all your attentions for me, but endeavour, at a great
distance, to imitate you in the execution of commissions.
I would keep this letter back for a post, that I might have but one
trouble of sending you Quebec too; but when one has taken so many
places, it is not worth while to wait for one more.
Lord George Sackville, the hero of all conversation, if one can be so
for not being a hero, is arrived. He immediately applied for a
Court-Martial, but was told it was impossible now, as the officers
necessary are in Germany. This was in writing from Lord Holdernesse--but
Lord Ligonier in words was more squab--"If he wanted a Court-Martial, he
might go seek it in Germany." All that could be taken from him, is, his
regiment, above two thousand pounds a year: commander in Germany at ten
pounds a day, between three and four thousand pounds: lieutenant-general
of the ordnance, one thousand five hundred pounds: a fort, three hundred
pounds. He remains with a patent place in Ireland of one thousand two
hundred pounds, and about two thousand pounds a year of his own and
wife's. With his parts and ambition it cannot end here; he calls himself
ruined, but when the Parliament meets, he will probably attempt some
sort of revenge.
They attribute, I don't know with what grounds, a sensible kind of plan
to the French; that De la Clue was to have pushed for Ireland, Thurot
for Scotland, and the Brest fleet for England--but before they lay such
great plans, they should take care of proper persons to execute them.[1]
[Footnote 1: De la Clue and the French were this year making unusual
efforts to establish a naval superiority over us, which they never had
done, and never will do. As is mentioned in this letter, one powerful
fleet was placed under De la Clue, another under Conflans, and a strong
squadron under Commodore Thurot. De la Clue, however, for many weeks
kept close in Toulon, resisting every endeavour of Boscawen to tempt him
out, till the English admiral was compelled to retire to Gibraltar for
the repair of some of his ships. De la Clue, not knowing which way he
had gone, thought he could steal through the Straits to join Conflans,
according to his original orders. But Boscawen caught him off Cape
Lagos, and gave him a decisive defeat, capturing five sail of the line,
and among them the flagship _L'Océan_ (80). Before the end of the year
Hawke almost destroyed the fleet of Conflans, capturing five and driving
the rest on shore; while Thurot, who at first had a gleam of success,
making one or two descents on the northern coast of Ireland, and even
capturing Carrickfergus, had, in the end, worse fortune than either of
his superior officers, being overtaken at the mouth of Belfast Lough by
Captain Elliott with a squadron of nearly equal force, when the whole of
the French squadron was taken and he himself was killed (the Editor's
"History of the British Navy," c. 12).]
I cannot help smiling at the great objects of our letters. We never
converse on a less topic than a kingdom. We are a kind of citizens of
the world, and battles and revolutions are the common incidents of our
neighbourhood. But that is and must be the case of distant
correspondences: Kings and Empresses that we never saw, are the only
persons we can be acquainted with in common. We can have no more
familiarity than the _Daily Advertiser_ would have if it wrote to the
_Florentine Gazette_. Adieu! My compliments to any monarch that lives
within five hundred miles of you.
_A YEAR OF TRIUMPHS._