brother Lord Brownlowe, the present Duke;-and the grandson of Peter Burrell, a broken merchant, is husband of the Lady Great Chamberlain of England, with a barony and half the Ancaster estate. Old Madam Peter is living, to behold all this deluge of wealth and honours on her race. The Duchesses of Ancaster have not been less singular. The last three were never sober. The present Duchess Dowager was natural daughter of Panton, a disreputable horsejockey of Newmarket; and the new Duchess was some lady's woman, or young lady's governess. Fortune was in her most jocular moods when she made all these matches, or had a mind to torment the Heralds' office.*

11th.

Last night I received from town the medal you promised me on the Moorish alliance. It is at least as magnificent as the occasion required, and yet not well executed. The medallist Siriez, I conclude, is grandson of my old acquaintance Louis Siriezt of the Palazzo Vecchio.

Yesterday's Gazette issued a proclamation on the expected invasion from Havre, where they are embarking mightily.§ Some think the attempt will be on Portsmouth. To sweeten this pill, Clinton has taken a fort and seventy men-not near Portsmouth, but New York; and there were reports at the latter that Charlestown is likely to surrender. This would be something, if there were not a French war and a Spanish war in the way between us and Carolina. Sir Charles Hardy is at Torbay with the whole fleet, which perhaps was not part of the plan at Havre: we shall see, and you shall hear, if any thing passes.

Friday night, July 16th.

Your nephew has sent me word that he will breakfast with me tomorrow, but shall not have time to dine. I have nothing to add to the foregoing general picture. We have been bidden even by proclamation to expect an invasion, and troops and provisions have for this week been said to be embarked. Still I do not much expect a serious descent. The French, I think, have better chances with less risk. They may ruin us in detail. The fleet is at present at home or very near, and very strong; nor do I think that the French plan is activity-but it is idle to talk of the present moment, when it will be some time before you receive this. I am infinitely in more pain

* For an extended notice of the Burrell family, see Wraxall's Posthumous Historical Memoirs, vol. i. p. 21.-ED.

Between the Great-Duke of Tuscany and the Emperor of Morocco.

A French silversmith settled at Florence.

D'Orvilliers, having effected a junction with the Spanish fleet, and appeared off Plymouth with sixty sail of the line, a proclamation was issued on the 9th of July, commanding all horses and cattle to be driven from the coast. Great consternation prevailed along the whole line of the coast, and many who had the means withdrew into the interior.-ED.

about Mr. Conway, who is in the midst of the storm in a nutshell, and I know will defend himself as if he was in the strongest fortification in Flanders-and, which is as bad, I believe the Court would sacrifice the island to sacrifice him. They played that infamous game last year on Keppel, when ten thousand times more was at stake. They look at the biggest objects through the diminishing end of every telescope; and, the higher they who look, the more malignant and mean the eye.

I send you "The Mysterious Mother," and a pair of bootikins; you shall have large supplies if they prove of service-yet I would not have you even try them, unless attacked in your head or stomach. You can never have much gout in your limbs, as it attacks you so late, and little fits will prolong your life. You must put them on at night and tie them as tight as you can bear, the flannel next to your flesh, the oilskin over. In the morning before you rise, you must dry your feet with a hot napkin, and put on a pair of warm stockings freshly aired; over the bootikins at night, a pair of thread stockings.

The Duchess Dowager of Ancaster, Lady Elizabeth Burrell, and the new Duke and Duchess, have all written to Lady Horatia, acknowledging that the late Duke was to have married her. The two first have expressed themselves in the tenderest manner; the others wrote only for form. The Mother-Duchess approves of my niece going into mourning, which she does for six months. The poor young man, his father's absurd will not standing good, made a new, and most rational one four years ago, in which he gives the seat of the family and 5000l. to the present Duke and to the title, and adds 18001. a-year to his mother's jointure. Such symptoms of sense and feeling double the loss.

Adieu! my dear sir. In what manner we are to be undone, I do not guess; but I see no way by which we can escape happily out of this crisis-I mean, preserve the country and recover the Constitution. I thought for four years that calamity would bring us to our senses : but alas! we have none left to be brought to. We shall now suffer a great deal, submit at last to a humiliating peace, and people will be content. So adieu, England! it will be more or less a province or kind of province to France, and its viceroy will be, in what does not concern France, its despot-and will be content too! I shall not pity the country I shall feel only for those who grieve with me at its abject state; or for posterity, if they do not, like other degraded nations, grow callously reconciled to their ignominy.

LETTER CCCX.

Strawberry Hill, Aug. 4, 1779.

I EMPLOY a secretary, to spare one of my eyes, which is tormented with an inflammation. As it comes by fits, I impute it to my old ene

my the gout; who, of all distempers, is the greatest harlequin. This charge is not made to avoid an unwillingness of owning that the breach may have been made by the general foe, old age; though its ally, the gout, may take advantage of the weak place.

I sent you a long letter by your nephew: it leaves me nothing to add but events, and of them there have been none, except the safe arrival of our great West Indian fleet, worth between two and three millions. I don't know why the fleets of Bourbon suffered it to pass quietly, unless to return the compliment of our not meddling with their Domingo fleet. We heard last week that Gibraltar was invested: not more is confirmed than that great preparations are making in Spain for the siege. We, or at least I, do not know what numbers of the latter's ships have joined the French: they certainly out-number Sir Charles Hardy's squadron; yet so noble a navy as his we never set forth, and it will cost them destruction to master it. They threaten us mightily from Havre and St. Maloes; but we are prepared, and I think they will prefer cheaper laurels elsewhere.

This is but a negative description; and merely in compliance with your desire of frequent letters. Private news we have none, but what I have long been bidden to expect, the completion of the sale of the pictures at Houghton to the Czarina. The sum stipulated is forty or forty-five thousand pounds, I neither know nor care which; nor whether the picture-merchant ever receives the whole sum, which probably he will not do, as I hear it is to be discharged at three payments -a miserable bargain for a mighty empress! Fresh lovers, and fresh, will perhaps intercept the second and third payments. Well! adieu to Houghton! about its mad master I shall never trouble myself more. From the moment he came into possession, he has undermined every act of my father that was within his reach, but, having none of that great man's sense or virtues, he could only lay wild hands on lands and houses; and, since he has stripped Houghton of its glory, I do not care a straw what he does with the stone or the acres. The happiness my father entailed on this country has been thrown away in as distracted a manner, but his fame will not be injured by the insanity of any of his successors. We have paid a fine for having cut off the entail, but shall not so easily suffer a recovery.

General Conway is still in his little island, which I trust is too diminutive to be descried by an Armada. I do not desire to have him achieve an Iliad in a nutshell.

5th.

You perceive my eye is better, but I must not use it much. Yesterday came an account of the conquest of St. Vincent by the French.*

In June, during the absence of the British fleet, a handful of French from Martinico under the command only of a naval lieutenant, estimated at four hundred and fifty men, not above half of whom were regulars, having ventured to land upon the island of St. Vincent, garrisoned by seven companies of regular troops, the island was delivered up to them, without the firing of a single shot on either side.-ED.

The poor Caribs assisted them, and are revenged on us: I cannot blame them. How impolitic is injustice, when man cannot command fortune! I still cannot help conjecturing that France will prefer demolishing all our outworks to attempting invasion here, where we are so mightily prepared. We fear they will not engage Sir Charles Hardy, though superior in number; as he has at least thirty-eight such ships, and such able and tried captains in them, as they cannot match. By thus detaining all our force at home, distant quarters are half at their mercy. They themselves think America much disposed to return to us, and therefore will probably not hazard a defeat here, which would leave us time to treat with the Colonies. But I must not let my eye talk of politics. Good night!

LETTER CCCXI.

Strawberry Hill, Aug. 19, 1779. THE French and Spanish squadrons, of sixty sail, passed by Sir Charles Hardy without meeting; and on the 14th, chased three of our men-of-war, that were going to join him, into Plymouth. Today an account is come that the enemy's fleet of fifty-six sail, is anchored before that fleet. Whether hoping to burn it, or to wait for their transports I do not pretend to say, as there are different opinions. Hardy will undoubtedly attack them as soon as he can ; but the easterly wind keeps him out at sea.

I would write to you, to mark my constant attention; but it is difficult for one so totally uninformed as I am to speak on such great events when pending, and as improper when the sea swarms with privateers, and my letter must pass through so many post-offices. You know me well enough to guess at my sentiments. You know me an unalterable Englishman, who loves his country and devoutly wishes its prosperity. Such I am, ardent for England, and ever shall be; it is all a useless old man can do, to pray for its lasting prosperity. The events of war must be accepted with constancy, good or bad. You, a minister of peace and at a distance, will be anxious for every post. Good news you shall have instantly: I hope I shall have nothing sinister to send you. I may not be at hand immediately to tell you every thing; I have female relations whose husbands may be in action, whose spirits I must keep up, and who are in different counties; but I shall never be long from home. Every man must do the utmost he can in his sphere when his country is concerned, and private duties must be attended to too. I have lived long enough to possess calmness enough for my use. It has long been my maxim, that most things are excusable in the passions of youth; but that an old man is bound to think of nothing but what is right, and to be serviceable to others. Virtues, if one has any, shine brightest when put to the trial; but ostentation may taint even them. My father is ever

before my eyes-not to attempt to imitate him, for I have none of his matchless wisdom, or unsullied virtues, or heroic firmness; but sixtytwo years have taught me to gaze on him with ten thousand times the reverence that I speak it with deep shame-I felt for him at twentytwo, when he stood before me! I must check this theme, it would carry me too far; and it is at midnight I am writing, and my letter must go to London at eight in the morning. Adieu! my dear sir: may I send you victories while we are at war; but being no military man, I may be allowed to wish I could send you peace!

LETTER CCCXII.

Strawberry Hill, Sep. 5, 1779.

IF I tell you nothing but truth, my letter will be wondrously short. Since my last, there have been no events but what in modern phrase, are called movements. The combined fleets appeared before Plymouth, and disappeared. Sir Charles Hardy was driven westward. The Ardent, mistaking enemies for friends, fell among them; but Captain Boteler was thrown so little off his guard, that it took four ships to master him, and his own sunk as soon as he and his men were received on board the victors. Monsieur D'Orvilliers, admiring his gallantry, applauded it. He modestly replied, “you will find every captain in our fleet behave in the same manner."* Un tel déportement donne ú penser. At last we heard of Sir Charles Hardy off Plymouth, and yesterday at Portsmouth. Where the combined are, I know not precisely; but, that such extended lines should not have caught the eye of each other, is very surprising to us inexpert in winds and tides. On those I never allow myself to conjecture or reason; and thus I have told you all the little I know, disrobed of the reports and lies of each new day. Opinions, were I informed enough to frame them, would be stale ere they could reach you. I write rather to extract the small truth there is in newspapers and interested relations, than to swell your imagination. My letter must pass through so many inquisitions, that it is necessary it should be able to stand the test.

There is not a word of private news. All the world are politicians, or soldiers; or, rather, both. I hope they will improve more in the latter profession than they have done in the former. Even this little quiet village is grown a camp. Servants are learning to fire all day

* Captain Boteler had orders to join Sir Charles Hardy's fleet supposed to be cruising in Channel soundings. He had received no intimation that the enemy had put to sea, when he suddenly fell in with a fleet which made him the private sig nal. So little idea had he of its being the enemy, that he was occupied in reefing his topsails, when a frigate poured her broadside into him. At once engaged with four of the enemy's frigates, and a powerful force coming up to their support, he was compelled to strike, and for this—he was dismissed the service!"-Life of Keppel, vol. ii. p. 257.-ED.