We have had another great day in the House on the army in Flanders, which the Opposition were for disbanding; but we carried it by a hundred and twenty.  Murray spoke for the first time, with the greatest applause; Pitt answered him with all his force and art of language, but on an ill-founded argument.  In all appearances, they will be great rivals.  Shippen was in great rage at Murray’s apostacy; if anything can really change his principles, possibly this competition may.  To-morrow we shall have a tougher battle on the sixteen thousand Hanoverians. Hanover is the word given out for this winter:  there is a most bold pamphlet come out, said to be Lord Marchmont’s, which affirms that in every treaty made since the accession of this family, England has been sacrificed to the interests of Hanover, and consequently insinuates the incompatibility of the two.  Lord Chesterfield says “that if we have a mind effectually to prevent the Pretender from ever obtaining this crown, we should make him Elector of Hanover, for the people of England will never fetch another king from thence.”

Adieu! my dear child.  I am sensible that I write you short letters, but I write you all I know.  I don’t know how it is, but the wonderful seems worn out.  In this our day, we have no rabbit-women—­no elopements—­no epic poems, finer than Milton’s—­no contest about Harlequins and Polly Peachems.  Jansen[1] has won no more estates, and the Duchess of Queensberry has grown as tame as her neighbours.  Whist has spread an universal opium over the whole nation; it makes courtiers and patriots sit down to the same pack of cards.  The only thing extraordinary, and which yet did not seem to surprise anybody, was the Barbarina’s being attacked by four men masqued, the other night, as she came out of the Opera House, who would have forced her away; but she screamed, and the guard came.  Nobody knows who set them on, and I believe nobody inquired.

[Footnote 1:  H. Jansen, a celebrated gamester, who cheated the Duke of Bedford of an immense sum:  Pope hints at that affair in this line,

    Or when a duke to Jansen punts at White’s.]

The Austrians in Flanders have separated from our troops a little out of humour, because it was impracticable for them to march without any preparatory provision for their reception.  They will probably march in two months, if no peace prevents it.  Adieu!

KING THEODORE—­HANDEL INTRODUCES ORATORIOS.

TO SIR HORACE MANN.

ARLINGTON STREET, Feb. 24, 1743.

I write to you in the greatest hurry in the world, but write I will.  Besides, I must wish you joy:  you are warriors; nay, conquerors[1]; two things quite novel in this war, for hitherto it has been armies without fighting, and deaths without killing.  We talk of this battle as of a comet; “Have you heard of the battle?” it is so strange a thing, that numbers imagine you may go and see it