We are every day nearer confusion.  The King is in as bad humour as a monarch can be; he wants to go abroad, and is detained by the Mediterranean affair; the inquiry into which was moved by a Major Selwyn, a dirty pensioner, half-turned patriot, by the Court being overstocked with votes.  This inquiry takes up the whole time of the House of Commons, but I don’t see what conclusion it can have.  My confinement has kept me from being there, except the first day; and all I know of what is yet come out is, as it was stated by a Scotch member the other day, “that there had been one (Matthews)[1] with a bad head, another (Lestock) with a worse heart, and four (the captains of the inactive ships) with na heart at all.”  Among the numerous visits of form that I have received, one was from my Lord Sandys:  as we two could only converse upon general topics, we fell upon this of the Mediterranean, and I made him allow, “that, to be sure, there is not so bad a court of justice in the world as the House of Commons; and how hard it is upon any man to have his cause tried there!"...

[Footnote 1:  Admiral Matthews, an officer of great courage and skill, was Commander-in-chief of the Mediterranean fleet.  Lestock, his second in command, was also a skilful officer; but the two were on bad terms, and when, in February, 1744, Matthews attacked the Spanish fleet, Lestock disobeyed his signals, and by his misconduct deprived Matthews of a splendid victory, which was clearly within his grasp.  Court-martials were held on the conduct of both officers; but the Admiralty was determined to crush Matthews, as being a member of the House of Commons and belonging to the party of Opposition, and the consequence was that, though Lestock’s misconduct was clearly proved, he was acquitted, and Matthews was sentenced to be cashiered, and declared incapable of any further employment in his Majesty’s service.  The whole is perhaps the most disgraceful transaction in the history of the navy or of the country. (See the Editor’s “History of the British Navy,” i. 203-214.)]

The town flocks to a new play of Thomson’s called “Tancred and Sigismunda:”  it is very dull; I have read it.  I cannot bear modern poetry; these refiners of the purity of the stage, and of the incorrectness of English verse, are most wofully insipid.  I had rather have written the most absurd lines in Lee, than “Leonidas” or “The Seasons;” as I had rather be put into the round-house for a wrong-headed quarrel, than sup quietly at eight o’clock with my grandmother.  There is another of these tame genius’s, a Mr. Akenside, who writes Odes:  in one he has lately published, he says, “Light the tapers, urge the fire."[1] Had not you rather make gods “jostle in the dark,” than light the candles for fear they should break their heads?  One Russel, a mimic, has a puppet-show to ridicule Operas; I hear, very dull, not to mention its being twenty years too late:  it consists of three acts, with foolish Italian songs burlesqued in Italian.