You may imagine how little I like our situation; but I don’t despair.  The little use they made, or could make of their victory; their not having marched into England; their miscarriage at the Castle of Edinburgh; the arrival of our forces, and the non-arrival of any French or Spanish, make me conceive great hopes of getting over this ugly business.  But it is still an affair wherein the chance of battles, or perhaps of one battle, may decide.

I write you but short letters, considering the circumstances of the time; but I hate to send you paragraphs only to contradict them again:  I still less choose to forge events; and, indeed, am glad I have so few to tell you.

My Lady O[rford] has forced herself upon her mother, who receives her very coolly:  she talks highly of her demands, and quietly of her methods:  the fruitlessness of either will, I hope, soon send her back—­I am sorry it must be to you!

You mention Holdisworth:[1] he has had the confidence to come and visit me within these ten days; and (I suppose, from the overflowing of his joy) talked a great deal and quick—­with as little sense as when he was more tedious.

[Footnote 1:  A nonjuror, who travelled with Mr. George Pitt.—­WALPOLE.]

Since I wrote this, I hear the Countess [of Orford] has told her mother, that she thinks her husband the best of our family, and me the worst—­nobody so bad, except you!  I don’t wonder at my being so ill with her; but what have you done? or is it, that we are worse than anybody, because we know more of her than anybody does?  Adieu!

GALLANT RESISTANCE OF CARLISLE—­MR. PITT ATTACKS THE MINISTRY.

TO SIR HORACE MANN.

ARLINGTON STREET, Nov. 22, 1745.

For these two days we have been expecting news of a battle.  Wade marched last Saturday from Newcastle, and must have got up with the rebels if they stayed for him, though the roads are exceedingly bad and great quantities of snow have fallen.  But last night there was some notice of a body of rebels being advanced to Penryth.  We were put into great spirits by an heroic letter from the Mayor of Carlisle, who had fired on the rebels and made them retire; he concluded with saying, “And so I think the town of Carlisle has done his Majesty more service than the great city of Edinburgh, or than all Scotland together.”  But this hero, who was grown the whole fashion for four-and-twenty hours, had chosen to stop all other letters.  The King spoke of him at his levee with great encomiums; Lord Stair said, “Yes, sir, Mr. Patterson has behaved very bravely.”  The Duke of Bedford interrupted him; “My lord, his name is not Paterson; that is a Scotch name; his name is Patinson.”  But, alack! the next day the rebels returned, having placed the women and children of the country in waggons in front of their army, and forcing the peasants to fix the scaling-ladders.  The great Mr. Pattinson,