Tidings are every minute expected of a great sea-fight; Martin has got between the coast and the French fleet, which has sailed from Brest.  The victory in Italy is extremely big; but as none of my friends are aide-de-camps there, I know nothing of the particulars, except that the French and-Spaniards have lost ten thousand men.

All the inns about town are crowded with rebel Prisoners, and people are making parties of pleasure, which you know is the English genius, to hear their trials.  The Scotch, which you know is the Scotch genius, are loud in censuring the Duke for his severities in the highlands.

The great business of the town is Jack Spenser’s will, who has left Althorp and the Sunderland estate in reversion to Pitt; after more obligations and more pretended friendship for his brother, the Duke, than is conceivable.  The Duke is in the utmost uneasiness about it, having left the drawing of the writings for the estate to his brother and his grandmother, and without having any idea that himself was cut out of the entail.

I have heard nothing of Augustus Townshend’s will:  my lady, who you know hated him, came from the Opera t’other night, and on pulling off her gloves, and finding her hands all black, said immediately, “My hands are guilty, but my heart is free.”  Another good thing she said, to the Duchess of Bedford,(1229) who told her the Duke was windbound at Yarmouth, “Lord! he will hate Norfolk as much as I do.”

I wish, my dear George, you could meet with any man that could copy the beauties in the castle:  I did not care if it were even in Indian ink.  Will you inquire?  Eckardt has done your picture excellently well.  What shall I do with the original?  Leave it with him till you come?

Lord Bath and Lord Sandys have had their pockets picked at Cuper’s Gardens.  I fancy it was no bad scene, the avarice and jealousy of their peeresses on their return.  A terrible disgrace happened to Earl Cholmondeley t’other night at Ranelagh.  You know all the history of his letters to borrow money to pay for damask for his fine room at Richmond.  As he was going in, in the crowd, a woman offered him roses—­“Right damask, my lord!” he concluded she had been put upon it.  I was told, a-propos, a bon-mot on the scene in the Opera, where there is a view of his new room, and the farmer comes dancing out and shaking his purse.  Somebody said there was a tradesman had unexpectedly got his money.

I think I deal in bon-mots to-day.  I’ll tell you now another, but don’t print my letter in a new edition of Joe Miller’s jests.  The Duke has given Brigadier Mordaunt the Pretender’s coach, on condition he rode up to London in it.  “That I will, Sir,” said he, “and drive till it stops of its own accord at the Cocoa Tree.”

(1228) The Honourable Richard Arundel, second son to John, Lord Arundel, of Trerice.  He married, 1732, Lady Frances Manners, daughter of John, second Duke of Rutland.-E.