Mr. Chute gave you some account of the Independents:(1351) the committee have made a foolish affair of it, and cannot furnish a report.  Had it extended to three years ago, Lord Sandwich and Grenville(1352) of the admiralty would have made an admirable figure as dictators of some of the most Jacobite healths that ever were invented.  Lord Doneraile, who is made comptroller to the Prince, went to the committee, (whither all members have a right to go, though not to vote, as it is select, not secret,) and plagued Lyttelton to death, with pressing him to inquire into the healths of the year ’43.  The ministry are now trembling at home, with fear of losing the Scotch bills for humbling the Highland chiefs:  they have whittled them down almost to nothing, in complaisance to the Duke of Argyll:  and at last he deserts them.  Abroad they are in panics for Holland, where the French have at once besieged two towns, that must fall into their hands, though we have plumed ourselves so much on the Duke’s being at the head of a hundred and fifteen thousand men.

There has been an excellent civil war in the house of Finch:  our friend, Lady Charlotte,(1353( presented a daughter of John Finch, (him who was stabbed by Sally Salisbury,(1354)) his offspring by Mrs. Younger,(1355) whom he since married.  The King, Prince, and Princess received her:  her aunt, Lady Bel,(1356) forbad Lady Charlotte to present her to Princess Emily, whether, however, she carried her in defiance.  Lady Bel called it publishing a bastard at court, and would not present her—­think on the poor girl!  Lady Charlotte, with spirit, presented her herself.  Mr. W. Finch stepped up to his other sister, the Marchioness of Rockingham,(1357) and whispered her with his composed civility, that he knew it was a plot of her and Lady Bel to make Lady Charlotte miscarry.  The sable dame (who, it is said, is the blackest of the family, because she swept the chimney) replied, “This is not a place to be indecent, and therefore I shall only tell you that you are a rascal and a villain, and that if ever you dare to put your head into my house, I will kick you down stairs myself.”  Politesse Anglaise! lord Winchilsea (who, with his brother Edward, is embroiled with both sides) came in, and informed every body of any circumstances that tended to make both parties in the wrong.  I am impatient to hear how this operates between my Lady Pomfret and her friend, Lady Bel.  Don’t you remember how the Countess used to lug a half-length picture of the latter behind her post-chaise all over Italy, and have a new frame made for it in every town where she stopped? and have you forgot their correspondence, that poor lady Charlotte was daily and hourly employed to transcribe into a great book, with the proper names in red ink?  I have but just room to tell you that the King is perfectly well, and that the Pretender’s son was sent from Spain as soon as he arrived there.  Thank you for the news of Mr. Townshend.  Adieu!