P. S. The letters I mentioned to you, pretended to be Bower’s, are published, together with a most virulent pamphlet, but containing affidavits, and such strong assertions of facts as have staggered a great many people.  His escape and account of himself’ in Italy is strongly questioned.  I own I am very impatient for the answer he has promised.  I admire his book so much, and see such malice in his accusers, that I am strongly disposed to wish and think him a good man.  Do, for my private satisfaction, inquire and pick up all the anecdotes you can relating to him, and what is said and thought of him in Italy.  One accusation I am sure is false, his being a plagiary; there is no author from whom he could steal that ever wrote a quarter so well.

(703) “However the case may be with regard to Byng,” writes Mr. George Grenville to Mr. Pitt, on the first intelligence of the disaster, “what can be the excuse for sending a force, which at the utmost is scarcely equal to the enemy, upon so important and decisive an expedition?  Though, in the venality of this hour, it may be sufficient to throw the whole blame upon Byng, yet I will venture to say, the other is a question that, in the judgment of every impartial man, now and hereafter, will require a better answer, I am afraid, than can be given.  I believe be was not reckoned backward in point of personal courage, which makes this affair the more extraordinary, and induces me to wait for his own account of it, before I form an opinion of it.”  Chatham Correspondence, vol. i. p. 163.-E.

(704) Of Pomfret.

334 Letter 192
To George Montagu, Esq. 
Arlington Street, August 28, 1756.

As you were so kind as to interest yourself about the issue of my journey, I can tell you that I did get to Strawberry on Wednesday night, but it was half an hour past ten first--besides floods the whole day, I had twenty accidents with my chaise, and once saw one of the postilions with the wheel upon his body; he came off with making his nose bleed.  My castle, like a little ark, is surrounded with many waters, (and yesterday morning I saw the Blues wade half way up their horses through Teddington-lane.

There is nothing new but what the pamphlet shops produce; however it is pleasant to have a new print or ballad every day—­I never had an aversion to living in a Fronde.  The enclosed cards are the freshest treason; the portraits by George Townshend are droll—­the other is a dull obscure thing as can be.  The “Worlds” are by Lord Chesterfield on Decorum, and by a friend of yours and mine, who sent it before he went to Jersey; but this is a secret:  they neglected it till now, so preferable to hundreds they have published—­I suppose Mr. Moore finds, what every body else has found long, that he is aground.  I saw Lovel to-day; he is very far advanced and executes to perfection; you will be quite satisfied; I am not discontent with my own design, now I see how well it succeeds.  It will certainly be finished by Michaelmas, at which time I told him he might depend on his money, and he seemed fully satisfied.  My compliments to your brother, and adieu!