ster is always in the hand of one greedy favorite or another,
through whose eyes she sees, and to whose flattery or dependants she
gives away everything. Do you suppose that his Majesty, knowing England
so well as he does, would neglect such a man as General Webb? He ought
to be in the House of Peers as Lord Lydiard. The enemy and all Europe
know his merit; it is that very reputation which certain great people,
who hate all equality and independence, can never pardon." It was
intended that these conversations should be carried to Mr. Webb. They
were welcome to him, for great as his services were, no man could value
them more than John Richmond Webb did himself, and the differences
between him and Marlborough being notorious, his Grace's enemies in
the army and at home began to court Webb, and set him up against
the all-grasping, domineering chief. And soon after the victory of
Oudenarde, a glorious opportunity fell into General Webb's way, which
that gallant warrior did not neglect, and which gave him the means of
immensely increasing his reputation at home.

After Oudenarde, and against the counsels of Marlborough, it was
said, the Prince of Savoy sat down before Lille, the capital of French
Flanders, and commenced that siege, the most celebrated of our time,
and almost as famous as the siege of Troy itself, for the feats of valor
performed in the assault and the defence. The enmity of the Prince of
Savoy against the French king was a furious personal hate, quite unlike
the calm hostility of our great English general, who was no more moved
by the game of war than that of billiards, and pushed forward his
squadrons, and drove his red battalions hither and thither as calmly as
he would combine a stroke or make a cannon with the balls. The game
over (and he played it so as to be pretty sure to win it), not the
least animosity against the other party remained in the breast of this
consummate tactician. Whereas between the Prince of Savoy and the French
it was guerre a mort. Beaten off in one quarter, as he had been at
Toulon in the last year, he was back again on another frontier of
France, assailing it with his indefatigable fury. When the Prince came
to the army, the smouldering fires of war were lighted up and burst
out into a flame. Our phlegmatic Dutch allies were made to advance at a
quick march--our calm Duke forced into action. The Prince was an army
in himself against the French; the energy of his hatred, prodigiou