w
down their arms and fled, run over my Lord Harcourt, who was going to
fetch the new Queen; in short, I don't know how it was, but Mr. Conway
is safe, and I am as happy as Mr. Pitt himself. We have only lost a
Lieutenant-colonel Keith; Colonel Marlay and Harry Townshend are
wounded.

[Footnote 1: Mdlle. Scuderi and her brother were writers of romances of
enormous length, and, in their time, of great popularity (see
D'Israeli's account of them, "Curiosities of Literature," i. 105).]

[Footnote 2: "_Defeat two French marshals_"--they were Marechal de
Broglie and the Prince de Soubise. The action, which, however, was of
but little importance, is called by Lacretelle "Le Combat de
Fillingshausen."]

[Footnote 3: Colonel Eyre Coote, the best soldier next to Clive himself
that India had yet seen, had defeated the French Governor, Count Lally,
at Wandewash in January, 1760; and the capture of Pondicherry was one
important fruit of the victory.]

I could beat myself for not having a flag ready to display on my round
tower, and guns mounted on all my battlements. Instead of that, I have
been foolishly trying on my new pictures upon my gallery. However, the
oratory of our Lady of Strawberry shall be dedicated next year on the
anniversary of Mr. Conway's safety. Think with his intrepidity, and
delicacy of honour wounded, what I had to apprehend; you shall
absolutely be here on the sixteenth of next July. Mr. Hamilton tells me
your King does not set out for his new dominions till the day after the
Coronation; if you will come to it, I can give you a very good place for
the procession; where, is a profound secret, because, if known, I should
be teased to death, and none but my first friends shall be admitted. I
dined with your secretary [Single-speech Hamilton] yesterday; there were
Garrick and a young Mr. Burke[1]--who wrote a book in the style of Lord
Bolingbroke, that was much admired. He is a sensible man, but has not
worn off his authorism yet, and thinks there is nothing so charming as
writers, and to be one. He will know better one of these days. I like
Hamilton's little Marly; we walked in the great _allee_, and drank tea
in the arbour of treillage; they talked of Shakspeare and Booth, of
Swift and my Lord Bath, and I was thinking of Madame Sevigne. Good
night--I have a dozen other letters to write; I must tell my friends how
happy I am--not as an Englishman, but as a cousin.

[Footnote 1: Mr. Burke's book was "A Vind