to avoid fighting; as at Newmarket people pay their forfeit when they
foresee they should lose the race; though, if the whole army had fought,
and we had lost the day, one might have hoped to have come off for eight
battalions. Then they tell you that the French had
four-and-twenty-pounders, and that they must beat us by the superiority
of their cannon; so that to me it is grown a paradox, to war with a
nation who have a mathematical certainty of beating you; or else it is
still a stranger paradox, why you cannot have as large cannon as the
French.[1] This loss was balanced by a pompous account of the triumphs
of our invasion of Bretagne; which, in plain terms, I think, is reduced
to burning two or three villages and reimbarking: at least, two or three
of the transports are returned with this history, and know not what is
become of Lestock and the rest of the invasion. The young Pretender is
landed in France, with thirty Scotch, but in such a wretched condition
that his Highland Highness had no breeches.

[Footnote 1: Marshal Saxe had inspired his army with confidence that a
day of battle was sure to be a day of victory, as was shown by the
theatrical company which accompanied the camp. After the performance on
the evening of October 10th the leading actress announced that there
would be no performance on the morrow, because there was to be a battle,
but on the 12th the company would have the honour of presenting "The
Village Clock." (See the Editor's "France under the Bourbons," iii.
26.)]

I have received yours of the 27th of last month, with the capitulation
of Genoa, and the kind conduct of the Austrians to us their allies, so
extremely like their behaviour whenever they are fortunate. Pray, by the
way, has there been any talk of my cousin, the Commodore, being
blameable in letting slip some Spanish ships?--don't mention it as from