themselves--I hope they will always have such! By their not having
declared war with us, one should think they intended a peace. It is
allowed that our fine horse did us no honour: the victory was gained by
the foot. Two of their princes of the blood, the Prince de Dombes, and
the Count d'Eu his brother, were wounded, and several of their first
nobility. Our prisoners turn out but seventy-two officers, besides the
private men; and by the printed catalogue, I don't think many of great
family. Marshal Noailles' mortal wound is quite vanished, and Duc
d'Aremberg's shrunk to a very slight one. The King's glory remains in
its first bloom.

Lord Wilmington is dead.[1] I believe the civil battle for his post will
be tough. Now we shall see what service Lord Carteret's Hanoverians will
do him. You don't think the crisis unlucky for him, do you? If you
wanted a Treasury, should you choose to have been in Arlington Street,
or driving by the battle of Dettingen? You may imagine our Court wishes
for Mr. Pelham. I don't know any one who wishes for Lord Bath but
himself--I believe that is a pretty substantial wish.

[Footnote 1: Formerly Sir Spencer Compton, and successor of Sir R.
Walpole at the Treasury. He was succeeded by Mr. Pelham, a brother of
the Duke of Newcastle.]

I have got the Life of King Theodore, but I don't know how to convey
it--I will inquire for some way.

We are quite alone. You never saw anything so unlike as being here five
months out of place, to the congresses of a fortnight in place; but you
know the "Justum et tenacem propositi virum"[1] can amuse himself
without the "Civium ardor!" As I have not so much dignity of character