“SIR,--Mr. Cadogan is just now come in, and has acquainted me with the success of the action you had yesterday in the afternoon against the body of troops commanded by M. de la Mothe, at Wynendael, which must be attributed chiefly to your good conduct and resolution. You may be sure I shall do you justice at home, and be glad on all occasions to own the service you have done in securing this convoy.--Yours, &c., M.” “Two lines by that d--d Cardonnel, and no more, for the taking of Lille--for beating five times our number--for an action as brilliant as the best he ever fought,” says poor Mr. Webb. “Lieutenant-General! That's not his doing. I was the oldest major-general. By ----, I believe he had been better pleased if I had been beat.” The letter to the Dutch officer was in French, and longer and more complimentary than that to Mr. Webb. “And this is the man,” he broke out, “that's gorged with gold--that's covered with titles and honors that we won for him--and that grudges even a line of praise to a comrade in arms! Hasn't he enough? Don't we fight that he may roll in riches? Well, well, wait for the Gazette, gentlemen. The Queen and the country will do us justice if his Grace denies it us.” There were tears of rage in the brave warrior's eyes as he spoke; and he dashed them off his face on to his glove. He shook his fist in the air. “Oh, by the Lord!” says he, “I know what I had rather have than a peerage!” “And what is that, sir?” some of them asked. “I had rather have a quarter of an hour with John Churchill, on a fair green field, and only a pair of rapiers between my shirt and his--” “Sir!” interposes one. “Tell him so! I know that's what you mean. I know every word goes to him that's dropped from every general officer's mouth. I don't say he's not brave. Curse him! he's brave enough; but we'll wait for the Gazette, gentlemen. God save her Majesty! she'll do us justice.”