The New Hampshire Gazette

LONDON, July 15.

A Letter from an Officer in the Prince of Soubise's Army near Cassel, where they were driven by the British Legions, dated from the flying Camp, June 26, 1757, to a Friend at Rotterdam.

WHILE I see nothing about me but broken thighs, split skulls, ghastly looks, dejected countenances, and hungry fugitives, it is difficult for me to command so much presence of mind, as is necessary to acquaint you with the principal circumstances of our bloody and shameful defeat. Yesterday was the day that our laurels were to have renewed their withered bloom, our bellies to be filled with English roast-beef and pudding, the tarnished glory of our monarch to recover its lustre, and all things to be set right. But alas! alas! the event has not answered our expectations: and indeed, in this event there is something extraordinary. The hostile army approaches. They see us, and we see them: and yet though we see them, they surround us by surprise. You will ask how can that be? You will imagine perhaps we were all asleep. No, but we were dreaming, though awake; and reveries exhibiting a variety of visions, kept our senses in a state of absence from the objects that were so near us. M--.l d'Et--.s was dreaming upon the means of humbling M--e P--.r, and leading S--.e imperceptibly by the nose, without shewing his play, as B--o had done; so that when Prince Ferdinand made his attack, he started like a man awaked out of a profound sleep by a sudden noise, and cried out, "Madam. it is not so.--I always acted in concert with the Prince.--Morbleu! Am I to be sacrificed like B--o? Your Excellency" says an Adjutant that heard him rave thus with his Eyes open "is not at Versailles; we are yet in the field; you may be indeed soon in the antechamber--but you are yet in the field. And--there--see! they advance. Who, who?" says the Marshal. Ferdinand and Granby, replies the Adjutant "It is good," says the Marshal, let me follow, that is to draw the relation, come hither: and also the other able pen, whom I have hired to compose my memorial against S--e. Lord, Sir, this is the time to fight--you will have leisure enough to scribble afterwards. No friend, no; 'tis now too late to act.--besides, I am a stranger to the country; a glorious retreat is our only refuge. Xenophon's retreat with the ten thousand, did him as much honour as if he had gained ten thousand victories; and"--his bones were whole. "Is our baggage secured? No, Sir, it is surrounded and taken. Well, perhaps, so much the better--we are too much given to dress--officers ought not to be beaus. Sound the retreat: To Cassel, my boys, to Cassel we'll make those English dogs run after us at least."

While d'Et--.s was enjoying his vision and securing his retreat, his princely associate was also in a trance, standing upright, and a vision of the glory of France was presented to his enraptured sight. He saw, or he thought he saw, two bright planets in conjunction. Mars, in the form of L--s, and Venus, in that of Pomp--r, and hailed the tutelary stars of the most amorous and warlike of nations. The tender pair were involved in a perplexed piece of net work which no hand could open or unravel; a venerable tribe of magicians stood by them who amused their anxious moments, and by the force of several enchanting wounds, turned blood into money, poverty into riches, and pain into pleasure. Mars was out of his element. Venus was in hers. She had also drawn Mars into it, and her point was to lead him there: She had placed for this purpose round the voluptuous Hero, a band of Sybarite Generals, who soothed his soul to pleasure, exposed the folly of the bubble glory, singing, in gentle strains, that male legions were made for hew, and female for enjoyment:--Soubise beheld the pleasing scene, and was just going to cry out "Long live our Mars; with his lovely Fair! Long live his wining and dancing Sons, who carry the marks of honour on their back, and dispute with the Foe a posteriori," when the alarm was given, of the approach of the British and German legions, then remembering the plains of Rosbach, he said, "My boys--let us act in character--down with your arms--let us end as we begun--there is safety in flight --let Fame say what he pleases--let Louis frown, his frowns will strike d'Etrees, and I shall be employed again to renew the immortal tores of Rosbach and Grunenha--gen."

By this time the Generals, Colonels, and Captains, who had been dreaming of promotion and caballing, who had beheld, and even that only in vision, soup maigre and onions, were awaked from their trance, and head over heels united their velocity in preserving from danger the amiable and sprightly legions of Louis the well beloved. But as, unhappily for us, the Allies knew how to use their legs as well as their swords, and were acting instead of dreaming, we gained less from our velocity than we had fondly expected. Instead of our visions, the Allies made themselves masters of our realities. The military chest is gone: the baggage of the Marshal Prince and the Marshal Count is taken: The English Dragoons, the Hanoverian Hussars, and the Light Troops of Scheyter, returned with their pockets full of Louis d'ors, and have left us nothing but poverty and shame. It is said that our princely commander, animated with a prophetic spirit of reasoning, sagaciously from things past to things future, had placed a considerable part of his treasures in the hands of the nation against which he is fighting, if I may use the term. This might lead me into some curious speculations,--but--what? another alarm-- we must fly again--a party of the enemy is again within sight; and as I hear the retreat beating, I must break off thus abruptly.--Adieu, Dear Sir.