BLACKHEATH, May 30, 1758.
MY DEAR FRIEND: I have no letter from you to answer, so this goes to you
unprovoked. But ‘a propos’ of letters; you have had great honor done you,
in a letter from a fair and royal hand, no less than that of her Royal
Highness the Princess of Cassel; she has written your panegyric to her
sister, Princess Amelia, who sent me a compliment upon it. This has
likewise done you no harm with the King, who said gracious things upon
that occasion. I suppose you had for her Royal Highness those attentions
which I wish to God you would have, in due proportions, for everybody.
You see, by this instance, the effects of them; they are always repaid
with interest. I am more confirmed by this in thinking, that, if you can
conveniently, you should ask leave to go for a week to Cassel, to return
your thanks for all favors received.
I cannot expound to myself the conduct of the Russians. There must be a
trick in their not marching with more expedition. They have either had a
sop from the King of Prussia, or they want an animating dram from France
and Austria. The King of Prussia’s conduct always explains itself by the
events; and, within a very few days, we must certainly hear of some very
great stroke from that quarter. I think I never in my life remember a
period of time so big with great events as the present: within two months
the fate of the House of Austria will probably be decided: within the
same space of time, we shall certainly hear of the taking of Cape Breton,
and of our army’s proceeding to Quebec within a few days we shall know
the good or ill success of our great expedition; for it is sailed; and it
cannot be long before we shall hear something of the Prince of
Brunswick’s operations, from whom I also expect good things. If all these
things turn out, as there is good reason to believe they will, we may
once, in our turn, dictate a reasonable peace to France, who now pays
seventy per cent insurance upon its trade, and seven per cent for all the
money raised for the service of the year.
Comte Bothmar has got the small-pox, and of a bad kind. Kniphausen
diverts himself much here; he sees all places and all people, and is
ubiquity itself. Mitchel, who was much threatened, stays at last at
Berlin, at the earnest request of the King of Prussia. Lady is safely
delivered of a son, to the great joy of that noble family. The
expression, of a woman’s having brought her husband a son, seems to be a
proper and cautious one; for it is never said from whence.
I was going to ask you how you passed your time now at Hamburg, since it
is no longer the seat of strangers and of business; but I will not,
because I know it is to no purpose. You have sworn not to tell me.
Sir William Stanhope told me that you promised to send him some Old Hock
from Hamburg, and so you did not. If you meet with any superlatively
good, and not else, pray send over a ‘foudre’ of it, and write to him. I
shall have a share in it. But unless you find some, either at Hamburg or
at Bremen, uncommonly and almost miracuously good, do not send any. Dixi.
Yours.