MY DEAR FRIEND: In your last letter, of the 7th, you accuse me, most
unjustly, of being in arrears in my correspondence; whereas, if our
epistolary accounts were fairly liquidated, I believe you would be
brought in considerably debtor. I do not see how any of my letters to you
can miscarry, unless your office-packet miscarries too, for I always send
them to the office. Moreover, I might have a justifiable excuse for
writing to you seldomer than usual, for to be sure there never was a
period of time, in the middle of a winter, and the parliament sitting,
that supplied so little matter for a letter. Near twelve millions have
been granted this year, not only ‘nemine contradicente’, but, ‘nemine
quicquid dicente’. The proper officers bring in the estimates; it is
taken for granted that they are necessary and frugal; the members go to
dinner; and leave Mr. West and Mr. Martin to do the rest.
I presume you have seen the little poem of the “Country Lass,” by Soame
Jenyns, for it was in the “Chronicle”; as was also an answer to it, from
the “Monitor.” They are neither of them bad performances; the first is
the neatest, and the plan of the second has the most invention. I send
you none of those ‘pieces volantes’ in my letters, because they are all
printed in one or other of the newspapers, particularly in the
“Chronicles”; and I suppose that you and others have all those papers
among you at Hamburg; in which case it would be only putting you to the
unnecessary expense of double postage.
I find you are sanguine about the King of Prussia this year; I allow his
army will be what you say; but what will that be ‘vis-a-vis’ French,
Austrians, Imperialists, Swedes, and Russians, who must amount to more
than double that number? Were the inequality less, I would allow for the
King of Prussia’s being so much ‘ipse agmen’ as pretty nearly to balance
the account. In war, numbers are generally my omens; and, I confess, that
in Germany they seem not happy ones this year. In America. I think, we
are sure of success, and great success; but how we shall be able to
strike a balance, as they call it, between good success there, and ill
success upon the continent, so as to come at a peace; is more than I can
discover.
Lady Chesterfield makes you her compliments, and thanks you for your
offer; but declines troubling you, being discouraged by the ill success
of Madame Munchausen’s and Miss Chetwynd’s commissions, the former for
beef, and the latter for gloves; neither of which have yet been executed,
to the dissatisfaction of both. Adieu.