MY DEAR FRIEND: The two last mails have brought me no letter from you or
your secretary. I will take this as a sign that you are better; but,
however, if you thought that I cared to know, you should have cared to
have written. Here the weather has been very fine for a fortnight
together, a longer term than in this climate we are used to hold fine
weather by. I hope it is so, too, at Hamburg, or at least at the villa to
which you are gone; but pray do not let it be your ‘villa viciosa’, as
those retirements are often called, and too often prove; though, by the
way, the original name was ‘villa vezzosa’; and by wags miscalled
‘viciosa’.
I have a most gloomy prospect of affairs in Germany; the French are
already in possession of Cassel, and of the learned part of Hanover, that
is Gottingen; where I presume they will not stop ‘pour l’amour des belles
lettres’, but rather go on to the capital, and study them upon the coin.
My old acquaintance, Monsieur Richelieu, made a great progress there in
metallic learning and inscriptions. If Prince Ferdinand ventures a battle
to prevent it, I dread the consequences; the odds are too great against
him. The King of Prussia is still in a worse situation; for he has the
Hydra to encounter; and though he may cut off a head or two, there will
still be enough left to devour him at last. I have, as you know, long
foretold the now approaching catastrophe; but I was Cassandra. Our
affairs in the new world have a much more pleasing aspect; Guadaloupe is
a great acquisition, and Quebec, which I make no doubt of, will still be
greater. But must all these advantages, purchased at the price of so much
English blood and treasure, be at last sacrificed as a peace-offering?
God knows what consequences such a measure may produce; the germ of
discontent is already great, upon the bare supposition of the case; but
should it be realized, it will grow to a harvest of disaffection.
You are now, to be sure, taking the previous necessary measures for your
return here in the autumn and I think you may disband your whole family,
excepting your secretary, your butler, who takes care of your plate,
wine, etc., one or at most two, maid servants, and your valet de chambre
and one footman, whom you will bring over with you. But give no mortal,
either there or here, reason to think that you are not to return to
Hamburg again. If you are asked about it, say, like Lockhart, that you
are ‘le serviteur des Evenemens’; for your present appointments will do
you no hurt here, till you have some better destination. At that season
of the year, I believe it will be better for you to come by sea than by
land, but that you will be best able to judge of from the then
circumstances of your part in the world.
Your old friend Stevens is dead of the consumption that has long been
undermining him. God bless you, and send you health.
[Another two year lapse in the letters. D.W.]