MY DEAR FRIEND: I arrived here, as you suppose in your letter, last
Sunday; but after the worst day’s journey I ever had in my life: it
snowed and froze that whole morning, and in the evening it rained and
thawed, which made the roads so slippery, that I was six hours coming
post from the Devizes, which is but eighteen miles from hence; so that,
but for the name of coming post, I might as well have walked on foot. I
have not yet quite got over my last violent attack, and am weak and
flimsy.
I have now drank the waters but three days; so that, without a miracle, I
cannot yet expect much alteration, and I do not in the least expect a
miracle. If they proved ‘les eaux de Jouvence’ to me, that would be a
miracle indeed; but, as the late Pope Lambertini said, ‘Fra noi, gli
miracoli sono passati girt un pezzo’.
I have seen Harte, who inquired much after you: he is dejected and
dispirited, and thinks himself much worse than he is, though he has
really a tendency to the jaundice. I have yet seen nobody else, nor do I
know who here is to be seen; for I have not yet exhibited myself to
public view, except at the pump, which, at the time I go to it, is the
most private place in Bath.
After all the fears and hopes, occasioned severally by the meeting of the
parliament, in my opinion, it will prove a very easy session. Mr. Wilkes
is universally given up; and if the ministers themselves do not wantonly
raise difficulties, I think they will meet with none. A majority of two
hundred is a great anodyne. Adieu! God bless you!