LONDON, December 27, 1765.
MY DEAR FRIEND: I arrived here from Bath last Monday, rather, but not
much better, than when I went over there. My rheumatic pains, in my legs
and hips, plague me still, and I must never expect to be quite free from
them.
You have, to be sure, had from the office an account of what the
parliament did, or rather did not do, the day of their meeting; and the
same point will be the great object at their next meeting; I mean the
affair of our American Colonies, relatively to the late imposed
Stamp-duty, which our Colonists absolutely refuse to pay. The
Administration are for some indulgence and forbearance to those froward
children of their mother country; the Opposition are for taking vigorous,
as they call them, but I call them violent measures; not less than ‘les
dragonnades’; and to have the tax collected by the troops we have there.
For my part, I never saw a froward child mended by whipping; and I would
not have the mother country become a stepmother. Our trade to America
brings in, ‘communibus annis’, two millions a year; and the Stamp-duty is
estimated at but one hundred thousand pounds a year; which I would by no
means bring into the stock of the Exchequer, at the loss or even the risk
of a million a year to the national stock.
I do not tell you of the Garter given away yesterday, because the
newspapers will; but, I must observe, that the Prince of Brunswick’s
riband is a mark of great distinction to that family; which I believe, is
the first (except our own Royal Family) that has ever had two blue
ribands at a time; but it must be owned they deserve them.
One hears of nothing now in town, but the separation of men and their
wives. Will Finch, the Ex-vice Chamberlain, Lord Warwick, and your friend
Lord Bolingbroke. I wonder at none of them for parting; but I wonder at
many for still living together; for in this country it is certain that
marriage is not well understood.
I have this day sent Mr. Larpent two hundred pounds for your
Christmas-box, of which I suppose he will inform you by this post. Make
this Christmas as merry a one as you can; for ‘pour le peu du bon tems
qui nous reste, rien nest si funeste, qu’un noir chagrin’. For the new
years--God send you many, and happy ones! Adieu.
LETTERS TO HIS SON
1766-71