MY DEAR FRIEND: Though I have had no letter from you since my last, and
though I have no political news to inform you of, I write this to
acquaint you with a piece of Greenwich news, which I believe you will be
very glad of; I am sure I am. Know then that your friend Miss-----was
happily married, three days ago, to Mr.-------, an Irish gentleman, and a
member of that parliament, with an estate of above L2,000 a-year. He
settles upon her L600 jointure, and in case they have no children,
L1,500. He happened to be by chance in her company one day here, and was
at once shot dead by her charms; but as dead men sometimes walk, he
walked to her the next morning, and tendered her his person and his
fortune; both which, taking the one with the other, she very prudently
accepted, for his person is sixty years old.
Ministerial affairs are still in the same ridiculous and doubtful
situation as when I wrote to you last. Lord Chatham will neither hear of,
nor do any business, but lives at Hampstead, and rides about the heath.
His gout is said to be fallen upon his nerves. Your provincial secretary,
Conway, quits this week, and returns to the army, for which he
languished. Two Lords are talked of to succeed him; Lord Egmont and Lord
Hillsborough: I rather hope the latter. Lord Northington certainly quits
this week; but nobody guesses who is to succeed him as President. A
thousand other changes are talked of, which I neither believe nor reject.
Poor Harte is in a most miserable condition: He has lost one side of
himself, and in a great measure his speech; notwithstanding which, he is
going to publish his DIVINE POEMS, as he calls them. I am sorry for it,
as he had not time to correct them before this stroke, nor abilities to
do it since. God bless you!