BATH, October 17, 1768.
MY DEAR FRIEND. Your last two letters, to myself and Grevenkop, have
alarmed me extremely; but I comfort myself a little, by hoping that you,
like all people who suffer, think yourself worse than you are. A dropsy
never comes so suddenly; and I flatter myself, that it is only that gouty
or rheumatic humor, which has plagued you so long, that has occasioned
the temporary swelling of your legs. Above forty years ago, after a
violent fever, my legs swelled as much as you describe yours to be; I
immediately thought that I had a dropsy; but the Faculty assured me, that
my complaint was only the effect of my fever, and would soon be cured;
and they said true. Pray let your amanuensis, whoever he may be, write an
account regularly once a-week, either to Grevenkop or myself, for that is
the same thing, of the state of your health.
I sent you, in four successive letters, as much of the Duchess of
Somerset’s snuff as a letter could well convey to you. Have you received
all or any of them? and have they done you any good? Though, in your
present condition, you cannot go into company, I hope that you have some
acquaintances that come and sit with you; for if originally it was not
good for man to be alone, it is much worse for a sick man to be so; he
thinks too much of his distemper, and magnifies it. Some men of learning
among the ecclesiastics, I dare say, would be glad to sit with you; and
you could give them as good as they brought.
Poor Harte, who is here still, is in a most miserable condition: he has
entirely lost the use of his left side, and can hardly speak
intelligibly. I was with him yesterday. He inquired after you with great
affection, and was in the utmost concern when I showed him your letter.
My own health is as it has been ever since I was here last year. I am
neither well nor ill, but UNWELL. I have in a manner lost the use of my
legs; for though I can make a shift to crawl upon even ground for a
quarter of an hour, I cannot go up or down stairs, unless supported by a
servant. God bless you and grant you a speedy recovery!
NOTE.--This is the last of the letters of Lord Chesterfield to his
son, Mr. Philip Stanhope, who died in November, 1768. The
unexpected and distressing intelligence was announced by the lady to
whom Mr. Stanhope had been married for several years, unknown to his
father. On learning that the widow had two sons, the issue of this
marriage, Lord Chesterfield took upon himself the maintenance of his
grandchildren. The letters which follow show how happily the writer
adapted himself to the trying situation.