I beg ten thousand pardons for not being dead, as I certainly ought
to be. But such is my abject nature, that I had rather live in
Bentinck Street, attainted and convicted of the sin of laziness,
than enjoy your applause either at old Nick's or even in the Elysian
fields. After all, could you expect that I should honor with my
correspondance a wild Barbarian of the bogs of Erin? Had the Natives
intercepted my letter, the terrors occasioned by such unknown Magic
characters might have been fatal to you. But now you have escaped the
fury of their Hospitality, and are arrived amongst a Cee-vi-leezed
Nation, I may venture to renew my intercourse.
You tell me of a long list of Dukes, Lairds, and Chieftains of Renown
to whom you are recommended; were I with you, I should prefer one
David to them all. When you are at Edinburgh, I hope you will not
fail to visit the Stye of that fattest of Epicurus's Hogs,[191] and
inform yourself whether there remains no hope of its recovering the
use of its right paw. There is another animal of _great_, though
not perhaps of _equal_, and certainly not of _similar_ merit, one
Robertson;[192] has he almost created the new World? Many other men
you have undoubtedly seen, in the country where you are at present,
who must have commanded your esteem. But when you return, if you are
not very honest, you will possess great advantages over me in any
dispute concerning Caledonian merit.
[Sidenote: LONDON A DELICIOUS SOLITUDE.]
Boodle's and Atwood's are now no more. The last stragglers, and
Clarke in the rear of all, are moved away to their several castles;
and I now enjoy, in the midst of London, a delicious solitude. My
Library, Kensington Gardens, and a few parties with new acquaintance
who are chained to London, (among whom I reckon Goldsmith and Sir
Joshua Reynolds,[193]) fill up my time, and the monster _Ennui_
preserves a very respectfull distance. By the bye, your friends Batt,
Sir John [Russel], and Lascelles, dined with me one day before they
set off; for I sometimes give the prettiest little dinners in the
world. But all this happiness draws near its conclusion. About the
16th of this month Mr. Eliot carries me away, and after picking up
Mrs. G. at Bath, sets me down at Port Eliot. There I shall certainly
remain six weeks, or, in other words, to the end of September. My
future motions, whether to London, Derbyshire, or a longer stay in
Cornwall, (pray is not "motion for stay" rather in the Hibernian
style?) will depend on the life of Port Eliot, the time of the
meeting of Parliament, and perhaps the impatience of Mr. Lovegrove,
Lord of Lenborough.
One of my pleasures in town I forgot to mention, the unexpected visit
of d'Eyverdun, who accompanies his young Lord (very young indeed!)
on a two months' tour to England. He took the opportunity of the
Earl's going down to the Duke of Chandos's, to spend a fortnight (nor
do I recollect in my life a more pleasant one) in Bentinck Street.
They are now gone together into Yorkshire, and I think it doubtfull
whether I shall see him again before his return to Leipsic. It is a
melancholy reflection that while one is plagued with acquaintance
at the corner of every street, real friends should be separated
from each other by unsurmountable bars, and obliged to catch at a
few transient moments of interview. I desire that you and My Lady
(whom I most respectfully greet) would take your share of that
very new and acute observation; not so large a share, indeed, as
my Swiss friend, since Nature and fortune give _us_ more frequent
opportunities of being together. You cannot expect News from a
Desert, and such is London at present. The papers give you the full
harvest of public intelligence; and I imagine that the eloquent
Nymphs of Twickenham[194] communicate all the transactions of the
polite, the amorous, and the marrying World. The great Pantomime of
Portsmouth was universally admired; and I am angry at my own laziness
in neglecting an excellent opportunity of seeing it. Foote has given
us the 'Bankrupt,'[195] a serious and sentimental piece, with very
severe strictures on the licence of scandal in attacking private
Characters. _Quis tulerit Gracchos de seditione loquentes?_[196]
Adieu. Forgive and Epistolize me. I shall not believe you sincere
in the former, unless you make Bentinck Street your Inn. I fear I
shall be gone; but Mrs. Ford[197] and the Parrot will be proud to
receive you and My Lady after your long peregrinations, from which I
expect great improvements. Has she got the Brogue upon the tip of her
tongue?*
[191] David Hume, who was now living at Edinburgh, was, from
1763 to 1766, Secretary to the Embassy at Paris under the Earl
of Hertford. The description is quoted from Mason's satire
(published in 1773), _An Heroic Epistle to Sir William Chambers
on his Book of Gardening_--
"David, who there supinely deigns to lie,
The fattest hog in Epicurus' sty,
Though drunk with Gallic wine and Gallic praise,
David shall bless Old England's halcyon days."
[192] William Robertson, the historian (1721-1793), whose
_History of Scotland_ (1758) and _History of Charles the Fifth_
(1769) had already appeared, was now engaged on his _History of
America_ (1777).
[193] After the death of Goldsmith in 1774, Gibbon seems to have
succeeded to his place as Sir Joshua's companion to places of
amusement, masquerades, and ridottos (_Life and Times of Sir
Joshua Reynolds_, vol. ii. p. 273).
[194] The family of Richard Owen Cambridge.
[195] Samuel Foote's _Bankrupt_ was produced at the Haymarket
in July, 1773, Foote himself taking the part of Sir Robert
Riscounter. The play was published in 1776, with a dedication
to the Marquis of Granby. It contains a vigorous attack on the
licence of the press and of the "impudent, rascally Printer."
"The tyranny exercised by that fellow," says Sir Robert, "is more
despotic and galling than the most absolute monarch's in Asia....
I wonder every man is not afraid to peep into a paper, as it is
more than probable that he may meet with a paragraph that will
make him unhappy for the rest of his life."
[196] Gibbon quotes incorrectly from Juvenal (_Sat._ 2, 1. 24)--
"Quis tulerit Gracchos de seditione querentes?"
[197] Gibbon's housekeeper.
[Sidenote: A JOURNEY TO CORNWALL.]
175.
_To his Stepmother._
Bentinck Street, August 7th, 1773.