*Will you excuse my present litterary business as an excuse for my
not writing? I think you will be in the wrong if you do; since I was
just as idle before. At all events, however, it is better to say
three words, than to be totally a dumb dog. _A propos_ of dog, but
not of dumb, Bath (a foolish name enough) is the comfort of my life;
pretty, impertinent, fantastical, all that a young Lady of fashion
ought to be; I flatter myself that our passion is reciprocal.* Have
you seen Mr. Eliot very lately? He left us about ten days ago to
make a visit in Glostershire, and perhaps may have looken upon you
at Bath: we expect him again very soon, and shall live together
as we did before in a very pleasant society for the time of year.
Next month I believe Mrs. P. and myself shall pay a short visit to
Sheffield place. Deyverdun, from whom I heard the other day, desires
his Compliments and best wishes to you.
You will be surprized and concerned to hear, as I did last week by a
letter from Mr. Dawkes at St. Omers, that poor Pitman is dead. I know
no other particulars about it. Adieu.
Dear Madam,
Ever yours,
E. G.
263.
_To J. B. Holroyd, Esq._
Saturday Night, August 26th, 1775.
I think that, through the dark and doubtful mist of futurity, I
can discern some faint probability that the Gibbon and his Aunt
will arrive at S. P. before the Sun, or rather the Earth, has
accomplished eight diurnal Revolutions. A Caledonian Hero, who
commands the warriours of the Fraserian tribe, seemed likewise to
threaten an invasion about the same period. Adieu.
Lord Ely has given great satisfaction. The business is concluded.
[Sidenote: MRS. GIBBON CATCHES SMALL-POX.]
264.
_To J. B. Holroyd, Esq._
Saturday, ten o'clock in the Evening, Spinham lands, 1775.
I arrived in town about one, and calling on the Eliots found they
received yesterday a letter from their sister at Bath, that Mrs. G.'s
small-pox is of a very bad confluent sort. I got out of town about
half an hour after three (too much hurried to write), have travelled
till the Moon failed me, propose being at Bath about noon to-morrow.
Shall write to-morrow evening.
265.
_To J. B. Holroyd, Esq._
Bath, October 2nd, 1775.
To continue my journal, I departed from Spinham lands about five
o'clock on Sunday morning, and arrived here at eleven. Caplin,
whom I had sent on before, met me at the town's end, and agreeably
surprised me with the most favourable account. Miss Eliot had too
rashly taken the alarm, as Mrs. G.'s sort, though confluent, was
a very good one. It has turned, in the best manner possible, the
ninth day, and she has at present, but in the slightest degree, the
secondary fever. Dr. Delacour assures me that she is perfectly out
of all danger: but hesitates about acquainting her of my arrival
these three or four days. He knows not the value of time when the
fate of an Empire depends upon it. Without disclosing my motives,
I urge business: and at all events talk of setting out Thursday.
Even if I should not see her, the attention would be all the same. I
ought to have acquired some merit at the expence of infinite hurry,
twenty pounds (for I rattled with four horses and two servants for
the sake of sending Caplin forwards), and above all of a week's loss
of time. I am impatient on all accounts to get away; notwithstanding
the agreeable society of Mrs. Cochran, Misses Sharp, Major Matthews,
and Bresboro the conjurer.----After separating them by a very long
dash, I shall mention that I saw Breck Street last night; Sally looks
very poorly, and Mr. H. made me melancholy by his desponding way of
talking of himself. I have likewise seen Foster, the father of Harry,
who inquired much after Jack Holroyd. Methinks he has something
of the Brogue upon the tip of his tongue now. How do you relish
solitude? Can you endure so many severe strokes which were inflicted
in one day? My adorations wait on My Lady, nor do I forget the infant
Spinny. Have you had any more _Desserts à la Francaise_? Depend upon
it you will always be properly opposed in such arbitrary measures.