When you hear the reason, you will excuse my telling you in two
words that I arrived last night. I am laid up with a very painful
fit of the gout in both my feet. I came over from Calais with some
difficulty; yet I rejoice that I am in my own library, and three
hundred miles nearer _you_ than I was a week ago. I think it cannot
last long.
I am, Dear Madam,
Most truly,
E. G.
324.
_To J. B. Holroyd, Esq._
[Bentinck Street,] Saturday, [November, 1777.]
*Had you four horns as well as four eyes and four hands, I should
still maintain that you are the most unreasonable Monster in the
Creation. My pain is lively, my weakness excessive, the season cold,
and only twelve days remain to the meeting. Far from thinking of
trips into the Country, I shall be well satisfied if I am on my
legs the 20th, in the medical sense of the word. At present I am a
Corpse, carried about by four arms which do not belong to me. Yet I
try to smile: I salute the hen and chickens. Adieu. Writing is really
painful.*
325.
_To his Stepmother._
Bentinck Street, Nov. 13th, 1777.