BERKELEY SQUARE, _Jan._ 13, 1780.
In consequence of my last, it is right to make you easy, and tell you
that I think we shall not have a Dutch war;[1] at least, nobody seems to
expect it. What excuses we have made, I do not know; but I imagine the
Hollanders are glad to gain by both sides, and glad not to be forced to
quarrel with either.
[Footnote 1: Walpole was mistaken in his calculations. "Holland at this
time was divided by two great parties--the party of the Staatholder, the
Prince of Orange, and the party inclining to France--of which the
Pensionary, Van Bethel, was among the principal members; and this party
was so insulting in their tone and measures, that at the end of 1780 we
were compelled to declare war against them" (Lord Stanhope, "History of
England," c. 63). But the war was not signalised by any action of
importance.]
What might have been expected much sooner, appears at last--a good deal
of discontent; but chiefly where it was not much expected. The country
gentlemen, after encouraging the Court to war with America, now, not
very decently, are angry at the expense. As they have long seen the
profusion, it would have been happy had they murmured sooner. Very
serious associations are forming in many counties; and orders, under
the title of petitions, coming to Parliament for correcting abuses. They
talk of the waste of money; are silent on the thousands of lives that
have been sacrificed--but when are human lives counted by any side?
The French, who may measure with us in folly, and have exceeded us in
ridiculous boasts, have been extravagant in their reception of
D'Estaing,[1] who has shown nothing but madness and incapacity. How the
northern monarchs, who have at least exhibited talents for war and
politics, must despise the last campaign of England and France!
[Footnote 1: The Comte d'Estaing was the Commander-in-chief of the
French fleet in the West Indies in the years 1777-80. But, though his
force was always superior to ours, he always endeavoured to avoid a
battle; and succeeded in that timorous policy except on two occasions,
when Lord Howe and afterwards Admiral Byron brought him to action, but
only with indecisive results.]
I am once more got abroad, but more pleased to be able to do so, than
charmed with anything I have to do. Having outlived the glory and
felicity of my country, I carry that reflection with me wherever I go.
Last night, at Strawberry Hill, I took up, to divert my thoughts, a
volume of letters to Swift from Bolingbroke, Bathurst, and Gay; and what
was there but lamentations on the ruin of England, in that era of its
prosperity and peace, from wretches who thought their own want of power
a proof that their country was undone! Oh, my father! twenty years of
peace, and credit, and happiness, and liberty, were punishments to
rascals who weighed everything in the scales of self? It was to the
honour of Pope, that, though leagued with such a crew, and though an
idolater of their archfiend Bolingbroke and in awe of the malignant
Swift, he never gave in to their venomous railings; railings against a
man who, in twenty years, never attempted a stretch of power, did
nothing but the common business of administration, and by that
temperance and steady virtue, and unalterable good-humour and superior
wisdom, baffled all the efforts of faction, and annihilated the falsely
boasted abilities of Bolingbroke,[1] which now appear as moderate as his
character was in every light detestable. But, alas! that retrospect
doubled my chagrin instead of diverting it. I soon forgot an impotent
cabal of mock-patriots; but the scene they vainly sought to disturb
rushed on my mind, and, like Hamlet on the sight of Yorick's skull, I
recollected the prosperity of Denmark when my father ruled, and compared
it with the present moment! I look about for a Sir Robert Walpole; but
where is he to be found?
[Footnote: 1 It is only the excess of party spirit that could lead
Walpole to call Bolingbroke's abilities moderate; and he had no attacks
on his father to resent, since, though Bolingbroke was in 1724 permitted
to return to England, he only received a partial pardon, and was not
permitted to take his seat in Parliament. Walpole has more reason to
pronounce his character detestable; for which opinion he might have
quoted Dr. Johnson, who, in reference to an infidel treatise which he
bequeathed to Mallet for publication, called him "a scoundrel and a
coward--a scoundrel who spent his life in charging a popgun against
Christianity, which he had not the courage to let off, but left it to a
hungry Scotchman to pull the trigger after he was dead."]
This is not a letter, but a codicil to my last. You will soon probably
have news enough--yet appearances are not always pregnancies. When there
are more follies in a nation than principles and system, they counteract
one another, and sometimes, as has just happened in Ireland, are
composed _pulveris exigui jactu_. I sum up my wishes in that for peace:
but we are not satisfied with persecuting America, though the mischief
has recoiled on ourselves; nor France with wounding us, though with
little other cause for exultation, and with signal mischief to her own
trade, and with heavy loss of seamen; not to mention how her armies are
shrunk to raise her marine, a sacrifice she will one day rue, when the
_disciplined_ hosts of Goths and Huns begin to cast an eye southward.
But I seem to choose to read futurity, because I am not likely to see
it: indeed I am most rational when I say to myself, What is all this to
me? My thread is almost spun! almost all my business here is to bear
pain with patience, and to be thankful for intervals of ease. Though
Emperors and Kings may torment mankind, they will not disturb my
bedchamber; and so I bid them and you good-night!
P.S.--I have made use of a term in this letter, which I retract, having
bestowed a title on the captains and subalterns which was due only to
the colonel, and not enough for his dignity. Bolingbroke was more than a
rascal--he was a villain. Bathurst, I believe, was not a dishonest man,
more than he was prejudiced by party against one of the honestest and
best of men. Gay was a simple poor soul, intoxicated by the friendship
of men of genius, and who thought _they_ must be good who condescended
to admire _him_. Swift was a wild beast, who baited and worried all
mankind almost, because his intolerable arrogance, vanity, pride, and
ambition were disappointed; he abused Lady Suffolk, who tried and wished
to raise him, only because she had not power to do so: and one is sure
that a man who could deify that silly woman Queen Anne, would have been
more profuse of incense to Queen Caroline, who had sense, if the Court
he paid to her had been crowned with success. Such were the men who
wrote of virtue to one another; and even that mean, exploded miser, Lord
Bath, presumed to talk of virtue too!
_POLITICAL EXCITEMENT--LORD G. GORDON--EXTRAORDINARY GAMBLING AFFAIRS IN
INDIA._