BERKELEY SQUARE, _March_ 3, 1780.
As my last letter probably alarmed you, I write again to tell you that
nothing decisive has happened. The troops of the Palace even rallied a
little yesterday on Mr. Burke's Bill of Reformation, or Reduction, yet
with evident symptoms of _caution_; for Lord North, who wished to defer
the second reading, ventured to put it only to next Wednesday, instead
of to-day; and would have carried a longer adjournment with still
greater difficulty, for his majority was but of 35, and the minority
remained 195, a very formidable number. The Associations in the counties
increase, though not rapidly: yet it will be difficult for the Court to
stem such a torrent; and, I imagine, full as difficult for any man of
temper to direct them wholesomely. Ireland is still more impetuous.
Fortunately, happily, the tide abroad seems turned. Sir George Rodney's
victory[1] proves more considerable than it appeared at first. It
secures Gibraltar, eases your Mediterranean a little, and must vex the
Spaniards and their monarch, not satisfied before with his cousin of
Bourbon. Admiral Parker has had great success too amongst the latter's
transports. Oh! that all these elements of mischief may jumble into
peace! Monsieur Necker[2] alone shines in the quarter of France; but he
is carrying the war into the domains of the Church, where one cannot
help wishing him success. If he can root out monks, the Pope will have
less occasion to allow _gras_, because we cannot supply them with
_maigre_. It is droll that the Protestant Necker, and we Protestant
fishmongers, should overset the system of fasting; but ancient Alcorans
could not foresee modern contingencies.
[Footnote 1: On January 8th Sir George Rodney defeated the Spanish
fleet, which was on its way to join the force blockading Gibraltar, and
took the commander himself, Don Juan de Langara, prisoner.]
[Footnote 2: Necker's measure, to which Walpole alludes, was the
imposition of a property tax of 5 per cent. on all classes, even on the
clergy.]
I have told you that politics absorb all private news. I am going to a
ball this evening, which the Duke and Duchess of Bolton give to their
Royal Highnesses of Gloucester, who have now a very numerous Court. It
seems very improper for me to be at a ball; but you see that, on the
contrary, it is propriety that carries me thither. I am heartily weary
both of diversions and politics, and am more than half inclined to
retire to Strawberry. I have renounced dining abroad, and hide myself as
much as I can; but can one pin on one's breast a label to signify, that,
though one is sensible of being Methusalem in constitution, one must
sometimes be seen in a crowd for such and such reasons? I do often
exaggerate my pleas of bad health; and, could I live entirely alone,
would proclaim myself incurable; but, should one repent, one becomes
ridiculous by returning to the world; or one must have a companion,
which I never will have; or one opens a door to legatees, if one
advertises ill-health. Well! I must act with as much common sense as I
can; and, when one takes no part, one must temper one's conduct; and,
when the world is too young for one, not shock it, nor contradict it,
nor affix a peculiar character, but trust to its indifference for not
drawing notice, when one does not desire to be noticed. Rabelais's "Fais
ce que tu voudras" is not very difficult when one wishes to do nothing.
I have always been offended at those who will belong to a world with
which they have nothing to do. I have perceived that every age has not
only a new language and new modes, but a new way of articulating. At
first I thought myself grown deaf when with young people; but perceived
that I understood my contemporaries, though they whispered. Well! I must
go amongst those I do not comprehend so well, but shall leave them when
they go to supper.
_THE GORDON RIOTS._