<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0301" id="link2H_4_0301"></SPAN></p>
<h2> LETTER CCC </h2>
<h3> BLACKHEATH, JULY 2, 1767. </h3>
<p>MY DEAR FRIEND: Though I have had no letter from you since my last, and
though I have no political news to inform you of, I write this to acquaint
you with a piece of Greenwich news, which I believe you will be very glad
of; I am sure I am. Know then that your friend Miss——-was
happily married, three days ago, to Mr.———-, an Irish
gentleman, and a member of that parliament, with an estate of above L2,000
a-year. He settles upon her L600 jointure, and in case they have no
children, L1,500. He happened to be by chance in her company one day here,
and was at once shot dead by her charms; but as dead men sometimes walk,
he walked to her the next morning, and tendered her his person and his
fortune; both which, taking the one with the other, she very prudently
accepted, for his person is sixty years old.</p>
<p>Ministerial affairs are still in the same ridiculous and doubtful
situation as when I wrote to you last. Lord Chatham will neither hear of,
nor do any business, but lives at Hampstead, and rides about the heath.
His gout is said to be fallen upon his nerves. Your provincial secretary,
Conway, quits this week, and returns to the army, for which he languished.
Two Lords are talked of to succeed him; Lord Egmont and Lord Hillsborough:
I rather hope the latter. Lord Northington certainly quits this week; but
nobody guesses who is to succeed him as President. A thousand other
changes are talked of, which I neither believe nor reject.</p>
<p>Poor Harte is in a most miserable condition: He has lost one side of
himself, and in a great measure his speech; notwithstanding which, he is
going to publish his DIVINE POEMS, as he calls them. I am sorry for it, as
he had not time to correct them before this stroke, nor abilities to do it
since. God bless you!</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0302" id="link2H_4_0302"></SPAN></p>
<h2> LETTER CCCI </h2>
<h3> BLACKHEATH, July 9, 1767. </h3>
<p>MY DEAR FRIEND: I have received yours of the 21st past, with the inclosed
proposal from the French 'refugies, for a subscription toward building
them 'un temple'. I have shown it to the very few people I see, but
without the least success. They told me (and with too much truth) that
while such numbers of poor were literally starving here from the dearness
of all provisions, they could not think of sending their money into
another country, for a building which they reckoned useless. In truth, I
never knew such misery as is here now; and it affects both the hearts and
the purses of those who have either; for my own part, I never gave to a
building in my life; which I reckon is only giving to masons and
carpenters, and the treasurer of the undertaking.</p>
<p>Contrary to the expectations of all mankind here, everything still
continues in 'statu quo'. General Conway has been desired by the King to
keep the seals till he has found a successor for him, and the Lord
President the same. Lord Chatham is relapsed, and worse than ever: he sees
nobody, and nobody sees him: it is said that a bungling physician has
checked his gout, and thrown it upon his nerves; which is the worst
distemper that a minister or a lover can have, as it debilitates the mind
of the former and the body of the latter. Here is at present an
interregnum. We must soon see what order will be produced from this chaos.</p>
<p>The Electorate, I believe, will find the want of Comte Flemming; for he
certainly had abilities, and was as sturdy and inexorable as a Minister at
the head of the finances ought always to be. When you see Comtesse
Flemming, which I suppose cannot be for some time, pray make her Lady
Chesterfield's and my compliments of condolence.</p>
<p>You say that Dresden is very sickly; I am sure London is at least as
sickly now, for there reigns an epidemical distemper, called by the
genteel name of 'l'influenza'. It is a little fever, of which scarcely
anybody dies; and it generally goes off with a little looseness. I have
escaped it, I believe, by being here. God keep you from all distempers,
and bless you!</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0303" id="link2H_4_0303"></SPAN></p>
<h2> LETTER CCCII </h2>
<h3> LONDON, October 30, 1767. </h3>
<p>MY DEAR FRIEND: I have now left Blackheath, till the next summer, if I
live till then; and am just able to write, which is all I can say, for I
am extremely weak, and have in a great measure lost the use of my legs; I
hope they will recover both flesh and strength, for at present they have
neither. I go to the Bath next week, in hopes of half repairs at most; for
those waters, I am sure, will not prove Medea's kettle, nor 'les eaux de
Jouvence' to me; however, I shall do as good courtiers do, and get what I
can, if I cannot get what I will. I send you no politics, for here are
neither politics nor ministers; Lord Chatham is quiet at Pynsent, in
Somersetshire, and his former subalterns do nothing, so that nothing is
done. Whatever places or preferments are disposed of, come evidently from
Lord———-, who affects to be invisible; and who, like a
woodcock, thinks that if his head is but hid, he is not seen at all.</p>
<p>General Pulteney is at last dead, last week, worth above thirteen hundred
thousand pounds. He has left all his landed estate, which is eight and
twenty thousand pounds a-year, including the Bradford estate, which his
brother had from that ancient family, to a cousin-german. He has left two
hundred thousand pounds, in the funds, to Lord Darlington, who was his
next nearest relation; and at least twenty thousand pounds in various
legacies. If riches alone could make people happy, the last two
proprietors of this immense wealth ought to have been so, but they never
were.</p>
<p>God bless you, and send you good health, which is better than all the
riches of the world!</p>
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