I am sincerely glad to hear Mrs. H. is better. Still think Bath would suit her. She, and you too, I fear, rather want the physic of the mind, than of the body. Tell me something about yourself. If, among a crowd of acquaintances, one friend can afford you any comfort, I am quite at your service. Once more, adieu. Ι

XXXVI. EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ. TO J. HOLROYD, ESQ.

Pall-Mall, Dec. 11th, 1772.

Dear Holroyd,-By this time, I suppose you returned to the Elysian fields of Sheffield. The country (I do not mean any particular reflections on Sussex) must be vastly pleasant at this time of the year! For my own part, the punishment of my sins has at length overtaken me. On Thursday, the third of December, in the present year of our Lord, one thousand seven hundred and seventytwo, between the hours of one and two in the afternoon, as I was crossing St. James's churchyard, I stumbled, and again sprained my foot; but, alas! after two days' pain and confinement, a horrid monster, ycleped the gout, made me a short visit; and though he has now taken his leave, I am full of apprehensions that he may have liked my company well enough to call again.

The parliament, after a few soft murmurs, is gone to sleep, to awake again after Christmas, safely folded in Lord North's arms. The town is gone into the country, and I propose visiting Sheffield about Sunday se'nnight, if by that time I can get my household preparations (I have as good as taken Lady Rous's lease in Bentinck-street) in any forwardness. Shall I angle for Batt? No news stirring, except the Duchess of G.'s pregnancy certainly declared.

called on me the other day, and has taken my plan with him to consider it; he still wishes to defer to spring; talks of bad roads, &c. and is very absolute. I remonstrated, but want to know whether I am to submit. Adieu. Godfrey Clarke, who is writing near me, begs to be remembered. The savage is going to hunt foxes in Northamptonshire, Oxfordshire, Gloucestershire, &c. Yours sincerely.

XXXVII.—THE SAME TO THE SAME.

Boodle's, ten o'clock, Thursday Evening, Dec. 1772. Dear Holroyd,-My schemes with regard to you have been entirely disappointed. The business that called me to town was not ready before the 20th of last month, and the same business has kept me here till now. I have, however, a very strong inclination to eat a Christmas mince-pie with you; and let me tell you that inclination is no small compliment. What are the trees and waters of Sheffield-place compared with the comfortable smoke, lazy dinners, and inflammatory Junius's, which we can every day enjoy in town? You have seen the last Junius? He calls on the distant legions to march to the Capitol, and free us from the tyranny of the Prætorian guards. I cannot answer for the ghost of the hic et ubique, but the Hampshire militia are determined to keep the peace

for fear of a broken head. After all, do I mean to make you a visit next week? Upon my soul, I cannot tell. I tell everybody that I shall; I know that I cannot pass the week with any man in the world with whom the pleasure of seeing each other will be more reciprocal. Yet, entre nous, I do not believe that I shall be able to get out of this town before you come into it. At all events, I look forwards with great impatience to Bruton-street and the Romans. Believe me most truly yours.

XXXVIII. EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ. TO J. HOLROYD, ESQ.

Dear Holroyd,-Lenborough is no more!

January 12, 1773.

* acted like

a Jew, and I dare say now repents it. In his room found me a better man, a rich, brutish, honest horse-dealer, who has got a great fortune by serving the cavalry. On Thursday he saw Lenborough, on Friday he came to town with *****, and this morning, at nine o'clock, we struck at £20,000, after a very hard **** and the new battle. As times go, I am not dissatisfied. Lord of Lenborough (by name * * * *) dined with me; and though we did not speak the same language, yet by the help of signs, such as that of putting about the bottle, the natives seemed well satisfied.

The whole world is going down to Portsmouth, where they will enjoy the pleasures of smoke, noise, heat, bad lodgings, and expensive reckonings. For my own part, I have firmly resisted importunity, declined parties, and mean to pass the busy week in the soft retirement of my bocage de Bentinck-street. Yesterday, the East India Company positively refused the loan: a noble resolution, could they get money anywhere else. They are violent; and it was moved, and the motion heard with some degree of approbation, that they should abandon India to Lord North, Sujah Dowlah, or the Devil, if he chose to take it. Adieu.

XXXIX. THE SAME TO THE SAME.

Boodle's, May 11, 1773.

Dear Holroyd,-I am full of worldly cares, anxious about the great twenty-fourth, plagued with the Public Advertiser, distressed by the most dismal dispatches from Hugonin. Mrs. Lee claims a million of repairs, which will cost a million of money.

The House of Commons sat late last night. Burgoyne made some spirited motions-"That the territorial acquisitions in India belonged to the state (that was the word); that grants to the servants of the company (such as jaghires) were illegal; and that there could be no true repentance without restitution." Wedderburne defended the nabobs with great eloquence, but little argument. The motions were carried without a division; and the hounds go out again next Friday. They are in high spirits; but the more sagacious ones have no idea they shall kill. Lord North spoke for the inquiry, but faintly

• Where Mr. Holroyd's family passed a winter. + The Roman Club.

and reluctantly. Lady **** is said to be in town at her mother's, and a separation is unavoidable; but there is nothing certain. Adieu. Sincerely yours.

XL. EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ. TO J. HOLROYD, ESQ. AT EDINBURGH.

Bentinck-street, Aug. 7th, 1773.

Dear Holroyd, I beg ten thousand pardons for not being dead, as I certainly ought to be. But such is my abject nature, that I had rather live in Bentinck-street, attainted and convicted of the sin of laziness, than enjoy your applause either at Old Nick's or even in the Elysian Fields. After all, could you expect that I should honour with my correspondence a wild barbarian of the bogs of Erin? Had the natives intercepted my letter, the terrors occasioned by such unknown magic characters might have been fatal to you. But now you have escaped the fury of their hospitality, and are arrived among a cee-vi-leezed nation, I may venture to renew my intercourse.

You tell me of a long list of dukes, lords, and chieftains of renown to whom you are introduced; were I with you, I should prefer one David to them all. When you are at Edinburgh, I hope you will not fail to visit the stye of that fattest of Epicurus's hogs, and inform yourself whether there remains no hope of its recovering the use of its right paw. There is another animal of great, though not perhaps of equal, and certainly not of similar merit, one Robertson; has he almost created the new world? Many other men you have undoubtedly seen, in the country where you are at present, who must have commanded your esteem: but when you return, if you are not very honest, you will possess great advantages over me in any dispute concerning Caledonian merit.

Boodle's and Atwood's are now no more. The last stragglers, and Godfrey Clarke in the rear of all, are moved away to their several castles; and I now enjoy, in the midst of London, a delicious solitude. My library, Kensington Gardens, and a few parties with new acquaintance who are chained to London, (among whom I reckon Goldsmith and Sir Joshua Reynolds,) fill up my time, and the monster ennui preserves a very respectful distance. By the by, your friends Batt, Sir John Russell, and Lascelles, dined with me one day before they set off; for I sometimes give the prettiest little dinner in the world. But all this composure draws near its conclu

sion. About the sixteenth of this month Mr. Eliot carries me away, and after picking up Mrs. Gibbon at Bath, sets me down at Port Eliot there I shall certainly remain six weeks, or, in other words, to the end of September. My future motions, whether to London, Derbyshire, or a longer stay in Cornwall, (pray is not "motion to stay" rather in the Hibernian style?) will depend on the life of Port Eliot, the time of the meeting of parliament, and perhaps the impatience of Mr. *****, Lord of Lenborough. One of my pleasures in town I forgot to mention, the unexpected visit of Deyverdun, who accompanies his young lord (very young indeed!) on a two months' tour to England. He took the opportunity of the Earl's

S

going down to the Duke of ******, to spend a fortnight (nor do I recollect a more pleasant one) in Bentinck-street. They are now gone together into Yorkshire, and I think it doubtful whether I shall see him again before his return to Leipsic. It is a melancholy reflection that while one is plagued with acquaintance at the corner of every street, real friends should be separated from each other by unsurmountable bars, and obliged to catch at a few transient moments of interview. I desire that you and my lady (whom I most respectfully greet) would take your share of that very new and acute observation; not so large a share, indeed, as my Swiss friend, since nature and fortune give us more frequent opportunities of being together. You cannot expect news from a desert, and such is London at present. The papers give you the full harvest of public intelligence; and I imagine that the eloquent nymphs of Twickenham* communicate all the transactions of the polite, the amorous, and the marrying world. The great pantomime of Portsmouth was universally admired; and I am angry at my own laziness in neglecting an excellent opportunity of seeing it. Foote has given us the Bankrupt, a serious and sentimental piece, with very severe strictures on the licence of scandal in attacking private characters. Adieu. Forgive and epistolize me. I shall not believe you sincere in the former, unless you make Bentinck-street your inn. I fear I shall be gone; but Mrs. Ford † and the parrot will be proud to receive you and my lady after your long peregrination, from which 1 expect great improvements. Has she got the brogue upon the tip of her tongue ? +

XLI.-EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ. TO J. HOLROYD, ESQ.

Port Eliot, Sept. 10th, 1773. Dear Holroyd,-By this time you have surely finished your tour, touched at Edinburgh, where you found a letter, which you have not answered, and are now contemplating the beauties of the Weald of Sussex. I shall demand a long and particular account of your peregrinations, but will excuse it till we meet; and for the present, expect only a short memorandum of your health and situation, together with that of my much-honoured friend Mrs. Abigail Holroyd. A word, too, if you please, concerning father and sister; to the latter I enclose a receipt from Mrs. G., who is now with me at Port Eliot.

Blind as you accuse me of being to the beauties of nature, I am wonderfully pleased with this country. Of her three dull notes, ground, plants, and water, Cornwall possesses the first and last in very high perfection. Think of a hundred solitary streams peacefully gliding between amazing cliffs on one side and rich meadows on the other, gradually swelling by the aid of the tide into noble rivers, successively losing themselves in each other, and all at length terminating in the harbour of Plymouth, whose broad expanse is * Miss Cambridges. + His housekeeper.

Mr. and Mrs. Holroyd made a tour to Ireland and Scotland this summer.

irregularly dotted with two-and-forty line of battle ships. In plants, indeed, we are deficient; and though all the gentlemen now attend to posterity, the country will for a long time be very naked. We have spent several days agreeably enough in little parties; but in general our time rolls away in complete uniformity. Our landlord possesses neither a pack of hounds, nor a stable of running horses, nor a large farm, nor a good library. The last only could interest me; but it is singular that a man of fortune, who chooses to pass nine months of the year in the country, should have none of them. According to our present design, Mrs. G. and myself return to Bath about the beginning of next month. I shall probably make but a short stay with her, and defer my Derbyshire journey till another year. Sufficient for the summer is the evil thereof, viz. one distant country excursion. Natural inclination, the prosecution of my great work, and the conclusion of my Lenborough business, plead strongly in favour of London. However, I desire, and one always finds time for what one really desires, to visit Sheffield-place before the end of October, should it only be for a few days. I know several houses where I am invited to think myself at home, but I know no other where I seem inclined to accept of the invitation. I forgot to tell you, that I have declined the publication of Lord Chesterfield's Letters. The public will see them, and upon the whole, I think with pleasure; but the family were strongly bent against it; and especially on Deyverdun's account, I deemed it more prudent to avoid making them my personal enemies.

XLII. EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ. TO J. HOLROYD, ESQ.

January, 1774.

I have a letter from Hugonin, a dreadful one I believe, but it has lain four days unperused in my drawer. Let me turn it over to

you.

Foster is playing at what he calls whist; his partner swearing inwardly. He would write to you to-night, but he thinks he had rather write next post; he will think so a good while. Every thing public, still as death. Our Committee of the Catch Club has done more business this morning than all those of the house of commons since their meeting. Roberts does not petition. This from the best authority, and perhaps totally false. Hare married to Sir Abraham Hume's daughter. You see how hard pressed I am for news. sides, at any time, I had rather talk an hour, than write a page. Therefore adieu. Í am glad to hear of your speedy removal. Remember Bentinck-street.

Be

XLIII. THE SAME TO THE SAME.

January 29th, 1774.

I am now getting acquainted with authors, managers, &c. good company to know, but not to live with. Yesterday I dined at the British Coffee-house, with Garrick, Colman, Goldsmith, Macpher