be as difficult to describe the magnificence of the scene, as it would be easy to record the humour of the night. The one was above, the other below, all relation. I left the Pantheon about five this morning, rose at ten, took a good walk, and returned home to a more rational entertainment of Batt, Sir John Russell, and Lascelles, who dined with me. They have left me this moment; and were I to enumerate the things said of Sheffield, it would form a much longer letter than I have any inclination to write. Let it suffice, that Sir John means to pass in Sussex the interval of the two terms. Every thing, in a word, goes on very pleasantly, except the terrestrial business of Lenborough. Last Saturday se'nnight I wrote to ** to press him to see ***, and urge the arbitration. He has not condescended to answer me. All is a dead calm, sometimes more fatal than a storm. For God's sake send me advice. Adieu. N° L. EDWARD GIBBON, Esq. to Mrs. GIBBON, Bath. Boodle's, May 24th, 1774. DEAR MADAM, Do you remember that there exists in the world one Edward Gibbon, a housekeeper, in Bentinckstreet? If the standard of writing and of affection were the same, I am sure he would ill-deserve it. I do not wish to discover, how many days (I am afraid I ought to use another word) have elapsed since the date of my last, or even of your last letter, and yet such is the sluggish nature of the beast, that that I am afraid nothing but the arrival of Mrs. Bonfoy, and the expectation of Mr. Eliot, could have roused me from my lethargy. The Lady gave me great satisfaction, by her general account of your health and spirits, but communicated some uneasiness, by the mention of a little encounter, in the style of one of Don Quixote's, but which proved, I hope, as trifling as you at first imagined it. For my own part, I am well in mind and body, busy with my books, (which may perhaps produce something next year, either to tire or amuse the world,) and every day more satisfied with my present mode of life, which I always believed was calculated to make me happy. My only remaining uneasiness is Lenborough, which is not terminated. By Holroyd's advice, I rather try what may be obtained by a little more patience, than rush at once into the horrors of Chancery. But let us talk of something else. Mrs. Porten grows younger every day. You remember, I think, in Newman-street, an agreeable woman, Miss W *** The under-secretary* is seriously in love with her, and seriously uneasy that his precarious situation precludes him from happiness. We shall soon see which will get the better, love or reason. three to two on love. I bet Guess my surprise, when Mrs. Gibbon of Northamptonshire suddenly communicated her arrival. I immediately went to Surrey-street, where she lodged, but though it was no more than half an * Sir Stanier Porten. hour hour after nine, the Saint had finished her evening devotions, and was already retired to rest. Yesterday morning (by appointment) I breakfasted with her at eight o'clock, dined with her to-day at two in Newman-street, and am just returned from setting her down. She is, in truth, a very great curiosity her dress and figure exceed any thing we had at the masquerade: her language and ideas belong to the last century. However, in point of religion she was rational; that is to say, silent. I do not believe that she asked a single question, or said the least thing concerning it. To me she behaved with great cordiality, and in her way expressed a great regard. Mrs. Porten tells me, that she has just written to you. She ought to go to a masquerade once a year. Did you think her such a girl? I am, dear Madam, most truly yours. N° LI. EDWARD GIBBON, Esq. to J. HOLROYD, Esq. Boodle's, May 24th, 1774. I WROTE three folio pages to you this morning, and yet you complain. Have reason, and have mercy; consider all the excellent reasons for silence which I gave you in one of my last, and expect my arrival in Sussex, when I shall talk more in a quarter of an hour than I could write in a day. A propos of that arrival; never pretend to allure me, by painting in odious colours the dust of London. I love the dust, and whenever I move into the the Weald, it is to visit you and my Lady, and not your trees. About this-day-month I mean to give you a visitation. I leave it to Guise, Clarke, and the other light-horse, to prance down for a day or two. They all talk of mounting, but will not fix the day. Sir John Russell, whom I salute, has brought you, I suppose, all the news of Versailles. Let me only add, that the Mesdames, by attending their father, have both got the small-pox. I can make nothing of ***, or his lawyer. You will swear at the shortness of this letter.-Swear. N° LII. The Same to the Same. Saturday Evening, August 27th, 1774. By submission to the voice of reason, you your eased me of a heavy load of anxiety. I did not like your enterprise. * * * * * * * * * As to papers, I will shew you that I can keep them safe till we meet. What think What think you of the Turks and Russians? Romanzow is a great man. He wrote an account of his amazing success to Mouskin Pouskin here, and declared his intention of retiring as soon as he had conducted the army home; desiring that Pouskin would send him the best plan he could procure of an English gentleman's farm. In his answer, Pouskin promised to get it; but added, that at the same time he should send the Empress a plan of Blenheim. A handsome compliment, I think. My Lady and Maria, as usual. N° N° LIII. EDWARD GIBBON, Esq. to J. HOLROYD, Esq. SINCE Heberden is returned, I think the road lies plain before you, I mean the turnpike road; the only party which in good sense can be embraced is, without delay, to bring my Lady to Bentinckstreet, where you may inhabit two or three nights, and have any advice (Turton, Heberden, &c.) which the town may afford, in a case that most assuredly ought not to be trifled with. Do this as you value our good opinion. The Cantabs are strongly in the same sentiments. There can be no apprehensions of late hours, &c. as none of Mrs. Holroyd's raking acquaintance are in town. You give me no account of the works. When do you inhabit the library? Turn over-great things await you. Ir is surely infinite condescension for a senator to bestow his attention on the affairs of a juryman. A senator? Yes, Sir, at last Divûm promittere nemo Auderet, volvenda dies, en attulit ultro. Yesterday morning, about half an hour after seven, as I was destroying an army of Barbarians, I heard a double rap at the door, and my friend Mr. Eliot was soon introduced. After some idle conversation. he told me, that if I was desirous of being in parliament, he had an independent seat very much at my service.. * This is a fine prospect opening * * * |