LETTER CCXCIV

Bath, December 9, 1766.

My dear friend:  I received, two days ago, your letter of the 26th past.  I am very glad that you begin to feel the good effects of the climate where you are; I know it saved my life, in 1741, when both the skillful and the unskillful gave me over.  In that ramble I stayed three or four days at Nimes, where there are more remains of antiquity, I believe, than in any town in Europe, Italy excepted.  What is falsely called ’la maison quarree’, is, in my mind, the finest piece of architecture that I ever saw; and the amphitheater the clumsiest and the ugliest:  if it were in England, everybody would swear it had been built by Sir John Vanbrugh.

This place is now, just what you have seen it formerly; here is a great crowd of trifling and unknown people, whom I seldom frequent, in the public rooms; so that I may pass my time ‘tres uniment’, in taking the air in my post-chaise every morning, and in reading of evenings.  And ’a propos’ of the latter, I shall point out a book, which I believe will give you some pleasure; at least it gave me a great deal.  I never read it before.  It is ’Reflexions sur la Poesie et la Peinture, par l’Abbee de Bos’, in two octavo volumes; and is, I suppose, to be had at every great town in France.  The criticisms and the reflections are just and lively.

It may be you expect some political news from me:  but I can tell you that you will have none, for no mortal can comprehend the present state of affairs.  Eight or nine people of some consequence have resigned their employments; upon which Lord C-----made overtures to the Duke of B-----and his people; but they could by no means agree, and his Grace went, the next day, full of wrath, to Woburn, so that negotiation is entirely at an end.  People wait to see who Lord C-----will take in, for some he must have; even he cannot be alone, ‘contra mundum’.  Such a state of affairs, to be sure, was never seen before, in this or in any other country.  When this Ministry shall be settled, it will be the sixth Ministry in six years’ time.

Poor Harte is here, and in a most miserable condition; those who wish him the best, as I do, must wish him dead.  God bless you!

LETTER CCXCV

London, February 13, 1767.

My dear friend:  It is so long since I have had a letter from you, that I am alarmed about your health; and fear that the southern parts of France have not done so well by you as they did by me in the year 1741, when they snatched me from the jaws of death.  Let me know, upon the receipt of this letter, how you are, and where you are.