Volume Ii Part 20 (1/2)
P.S.--The man who certainly provoked Ireland _to think_, is dead--Lord Sackville.[1]
[Footnote 1: Lord George Sackville Germaine, third son of Lionel [first]
Duke of Dorset, who, when secretary to his father, when Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, gave rise, by his haughty behaviour, to the factions that have ever since disturbed that country, and at last shaken off its submission to this country.--WALPOLE.]
_30th._
I see, by the _Gazette_, that Lord Cowper's pinchbeck princ.i.p.ality is allowed. I wonder his Highness does not desire the Pope to make one of his sons a bishop _in partibus infidelium_.
_BREVITY OF MODERN ADDRESSES--THE OLD d.u.c.h.eSS OF MARLBOROUGH._
TO SIR HORACE MANN.
STRAWBERRY HILL, _Oct._ 4, 1785.
I don't love to transgress my monthly regularity; yet, as you must prefer facts to words, why should I write when I have nothing to tell you? The newspapers themselves in a peaceable autumn coin wonders from Ireland, or live on the accidents of the Equinox. They, the newspapers, have been in high spirits on the prospect of a campaign in Holland; but the Dutch, without pity for the gazetteers of Europe, are said to have submitted to the Emperor's terms: however, the intelligence-merchants may trust that _he_ will not starve them long!
Your neighbour, the Queen of Sardinia, it seems, is dead: but, if there was anything to say about her, you must tell it to me, not I to you; for, till she died, I scarce knew she had been alive.
Our Parliament is put off till after Christmas; so, I have no more resource from domestic politics than from foreign wars. For my own particular, I desire neither. I live here in tranquillity and idleness, can content myself with trifles, and think the world is much the happier when it has nothing to talk of. Most people ask, ”Is there any news?”--How can one want to know one does not know what? when anything has happened, one hears it.
There is one subject on which I wish I had occasion to write; I think it long since I heard how you go on: I flatter myself, as I have no letter from you or your nephew, prosperously. I should prefer a letter from him, that you may not have the trouble; and I shall make this the shorter, as a precedent for his not thinking more than a line necessary.
The post does not insist on a certain quant.i.ty; it is content with being paid for whatever it carries--nay, is a little unreasonable, as it doubles its price for a cover that contains nothing but a direction: and now it is the fas.h.i.+on to curtail the direction as much as possible.
Formerly, a direction was an academy of compliments: ”To the most n.o.ble and my singularly respected friend,” &c., &c.--and then, ”Haste! haste, for your life, haste!” Now, we have banished even the monosyllable _To_!
Henry Conway,[1] Lord Hertford's son, who is very indolent, and has much humour, introduced that abridgment. Writing to a Mr. Tighe at the Temple, he directed his letter only thus: ”T. Ti., Temple”[2]--and it was delivered! Dr. Bentley was mightily flattered on receiving a letter superscribed ”To Dr. Bentley in England.” Times are altered; postmen are now satisfied with a hint. One modern retrenchment is a blessing; one is not obliged to study for an ingenious conclusion, as if writing an epigram--oh! no; nor to send compliments that never were delivered. I had a relation who always finished his letters with ”his love to all that was near and dear to us,” though he did not care a straw for me or any of his family. It was said of old Sarah, d.u.c.h.ess of Marlborough, that she never put dots over her _i's_, to save ink: how she would have enjoyed modern economy in that article! She would have died worth a thousand farthings more than she did--nay, she would have known exactly how many; as Sir Robert Brown[3] did, who calculated what he had saved by never having an orange or lemon on his sideboard. I am surprised that no economist has retrenched second courses, which always consist of the dearest articles, though seldom touched, as the hungry at least dine on the first. Mrs. Leneve,[4] one summer at Houghton, counted thirty-six turkey-pouts[5] that had been served up without being meddled with.
[Footnote 1: Second son of Francis Seymour Conway, first Earl of Hertford.--WALPOLE.]
[Footnote 2: This address was surpa.s.sed towards the end of the reign, by a letter which arrived in London addressed to ”Srumfredafi, England;”
and was correctly interpreted at the Post Office as being designed for Sir Humphrey Davy.]
[Footnote 3: A noted miser, who raised a great fortune as a merchant at Venice, though his whole wealth, when he went thither, consisted in one of those vast wigs (a second-hand one, given to him) which were worn in the reign of Queen Anne, and which he sold for five guineas. He returned to England, very rich, in the reign of George II., with his wife and three daughters, who would have been great fortunes. The eldest, about eighteen, fell into a consumption, and, being ordered to ride, her father drew a map of the by-lanes about London, which he made the footman carry in his pocket and observe, that she might ride without paying a turnpike. When the poor girl was past recovery, Sir Robert sent for an undertaker, to cheapen her funeral, as she was not dead, and there was a possibility of her living. He went farther; he called his other daughters, and bade them curtsy to the undertaker, and promise to be his friends; and so they proved, for both died consumptive in two years.--WALPOLE.]
[Footnote 4: A lady who lived with Sir Robert Walpole, to take care of his youngest daughter, Lady Maria, after her mother's death. After Sir Robert's death, and Lady Mary's marriage with Mr. Churchill, she lived with Mr. H. Walpole to her death.--WALPOLE.]
[Footnote 5: As the sons of rajahs in India are called Rajah Pouts, and as turkeys came from the East, quaere if they were not called Turkey-pouts, as an Eastern diminutive?--WALPOLE.]
_5th._
I had written thus far yesterday. This minute I receive your nephew's of Sept. 20th; it is not such an one by any means as I had wished for. He tells me you have had a return of your disorder--indeed, he consoles me with your recovery; but I cannot in a moment shake off the impression of a sudden alarm, though the cause was ceased, nor can a second agitation calm a first on such shattered nerves as mine. My fright is over, but I am not composed. I cannot begin a new letter, and therefore send what I had written. I will only add, what you may be sure I feel, ardent wishes for your perfect health, and grateful thanks to your nephew for his attention--he is rather your son; but indeed he is Gal.'s son, and that is the same thing. How I love him for his attendance on you! and how very kind he is in giving me accounts of you! I hope he will continue, and I ask it still more for your sake than for my own, that you may not think of writing yourself. If he says but these words, ”My uncle has had no return of his complaint,” I shall be satisfied--satisfied!--I shall be quite happy! Indeed, indeed, I ask no more.
_LADY CRAVEN--MADAME PIOZZI--”THE ROLLIAD”--HERSCHEL'S ASTRONOMICAL DISCOVERY._
TO SIR HORACE MANN.
BERKELEY SQUARE, _Oct._ 30, 1785.
I am a contradiction, yet very naturally so; I wish you not to write yourself, and yet am delighted when I receive a letter in your own hand: however, I don't desire it should be of four pages, like this last of the 11th. When I have had the gout, I have always written by proxy. You will make me ashamed, if you don't use the precedent. Your account of yourself is quite to my satisfaction. I approve, too, of your not dining with your company. Since I must be old and have the gout, I have long turned those disadvantages to my own account, and plead them to the utmost when they will save me from doing anything I dislike. I am so lame, or have such a sudden pain, when I do not care to do what is proposed to me! n.o.body can tell how rapidly the gout may be come, or be gone again; and then it is so pleasant to have had the benefit, and none of the anguis.h.!.+
I did send you a line last week in the cover of a letter to Lady Craven,[1] which I knew would sufficiently tell your quickness how much I shall be obliged to you for any attentions to her. I thought her at Paris, and was surprised to hear of her at Florence. She has, I fear, been _infinitamente_ indiscreet; but what is that to you or me? She is very pretty, has parts, and is good-natured to the greatest degree; has not a grain of malice or mischief (almost always the a.s.sociates, in women, of tender hearts), and never has been an enemy but to herself.