LETTER CCLXXXIII

LONDON, December 27, 1765.

MY DEAR FRIEND: I arrived here from Bath last Monday, rather, but not much better, than when I went over there. My rheumatic pains, in my legs and hips, plague me still, and I must never expect to be quite free from them.

You have, to be sure, had from the office an account of what the parliament did, or rather did not do, the day of their meeting; and the same point will be the great object at their next meeting; I mean the affair of our American Colonies, relatively to the late imposed Stamp-duty, which our Colonists absolutely refuse to pay. The Administration are for some indulgence and forbearance to those froward children of their mother country; the Opposition are for taking vigorous, as they call them, but I call them violent measures; not less than 'les dragonnades'; and to have the tax collected by the troops we have there. For my part, I never saw a froward child mended by whipping; and I would not have the mother country become a stepmother. Our trade to America brings in, 'communibus annis', two millions a year; and the Stamp-duty is estimated at but one hundred thousand pounds a year; which I would by no means bring into the stock of the Exchequer, at the loss or even the risk of a million a year to the national stock.

I do not tell you of the Garter given away yesterday, because the newspapers will; but, I must observe, that the Prince of Brunswick's riband is a mark of great distinction to that family; which I believe, is the first (except our own Royal Family) that has ever had two blue ribands at a time; but it must be owned they deserve them.

One hears of nothing now in town, but the separation of men and their wives. Will Finch, the Ex-vice Chamberlain, Lord Warwick, and your friend Lord Bolingbroke. I wonder at none of them for parting; but I wonder at many for still living together; for in this country it is certain that marriage is not well understood.

I have this day sent Mr. Larpent two hundred pounds for your Christmas-box, of which I suppose he will inform you by this post. Make this Christmas as merry a one as you can; for 'pour le peu du bon tems qui nous reste, rien nest si funeste, qu'un noir chagrin'. For the new years--God send you many, and happy ones! Adieu.

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

Always made the best of the best, and never made bad worse American Colonies Be neither transported nor depressed by the accidents of life Doing, 'de bonne grace', what you could not help doing EVERY DAY IS STILL BUT AS THE FIRST Everything has a better and a worse side Extremely weary of this silly world Gainer by your misfortune I, who am not apt to know anything that I do not know If I cared to know, you should have cared to have written Intrinsic, and not their imaginary value My own health varies, as usual, but never deviates into good National honor and interest have been sacrificed to private Neither abilities or words enough to call a coach Neither know nor care, (when I die) for I am very weary Never saw a froward child mended by whipping Never to trust implicitly to the informations of others Not make their want still worse by grieving and regretting them Not tumble, but slide gently to the bottom of the hill of life Nothing much worth either desiring or fearing Often necessary to seem ignorant of what one knows Only solid and lasting peace, between a man and his wife Oysters, are only in season in the R months Patience is the only way not to make bad worse Recommends self-conversation to all authors Return you the ball 'a la volee' Settled here for good, as it is called Stamp-duty, which our Colonists absolutely refuse to pay Thinks himself much worse than he is To seem to have forgotten what one remembers We shall be feared, if we do not show that we fear Whatever one must do, one should do 'de bonne grace' Who takes warning by the fate of others? Women are all so far Machiavelians