593.
To Lord Sheffield.
Lausanne, August 23rd, 1792.
*When I inform you that the design of my English expedition is at last postponed to another year, you will not be much surprized. The public obstacles, the danger of one road, and the difficulties of another, would alone be sufficient to arrest so unwieldy and inactive a Being; and these obstacles on the side of France, are growing every day more insuperable. On the other hand, the terrors, which might have driven me from hence, have in a great measure, subsided; our state prisoners are forgot; the country begins to recover its old good humour and unsuspecting confidence, and the last revolution of Paris appears to have convinced almost every body of the fatal consequences of Democratical principles, which lead by a path of flowers into the Abyss of Hell. I may therefore wait with patience and tranquillity till the Duke of Brunswick shall have opened the French road. But if I am not driven from Lausanne, you will ask, I hope with some indignation, whether I am not drawn to England, and more especially to Sheffield-place? The desire of embracing you and yours is now the strongest, and must gradually become the sole, inducement that can force me from my library and garden, over seas and mountains. The English World will forget and be forgotten, and every year will deprive me of some acquaintance, who by courtesy are styled friends: Lord Guilford[236] and Sir Joshua Reynolds![237] two of the men, and two of the houses in London, on whom I the most relied for the comforts of society.*
Even the satisfaction which I promised myself at Sheffield would at present be——
September 12th, 1792.
BRUNSWICK MARCHES ON PARIS.
*Thus far had I written in the full confidence of finishing and sending my letter the next post; but six post-days have unaccountably slipped away, and were you not accustomed to my silence, you would almost begin to think me on the road. How dreadfully, since my last date, has the French road been polluted with blood! and what horrid scenes may be acting at this moment, and may still be aggravated, till the Duke of Brunswick[238] is master of Paris! On every rational principle of calculation he must succeed; yet sometimes, when my spirits are low, I dread the blind efforts of mad and desperate multitudes fighting on their own ground. A few days or weeks must decide the military operations of this year, and perhaps for ever; but on the fairest supposition, I cannot look forwards to any firm settlement, either of a legal or an absolute government. I cannot pretend to give you any Paris news. Should I inform you, as we believe, that Lally[239] is still among the cannibals, you would possibly answer, that he is now sitting in the library at Sheffield. Madame de Stael,[240] after miraculously escaping through pikes and poniards, has reached the castle of Copet, where I shall see her before the end of the week. If any thing can provoke the King of Sardinia and the Swiss, it must be the foul destruction of his cousin Madame de Lamballe, and of their regiment of guards.[241] An extraordinary council is summoned at Berne, but resentment may be checked by prudence. In spite of Maria's laughter, I applaud your moderation, and sigh for a hearty union of all the sense and property of the country. The times require it; but your last political letter was a cordial to my spirits. The Duchess of D. rather dislikes a coalition: amiable creature! The Eliza (we call her Bess) is furious against you for not writing. We shall lose them in a few days; but the motions of Bess and the Duchess for Italy or England, are doubtful. Ladies Spencer and Duncannon certainly pass the Alps. I live with them.*
The interesting subjects of our late correspondence seem to have obliterated all memory of my private concerns, which have suffered as usual a rub when we thought them finally terminated. Although my ideas about money matters are grown somewhat confused, I do not believe there is much caput mortuum left, and have no doubt that the different channels of interest will be properly filled at Michaelmas, but I should be glad to see the greatest part of my decreasing short annuities well secured in a mortgage, and I flatter myself that yourself and agents are alive to that pursuit. But I must again put you in mind of two interesting queries to which I have not yet received any answer. 1. What is the nature of the three thousand pounds debentures which you purchased last Winter? Who is my debtor? and what and where is my security? Surely this is no idle curiosity on my side. 2. I wished to know in what hands the different deeds of my property are vested, and to possess something like a written attestation. The Buriton Mortgage and the aforesaid debentures are very properly, as I suppose, in Lord Sheffield's iron chest. Fort bien. My short annuities in their own books and in Mr. E. Darrel's—pas mal; my Sussex Navigation and India Bonds with Gosling, passe encore: but my claims on you, the Newhaven Mortgage and the Annuity are delivered—are they not, to Mr. Batt, an honourable but a sickly man? Should he fail, have we any to exhibit to his unknown heir? If delicacy, false delicacy, forbids your asking for a receipt, or taking them, which I should like better, into your own custody, I must seriously desire they may be sent over to me. Did I not express some anxiety on this head, you would have a right to call me a very careless fellow.
There are some minor matters which you may find in my long letter;[242] such as a request to settle a shameful obsolete bill, my only one, at Wedgwood's, and to enquire whether Mr. John Nichols, bookseller in Red Lion Passage, Fleet Street, did not receive a letter from me last March which he has never answered. But I must insist on a hogshead of Madeira announced, shipped, and, I believe, paid six months ago, but which has never reached my lips or my cellar. This must be explored. *Adieu. Since I do not appear in person, I feel the absolute propriety of writing to my lady and Maria; but there is far from the knowledge to the performance of a duty.*
Ever yours,
E. G.