To his Stepmother.
Lausanne, December 5th, 1789.
My Dear Madam,
I need not repeat what we have both so often felt and acknowledged, that between us silence is never the effect of coldness or forgetfulness, yet when I recollect that your second letter is still unanswered, a conscious blush rises to my cheek. Our mutual friendship we have no occasion to express, of our health and situation we may have frequent accounts by the channel of Lord Sheffield and Mrs. Holroyd; mere topics of Epistolary conversation do not readily occur between distant friends, but you ask me some questions of an interesting nature and your kind curiosity it is incumbent on me to satisfy.
The disposal of Buriton I think you cannot disapprove. A distant landed estate is the worst kind of property, and you will not be surprized to hear that after the payment of every expence and every deduction, the remainder of the clear income was little more than sufficient for the annual supply, which I hope will be long, very long, offered to the Belvidere at Bath. The neglect, I will not give it an harsher name, of Hugonin cost me last year above seven hundred pounds; yet after his death, where could I have found a more creditable agent? At sixteen thousand pounds Lord Sheffield does not think Buriton ill sold, especially as four or five thousand more must be added which I had already received from the sale of Horn and Harris's farms. Some forms of law have delayed the final conclusion, but I expect to hear every post of the payment of the money, and you will rejoyce to hear, what I assure on my honour is true, that every shilling is my own, and that prudence, without any pressure of distress or debt, is the sole motive of my conduct. The entire sum I mean to divide between the stocks and a good mortgage, that at all events I may have a sound leg to stand upon. I hope you are satisfied with the arrangement of your jointure: Lord Sheffield cannot forget the burthen of every one of my letters, "Unless Mrs. G. be safe and easy, I cannot be so."
IRREPARABLE LOSS OF A FRIEND.
When I had the pleasure of seeing you at Bath two years ago, you may remember the melancholy account which I gave you of poor Deyverdun. On my return to Lausanne I found him much altered for the worse; he was attacked by a succession of Apoplectic fits, and after a general decay, he died last July, when his life could be no longer desirable for himself or his friends. The loss of a friend of five and thirty years is irreparable, and each day I feel the comfortless solitude to which I am reduced. By his will he designed that I should possess the delightful house and garden which I inhabit: and which have not, I believe, their equal in Europe; by a subsequent arrangement with his heir, in which both find their advantage, I have secured the free and indisputable enjoyment for my life, and have already made some agreable and useful alterations. I still like the people and the country, and here I shall probably spend the latter season of life, with the resolution however of visiting England every three or four years. I have often regretted that your imperfect knowledge of the French language never allowed me to seduce you to this place. I am sure you would have pleased and been pleased in the circle of my familiar acquaintance.
My health was never so good as it is at present, and since my unseasonable attack at Bath I have not felt the slightest return of the gout. You may possibly hear that Mr. Gibbon has undertaken some new history; be persuaded, if I know his intentions, that after six weighty quartos, he now reads and writes for his own amusement, though I will not answer for what those amusements may one day produce. You may likewise hear of tumults and rebellions in Switzerland. Be persuaded, that the popular madness of France and Flanders has not reached these tranquil regions, and that the Swiss have sense enough to feel and maintain their own happiness, which is endeared to them by the disorders of the neighbouring countries.
Adieu, Dear Madam; I grieve for you and for myself that we are now entering into the cold and dreary season, but I sincerely hope that you will find strength and spirits to lay this and many other winters at your feet.
Ever yours,
E. G.