516.
To Lord Sheffield.
Monday afternoon, 1787.
A MISERABLE CRIPPLE.
*I precipitate! I inconvenience! Alas! alas! I am a poor miserable cripple, confined to my chair. Last Wednesday evening I felt some flying symptoms of the gout: for two succeeding days I struggled bravely, and went in a chair to dine with Batt and Lord Loughborough: but on Saturday I yielded to my conqueror. I have now passed three wearisome days without amusement, and three miserable nights without sleep. Yet my acquaintance are charitable; and as virtue should never be made too difficult, I feel that a man has more friends in Pall Mall than in Bentinck Street. This fit is remarkably painful; the enemy is possessed of the left foot and knee, and how far he may carry the war, God only knows. Of futurity it is impossible to speak; but it will be fortunate if I am able to leave town by the end, not of this, but of the ensuing week. Pity me, magnanimous Baron; pity me, tender females; pity me, Swiss exile,[118] and believe me, it is far better to be learning English at Uckfield. I write with difficulty, as the least motion or constraint in my attitude is repeated by all the nerves and sinews in my knee. But* in the daily papers *you shall find each day a note or bulletin of my health. To-morrow I must give pain to Mrs. G. Adieu.* Caplin's servant has other offers, and grows impatient for a speedy and final answer.
Ever yours,
E. G.
517.
To his Stepmother.
Saturday, Nov. 30th, 1787.