or Baker, would think it begins well, that is, begins
ill; it has rained without intermission, and yesterday
there came a cargo of bad news, all which, you know,
are similar omens to a man who writes history upon
the information of the clouds. Berlin is taken
by the Prussians, the hereditary Prince beaten by the
French. Poor Lord Downe has had three wounds.
He and your brother’s Billy Pitt are prisoners.
Johnny Waldegrave was shot through the hat and through
the coat; and would have been shot through the body,
if he had had any. Irish Johnson is wounded in
the hand; Ned Harvey somewhere; and Prince Ferdinand
mortally in his reputation for sending this wild detachment.
Mr. Pitt has another reign to set to rights.
The Duke of Cumberland has taken Lord Sandwich’s,
in Pall-mall; Lord Chesterfield has offered his house
to Princess Emily; and if they live at Hampton-court,
as I suppose his court will, I may as well offer Strawberry
for a royal nursery; for at best it will become a
cakehouse; ’tis such a convenient airing for
the maids of honour. If I was not forced in
conscience to own to you, that my own curiosity is
exhausted, I would ask you, if you would not come
and look at this new world; but a new world only reacted
by old players is not much worth seeing; I shall return
on Saturday. The Parliament is prorogued till
the day it was to have met; the will is not opened;
what can I tell you more? Would it be news that
all is hopes and fears, and that great lords look
as if they dreaded wanting bread? would this be news?
believe me, it all grows stale soon. I had
not seen such a sight these three-and-thirty years:
I came eagerly to town; I laughed for three days-.
I am tired already. Good night!
P. S. I smiled to myself last night. Out of
excess of attention, which costs me nothing, when
I mean it should cost nobody else any thing, I went
last night to Kensington to inquire after Princess
Emily and Lady Yarmouth: nobody knew me, they
asked my name. When they heard it, they did
not seem ever to have heard it before, even in that
house. I waited half an hour in a lodge with
a footman of Lady Yarmouth’s; I would not have
waited so long in her room a week ago; now it only
diverted me. Even moralizing is entertaining,
when one laughs at the same time; but I pity those
who don’t moralize till they cry.
Letter 52 To Sir Horace Mann.
Arlington Street, Oct. 28, 1760. (page 98)
The deaths of kings travel so much faster than any
post, that I cannot expect to tell you news, when
I say your old master is dead. But I can pretty
well tell you what I like best to be able to say to
you on this occasion, that you are in no danger.
Change Will scarce reach to Florence when its hand
is checked even in the capital. But I will move
a little regularly, and then you will form your judgment
more easily—This is Tuesday; on Friday
night the King went to bed in perfect health, and