wish they would go farther, and one and all impose peace on us and our enemies. That would be mercy to mankind; but at what Ratisbon is there a precedent of such a pacification registered? The D'Alemberts and Diderots, who are so lavish of incense to philosophic sovereigns, are forced to content themselves with mighty problematic sparkles of philosophy!

I begin this letter, because I am here idle: perhaps I shall not finish it this week. I am sorry my recommandé* is so unwise for himself as not to cultivate you more. I am satisfied of his virtues, but am not so clear that he knows much of the world. I doubt his patriotism is a little of Spartan hue, that is, morose; at least I shall deem it so, if your humanity does not smooth it. Here, I believe, it will soon be difficult to be allowed any moderation; but surely one has no occasion to wear one's badge constantly at the distance of above a thousand miles. Well; you have temper, and will not take notice of it. I am satisfied of your complaisance for my protégés; and, if they do not meet it as they ought, I am not so unreasonable as to expect or desire you to press it upon them. I remember Sir William Maynard was very impertinent on opposite politics.+ You must smile as I do when I content neither side. Methinks it is a desirable certificate. One should have charity for all sorts of opinions on religion and government; for no person can be absolutely sure he is in the right on either. Were any mode in either self-evi

* Mr. Windham.

+ Sir William Maynard was a Jacobite.

dently true, nobody could dispute on them; but, as men have disputed, fought, nay died, for almost every mode and against every mode, their probabilities are but a peut-être. I am a settled Whig; for, if one thinks, one must before my age have fixed one's creed by the lamp of one's own reason: but I have much Quakerism in my composition, and prefer peace to doctrines. I have so much weakness and worldliness too in my nature, that, having a poor opinion of my own infallibility, I can but suspect myself of as much prejudice and passion as I descry in others;-one may be very sure of one's own faults, but one may judge rashly and unfairly on those of others.

22d.

I could not amass complement enough for my letter, and shall therefore reserve it to Tuesday next. The mountain has been delivered of a tooth; i. e. the Speaker has had one drawn, and will return to the House on Monday, they say, for the rest of this session; though, they say, against the advice of the physicians, You see, when virtue seizes people late, it makes them risk even life itself in the service of their country!

25th.

I am but just come to town, and find that the livery of the House of Commons is still turned up with changeable, or rather is returned to the Royal colours. Dunning moved yesterday to address the King that the Parliament might not be prorogued or dissolved till the demands of the petitions are satisfied. The motion was rejected by 254 to 203. On this repulse, the Opposition

adjourned their committee to that day sevennight, to have time to meditate one decisive measure; which, if rejected, Charles Fox declared he should advise secession, as having no hopes of redress of grievances. That implies recourse to the people. As a new Parliament is so near, recourse to the people may imply that the people, if they will be relieved, must chuse representatives accordingly. Such steps are constitutional; and, while we have those remedies, I hope we shall never have any other. The session will probably end much sooner than was expected; but when one guesses, from the sky, of the day, you must not depend upon such an almanack-maker.

LETTER CCCXXIX.

Berkeley Square, May 13, 1780.

My letters keep touch with the pulse of the times they are redoubled, or intermitted, or periodic, according as the political inflammation increases, abates, or gives place to the common course of things. Of late I have been silent, because the daily papers told you the ordinary events, and that nothing singular had happened. The Ministerial recovery is confirmed; the rejection of the Contractors' Bill by the House of Lords occasioned no ferment, and in the country the Associations seem at least to doze. The Opposition are not very unanimous, and their leaders have no grounds for reproaching the Ministers with want of

conduct. The session, I conjecture, will end sooner than is expected, from general weariness. The public is tired of attending to their debates; and the chiefs will be sick of disappointments; especially when not consoled by the thorough-bass of attention and applause without doors. In short, it is my opinion that the vigour of this country is worn out, and is not likely to revive. I think it is pretty much the same case with Europe. I remember that, some years ago, I used to tell you that this is an age of abortions. May not this be founded on a still more general truth? May not our globe be arrived at senility? Its youth animated Asia, and displayed there its parts and invention. Europe profited of the maturity of its judgment and good sense, and experience and observation. Africa never partook of the illumination of the two continents but in Egypt, and at Carthage for a moment. America has begun to announce itself for a successor to old Europe, but I already doubt whether it will replace its predecessors; genius does not seem to make great shoots there. Buffon says, that European animals degenerate across the Atlantic; perhaps its migrating inhabitants may be in the same predicament. If my reveries are true, what pity that the world will not retire into itself and enjoy a calm old age!

I could carry my speculations on the general decay still farther. Is not the universal inactivity of all religions a symptom of decrepitude? The aged are seldom converted; they die in the faith they are used

to: still seldomer do the ancients invent new systems. The good ladies Mahometanism, Popery, and Protestantism adhere to their old rites, but hobble after no new teachers.

You perceive, by this rhapsody, that I have nothing new to tell you, and therefore I shall adjourn the conclusion of my letter to next week. May not one hope, from the lethargy of the war, that all sides may be sinking into a disposition towards peace? It is a consummation devoutly to be wished!

18th.

I might as well have sent away my letter last week, for it has not increased by allowing it time to grow. The eye of expectation is fixed on Charlestown, whence nothing is yet come. There are rumours of an attempt to be made by the French and Spaniards on your neighbour, Minorca; the latter having no hopes of taking Gibraltar. The languor of the war makes one expect both sides will be weary of it; at least, I flatter myself we shall pass a more tranquil summer at home than the last.

19th.

Sir Charles Hardy is dead, suddenly, at Portsmouth. I trust it is a good omen: it cannot be a bad one.*

P.S. I had sealed my letter, but open it again to tell you that I have this instant received your long despatch about Mr. Windham and Mr. Bagnal, and am very sorry so well laid a plan had no better success.

* On the death of Sir Charles Hardy, Admiral Geary was called upon to take the chief command.