272. To J. B. Holroyd, Esq.

London, January 18th, 1776.

How do you do? Are you alive? Are you buried under mountains of snow? I write merely to triumph in the superiority of my own situation, and to rejoice in my own prudence, in not going down to S. P., as I seriously but foolishly intended to do last week. Hugonin by appointment came to town, but we soon agreed that the expedition (on his side at least) must be deferred till next summer; for which time he made a very solemn and, as I believe, a very serious engagement. We talked over Horn farm, which will be let next month by auction, and I am only afraid of getting too much money for it. Chalk woods, &c., settled to admiration, and every thing goes well except the d——d Lovegrove. However I have had the arrears of rent paid into Fleet street: which leaves a very moderate balance of interest against me.

We proceed triumphantly with the Roman Empire, and shall certainly make our appearance, before the end of next month. I have nothing public. You know we have got 18,000 Germans from Hesse Brunswick and Hesse Darmstadt. I think our meeting will be lively; a spirited Minority, and a desponding Majority. The higher people are placed, the more gloomy are their countenances, the more melancholy their language. You may call this cowardice, but I fear it arises from their knowledge (a late knowledge) of the difficulty and magnitude of the business. Quebec is not yet taken. I hear that Carleton is determined never to capitulate with Rebels. A glorious resolution if it were supported with 50,000 men. Adieu. I embrace My Lady and Maria. Make my excuses to the latter for having neglected her birthday.