LETTER CCXXXIX

LONDON, February 27, 1759

MY DEAR FRIEND: In your last letter, of the 7th, you accuse me, most
unjustly, of being in arrears in my correspondence; whereas, if our
epistolary accounts were fairly liquidated, I believe you would be
brought in considerably debtor. I do not see how any of my letters to you
can miscarry, unless your office-packet miscarries too, for I always send
them to the office. Moreover, I might have a justifiable excuse for
writing to you seldomer than usual, for to be sure there never was a
period of time, in the middle of a winter, and the parliament sitting,
that supplied so little matter for a letter. Near twelve millions have
been granted this year, not only 'nemine contradicente', but, 'nemine
quicquid dicente'. The proper officers bring in the estimates; it is
taken for granted that they are necessary and frugal; the members go to
dinner; and leave Mr. West and Mr. Martin to do the rest.

I presume you have seen the little poem of the "Country Lass," by Soame
Jenyns, for it was in the "Chronicle"; as was also an answer to it, from
the "Monitor." They are neither of them bad performances; the first is
the neatest, and the plan of the second has the most invention. I send
you none of those 'pieces volantes' in my letters, because they are all
printed in one or other of the newspapers, particularly in the
"Chronicles"; and I suppose that you and others have all those papers
among you at Hamburg; in which case it would be only putting you to the
unnecessary expense of double postage.