he strange effects of modes, will never imagine
the reception I met with at Paris, from men and women of all ranks and
stations. The more I resiled from their excessive civilities, the more
I was loaded with them. There is, however, a real satisfaction in living
at Paris, from the great number of sensible, knowing, and polite company
with which that city abounds above all places in the universe. I thought
once of settling there for life.

I was appointed secretary to the embassy; and, in summer, 1765, Lord
Hertford left me, being appointed lord lieutenant of Ireland. I was
charge d'affaires till the arrival of the duke of Richmond, towards the
end of the year. In the beginning of 1766, I left Paris, and next summer
went to Edinburgh, with the same view as formerly, of burying myself in
a philosophical retreat. I returned to that place, not richer, but with
much more money, and a much larger income, by means of Lord Hertford's
friendship, than I left it; and I was desirous of trying what
superfluity could produce, as I had formerly made an experiment of a
competency. But in 1767, I received from Mr. Conway an invitation to be
under-secretary; and this invitation, both the character of the person,
and my connections with Lord Hertford, prevented me from declining. I
returned to Edinburgh in 1769, very opulent, (for I possessed a revenue
of one thousand pounds a year,) healthy, and though somewhat stricken
in years, with the prospect of enjoying long my ease, and of seeing the
increase of my reputation.

In spring, 1775, I was struck with a disorder in my bowels, which at
first gave me no alarm, but has since, as I apprehend it, become mortal
and incurable. I now reckon upon a speedy dissolution. I have suffered
very little pain from my disorder; and what is more strange, have,
notwithstanding the great decline of my person, never suffered a
moment's abatement of my spirits; insomuch, that were I to name a period
of my life which I should most choose to pass over again, I might be
tempted to point to this later period. I possess the same ardor as ever
in study, and the same gayety in company. I consider, besides, that a
man of sixty-five, by dying, cuts off only a few years of infirmities;
and though I see many symptoms of my literary reputation's breaking out
at last with additional lustre, I know that I could have but few years
to enjoy it. It is difficult to be more detached from life than I am at
present.

To conclu