ondition: He has lost one side of
himself, and in a great measure his speech; notwithstanding which, he is
going to publish his DIVINE POEMS, as he calls them. I am sorry for it,
as he had not time to correct them before this stroke, nor abilities to
do it since. God bless you!

LETTER CCCI

BLACKHEATH, July 9, 1767.

MY DEAR FRIEND: I have received yours of the 21st past, with the inclosed
proposal from the French 'refugies, for a subscription toward building
them 'un temple'. I have shown it to the very few people I see, but
without the least success. They told me (and with too much truth) that
while such numbers of poor were literally starving here from the dearness
of all provisions, they could not think of sending their money into
another country, for a building which they reckoned useless. In truth, I
never knew such misery as is here now; and it affects both the hearts and
the purses of those who have either; for my own part, I never gave to a
building in my life; which I reckon is only giving to masons and
carpenters, and the treasurer of the undertaking.

Contrary to the expectations of all mankind here, everything still
continues in 'statu quo'. General Conway has been desired by the King to
keep the seals till he has found a successor for him, and the Lord
President the same. Lord Chatham is relapsed, and worse than ever: he
sees nobody, and nobody sees him: it is said that a bungling physician
has checked his gout, and thrown it upon his nerves; which is the worst
distemper that a minister or a lover can have, as it debilitates the mind
of the former and the body of the latter. Here is at present an
interregnum. We must soon see what order will be produced from this
chaos.

The Electorate, I believe, will find the want of Comte Flemming; for he
certainly had abilities, and was as sturdy and inexorable as a Minister
at the head of the finances ought always to be. When you see Comtesse
Flemming, which I suppose cannot be for some time, pray make her Lady
Chesterfield's and my compliments of condolence.

You say that Dresden is very sickly; I am sure London is at least as
sickly now, for there reigns an epidemical distemper, called by the
genteel name of 'l'influenza'. It is a little fever, of which scarcely
anybody dies; and it generally goes off with a little looseness. I have
escaped it, I believe, by being here. God keep you from all distempers,
and bless you!

LETTER CCCII

LONDON, O