The Letters of Horace Walpole [1771-1774]

1771

January

1336. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, Jan. 15, 1771.

There seems to be a pestilence amongst our politicians. They go off by wholesale. The Duke of Bedford died last night; happily for himself, poor man! for he had lost his sight, and almost his speech and limbs. Sir Edward Hawke is only dead politically, having resigned from age and infirmities. The new Secretary of State, Lord Sandwich, succeeds him -- As First Lord of the Admiralty. ^†1, and no man in England is fitter for the office. I do not know who will have the Seals. Lord Suffolk is most talked of, but, though young, he is all over gout. The Great Seal remains at nurse, and the changes in the law are still in suspense, like the Peace, which somehow or other has been strangely bungled. We might, I am persuaded, have had it two months ago. The opposition is in the last state of a consumption; Mr. Grenville's friends point due west to St. James's; Lord Chatham and Lord Temple have quarrelled, and the latter is retired. Lord Shelburne has lost his wife (our friend Lady Granville's daughter The first wife of William Fitzmaurice, second Earl of Shelburne, was daughter of John Carteret, Earl of Granville, by his second wife, Lady Sophia Fermor, daughter of Thomas, Earl of Pomfret. Walpole. ^†2), acts the disconsolate husband, and is going

abroad; Wilkes and Parson Horne write against each other; Alderman Sawbridge is dying; and, in short, Lord Chatham, like Widdrington in Chevy Chace, is left almost alone to fight it out upon his stumps. So we must have a new world, start new subjects, or sink into a dead calm; for I think still that we shall not go to war.

In France the scene seems thoroughly foolish. The Duke of Choiseul has lost his power ridiculously by braving a fille de joie, to humour two women The Duchesse de Grammont, sister of the Duc de Choiseul, and her friend the Princesse de Beauvau. Walpole. ^†3 who seem to think 'qu'on ne doit pas être impunément putain, sans être grande dame.' He comforts himself, as everybody does in France that is in fashion, with being applauded, and with reading a million of epigrams against his enemies; not considering that he will be as much forgotten in a month as if he was the pattern of last year's coat. The cabal that drove him out are said to be divided; at least they had no arrangement ready. They have been dragging old lieutenant-generals out of garrisons to fill up state places, and cannot get enough even thence, or from hospitals; but are trying to furbish up ancient ministers and ambassadors to set forwards for ostensible minister. They have talked of Monsieur d'Ossun from Madrid, a Monsieur de Vergennes Charles Gravier (1718-1787), Comte de Vergennes. He did not come into office until 1774. LETTER 1337. ^†4 who was at Constantinople, and even of the silly Cardinal de Bernis. The Chancellor, who is abhorred, seems to have most credit. The Duc d'Aiguillon, they say, is a little disappointed, but will have the affaires étrangères as soon as the Peace is made; but at present the Prince of Condé has much power with the King. In the meantime the thunders of Versailles have blunted themselves, and a composition is on foot with the Parliament, who are permitted not to register the last tempest. I do not think these new giants

will grow more tractable when Pelion and Ossa are lifted off their necks.

So much for England and France. Yes, yes, it is a new world. The ancient dramatis personae are dead, or have quitted the stage. I shall continue for your sake to send you great outlines, but I cannot interest myself about a new race, when I have done with the theatre myself. What can occupy one less than a play-bill, when one scarce knows half the actors by sight? Not that I have that symptom of age, esteeming only the veterans one remembers. God knows, how few I admired of the old troop! neither Betterton nor Penkethman, Lord Hardwicke nor the Duke of Newcastle. I can easily expect their successors to play their parts better.

Princess Amelia, who is not of this age neither, was very near dying two days ago of a bilious fever.

Well, as we have closed a long period, pray send me my letters to the end of last year. I believe I have mentioned it once or twice. I should like to have them all together, for they are a kind of history--only think of eight-and-twenty years!

I will tell you what I must get you to send me, too, by the first opportunity, the Lettere Pittoriche; I am not quite sure of the title, but they are three, four, or five small volumes, in quarto, of the letters of the great painters. I saw the two first volumes some time ago at Paris, but could not get them; and as I have now finished the last volume of my Anecdotes of Painting, and intend, after it is published, to make a new general edition, I know there are passages in those Letters that I should like to insert in my work. My own letters you will take care to reserve for a safe opportunity, but the books I wish for immediately by sea. Adieu!

1337. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, Jan. 20, 1771.

You will wonder to hear from me again so very soon. Yet I am not going to proclaim war, or announce peace; though I believe we shall, thank God, have the latter. We have not a new Secretary of State, nor any new death; but, in short, I am impatient to thank you for a present that I have received, and that you never mentioned having sent me. Sure it is not so insignificant! It is the volume of Masaccio's designs, brought by Mr. Coxe. I am transported with them! They are nature itself, and evidently the precursors of Raphael. He plainly availed himself of their dignity, but scarce reached the infinite truth of their expression. The action of the mouth in every head almost surpasses any other master, and seems to have been caught only by this. I did not remember these works. Oh! if there are more, make your Patch -- An English artist and picture-dealer and cleaner, afterwards much known and employed. Walpole.--Thomas Patch (d. 1782). ^†1 give us all. I cannot be content under all. They are admirably touched and executed: he must engrave the rest; and there is one more work he must perform, too. I remember at Florence a very few pictures of Fra Bartolomeo, another parent of Raphael, and whose ideas I thought, if possible, greater: as there is such a scarcity of his works, and as they have never that I know been engraved, at least not so well I am persuaded as these by Patch, make him add them to another set of Masaccio's heads. It will immortalize you both to preserve such works. I am much pleased, too, with the caricaturas, that is, with those that are scarce caricaturas; for, you must know, I love truth; and those that are not extravagant are highly natural. Tell me more of this Patch; and, if you

have a mind to please me quite, send me a drawing by him of yourself, of your whole person, exactly as you are. Astley's head of you, though finely coloured, never satisfied me for likeness. Let me have your figure precisely, and as natural as the Crelia in Funzione. I am expecting Sir Joshua Reynolds, our best painter, whom I have sent for, to see some wonderful miniatures I have bought, and these heads of Masaccio. I think they may give him such lights as may raise him prodigiously. I must repeat it, the mouths, and often the eyes, are life itself. There is but one head I do not like; it is No. 22; and yet I believe it a portrait, but ill chosen. My dear Sir, do push on this work: let us have more of Masaccio, and all the few of Bartolomeo. The Great Duke will not refuse you a permission for Patch to copy them.

22nd.

Obligations beget importunities. I must beg you to send me two more of Patch's volumes of Masaccio; but, as they are for other people, I must pay for them; so don't haggle, but tell me their price, and I will give your brother the money.

The Parliament is in the act of meeting; but, I should think, except a Mansfield-baiting, there will be little stirring till the Peace is made, and can be found fault with. Made, I hope, and think, it will be. For the vacancies, they are still at market. It is odd that just at the same moment, in France the Chancellor cannot make a minister, and in England the minister cannot make a Chancellor.

As this is a letter of supererogation, I make no excuses for its brevity. Adieu.

Tuesday, 22nd, in the evening.

I had sealed my letter, as you will perceive; and break it open again in a great hurry, to tell you the Peace The agreement with Spain relative to the Falkland Isles. ^†2 was

signed last night, and declared in the House of Commons to-day. You will ask the conditions: I don't know them yet, nor much trouble my head about them, but I could not help sending you this good news.

My codicil must contradict half my letter. Lord Halifax is Secretary of State, and Lord Suffolk Privy Seal. Mr. Bathurst, Lord Keeper, en attendant his father's death to be Chancellor; De Grey, Chief Justice of the Common Pleas; Thurlow and Wedderburne Alexander Wedderburn (1733-1805), M.P. for Bishop's Castle; cr. (June 17, 1780) Baron Loughborough of Loughborough in Leicestershire; cr. Earl of Rosslyn in 1801; Solicitor-General, 1771-78; Attorney-General, 1778-80; Lord Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, 1780-92; Lord Chancellor, 1793-1801. Wedderburn was the object of Horace Walpole's special detestation. ^†3 Attorney and Solicitor-Generals. There, I think I shall have no occasion to write again soon. Good night!

1338. Not in C.; reprinted from Letters and Journals of Lady Mary Coke, vol. iii. p. 369, n. 1. ^†1338. To Lady Mary Coke.

Arlington Street, Jan. 27, 1771.

I am extremely flattered, dear Lady Mary, by your sisters telling me that you complain of my silence--alas! I thought, surrounded by emperors and empresses, you could not think of or care for the letters of such little mortals as I. I imagined that I must write to you with all the formality of the Aulic Chamber. I had begun an epistle and put myself into one of M. de Seilern's most exalted altitudes, but my words came so slow, that I should not have finished before I hope you will return. By your kind reproof I trust you will allow me to descend from my Austrian buskins, and write in my usual style. I am [not], nor ever can be, altered towards your Ladyship; but, truth is, I feared your having become at least an Archduchess, and did not know, which would be a thousand pities, but your fair nose might

have risen half an inch, and your lips, which could never mend, have dropped and pouted with prodigious dignity at being addressed with a familiarity unknown to the house of Hapsburg. I am transported with finding you still the same, and could now almost trust you with the baneful influence of the Czarina. However, pray never think of making her a visit too. You have travelled enough, and ought to have the Magi come to see you, instead of wandering yourself after every star. I do not pretend, Madam, to tell you news, for Lady Strafford and Lady Greenwich leave none untold. One article rejoices me greatly, the Peace with Spain. I do not wish to conquer the world every ten years! Events happen here so daily, that we do not want battles and sieges for conversation; and yet I think politics are likely to grow a little drowsy. The deaths of Mr. Grenville and the Duke of Bedford have left Lord North in full security. Lord Temple takes no more part, and they say is even quarrelled with Lord Chatham. Wilkes and Parson Horne have a civil war between themselves, and nobody insists upon one's lighting up candles for either. Loo begins to yield to quinze--oh! I had forgotten: there are desperate wars These disputes are further described in the letter to Mann of Feb. 22, 1771. ^†1 between the Opera in the Haymarket and that at Mrs. Cornelys's. There was a negotiation yesterday for a union, but I do not know what answer the definitive courier has brought. All I know is that Guadagni is much more haughty than the King of Castille, Arragon, Leon, Granada, &c. In the meantime King Hobart Mr. Hobart, the manager. ^†2 is starving, and if the junction takes place his children must starve, for he must pay the expenses of both theatres. The Ladies' Club--oh! but you are one of the profane and must not be acquainted with our mysteries, yet you must respect them, for Monsr. de Belgioioso Austrian Ambassador in London. ^†3 is one of our members. He is a sensible good sort of man, and has not half the pasteboard about him that Seilern had. You will like Monsr. de Guines too, who is very civil and modest, and has none of the agreeable peevishness of his predecessor The Marquis du Châtelet. ^†4, nor the charming indifference of his predecessoress. What do you say at Vienna to Monsr. de Choiseul's fall? And when will your neighbour Mustapha 3rd be sent in chains to Petersburg? Is the Dauphiness The Dauphiness Marie Antoinette. ^†5 breeding, or are you very angry she is not? Plays, at least scenes, thrive exceedingly. There is a farce at Covent Garden called Mother Shipton that has a million of pretty landscapes, and temples of ruby and emerald. Garrick has revived Dryden's King Arthur with some good scenery: unluckily, for a heathen temple, he has produced a Gothic cathedral, in which the devil happens to be the principal performer, and then Purcell's venerable music is squalled in imitation of modern singing, till one's ear don't know it by sight. He has got a tragedy too, translated from Voltaire's Tancrède by Madame Celesia Dorothea (1738-1790), daughter of David Mallet, and wife of Pietro Paolo Celesia, a Genoese, and Minister in England from that Republic from 1755 till 1759. Her adaptation was called Almida. ^†6, Mallett's daughter, which takes, though very middling; and a sentimental comedy called The West Indian, by Mr. Cumberland, that is quite ravishing; at least so they say, but I have not had time yet to go and be ravished. I do not know that we have a single new book, except one or two political pamphlets, that nobody reads but the Common Council, who cannot read. Lord Huntingdon is going abroad, not, like your Ladyship, to see kings and queens, but because he has fewer opportunities of seeing them than he had. Lord Shelburne is going too, on the loss of his wife, and Lord Grantham to Spain Thomas Robinson, second Baron Grantham, appointed Ambassador at Madrid. ^†7. I have not heard who is to succeed the last as Vice-Chamberlain. The worst and the best news I can tell you is, that you and I, Madam, have been very near losing our Princess, and that she is perfectly well again. I am to play there to-morrow, but our loo is reduced to half-crowns. You have heard, I suppose, that on account of her deafness she goes no more to court, and is to have no more Drawing-rooms. This sketch of everything will, I hope, atone a little for my past omissions, and yet why should I expect it? You are a wanderer, Lady Mary, like Cain, and seem not to care for your own country. You would have liked it better, I believe, during the Heptarchy, when we had more kings and queens than there are in a pack of cards. If you should ever write your travels, and like Baron Polnitz give a full account of all the gracious sovereigns upon earth, I flatter myself you will honour the Strawberry Press with them. I promise you they shall be printed on the best Imperial paper. It is employed at present on the last volume of my Anecdotes of Painting, which do not deserve better than quires of foolscap. May I trouble your Ladyship with my compliments to Lord Stormont Ambassador at Vienna. ^†8. I am just going to Lady Ailesbury, and as I conclude I shall meet Lady Strafford there, I must finish my letter that I may trouble her to send it--but the length indeed is all I ought to make excuses for.

I am, Madam,

Your Ladyship's

Abandoned but ever

Faithful and devoted knight,

HORACE WALPOLE.

1339. Reprinted from Journals and Correspondence of Miss Berry, vol. ii. p. 35. This letter was written shortly after January 25, 1771, on which date Lord Chatham pronounced the panegyric on Choiseul referred to by Walpole. Madame du Deffand, to whom the letter was sent in order that she might forward it, kept it back, thinking it unworthy of the writer. She thus refers to it and to Horace Walpole when writing to the Duchesse de Choiseul on May 3, 1771:--'Il me parle de vous dans toutes ses lettres. J'ai été fort mal avec lui pour ne pas vous avoir envoyé une qu'il vous avait écrite; je ne la trouvai pas assez bonne, et je lui mandai que je l'avais retenue pour vous épargner la peine d'y répondre.' LETTER 1340. ^†1339. To the Duchesse De Choiseul.

Pendant que la France entière vous marquoit ses regrets, Madame, je n'osois pas vous importuner des miens. Mais le triomphe de la vertu doit-il se borner à un seul pays? La reconnoissance et la plus parfaite estime ne trouveront-elles pas un moment à se faire entendre? Oui, chère grandmaman, je perds le respect qui vous est dû à tant d'égards, pour épancher mon cœur avec plus de liberté et de tendresse. Je me réjouis avec vous, car de quoi vous plaindre? Avez-vous été ambitieuse, avare, insolente? Sont-ce des créatures qui vous regrettent, ou des malheureux? Monsieur le Duc de Choiseul est-il condamné de sa patrie et de vous, ou approuvé et comblé de louanges? Est-il plus doux de deviner ce que la postérité dira de nous, ou de l'entendre de la bouche de sa patrie et de toute l'Europe? Oh! vraiment je bénis le ciel de m'avoir donné un père et un grand-père dont la gloire ne fait qu'accroître tous les jours, et à qui il ne manquoit que la disgrâce pour fixer l'immortalité. Oui, oui, belle maman, il faut vous conter ce qu'on dit de papa Choiseul; et cela ne vient pas d'une voix suspecte. My Lord Chatham a dit en plein Parlement, que depuis feu M. le Cardinal de Richelieu la France n'avoit point possédé un aussi grand ministre que M. le Duc de Choiseul, et qu'il avoit emporté les regrets de tous les ordres de l'état. Voilà comme parlent les véritables grands hommes, qui s'y entendent. Notre peuple, qui ne connoît

M. de Choiseul que par la peur qu'il leur avoit faite, a une manière de louer toute différente, et se félicite de sa chute. Ce n'est pas un éloge à mépriser.

Votre fermeté et la noblesse de votre âme, Madame, m'assurent que parmi tant de sujets de gloire, vous n'oublierez pas entièrement un homme que vous avez comblé de bontés, et qui vous est attaché par la reconnoissance et par l'admiration de toutes vos belles qualités. Permettez-moi de conserver le doux titre de votre petit-fils, et laissez-moi m'enorgueillir, comme si j'étois grand prince, sans mérite des vertus de mes ancêtres. Ma foi, je ne les troquerois pas contre un Cardinal de Richelieu, trop flatté si j'ose me signer,

Madame,

Votre très affectionné et très fidèle serviteur,

HORACE WALPOLE de Choiseul.

February

1340. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, Feb. 22, 1771.

Two days ago there began to be an alarm at the delay of the Spanish courier, and people were persuaded that the King of Spain had refused to ratify his Ambassador's declaration; who, on the warrant of the French King, had ventured to sign it, though expecting every hour to be recalled, as he actually was two days afterwards. However, the night before last, to the great comfort of Prince Masserano and our ministers, the ratification arrived; and, after so many delays and untoward accidents, Fortune has interposed (for there has been great luck, too, in the affair), and peace is again established. With you, I am not at all clear that Choiseul was in earnest to make it. If he was, it was entirely owing to his own ticklish situation. Other people think this very situation had made him

desperate; and that he was on the point of striking a hardy stroke indeed; and meditated sending a strong army into Holland, to oblige the Dutch to lend twelve men-of-war to invade us. Count Welderen -- The Dutch Minister in England. He married a sister of Sir John Griffin, Maid of Honour to Anne, Princess of Orange. Walpole. ^†1, who is totally an anti-Gaul, assured me he did not believe this project. Still I am very glad such a boute-feu is removed.

This treaty is an epoch; and puts a total end to all our preceding histories. Long quiet is never probable, nor shall I guess who will disturb it; but whatever happens must be thoroughly new matter, though some of the actors perhaps may not be so. Both Lord Chatham and Wilkes are at the end of their reckoning, and the opposition can do nothing without fresh fuel.

The scene that is closed here seems to be but opening in France. The Parliament of Paris banished; a new one arbitrarily appointed; the Princes of the blood refractory and disobedient; the other Parliaments as mutinous; and distress everywhere: if the army catches the infection, what may not happen, when the King is despised, his agents detested, and no ministry settled? Some say the mistress and her faction keep him hourly diverted or drunk; others, that he has got a new passion: how creditable at sixty! Still I think it is the crisis of their constitution. If the monarch prevails, he becomes absolute as a Czar; if he is forced to bend, will the Parliament stop there?

In the meantime our most serious war is between two operas. Mr. Hobart, Lord Buckingham's brother, is manager of the Haymarket. Last year he affronted Guadagni, by preferring the Zamperina, his own mistress, to the singing hero's sister. The Duchess of Northumberland, Lady Harrington, and some other great ladies, espoused the

brother, and without a licence erected an Opera for him at Madame Cornelys's. This is a singular dame, and you must be acquainted with her. She sung here formerly, by the name of the Pompeiati. Of late years she has been the Heidegger of the age, and presided over our diversions. Her taste and invention in pleasures and decorations are singular. She took Carlisle House in Soho Square, enlarged it, and established assemblies and balls by subscription. At first they scandalized, but soon drew in both righteous and ungodly. She went on building, and made her house a fairy palace, for balls, concerts, and masquerades. Her Opera, which she called Harmonic Meetings, was splendid and charming. Mr. Hobart began to starve, and the managers of the theatres were alarmed. To avoid the Act, she pretended to take no money, and had the assurance to advertise that the subscription was to provide coals for the poor, for she has vehemently courted the mob, and succeeded in gaining their princely favour. She then declared her masquerades were for the benefit of commerce. I concluded she would open a bawdy house next for the interests of the Foundling Hospital, and I was not quite mistaken, for they say one of her maids, gained by Mr. Hobart, affirms that she could not undergo the fatigue of making the beds so often. At last Mr. Hobart informed against her, and the bench of justices, less soothable by music than Orpheus's beasts, have pronounced against her. Her Opera is quashed, and Guadagni, who governed so haughtily at Vienna, that, to pique some man of quality there, he named a minister to Venice, is not only fined, but was threatened to be sent to Bridewell, which chilled the blood of all the Cæsars and Alexanders he had ever represented; nor could any promises of his lady-patronesses rehabilitate his courage--so for once an Act of Parliament goes for something.

You have got three new companions As Knights of the Bath. Walpole. ^†2; General Montagu Brother of George Montagu. ^†3, a West Indian Mr. Paine Ralph Payne (1739-1807), son of Ralph Payne, Chief Justice of the island of St. Christopher; cr. (Oct. 1, 1795) an Irish peer as Baron Lavington of Lavington; Governor of the Leeward Islands, 1774-75 and 1801-7; Clerk of the Board of Green Cloth, 1777-84. ^†4, and Mr. Lynch, your brother at Turin.

There is the devil to pay in Denmark The Prime Minister Bernstorf and other court officials had been dismissed through Struensee's influence with the King and Queen. Struensee, supported by the Queen, undertook the government. ^†5. The Queen has got the ascendant, has turned out favourites and ministers, and literally wears the breeches, actual buckskin. There is a physician Struensee, afterwards beheaded. Walpole. LETTER 1341. ^†6, who is said to rule both their Majesties, and I suppose is sold to France, for that is the predominant interest now at Copenhagen. The Czarina has whispered her disapprobation, and if she has a talon left, when she has done with the Ottomans, may chance to scratch the little King.

For eight months to come I should think we shall have little to talk of, you and I, but distant wars and distant majesties. For my part, I reckon the volume quite shut in which I took any interest. The succeeding world is young, new, and half unknown to me. Tranquillity comprehends every wish I have left, and I think I should not even ask what news there is, but for fear of seeming wedded to old stories--the rock of old men; and yet I should prefer that failing to the solicitude about a world one belongs to no more! Adieu!

1341. To Grosvenor Bedford.

Arlington Street, Feb. 27, 1771.

Dear Sir,

Inquiring of your son to-day why my new clerk Mr. Harris was not more instructed, he said there were circumstances

which some persons of the Treasury would not like to have communicated; which much surprising me, your son said, Mr. Rowe -- Milward Rowe, a Chief Clerk in the Treasury. LETTER 1342. ^†1 had had some cloth, which he chose to have entered as some other article. This notice did and could not but greatly astonish me, who have always told you, in the most positive manner, that I never would connive at the smallest collusion, nor upon any account receive the least profit that was not strictly and justly my due. You know I have repeatedly declared to you, that I would not suffer the benefits of my office to be raised by any indirect practices on my part; and you must remember how strongly I rejected old Palmer's pretensions, and was firm that I would lose the perquisites due on what he was entitled to take at the office, rather than enter into any bargain with him.

When I talked to you last at Brixton Causeway, you desired me not to let anybody into the secrets of my office. I replied with dissatisfaction, that I would have no secrets in my office, nor would receive a shilling from it that I was not willing all the world should know; and I appeal to yourself if this has not been my constant rule.

I am sensible that you have done nothing but from zeal for me, and regard to my interest; but my honour is infinitely more dear to me, and I most peremptorily charge you not to give into the least collusion with anybody at the Treasury in order to serve me, either by increasing my profits, or by gaining them to my interest. I will go shares with no man living in any dirt. I am aware that this may make those people my enemies, and may turn them to prejudice me by postponing my accounts, by delaying my payments, or, as your son said, by preventing their taking many articles from the office, on which I should have a just profit; but I scorn such traffic, and had rather lose the

office itself, than blush to hold it by such means; in short, I prefer being wronged to doing wrong.

In the present case Mr. Rowe is welcome to the cloth, but then I will pay for it myself, and do absolutely forbid you to charge it in any shape to the Government. Should he ever make such another application to you, you must say that you dare not yield to it, and that I have positively forbidden it.

Mr. Harris must be instructed thoroughly in all the duties of his place, but I do not desire he should know this transaction, for fear he should ever be tempted to imitate it. I am fully persuaded of your good intentions to me in it, and that your prudence and fear of making me an enemy induced you to comply. But I entreat you to remember, that as I have no worldly wisdom myself, I cannot let any man living use any for me contrary to right, justice, and the duty I owe to the public as a servant of the Government. I have held the place now above thirty years, through many storms, and sometimes under much oppression; but my conduct in it has been untainted; and as I have disdained to secure it by voting with ministers against my conscience, you may depend upon it, I will not traffic for the favour of clerks by winking at their corruption.

I am, dear Sir, yours most sincerely,

HOR. WALPOLE.

March

1342. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, March 22, 1771.

I was in too great a hurry when I announced peaceable times, and half took leave of you as a correspondent. The horizon is overcast again already; the wind is got to the north-east and by Wilkes; and without a figure, the House of Commons and the City of London are at open war. It is

more surprising that Wilkes is not the aggressor--at least folly put new crackers into his hand. Two cousins, both George Onslow by name, the son and nephew of the old Speaker, took offence at seeing the debates and speeches of the House printed, and the more as they had both been much abused. They complain, and the House issues warrants for seizing the printers, and addresses the King to issue a proclamation for apprehending them. Out comes a proclamation, and no Great Seal to it. The City declares no man shall be apprehended contrary to law, within their jurisdiction. The printers are seized; Wilkes, as sitting alderman, releases one: the Lord Mayor -- Brass Crosby (1725-1793), M.P. for Honiton. He was committed to the Tower on March 27, where he remained until the end of the session. ^†1, Wilkes, and another alderman deliver another, and commit the messenger of the House of Commons to prison. The House summons the Lord Mayor to appear before them and answer for his conduct, but as he is laid up with the gout, allow him to come on Monday last, or to-day, Friday. He gets out of bed and goes on Monday. Thousands of hand-bills are dispersed to invite the mob to escort him, but not an hundred attend. He pleads his oath of office, is too ill to stay, demands that the City should be heard by counsel, and is allowed to retire. Wilkes is summoned too: writes a refusal to the Speaker, unless he is admitted to his seat. The Speaker will not receive his letter, nor the House hear it, though read, and again order him to attend. On Wednesday they allow counsel, but not against their own privileges, and expect the Lord Mayor again to-day, but the papers of this morning say he is not yet able to appear.

This is the argomento, as your opera books call the sketch of the subject, but I do not tell you the dénouement any more than Metastasio does--I wish it may not be necessary to call it the catastrophe, for methinks here are plenty of

combustibles: but as this is only the first act, and I have not time to finish my letter to-day, I may be able to unfold a little more of the drama by Tuesday's post; but I have long left off guessing, for in all public events I have observed that the turn things take depends upon persons and accidents that start up in the midst of the story, and have nothing to do with the reasoning on which one builds conjectures; so for the present I leave this chapter in the dark, which is conformable to the suspense that artful tragic writers use to increase the interest and curiosity of their readers. I believe you will think I have been employing the same mechanism before, having announced to you three months ago the progress of the prosecution of Lord Mansfield; but it seems that Lord Camden, Lord Chatham, and the public, who seldom relinquish a promised bear-baiting, have equally forgotten the pomp with which that spectacle was announced. I have not heard it mentioned since Christmas --and now we are not likely to want trials and sufferers!-- nay, martyrs!

I doubt--yes, I doubt, whether King Carlos does not intend to find us still more serious employment, if this should not prove so. There has been an ugly question asked, I don't know by whom, or to whom, 'But, pray when does England intend to restore Falkland's Island?'--'Restore it! Why, Lord bless us! you have not given it back to England yet: how can she restore it to you?' The stocks have got wind of this secret, and their heart is fallen into their breeches, where the heart of the stocks is apt to lie. Then there is a famine and pestilence arrived from Bengal. Some say three millions of people are swept away, and others three thousand; and a ship lost The Aurora frigate, which sailed from Portsmouth in Sept. 1769, and was never heard of again. On board were Henry Vansittart, Luke Scrafton, and Francis Forde, who had been appointed by the East India Company as supervisors to examine into the Company's administration. ^†2 with Vansittart, Scrafton, and the supervisors

who were going to set all to rights; for it seems we are playing the devil, and plundering and tyrannizing-- as if we had not gone thither for those two Christian purposes.

Saturday, 23rd.

My Lord Mayor is still confined, and sent a card yesterday to the Speaker to excuse waiting on him. The House in the meantime intend to divert themselves with Alderman Oliver on Monday, for their dignity grows very much inflamed for its own honour. So does the City's too, and Temple Bar will have enough to do to keep the peace between them.

France, luckily, has little leisure to join with King Carlos or King Brass Crosby--their confusions and King Louis's weakness seem to increase every day. You shall hear the history of the Comte de Maillebois. He accused Marshal D'Etrées in the last war for losing the battle of Hastenbecke, which, by the way, we never found. D'Etrées recriminated, and called Maillebois before the Marshals of France, by whom he was flétri, imprisoned for a year, and deprived of all his employments but one lieutenance héréditaire.

Of late he had revived, and caballed against Choiseul, on whose fall he grew big; and, by the interest of the Prince of Condé and M. de Montegnard, was appointed one of a new commission of three Directeurs des Places fortifiées, with forty thousand livres a year each. The Comte de Broglie, who adheres to the D'Aiguillon's faction, spirits up his brother, and the Marshals of France present a strong memorial against so improper a nomination. Montegnard prevails, and obtains from the King a reprimand to the Marshals, and calls it téméraire to dispute his royal choice. This was signed at ten in the morning. Triumphant Maillebois posts with it to Paris. At past twelve that very night he receives a dismission, and Montegnard a

command to wait on each separate Marshal of France the next morning, and beg their pardons for having made so unworthy a recommendation. There! there are two men tolerably disgraced! And what do you think of such weathercock majesty that signs two such contradictions in one day? As the latter was Madame du Barri's act, it is plain what is the shape of the helm of Government. Monsieur de Montegnard and the Abbé du Terray are said to have resigned, and to be again in place, but I am not sure of the truth of this last paragraph.

Strawberry Hill, Sunday night.

I came hither to-day in a tempest of snow; it is the fourth winter we have had since Christmas. I was not quite so much at ease when I went to town last Monday, having received a courier from Mr. Conway to tell me that my house in Arlington Street had been broken open in the night, and all my cabinets and trunks forced and plundered. I was a good quarter of an hour before I recollected that it was very becoming to have philosophy enough not to care about what one does care, for if you don't care there is no philosophy in bearing it. I dispatched my upper servant, breakfasted with Mr. Chute, who was come down with me, fed the bantams as usual, and made no more hurry to town than Cincinnatus would have done, if he had lost a basket of turnips. I had left in my drawers 270l. in bank-bills, and three hundred guineas; not to mention all my gold and silver coins, some inestimable miniatures, a little plate, and a good deal of furniture, under no guard but that of two maidens, whom lions you know will not touch, but are very ravishable by house-breakers, a much more hungry kind of wild beast. When I arrived, my surprise was by no means diminished. I found in three different chambers, three cabinets, a large chest, and a glass

case of china wide open, the locks not picked, but forced, and the doors of them broken to pieces. You will wonder that this should surprise me when I had been prepared for it.--Oh! the miracle was, that I did not find, nor to this hour have found, the least thing missing. In the cabinet of modern medals there were, and so there are still, a series of English coins, with downright John Trot guineas, half-guineas, shillings, sixpences, and every kind of current money. Not a single piece was removed. Just so in the Roman and Greek cabinet; though in the latter were some drawers of papers, which they had tumbled and scattered about the floor. A great Exchequer chest, that belonged to my father, was in the same room. Not being able to force the lock, the philosophers (for thieves that steal nothing deserve the title much more than Cincinnatus or I) had wrenched a great flapper of brass with such violence as to break it into seven pieces. The trunk contained a new set of chairs of French tapestry, two screens, rolls of prints, and a suit of silver stuff that I made for the King's wedding. All was turned topsy-turvy, and nothing stolen. The glass case and cabinet of shells had been handled as roughly by these impotent gallants. Another little table with drawers, in which, by the way, the key was left, had been opened too, and a metal standish, that they ought to have taken for silver, and a silver hand-candlestick that stood upon it, were untouched. Some plate in the pantry, and all my linen just come from the wash, had no more charms for them than gold or silver. In short, I could not help laughing, especially as the only two movables neglected, were another little table with drawers and the money, and a writing-box with the bank-notes, both in the same chamber where they made the first havoc. In short, they had broken out a panel in the door of the area, and unbarred and unbolted it and gone out at the street door, which they left wide open at five o'clock in the morning. A passenger had found it so, and alarmed the maids, one of which ran naked into the street, and by her cries waked my Lord Romney Robert Marsham (1717-1793), second Baron Romney. ^†3, who lives opposite. The poor creature was in fits for two days, but at first, finding my coachmaker's apprentice in the street, had sent him to Mr. Conway, who immediately dispatched him to me before he knew how little damage I had received, the whole of which consists in repairing the doors and locks of my cabinets and coffer.

All London is reasoning on this marvellous adventure, and not an argument presents itself that some other does not contradict. I insist that I have a talisman. You must know that last winter, being asked by Lord Vere to assist in settling Lady Betty Germaine's auction, I found in an old catalogue of her collection this article, The Black Stone into which Dr. Dee used to call his spirits. Dr. Dee, you must know, was a great conjurer in the days of Queen Elizabeth, and has written a folio of the dialogues he held with his imps. I asked eagerly for this stone; Lord Vere said he knew of no such thing, but if found, it should certainly be at my service. Alas, the stone was gone! This winter I was again employed by Lord Frederic Campbell, for I am an absolute auctioneer, to do him the same service about his father's John, Duke of Argyll. Walpole. ^†4 collection. Among other odd things, he produced a round piece of shining black marble in a leathern case, as big as the crown of a hat, and asked me what that could possibly be? I screamed out, 'Oh Lord, I am the only man in England that can tell you! it is Dr. Dee's black stone!' it certainly is; Lady Betty had formerly given away or sold, time out of mind, for she was a thousand years old, that part of the Peterborough collection that contained Natural Philosophy. So, or since, the black stone had wandered into an auction, for the lotted paper is

still on it. The Duke of Argyle, who bought everything, bought it: Lord Frederic gave it to me; and if it was not this magical stone, which is only of high polished coal, that preserved my chattels, in truth I cannot guess what did.

We have got the Roman Prince and Princess Giustiniani: she is daughter of some Derwentwater Cecilia Francesca Charlotte (d. 1780), daughter of Count Mahony, and wife of Benedetto, Prince Giustiniani. The second husband of her maternal grandmother was Hon. Charles Radclyffe, titular Earl of Derwentwater. (See Table VI.) ^†5, and has many relations here among the spurious royal family. He, you know, inhabits that sumptuous of all palaces at Rome with door-cases of giallo antico. He is not quite so magnificently lodged here, his portal being garnished with beef-steaks. He would allow but seven sequins a month for his lodging, and nobody would house him at that rate but a butcher in Piccadilly. The Duke of Gloucester went to thank him for his civilities to the Duke of York--and was let in! Think of two such demigods visiting at a shamble. I will reserve the rest of my paper for the event of to-morrow. If the war with the City goes on, Prince Giustiniani may happen to be as much surprised as we are at his lodging in a butcher's shop.

Stay, I must say a few words more. What felicity that Patch had saved Masaccio's designs before the fire, and what pity St. Andrea's Masaccio's paintings were in the church of St. Andrea at Florence. Walpole. ^†6 body was not burnt instead of them! The body might have been supplied by the first malefactor's that was hanged, and might have passed for a miracle. I shall be very thankful to you for any two views of Florence, not as sopra-portas, for my houses are not furnished at all in the French style, but as pictures, and smaller than that size; and I give you other thanks for what you have sent me. I will try to serve Patch in his subscription, but the best way will

be to have his brother James Patch, a surgeon. ^†7 advertise. However, I will send for the brother and talk to him.

Tuesday, March 26.

The die is cast. The army of the House of Commons has marched into the City, and made a prisoner; but as yet no blood is spilt; though I own I expected to hear there was this morning when I waked. Last night, when I went to bed at half an hour after twelve, I had just been told that all the avenues to the House were blockaded, and [the mob] had beaten back the peace-officers, who had been summoned, for it was toute autre chose yesterday, when the Lord Mayor went to the House, from what it had been the first day. He was now escorted by a prodigious multitude, who hissed and insulted the members of both Houses, particularly Lord March and Sullivan, who escaped with difficulty, and the latter of whom they had mistaken for the elder Onslow. However, many retired with the Lord Mayor, who went away ill at ten at night, and the rest were dispersed by the extreme severity of the weather, and by the lateness of the debate, which lasted till past four in the morning, when they sent Alderman Oliver Richard Oliver (d. 1784), M.P. for the City of London. He remained in the Tower until the end of the session. ^†8 to the Tower, who would make no submission, though the ministers wished to be quit of him on easy terms. The Lord Mayor is to be judged to-morrow.

Many unpleasant passages there were for the court. Sir George Savile left the House, protesting against their proceedings, and was followed by some of his friends. Colonel Barré went farther, said in his place that the conduct of the House was infamous, that no honest man could sit amongst them, and walked away--and the House was forced to swallow so ungrateful a bolus. Nor was this all. Alderman

Townshend charged all their arbitrary proceedings on the baneful influence of the Princess Dowager of Wales--yes, in those very words.

Well! what think you now? When so many men have ambition to be martyrs, will the storm easily subside? Oh, Sir Robert, my father, would this have happened in your days? I can remember, when on the Convention In 1739. See Stanhope's History of England, ed. 1853, vol. ii. pp. 277-8. LETTER 1343. ^†9, Sir William Windham, no fool for that time, laboured to be sent to the Tower, and my father told him in plain terms he knew his meaning, and would not indulge him. This generation is wiser, for I am sure Alderman Oliver is not, and yet he has carried his point. But I grow old, and gossip. One always prefers the wisdom of one's own age. My father's maxim, Quieta non movere, was very well in those ignorant days. The science of government is better understood now--so, to be sure, whatever is, is right. Adieu!

1343. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, March 30, 1771.

This is not a letter, but a codicil to the last. I think we are going into great violences. A prodigious mob came from the City with the Lord Mayor on Wednesday, and a greater was at his service, but he would not encourage it. The two Foxes were assaulted and dragged out of their chariot, and escaped with difficulty. Lord North was attacked with still more inveteracy; his chariot was torn to pieces, and several spectators say there was a moment in which they thought he must be destroyed. Sir William Meredith, though in opposition, and a Mr. La Roche -- James La Roche, M.P. for Bodmin; cr. a Baronet in 1776. ^†1, saved him from the fury of the people. He went into the House and spoke with great firmness,

and as much coolness. Others were insulted, but not so outrageously. At twelve at night, the ministers proposed to commit the Lord Mayor only to the Serjeant-at-Arms, on account they said of his ill-health, but, in truth, to avoid extremities; he protested that he was perfectly well, and chose to accompany his brother alderman to prison; on which he was sent to the Tower. The Deputy Serjeant, who attended him, he had great difficulty to save from the fury of the populace, who insisted on hanging him on a sign-post.

The ministers are more moderate than their party, who demand extremities. Young Charles Fox, the meteor of these days, and barely twenty-two, is at the head of these strong measures, and equally offends the temperate of his own party and the warm ones of the opposition. Sir George Savile left the House, protesting against the persecution of the citizens; and Colonel Barré in plainer terms told the House on Wednesday night, that their conduct was infamous, that no honest man could sit amongst them, and walked away.

The King was excessively hissed yesterday as he went to the House. Charles Fox again narrowly escaped with his life, a large stone being thrown at him, which passed through both the windows of his chariot. Two committees are appointed; one to enforce the powers of the House; the other to inquire into the riots. I wish both do not inflame the riots! The riots will certainly encourage war from abroad, and war will return them the compliment. But it were talking to the winds to urge this!

The House is adjourned to Monday se'nnight, but the committees are to continue sitting. Neither side probably will allow itself holidays; and, when the City of London gives the toast, will neither Ireland nor America pledge it, who are both enough disposed to drink out of the same goblet?

Well! still I say, to be sure I grow very old, when I cannot discover the wisdom of these proceedings. They cannot mean quiet and peace, for we had but just obtained both strangely. We seem to be governed by the predominant fashion, gaming. A gamester loses, regains what he had lost, and continues to play on.

Pray whom is your neighbour, the Empress-Queen, going to bet with, for I see she is putting all her troops in motion In preparation for the first partition of Poland, which took place in 1772. LETTER 1344. ^†2? The poor people are everywhere but fish and counters. To what end do modern philosophers write against all this? Kings and queens never read essays of morality. They only read books of devotion, which are too civil to meddle with crimes of state. Parsons are like the law, and seem to think a king can do no wrong. How their Majesties will stare in the next world, when they come to plead that their ministers are answerable for all they did in this, and find their plea overruled! Adieu!

April

1344. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, April 26, 1771.

You may wonder I have been so silent, when I had announced a war between the House of Commons and the City--nay, when hostilities were actually commenced; but many a campaign languishes that has set out very flippantly. My letters depend on events, and I am like the man in the weather-house who only comes forth on a storm. The wards in the City have complimented the prisoners -- The Lord Mayor and Alderman Oliver. ^†1, and some towns; but the train has not spread much. Wilkes is your only gunpowder that makes an explosion. He and his associates are more incensed at each other than against

the ministry, and have saved the latter much trouble. The select committees See the previous letter. ^†2 have been silent and were forgotten, but there is a talk now of their making some report before the session closes.

The serious war is at last absolutely blown over. Spain has sent us word she is disarming. So are we. Who would have expected that a street-walker at Paris would have prevented a general conflagration? Madame du Barri has compensated for Madame Helen, and is optima pacis causa. I will not swear that the torch she snatched from the hands of Spain may not light up a civil war in France. The Princes of the blood are forbidden the court In consequence of the strong protests addressed by them to the King relative to his treatment of the Parliament of Paris. ^†3. Twelve dukes and peers, of the most complaisant, are banished, or going to be banished; and even the captains of the guard. In short, the King, his mistress, and the Chancellor, have almost left themselves alone at Versailles. But as the most serious events in France have always a ray of ridicule mixed with them, some are to be exiled to Paris, and some to St. Germain. How we should laugh at anybody being banished to Soho Square and Hammersmith! The Chancellor desired to see the Prince of Conti; the latter replied, 'Qu'il lui donnoit rendez-vous à la Grève.'

If we laugh at the French, they stare at us. Our enormous luxury and expense astonishes them. I carried their Ambassador, and a Comte de Levi, the other morning to see the new winter Ranelagh The Pantheon. Walpole. ^†4 in Oxford Road, which is almost finished. It amazed me myself. Imagine Balbec in all its glory! The pillars are of artificial giallo antico. The ceilings, even of the passages, are of the most beautiful stuccos in the best taste of grotesque. The ceilings of the ball-rooms and the panels painted like Raphael's loggias

in the Vatican. A dome like the Pantheon, glazed. It is to cost fifty thousand pounds. Monsieur de Guisnes said to me, 'Ce n'est qu'à Londres qu'on peut faire tout cela.' It is not quite a proof of the same taste, that two views of Verona, by Canaletti, have been sold by auction for five hundred and fifty guineas; and, what is worse, it is come out that they are copies by Marlow William Marlow (1740-1813). ^†5, a disciple of Scott. Both master and scholar are indeed better painters than the Venetian; but the purchasers did not mean to be so well cheated.

The papers will have told you that the wheel of fortune has again brought up Lord Holdernesse Robert Darcy, last Earl of Holderness. Walpole. ^†6, who is made governor to the Prince of Wales. The Duchess of Queensberry, a much older veteran, is still figuring in the world, not only by giving frequent balls, but really by her beauty. Reflect, that she was a goddess in Prior's days! I could not help adding these lines on her--you know his end:

Kitty, at heart's desire,

Obtained the chariot for a day,

And set the world on fire.

This was some fifty-six years ago, or more. I gave her this stanza:

To many a Kitty, Love his car

Will for a day engage,

But Prior's Kitty, ever fair,

Obtained it for an age!

And she is old enough to be pleased with the compliment.

My brother Sir Edward Walpole. Walpole. LETTER 1345. ^†7 has lost his son; and it is no misfortune, though he was but three-and-thirty, and had very good parts; but he was sunk into such a habit of drinking and gaming, that the first ruined his constitution, and the latter would have ruined his father.

Shall I send away this short scroll, or reserve it to the end of the session? No, it is already somewhat obsolete: it shall go, and another short letter shall be the other half of it--so, good night!

May

1345. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, May 8, 1771.

I wish, my dear Sir, I could be as useful to you in solid, as I am in trifling, commissions. I bought your fans the very next day, the best, the most fashionable, and the prettiest I could get, and carried them directly to Mr. Davenport myself. Unluckily, he had sent away your liveries, but promised me the fans should set sail with the first vessel he could find. I have sent you six; two of two guineas, two of a guinea and a half, and two of one guinea. I went to the utmost because you will be little in my debt, Lord Beauchamp owing me six guineas for the wine you sent him; and I think after all the expenses I have put you to, your conscience need not be much embarrassed about the remaining four guineas.

I wish with all my soul you may obtain an increase of pay, but as it is not to be got from a fan-shop, I doubt nobody could serve you less in that article than I, who never deal at the great warehouses. I am still more awkwardly situated about the offer of your house -- To the Duke of Gloucester, who was expected at Florence. Walpole. ^†1. You may probably have heard enough to make you think I was just the proper person to make the tender; but for that very reason I am the most unfit. I firmly believe the solidity of the connection I hint at The marriage between the Duke and Lady Waldegrave. Walpole. ^†2, but not knowing it authoritatively, I have most sedulously avoided even the

appearance of supposing there is any such connection at all. It would not become my character to wink at any such thing, and I never will know it, but in a light proper to be known. It is not enough for me to be persuaded that it is strictly honourable; I will run no risk of having a démenti. In the meantime, not to neglect your concerns, I have desired Lord Hertford to make the offer, as if coming through him from you. I dare to say it will be guessed that it passed through me to him. It will be taken equally well from you, and will mark at once my fierté, and how incapable I am of taking liberties upon so equivocal a footing. In truth, I believe there is no prospect of the journey. The person, who is extremely good and amiable, is in danger of taking a much longer journey. The disorder in his family has settled on his lungs, and produced a confirmed asthma. He falls away every day, and was very near death within this month. I grieve for the fate of the survivor, nor guess what it will be, but it was not in my power to prevent her risking so much!

The Parliament rose suddenly this morning--sudden it was, though advanced but a day--but as the Lord Mayor and Alderman Oliver are at liberty the instant of the prorogation, the King was advised to go to the House to-day before the mob was apprised of it. It was not very dignified counsel; but, in truth, that whole business has been wofully conducted, and has heaped nothing but disgrace on the House of Commons; who, instead of vindicating their authority, have betrayed the utmost pusillanimity. It was begun unadvisedly, and has ended piteously. We are threatened with violent rejoicings and illuminations tomorrow, and, therefore, as we expect much riot, I suppose there will be little, for nothing ever happens that is premeditated; mobs, especially, are the creatures of a moment, not of thought. Wilkes, though he has his rebels like other

monarchs, triumphs over the Government and the House of Commons. The latter did not dare to let him appear before them.

The Duke of Choiseul is still more popular against the court. His head is on every snuff-box, and the women are so violent, that their wives every day make some of the new Parliament A tribunal composed of members of the King's council, which had been instituted to supply the place of the Parliament. ^†3 resign their functions. I should not have expected so much sense from him, but the Prince of Conti has made an admirable answer to the Dauphin. The latter said, 'Papa-Roi Louis XV was called 'Papa' by some of the members of his family. ^†4 est bien le maître pourtant?' 'Oui, Monseigneur,' replied the Prince, 'et si fort le maître, qu'il peut donner sa couronne à Monsieur le Comte d'Artois Youngest brother of the Dauphin. Walpole. ^†5.' That is just what majesty gets when it arrives at its utmost wishes! It overturns the constitution, and then nothing is left to overturn but the succession. The Prætorian, or Preobazinski guards, must achieve the first, and soon learn that il ne tient qu'à eux to dispose of the second. I think it very probable that the Chancellor Maupeou. Walpole. ^†6 may not be suffered to wait so long, but may be dispatched by the people. Quieta non movere was my father's motto, and he never found it was a silly one. However, I am very glad Monsieur de Maupeou and Madame du Barri thought they knew better; they have saved us a war.

Thursday, 9th.

I have had a note from Mr. Davenport to say he would send the fans by the first ship, and that he would write you word he had a parcel for you. I have told him how much haste you are in for them, and begged him to forward them with the utmost expedition.

Lord Hertford has made your offer, but the Great Duke's

will be accepted, who has promised to act like a private friend; so you have all the merit, and avoid the trouble and expense. I wish he may be able to undertake the journey.

Lord Halifax has been at the point of death He died on June 8, 1771, and was succeeded as Secretary of State for the Northern Province by Lord Suffolk. LETTER 1346. ^†7; but, though out of immediate danger, is said to be incapable of business, and Lord Suffolk, I hear, is to replace him immediately. I do not know that this is true.

The summer, I think, will be so quiet that our correspondence will not be very lively. In July I propose a little journey to Paris for about six weeks. We have had five winters since Christmas, and not an appearance of spring till within these three days. Your snow will soon be compensated by glorious suns; but in England we every year give ourselves airs of being disappointed, though it is so very seldom we have any fine weather. I believe, if we did not read Virgil at school, we should never have invented names for distinctions of seasons. Somebody said lately that the winter was come over to pass the spring in England, but though well said, it was an air too. We live in the Northern Ocean, and our nabobs that plunder the Indies cannot contrive to import an ounce of Eastern climate. Adieu!

Friday morning.

Wednesday night did not pass quietly; besides the rejoicings in the City, the mob demolished all the windows of Sir Fletcher Norton, the Speaker, and a much greater assaulted Lord North's, with threats of pulling it down. The Guards were sent for in time; and all is quiet.

1346. To the Rev. William Cole.

Arlington Street, May 29, 1771.

Dear Sir,

I have but time to write you a line, that I may not detain Mr. Essex, who is so good as to take charge of this note, and of a box, that I am sure will give you pleasure, and I beg may give you a little trouble. It contains the very valuable seven letters of Edward the Sixth to Barnaby Fitzpatrick -- Sir Barnaby Fitzpatrick (d. 1581), Lord of Upper Ossory. He was sent to the English court 'as a pledge of his father's loyalty.' He was a favourite companion of Edward VI, and acted as his whipping boy. After Fitzpatrick grew up he resided for a while at the court of Henry II of France, when Edward VI kept up a correspondence with him, of which the letters mentioned by Horace Walpole formed part. They were issued from the Strawberry Hill Press in 1772. LETTER 1347. ^†1. Lord Ossory, to whom they belong, has lent them to me to print, but to facilitate that, and to prevent their being rubbed or hurt by the printer, I must entreat your exactness to copy them, and return them with the copies. I need not desire your particular care, for you value these things as much as I do, and will be able to make them out better than I can do, from being so much versed in old writing. Forgive my taking this liberty with you, which I flatter myself will not be disagreeable. Mr. Essex and Mr. Tyson dined with me at Strawberry Hill, but could not stay so long as I wished. The party would have been still more agreeable if you had made a fourth. Adieu! dear Sir.

Yours ever,

H. WALPOLE.

P.S. I am rejoiced you are delivered from the dread of inundations.

June

1347. To Sir Horace Mann.

Strawberry Hill, June 8, 1771.

I have received the parcel of letters very safe from Major Dixon; they reach to the end of last year.

I do not believe that Orestes and Pylades were half so punctual for thirty years together. But do not let us be content and stop here; thirty years more will finish the century; I have no objection to living so long: I hope you have none.

You say I do not cite the dates of your letters, but I did better, I executed your commission the instant I received it, and it is no fault of mine if Madame Santini is not at this moment fanning herself with one of the fans. I should be inexcusable if I neglected the few commissions you give me, when you are so kindly punctual about mine.

Mr. Chute, who dined here to-day, told me he had just heard that Lord Halifax is dead. It was hourly expected when I came from town on Thursday. Lord Suffolk was most talked of for his successor; and then the Privy Seal will be contested -- The Duke of Grafton succeeded as Privy Seal. ^†1 by two ex-ministers, the Duke of Grafton and Lord Weymouth.

In the letters I have been reading over, I find you have been a great advocate for Le Fèvre's medicine for the gout. He is already quite exploded here; and, about Liège, where he lives, they abhor him. He performs none of his promises, but in producing an immediate fit, which can be done without a medicine. Mr. Chute and I are strong bootikinists. He, indeed, is a marvellous proof of their efficacy. He (so many years devoured by gout) has not had a fit in his feet these four years; and, when it comes in his hands, though it lasts very long, he never has three days of sharp pain.

I do not know whether the Russian fleet will pass the Dardanelles, but their army must not pass the Danube. It is certain that Prince Lobkowitz was sent to Petersburgh to make this declaration in the names of the Empress-Queen and Emperor; and there is such a dearth of roubles in the other Empress's treasury, that she must stoop to the prohibition.

The Peace itself would be made, but as there is provision of money and troops made at Constantinople, the Sultan dares not but try another campaign, for fear of an insurrection. I like to see these haughty sovereigns obliged to draw in their talons, or put them forth, whether they will or not.

Some of their representatives are to dine here to-morrow. Indeed you ought to come too: there will be a little corps diplomatique--the French, Spanish, and Austrian ministers. I am sorry this card cannot sail till Tuesday, when it will be too late. Seriously, how happy it would make me to see you here, salvâ your dignitate. Strawberry is in the most perfect beauty, the verdure exquisite, and the shades venerably extended. I have made a Gothic gateway to the garden, the piers of which are of artificial stone, and very respectable. The round tower is finished, and magnificent; and the state bedchamber proceeds fast; for you must know the little villa is grown into a superb castle. We have dropped all humility in our style: yet, fond as I am of this place, I am going to leave it for some weeks: in short, on another journey to Paris. Nothing, I think, but my dear old woman Madame du Deffand. Walpole. ^†2 could draw me so far; and nothing but her shall I see. The time of year disculpates me from the scandalous surmise of going to divert myself. If the disturbances there should happen to amuse me, why that is excusable in an ancient politician; and no philosopher has forbidden our being entertained with public confusion. I shall, in truth, only look on with the same indifference with which I see our own squabbles. The latter are drawn to the dregs. I shall set out on the 7th of July, and be here again by the end of August. If you write to me in the interval, direct to London; for you know we always have found more difficulty in sending our letters by the

straight road than by that roundabout. I shall probably write again before I go, though this is not a time of year when I can have much to tell you, and at present less than ever. If Count Orloff takes Constantinople, the bombs will be heard at Paris before they can be reverberated from Florence. Lord Bute is arrived in good health, but they say much emaciated, and looking much older. He is going to marry his fourth daughter to Lord Finlater That marriage did not take place. Walpole. -- Lady Augusta Stuart, fourth daughter of third Earl of Bute, m. (1773) Captain Andrew Corbett. ^†3, the son of our old acquaintance Lord Deskford. The Queen is brought to bed, I think, of a son Prince Ernest Augustus (1771-1851), cr. Duke of Cumberland in 1799. He succeeded as King of Hanover in 1837. ^†4, but an eighth prince or princess is nobody's business but the compiler's of the court-calender. I am told that at Paris I am to go distracted about the Dauphiness, and to recover my wits by seeing the Comtesse de Provence She was very ugly. Walpole.-- Marie Louise Joséphine (d. 1810), daughter of Victor Amadeus III of Savoy. ^†5. Good night! I reserve some paper in case I should learn any European secrets from my guests tomorrow.

Sunday night.

My party has succeeded to admiration, and Gothic architecture has received great applause. I will not swear that it has been really admired. I found by Monsieur de Guisnes that, though he had heard much of the house, it was in no favourable light. He had been told it was only built of lath and plaster, and that there were not two rooms together on a level. When I once asked Madame du Deffand what her countrymen said of it, she owned they were not struck with it, but looked upon it as natural enough in a country which had not yet arrived at true taste. In short, I believe they think all the houses they see are Gothic, because they are not like that single pattern that reigns in every hotel in

Paris; and which made me say there, that I never knew whether I was in the house that I was in, or in the house I came out of. Two or three rooms in a row, a naked salle à manger, a white and gold cabinet, with four looking-glasses, a lustre, a scrap of hanging over against the windows, and two rows of chairs, with no variety in the apartments, but from bigger to less, and more or less gilt, and a bed-chamber with a blue or red damask bed: this is that effort of taste to which they think we have not attained--we who have as pure architecture and as classic taste as there was in Adrian's or Pliny's villas. Monsieur de Guisnes is very civil, and affects to like even our gardens, though I can but doubt whether they do not use more of Nature's beauties than a Frenchman can be brought to feel.

Lord Halifax died yesterday. The Bishop of Osnaburg Prince Frederick, afterwards Duke of York. ^†6 is to have that riband to which the Earl had never been installed. As there is going to be an installation at the expense of the crown, the Bishop's will be lumped with it, and save such another cost. Lord Hyde Thomas Villiers, brother of the Earl of Jersey, and afterwards Earl of Clarendon. Walpole. ^†7, they say, is to be Chancellor of the Duchy, in the room of Lord Strange Only son of the Earl of Derby. Walpole. ^†8, who died suddenly last week. I don't know how the greater places are to go. If I hear to-morrow, when I shall pass through London in my way to Lord Ossory's, I will tell you.

Monday night.

It rains great places and preferments. The Bishop of Durham Dr. Trevor. Walpole. ^†9 died last night; but what is that to you or me? You no more desire to be a right-reverend father in God than I to be Secretary of State. Yet how many are hankering after these things, without reflecting that they are more likely to follow in death than in succession! It is excusable

in children to cry for rattles; for they don't know how soon they are to part with them. I don't mean by this to give myself any preference in wisdom.... Passage omitted. ^†10

1348. Not in C.; reprinted from Letters and Journals of Lady Mary Coke, vol. iii. p. 408, n. 2. ^†1348. To Lady Mary Coke.

Strawberry Hill, June 9, 1771.

You cannot imagine, dear Madam, how much I am flattered with receiving your orders to pass a whole day with you, though I have not, that I know of, a drop of Austrian blood Lady Mary Coke was at this time extremely partial to the Austrian royal family. ^†1 in my veins. It is true Charlemagne was my grandfather by a Courtenay that married somebody from whom I am descended, but I hope you had not that match in your eye, but graciously invited me without considering that I am but a thousand years off from being a sort of prince. I shall obey your commands with more submission and satisfaction than if your Ladyship's name was Teresa as well as Mary. You are goddess enough for me, and I shall never pilgrimize to Vienna to see a greater lady. I wish you was as much content with your own dignity. A wise lady should make such a progress but once; no more than the wise men. I doubt whether even they would have retained that character, if they had danced after the same star year after year. It is the Emperor's turn to come after your Ladyship. Can we expect him, if you carry to him what is most worth seeing in England? or will he come if you are to return to Vienna? Nay, he does not deserve your visit, when he had a vacant throne to offer you, and yet let you slip out of his hands. There is not an instance in romance of such a neglect. Do you think any consideration upon earth would have determined Berenice to return to Rome, after Titus had been so weak

and ill-bred, as to suffer her to depart? Shall the Duke of Argyll's daughter run up and down Europe like the Wandering Jew? Choose your kingdom and reign there, and though I shall certainly die of it, I wish to see you settled and crowned once for all. Your glory is still dearer to me than loo at Notting Hill Lady Mary Coke's country seat. ^†2, and even than all my rash hopes. For your sake I could sacrifice my darling view of tending a few sheep with you on our two hills, but I cannot bear to see you return so often without a diadem. 'Or Cæsar or nothing,' said Borgia: 'Be Cæsar's wife or mine,' say I. Cæsar has not done his part. My heart is still at your service, but I am off, if you offer it to Cæsar once more. Nay, I will not be pacified, though you should pretend the visit is only to his mother The Empress Maria Theresa. LETTER 1349. ^†3. Nobody but I goes to see an old woman more than once. If you think of Vienna again, I marry Madame du Deffand, and will no longer be

Your Ladyship's

Constant and

Eternal adorer,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1349. To the Rev. William Cole.

Arlington Street, June 11, 1771.

You are very kind, dear Sir, and I ought to be, nay, what is more, I am, ashamed of giving you so much trouble; but I am in no hurry for the letters. I shall not set out till the 7th of next month, and it will be sufficient if I receive them a week before I set out.

Mr. C. C. C. C. -- Robert Masters, the historian of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. ^†1 is very welcome to attack me about a Duchess of Norfolk. He is ever welcome to be in the right; to the edification I hope of all the matrons at the

Antiquarian Society, who I trust will insert his criticism in the next volume of their Archæologia or Old Women's Logic; but, indeed, I cannot bestow my time on any more of them, nor employ myself in detecting witches for vomiting pins. When they turn extortioners Cole stated that Masters had caused him to pay forty pounds towards the repair of a house at Waterbeach which he had previously undertaken to set in order for Cole. ^†2 like Mr. Masters, the law should punish them, not only for roguery, but for exceeding their province, which our ancestors limited to killing their neighbour's cow, or crucifying dolls of wax. For my own part, I am so far from being out of charity with him, that I would give him a nag or new broom whenever he has a mind to ride to the Antiquarian sabbat, and preach against me. Though you have more cause to be angry, laugh at him as I do. One has not life enough to throw away on all the fools and knaves that come 'cross one. I have often been attacked, and never replied but to Mr. Hume and Dr. Milles--to the first, because he had a name; to the second, because he had a mind to have one:--and yet I was in the wrong, for it was the only way he could attain one. In truth, it is being too self-interested, to expose only one's private antagonists, when one lets worse men pass unmolested. Does a booby hurt me by an attack on me, more than by any other foolish thing he does? Does not he teaze me more by anything he says to me without attacking me, than by anything he says against me behind my back? I shall, therefore, most certainly never inquire after or read Mr. C. C. C. C.'s criticism, but leave him to oblivion with her Grace of Norfolk and our wise Society. As I doubt my own writings will soon be forgotten, I need not fear that those of my answerers will be remembered.

I am, dear Sir,

Yours most sincerely,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1350. Collated with original in possession of Earl Waldegrave. ^†1350. To the Hon. Henry Seymour Conway.

Strawberry Hill, June 17, 1771.

I was very sure you would grant my request if you could, and I am perfectly satisfied with your reasons A reference to the dismissal by General Conway (as Lieutenant-General of Ordnance) of William O'Brien (formerly an actor) from a post under that Board in America, procured for him after his runaway match with Lady Susan Fox-Strangways. O'Brien left America without leave, and when ordered to return, refused to do so. General Conway thereupon dismissed him, in spite of the interposition of Lord and Lady Holland on Lady Susan's behalf. (See Last Journals, vol. i. p. 147.) ^†1; but I do not believe the parties concerned will be so too, especially the heads of the family, who are not so ready to serve their relations at their own expense as gratis. When I see you, I will tell you more, and what I thought I had told you.

You tax me with four days in Bedfordshire At Lord Ossory's seat, Ampthill Park. ^†2: I was but three at most, and of those the evening I went and the morning I came away made the third day. I will try to see you before I go. The Edgcumbes George Edgcumbe, third Baron Edgcumbe, afterwards Viscount and Earl of Mount Edgcumbe, and his wife Emma (d. 1807), daughter of John Gilbert, Archbishop of York. ^†3 I should like, and Lady Lyttelton, but Garrick does not tempt me at all. I have no taste for his perpetual buffoonery, and am sick of his endless expectation of flattery; but you who charge me with making a long visit to Lord and Lady Ossory,--you do not see the mote in your own eye; at least, I am sure Lady Ailesbury does not see that in hers. I could not obtain a single day from her all last year, and with difficulty got her to give me a few hours this. There is always an indispensable pheasantry that must be visited, or something from which she cannot spare four-and-twenty hours. Strawberry sets this down in its pocket-book, and resents the neglect.

At two miles from Houghton Park is the mausoleum At Maulden in Bedfordshire. ^†4 of the Bruces, where I saw the most ridiculous monument of one of Lady Ailesbury's predecessors that ever was imagined; I beg she will never keep such company. In the midst of an octagon chapel is the tomb of Diana, Countess of Oxford and Elgin Lady Diana Cecil (d. 1654), daughter of second Earl of Exeter; m. 1. Henry de Vere, ninth Earl of Oxford; 2. Thomas Bruce, first Earl of Elgin. ^†5. From a huge unwieldy base of white marble rises a black marble cistern; literally a cistern that would serve for an eating-room. In the midst of this, to the knees, stands her Ladyship in a white domino or shroud, with her left hand erect as giving her blessing. It put me in mind of Mrs. Cavendish when she got drunk in the bathing-tub. At another church Flitton, near Ampthill. ^†6 is a kind of catacomb for the Earls of Kent: there are ten sumptuous monuments. Wrest and Hawnes Near Bedford, the seat of the Carterets. LETTER 1351. ^†7 are both ugly places; the house at the former is ridiculously old and bad. The state bedchamber (not ten feet high) and its drawing-room are laced with Ionic columns of spotted velvet and friezes of patchwork. There are bushels of deplorable earls and countesses. The garden was execrable, too, but is something mended by Brown. Houghton Park and Ampthill stand finely: the last is a very good house, and has a beautiful park. The other has three beautiful old fronts, in the style of Holland House, with turrets and loggias, but not so large. Within it is the worst contrived dwelling I ever saw. Upon the whole, I was much diverted with my journey. On my return I stayed but a single hour in London, saw no soul, and came hither to meet the deluge. It has rained all night and all day; but it is midsummer, consequently midwinter, and one can expect no better. Adieu!

Yours ever,

H. W.

1351. To Sir Horace Mann.

Strawberry Hill, June 19, 1771.

I answer your letter, as you desire, the moment I receive it, that is, acknowledge the receipt of it; but I am sorry Mr. Davenport's punctuality is not as well ascertained as mine. I have sent him your letter, and wish it may correct him for the future. But do not you deserve to be scolded, too, when you talk of my getting paid? How many score commissions am I in your debt? Or is this a reprimand, and a prohibition ever to employ you again?

I know no news but newspaper news, which is seldom new but by being false. The Duke of Grafton has certainly got the Privy Seal: it is not being proud -- He had been Prime Minister. Walpole. ^†1. In France, the Duc d'Aiguillon is at last minister: it is not being timorous. I expect to find a doleful scene in that country: tyranny and poverty are trying which shall have the honour of conferring total ruin on it. It is fortunate for us that Louis the Well-beloved has preferred ministers who will undo his own country, to one The Duke de Choiseul. Walpole. ^†2 who had an ambition of undoing his neighbours; and it is unlucky for Corsica that so amiable a monarch did not make his option sooner. It looks as if he himself was fond of both sorts.

Wilkes seems destined to confound all his adversaries. He carries the palm triumphantly from Horne Parson Horne. Walpole. ^†3, who has proved a very dull fool--not that I have read half their correspondence; but at least Wilkes maintains his empire over the mob without the benefit of his clergy. The court profits by their civil war, and we are as quiet as ever I remember the season. Wilkes's canvass for sheriff just stands in place of a considerable horse-race.

I am writing to you in the bow-window of my delicious

round tower, with your Bianca Capello over against me, and the setting sun behind me, throwing its golden rays all around. Are you never to see this castle? It is not a hovel like Lady Mary Wortley's château, of which she used to brag to the Florentines. My trees flourish so exuberantly, that I am every day clearing away; and every bough that is lopped lets in new verdure, gaiety, and prospect. From such a scene one looks down with contempt or pity on Messieurs Maupeou and D'Aiguillon; with greater on Monsieur de Choiseul, if he is sorry to be at Chanteloup. If he was here at this moment, I would say, 'Look at yon sinking beams; his gaudy reign is over; but the silver moon above that elm succeeds to a tranquil horizon, and seems to enjoy the serenity of the evening, with more passionate though with fewer admirers! If she gilds no objects, remember she scorches none.'--Oh, a charming idea, no doubt, Monsieur de Choiseul would conceive of the pleasure of sitting in a silent window alone, admiring the changes of an evening landscape, and writing to a distant friend! 'Tis below the dignity of ambition to taste a satisfaction that any common individual may enjoy! Crowds must be witnesses to the luxury of our situation, or it loses its quintessence; and yet I, who was born in the cradle of that greatness M. de Choiseul doats on, thank Heaven for having given me no inclination to sacrifice my repose to a chimera! As an acquaintance, the world amuses me; it is horrible to be its master or its slave. Adieu! my dear Sir: it will not be long, I hope, before I write to you again from this very spot!

Thursday, June 20.

I have this morning received the six volumes of letters of painters and two of Masaccio. If you will cast up our accounts and tell me what I owe you, I will send you the bill for the fans.

I have been dining at Lord Buckingham's at Marble Hill At Twickenham, built by Henrietta Hobart, Countess of Suffolk, aunt of Lord Buckingham, to whom she left it. Walpole. ^†4. He has three fine children by his first wife Daughter of Sir Robert Drury. Walpole. ^†5; and has got a pretty, agreeable young wife Sister of W. Conolly, Esq. Walpole. LETTER 1352. ^†6; but it was a melancholy day to me, who have passed so many agreeable hours in that house and garden with poor Lady Suffolk.

1352. To the Earl of Strafford.

Strawberry Hill, June 20, 1771.

I have waited impatiently, my dear Lord, for something worth putting into a letter; but trees do not speak in Parliament, nor flowers write in the newspapers; and they are almost the only beings I have seen. I dined on Tuesday at Notting Hill -- The villa of Lady Mary Coke near Kensington. Walpole. ^†1 with the Countesses of Powis and Holdernesse, Lord and Lady Pelham Thomas Pelham, second Baron Pelham of Stanmer (afterwards Earl of Chichester), and his wife Anne, daughter of Frederick Meinhardt Frankland. ^†2, and Lord Frederick Cavendish--and Pam; and shall go to town on Friday to meet the same company at Lady Holdernesse's; and this short journal comprises almost my whole history and knowledge.

I must now ask your Lordship's and Lady Strafford's commands for Paris. I shall set out on the 7th of next month. You will think, though you will not tell me so, that these are very juvenile jaunts at my age. Indeed, I should be ashamed if I went for any other pleasure but that of once more seeing my dear blind friend Madame du Deffand. Walpole. LETTER 1353. ^†3, whose much greater age forbids my depending on seeing her often. It will, indeed, be amusing to change the scene of politics; for though I have done with our own, one cannot help hearing them--

nay, reading them; for, like flies, they come to breakfast with one's bread and butter. I wish there was any other vehicle for them but a newspaper; a place into which, considering how they are exhausted, I am sure they have no pretensions. The Duc d'Aiguillon, I hear, is minister. Their politics, some way or other, must end seriously, either in despotism, a civil war, or assassination. Methinks, it is playing deep for the power of tyranny. Charles Fox is more moderate: he only games for an hundred thousand pounds that he has not.

Have you read the Life of Benvenuto Cellini, my Lord? I am angry with him for being more distracted and wrong-headed than my Lord Herbert. Till the revival of these two, I thought the present age had borne the palm of absurdity from all its predecessors. But I find our cotemporaries are quiet good folks, that only game till they hang themselves, and do not kill everybody they meet in the street. Who would have thought we were so reasonable?

Ranelagh, they tell me, is full of foreign dukes. There is a Duc de la Trémouille, a Duc d'Aremberg, and other grandees. I know the former, and am not sorry to be out of his way.

It is not pleasant to leave groves and lawns and rivers for a dirty town with a dirtier ditch, calling itself the Seine; but I dare not encounter the sea and bad inns in cold weather. This consideration will bring me back by the end of August. I should be happy to execute any commission for your Lordship. You know how earnestly I wish always to show myself your Lordship's most faithful humble servant,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1353. To the Rev. William Cole.

Arlington Street, June 22, 1771.

I just write you a line, dear Sir, to acknowledge the receipt of the box of papers, which is come very safe, and to give you a thousand thanks for the trouble you have taken. As you promise me another letter I will wait to answer it.

At present I will only beg another favour, and with less shame, as it is of a kind you will like to grant. I have lately been at Lord Ossory's at Ampthill. You know Katherine of Arragon lived some time there -- In 1533, the year in which her marriage to Henry VIII was pronounced invalid. ^†1. Nothing remains of the castle, nor any marks of residence but a very small bit of her garden. I proposed to Lord Ossory to erect a cross to her memory on the spot; and he will. I wish, therefore, you could, from your collections or books, or memory, pick out an authentic form of a cross, of a better appearance than the common run. It must be raised on two or three steps; and if they were octagon would it not be handsomer? Her arms must be hung, like an order, upon it. Here is something of my idea A rough drawing appears in the original. LETTER 1354. ^†2. The shield appendant to a collar. We will have some inscription to mark the cause of erection. Adieu!

Your most obliged

HOR. WALPOLE.

1354. To the Earl of Upper Ossory.

Strawberry Hill, Sunday night, June 23, 1771.

My Lord,

I have got your letters -- The letters of Edward VI to Sir Barnaby Fitzpatrick. ^†1 again, and the copies, and beg to know which is the safest way of conveying the originals

to you. My reverend friend William Cole the antiquary. ^†2 who copied them tells me that one of them, and part of another, are printed in Fuller's Church History, but that need not prevent the printing altogether. I must ask your Lordship in what manner you would have me print them; I mean, whether for publication, or a smaller number only to give away. I submit to you whether the latter is not the preferable way, for as there are so very few they will barely make a sixpenny pamphlet, and not being all new, people might not think them quite important enough for sale. On the contrary, a smaller number will keep them a curiosity, and yet be sufficient to preserve them. If you like this method, I will print you what number you please, and will send you two or three hundred, and will ask your leave to keep a hundred for myself, as I did for Lord Powis. He had one hundred copies Of the Life of Lord Herbert of Cherbury. ^†3, and I the same; and in two years one copy was sold at an auction for four guineas--you see I have learnt the mysteries of my trade. I doubt I shall not have time to set about the Preface before I leave England, as I have not yet got Fuller, and a book or two more that I shall want. The long evenings in autumn are my best working hours; and as I flatter myself you will now and then be here at your villa, I can receive your directions.

I have searched in every volume I could think of where I was likely to make discoveries, but can find out nothing that perfectly satisfies me about the foundation The manor of Houghton Conquest was bestowed in 1615 by James I upon Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke, by whom Houghton House was built. ^†4 and devices of Houghton. The construction is in the style of a view of Scadbury In Kent, near Chislehurst. ^†5, Sir Francis Walsingham's house, in a picture I have of him, consequently might be built by Sir Philip

Sidney, who married his daughter. The boar was certainly Sir Philip's crest, and the pheon his arms--nay, there is one of the ciphers in which are several letters of his names; but I can touch upon no scent of his having lived there, or having an estate there. Still, I am clear that none of the emblems relate to the Bruces. Though, as a critic, I have taken liberties with Sir Philip, as an antiquary I venerate him, there being a clear distinction between the ideas we have from our sense, and those we have from our nonsense. As I have no partiality for the Bruces, from either the one or the other, I beg Sir Philip may be worshipped as founder of Houghton. I now step two hundred years later to tell my Lady Ossory a match that I have just heard at Lady Blandford's, which is droll enough. Miss Legge Hon. Elizabeth Legge, daughter of Viscount Lewisham, eldest son of first Earl of Dartmouth (whom he predeceased); m. Colonel James Whitshed Keene, M.P. for Wareham. ^†6, smitten with Colonel Keene's black eyes, has consented to give him her hand. They must, indeed, keep a few sheep at setting out, but I suppose the shepherd expects that Lord North Lord North was connected with Miss Legge through the marriage of his father, the Earl of Guilford, to her mother, Viscountess Lewisham. ^†7 will enable them to enlarge their flock. Lord Villiers George Mason-Villiers (1751-1800), Viscount Villiers; succeeded his mother as second Earl Grandison in 1782. ^†8 is a new object of contention. Mrs. Anne Pitt has made a ball for him--don't be in a hurry-- it is not to put her brother's large nose out of joint by her own; no, this is a pure act of friendship. She destines him to Lady Caroline Stuart Lady Caroline Stuart married (1778) Hon. John Dawson (afterwards Viscount Carlow and Earl of Portarlington). ^†9, Lord Bute's fifth daughter. They are a very homely pair of turtles, and do not much add to the decoration of the great pigeon-house at Ranelagh, where she produces them every night. My Lady Harrington disputes the prize with her; and at least to secure part of it gets him to loo with herself, old Boothby, and Lady Schaub. I pity poor Lady Harriet Lady Henrietta Stanhope (d. 1781), fourth daughter of second Earl of Harrington; m. (1776) Hon. Thomas Foley (afterwards second Baron Foley). ^†10, who is too charming to be set up to sale.

I hope to have more dignified news to tell you at my return from Paris, where the Duc d'Aiguillon is at last minister. I expect to find many a Junius there, at least in ballads; but if ever the French rebel farther than in couplets, the time must be at hand. It is foolish to be presenting remonstrances after the King has struck the blow The King had abolished the Parliament of Paris. ^†11. When they have harangued him into despotism, no philippic will talk him out of it. That lamb and legislatress the Czarina would suffer no Patriot orations. By the way, I hear Voltaire has already half-stifled Monsieur d'Aiguillon with incense. It is just two years since I was witness to a thousand fulsome epistles that the Duchess of Choiseul received from him in praise of her husband.

If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shined,

The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind Pope, Epistle iv. l. 881. ^†12!

I know another person Doubtless Walpole himself. LETTER 1355. ^†13, unworthy to be named in such immortal company, who has written a very fulsome letter too to the Dowager d'Aiguillon, not in truth for his own interest, but in hopes of serving a dear old blind friend, who I fear wants protection.

If you recollect any other commission before I set out this day fortnight, be so good to let me know. You allow me, I trust, to end without any formal conclusion.

1355. To the Rev. William Cole.

Strawberry Hill, June 24, 1771.

When I wrote to you t'other day, I had not opened the box of letters, and consequently had not found yours, for

which, and the prints, I give you a thousand thanks; though Count Bryan -- 'Count Bryan of Bury,' according to a note by Cole. ^†1 I have, and will return to you. Old Walker Richard Walker (1679-1764), Vice-Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, and Professor of Moral Philosophy in that University. Cf. Dunciad, iv. ll. 203-8. ^†2 is very like, and is valuable for being mentioned in the Dunciad; and a curiosity, from being mentioned there without abuse.

Your notes are very judicious, and your information most useful to me in drawing up some little preface to the Letters; which, however, I shall not have time now to do before my journey, as I shall set out on Sunday se'nnight. I like your motto much. The Lady Cecilia's letters are, as you say, more curious for the writer than the matter. We know very little of those daughters of Edward IV. Yet she and her sister Devonshire Lady Catherine Plantagenet, sixth daughter of King Edward IV; m. William Courtenay, first Earl of Devonshire; d. 1527. ^†3 lived to be old, especially Cicely, who was married to Lord Wells John Welles (d. 1499), first Viscount Welles. ^†4, and I have found why: he was first cousin to Henry VII, who, I suppose, thought it the safest match for her. I wish I knew all she and her sisters knew of their brothers, and their uncle Richard III. Much good may it do my Lord of Canterbury with his parboiled stag A reference to an incident mentioned by Cole. LETTER 1356. ^†5! Sure there must be many more curiosities in Bennet Library!

Though your letter is so entertaining and useful to me, the passage I like best is a promise you make me of a visit in the autumn with Mr. Essex. Pray put him in mind of it, as I shall you. It would add much to the obligation if you would bring two or three of your MS. volumes of Collections with you.

Adieu, dear Sir!

Yours with the utmost gratitude,

H. WALPOLE.

1356. To Grosvenor Bedford.

Arlington Street, June 27, 1771.

Dear Sir,

I am very happy to be able to set your mind quite at ease about your place, which was wanted for O'Brien -- William O'Brien, the actor, who had married Lady Susan Fox-Strangways, niece of Lord Holland. ^†1, of which I think you will hear no more. I would not enter into the method by which I got rid of the application, were it not to prove to you how sincerely I am your friend. In two words then, when I found I could not beat them from the pursuit by any other means, I declared to Lord and Lady H. Lord and Lady Holland. LETTER 1357. ^†2 that I would not request you to do a thing to which you had so great a repugnance; but if that would satisfy them, I would part with my own two little places in the Exchequer, at what they should be reckoned worth fairly. They did not choose to pay the price for them, but the offer entirely put a stop to their insisting on your place, which they could not in decency require, when they had the option of mine, and thus, in form, Lady H. told me she gave up the whole.

1357. To the Countess of Upper Ossory.

Arlington Street, June 27, 1771.

I enclose the ticket your Ladyship ordered, and as Mr. Fitzpatrick -- Probably Hon. Richard Fitzpatrick, uncle of Lord Ossory. ^†1 may wish to carry his children and some companion with him, I have made the order for five instead of four, and would have added another, but having lately had some disputes about sometimes giving a larger and sometimes a more contracted order, I am forced to confine the rule to four, or as near it as I can; my neighbours wanting to bring all their acquaintance, and taking it ill if they are refused and

others indulged; and when your Ladyship comes amongst us, you will find we are a gossiping set of folks.

I expect to be prodigiously well received at the Resurrection by numberless old folks, whose portraits I have rescued from oblivion in various visits I have made at country-houses. When I have the pleasure of being at Ampthill, I will write the names and histories on the back of the Gowrans and Robinsons The first wife of Lord Ossory's grandfather was Anne, daughter of Sir John Robinson, second Baronet. ^†2, and on the Fitz-Arbuthnot and parrot. You will find, Madam, an account of Michael Wright in the third volume of my Anecdotes. Before I received your Ladyship's, I had written to Lord Ossory about King Edward's letters, and expect his commands. Your Ladyship's and his for Paris shall be carefully executed.

I came to town yesterday, and as usual, found that one hears much more news in the country than in London. I have not picked up a pencil since I wrote to my Lord. I may, if I please, go to another ball to-morrow, at Mrs. A. P.'s Mrs. Anne Pitt. ^†3, but I think I shall choose to return to Strawberry. Her nephew, Tom Pitt, is going to marry a Miss Wilkinson Anne, daughter and co-heir of Pinckney Wilkinson, of Burnham, Norfolk; d. 1803. ^†4, a great fortune, sister to Jack Smith's wife. I don't believe your Ladyship cares much about these Jacks and Toms.

There is a great hubbub, I believe, at the other end of the town, where Wilkes is triumphing See the following letter. ^†5 over all the aldermen, and Hornes and Olivers; but in this quarter the grass would grow if it were not for a few coaches from Ranelagh.

I have sent an injunction to my antiquarian friend William Cole. LETTER 1358. ^†6, who copied over the letters, to find me out a pattern of a genuine cross, to be erected at Ampthill, and I am sure he will if

there is such a thing above ground, for he is as true a Roman Catholic as it is possible for a Protestant clergyman to be-- and there is but a very nice distinction between them, especially when they are antiquaries.

'Tis a mortification, Madam, to be able to send you nothing more amusing, but when one knows no news, a short letter is better than a composed one, and anything to dull excuses. I am grown too old for invention, and, like other old servants, have no merit but that of attachment. No ancient domestic can boast of that quality more than

Yours, &c.

July

1358. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, Saturday noon, July 6, 1771.

I am not gone; I do go to-morrow, and this letter will not set out till after me, as there is no foreign post till Tuesday. I only write to tell you that my nephew -- Only son of George, Lord Malpas, who was son of Mary, daughter of Sir Robert Walpole Walpole. ^†1, Lord Cholmondeley, is gone to Spa, and thinks of frisking through Italy before the Parliament meets. If he comes to Florence, I know how kind you will be to him. He is a good young man, and I hope will not make a bad old one; but of that I know nothing--nor ever shall.

We are told the Jesuits are restored in France. That I shall know in two or three days. Pray take notice that two years ago I foretold this. Nor do I brag of it now, but to show that once in my life at least I guessed right. I said, semen regum seges ecclesiae. Think of old Richelieu and Madame du Barry begetting the resurrection of St. Ignatius. It is all she could help him to resurrect.

Wilkes is another Phœnix revived from his own ashes. He was sunk--it was over with him; but the ministers too

precipitately hurrying to bury him alive, blew up the embers, and he is again as formidable as ever; and what will seem worse, he must go into the very closet The King's closet. Walpole. ^†2 whenever the City sends him thither on a message. You and I, and all very wise men, laugh at luck and fatality, and such essences as we know do not exist; but pray let us confess honestly that we cannot wonder if the unilluminated populace are staggered on some occasions. Does not there seem to be a fatality attending the court whenever they meddle with that man? Does not he always rise higher for their attempting to overwhelm him? What instance is there of such a demagogue subsisting and maintaining a war against a king, ministries, courts of law, a whole legislature, and all Scotland, for nine years together? Masaniello did not, I think, last five days. Wilkes, in prison, is chosen member of Parliament, and then alderman of London. His colleagues betray him, desert him, expose him, and he becomes sheriff of London. I believe, if he was to be hanged, he would be made King of England--I don't think King of Great Britain Meaning that the Scots hate him too much. Walpole. LETTER 1359. ^†3. Well, in the meantime I will go and see the reverse; a whole nation and every Parliament in it in opposition to the crown, and the courts of law suppressed by the Chancellor. Adieu!

1359. To John Chute.

Amiens, Tuesday evening, July 9, 1771.

I am got no farther yet, as I travel leisurely, and do not venture to fatigue myself. My voyage was but of four hours. I was sick only by choice and precaution, and find myself in perfect health. The enemy, I hope, has not returned to pinch you again, and that you defy the foul fiend. The weather is but lukewarm, and I should choose to have all

the windows shut, if my smelling was not much more summerly than my feeling; but the frowsiness of obsolete tapestry and needlework is insupportable. Here are old fleas and bugs talking of Louis Quatorze like tattered refugees in the Park, and they make poor Rosette attend to them, whether she will or not. This is a woful account of an evening in July, and which Monsieur de St. Lambert -- Jean François (1716-1802), Marquis de St. Lambert, author of a poem called Les Saisons, and member of the French Academy. ^†1 has omitted in his Seasons, though more natural than anything he has placed there. If the Grecian religion had gone into the folly of self-mortification, I suppose the devotees of Flora would have shut themselves up in a nasty inn, and have punished their noses for the sensuality of having smelt to a rose or a honeysuckle.

This is all I have yet to say; for I have had no adventure, no accident, nor seen a soul but my cousin Richard Walpole, whom I met on the road and spoke to in his chaise. Tomorrow I shall lie at Chantilly, and be at Paris early on Thursday. The Churchills are there already. Good night-- and a sweet one to you!

Paris, Wednesday night, July 10.

I was so suffocated with my inn last night, that I mustered all my resolution, rose with the alouette, and was in my chaise by five o'clock this morning. I got hither by eight this evening, tired, but rejoiced; have had a comfortable dish of tea, and am going to bed in clean sheets. I sink myself even to my dear old woman and my sister; for it is impossible to sit down and be made charming at this time of night after fifteen posts, and after having been here twenty times before.

At Chantilly I crossed on the Countess of W., who lies there to-night on her way to England. But I concluded she had no curiosity about me--and I could not brag of

more about her--and so we had no intercourse. I am woebegone to find my Lord F---- The Earl of Findlater. See letter to the Countess of Ossory of Aug. 11, 1771. ^†2 in the same hotel. He is as starched as an old-fashioned plaited neckcloth, and come to suck wisdom from this curious school of philosophy. He reveres me because I was acquainted with his father; and that does not at all increase my partiality to the son.

Luckily, the post departs early to-morrow morning. I thought you would like to hear I was arrived well. I should be happy to hear you are so; but do not torment yourself too soon, nor will I torment you. I have fixed the 26th of August for setting out on my return. These jaunts are too juvenile. I am ashamed to look back and remember in what year of Methuselah I was here first. Rosette sends her blessing to her daughter. Adieu! Yours ever.

1360. Printed by C. without name of addressee. (See Notes and Queries, Jan. 21, 1899.) ^†1360. To Edward Louisa Mann.

Paris, July 22, 1771.

I have received no letter from my brother, and consequently have no answer to make to him. I shall only say that after entering into a solemn engagement with me, that we should dispose of the places The places at the disposal of the Inspector of Customs, a post held jointly by Horace Walpole and his brother Sir Edward Walpole. Edward Mann acted as their Deputy. ^†1 alternately, I can scarce think him serious, when he tells you he has made an entirely new arrangement for all the places, expects I should concur in it; and after that, is so good as to promise he will dispose of no more without consulting me. If he is so absolutely master of all, my concurrence is not necessary, and I will give none. If he chooses to dispose of no more places without me, that matter, with others more important, must

be regulated in another manner,--and it is time they should, when no agreement is kept with me, and I find objections made which upon the fullest discussion, and after allowance of the force of my arguments and right, had been given up twenty years ago.

With regard to your letter, Sir, some parts of it are, I protest, totally unintelligible to me. Others, which I think I do understand, require a much fuller answer than I have time to give now, as the post goes out to-morrow morning. That answer will contain matter not at all fit for the post, and which I am sure you would not wish should be handled there; for which reason I shall defer it, till I give my answer at length into your own hands. It will, I believe, surprise you and my brother, and show how unkindly I have been treated after doing everything to accommodate both. As to the conditions which you say, Sir, you intend to exact from my brother, you will undoubtedly state them to himself; and cannot expect I should meddle with them, or be party to them. Neither you nor he can imagine that I am quite so tame an idiot as to enter into bonds for a person of his recommendation. If the office is his, he must be answerable for it, and for all the persons he employs in it. I protest against everything that is not my own act--a consequence he perhaps did not foresee, when he chose, contrary to his agreement with me, to engross the whole disposition. I have always known clearly what is my own right, and on what founded; and have acted strictly according to my right, and am ready to justify every step of my conduct.

I have sufficiently shown my disposition to peace, and appeal to you yourself, Sir, and to my brother, whether either can charge me with the least encroachment beyond my right; and whether I have not acquiesced in every single step that either has desired of me. Your letter, Sir, and that you quote of my brother, have shown how necessary

it is for me to take the measure I am determined to take. I would have done anything to oblige either you or my brother, but I am not to be threatened out of my right in any shape. I know when it is proper to yield and when to make my stand. I refused to accept the place for my own life when it was offered to me: when I declined that, it is not probable that I should hold the place to the wrong of anybody else; it will and must be seen who claims any part or prerogatives of the place unjustly; my honour demands to have this ascertained, and I will add, that when I scorned a favour, I am not likely to be intimidated by a menace. I say all this coolly and deliberately, and my actions will be conformable.

I do not forget my obligations to you, dear Sir, or to your dead brother Galfridus Mann. LETTER 1361. ^†2, whose memory will ever be most dear to me. Unkind expressions shall not alter the affection I have for you or your family, nor am I so unreasonable, so unjust, or so absurd, as not to approve your doing everything you think right for your own interest and security, and for those of your family. What I have to say hereafter will prove that these not only are, but ever have been my sentiments. I shall then appeal to your own truth, whether it is just in you to have used some expressions in your letter; but as I mean to act with the greatest circumspection, and without a grain of resentment to anybody, I shall say no more till I have had full time to weigh every word I shall use, and every step I mean to take. In the meantime I am,

Dear Sir,

Your obliged humble servant,

HOR. WALPOLE.

P.S. My refusal of the patent for my life has shown what value I set upon it; but I will have justice, especially for

my character, which no consideration upon earth shall prevent my seeking. It must and shall be known whether I enjoy the place to the wrong of any man living. You have my free consent, Sir, to show this letter to whom you please; I have nothing to conceal, and am ready to submit my conduct to the whole world.

1361. To the Hon. Henry Seymour Conway.

Paris, July 30, 1771.

I do not know where you are, nor where this will find you, nor when it will set out to seek you, as I am not certain by whom I shall send it. It is of little consequence, as I have nothing material to tell you, but what you probably may have heard.

The distress here is incredible, especially at court. The King's tradesmen are ruined, his servants starving, and even angels and archangels cannot get their pensions and salaries, but sing 'Woe! woe! woe!' instead of Hosannahs. Compiègne is abandoned; Villiers-Coterets and Chantilly -- The country places of the Duke of Orléans and the Prince of Condé, who were in disgrace at court for having espoused the cause of the Parliament of Paris, banished by the Chancellor Maupeou. Walpole. ^†1 crowded, and Chanteloup The country seat of the Duc de Choiseul, to which, on his ceasing to be First Minister, he was banished by the King. Walpole. ^†2 still more in fashion, whither everybody goes that pleases; though, when they ask leave, the answer is, 'Je ne le défends ni le permets.' This is the first time that ever the will of a King of France was interpreted against his inclination. Yet, after annihilating his Parliament, and ruining public credit, he tamely submits to be affronted by his own servants. Madame de Beauveau, and two or three high-spirited dames, defy this Czar of Gaul. Yet they and their cabal are as inconsistent on the other hand. They make epigrams, sing vaudevilles against the

mistress Madame du Barry. Walpole. ^†3, hand about libels against the Chancellor Maupeou. Walpole. ^†4, and have no more effect than a sky-rocket; but in three months will die to go to court, and to be invited to sup with Madame du Barri. The only real struggle is between the Chancellor and the Duc d'Aiguillon. The first is false, bold, determined, and not subject to little qualms. The other is less known, communicates himself to nobody, is suspected of deep policy and deep designs, but seems to intend to set out under a mask of very smooth varnish; for he has just obtained the payment of all his bitter enemy La Chalotais' pensions and arrears. He has the advantage, too, of being but moderately detested in comparison of his rival, and, what he values more, the interest of the mistress. The Comptroller-General The Abbé Terrai. Walpole. ^†5 serves both, by acting mischief more sensibly felt; for he ruins everybody but those who purchase a respite from his mistress. He dispenses bankruptcy by retail, and will fall, because he cannot even by these means be useful enough. They are striking off nine millions from la caisse militaire, five from the marine, and one from the affaires étrangères: yet all this will not extricate them. You never saw a great nation in so disgraceful a position. Their next prospect is not better: it rests on an imbécile The Dauphin, afterwards Louis XVI. ^†6, both in mind and body.

July 31.

Mr. Churchill and my sister set out to-night after supper, and I shall send this letter by them. There are no new books, no new plays, no new novels; nay, no new fashions. They have dragged old Mademoiselle Le Maure out of a retreat of thirty years, to sing at the Colisée, which is a most gaudy Ranelagh, gilt, painted, and becupided like an Opera, but not calculated to last as long as Mother Coliseum, being composed of chalk and pasteboard. Round

it are courts of treillage, that serve for nothing, and behind it a canal, very like a horse-pond, on which there are fireworks and jousts. Altogether it is very pretty; but as there are few nabobs and nabobesses in this country, and as the middling and common people are not much richer than Job when he had lost everything but his patience, the proprietors are on the point of being ruined, unless the project takes place that is talked of. It is, to oblige Corneille, Racine, and Molière to hold their tongues twice a week, that their audiences may go to the Colisée. This is like our Parliament's adjourning when senators want to go to Newmarket. There is a Monsieur Gaillard Gabriel Henri Gaillard (1726-1806). LETTER 1362. ^†7 writing a history of the Rivalité de la France et de l'Angleterre. I hope he will not omit this parallel.

The instance of their poverty that strikes me most, who make political observations by the thermometer of baubles, is, that there is nothing new in their shops. I know the faces of every snuffbox and every teacup as well as those of Madame du Lac and Monsieur Poirier. I have chosen some cups and saucers for my Lady Ailesbury, as she ordered me; but I cannot say they are at all extraordinary. I have bespoken two cabriolets for her, instead of six, because I think them very dear, and that she may have four more if she likes them. I shall bring, too, a sample of a baguette that suits them. For myself, between economy and the want of novelty, I have not laid out five guineas-- a very memorable anecdote in the history of my life. Indeed, the Czarina and I have a little dispute: she has offered to purchase the whole Crozat collection of pictures, at which I had intended to ruin myself. The Turks thank her for it!--Apropos, they are sending from hence fourscore officers to Poland, each of whom I suppose, like Almanzor, can stamp with his foot and raise an army.

As my sister travels like a Tartar princess with her whole horde, she will arrive too late almost for me to hear from you in return to this letter, which in truth requires no answer, vu que I shall set out myself on the 26th of August. You will not imagine that I am glad to save myself the pleasure of hearing from you; but I would not give you the trouble of writing unnecessarily. If you are at home, and not in Scotland, you will judge by these dates where to find me. Adieu!

Yours ever,

HOR. WALPOLE.

P.S. Instead of restoring the Jesuits, they are proceeding to annihilate the Celestines, Augustines, and some other orders.

August

1362. To John Chute.

Paris, Aug. 5, 1771.

It is a great satisfaction to me to find by your letter of the 30th that you have had no return of your gout. I have been assured here that the best remedy is to cut one's nails in hot water. It is, I fear, as certain as any other remedy! It would at least be so here, if their bodies were of a piece with their understandings; or if both were as curable as they are the contrary. Your prophecy, I doubt, is not better founded than the prescription. I may be lame; but I shall never be a duck, nor deal in the garbage of the Alley.

I envy your Strawberry tide, and need not say how much I wish I was there to receive you. Methinks, I should be as glad of a little grass, as a seaman after a long voyage. Yet English gardening gains ground here prodigiously--not much at a time, indeed--I have literally seen one that is exactly like a tailor's paper of patterns. There is a Monsieur

Boutin -- 'Grand amateur de jardins, et propriétaire à Paris de celui qu'on a appelé depuis Tivoli.' (Correspondance de Madame du Deffand, 1877, vol. iii. p. 254 n.) ^†1, who has tacked a piece of what he calls an English garden to a set of stone terraces, with steps of turf. There are three or four very high hills, almost as high as, and exactly in the shape of, a tansy pudding. You squeeze between these and a river, that is conducted at obtuse angles in a stone channel, and supplied by a pump; and when walnuts come in, I suppose it will be navigable. In a corner enclosed by a chalk wall are the samples I mentioned; there is a stripe of grass, another of corn, and a third en friche, exactly in the order of beds in a nursery. They have translated Mr. Whately's Thomas Whateley (d. 1772), M.P. for Castle Rising; author of Observations on Modern Gardening. ^†2 book, and the Lord knows what barbarism is going to be laid at our door. This new Anglomanie will literally be mad English.

New arrêts, new retrenchments, new misery, stalk forth every day. The Parliament of Besançon is dissolved; so are the Grenadiers de France. The King's tradesmen are all bankrupt; no pensions are paid, and everybody is reforming their suppers and equipages. Despotism makes converts faster than ever Christianity did. Louis Quinze is the true rex Christianissimus, and has ten times more success than his dragooning great-grandfather. Adieu, my dear Sir!

Yours most faithfully,

HOR. WALPOLE.

Friday, 9th.

This was to have gone by a private hand, but cannot depart till Monday; so I may be continuing my letter till I bring it myself. I have been again at the Chartreuse; and, though it was the sixth time, I am more enchanted with those paintings Le Sueur's paintings of incidents in the life of St. Bruno. ^†3 than ever. If it is not the first work

in the world, and must yield to the Vatican, yet in simplicity and harmony it beats Raphael himself. There is a vapour over all the pictures, that makes them more natural than any representation of objects--I cannot conceive how it is effected. You see them through the shine of a south-east wind. These poor folks do not know the inestimable treasure they possess--but they are perishing these pictures, and one gazes at them as at a setting sun. There is the purity of Racine in them, but they give me more pleasure-- and I should much sooner be tired of the poet than of the painter.

It is very singular that I have not half the satisfaction in going into churches and convents that I used to have. The consciousness that the vision is dispelled, the want of fervour so obvious in the religious, the solitude that one knows proceeds from contempt, not from contemplation, make those places appear like abandoned theatres destined to destruction. The monks trot about as if they had not long to stay there; and what used to be holy gloom is now but dirt and darkness. There is no more deception than in a tragedy acted by candle-snuffers. One is sorry to think that an empire of common sense would not be very picturesque; for, as there is nothing but taste that can compensate for the imagination of madness, I doubt there will never be twenty men of taste for twenty thousand madmen. The world will no more see Athens, Rome, and the Medici again, than a succession of five good emperors, like Nerva, Trajan, Adrian, and the two Antonines.

Aug. 13.

Mr. Edmonson Perhaps Joseph Edmondson (d. 1786), herald and genealogist. ^†4 has called on me; and, as he sets out to-morrow, I can safely trust my letter to him. I have, I own, been much shocked at reading Gray's death Gray died at Cambridge of gout in the stomach on July 30, 1771. ^†5 in the

papers. 'Tis an hour that makes one forget any subject of complaint, especially towards one with whom I lived in friendship from thirteen years old. As self lies so rooted in self, no doubt the nearness of our ages Gray was ten months older than Horace Walpole. LETTER 1363. ^†6 made the stroke recoil to my own breast; and having so little expected his death, it is plain how little I expect my own. Yet to you, who of all men living are the most forgiving, I need not excuse the concern I feel. I fear most men ought to apologize for their want of feeling, instead of palliating that sensation when they have it. I thought that what I had seen of the world had hardened my heart; but I find that it had formed my language, not extinguished my tenderness. In short, I am really shocked--nay, I am hurt at my own weakness, as I perceive that when I love anybody, it is for my life; and I have had too much reason not to wish that such a disposition may very seldom be put to the trial. You, at least, are the only person to whom I would venture to make such a confession.

Adieu! my dear Sir! Let me know when I arrive, which will be about the last day of the month, when I am likely to see you. I have much to say to you. Of being here I am most heartily tired, and nothing but this dear old woman should keep me here an hour--I am weary of them to death --but that is not new!

Yours ever,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1363. To the Countess of Upper Ossory.

Paris, Aug. 11, 1771.

I fear, Madam, I shall return from hence, like many an English Ambassador, without having done anything that signifies. I have indeed at last received some canvas and

silk from M. Francès, to the value of forty-six livres two sous, which, when the materials shall be manufactured by your Ladyship, will, I trust, increase a million-fold. As to snuffboxes and toothpick cases, the vintage has entirely failed this year. I have not been able to find a new one of either sort. The shops complain of a total stagnation of trade, and this some impute to a cross man whom they call Mons. le Chancelier -- Maupeou. ^†1, who has pulled all the Parliament out by the noses, and occasioned a decrease of 40,000 of those organs of smelling in Paris; and others say, that a certain Comptroller-General The Abbé Terray. ^†2 having left nobody anything to eat, there is but little demand for toothpick cases. As I am totally ignorant of commerce, it is impossible for me to judge what truth there is in these hypotheses--all I know is, that I am as well acquainted with the faces of every snuffbox in every shop, as every administration is with Mr. Ellis's. Lord Ossory's commission will be a little better executed--that is, it may be. I have seen three fine clocks, two dearer than the sum he limited, and one under it; but as I could not venture to lay out more or less money than his Lordship allowed, I have made all three sit for their pictures, and shall bring him the designs, that he may throw his handkerchief himself.

Paris is quite empty, even of English. In truth, I live in a hotel full of English, but I know the faces of but one, and of him, scarce the voice; it is my Lord Finlater, who I suppose is dying for love of his future bride, for he is an absolute statue: we have visited thrice, met once, and shall speak to one another next time. Lady Barrymore Lady Amelia Stanhope (d. 1780), third daughter of second Earl of Harrington; m. (1767) Richard Barry, sixth Earl of Barrymore. Her favour at the French court arose from the fact that Lord Barrymore claimed relationship with the husband of Madame du Barry, the mistress of Louis XV. LETTER 1364. ^†3 went yesterday to Compiègne; Marshal Richelieu had orders to

take care she had a box at the Opera here; but don't tell Junius so.

It is with great satisfaction I have to inform your Ladyship that the taste for English gardening makes great progress here, not owing, alas! to mine, but to Mr. Whately's

TABLE OF REFERENCES.

1. Slip of corn. 2. Do. of grass. 3. Do. of weeds, very rural. 4. Do. of oats. 5. Irregular grove. 6. A well and pump that furnishes the river. 7, 7, 7. A serpentine river in a stone channel, four feet wide. 8. A canal. 9, 9. Two mountains, twelve feet high, in the shape of a tansy-pudding, but not so green as the river. 10. Mount Olympus, with a temple on it. 11. An irregular piece of turf. 12. A fairy, with an Italian front. 13. Slips of grass. 14, 14, 14. The wall 15. Terrace commanding a superb view over the hot-houses and dunghill. 16. Kitchen-garden with melon frames. 17. French garden.

book, which has been translated. I have been to see a garden almost out of Paris, which has been laid out in our taste at a vast expense; and as it improves upon us, I have here sent your Ladyship the plan as well as I could bring it

away by memory, at the same time begging you to excuse the badness of the drawing, which does not do justice to the original.

If Lord Ossory should wish to lay out Ampthill in this manner, I will take care to have a more correct plan made; but, indeed, without being upon the spot there is no judging of the effect. There is something so sociable in being able to shake hands across the river from the tops of the two mountains, 9 9, that nothing but so amiable a nation could have imagined it. Nay, it is a great idea; one thinks one sees the mountain-gods of Parnassus and Ida pulling their fauteuils across a continent, and drinking a glass of helicon to the health of their bergères!

The rest of my travels I shall reserve till I have the honour of seeing your Ladyship at Twickenham. I intend to set out on my return to-morrow se'nnight; and am, Madam,

Yours, &c.

1364. To the Hon. Henry Seymour Conway.

Paris, August 11, 1771.

You will have seen, I hope, before now, that I have not neglected writing to you. I sent you a letter by my sister, but doubt she has been a great while upon the road, as they travel with a large family. I was not sure where you were, and would not write at random by the post.

I was just going out when I received yours and the newspapers. I was struck in a most sensible manner, when, after reading your letter, I saw in the newspapers that Gray is dead! So very ancient an intimacy, and, I suppose, the natural reflection to self on losing a person but a year older, made me absolutely start in my chair. It seemed more a corporal than a mental blow; and yet

I am exceedingly concerned for him, and everybody must be so for the loss of such a genius. He called on me but two or three days before I came hither; he complained of being ill, and talked of the gout in his stomach--but I expected his death no more than my own--and yet the same death will probably be mine. I am full of all these reflections--but shall not attrist you with them: only do not wonder that my letter will be short, when my mind is full of what I do not give vent to. It was but last night that I was thinking how few persons last, if one lives to be old, to whom one can talk without reserve. It is impossible to be intimate with the young, because they and the old cannot converse on the same common topics; and of the old that survive, there are few one can commence a friendship with, because one has probably all one's life despised their heart or their understandings. These are the steps through which one passes to the unenviable lees of life!

I am very sorry for the state of poor Lady Beauchamp -- The wife of Viscount Beauchamp, eldest son of Horace Walpole's first cousin Lord Hertford. She died in February 1772. ^†1. It presages ill. She had a prospect of long happiness. Opium is a very false friend.

I will get you Bougainville's Jean Pierre Bougainville (d. 1763), the circumnavigator. LETTER 1365. ^†2 book. I think it is on the Falkland Isles, for it cannot be on those just discovered; but as I set out to-morrow se'nnight, and probably may have no opportunity sooner of sending it, I will bring it myself. Adieu!

Yours ever,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1365. To the Rev. William Cole.

Paris, Aug. 12, 1771.

Dear Sir,

I am excessively shocked at reading in the papers that Mr. Gray is dead! I wish to God you may be able to tell me it is not true! Yet in this painful uncertainty I must rest some days! None of my acquaintance are in London-- I do not know to whom to apply but to you--alas! I fear in vain! too many circumstances speak it true!--the detail is exact: a second paper arrived by the same post, and does not contradict it--and, what is worse, I saw him but four or five days before I came hither; he had been to Kensington for the air, complained of the gout flying about him, of sensations of it in his stomach, and indeed, thought him changed, and that he looked ill--still I had not the least idea of his being in danger--I started up from my chair when I read the paragraph--a cannon-ball would not have surprised me more! The shock but ceased, to give way to my concern, and my hopes are too ill-founded to mitigate it! If nobody has the charity to write to me, my anxiety must continue till the end of the month, for I shall set out on my return on the 26th, and unless you receive this time enough for your answer to leave London on the 20th, in the evening, I cannot meet it till I find it in Arlington Street, whither I beg you to direct it.

If the event is but too true, pray add to this melancholy service that of telling me any circumstance you know of his death. Our long, very long friendship, and his genius, must endear to me everything that relates to him. What writings has he left? Who are his executors -- Gray's executors were William Mason the poet, and Dr. James Brown, Master of Pembroke College, Cambridge. ^†1? I should earnestly wish, if he has destined anything to the public, to

print it at my press. It would do me honour, and would give me an opportunity of expressing what I feel for him. Methinks, as we grow old, our only business here is to adorn the graves of our friends, or to dig our own! Adieu, dear Sir!

Yours ever,

HOR. WALPOLE.

P.S. I heard this unhappy news but last night, and have just been told that Lord Edward Bentinck Second son of second Duke of Portland; d. 1819. ^†2 goes in haste to-morrow to England: so that you will receive this much sooner than I expected. Still I must desire you to direct to Arlington Street, as by far the surest conveyance to me.

1366. Not in C.; reprinted from Letters and Journals of Lady Mary Coke, vol. iii. p. 446, n. 1. ^†1366. To Lady Mary Coke.

I never trouble your Ladyship with common news. The little events of the world are below the regard of one who steps from throne to throne, and converses only with demigods and demigoddesses. Parliaments are broken here every day about our ears, but their splinters are not of consequence enough to send you. I waited for something worthy of being entered in your imperial archives--little thinking that I should be happy enough to be the first to inform you, at least to ascertain you, of the most extraordinary discovery that ever was made, and far more important than the forty dozen of islands, which Dr. Solander Daniel Charles Solander (1736-1782), who accompanied Cook and Banks on their voyage in the Endeavour. ^†1 has picked up the Lord knows where, as he went to catch new sorts of fleas and crickets; and which said islands, if well husbanded, may produce forty more wars. The discovery I mean

will occasion great desolation too: it will produce a violent change in the empire of Parnassus, it will be very prejudicial to the eyes, and considerably reduce the value of what Cibber called the paraphonalia of a woman of quality. It is difficult not to moralize on so trist an event! Can we wonder at that fleeting condition of human life, when the brightest and most durable of essences is proved to be but a vapour! No, Madam, I do not mean angels. They have indeed been in some danger; but have been saved, at least for some time, by Madame du Barry, and the late edicts that wink at the return of the Jesuits. The radiances in question have undergone a more fiery trial, and their nothingness is condemned without reprieve. Yes, Madam, diamonds are a bubble, and adamant itself has lost its obduracy! I am sorry to say that it would be a greater compliment now to tell a beauty that she had ruby eyes, than to compare them to a diamond, and if your Ladyship's heart were no harder than adamant, I should be sure of finding it no longer irresistible. As this memorable process took its rise at Vienna, your Ladyship may perhaps have heard something of it These experiments are described in Ann. Reg. 1771, p. 141. ^†2. Public experiences have now been made here; and the day before yesterday the ordeal trial was executed. A diamond was put into a crucible over a moderate fire, and in an hour was absolutely annihilated. No ashes were left, not enough to enclose in a fancy-ring. An emerald mounted the scaffold next--its verdure suffered, but not its essence. The third was a ruby, who triumphed over the flames, and came forth from the furnace as unhurt as Shadrac, Meshac, and Abednego--to the immortal disgrace of the diamond: a crystal behaved with as much heroism as the ruby, and not a hair of its head was singed. Nobody can tell how far this revolution will go. For my part, as I foresee that no woman of quality will deign to wear any more diamonds, and that next to rubies, crystal will be the principal ornament in a lady's dress, I am buying up all the old lustres I can meet with. I have already got a piece of two thousand weight, and that I hope to sell for fifty thousand pounds to the first nabob's daughter that is married, for a pair of earrings; and I have another still larger, that I am taking to pieces and intend to have set in a stomacher large enough for the most prominent slope of the present age. Madame du Barry they say has already given Pitt's diamond to her chambermaid; and if Lord Pigott George Pigot (1719-1777), first Baron Pigot, Governor of Madras, 1755-63, 1775-76. He bequeathed his diamond to his brothers and sister, who sold it for more than twenty-three thousand pounds. ^†3 is wise, he will change his at Betts's glass shop for a dozen strong beer glasses. As to Lord Clive and the Lady of Loretto, I do not feel much pity for them; they are rich enough to stand this loss. The reflections one might make on this disaster are infinite, but I will take up no more of your Ladyship's time--nor do I condole with you, Madam; your philosophy is incapable of being shaken by so sublunary a consideration, as a decrease in the value of your large ring. It has a secret and inestimable merit, which is out of the power of a crucible to assail; and you and it will remain or become stars, when the fashion of this world passeth away.

I am, Madam,

Your Ladyship's

Most faithful

Humble servant,

HOR. WALPOLE.

Paris, Aug. 22, 1771.

1367. To the Earl of Strafford.

Paris, Aug. 25, 1771.

I have passed my biennial six weeks here, my dear Lord, and am preparing to return as soon as the weather will

allow me. It is some comfort to the patriot virtue, envy, to find this climate worse than our own. There were four very hot days at the end of last month, which, you know, with us northern people compose a summer: it has rained half this, and for these three days there has been a deluge, a storm, and extreme cold. Yet these folks shiver in silk, and sit with their windows open till supper-time. Indeed, firing is very dear, and nabobs very scarce. Economy and retrenchment are the words in fashion, and are founded in a little more than caprice. I have heard no instance of luxury but in Mademoiselle Guimard, a favourite dancer, who is building a palace: round the salle à manger there are windows that open upon hot-houses, that are to produce flowers all winter. That is worthy of ----. There is a finer dancer, whom Mr. Hobart is to transplant to London; a Mademoiselle Heinel or Ingle, a Fleming. She is tall, perfectly made, very handsome, and has a set of attitudes copied from the classics. She moves as gracefully slow as Pygmalion's statue when it was coming to life, and moves her leg round as imperceptibly as if she was dancing in the Zodiac. But she is not Virgo.

They make no more of breaking Parliaments here than an English mob does of breaking windows. It is pity people are so ill-sorted. If this King and ours should cross over and figure in, Louis XV would dissolve our Parliament if Polly Jones did but say a word to him. They have got into such a habit of it here, that you would think a Parliament was a polypus: they cut it in two, and by next morning half of it becomes a whole assembly. This has literally been the case at Besançon. Lord and Lady Barrymore, who are in the highest favour at Compiègne, will be able to carry over the receipt.

Everybody feels in their own way. My grief is to see the ruinous condition of the palaces and pictures. I was yesterday

at the Louvre. Le Brun's noble gallery, where the battles of Alexander are, and of which he designed the ceiling, and even the shutters, bolts, and locks, is in a worse condition than the old gallery at Somerset House. It rains in upon the pictures, though there are stores of much more valuable pieces than those of Le Brun. Heaps of glorious works by Raphael and all the great masters are piled up and equally neglected at Versailles. Their care is not less destructive in private houses. The Duke of Orleans' pictures and the Prince of Monaco's have been cleaned, and varnished so thick that you may see your face in them; and some of them have been transported from board to cloth, bit by bit, and the seams filled up with colour; so that in ten years they will not be worth sixpence. It makes me as peevish as if I was posterity! I hope your Lordship's works will last longer than these of Louis XIV. The glories of his siècle hasten fast to their end, and little will remain but those of his authors.

I am, my dear Lord,

Your most faithful humble servant,

HOR. WALPOLE.

September

1368. Collated with original in British Museum. ^†1368. To Mrs. Abington Frances Barton, known as Mrs. Abington (1737-1815). She was the original 'Lady Teazle.' ^†1.

Paris, Sept. 1, 1771.

If I had known, Madam, of your being at Paris, before I heard it from Colonel Blaquière Colonel John Blaquière (1732-1812), created Baron Blaquière in 1800. He was at this time Secretary of Legation in Paris. He was Chief Secretary for Ireland, 1772-77. LETTER 1369. ^†2, I should certainly have prevented your flattering invitation, and have offered you any services that could depend on my acquaintance here. It is plain I am old, and live with very old folks, when

I did not hear of your arrival. However, Madam, I have not that fault at least of a veteran, the thinking nothing equal to what they admired in their youth. I do impartial justice to your merit, and fairly allow it not only equal to that of any actress I have seen, but believe the present age will not be in the wrong, if they hereafter prefer it to those they may live to see.

Your allowing me to wait on you in London, Madam, will make me some amends for the loss I have had here; and I shall take an early opportunity of assuring you how much

I am, Madam,

Your most obliged humble servant,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1369. To the Hon. Henry Seymour Conway.

Arlington Street, Sept. 7, 1771.

I arrived yesterday, within an hour or two after you was gone, which mortified me exceedingly: Lord knows when I shall see you. You are so active and so busy, and cast bullets -- As Lieutenant-General of the Ordnance. ^†1 and build bridges, are Pontifex Maximus, and, like Sir John Thorold Sir George (not Sir John) Thorold, Lord Mayor of London in 1720. ^†2 or Cimon,

----triumph over land and wave,

that one can never get a word with you. Yet I am very well worth a general's or a politician's ear. I have been deep in all the secrets of France, and confidant of some of the principals of both parties. I know what is, and is to be, though I am neither priest nor conjurer--and have heard a vast deal about breaking Carabiniers and Grenadiers; though, as usual, I dare to say I shall give a woful account

of both. The worst part is, that by the most horrid oppression and injustice their finances will very soon be in good order--unless some bankrupt turns Ravaillac, which will not surprise me. The horror the nation has conceived of the King and Chancellor M. de Maupeou. ^†3 makes it probable that the latter, at least, will be sacrificed. He seems not to be without apprehension, and has removed from the King's library a MS. trial of a Chancellor who was condemned to be hanged under Charles VII. For the King, qui a fait ses épreuves, and not to his honour, you will not wonder that he lives in terrors.

I have executed all Lady Ailesbury's commissions; but mind, I do not commission you to tell her, for you would certainly forget it. As you will, no doubt, come to town to report who burnt Portsmouth There had been a fire in the dockyard at Portsmouth. ^†4, I will meet you here, if I am apprised of the day. Your niece's marriage The marriage of Lady Gertrude Seymour Conway to Lord Villiers, since Earl of Grandison. Walpole. ^†5 pleases me extremely. Though I never saw him till last night, I know a great deal of her future husband, and like his character. His person is much better than I expected, and far preferable to many of the fine young moderns. He is better than Sir Watkin Williams Wynne Sir Watkin Williams-Wynne, fourth Baronet; d. 1789. LETTER 1370. ^†6, at least as well as the Duke of Devonshire, and Adonis compared to the charming Mr. Fitzpatrick. Adieu!

1370. To George Augustus Selwyn.

Strawberry Hill, Sept. 9, 1771.

Who would ever have thought that Raton and Rosette -- Selwyn's and Walpole's dogs. ^†1 would be talked of one for another? But neither innocence nor age are secure. People say that there never is a smoke without some fire: here is a striking proof to the contrary.

Only think of the poor dear souls having a comic opera made upon their loves Jesse states (see George Selwyn and his Contemporaries, vol. iii. p. 13) that Horace Walpole enclosed in this letter a copy of the Journal des Spectacles for August 28, 1771, which contained the following announcement under the heading of La Comédie Italienne: RATON ET ROSETTE, Parodie remise au Théâtre, Avec ses Agrémens; Précédée du MARÉCHAL. On prendra 6 liv. et ... Demain la troisième Représentation des DEUX MILICIENS Comédie Nouvelle en un Acte. Suivie d'un Divertissement. Précédée Des INTRIGUES D'ARLEQUIN Pièce Italienne. On commencera à cinq heures et un quart. ^†2. Rosette is so shocked that she insists upon Raton's posting to Paris and breaking the poet's bones, sauf à les ronger après. If he is a preux chevalier, he will vindicate her character d'une manière éclatante. Do not tell me that you are lying-in and cannot spare him; I am sure you are so fond of your little girl Maria Fagniani (afterwards Marchioness of Hertford), born in August 1771. Selwyn adopted her, and left her a large sum of money at his death. ^†3, that you will not miss him.

Have you heard the last adventure of the fiancée du Roi de Garbe A tale by La Fontaine. Horace Walpole probably alludes to Penelope Pitt, daughter of George Pitt (afterwards Baron Rivers) and wife of Viscount Ligonier. She was divorced by her husband in Nov. 1771, for misconduct with Alfieri the poet. LETTER 1371. ^†4? She was seven years and a half at sea; the captain of the packet-boat is tall, comely enough, and a very shark on such an occasion. He snapped her up at once as voraciously as she did John Harding. They passed a week together at Calais, and he then consigned her over to a marching regiment at Ardres. Alfieri told this story himself to Monsieur Francès, from whom I had it fresh. Alfieri's sentiments, that had resisted so many trials, could not digest this last chapter; he has given her up. I wish, when she has run the gauntlet through all the troops on the road to Paris, she may replace Madame du Barry, and prove la fiancée du Roi de France.

Yours ever,

H. WALPOLE.

1371. To Sir Horace Mann.

Strawberry Hill, Sept. 9, 1771.

I could not have laid out my holidays more conveniently (if I may be wicked enough to call a suspension of our correspondence so) than by fixing on the time I did for going to France. Nothing has happened here that would have furnished a letter, and there I heard and saw enough for a volume: I must try to abridge my materials.

For the misery of his people, and for the danger of his successors (if he escapes himself), the King, I think, will triumph over his country: a victory most kings prefer, not only to peace, but to foreign laurels. The Princes of the blood are firm, without spirit or sense: the nobility have as little of either; the vigour of Parliamentary remonstrances are hushed by the English remedy--bribery; and the people curse the King, the Chancellor, the mistress; and starve. Besançon, Douay, Toulouse, Grenoble, and by this time Bordeaux, have lost their Parliaments, or accepted new ones. In some are erected superior councils--this variety proves how wrong the system is, or how incomplete. The only good attained is the diminution of law-suits; many preferring to compound their quarrels, rather than apply to the new judicature.

In the meantime the Chancellor does as much hurt against all law, as any of his profession ever did by law. He is very able, very enterprising, and after being the most servile flatterer, proves the most inhuman tyrant. Everybody is pillaged, and numbers ruined. The army is much reduced, and if corruption does not prevent it, their finances will soon be in good order. The besotted old Bien-aimé -- Louis the Fifteenth. Walpole. ^†1 neither desires this increase of power, nor feels for the

sufferings it occasions; but shudders for his own life, and yet lets Abigail, who has still less sense than himself, plunge him into all these difficulties and shame. This street-walker has just received the homage of Europe. The holy Nuncio, and every Ambassador but he of Spain, have waited on her, and brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Fuentes The Spanish Ambassador. Walpole. ^†2 alone would neither bend the knee to her or to the Chancellor. The Dauphiness, who is governed by her husband's aunts, paid no regard to her good mother's The Empress-Queen. Walpole. ^†3 instructions, and would not speak to the mistress at her presentation. The Duc d'Aiguillon is not so refractory: he not only visits her publicly, but very privately--yet he gains little ground with the King. The Chancellor seems to think devotion a bawd better suited to the monarch's age, and meets him often at Sœur Louise's The King's youngest daughter, who was a Carmelite nun. Walpole. ^†4 cell at St. Denis. This Princess is undoubtedly a Papal engine. The reform of convents does not proceed: and Sœur Louise is supposed to have effected a considerable disgrace. The Bishop of Orléans, a bon vivant and bon couchant, and friend of Choiseul, had the feuille de bénéfices. Madame Victoire drew him into some conversation on the times. He was cautious; yet, as she is a Frondeuse, he opened his mind a little to her. She betrayed the conversation to her father, and the prelate is banished to an abbey, and not permitted to go to his mother, who is past fourscore. Madame Victoire's treachery and folly, both to her party and to the bishop, is laid to the saint her sister.

The Duc de Choiseul acts joy, spirits, happiness: receives all the world, treats all the world, and thinks himself not only the greatest minister, but the most beloved that ever was; not reflecting how foolishly he threw away his power;

and insensible to the ruin he is drawing on his friends and on himself too. It has been the fashion to ask leave to visit him. Very few have been refused, but the answer is, Je ne le défends, ni le permets. This has passed for permission; but the King has said he would remember those who should go,--and he will not want remembrancers. In short, the proscription has already commenced. The Prince of Beauvau is removed from the government of Languedoc, worth 103,000 livres a year, under pretence that having opposed the fate of the Parliament of Paris, he could not be proper to dissolve that of Toulouse. The Duc de Duras is to lose the government of Bretagne, and I know from very good authority that not one person placed by Choiseul but will be removed within a year. His own Swiss Guards He was commander of the Swiss Guards. ^†5 are to be taken away, bon gré, mal gré.

This prospect is by no means unfavourable to us. France and Spain on cool terms; the army no longer the favourite object,--perhaps disgusted--certainly dispirited, and liable to be soured by the crowds of discontented,--the Vive le Roi certainly extinguished for the present; a Dauphin more unpromising; an old King, like Hercules betwixt virtue and vice, torn different ways by a bigot-daughter and an idiot bunter; a government dissolved and not resettled; and, to crown all, a divided and rival ministry. I do not think the Duc d'Aiguillon of abilities to reconcile this chaos. He is very gracious, but very dark, and by some circumstances, I believe so great a politician, that he is a very little one; that is, he will spring a mine to blow up an ant-hill.

This is a slight sketch of my observations. Paris suffers grievously; the ruin of so many fortunes has introduced the severest economy. The retirement of the Parliament, and the numbers that depended on them, has carried away, they say, forty thousand persons. Even fashion and whim

are out of fashion. I heard of but one instance of remaining luxury: Mademoiselle Guimare, a favourite dancer, now belonging to the Prince de Soubize, and lately to the Bishop of Orléans, who kept her in lodgings within the precincts of a convent, is building a magnificent house. The salle à manger is to have des serres chaudes round it, with windows opening into the room, that she may have orange-flowers and odours all the winter.

As your own country is never behind the rest of the world in extravagance and folly, I must tell you of a set of young men of fashion, who, dining lately at the St. Alban's Tavern In Pall Mall. LETTER 1372. ^†6, thought the noise of the coaches troublesome. They ordered the street to be littered with straw, as is done for women that lie-in. The bill from the Haymarket amounted to fifty shillings apiece: methinks I am glad the Carabiniers and the Grenadiers of France are cashiered,--the sight of them before a tavern would make our young men miscarry.

I arrived but last Friday, and am delighted with a wedding that is going to be in my family. Lord Villiers, only son of Lady Grandison, a very rich Irish peeress, is going to marry Lady Gertrude Conway, Lord Hertford's eldest unmarried daughter. She is very pretty, though not so beautiful as her two next sisters. The bridegroom is well enough in his person, sensible enough, and very good natured. I know you interest yourself in whatever pleases me, and therefore I tell it you, though you know neither of the turtles.

Pray what is become of Constantinople? Are the Russians to be taking it and taking it as long as the Greeks Troy-town? This is the third summer that the Russians have been sauntering towards the Turkish capital.

I beg against the proper season you will send me a parcel

of roots of iris. They are for my dear old friend at Paris to put into sweet bags. Adieu!

1372. To the Rev. William Mason.

Strawberry Hill, Sept. 9, 1771.

Dear Sir,

I judge of your shock and concern at Mr. Gray's death by my own. I saw him the day before I left England. He complained of the gout flying about him, and said he had been a month at Kensington for the air. I saw him changed and very low, yet I had not the least idea of any sudden misfortune. Three weeks after I read in the Chronicle at Paris, that he was dead! I would not believe it--not alas! from reason; but I could not bear to believe it. I wrote to Mr. Cole to inquire--he has confirmed it, and I find it at my return but too true. I feel for you, Sir, and as I most heartily regret him, I would do anything to show my regard to his memory. If he has left anything for the press, I flatter myself mine will be allowed to contribute to that office. I shall be very happy to bear all the expense. You, I am sure, Sir, will let his genius want no due honour; and it is not to interfere with anything that you design to say of him, and which you will say better than anybody, that I send you the following lines. They are not worthy of him, nor do I repeat them to you but as a proof of my sorrow and a tribute to your friend, which is the only light in which they can please you: you will see that the lines suppose him buried among his real predecessors.

Great shades of Shakespeare, Milton, Dryden, hear,

A genuine Bard from Genius claims a tear.

He, who in numbers, worthy of the Lyre,

Enshrin'd your names, now joins the mighty choir.

Amidst your radiant Urns his Urn enclose,

A spot more hallow'd than where Kings repose;

Aloft let Pomp her Edwards, Henrys, keep;

Near Homer's dust should Pindar's ashes sleep.

If I could have greater contempt for the age than I have, it would be on observing that one single paragraph is all that has been said on our friend; but when there are columns in every paper on Sir Francis Delaval -- Sir Francis Blake Delaval died on Aug. 7, 1771. LETTER 1373. ^†1, ought we not to be glad? Who would be the hero of these times?

Is there any chance, Sir, of your coming southwards? I long to pass a melancholy hour with you. Who has possession of the plate from my picture of Mr. Gray? I have many scraps and letters of his that show how very early his genius was ripe, and which will please you exceedingly. To collect the reliques of our friends is perhaps the sweetest employment of those moments which remain when we have lost them! It is a decent preparation too for our own fate.

I am, &c.

1373. To the Rev. William Cole.

Strawberry Hill, Sept. 10, 1771.

However melancholy the occasion is, I can but give you a thousand thanks, dear Sir, for the kind trouble you have taken, and the information you have given me about poor Mr. Gray. I received your first letter at Paris; the last I found at my house in town, where I arrived only on Friday last. The circumstance of the Professor -- Russell Plumptre (1709-1793), Regius Professor of Physic at Cambridge. ^†1 refusing to rise in the night and visit him adds to the shock. Who is that true professor of physic? Jesus! is their absence to murder as well as their presence?

I have not heard from Mr. Mason, but I have written to

him. Be so good as to tell the Master of Pembroke Dr. James Brown (d. 1784). ^†2, though I have not the honour of knowing him, how sensible I am of his proposed attention to me, and how much I feel for him in losing a friend of so excellent a genius. Nothing will allay my own concern like seeing any of his compositions that I have not yet seen. It is buying even them too dear--but when the author is irreparably lost, the produce of his mind is the next best possession. I have offered my press to Mr. Mason, and hope it will be accepted.

Many thanks for the cross The design for the cross to be erected at Ampthill. ^†3, dear Sir; it is precisely what I wished. I hope you and Mr. Essex preserve your resolution of passing a few days here between this and Christmas. Just at present, I am not my own master, having stepped into the middle of a sudden match in my own family. Lord Hertford is going to marry his third daughter to Lord Villiers, son of Lady Grandison, the present wife of Sir Charles Montagu Brother of George Montagu. LETTER 1374. ^†4. We are all felicity, and in a round of dinners--I am this minute returned from Beaumont Lodge at Old Windsor, where Sir Charles Grandison lives. I will let you know, if the papers do not, when our festivities are subsided.

I shall receive with gratitude from Mr. Tyson either drawing or etching of our departed friend, but wish not to have it inscribed to me, as it is an honour more justly due to Mr. Stonehewer.

If the Master of Pembroke will accept a copy of a small picture I have of Mr. Gray, painted soon after the publication of the Ode on Eton, it shall be at his service--and after his death I beg it may be bequeathed to his college. Adieu! dear Sir.

Yours most sincerely,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1374. To the Rev. William Mason.

Strawberry Hill, Sept. 25, 1771.

I have received both your letters, Sir, by Mr. Stonhewer and by the post from York. I direct this to Aston rather than to York, for fear of any miscarriage, and will remember to insert near Sheffield.

I not only agree with your sentiments, but am flattered that they countenance my own practice. In some cases I have sold my works, and sometimes have made the impressions at my own press pay themselves, as I am not rich enough to treat the public with all I print there; nor do I know why I should. Some editions have been given to charities, to the poor of Twickenham, &c. Mr. Spence's Life of Magliabecchi was bestowed on the reading tailor. I am neither ashamed of being an author, nor a bookseller. My mother's father was a timber-merchant, I have many reasons for thinking myself a worse man, and none for thinking myself better: consequently I shall never blush at doing anything he did. I print much better than I write, and love my trade, and hope I am not one of those most undeserving of all objects, printers and booksellers, whom I confess you lash with justice. In short, Sir, I have no notion of poor Mr. Gray's delicacy. I would not sell my talents as orators and senators do, but I would keep a shop, and sell any of my own works that would gain me a livelihood, whether books or shoes, rather than be tempted to sell myself. 'Tis an honest vocation to be a scavenger, but I would not be Solicitor-General -- Alexander Wedderburn, whom Horace Walpole hated, was Solicitor-General at this time. LETTER 1375. ^†1. Whatever method you fix upon for the publication of Mr. Gray's works, I dare answer I shall approve, and will, therefore, say no more on

it till we meet. I will beg you, Sir, when you come to town to bring me what papers or letters he had preserved of mine: for the answer to Dr. Milles, it is not worth asking you to accept or to take the trouble of bringing me, and, therefore, you may fling it aside where you please.

The epitaph is very unworthy of the subject. I had rather anybody should correct my works than take the pains myself. I thank you very sincerely for criticizing it, but indeed I believe you would with much less trouble write a new one than mend that. I abandon it cheerfully to the fire, for surely bad verses on a great poet are the worst of panegyrics. The sensation of the moment dictated the epitaph, but though I was concerned, I was not inspired. Your corrections of my play I remember with the greatest gratitude, because I confess I liked it enough to wish it corrected, and for that friendly act, Sir, I am obliged to you. For writing, I am quitting all thoughts of it; and for several reasons--the best is because it is time to remember that I must quit the world. Mr. Gray was but a year older, and he had much more the appearance of a man to whom several years were promised. A contemporary's death is the Ucalegon of all sermons. In the next place his death has taught me another truth. Authors are said to labour for posterity; for my part I find I did not write even for the rising generation. Experience tells me it was all for those of my own, or near my own, time. The friends I have lost were, I find, more than half the public to me. It is as difficult to write for young people, as to talk to them; I never, I perceive, meant anything about them in what I have written, and cannot commence an acquaintance with them in print.

Mr. Gray was far from an agreeable confidant to self-love, yet I had always more satisfaction in communicating anything to him, though sure to be mortified, than in being

flattered by people whose judgement I do not respect. We had besides known each other's ideas from almost infancy, and I was certain he would understand precisely whatever I said, whether it was well- or ill-expressed. This is a kind of feeling that every hour of age increases. Mr. Gray's death, I am persuaded, Sir, has already given you this sensation, and I make no excuse for talking seemingly so much of myself, but though I am the instance of these reflections, they are only part of the conversation, which that sad event occasions, and which I trust we shall renew. I shall sincerely be a little consoled if our common regret draws us nearer together; you will find all possible esteem on my side: as there has been much similarity in some of our pursuits, it may make some amends for other defects. I have done with the business, the politics, the pleasures of the world; without turning hermit or morose. My object is to pass the remainder of my life tranquilly and agreeably, with all the amusements that will gild the evening, and are not subject to disappointment; with cheerfulness, for I have very good spirits, and with as much of the company, as I can obtain, of the few persons I value and like. If you have charity enough or inclination to contribute to such a system you will add much to the happiness of it, and if you have not, you will still allow me to say I shall be ever, with great regard, Sir,

Your obedient humble servant,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1375. To Sir Horace Mann.

Strawberry Hill, Sept. 26, 1771.

I am sorry that so watchful a cat should have let its mouse -- The Pretender had suddenly disappeared from Florence, and it was not known whither he was gone. Walpole. ^†1 slip at last, without knowing into what hole it is

run. To the Dissidents The name given to all Christian Poles other than Roman Catholics. The Dissidents were at this time endeavouring to secure political rights. ^†2 in Poland! think you?--why, they have not a cheese-paring left. I should rather think to Spain, and to be wafted to Ireland. King Carlos is absurd, mortified, angry, disappointed, and obstinate: intends, soon or late, to attack us, and may have pitched on the Pretender for his pioneer. If it should be so, it will be diverting to hear the loyal ejaculations of the Scotch, nay, of even more than one in each family: I question if my Lord Dunbar Lord Mansfield's brother. Walpole. ^†3 himself is a Jacobite now--except in principle. Should I guess right, you must positively come home: you prevented his receiving the crown of England at Rome, and must now keep him from reaching it at Dublin. I know nothing in his favour but the rule of contraries--as his father missed the crown when Queen Anne was on his side: and he himself when all Scotland and half England were Jacobites, when he had conquered his way to Derby, and almost everything but his own fears; he may be more fortunate when even the University of Oxford scarce drinks his health. But no, this is an age in which all kings light upon their legs: the Czarina lives yet; the King of Portugal has survived the expulsion of the Jesuits; the King of Prussia escaped from twenty battles, and the well-beloved Louis from the rage of a dozen demolished Parliaments. I had forgot,--not all kings in this age,--poor Peter III did not escape from his wife.

Apropos, I hear that the Parliament of Bordeaux has made as much stand as they could, and enough to frighten the victorious Richelieu The Duc de Richelieu was Governor of Bordeaux. ^†4 out of the remains of his old senses. They said they knew not what he meant by lettres

de cachet, they acknowledge no such power. He retreated to his seat at Fronsac His country seat on the Dordogne. LETTER 1376. ^†5, and has dispatched a courier to Versailles for a squadron of powers. I suppose it will end in his plundering the city, and building a new Pavillon in his garden: do you know they call that which he erected with the spoils of the Electorate Le pavillon d'Hanovre? I have seen it; there is a chamber surrounded with looking-glasses, and hung with white lute-string painted with roses: I wish you could see the antiquated Rinaldo that has built himself this romantic bower! Looking-glass never yet reflected so many wrinkles: you would think Rinaldo had lived till now.

I am very sorry to confirm poor Mr. Gray's death. He died of the gout in his stomach, I fear, partly by quacking himself, and partly by the horrible neglect of the Professor of Physic at Cambridge, who would not rise out of his bed to assist him. He has left nothing finished; in truth, he finished everything so highly, and laboured all his works so long, that I am the less surprised.

We have nothing in the shape of news, for I do not reckon the factions in the City of London, which is divided and subdivided amongst a parcel of people, whose names are almost all unknown but to themselves. The papers are filled with their squabbles, but I never read such annals! They would tire the voluminous patience of Holinshed and Stow.

We do not believe your Russian naval victory; it is a tedious war, and dull enough to afford the invention of another game of chess. Your brother the Emperor is still more unintelligible: what is he doing with his armies, and marches and counter-marches without an enemy?

You have received, I hope, the letter I wrote to you immediately on my return from Paris. Monsieur de Boisgelin was just returned thither, being recalled in anger, for

meddling impertinently in some court squabbles at Parma: I heard the detail, but have forgotten it--one cannot be looking through a microscope at the politics of such a diminutive government. Our correspondence is revived, but I am always glad when it wants forage.

October

1376. To the Rev. William Cole.

Strawberry Hill, Oct. 12, 1771.

Dear Sir,

As our wedding -- The marriage of Lady Gertrude Seymour Conway to Lord Villiers. It took place in February 1772. LETTER 1377. ^†1 will not be so soon as I expected, and as I should be unwilling to have you take a journey in bad weather, I wish it may be convenient to you and Mr. Essex to come hither on the 25th of this present month. If one can depend on any season, it is on the chill suns of October, which, like an elderly beauty, are less capricious than spring or summer. Our old-fashioned October, you know, reached eleven days into modern November, and I still depend upon that reckoning, when I have a mind to protract the year.

Lord Ossory is charmed with Mr. Essex's cross, and wishes much to consult him on the proportions. Lord Ossory has taken a small house very near mine, is now, and will be here again after Newmarket. He is determined to erect it at Ampthill, and I have written the following lines to record the reason:

In days of old here Ampthill's towers were seen,

The mournful refuge of an injur'd queen.

Here flow'd her pure, but unavailing tears;

Here blinded zeal sustain'd her sinking years.

Yet Freedom hence her radiant banners wav'd,

And love aveng'd a realm by priests enslav'd.

From Catherine's wrongs a nation's bliss was spread,

And Luther's light from Henry's lawless bed.

I hope the satire on Henry VIII will make you excuse the compliment to Luther, which, like most poetic compliments, does not come from my heart--I only like him better than Henry, Calvin, and the Church of Rome, who were bloody persecutors. Calvin was an execrable villain, and the worst of all; for he copied those whom he pretended to correct. Luther was as jovial as Wilkes, and served the cause of liberty without canting.

Yours most sincerely,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1377. To Sir Horace Mann.

Strawberry Hill, Oct. 22, 1771.

The clouds that concealed the Pretender's elopement seem to disperse. It is affirmed that he is in the Highlands of Poland, with the Catholics and Dissidents. I hear from Paris that his cousin, the Marquis de Fitz-James, is going to him with a commission from Louis the well-behated. When I was there, I know they were sending to Poland -- In support of the Confederacy of Barr, formed to prevent the Dissidents from obtaining political rights. ^†1 between twenty and thirty officers, headed by a Monsieur de Vieumenil Antoine Charles du Houx (1728-1792), Baron de Viomenil. ^†2, reckoned one of their best military heads. I do not comprehend it, and pity the poor true blue Sobieskists, who are to be betrayed and drawn into their destruction by this handful, like the Jacobites in Scotland. One wants, indeed, many other lights: if the Emperor and King of Prussia approve this plan, what can thirty Frenchmen add to it? If they do not, what can that diminutive troop effect in opposition? France is wofully fallen indeed, if, after arming the Ottoman Sultan against the Czarina The Empress of Russia supported the Dissidents. ^†3, they are reduced to play off this puppet against her. 'Tis

the lapdog that yelps when mastiffs are worrying one another. I am curious, however, to see farther into the scuffle. If what I have told you proves true, I shall no longer believe Spain concerned in the project. Fuentes and Caraccioli Neapolitan Minister at Paris. Walpole. ^†4 persist in refusing their homage to Madame du Barri. The Duc d'Aiguillon thinks he has made her amends by insisting on his mother visiting her. I pity the old Duchess, who had held out nobly. It is a worthy act of duty in a son! The Abbé Terray has recovered his ground, but at the expense of sacrificing his mistress, a Madame de la Garde, who scandalized a court where the Du Barri triumphs--but it was by selling her favour, not her favours.... Passage omitted. ^†5 This creature, and a Madame Sabatin, mistress of the Duc de la Vrillière, kept open shops for the disposal of preferments. The three Sultanas were called Les Trois Dis-Grâces.

Mr. Afterwards Sir William. Walpole. ^†6 and Mrs. Hamilton from Naples passed one day last week here, and I left them this morning at Park Place. She looks better, but the climate affects her strangely. Vesuvius has burnt him to a cinder.

I have no news to tell you. You know as much of Wilkes and Townshend as I do, from their memorials in the newspapers. The famous Junius seems at last to issue from the shop of the former, though the composition is certainly above Wilkes himself. The styles are often blended, and very distinguishable, but nobody knows who it is that deigns to fight in disguise under Wilkes's banner. So far this unknown knight will not resemble his predecessors in romance, that he probably will not disclose himself and demand the Princess The Princess of Wales was much abused in the satirical writings of that time, particularly in Wilkes's. Walpole. ^†7 in marriage.

This letter, short as it is, must depart; I have nothing

to add to it. I live chiefly here, and alone; and though I can amuse myself, it is not so easy to amuse others with the history of solitary hours. My house is comfortable and charming, and except the great bedchamber, on which I am at work, quite finished. I go but little abroad, for as I told Mrs. Hamilton, and she agreed to it, our climate is delightful when framed and glazed, that is, beautiful through a window. Thus my time steals away peaceably and agreeably, but is not a theme for a letter; and therefore, when I am reduced to talk of myself, and have nothing to say of myself, it is time to bid you adieu!

October 24th.

I was just going to send this letter to London for the post to-morrow, when I received yours of the 24th of last month, with the enclosed deputation For the nephew to be his uncle's proxy at the installation of Knights of the Bath. Walpole. LETTER 1378. ^†8.

I will take care to execute your commission punctually, though a little difficult to me. Your nephew never takes the least notice of me, but that I can excuse; I am not of an age to be agreeable to so young a man. I am sorry to add that his conversation on my father is not so decent as it ought to be. However, I can transact your business through your brother. Indeed I am as ill-circumstanced with your brother, which I have not mentioned to you before, because I hate to give you a moment's uneasiness-- but I remember he is your and Gal's brother, and bear as much as I can. He has not only treated me with his usual peevishness, but with a good deal of insolence--I have not seen him since my return from Paris, and the subject is not proper for the post. I believe he is laid up with the gout at Richmond, which has prevented my answering a most provoking letter that I received from him while I was in France. All this shall go for nothing, for I can overlook

his ill-humour and wretched temper, when it is to serve you. I will write to him, and if your nephew does not accept the office, as probably he will not, I will transact the whole with Lord Rochford, and inform myself of all that is necessary. Take no notice to your brother of what I have said, and do not let him quarrel with you, for your own sake. I know how to deal with him, and do not mind his ill-humour. I have kept my temper, and shall not lose it: it is too late in my life to suffer the follies of others to disturb my tranquillity--and with two such considerations as you and Gal's memory, I am not likely to come to any open rupture with your family. As to an installation, I have no notion that there will be one before the spring-- I never heard of one in winter and during short days-- especially as I suppose there will be a banquet, one of the King's sons being to be installed, and consequently the length of the ceremony would make it necessary to illuminate the Hall; not to mention the cold and damp of such a spot--but you shall hear more soon. I am glad the fans are arrived at last, though so late. It was no fault of mine.

1378. To the Rev. William Cole.

Strawberry Hill, Oct. 23, 1771.

I am sorry, dear Sir, that I cannot say your answer is as agreeable and entertaining as you flatter me my letter was; but consider, you are prevented coming to me, and have flying pains of rheumatism--either were sufficient to spoil your letter.

I am sure of being here till to-morrow se'nnight, the last of this month: consequently I may hope to see Mr. Essex here on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday next. After that, I cannot answer for myself, on account of our wedding, which depends on the return of a courier from Ireland. If

I can command any days certain in November, I will give you notice; and yet I shall have a scruple of dragging you so far from home at such a season. I will leave it to your option; only begging you to be assured that I shall always be most happy to see you.

I am making a very curious purchase at Paris, the complete armour of Francis the First. It is gilt in relief, and is very rich and beautiful. It comes out of the Crozat collection. I am building a small chapel, too, in my garden, to receive two valuable pieces of antiquity, and which have been presents singularly lucky for me. They are the window from Bexhill with the portraits of Henry III and his Queen, procured for me by Lord Ashburnham. The other, great part of the tomb of Capoccio -- Formerly in the church of Santa Maria Maggiore at Rome. According to the Description of Strawberry Hill it was 'a magnificent shrine of mosaic, three stories high ... erected in the year 1256 over the bodies of the holy martyrs Simplicius, Faustina, and Beatrix, by John James Capoccio and Vinia his wife; and was the work of Peter Cavalini, who made the tomb of Edward the Confessor in Westminster Abbey.' ^†1, mentioned in my Anecdotes of Painting on the subject of the Confessor's shrine, and sent to me from Rome by Mr. Hamilton, our minister at Naples. It is very extraordinary that I should happen to be master of these curiosities. After next summer, by which time my castle and collection will be complete (for if I buy more I must build another castle for another collection), I propose to form the catalogue and description, and shall take the liberty to call on you for your assistance. In the meantime there is enough new to divert you at present.

I am, dear Sir,

Yours most sincerely,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1379. Misplaced by C. amongst letters of 1773. (See Notes and Queries, June 9, 1900.) ^†1379. To Lady Mary Coke.

Your Ladyship's illustrious exploits are the constant theme of my meditations. Your expeditions are so rapid, and to such distant regions, that I cannot help thinking you are possessed of the giant's boots that stepped seven leagues at a stride, as we are assured by that accurate historian Mother Goose. You are, I know, Madam, an excellent walker, yet methinks seven leagues at once are a prodigious straddle for a fair lady. But whatever is your manner of travelling, few heroines ancient or modern can be compared to you for length of journeys. Thalestris, Queen of the Amazons, and M. M. or N. N. Queen of Sheba, went each of them the Lord knows how far to meet Alexander the Great and Solomon the Wise; the one to beg the favour of having a daughter (I suppose) and heiress by him; and the other, says scandal, to grant a like favour to the Hebrew monarch. Your Ladyship, who has more real Amazonian principles, never makes visits but to empresses, queens, and princesses; and your country is enriched with the maxims of wisdom and virtue which you collect in your travels. For such great ends did Herodotus, Pythagoras, and other sages, make voyages to Egypt, and every distant kingdom; and it is amazing how much their own countries were benefited by what those philosophers learned in their peregrinations. Were it not that your Ladyship is actuated by such public spirit, I could put you in mind, Madam, of an old story that might save you a great deal of fatigue and danger--and now I think of it, as I have nothing better to fill my letter with, I will relate it to you.

Pyrrhus, the martial and magnanimous King of Epirus (as my Lord Lyttelton would call him), being, as I have heard or seen Goodman Plutarch say, intent on his preparations for invading Italy, Cineas, one of the grooms of his bedchamber, took the liberty of asking his Majesty what benefit he expected to reap if he should be successful in conquering the Romans?--'Jesus!' said the King, peevishly; 'why the question answers itself. When we have overcome the Romans, no province, no town, whether Greek or barbarian, will be able to resist us: we shall at once be masters of all Italy.' Cineas after a short pause replied, 'And having subdued Italy, what shall we do next?'--'Do next?' answered Pyrrhus; 'why, seize Sicily.' 'Very likely,' quoth Cineas; 'but will that put an end to the war?'--'The gods forbid!' cried his Majesty: 'when Sicily is reduced, Libya and Carthage will be within our reach.' And then, without giving Cineas time to put in a word, the heroic Prince ran over Africa, Greece, Asia, Persia, and every other country he had ever heard of upon the face of God's earth; not one of which he intended should escape his victorious sword. At last, when he was at the end of his geography, and a little out of breath, Cineas watched his opportunity, and said quietly, 'Well, Sire, and when we have conquered all the world, what are we to do then?'-- 'Why, then,' said his Majesty, extremely satisfied with his own prowess, 'we will live at our ease; we will spend whole days in banqueting and carousing, and will think of nothing but our pleasures.'

Now, Madam, for the application. Had I had the honour a few years ago of being your confidential abigail, when you meditated a visit to Princess Esterhazy, I would have ventured to ask your Ladyship of what advantage her acquaintance would be to you? Probably you would have told me, that she would introduce you to several Electresses

and Margravines, whose courts you would visit. That having conquered all their hearts, as I am persuaded you would, your next jaunt should be to Hesse; from whence it would be but a trip to Aix, where Madame de Rochouart lives. Soaring from thence you would repair to the Imperial court at Vienna, where resides the most august, most virtuous, and most plump of empresses and queens-- no, I mistake--I should only have said of empresses; for her Majesty of Denmark, God bless her! is reported to be full as virtuous, and three stone heavier. Shall not you call at Copenhagen, Madam? If you do, you are next door to the Czarina, who is the quintessence of friendship, as the Princess Daskioff says, whom, next to the late Czar, her Muscovite Majesty loves above all the world. Asia, I suppose, would not enter into your Ladyship's system of conquest; for, though it contains a sight of queens and sultanas, the poor ladies are locked up in abominable places, into which I am sure your Ladyship's amity would never carry you--I think they call them seraglios. Africa has nothing but empresses stark-naked; and of complexions directly the reverse of your alabaster. They do not reign in their own right; and what is worse, the emperors of those barbarous regions wear no more robes than the sovereigns of their hearts.--And what are princes and princesses without velvet and ermine? As I am not a jot a better geographer than King Pyrrhus, I can at present recollect but one lady more who reigns alone, and that is her Majesty of Otaheite, lately discovered by Mr. Banks Joseph Banks (1743-1820), created a Baronet in 1781; K.B., 1795. He landed in England on June 10, 1771, on his return from his voyage to the South Seas in company with Cook. ^†1 and Dr. Solander; and for whom your Ladyship's compassionate breast must feel the tenderest emotions, she having been cruelly deprived of her faithful minister and lover Tobiu, since dead at Batavia.

Well, Madam, after you should have given me the plan of your intended expeditions, and not left a queen regent on the face of the globe unvisited, I would ask what we were to do next?--'Why then, dear Abigail,' you would have said, 'we will retire to Notting Hill Lady Mary Coke's villa near Kensington. ^†2, we will plant shrubs all the morning, read Anderson's James Anderson, D.D. (d. 1739). His Royal Genealogies was published in 1732. LETTER 1380. ^†3 Royal Genealogies all the evening; and once or twice a week I will go to Gunnersbury and drink a bottle with Princess Amelia.'-- Alas, dear lady! and cannot you do all that without scuttling from one end of the world to the other?--This was the upshot of all Cineas's inquisitiveness: and this is the pith of this tedious letter from, Madam,

Your Ladyship's most faithful Aulic Counsellor

And humble admirer,

HOR. WALPOLE.

November

1380. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, Nov. 7, 1771.

I scarce know where to begin, and I know not what to say on all the melancholy and strange events that I heard yesterday. My Deputy -- Grosvenor Bedford, Esq. Walpole. ^†1 died suddenly on Monday, and it brought me to town. On my way I called at Holland House; Lord Holland's servant came in and said the Duke of Gloucester was dead The Duke of Gloucester lived until 1805. ^†2. When I arrived here, I found your two letters, in which you give me so particular and sensible an account of his illness, and of the very attentive and proper part you have acted. The instant I had dined I went to Lord Hertford, who told me no confirmation was

come of the Duke's death; but he, as well as I, from your letters, conclude it over!--But, unfortunate as this event is, what will be your astonishment, when at the same time I tell you that the very same moment brought to light, at least to the public, an event that made that loss almost overlooked? In short, the Duke of Cumberland, as rash and absurd as the Duke of Gloucester was decent, prudent, and amiable, went off, last Friday the first, to Calais, and wrote to the King, that he was married to Mrs. Horton Hon. Anne Luttrell (d. 1809), daughter of first Baron Irnham (afterwards Earl of Carhampton) and widow of Christopher Horton, of Catton Hall, Derbyshire. She had no children. ^†3, and that she was enceinte, and gone with him. You know of no Mrs. Horton but the Duke of Grafton's Mrs. Horton Nancy Parsons, who was sometimes known by that name. ^†4, the Duke of Dorset's Mrs. Horton, everybody's Mrs. Horton--faith, I do not know whether it would have been so improper a Mrs. Horton as her he has married--and yet this is a woman of virtue! But think what a bitter pill to the royal family, when you hear it is the sister of the very Colonel Luttrel whom the court crammed into the House of Commons in the room of Wilkes--so fatal is that man to the crown, and such triumphs start up for him, even whenever he is at the lowest ebb. Think how he will exult at the court's being lashed with the instrument they prepared for him!--no mortification can equal it! But what will you say to this mad boy, when you know that, if the world says true, his mother The Princess of Wales. She died in February 1772. ^†5 was thought at the point of death at the very instant he chose to make his declaration. All last week it was affirmed that she has a cancer in her mouth, and that it was got into her throat. She, however, went to the King at Richmond on Sunday. What a dreadful catastrophe; if she is dying, to learn the death of so respectable a son, and such a completion of folly in another son, who had already furnished such matter for abuse By his intrigue with, and letters to Lady Grosvenor. Walpole. ^†6! as Shakespeare says,

The funeral baked meats

Will coldly furnish forth the marriage supper.

The new Princess of the blood is a young widow of twenty-four, extremely pretty, not handsome, very well made, with the most amorous eyes in the world, and eyelashes a yard long. Coquette beyond measure, artful as Cleopatra, and completely mistress of all her passions and projects. Indeed, eyelashes three quarters of a yard shorter would have served to conquer such a head as she has turned. I need not hint to you how unfortunate an event this is at the present moment, and how terribly it clashes with the situation of another person The Dowager Countess Waldegrave, the unacknowledged wife of the Duke of Gloucester. ^†7! a person whom I most heartily pity, and whom I did all I could to prevent from falling into so cruel a position. I know not what she will, or is to do! You, it is possible, by this time may know more than I do--at least I surmise so by the command laid on the physicians to notify the worst.

Well! altogether here is a strange scene opened! The circumstances make it different from anything history can furnish; and I wish history may not have more to do with the consequences! Had the Pretender met the younger brother at Genoa the other day, instead of the elder, and laughed, I should not have wondered. How singular too that the Duke of York should land and die at Monaco, and the Duke of Gloucester at Leghorn! But reflections rise on reflections, and what has happened almost makes one superstitious, and what may happen makes one almost prophesy. We expect the fatal courier every hour, and as this letter cannot depart until to-morrow, I will say no more to-day on this extraordinary crisis.

You will certainly have no occasion to think of your installation now for some time. Your brother sent me a mighty sugared answer to my letter, and has written to your nephew to be your proxy. I hope heartily that he will accept it. The person recommended to you is by no means a proper representative for you: he is an apothecary's son, and was forced into the place he enjoys by the late Duke of York, whose intimacies were the prototype of Mrs. Horton's consort. I doubt your nephew must be knighted, which I imagine was a great object with your candidate: but as your nephew must have your title, he can surely not hesitate to make a step towards it. We shall have full time to discuss all these matters. Thank you for the roots of iris.

Alderman Townshend has refused to pay the land-tax, on pretence that Luttrel's election deprives the county of Middlesex of being represented. His goods are seized, and the cause would have always made noise enough--what will it not make now, when the royal wedding is coupled with it? I begin to question whether this will be the age of abortions, as I have always called it, and hitherto always found it. Methinks it will rather be the age of seeds that are to produce strange crops hereafter.

Friday, 8th.

The courier that arrived yesterday has made everybody happy with the fortunate news that the Duke of Gloucester was out of danger on the 25th. The King is so overjoyed, that he seems to forget the other misfortune, and all the world does justice to the merit of the recovering Prince. I would fain flatter myself it will last.... Passage obliterated in MS. LETTER 1381. ^†8 I am impatient for another letter from you to confirm the good news. Adieu!

1381. To Sir Horace Mann.

Strawberry Hill, Nov. 18, 1771.

It is but just to acknowledge the good news you send us. I rejoice very disinterestedly at the Duke of Gloucester's recovery. I put no trust in princes: I doubt, I may add, for there is no health in them. Nor shall I be surprised if all the flattering symptoms vanish, and, in a few posts, contradict the prognostics of the surgeons. The Princess is said to be much relieved by taking hemlock. For the third object of the present curiosity, deep silence is observed at court on that point. The public is not so reserved: a thousand tales are coined, which I spare you, for I have neither seen nor heard anything that had wit enough to deserve being sent so far. Indeed, as I pass my time here chiefly and alone, you will not wonder that I do not even know where the new court -- Of the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland. Walpole. LETTER 1383. ^†1 resides: the last place named was Arras.

You please me with the kind things you say of my nephew, Lord Cholmondeley. He is amiable and seems good. I do not pretend to judge of such young men, who do not easily take to us ancestors; but it would be a satisfaction to me not to have all my nepotism as worthless as if I were a Pope. If Lord Cholmondeley goes to Rome, pray tell him I wish he would bring me a head of himself, by Pompeio Battoni.

We are again bickering, I think, with Spain; but a spark here, and a cinder there, do not make a bonfire. King Carlos hates us ever since Naples; but we have a navy that, while it adds to the provocation, does not tempt him to display his anger too openly. Your old friend, Lord Sandwich, is activity, industry, and knowledge, in person; and the most proper man in the world to be at the head of the marine.

I have heard nothing from your brother, or of your nephew. I fear the latter is negligent; for I cannot conceive his having any aversion to the commission. It is, hitherto, of no consequence, but in preventing me from giving an answer to Lord Rochford.

Mr. Hamilton's Correggio is arrived. I have seen it: it is divine--and so is the price; for nothing but a demi-god, or a demi-devil, that is, a nabob, can purchase it. What do you think of three thousand pounds? It has all Correggio's grace, and none of his grimace, which, like Shakespeare, he is too apt to blend and confound. I myself expect a treasure to-morrow, a complete suit of armour of Francis the First, which I have bought out of the Crozat collection. It will make a great figure here at Otranto. Mr. Chute is come to welcome the monarch at his landing. It is cruel to me never to see you here: what an addition would it be to the tranquillity I have had the sense to give myself! It would be delicious, if Time did not disperse or carry off one friends and cotemporaries. As to young acquaintance, there is no uniting the conversation of different ages. One is checked every moment: one cannot make an allusion to what one has seen, without being reduced to explanations that become, or seem to them, old stories. The times immediately preceding their own are what all men are least acquainted with. A young man knows Romulus better than George the Second. On the other hand, the young have new words, new language, new amusements; and one can no more talk their talk, than dance their dances. You and I could at least talk of a rigadoon, or of Booth and Mrs. Oldfield; and, were you your own master, methinks you would prefer it to name-days and christenings of baby future sovereigns. It amazes me when I see men, by choice, push on towards a succession of courts. Ambition should be a passion of youth; not, as it generally is, of the end of life. What joy can it be to

govern the grandchildren of our cotemporaries? It is but being a more magnificent kind of schoolmaster. I was told that I should regret quitting my seat in Parliament; but I knew myself better than those prophets did. Four years are past; and I have done nothing but applaud my resolution. When I compare my situation with my former agitated and turbulent life, I wonder how I had spirits to go through the former, or how I can be charmed with the latter without having lost those spirits.

Arlington Street, 21st.

The town furnishes no more than the country, and is almost as empty. The wandering court is again at Calais; where the Prince has given a ball to the garrison. 'Tis piteous--ay, and too silly to talk of. Adieu!

1382. To the Countess of Upper Ossory.

Arlington Street, Nov. 30, 1771.

The Duchess of Bedford alarmed me extremely, Madam, the night before last, by telling me both your Ladyship and Lord Ossory have been very ill. Happily, she added that the worst was over with both. I am, however, very anxious to hear more, especially as last night she knew nothing further. She said you had caught colds by going into your house before it was thoroughly aired; but at least I fear, Madam, you carried yours from Twickenham. I will not trouble your Ladyship with more at present; but must beg that at least you would be so good as to order some one of your servants to send me a line with an exact account, both of yourself and Lord Ossory.

December

1383. To the Earl of Upper Ossory.

Arlington Street, Dec. 4, 1771.

My Dear Lord,

As it is not agreeable to the principles of distributive justice (which ought to be a rule to great authors as well as

to magistrates) that Lady Ossory should monopolize all my nonsense, I take the liberty of addressing the following manuscript to your Lordship, drawn up for the use of your daughter -- Lady Anne Fitzpatrick; d. unmarried, 1841. LETTER 1384. ^†1; and though I must confess a faint imitation, calculated, like Fénelon's Telemachus, to assist in the plan of her education, I had, indeed, another view in sending it to your Lordship:--There is rather more abstruse learning in it than might be agreeable to a lady's taste, especially in the allusions to the ancient wisdom of the Egyptians and the mystic doctrines of Zoroaster, without a little taste of which a modern young lady cannot be thoroughly accomplished. If Lady Anne should draw the least benefit from my instructions, under your Lordship's inspection, I should not despair of her being one day or other thought a proper bride for the Grand Duke of Russia, whose education under so wise a mother as the Czarina, assisted by all the philosophers of France, is reckoned the most complete that ever was bestowed on the heir of a crown. I am, your Lordship's most faithful humble servant,

HORACE TRISMEGISTUS.

P.S. I need not say that I think--that I trust, my dear Lord, you will not let this foolery go out of your own hands.

THE PEACH IN BRANDY,

A MILESIAN TALE,

FOR THE USE OF THE RIGHT HON. THE LADY ANNE FITZPATRICK.

Fitz-Scanlan Mac Giollal'hadnug, King of Kilkenny, the thousand and fifty-seventh descendant in a right line from Milesius, King of Spain, had an only daughter, called Great A, and by corruption, Grata, who being arrived at years of discretion, and perfectly initiated by her royal parents in the arts of government, the fond monarch determined to

resign his crown to her. Having accordingly assembled the senate, he declared his resolution to them; and having delivered his sceptre into the Princess's hands, he obliged her to ascend the throne; and, to set the example, was the first to kiss her hand and vow eternal obedience to her. The senators were ready to stifle the new Queen with panegyrics and addresses; the people, though they adored the old King, were transported with having a new sovereign; and the University, according to custom immemorial, presented her Majesty, three months after everybody had forgotten the event, with testimonials of the excessive sorrow and excessive joy they felt in losing one monarch and getting another.

Her Majesty was now in the fifth year of her age, and a prodigy of sense and goodness. In her first speech to the senate, which she lisped with inimitable grace, she assured them that her heart was entirely Irish, and that she did not intend any longer to go in leading-strings; as a proof of which she immediately declared her nurse Prime Minister. The senate applauded this sage choice with even greater encomiums than the last, and voted a free gift to the Queen of a million of sugar-plums, and to the favourite of twenty thousand bottles of usquebaugh. Her Majesty then jumping from her throne, declared it was her royal pleasure to play at blindman's buff--but such a hubbub arose from the senators pushing and squeezing and punching one another, to endeavour to be the first blinded, that in the scuffle her Majesty was thrown down, and got a bump upon her forehead as big as a pigeon's egg, which set her a squalling, that you might have heard her to Tipperary. The old King flew into a rage, and snatching up the mace, knocked out the Chancellor's brains, who at that time happened not to have any [vide the Minutes], and the Queen-mother, who sat in a tribune above to see the ceremony, fell into a fit and miscarried of twins, who were killed by her Majesty's fright; but the Earl of Bull-a-boo, great butler of the crown, happening to stand next to the Queen, snatched up one of the dead children, and perceiving it was a male, ran down to the King and wished him joy of the birth of a son and heir. The King, who had now recovered his sweet temper, called him fool and blunderer: upon which Mr. Phelim O'Torture, a zealous courtier, started up with great presence

of mind and accused the Earl of Bull-a-boo of high treason, for having asserted that his late Majesty had had any other heir than their present most lawful and most religious sovereign Queen Grata. An impeachment was voted by a large majority, though not without warm opposition, particularly from a celebrated Kilkennian orator, whose name is unfortunately not come down to us, it being erased out of the journals afterwards, as the Irish author whom I copy says, when he became First Lord of the Treasury, as he was during the whole reign of Queen Grata's succession. The argument of this Mr. Killmorachill, says my author, whose name is lost, was, that her Majesty, the Queen-mother, having conceived a son before the King's resignation, that son was indubitably heir to the crown, and consequently the resignation void, it not signifying an iota whether the child was born dead or alive. It was alive, said he, when it was conceived--here he was called to order by Dr. O'Flaharty, the Queen-mother's man-midwife, and member for the borough of Corbelly, who entered into a learned dissertation on embryos; but he was interrupted by the young Queen's crying for her supper, the previous question for which was carried without a negative--and then the House being resumed, the debate was cut short by the impatience of the majority to go and drink her Majesty's health. This seeming violence gave occasion to a long protest, drawn up by Sir Archee Mac Sarcasm, in which he contrived to state the claim of the departed fœtus so artfully, that it produced a civil war, and gave rise to those bloody ravages and massacres which so long laid waste the ancient kingdom of Kilkenny; and which were at last terminated by a lucky accident, well known, says my author, to everybody, but which he thinks it his duty to relate for the sake of those who never may have heard of it. These are his words:--

'It happened that the Archbishop of Tuum (anciently called Meum by the Catholic clergy), the great wit of those days, was in the Queen-mother's closet, who had the young Queen in her lap. His Grace was suddenly seized with a violent fit of the colic, which made him make such wry faces, that the Queen-mother thought he was going to die, and ran out of the room to send for a physician, for she was a pattern of goodness and void of pride. Whilst she was

stepping into the servants' hall to call somebody, according to the simplicity of those times, the Archbishop's pains increased, when, perceiving something on the mantelpiece, which he took for a peach in brandy, he gulped it all down at once without saying grace, God forgive him! and found great comfort from it. He had not done licking his lips before the Queen-mother returned, when Queen Grata cried out, "Mamma, Mamma, the gentleman has eat my little brother!" This fortunate event put an end to the contest, the male line entirely failing in the person of the devoured Prince. The Archbishop, however, who became Pope by the name of Innocent III, having afterwards a son by his own sister, named the child Fitzpatrick, as having some of the royal blood in its veins; and from him are descended all the younger branches of the Fitzpatricks of our time. Now the rest of the acts of Queen Grata, and all that she did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the Kings of Kilkenny?'

1384. To the Countess of Upper Ossory.

Strawberry Hill, Dec. 4, 1771.

Though the account your Ladyship gives me of yourself is so bad, I cannot but feel my obligations to you for taking so much trouble. There are few, I believe, Madam, more interested than I am in your recovery; and were sacrifices or masses in fashion, Venus, or the Virgin Mary, would have a great deal of my custom. You must not indeed stay in the country, but come to town, where your house is dry and warm. Our climate requires to be roasted and boiled as much as our meat. Why do you think we have more coal-mines than all the rest of the world, but because we have more fogs, damps, and rains? You must not tell me that you keep good fires at Ampthill. You cannot make an atmosphere of smoke there; and for air, its great excellence is being changed. You will conclude, Madam, that half what I say is for my own sake; so it certainly is:

it is my interest that you should be well, and I am persuaded London will restore you sooner than the country. I speak very little for myself in any other respect, for I am chiefly here, and shall be so till after Christmas. I am glad you have the comfort of seeing Lord Ossory recovered: it must have been very melancholy to want each other's company and assistance. I wish I could send you or tell you anything that would divert you; but whether it is the world's fault, or mine, I know nothing. The newspapers have already told you, Madam, that the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland are come to Windsor. That he is privately forbidden the court is certain, for of she there is no question; and that Lord Hertford is ordered to tell everybody, as a secret, which they are desired to tell everybody, that there is no road from Windsor or Cumberland House to St. James's. There is a good-natured exception for the Duke's own servants, who having been placed by the King, and having had no hand in the wedding, are allowed to go backwards and forwards. Princess Amelie, where I played the night before last, and whom by the by I do not intend to marry, we having, as the Duke of Norfolk said to the Duchess when she proposed her niece for his nephew, married one another enough, told us that Lady Holdernesse had begged her Royal Highness to contradict the report of an intended match between the Lady Amelie -- Lady Amelia D'Arcy, only child of Lord Holdernesse. ^†1 and the Prince of Mecklenburg. I don't know whether your Ladyship will understand all this, and whether I have not made such a confusion of Lady Amelies and Princess Amelies, and nephews and nieces, and matches and princes, that my letter will be as difficult to unravel as one of Lord Chatham's long motions in the House of Lords.

I have the satisfaction of announcing to you the arrival of two great personages from France; one is, Mademoiselle

Heinel, the famous dancer; the other, King Francis the First. In short, the armour of the latter is actually here, and in its niche, which I have had made for it on the staircase; and a very little stretch of the imagination will give it all the visionary dignity of the gigantic hand in armour that I dreamt of seeing on the balustrade of the staircase at Otranto. If this is not realizing one's dreams, I don't know what is. The two play-houses have been doing the reverse; they have converted the real Installation An Installation of Knights of the Garter took place on July 25, 1771. ^†2 into a vision, especially at Covent Garden, where nymphs and satyrs appear in St. George's Chapel, and behave like good Christians as they are.

The weather is so fine, that forgetting it was December, and that I am not in the spring of my age, I went a birds'-nesting this morning: I cannot say I had any sport; Rosette put up one robin-redbreast; but we did not kill. The first rat or mouse, or such small deer that she runs down, I will take the liberty of sending your Ladyship some venison.

1385. Not in C.; reprinted from Letters and Journals of Lady Mary Coke, vol. iv. p. 2, n. 7. ^†1385. To Lady Mary Coke.

Arlington Street, Dec. 11, 1771.

Lady Strafford tells me I ought to write to your Ladyship. I obey, though I am not quite clear that she is in the right. Can you care for hearing from anybody in England, Madam, when you are indifferent whether you see them or not? I could say a great deal upon this subject, but I will not, only do not be surprised that I have got a new passion. Ancient paladins, I know, were bound to maintain constancy, though they travelled all over

the world; but no act of the Parliament of Love was ever passed enjoining fidelity to knights, when it was their ladies that took to travelling. Indeed, if your Ladyship had made a vow to wander till you had obliged every fair dame in Europe to confess how much handsomer I am than their lovers, something might be said; but as you have sent no conquered Amazon to kiss my hand, and to acknowledge my claim, I am not bound to believe that you are travelling to assert my glory; and therefore, regarding you as a truant, I have thrown my handkerchief to another lady, and declare by these presents that I renounce your Ladyship's allegiance. It will be in vain to mount your milk-white palfrey and amble home directly; the die is cast--and Heaven knows whether matrimony itself may not ensue. I shall always retain a sincere friendship for you, but really there was no end of having one's heart jolted about from one country to another, and of having it lugged once a year to Vienna. A heart torn to pieces, like flags torn in battle, is very becoming; but a heart black and blue is horrible, and I can tell you, your Ladyship does not look the better for it, though you have endeavoured to conceal its bruises by embroidering it all over with spread eagles An allusion to Lady Mary Coke's penchant for the Austrian Imperial family. ^†1. But here I drop the subject: you are now your own mistress, Madam, and may seek what adventures you please, undisturbed by me. I shall be sorry to see you return even with two black eyes, but shall bear it with all the philosophy of friendship; and as friends always do, shall content myself with telling you that it was your own fault, and with recommending the best eye-water I know. Can a friend go farther, except in whispering to everybody, that if you would have taken my advice, you would have stayed at home?

The best news I can send you, Madam, is that I never

saw Lady Strafford look in better health. The town is a desert: grass grows in the pit at the Opera. The Princess of Brunswick is coming: the Princess Dowager is going. There is the devil to pay I don't know where In Denmark, where the position of the Queen and Struensee was most critical. ^†2; and the Duke of Chandos is dead to the great joy of that noble family. All the fine ladies are in love with Prince Poniatowski Probably Prince Andrew Poniatowski, brother of the King of Poland. LETTER 1386. ^†3, and some of them win his money at loo-- that they may have something to keep for his sake. England is in profound peace. Ireland in a hubbub. December, which is indeed no news to you, is warmer than June, and which is still less news

I am

Your Ladyship's

Most devoted

(though inconstant)

Humble Servant,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1386. To the Countess of Upper Ossory.

Strawberry Hill, Dec. 14, 1771.

I am not a little impatient, Madam, to hear of your perfect recovery, of which I am anxiously in doubt, for I think you know too well what pleasure it would give me, not to have confirmed it to me, if you were quite well again. Had you been worse, I think I should have heard it from others, as I have been in town all this week, and returned but to-day. I shall go thither again on Monday to see that greatest of curiosities, a fine dancer at the Opera. Mademoiselle Heinel is to appear on Tuesday, and all the fine gentlemen pay her a compliment they used only to pay to the Speaker, of leaving their hunting to see her. I hope

this will re-establish our Albemarle Street Club and Almack's, which have both been in a very languishing way; the first from the absence of Miss Loyd and Mrs. Fitzroy, who has got another daughter to comfort her for the loss of her mother; and the second, because it is not so easy to borrow a Jew, now so many are hanged -- Four Jews were hanged for murder on Dec. 9, 1771. ^†1 or run away.

The Princess of Brunswick was expected to-day; but they say will find her mother much better. The restitution of Falkland's Island came the beginning of the week. If all these prosperities do not cure you, Madam, you must be a very disloyal politician. I do not think any other news I can tell you will do you much good. There is a new tragedy at Covent Garden called Zobeide, which I am told is very indifferent, though written by a country gentleman Joseph Cradock (1742-1826), of Gumley, Leicestershire. ^†2; and there is a new Timon of Athens, altered from Shakespeare by Mr. Cumberland, and marvellously well done, for he has caught the manners and diction of the original so exactly, that I think it is full as bad a play as it was before he corrected it. Lord Lyttelton has published the rest of his Henry the Second, but I doubt has executed it a little carelessly, for he has not been above ten years about it. I began it, but, I don't know how, I was tired. It is so crowded with clouds of words, and they are so uninteresting, that I think one may dispute, as metaphysicians do, whether all the space is a plenum or a vacuum. Lady Sackville Probably Hon. Frances Leveson-Gower (d. 1788), daughter of second Baron (afterwards first Earl) Gower; m. (1743) Lord John Philip Sackville (d. 1765), son of first Duke of Dorset. LETTER 1387. ^†3 told me t'other day of a new discovery, which, I suppose, is metaphysical too--that there is no such colour as grey, but that what we call so is green or blue. I am rejoiced at it, and have some thoughts of going without powder, and insisting that my hair is green.

Lady Holdernesse swears on her Bible that there is no truth in the supposed match of her daughter and the Prince of Mecklenburg--and there ends my Gazette. In the Strawberry Courant there is not a syllable of news. If Lord Ossory has a mind to enrich Ampthill, Mr. Hamilton has brought over a charming Correggio, and a collection of Tuscan vases, idols, amulets, javelins and casques of bronze, necklaces and ear-rings of gold from Herculaneum, Pompeii, and Sicily, sacrificing instruments, dice of amber, ivory, agate, &c.; in short, enough antiquity to fill your whole gallery at least. Your Lord must make haste, or those learned patrons of taste, the Czarina, Lord Clive, or some nabob, will give 50,000l. for the collection, though the picture may as yet be had for 3,000l., and the antiquities for 8,000l. They are a little dear, but the first is delightful, and the latter most entertaining. Adieu! my Lord and Lady, tell me you are both well, and I will not plague you again soon.

THE SEQUEL TO GULLIVER'S TRAVELS.

The two nations of the giants and the fairies had long been mortal enemies, and most cruel wars had happened between them. At last, in the year 2,000,096, Oberon the Four hundred and Thirteenth had an only daughter, who was called Illipip, which signified the Corking-pin, from her prodigious stature, she being full eighteen inches high, which the fairies said was an inch taller than Eve, the first fairy. Gob, the Emperor of the giants, had an only son, who was as great a miracle for his diminutiveness; for, at fifteen, he was but seven-and-thirty feet high, and though he was fed with the milk of sixteen elephants every day, and took three hogshead of jelly of lions between every meal, he was the most puny child that ever was seen, and nobody expected that he would ever be reared to man's estate. However, as it was indispensably necessary to marry him, that the imperial family might not be extinct, and

as an opportunity offered of terminating the long wars between the two nations by an union of the hostile houses; ambassadors were sent to demand the Princess of the fairies for the Prince of the giants, who, I forgot to say, was called the Delicate Mountain. The Queen of the fairies, who was a woman of violent passions, was extremely offended at the proposal, and vowed that so hopeful a girl as Corking-pin should not be thrown away upon a dwarf; however, as Oberon was a very sage monarch, and loved his people, he overruled his wife's impetuosity, and granted his daughter. Still the Queen had been so indiscreet as to drop hints of her dissatisfaction before the Princess, and Corking-pin set out with a sovereign contempt for her husband, whom she said she supposed she should be forced to keep in her toothpick-case for fear of losing him. The witticism was so applauded by all the court of fairy, that it reached the ears of Emperor Gob, and had like to have broken off the match.

On the frontiers of the two kingdoms the Princess was met by the Emperor's carriages. A litter of crimson velvet, embroidered with seed pearls as big as ostriches' eggs, and a little larger than a cathedral, was destined for the Princess, and was drawn by twelve dromedaries. At the first stage she found the bridegroom, who, for fear of catching cold, had come in a close sedan, which was but six-and-forty feet high. He had six under-waistcoats of bear-skin, and a white handkerchief about his neck twenty yards long. He had the misfortune of having weak eyes, and when the Princess descended from her litter to meet him, he could not distinguish her. She was wonderfully shocked at his not saluting her, but when his governor whispered him which was she, he spit upon his finger and stretched out his hand to bring her nearer to his eye, but unluckily fixed upon the great mistress of the Queen's household, and lifted her up in the air in a very unseemly attitude, to the great diversion of all the young fairy lords. The lady squalled dreadfully, thinking the Prince was going to devour her. As misfortunes would have it, notwithstanding all the Empress's precaution, the Prince had taken cold, and happening at that very instant to sneeze, he blew the old lady ten leagues off, into a mill-pond, where it was forty to one

but she had been drowned. The whole cavalcade of the fairies was put into great disorder likewise by this untoward accident, and the cabinet councillors deliberated whether they should not carry back the Princess immediately to her father, but Corking-pin, it seems, had not found the Prince so disagreeable as she expected, and declared that she would not submit to the disgrace of returning without a husband. Nay, she said, to prevent any more mistakes, she would have the marriage solemnized that night. The nuptial ceremony was accordingly performed by the Archbishop of St. Promentory, but the governor declared that he had the Empress's express injunctions not to let them live together for two years, in consideration of the Prince's youth and tender constitution. The Princess was in such a rage that she swore and stamped like a mad woman, and spit in the Archbishop's face. Nothing could equal the confusion occasioned by this outrage. By the laws of Giantland, it was death to spit in a priest's face. The Princess was immediately made close prisoner, and couriers were dispatched to the two courts, to inform them of what had happened. By good fortune, the chief of the law, who did not love the Archbishop, recollected an old law, which said that no woman could be put to death for any crime committed on her wedding-day. This discovery split the whole nation of giants into two parties, and occasioned a civil war, which lasted till the whole nation of giants was exterminated; and as the fairies, from a factious spirit, took part with the one side or other, they were all trampled to death, and not a giant or fairy remained to carry on either race.

1387. To Sir Horace Mann.

Strawberry Hill, Dec. 15, 1771.

I am vexed that you have not had perfect contentment about your Pisan Palace; yet I am persuaded that no incivility was meant, for the Prince -- The Duke of Gloucester. ^†1 is naturally obliging: but I will say no more on this subject. The other brother The Duke of Cumberland. ^†2

is returned with his wife; has been privately forbidden the court; and it has been intimated, as a general secret which everybody is expected to know, that the same persons must not go to St. James's and to the new-married couple. The Princess Dowager is said to be much better.

A public brother of yours is going to be your brother in another sense: the Duke of Chandos's red riband is to be given to Mr. Hamilton, from Naples, and Sir Francis Delaval's to Sir Charles Hotham Sir Charles Hotham-Thompson, eighth Baronet (d. 1794). ^†3: yet I don't believe the Installation will be advanced. Your real brother says not a word of your nephew; I don't know whether he is more communicative to you.

The ministers are in great joy: news of the restoration of Falkland's Island to us is arrived. It ought to be general joy, for it secures peace. There have been endeavours to persuade both us and Spain that we were out of humour with one another, but neither country would take the hint. Thus all our storms are blown over, except in Ireland, and that does not seem to threaten much, for the money bills are passed, and, consequently, the opposition are at the King's mercy, as he might now prorogue their Parliament without inconvenience to himself. What ten years of vexation might have been avoided if folks would have adhered to my father's maxim of Quieta non movere!

What do you say to the rape and almost murder of the King of Poland On Nov. 8, 1771, four of the Confederates of Barr kidnapped King Stanislaus, but he escaped from their hands. ^†4? I should think it must alarm King Louis's old wound, which is very apt to quiver. I hear he says that he would not for a great deal play so deep a game as his Chancellor does. The other assassinated monarch's Of Portugal. Walpole. ^†5 Prime Minister has been in danger too--Oeyras.

There is no harm if such tyrants as Oeyras and Maupeou are frightened a little.

Dec. 17.

I was in hopes of thanking you for the receipt of the pictures and iris roots, for the ships are arrived, but I have not got the things from the Custom House. However, there is no being too premature with gratitude, and I do thank you very much d'avance.

By a more authentic account that Princess Amelia gave me last night, there seems to be small chance of another Princess's The Princess Dowager of Wales. Walpole. LETTER 1388. ^†6 recovery.

We are so much accustomed to politics, that people do not know how to behave under the present cessation. We can go into the City without being mobbed, and through Brentford without 'No. 45' on one's coach-door. Wilkes is almost as dead as Sacheverell, though sheriff. You will not be sorry that I have no more to tell you, and consequently will excuse the shortness of this, but one cannot make letters without political straw.

1388. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, Dec. 28, 1771.

I this minute receive yours of the 9th, from Pisa, and am much concerned at the account you give of the Duke's -- The Duke of Gloucester. ^†1 alarming situation. Though I have not the honour of knowing him, it is impossible not to feel for his danger, as it is impossible not to respect his character. I thought, as the physical folks here did too, that the great discharge would relieve both his breast and the humour that occasioned his illness, but I now doubt it very much. He certainly apprehends his own danger, and has, I suppose, other

reasons to add to his low spirits; but I cannot believe, as you think, that he is ignorant of what has happened The marriage of the Duke of Cumberland. ^†2: that history, for many reasons, is more likely to have added to his unhappiness. You, my dear Sir, I fear, for I seem to perceive, though you do not express it, are not without difficulties.

Pray assure Lord Cholmondeley how very kindly I take his messages, and how pleased I shall always be with any marks of his affection. The great difference of our ages prevents my flattering myself that his should be great, and it is to avoid being importunate that I do not trouble him much with marks of mine; but he may be sure of it, whenever he thinks it worth his while to seek it. I wish you would read this paragraph to him without telling him I desired you to do so. It is for his sake, between you and me, that I wish him to cultivate me a little more than he does. At the same time, I own to you that I do not esteem him the less for his not paying court to me; and should he become more attentive on your hints, I should still make allowance for that, as I have seen that his nature is not interested. I have lived too long to expect more than natural good disposition. It is not flattery I want, but so much intimacy with him as might give me opportunities of knowing him better; for though he is the relation on whom it would suit me best to fix my views, I cannot place them on an almost stranger, nor would think of it without another point that I wish could be brought about too. You will oblige me, therefore, my dear Sir, extremely, if, after reading to him the passage above, you were to hint to him, that it would be prudent in him to make me his friend.

This must absolutely be from yourself, for I would not for the world enter into any engagements to him which

I might afterwards disappoint, though from his own fault. Be so kind to us both as to sound him on his thoughts of marriage, and whether rank, beauty, or fortune, is his object. I have a person in my eye who has both the former, and who has had the best education, and has the most charming character, with uncommon sense and prudence. Fortune he will not want when the General General James Cholmondeley, great-uncle of Lord Cholmondeley. Walpole. ^†3 dies: but his consent must be fully granted, and therefore before I attempt any overture, I wish to know my nephew's mind, and then I would sound the General. You will see the extreme delicacy of all this, and I leave it totally to your discretion.

With regard to your own affair, I like your idea about the want of knighthood in the person who has applied to be your proxy; but for that very reason, I would be silent on it till the time is fixed, that he may not acquire it in the interim; and therefore I will not deliver your message to the Earl Lord Rochford had recommended a person to Sir Horace Mann for his proxy. Walpole. ^†4 till then. For Sir William Boothby, I should not think he would accept it; but he would be very proper. I would advise you to write to Mr. Crofts to know what answer your nephew has given, or whether any.

I have received Mr. Patch's pictures, and like them very well, but I think they are a little hard. I speak plainly, that he may correct. Thank you much for them; I should like to pay for them, if I thought you would allow me. The engravings from Fra Bartolomeo disappoint me: I see none of the great ideas I thought I remembered in him: at least he is far below the amazing Masaccio. They are well engraved, except wanting a little more strength. The iris roots are still performing quarantine; but there is no haste.

News we have none, except from Ireland, where the opposition gain frequent victories by the absurdity of Lord Townshend The Lord Lieutenant. Walpole. ^†5.

The Princess Dowager is much better, and it is thought in no immediate danger.

The Swiss The command of the Swiss Guards. Walpole. LETTER 1389. ^†6 are at last taken from the Duc de Choiseul, who resigned them handsomely, without haggling. It has softened his fall extremely. They give him three hundred thousand livres down, sixty more for life, and thirty to Madame de Choiseul, if she survives him. It is the exit of an English minister, rather than of a French one.

Little Sorbe, the Genoese minister at Paris, where he was born when his father was in the same character, is dead suddenly. It was a dirty, intriguing, sensible creature. I mention him because he was the vermin that instigated Choiseul to invade Corsica; and therefore his death, if sudden, was, at least, not early enough. Europe, Asia, and America do not furnish me with another paragraph, though we have such magnificent fields for our correspondence. Good night, therefore, from one end of the world to the other! Yours ubique.

1772

January

1389. To the Countess of Upper Ossory.

Arlington Street, Jan. 5, 1772.

Nothing but disasters, Madam, since my last. Poor Mr. Fitzherbert -- William Fitzherbert, M.P. for Derby. ^†1 hanged himself on Wednesday. He went to see the convicts executed that morning; and from thence, in his boots, to his son, having sent his groom out of the way. At three, his son said, 'Sir, you are to dine at Mr. Buller's; it is time for you to go home and dress.' He went to his own stable and hanged himself with a bridle.

They say his circumstances were in great disorder. There have been deep doings at Almack's, but nobody has retired into a stable. This paragraph, possibly, may be as old when you receive it, as if it was in the magazine, for my letter will not set out till Thursday, as I cannot yet tell you the whole of a tragedy that happened to myself this very morning--don't be frightened, Madam, I am not wind-bound on the banks of Styx, and waiting to send back my letter by Charon.

I was waked very early this morning, by half an hour after nine (I mean this for flattery, for Mr. Crauford says your Ladyship does not rise till one); by the way I was in the middle of a charming dream. I thought I was in the King's Library in Paris, and in a gallery full of books of prints, containing nothing but fêtes and decorations of scenery. I took down a long roll, on which was painted, on vellum, all the ceremonies of the present reign; there was the young King walking to his coronation; the Regent before, who I thought was alive. I said to him, 'Your Royal Highness has a great air'; he seemed extremely flattered, when the house shook as if the devil were come for him. I had scarce recovered my vexation at being so disturbed, when the door of my room shook so violently that I thought somebody was breaking it open, though I knew it was not locked. It was broad daylight, but I did not know that housebreaking might not be still improving. I cried out, 'Who is there?' Nobody answered. In less than another minute, the door rattled and shook still more robberaceously. I called again--no reply. I rung: the housemaid ran in as pale as white ashes, if you ever saw such, and cried, 'Lud! Sir, I am frightened out of my wits: there has been an earthquake!' Oh, I believed her immediately. Philip Philip Colomb, Horace Walpole's valet. ^†2 came in, and, being a Swiss

philosopher, insisted it was only the wind. I sent him down to collect opinions in the street. He returned, and owned everybody in this and the neighbouring streets were persuaded their houses had been breaking open; or had ran out of them, thinking there was an earthquake. Alas! it was much worse; for you know, Madam, our earthquakes are as harmless as a new-born child. At one, came in a courier from Margaret to tell me that five powder-mills had been blown up at Hounslow, at half an hour after nine this morning, had almost shook Mrs. Clive, and had broken parts or all of eight of my painted windows, besides other damage. This is a cruel misfortune: I don't know how I shall repair it! I shall go down to-morrow, and on Thursday will finish my report.

Wednesday, 8th.

Well! Madam, I am returned from my poor shattered castle, and never did it look so Gothic in its born days. You would swear it had been besieged by the Presbyterians in the Civil Wars, and that, finding it impregnable, they had vented their holy malice on the painted glass. As this gunpowder-army passed on, it demolished Mr. Hindley's John Atherton Hindley, who lived at Twickenham in a house left to him by the last Earl of Radnor of the Robarts family, to whom he had been steward. ^†3 fine bow-window of ancient Scripture histories; and only because your Ladyship is my ally, broke the large window over your door, and wrenched off a lock in your kitchen. Margaret sits by the waters of Babylon, and weeps over Jerusalem. I shall pity those she shows the house to next summer, for her story is as long and deplorable as a chapter of casualties in Baker's Chronicle; yet she was not taken quite unprepared, for one of the bantam hens crowed on Sunday morning, and the chandler's wife told her three weeks ago, when the barn was blown down, that ill-luck

never comes single. She is, however, very thankful that the china room has escaped, and says God has always been the best creature in the world to her. I dare not tell her how many churches I propose to rob, to repair my losses.

As my calamity has brought the Gunpowder plot into my head, I will transcribe some lines on that occasion, made at Oxford several years ago, which I think will divert Lord Ossory from their great simplicity, and the natural tumble in the last verse:

Guy Vulpes ardere domum vult Parliamenti:

Lanterna caeca conditus ignis erat.

Lord Mounteagle venit, et narrat Salsburiensi;

Salsburiens Regi narrat, et ille aliis.

Many thanks, Lord and Lady, for your last letters; yet I wish our correspondence at an end, and that you would come to town. Have you heard, my Lord, of Colonel Luttrell's repentance Colonel Luttrell spoke of resigning his seat, but did not do so. LETTER 1391. ^†4? He intends to do penance in the House of Commons, and acknowledge his sin in representing Middlesex at the instigation of the devil and Lord Bute-- and then vacate his seat. I dare say there will be more joy over him in Middlesex than over ninety and nine just persons that have been duly elected--if so many there be.

George Selwyn has just been here, and told me twenty more dismal stories. Poor Lady Di Beauclerc is given over at Blenheim from a black vomit. Little Cashiobury was attacked the night before last while he and Lord March were at the great house. The thieves were disappointed, and then invaded a lawyer's house in the neighbourhood, but the master fired a blunderbuss and dispersed them. Some of their brethren were more successful last night in town. Lord Ilchester had sent up all his plate by the waggon. It arrived, and there were two of his servants

in the house, but this morning not so much as a silver spoon was left! Robbed if one lives in London! blown up in the country! One must really go to the Indies to enjoy one's fortune in safety and quiet. Adieu! Madam; I fear this journal is too long.

P.S. I have just reflected antiquarianly that pale as ashes must be one of our most ancient proverbs, and in use before coals were invented; as the ashes of the latter only are black, of wood, grey or pale.

THE SPECTATOR,

NO. NONE.

WRITTEN BY NOBODY.

SUNDAY, JANUARY 19, 1772.

Vera bona, atque illis multum diversa.--JUV.

One of the greatest advantages of human reason is that it can assimilate everything to its own nature. To use words less philosophic, man can give an appearance of reason to everything he says. He can lend falsehood the semblance of truth; he can establish false principles, draw false conclusions, form false hypotheses, and yet continue to seem a rational being. One cause of these deceptions is the mysterious and fugitive nature of truth; we have so little real knowledge, and so much is left to guess, that it is no wonder men deceive both themselves and others. Plausible systems were the first great effort of the human understanding. Their seeming possibility established their credit, it being requisite that a greater portion of sense, or a course of long experience, should concur to their destruction. But the slow progress of experience not keeping pace with the alacrity of wit and invention, new systems, equally false, displaced the old, and succeeded to the character of reason, till time and accident demolished the new fabric, as they had done the former. Yet all this

while did reason seem to govern,--a circumstance that may suggest some apprehension whether reason itself be not an ignis fatuus. It is allowed that there is much the same portion of sense in every age; we have had a longer series of experience than the ancients, but it is certain that our parts, capacities, understandings, are not superior to theirs. Now, if whole ages rolled away in dreaming, why should we suppose that we possess more reason than they did? To believe that our own age is wiser than the preceding, is exactly such an arbitrary assumption, as that of adhering to any religion because it is the religion of our own country,--a compliment paid to self, and no proof either of our faith or our wisdom.

From this deduction I think it clearly follows that any system, or the reverse of any system, is equally true. Now, as the present age is singularly philosophic, but not endowed with much invention, almost all the new philosophy being little more than a revival of ancient exploded systems, dressed up in phrases borrowed from experimental process, I would recommend to any man who is ambitious of founding a new sect, to take any obsolete system, to build a new one by reversing it totally; it will supply his want of imagination, and probably hang together better than any theory he could spin out of his own conception or memory.

But as all primitive inventions are naturally simple, it may be difficult, if recourse is had to very ancient systems, to find sufficient matter for contradiction. The opposition, too, may be too obvious. In such case I would recommend the compounding of two ancient theories, which may be contradicted, or so melted together as to contradict one another, with various other combinations, at the discretion of the author. As an instance is the best method of illustration, let us try what may be done. One of the most ancient doctrines handed down to us is the transmigration of souls into other bodies. Another, but far more recent, is the immortality of the soul, which, according to Bishop Warburton, was never known to the man who preached it; or which is the same thing, was never preached by the man who knew it, except by his never mentioning it--a pretended new method of induction, but though set forth in five ample volumes, by that learned prelate, solely and singly built on

that great aphorism, Silence gives consent; a kind of demonstration by which anything may be proved to be in a book from its not being there. Nor, by the way, ought we to give the total honour of this application of the aphorism to the Reverend Bishop. It was practised, not two centuries ago I think, on the works of Jansenius by the Church of Rome, who found the famous five propositions which she condemned in his book, though nobody could ever discover them there, either in words or in sense. But to return to my new method of system-making. Pythagoras, or whoever he learned it from, held that souls, after the decease of the bodies to which they had been annexed, wandered into and successively informed other bodies; a very simple doctrine, but the very reverse of which would be equally sensible. I would therefore (after adopting the converse of the other proposition I mentioned above, viz. immortality of the soul, which I would affirm is mortal) assert, that several souls pass successively into the same body; and that when one soul dies, another immediately takes its place,--a system that, give me leave to say, would account for the various contradictions we observe in mankind much more satisfactorily than the received notice of marriage between one soul and one body, indissoluble but by the death of the latter. It is a far more simple system, and consequently more agreeable to the operations of Nature, who always prefers the easiest and least complex march. My system annihilates that involved system of the passions, which are supposed to occasion the various caprices, follies, crimes that enter into the human composition, which, if they existed together and at once, would form madmen instead of rational beings, by drawing the man different ways at the same time, and not leaving him tranquil enough to make an option. On the contrary, if we suppose the soul dies, as it probably does, and that a new one immediately succeeds to its place, a total alteration may naturally ensue; and the man may become as different from his former self, as a new body is that is informed by an old soul which had passed through other bodies. For example, there have been instances of young men handsome, strong, well-made and vigorous, who have passed through the dangerous age of temptation with as much modesty, as much continence, as the most blushing

virgin of a northern climate. The same men arrived at years of decrepitude have hurried headlong into the lowest excesses of debauchery, and flung themselves into the arms of common prostitutes, practising all the tricks of enfeebled desire, and purchasing infamy without acquiring pleasure. As on one side such conduct cannot be the effect of passion, so is it impossible to suppose on the other that it could be the result of the union of the same soul and the same body. But as we are sure the body is the body of the same man, we are reduced to believe that that body is inhabited by another soul. The former is dead, and some lewd old soul has entered into the body, and transported it to actions totally inconsistent with its former behaviour.

Instances, more familiar to us in this country, happen every day. A young man is inflamed with the love of his country; Cato, Leonidas, Epaminondas, fire his imagination, and inspire imitation. Liberty charms him; he is jealous of her; he would risk his life for her safety. He speaks, writes, moves, and drinks for her. He searches records, draws remonstrances, fears prerogative, hopes for public misfortunes, that she may escape in the confusion. A Secretary of the Treasury waits on him in the evening; he appears next morning at a minister's levee; he goes to court, is captivated by the King's affability, moves an address, drops a censure on the liberty of the press, kisses hands for a place, bespeaks a Birthday coat, votes against Magna Charta, builds a house in town, lays his farms into pleasure-grounds under the inspection of Mr. Brown, pays nobody, games, is undone, asks a reversion for three lives, is refused, finds the constitution in danger, and becomes a Patriot once more.

Now can any one believe that the soul, that pure ethereal incorruptible essence, that immortal portion of divinity, given to us for the direction of our lives, that one sole noble, as we are told, of all our actions, can be capable of such and so many other inconsistencies? Undoubtedly not. A soul must be a mortal temporary spirit, which informs our bodies for more or less time, and is far more liable to destruction than the body. It is obnoxious to various accidents; and perhaps may be affected by many outward impressions. It may be like the sensitive-plant; the approach of another person's hand, or that person's

breath, may be fatal to it. For instance, the hand of a Secretary of the Treasury, or that person's breath, may kill a soul, though it does good to the annexed body. His breath may be poison to it. Other souls may be of a stronger texture, and, though liable to be soiled, may survive the noxious touch or effluvia. I am persuaded that when a man, hitherto virtuous, becomes vicious, his first soul is departed, and has made room for another of stronger element, which can resist everything but disgust and disappointment.

I will not multiply examples, but any man's meditation will suggest to him how extensive this theory may prove. It will tell him how many systems may be composed only by inverting every proposition. Mr. Asgill acquired a name by denying the necessity of dying. I do not expect less renown for establishing a plurality or succession of souls, in one and the same body. The uncertainty of everything makes everything possible.

The fallibility of sense has persuaded several modern philosophers that nonsense may be capable of demonstrating truth. Hence have they given power to a nonentity, and design, and contrivance, and execution to what is only acted upon; how else came chance and matter to be erected into the dictators of creation? A word is enough to the wise, says a silly old dictum. Let it give place to this improvement, words satisfy fools; and with more truth, for what word ever satisfied a wise man? What did a wise man ever learn that did not excite a thirst in him of knowing more? He finds all his knowledge bounded; and can he then be satisfied, when the impediments themselves prove there is something still beyond? As he cannot advance, were it not the best way to go backwards? Nonsense is unlimited; and the capital defect of all philosophers, past and present, is, that they have not pursued their researches far enough. Truth, like the pedigree of a noble family, is carried on only in the right line. Falsehood takes in collaterals, and the genealogy is endless. Its branches people the earth; and the descendants of the cursed Cain found and possess empires, while the race of the beloved David is poor, despised, and unknown.

1390. To the Hon. Henry Seymour Conway.

Late Strawberry Hill, Jan. 7, 1772.

You have read of my calamity without knowing it, and will pity me when you do. I have been blown up; my castle is blown up; Guy Fawkes has been about my house; and the 5th of November has fallen on the 6th of January! In short, nine thousand powder-mills broke loose yesterday morning on Hounslow Heath; a whole squadron of them came hither, and have broken eight of my painted-glass windows; and the north side of the castle looks as if it had stood a siege. The two saints in the hall have suffered martyrdom! they have had their bodies cut off, and nothing remains but their heads. The two next great sufferers are indeed two of the least valuable, being the passage windows to the library and great parlour--a fine pane is demolished in the round room; and the window by the gallery is damaged. Those in the cabinet, and Holbein room, and gallery, and blue room, and green closet, &c., have escaped. As the storm came from the north-west, the china closet was not touched, nor a cup fell down. The bow-window of brave old coloured glass, at Mr. Hindley's, is massacred; and all the north sides of Twickenham and Brentford are shattered. At London it was proclaimed an earthquake, and half the inhabitants ran into the street.

As Lieutenant-General of the Ordnance, I must beseech you to give strict orders that no more powder-mills may blow up. My aunt, Mrs. Kerwood, reading one day in the papers that a distiller's had been burnt by the head of the still flying off, said she wondered they did not make an Act of Parliament against the heads of stills flying off. Now, I hold it much easier for you to do a body this service, and would recommend to your consideration, whether it would not be prudent to have all magazines of powder kept under

water till they are wanted for service. In the meantime, I expect a pension to make me amends for what I have suffered under the Government. Adieu!

Yours, all that remains of me,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1391. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, Jan. 14, 1772.

I see with great uneasiness, my dear Sir, the disagreeable position you are in from the absurdity of your inmates -- The Duke of Gloucester and his suite were at this time residing in Mann's house. The Duke's attendants treated Mann with great rudeness and insolence. ^†1. When your patience drops a hint, I know how bad it must be. The principal is to be pitied, who has such wretched followers--I attribute to his low state that with regard to you he does not remedy neglects--but if fools could be cured, they would not be fools. You will, I doubt, be delivered ere long by a melancholy conclusion. The fate of the mother is now very near--and very extraordinary--she can swallow no liquids, only solids. Do not think I misplace the two words: the case has been known. She is forced to go out in her coach every day to shake the numbness of her legs, but can speak only at moments and with great difficulty. It is a dreadful conclusion, and much to be compassionated.

I shall write to your brother to-day to press your nephew's decision, and if he declines, to desire your brother will find a proper person, for surely the one recommended is little so.

Sir Charles Hotham and Mr. Hamilton are to receive their ribands to-morrow, but certainly no Installation will follow soon.

Do not be concerned at your nephew's want of attention

to me: I am too old and too indifferent to everything that does not disturb my tranquillity, which has long ceased to depend on the actions of others. One's mind suffers only when one is young, and while one is ignorant of the world. When one has lived some time, one learns that the young think too little, and the old too much, and one grows careless about both. I at least have contracted an ease in my temper, which diverts itself with most things, and takes few to heart. I think of my own nephew and yours with the same composure, as you saw by a letter I wrote to you lately. The friend A Mr. Lee. ^†2 the former has got is far from a proper one; I know a horrible story of him in his own family; but as I do not believe much in the duration of friendships, theirs will probably die away like others. For the fashionable discourse of young people, it is the nonsense of the moment. What is called bon ton is generally the tone of people that have not yet got into good company, because an affected tone is never used by really good company. Young men of sense lose it soon; young men that have not sense keep it even after it has ceased to be anybody's tone. Indeed, what is fashion? Is not it a persuasion that nothing was ever right till the present moment, and that the present moment will immediately be as wrong as all its predecessors? And can such a system be but absurd? And what notice does absurdity deserve more than being laughed at for an instant?

The current of time hurries everything along with it, and if we have the patience to sit still and see it pass, it is sure of washing away our vexations as well as our pleasures; and both being dreams are not worth remembrance. I have attained so much habitual philosophy (for I believe in no other) that events which would formerly have distressed me exceedingly, do not now put me out of temper; as

I experienced last week. A dozen powder-mills within two miles of Twickenham blew up last week, and almost levelled my castle as low as Troy. This is far from true; but the explosion really demolished four of my windows of painted glass, and broke as many more. I neither stomached it like a Stoic, nor damned the undertaker of the mills like a Christian. I shall set about mending them with the patience of Penelope, though with the prospect of having them ruined again, for, as Mr. Bentley said, in this country abuses are freeholds, and I do not believe the neighbourhood will get the mills removed. The Duke of Northumberland Sir Hugh Smithson, who on marrying the heiress of Algernon, Duke of Somerset, who was son of the heiress of the Earls of Northumberland, was created Earl and then Duke of Northumberland. Walpole. ^†3, to raise his rent a trifle, obtained an Act of Parliament for this nuisance; indeed, he got the consent of the gentlemen within the circuit, by promising they should be corn-mills; but the Act was no sooner passed, than lo, they became powder-mills! and have torn the whole county to pieces!

The Parliament meets next week. There will, I think, be little to do, unless an attempt to set aside the subscription of the clergy to the Thirty-nine Articles A petition against subscription to the Articles was presented on Feb. 6, 1772, by Sir William Meredith, but was rejected by 217 to 71. LETTER 1392. ^†4 should stir up a storm. Religious disputes are serious; and yet, can one care about shades of nonsense? Adieu!

1392. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, Jan. 21, 1772.

I must set you right, my dear Sir, in an error into which I innocently led you; and am glad to be able to do it, as I am happy to find that a son of your dear brother is not always in the wrong. In general, I agree with you that it is melancholy to be interested for either children or

nephews, they are so often disappointing: in short, your brother Edward had never yet mentioned the proxyhood to Horace: but tells me he had disliked his nephew being knighted yet--that is, would have had him wait till it came to him regularly. This totally disculpates Horace, who on your brother's writing to him, as he has now done, has in a very civil letter to me handsomely and cheerfully accepted the office. I shall write him as obliging an answer as I can. As I love to do justice, especially to folks I am a little out of humour with, I must tell you that your brother has, as handsomely, taken upon himself the refusal to Mr. A., who applied to him; telling A. that you having left the nomination of a proxy to him, he chose it should be one of your own family. Thus I think all difficulties are obviated. I will see your nephew when he comes to town, and manage the whole, or as much as I can, myself. This is the best I have to say on the chapter of nephews.

I doubt Lord Chatham has given you no reason to make a panegyric on him. The ghost of old Horace -- His uncle, the late Lord Walpole of Wolterton. ^†1 would chuckle at the little regard I meet with from my nephews and nieces. Yet, will that not put us on a foot? The endeavours of my life have been to make them happy, rich and great, to save them from ruin and distress; not to cheat them of heiresses, and defraud them of estates entailed on them.

I am more wounded at the neglect shown to you; nor can I account for it. It is out of character, and cruel. If I can guess at all at the person on whom your suspicion lights, it is a titular at Leghorn; but why not fathom it? One should be as much afraid of suspecting a friend wrongfully, as of finding him in the wrong. I know nothing of the man, but the zeal he showed about your riband: nor can I conceive how he should have influence enough to hurt you. It is a mystery I cannot unravel.

I wish you were not exposed to these désagrémens! It has been my wonder how you could support the pertness and folly of all the youths that debark at Florence, and of all that govern them. Your fortune, I know, and am grieved, my dear Sir, to know, is very moderate; but sure, as you are not young, tranquillity is the best riches. What are rank and fortune, if they do not secure content?

I was born at the top of the world; I have long been nobody, and am charmed to be so. I see the insolence of superiors; but how does it hurt me? They can neither frighten me, nor deprive me of any enjoyment. I laugh at their dignity, which I generally see built or leaning on meanness and slavery; and which is best founded, their contempt or mine? To be determined to be content with little, is to be determined that one's happiness shall depend on no one but oneself; but, if consideration is one's point, I do not see why one should be satisfied without being emperor of the world. One superior would mortify me more than a thousand inferiors homaging me would contribute to my satisfaction; but when one is emperor of one's self all is harmony and sunshine. And depend upon it, a moderate fortune is more capable of bestowing and ensuring that reign, than any position of grandeur. Were I rich, my nephews and nieces would be attentive and sincere enough; I like better to know their hearts.

We have no news; but to-day is the birthday of news: the Parliament meets; indeed, with a quiet aspect. Old Northington Robert Henley, first Earl of Northington. ^†2 is dead, as he lived, cursing and swearing. He had taken an aversion to his son Robert Henley (1747-1786), second Earl of Northington. ^†3, and ordered the trees in the park to be cut down. The gardener, trusting to the proximity of his death, demurred. He perceived it, and turned him away: repeated his orders, but found that

a dying lawyer could not quicken other people, more than other people can quicken a living lawyer. His servants went so slowly to work that only five oaks attended his funeral.

Some of the English at Pisa, Florence, or Leghorn, have sent home Lord L.'s Lord Lincoln, eldest son of the Duke of Newcastle. He had fallen into the hands of card-sharpers, who had won large sums from him. ^†4 story, and it has appeared in the newspapers. Methinks the public have nothing to do with every boy's amours--but it seems the public thinks otherwise. I must go write to your nephew, so good-morrow!

1393. To the Rev. William Cole.

Arlington Street, Jan. 28, 1772.

It is long indeed, dear Sir, since we corresponded. I should not have been silent if I had anything worth telling you in your way--but I grow such an antiquity myself, that I think I am less fond of what remains of our predecessors.

I thank you for Bannerman's proposal I mean, for taking the trouble to send it, for I am not at all disposed to subscribe. I thank you more for the notes on King Edward; I mean, too, for your friendship in thinking of me. Of Dean Milles I cannot trouble myself to think any more. His piece is at Strawberry; perhaps I may look at it for the sake of your note. The bad weather keeps me in town, and a good deal at home, which I find very comfortable, literally practising what so many persons pretend they intend, being quiet and enjoying my fireside in my elderly days.

Mr. Mason has shown me the relics of poor Mr. Gray. I am sadly disappointed at finding them so very inconsiderable. He always persisted, when I inquired about his

writings, that he had nothing by him. I own I doubted. I am grieved he was so very near exact--I speak of my own satisfaction; as to his genius, what he published during his life will establish his fame as long as our language lasts, and there is a man of genius left. There is a silly fellow, I do not know who, that has published a volume of Letters on the English Nation, with characters of our modern authors. He has talked such nonsense on Mr. Gray, that I have no patience with the compliments he has paid me. He must have an excellent taste! and gives me a woful opinion of my own trifles, when he likes them, and cannot see the beauties of a poet that ought to be ranked in the first line.

I am more humbled by any applause in the present age, than by hosts of such critics as Dean Milles. Is not Garrick reckoned a tolerable, though he has proved how little sense is necessary to form a great, actor? His Cymon, his prologues and epilogues, and forty such pieces of trash, are below mediocrity, and yet delight the mob in the boxes as well as in the footman's gallery. I do not mention the things written in his praise, because he writes most of them himself. But you know any one popular merit can confer all merit. Two women talking of Wilkes, one said he squinted--t'other replied, 'Squints!--well, if he does, it is not more than a man should squint.' For my part, I can see how extremely well Garrick acts, without thinking him six feet high. It is said Shakespeare was a bad actor; why do not his divine plays make our wise judges conclude that he was a good one? They have not a proof of the contrary, as they have in Garrick's works--but what is it to you or me what he is? We may see him act with pleasure, and nothing obliges us to read his writings. Adieu, dear Sir.

Yours most sincerely,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1394. Not in C.; reprinted from Letters and Journals of Lady Mary Coke, vol. iv. p. 29, n. 1. ^†1394. To Lady Mary Coke.

Arlington Street, Jan. 29, 1772.

Your reproofs, my dear Madam, are so kindly tempered, that, though undeserved, I cannot be quite sorry to have received them. I thank you much for giving me an opportunity of defending myself: and you must allow me to distinguish between the two accusations, as they affect me very differently; what you think you have observed yourself would hurt me very seriously, if well founded; what has passed through another, Madam, you ought only to have smiled at, if you will allow me to say so. Your Ladyship says that you have observed an alteration in my behaviour to you. I should be very culpable indeed if there was any. It would be most ungrateful after all your goodness to me; and it would be a capital contradiction to all I feel. I am not of an age to plead giddiness and thoughtlessness; and yet most assuredly inattention can be all my crime, because there is certainly no change in my regard and esteem. I respect your virtues, Madam, and the thousand good qualities I know of you; and as you have lost none of them I must have lost my senses if I did not honour them as much as ever, which I swear to you I do.

I beg your pardon if any negligence can be imputed to me; and I refer you to my future behaviour for my sincerity. For what your Ladyship calls a message in ridicule, and which was nothing but a very inoffensive joke, if no more was delivered than I uttered, and even in which you should consider how much the alteration but of an accent may affect the substance, all I can remember is, that meeting Lady G. Lady Greenwich, sister of Lady Mary Coke. ^†1 at Lady Blandford's, I said

something, I protest I do not know what, of supposing your Ladyship's next jaunt would be to China. I should have said it to yourself without fear of displeasing you-- and to say the truth, if this was aggravated into a serious message, I must conclude it was done with a good intention, as your friends cannot but grieve at your frequent and long eclipses; and may like to cover what they wish to say to you under another person's name. Nobody can be absurd enough to suppose your Ladyship has any interested view in visiting the Empress Queen, or in courting any other person. Can the Duke of Argyle's daughter desire to be higher than she is, and would not paying court be lowering her? Would it not infer that she does not think herself great enough? Great birth is your own; favour must be conferred and can only come from a superior, and they who confer favours always think so highly of themselves that they seem to undervalue those whom they fancy they honour. In short, Madam, not to be too serious, nor to enter into the Empress's merits, which shall be as great as you please, let me beg you to return to your own empire; come and reign over those hearts you dispose of, and do not leave them because somebody or other has offended you. Contempt and indifference are our best weapons or shield. Life is not long enough to attend to resentments. It is easy to be happy, if one does not care much about the world, but takes it as it comes. I have practised what I preach, and am sure of my nostrum's success. If one does not love often, one cannot hate often: now both love and hatred are troublesome inmates. I will give your Ladyship more lectures upon my philosophy when you return; but I shall not set them down in writing, for the profane are not to be initiated. You shall hear me with patience--nay, and if you do not, I will not mind it, but preach on. I had rather make you angry with reason, than be again accused of neglect. I will make use of all the impertinent privileges of a friend, which I confess are shocking, rather than let you suspect me of lukewarmness --but never a verbal message more! I condole with you, Madam, on the death of the Princess of Hesse Mary, Landgravine of Hesse-Cassel, and fourth daughter of George II. ^†2. Princess Amelia, though expecting it, was much shocked. I tell you no news, for I know Lady Strafford sends you bushels, wet and dry. If she does not tell you that the Pantheon is more beautiful than the Temple of the Sun, read no more of her letters. I acknowledge with the utmost gratitude, dear Lady Mary, the repetition of your friendship, and am firmly persuaded that mine will never alter on the condition you mark for its duration: and if [it] does, the fault must then be in

Your Ladyship's

Most faithful

Humble Servant,

HOR. WALPOLE.

Jan. 30th. We learnt last night the revolution In the night of Jan. 16-17, 1772, the Prime Minister Struensee and six of his adherents were arrested at a court ball. On the same night the Queen was taken prisoner by Count Rantzau, and placed under guard in the castle of Kronborg. LETTER 1395. ^†3 in Denmark, and the disgrace of the Queen, &c.

February

1395. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, Feb. 3, 1772.

Your representative Majesty will be shocked to find how frequently your family -- Meaning the English royal family, which Sir Horace Mann represented at Florence. Walpole. ^†1 furnishes Europe with very unpleasant conversation. We are all gazing on what has happened in Denmark, where the Queen and her medical

Prime Minister Struensee, the king's physician. Walpole. ^†2 has been seized; the former imprisoned, and the latter loaded with irons. It is certain that fame has been busy with their amours for these two years--it is as certain that nothing is weaker than the little King; yet, as I look on revolutions as I do on private quarrels, in which both sides are generally in the wrong, I do not doubt but that it will come out that her Majesty's gallantry has been amply balanced by ambition and treachery The chief mover in the intrigue was Rantzau, who secured the approval of the Queen Dowager by producing forged evidence of a plot formed by Queen Caroline Matilda and Struensee against the King. ^†3. The Queen Dowager Juliana Maria of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, second wife of the late King Frederick V. ^†4 and her son Prince Frederick of Denmark (d. 1805). ^†5, who have been brought forward, are both said not to excel the King in capacity; and if so, are only phantoms to decorate the conspiracy: but little is known yet, nor could I tell you much more than you will see in the public papers.

This tempest has clouded the halcyon calm that accompanies the opening of the session, where the voice of opposition is no longer heard. In truth, the calamities of the royal family are much to be pitied, and the conclusion of the Princess's The Princess Dowager of Wales. Walpole. ^†6 life is very melancholy. I have heard nothing of her this morning, but yesterday she was thought near her end. We every day expect like news from Naples Of the Duke of Gloucester. Walpole. ^†7. The news of Princess Mary's Landgravine of Hesse, fourth daughter of George II. Walpole. ^†8 death came a week ago. She had long been ill, and never happy, though a most gentle and amiable being. There remains only Princess Amelia now of all the late King's children.

Mr. Chute desires I will recommend to you a Mr. Musgrave, a young lawyer, whom you will see some time hence at Florence. I know him a little too, and can add my

testimonial to his character. There will come with him a Mr. Graves, whom I do not know, but of whom I have heard much good; and if he is like Mr. Musgrave, neither of them will want your congenial good nature to be warmed in their favour. You will therefore be kind to the Mus-graves.

Friday, 7th.

I was ashamed to send away such a scrap, and therefore stayed till to-day's post to recruit it. The last accounts from Naples speak of the Duke of Gloucester as better; but for the Princess of Wales, I do not know at this moment whether she is not dead She died on Feb. 8, 1772. ^†9. She was last night at the extremity, and this morning the King forbade his levee. Her end has been expected these ten days; yet her courage was so great that she went out to take the air on Monday or Tuesday.

No more news yet from Denmark, which is extraordinary; but one should think, therefore, that nothing tragic has happened, or Mr. Keith Robert Murray Keith (afterwards K.B.), British minister at Copenhagen. LETTER 1396. ^†10 would have dispatched messengers faster. You may imagine the impatience of everybody to hear more of this strange revolution.

Yesterday there was a long debate, for this session, in the House of Commons. A petition was offered from two hundred and fifty divines, for abolition of the Thirty-nine Articles, that summary of impertinent folly. It was rejected at eleven at night by a large majority; so much more difficult is it to expel nonsense than sense--for sense makes few martyrs. Will not the Jesuits think it hard upon them, that we are more absurd than France, or even than Spain? I begin to think that folly is matter, and cannot be annihilated. Destroy its form, it takes another. The reformation was only a re-formation. It is happy

when attempts to serve or enlighten mankind do not produce more prejudice to them. What are the consequences of the writings of the philosophers, and of the struggles of the Parliaments in France? Despotism! Lawyers have been found to support it, and priests will not be wanting. Methinks it would be a good text for the gallows, 'Upon this hang all the law and the prophets.'

The Czarina has sent Lord Chesterfield a box of her own turning, ornée, says she vulgarly, de son portrait. It is in return for some compliments he paid her to her Ambassador. What miserable thirst of pedantic vainglory! How sorry one should be to be obliged to answer civilly! What pains people take to have everything but common sense!

1396. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, Wednesday, Feb. 12, 1772.

I cannot express my surprise at the jumble your brother has made, by writing to your nephew to be your proxy, and at the same time advising you to apply to Sir W. Boothby. Mr. Croft brought me your letter to Sir William, but I begged him not to deliver it, but to go to your brother at Richmond first, and settle it with him. As your nephew has accepted the proposal so handsomely, and is by so much the most proper person, I should, and I think you would, be sorry to have that arrangement altered, especially as it is an unanswerable excuse to Lord Rochford. I question much too whether Sir William would accept it--should he decline it, your nephew might refuse, after being dismissed --and then how should we avoid Mr. A.? I will do all I can to settle it for Horace, as most proper, and as what I am sure you would like best. This will go on Friday; but as Mr. Croft cannot go to Richmond till Saturday or Sunday, you must have patience for the definitive answer till Tuesday's post.

I am much obliged to you for the plan you have undertaken about my nephew, though as it must be conveyed by letter, I should rather not have it executed, as I doubt he will see too clearly into my project--but as I conclude your letter is gone, there is no remedy.

The Princess Dowager died on Saturday morning. Nothing ever equalled her resolution. She took the air till within four or five days of her death, and never indicated having the least idea of her danger, even to the Princess of Brunswick, though she had sent for her. Although she had convulsions the day before she expired, she rose and dressed to receive the King and Queen, and kept them four hours in indifferent conversation, though almost inarticulate herself; said nothing on her situation, took no leave of them, and expired at six in the morning without a groan. She could not be unapprised of her approaching fate, for she had existed upon cordials alone for ten days, from the time she had received the fatal news from Denmark; and died before she could hear again of her daughter.

The courier arrived in the evening; the new governing powers, whoever they are, whether the conspirators under the name of the Queen Dowager, or whether that woman herself, have determined to manage the young Queen's honour as much as possible, but to press home the charge on Struensee for intending to drug the King's understanding in order to draw from him a cession of the Regency to that physician-minister--a plan that, affecting decency, establishes the outrage--a plan, too, very difficult to believe; unless both the Queen and physician had taken drugs to intoxicate themselves first. Count Ostein -- A former Danish minister at Naples. ^†1, your late neighbour at Naples, is said to be deep in the revolution, as

Sir William Hamilton told me he was sure it would appear; nay, on his first coming over, he mentioned this man to me as the genius of intrigue.

Our halcyon days are already clouded: the tempest has again risen in Ireland. Yesterday's letters from thence say their Parliament is outrageous on a new Board erected there: they talk of sending a deputation of twenty-one members of the Commons to remonstrate to the King against it. Lord Townshend has occasioned all these troubles by the most extravagant behaviour. He lives with a carpenter and two more low fellows, and has written a satiric ballad on the chief men there, a mark of contempt that even money will not wipe out. The East Indies are going to be another spot of contention. Such a scene of tyranny and plunder has been opened as makes one shudder! The heaven-born hero Expression of Lord Chatham on Lord Clive. Walpole. ^†2, Lord Clive, seems to be Plutus, the dæmon who does not give, but engrosses riches Clive disposed of the greater part of the charges brought against him in a speech in the House of Lords. ^†3. There is a letter from one of his associates to their Great Mogul, in which our Christian expresses himself with singular tenderness for the interests of the Mahometan religion! We are Spaniards in our lust for gold, and Dutch in our delicacy of obtaining it.

A terrible blow, which I have long foreseen, has fallen on Lord Hertford's family. His daughter-in-law Daughter of Lord Windsor, and first wife of Lord Beauchamp. Walpole. ^†4, a most amiable and good young woman, is dead, and her husband half distracted for his loss. You will pity Lord Hertford's situation: his daughter, Lady Gertrude, was married to Lord Villiers on Monday morning, Lady Beauchamp died on Tuesday, and the Princess is to be buried on Saturday, for which, as Lord Chamberlain, he must give all the orders.

I cannot certainly refuse, when you ask it, to let Mr. Patch inscribe the designs A series of etchings after works of Fra Bartolommeo. ^†5 to me, and my repugnance is lessened, as dedications are quite out of fashion. The way now is only to write the person's names and titles--luckily I have none of the latter, and therefore the page will be so naked, that I think he had better pick out some young Lord Mæcenas, who will be fond of the compliment. If he insists on me, who had rather pass eldest, something in the manner of the enclosed card is all that is not only necessary, but all that I can admit.

I am not proud of being a favourer of the arts, but it is better than Illustrissimos and Eccellenzas. It is horrible to owe one's lustre only to an adjective; and I like nobile Inglese, because one may be a gentleman without being a lord, as many are lords without being gentlemen; so my humility, you see, is errant pride--yes, yes, we are pitiful creatures, and all impostors; always studying what the world will think of us, though hourly experience shows us how little it does think of us. Who will throw away a moment's reflection on a dedication to me? A mighty comfort truly to have the letters of one's name exist in a page that is turned over unread, in a hundred copies of a set of prints! Yet this is a farthing's-worth of fame that many men covet! Is there a clown who scratches his initials on the leads of a church, who does not say to himself, Exegi monumentum aere perennius? I laugh at the world, I laugh at myself, and you will laugh at me too for this long monologue: pray do. There is little intrinsic in me but my invariable attachment to you. It has lasted above thirty years, and I do not find that it breaks with age.

P.S. On reading over your letter again, I perceive that

you cannot have written to my nephew, and therefore it is better to omit it.

I must add a codicil, I find.

Codicil, Feb. 14, 1772.

Mr. Croft could not rest, but went to Richmond yesterday very good-naturedly, and has settled all with your brother. Horace is to remain your proxy, and to be another Sir Horace, the only way I could bear his being so. Mr. Croft will tell you all himself on Tuesday.

Wish me joy: I have changed all my Roman medals of great brass, some of which were very fine, particularly a medaliuncino of Alexander Severus, which is unique, for the uniquest thing in the world, a silver bell for an inkstand, made by Benvenuto Cellini. It makes one believe all the extravagant encomiums he bestows on himself: indeed so does his Perseus A statue in bronze in the loggia before the Old Palace at Florence. Walpole. LETTER 1397. ^†6. Well, my bell is in the finest taste, and is swarmed by caterpillars, lizards, grasshoppers, flies, and masques, that you would take it for one of the plagues of Egypt. They are all in altissimo, nay, in out-issimo relievo, and yet almost invisible but with a glass. Such foliage, such fruitage! In short, it is fit to keep company with my eagle and your Caligula--can one say more?

March

1397. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, March 5, 1772.

I do not wonder you are impatient for Danish news, or that you mistake in what you say of their King. Absurd he has been enough; but in the late revolution he was as much a sacrifice as his Queen; and is in effect not less a prisoner. There is not only a dead silence observed here, but foreign courts are kept as much in the dark. All

I can collect is, that a knot of offended nobility have operated the change, headed by Rantzau -- Shack Charles, Count of Rantzau-Ascheberg, who at first supported Struensee, and afterwards headed the conspiracy which overthrew him. ^†1, and two others, whose names I forget, and who never quit sight of the King; Rantzau even lying in his room. He signs, is forced to sign, every paper they offer to him, and I suppose is as roundly lectured as Charles II was by the Kirk in Scotland before the battle of Worcester. The Queen Dowager, besides that she and her son are both fools, is said to be very ambitious; but whether they have real influence or not, I do not know. The poor little Prince Royal Afterwards King as Frederick VI. ^†2, of whose legitimacy there can be no doubt, whatever there is of his sister's Louisa Augusta, afterwards married to Duke Frederick Charles II of Augustenburg. ^†3, is never mentioned, and I suppose will be set aside as well as his father, when the junto have found, or pretended to find, sufficient grounds for deposition: such are the blessed effects of despotism, even to the despots! When no resource but despair is left, the oppressors make much quicker work than can be done by the help of laws. Fifty Grand Signors have lost their heads for one Charles I, and he might have kept his, if he had not sultanized.

The Queen of Denmark, I am told, is to be dispatched to Norway This was a false report. ^†4. I pity her! Her youth and inexperience could not suppose that she might not do anything, when she was told that she might do everything. How many dismal hours will she have for fruitless reflections! How she will curse those who misled her, far more guilty than those who confine her! They are wise princes who sacrifice their ministers, that seldom deserve better. Mr. Keith's spirit in behalf of the Queen has been rewarded. The red riband has been sent to him, though there was no vacancy,

with orders to put it on directly himself, as there is no sovereign in Denmark to invest him with it.

We have another scene coming to light, of a black dye indeed. The groans of India have mounted to heaven, where the heaven-born General Lord Clive will certainly be disavowed. Oh, my dear Sir, we have outdone the Spaniards in Peru! They were at least butchers on a religious principle, however diabolical their zeal. We have murdered, deposed, plundered, usurped--nay, what think you of the famine in Bengal, in which three millions perished, being caused by a monopoly of the provisions, by the servants of the East India Company The accusations brought against Clive and the servants of the East India Company were greatly exaggerated. LETTER 1398. ^†5? All this is come out, is coming out--unless the gold that inspired these horrors can quash them. Voltaire says, learning, arts, and philosophy have softened the manners of mankind: when tigers can read they may possibly grow tame--but man!

What shall I tell you to clear up your brow and make you smile again? Shall it be that Lord Chatham hunts and makes verses? He has written a copy to Garrick, in which he disclaims ambition. Recollect what I have said to you, that this world is a comedy to those who think, a tragedy to those who feel! This is the quintessence of all I have learnt in fifty years! Adieu!

1398. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, March 27, 1772.

The Royal Marriage Bill -- 'By that Bill every Prince or Princess, the descendant of George the Second, except only the issue of Princesses married abroad, was prohibited from marrying until the age of twenty-five without the King's consent. After the age of twenty-five, should the King's consent be refused, they might apply to the Privy Council, and if within a year of such announcement both Houses of Parliament should not express their disapprobation of the intended marriage, it might then be lawfully solemnized.' (Stanhope, History of England, ed. 1853, vol. v. p. 311.) ^†1 is at last finished, after taking up near an hundred hours in the House of Commons.

It was near being wrecked at last, being carried but by a majority of eighteen, while ten more, who would have been against it, were accidentally shut out, not expecting a division so soon. This is a mighty tumble from the first day of the session, when the opposition had given up the game.

Never was a bill that gave more deep offence, and from mere speculation: the people did not interfere; nor was it a matter of popularity to oppose it. Lord Mansfield bears all the odium, and very deservedly, for no man else had a hand in drawing it, as ministers and lawyers declare. Lord North, though disliking the bill, supported it like a man; the rest treacherously condemning it, voting for it, and wishing it might miscarry.

Lord North is likely to have the Duke of Saxe-Gotha's Frederick III, Duke of Saxe-Gotha; d. March 10, 1772. ^†2 vacant Garter, the only one except my father's that has shone in the House of Commons since Queen Elizabeth's day.

If you want any more news, you must have it from Ireland, where there is a pretty substantial insurrection of four thousand men, calling themselves Hearts of Steel. Whatever their hearts are, their heads are of gunpowder. Poor souls! they have had thorough provocation; reduced to starve, to be shot, or to be hanged. They are tenants of Lord Donegal, driven off their lands because they could not pay hard fines for renewing their leases. Sixteen hundred horse and infantry are marched against them. We had better have wasted an hundred hours in redressing these misfortunes, than in framing acts against marriages!

It is confidently said that the Danish Hearts of Steel have assured us that the Queen's life shall not be touched,-- and this they reckon a favour. Struensee and Brandt Enevold von Brandt, formerly a royal page, and one of Struensee's associates. Brandt and Struensee were beheaded on April 28, 1772. ^†3 are probably by this time no more.

We had last Sunday a most violent storm of thunder and lightning. The latter entered by the wire of the bell into Lady Mary Fox's Lady Mary Fitzpatrick (d. 1778), eldest daughter of first Earl of Upper Ossory (and sister-in-law of Horace Walpole's correspondent, Anne Liddell, Countess of Upper Ossory); m. (1766) Hon. Stephen Fox, eldest son of first Baron Holland, whom he succeeded in 1774. ^†4 dressing-room in Cavendish Square, where she was with her husband, Lord Robert Spencer Third son of third Duke of Marlborough; d. 1831. LETTER 1399. ^†5, and young Harry Conway. It melted the wire, fired the cornice, burned a chair, and damaged the floor. I cannot but think it was raised in a hot-house, by order of the Maccaronis, who will have everything before the season.

The House of Commons is going to tap the affairs of India, an endless labyrinth! We shall lose the East before we know half its history. It was easier to conquer it, than to know what to do with it. If you or the Pope can tell, pray give us your opinion.

April

1399. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, April 9, 1772.

It is uncommon for me to send you news of the Pretender. He has been married in Paris by proxy, to a Princess of Stolberg -- Louisa Maximiliana, Princess of Stolberg (d. 1824), known after her marriage as Countess of Albany. She separated from her husband in 1780. LETTER 1400. ^†1. All I can learn of her is, that she is a niece to a Princess of Salm, whom I knew there, without knowing any more of her. The new Pretendress is said to be but sixteen, and a Lutheran: I doubt the latter; if the former

is true, I suppose they mean to carry on the breed in the way it began, by a spurious child. A Fitz-Pretender is an excellent continuation of the patriarchal line. Mr. Chute says, when the royal family are prevented from marrying, it is a right time for the Stuarts to marry. This event seems to explain the Pretender's disappearance last autumn; and though they sent him back from Paris, they may not dislike the propagation of thorns in our side.

I hear the credit of the French Chancellor declines. He had strongly taken up the clergy; and Sœur Louise, the King's Carmelite daughter, was the knot of the intrigue. The new Parliament has dared to remonstrate against a declaration obtained by the Chancellor for setting aside an arrêt of 1762, occasioned by the excommunication of Parma. The Spanish and Neapolitan ministers interposed, and pronounced the declaration an infringement of the family compact: the arrêt of 1762 has been confirmed to satisfy them, and the Pope's authority, and everything that comes from Rome, except what regards the Penitential (I do not know what that means), restrained. This is supported by D'Aiguillon and all the other ministers, who are labouring the reconciliation of the Princes of the blood, that the Chancellor may not have the honour of reconciling them. Perhaps the Princess of Stolberg sprung out of Sister Louise's cell. The King has demanded twelve millions of the clergy: they consent to give ten. We shall see whether Madame Louise, on her knees, or Madame du Barry, on her back, will fight the better fight. I should think the King's knees were more of an age for praying, than for fighting.

The House of Commons is embarked on the ocean of Indian affairs, and will probably make a long session. I went thither the other day to hear Charles Fox, contrary to a resolution I had made of never setting my foot there

again. It is strange how disuse makes one awkward; I felt a palpitation, as if I were going to speak there myself. The object answered: Fox's abilities are amazing at so very early a period, especially under the circumstances of such a dissolute life. He was just arrived from Newmarket, had sat up drinking all night, and had not been in bed. How such talents make one laugh at Tully's rules for an orator, and his indefatigable application. His laboured orations are puerile in comparison with this boy's manly reason. We beat Rome in eloquence and extravagance, and Spain in avarice and cruelty; and, like both, we shall only serve to terrify schoolboys, and for lessons of morality! 'Here stood St. Stephen's Chapel; here young Catiline spoke; here was Lord Clive's diamond-house; this is Leadenhall Street, and this broken column was part of the palace of a company of merchants who were sovereigns of Bengal! They starved millions in India by monopolies and plunder, and almost raised a famine at home by the luxury occasioned by their opulence, and by that opulence raising the prices of everything, till the poor could not purchase bread!' Conquest, usurpation, wealth, luxury, famine--one knows how little farther the genealogy has to go! If you like it better in Scripture phrase, here it is: Lord Chatham begot the East India Company; the East India Company begot Lord Clive; Lord Clive begot the Maccaronis, and they begot poverty; all the race are still living; just as Clodius was born before the death of Julius Cæsar. There is nothing more like than two ages that are very like; which is all that Rousseau means by saying, 'give him an account of any great metropolis, and he will foretell its fate.' Adieu!

1400. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, April 21, 1772.

... -- So in MS. ^†1 We have little news. Everybody is gone out of town, or to Newmarket, for the Easter holidays. The Parliament will sit late on Indian affairs. There is a select committee appointed to examine into those grievances: but I expect nothing from it. People will be very eager and very important at first. The criminals will puzzle and weary them; the idle will grow tired with the discussion; and the persevering will probably be bribed to drop or perplex the pursuit. Should you wonder if the most guilty, who are the most rich, should obtain a verdict of applause!

We have a strong fleet preparing A squadron which had been ordered to sail for Copenhagen on Sir Robert Keith's informing the English ministers of the Danish proposal to banish Queen Caroline Matilda (whose sentence of divorce from the King had been pronounced on April 6, 1772) to Aalborg in Jutland. Shortly before the day on which the squadron was to sail it was announced that the Queen was to be set at liberty. ^†2, that has a formidable appearance. The world destines it against Copenhagen. I hope it will not sail. I believe a Prussian army would soon sail by land to Hanover, without waiting for a wind. We conclude Struensee and Brandt executed, and things seem to look but ill for the young Queen herself. There have been flying reports that she is dead, and to-day the papers say she is recovered of two fits of the colic--the colic sounds like a very political illness. It is certain that Baron Dieden, the Danish minister, behaved with great insolence to the King the other day at the levee, laughing indecently at the Prussian minister on the King's not speaking to him. His wife is just arrived, but has not been at court, nor is visited by the great ladies. All this looks serious.

The Pretender is certainly married to the Princess of Stolberg, whose youngest sister is the wife of the Marquis de la Jamaïque, son of the Duke of Berwick; but I do not believe she is a Protestant, though I have heard from one who should know, General Redmond, an Irish officer in the French service, that the Pretender himself abjured the Roman Catholic religion at Liège a few years ago; and that, on that account, the Irish Catholics no longer make him remittances. This would be some, and the only apology, but fear, for the Pope's refusing him the title of King. What say you to this Protestantism? At Paris they call his income twenty-five thousand pounds sterling a year. His bride has nothing, but many quarters. The Cardinal of York's answer last year to the question of whither his brother was gone? is now explained: you told me, he replied, 'Whither he should have gone a year sooner.'

I am just going to the Opera to hear Milico, who sings to-night for the first time. I do not believe he will draw such audiences as Mademoiselle Heinel has done. The town has an idle notion that she made so much impression on a very high heart, that it is thought prudent to keep it out of her way. She is the most graceful figure in the world, with charming eyes, bewitching mouth, and lovely countenance; yet I do not think we shall see a Dame du Barri on this side the Channel. Adieu!

P.S. I know Mr. Nicholls A correspondent of Mr. Gray. See Mason's edition of Gray's Works. Walpole.--Rev. Norton Nicholls (d 1809), Rector of Lound and Bradwell, in Suffolk. ^†3, and have a great regard for him. Pray tell him so, and show him so.

I have no reason to think my nephew Probably Lord Cholmondeley. LETTER 1401. ^†4 married.

May

1401. To the Rev. William Mason.

Strawberry Hill, May 9, 1772.

I have given up to Mr. Stonhewer, as you desired, dear Sir, Mr. Gray's volume of MSS. -- Consisting of extracts from the Cotton MSS. ^†1, but shall be glad hereafter, if you do not dislike it, to print some of the most curious. He himself was to lend me the speech and letters of Sir Thomas Wyat. At a leisure hour, would not it be amusing to you to draw up a little account of that poet?

Dr. Brown has sent me a very civil letter of thanks for Gray's portrait. He speaks too of the book I intended for their college, and that he was to receive from you. I forget whether I troubled you with it or not.

I have selected for your use For use in Mason's proposed Life of Gray. ^†2 such of Gray's letters as will be intelligible without many notes; but though all his early letters have both wit and humour, they are so local, or so confined to private persons and stories, that it would be difficult, even by the help of a comment, to make them interesting to the public. Some of the incidents alluded to have slipped out of my own memory; still there are about twenty of his juvenile letters that I think will please. I will bring them with me when I make you a visit in August. I have a great many more, to the very end of his life; but they are grave, and chiefly relative to questions in antiquity on which I consulted him, or begged him to consult the libraries at Cambridge; there are some criticisms on modern books and authors, either his own opinions or in answer to mine. These are certainly not proper for present publication: but I shall leave these and the rest behind me, and none of them will disgrace him; which ought to be our care, since it was so very much his own.

Mr. Palgrave Rev. William Palgrave (d. 1799), Rector of Palgrave and Thrandeston, in Suffolk, and Fellow of Pembroke College, Cambridge. He was a friend and correspondent of Gray. ^†3 is in town, and has promised to pass a day with me here, where I am continuing my immortal labours with those durable materials, painted glass, and carved wood and stone. The foundations of the chapel in the garden are to be dug on Monday. The state bedchamber advances rapidly, and will, I hope, be finished before my journey to Yorkshire. In short, this old, old, very old castle, as his prints called old Parr, is so near being perfect, that it will certainly be ready by the time I die to be improved with Indian paper; or to have the windows cut down to the ground by some travelled lady.

The newspapers tell me that Mr. Chambers, the architect, who has Sir-Williamized himself, by the desire as he says of the Knights of the Polar Star Chambers was created a Knight of the Polar Star by the King of Sweden in return for a gift of drawings. ^†4, his brethren, who were angry at his not assuming his proper title, is going to publish a treatise on Ornamental Gardening; that is, I suppose, considering a garden as a subject to be built upon. In that light it will not interfere with your verses The English Garden, of which the first book appeared in this year. ^†5 or my prose Probably the Essay on Modern Gardening, printed at Strawberry Hill in 1785. ^†6; and we may both use the happiest expression in the world and

coldly declare him free.

In truth our climate is so bad, that instead of filling our gardens with buildings, we ought rather to fill our buildings with gardens, as the only way of enjoying the latter.

The dreaded East is all the wind that blows;

and yet I am afraid to rail at it, lest the rain should take advantage of my plaints, and come and drown us till the end of July. I was lamenting the weather to M. de Guines:

the French Ambassador. He said, 'In England you talk of nothing but the bad weather; I wonder you are not used to it.' Yet one must have seen such a thing as spring, or one could not have invented the idea. I can swear to have formerly heard nightingales as I have been sitting in this very bow-window. If I was thirty years younger, I might fancy they are gone because Phœbe is gone; but I have certainly heard them long since my ballad-making days. I hope your garden, which is not exposed to wayward seasons, but

will always flourish in immortal youth,

advances a great pace; consider, you are to record what it was when fashion and great lords shall have brought back square enclosures, walls, terraces, and labyrinths, and shall be told by the Le Nautre André Le Nôtre (1613-1700), landscape gardener. ^†7 of the day, that their Lordships have invented a new taste; and will never know to the contrary; for though beautiful poems preserve themselves, it is not by being read and known. Works of genius are like the Hermetic philosophers; none but adepts are acquainted with their existence, yet certainly nothing is ever lost--as you may find in Mr. Wharton's Thomas Warton. ^†8 new Life of Sir Thomas Pope, which has resuscitated more nothings, and more nobodies, than Birch's Life of Tillotson or Louth's Robert Lowth or Louth (1710-1787), Bishop of St. David's, 1766; Bishop of Oxford, 1766-77; Bishop of London, 1777-87. ^†9 William of Wykeham.

There has been a masquerade at the Pantheon, which was so glorious a vision that I thought I was in the old Pantheon, or in the Temples of Delphi or Ephesus, amidst a crowd of various nations, and that formerly

Panthoides Euphorbus eram,

and did but recollect what I had seen. All the friezes and

niches were edged with alternate lamps of green and purple glass, that shed a most heathen light, and the dome was illuminated by a heaven of oiled paper well painted with gods and goddesses. Mr. Wyat James Wyatt; d. 1813. LETTER 1402. ^†10, the architect, has so much taste, that I think he must be descended from Sir Thomas. Even Henry VIII had so much taste, that were he alive he would visit the Pantheon. Adieu! dear Sir.

Yours most sincerely,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1402. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, May 13, 1772.

You will receive, I hope, by yesterday's post a letter from your nephew Horace. He promised me to write, and I knew it would give you pleasure. So it will to hear of my negotiation with him, and the content I have had in him. One of the heralds, whom I had charged to give me the earliest notice of an Installation, brought me word last week that it was fixed for June, and that as the King was to defray the expense on account of his son, it would be very magnificent. I immediately wrote to your brother, desiring he would take on himself to make your excuses to Lord Rochford, and I offered to wait on your brother and settle all with him; for though I have not seen him since what passed in the autumn, and though we are, as it were, reconciled, I did not stick at punctilios when your service was concerned. He sent in great haste for your nephew, and sent him as fast to me, to prevent my visit, as he has the gout; I was rejoiced at the exchange, especially as I found Horace a most amiable young man: civil, sensible, rational, and good-natured. He does not at all taste the present knighthood, but yields with the best grace in the world to accommodate you.

As your brother is incapable of writing, he desired me to draw the letter to Lord Rochford, which I did; and took occasion (speaking in your brother's name) to call Horace the hopes of the family. I had vast inclination to call him the heir of the family, but I would not venture displeasing your brother, nor risk his refusing to adopt the expression. However, I talked to Horace on the subject, who does not conceive there is any doubt of the entail, which I am glad to tell you. The hopes passed very well with your brother. The letter was written out for him by his daughter; he signed it, and Lord Rochford received it with great politeness, and said he was perfectly satisfied before with your excuse. Still, as your brother disliked the person proposed so much, I thought it was right Lord Rochford should know the objection came from him, not from you.

This has turned out very agreeably to me. You are served in the best manner. I have been civil to your brother; I am again acquainted with dear Gal's son; find him infinitely better than he had been represented to me; see him rightly disposed towards you--and shall take care not to lose sight of him again. He has promised to bring Lady Lucy to dine with me at Strawberry Hill. She is now ready to lie in. They have only one girl; have lost two boys--I hope will have a third Horace.

I have little to say to you on my own Horace -- The Earl of Cholmondeley. ^†1, who has left his name a single time at my door. My projects there, as well as in all my Horaces, are disappointed--and you may be quite satisfied that you are not the cause of any coldness from me--but one cannot petition anybody to be one's heir. I hinted at the marriage I mentioned to you to his uncle of his own name. It was received with so much indifference, not to say distaste, that I shall meddle with them no farther. The uncle is very fond of him, and can

do so much more than I can, that I shall not interfere, but let them please themselves.

We have nothing new, but what is no longer so, the Danish tragedy. It was on the point of being a very deep one. Had our fleet sailed, the North had been in arms. Luckily it did its business without stirring out of port. The Queen goes to Zell. Struensee is gone to David Rizzio!

May 14th.

I hear to-day that the destination is changed, and that the Danish Queen does not go to Zell, but to the Goerde, a hunting-seat near Hanover The Queen went to the Göhrde till the castle of Celle was ready to receive her. ^†2. The yatch to convey her is to hoist the Danish flag as soon as she goes on board. I have heard from good authority too, that her husband has twice endeavoured to get to her. I do not wonder we maintain her royalty, for by what code can a divorce pass on a legal marriage without the consent of either party? Even your match-making and match-dissolving operator at Rome would not allow of such a sentence. Adieu At the end of this letter in the original MS. in Horace Walpole's handwriting is the following note: 'A letter here is omitted.' LETTER 1403. ^†3!

1403. To Viscount Nuneham.

Thursday, May 14th, 1772.

My Dear Lord,

I waited on you this morning, to learn your motions. There is an evil report of your thinking of the country-- but sure you remember that I have a mortgage on you, and that you must pay it off before you can stir. I beg to know your plan, that I may obtain a day from you at Strawberry Hill before you go: and I cannot have the conscience, even for your sake and Strawberry's, to ask it before the east wind is rained away. As there is no wind-bow to ensure us

that the world is not to be blown away, as there is to defend us against being drowned, it is impossible to tell when the weather-cock will change its mind; but, wet or dry, I must insist on your promise, and flatter myself that Lord and Lady Jersey -- Frances, daughter and heiress of Philip Twysden, Bishop of Raphoe; m. (1770) George Bussy Villiers, fourth Earl of Jersey; d. 1821. LETTER 1404. ^†1 will do me the same honour.

1404. To Viscount Nuneham.

[Endorsed '1772.']

I am in such confusion, my dear Lord, that I do not know what to say, but the truth. I had read Tuesday on your Lordship's card instead of Monday, and never knew my mistake until this instant. My servant asked me what I would have for dinner! I replied, 'I dine at Lord Nuneham's.' He said, 'I beg your pardon, Lord Nuneham's card was for yesterday; I thought your Honour had disengaged yourself.' I dined alone at home yesterday, and am shocked to think that I probably made your Lordship, Lady Nuneham -- Hon. Elizabeth Vernon (d. 1826), daughter of first Baron Vernon; m. (1765) George Simon Harcourt, Viscount Nuneham, eldest son of first Earl Harcourt, whom he succeeded in 1777. ^†1, and your company wait. You will possibly forgive me, but I can never see my own face again--nor will ever read a card again without spectacles. Consider what pleasure I have lost, and pity

Your mortified humble servant,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1405. Not in C.; reprinted from Last Journals of Horace Walpole, vol. i. pp. 98-9. ^†1405. To Sir Edward Walpole.

Arlington Street, May 20, 1772.

Dear Brother,

I am much obliged to you for the mark you have given me of your friendship in acquainting me with Lady Waldegrave's

marriage 'I have this moment received an express from Lady Waldegrave, with the Duke of Gloucester's permission, to acquaint me with their marriage, which was in 1766.' (Sir Edward Walpole to Horace Walpole, May 19, 1772, Last Journals, vol. i. p. 97.) ^†1; and I give you many thanks for the justice you do me in believing that I interest myself extremely in the welfare of all your children.

Though entirely out of the secret of the match, I never doubted it, from the long conviction I have had of Lady Waldegrave's strict virtue and many excellent qualities; since it is accomplished, I hope in God it will prove as great felicity to her as it is an honour to her and her family. When I have said this with the utmost truth, it would be below me to affect much zeal and joy for the attainment of an object which, at the beginning, I said all I could to dissuade her from pursuing, on the sincere belief that it was not likely to tend to her happiness. When I found I had no chance of prevailing, I desisted; and, having no right to question her, I forbore all mention of the subject. For her sake I did not approve the connection; for my own I could take no part in it, without being sure of the marriage. As both friendship for her and regard for my own honour dictated this conduct, I can neither repent it nor deny it. Your daughter, I think, has too nice a sense of honour herself to blame me; and the Duke of Gloucester, I hope, will not be sorry that his wife's relations (for it is justice to you to say that you have always been more anxious about her character than her fortune) were infinitely more afraid of any disgrace that might happen to her, than they were ambitious of an honour so much above their pretensions. It is not to make my court that I say this. I have no vanity to gratify; I have no wishes that were not satisfied before. I receive the honour done to the family with great respect for the royal person who confers it, but with no pride for myself, having never aspired above

the privacy of my situation. To you and to your daughter I sincerely hope the event will prove a source of great happiness, and shall always be, with proper deference for her, and with cordial good wishes for her and you,

Dear brother,

Yours most affectionately,

HORACE WALPOLE.

1406. Not in C.; reprinted from Last Journals of Horace Walpole, vol. i. pp. 104-5. LETTER 1407. ^†1406. To the Duchess of Gloucester.

Arlington Street, May 24, 1772.

My Dear Madam,

It is very true what your father has told you, that I never was so struck with admiration of anything as I was with your letter to him. It shows the goodness of your heart, of your understanding, and of your conduct; and a greatness of mind that makes you worthy of your fortune. You will not think this flattery, for you know I am incapable of flattering you--and it cannot be designed as a compliment to your rank, when I approve, as I do exceedingly, your waiving it. The Duke of Gloucester has thence a satisfaction that few princes taste--the conviction that you married him from inclination, not from ambition. I do not ask your pardon for having opposed that inclination, because I did it from fearing it would not tend to your happiness. Nor can I repent my conduct and silence since; you cannot disesteem me for it, and his Royal Highness cannot be sorry to have found that his wife's relations had too much honour to be proud even of his favour to you till they were satisfied of your marriage. The Duke, I hear, is to have a levee on Thursday; as I would not dare to take any liberty, and certainly would as little omit any mark of veneration and gratitude to his Royal Highness after the honour he has done to the family, I went to your

father to consult him on what would be most proper for me to do. Having never had the honour of being presented to his Royal Highness or of kissing his hand, it would be presumption in me to approach him without that testimony of duty; but at the same time, as the motives of my past absence are well known, my going through that ceremony just now would be a positive declaration of my being assured of your marriage. Sir Edward is clear that such a step at this time would be the most improper imaginable, and very repugnant to that amiable and wise moderation you have adopted, and he bid me tell you how wrong he thinks it would be for me to go to the Duke's levee. Let me beg you therefore, dear Madam, to acquaint his Royal Highness with the reasons why I am not one of the first to express my zeal and gratitude, together with my joy for his recovery and return. I have the utmost respect and attachment to his person, the more sincere as I have no views, no ambition, no pride to gratify. My wishes are completely satisfied in your having acted as became the names you bore. The accession of dignity without your excellent qualities would never have made me, so much as I am, either in affection or respect

Your most obedient humble servant,

HORACE WALPOLE.

1407. To the Rev. William Mason.

Strawberry Hill, May 25, 1772.

Dear Sir,

I have told Lord Hertford of the injurious manner in which your thoughts of resigning the chaplainship have been represented in the newspapers, and of the obliging expressions you have used towards him in offering to give it up. He is extremely sensible of your civility, and desired I would thank you from him in the handsomest

manner, and, as you permit him, will fill up your place, when you are willing to resign it. For myself, I assure you, dear Sir, that next to the pleasure I should have, if it was in my power to do you service, the greatest satisfaction I can enjoy is to assist in delivering you from attendance on a court: a station below your sentiments and merit. I have read Chambers's book -- Dissertation on Oriental Gardening. ^†1. It is more extravagant than the worst Chinese paper, and is written in wild revenge against Brown Lancelot Brown. ^†2; the only surprising consequence is, that it is laughed at, and it is not likely to be adopted, as I expected; for nothing is so tempting to fools, as advice to deprave taste.

Lord Carlisle has written and printed some copies of an Ode on Gray's death. There is a real spirit of poetry in it, but no invention; for it is only a description of Gray's descriptions. There are also two epitaphs on Lady Carlisle's dog, not bad, and a translation from Dante of the story of Count Ugolino, which I like the best of the four pieces. Mrs. Scott Sarah (d. 1795), daughter of Matthew Robinson, of West Layton, Yorkshire; m. (1752) George Lewis Scott, sub-preceptor to the Prince of Wales (afterwards George III). ^†3, sister of Mrs. Montagu, has written a life of Agrippa d'Aubigné,--no--she has not written it, she has extracted it from his own account, and no dentist at a fair could draw a tooth with less grace. It is only in a religious sense that she has made it a good book, for it seems she is very pious. There is a Mr. Jones William Jones (1746-1794), knighted in 1783; oriental scholar and Judge of the High Court at Calcutta, 1783-94. In 1772 he published Poems consisting chiefly of translations from the Asiatic Languages. ^†4 too, who has published imitations of Asiatic poets: but as Chambers's book was advertised by the title of Ornamental Gardening, instead of Oriental, I think Mr. Jones's is a blunder of Oriental for ornamental, for it is very flowery, and not at all Eastern.

Somebody, I fancy Dr. Percy, has produced a dismal dull ballad, called The Execution of Sir Charles Bawdin, and given it for one of the Bristol poems, called Rowley's It was written by Chatterton. LETTER 1408. ^†5-- but it is a still worse counterfeit than those that were first sent to me; it grows a hard case on our ancestors, who have every day bastards laid to them, five hundred or a thousand years after they are dead. Indeed, Mr. Macpherson, &c., are so fair as to beget the fathers as well as the children. Adieu! dear Sir.

June

1408. To the Rev. William Cole.

Arlington Street, June 9, 1772.

Dear Sir,

The preceding paper was given me by a gentleman, who has a better opinion of my bookhood than I deserve. I could give him no satisfaction, but told him I would get inquiry made at Cambridge for the pieces he wants -- He wished for information relative to the Order of Malta. LETTER 1409. ^†1. If you can give me any assistance in this chase, I am sure you will; as it will be trouble enough, I will not make my letter longer.

Yours ever,

H. W.

1409. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, June 15, 1772.

Have not you felt very hot to-day: are not you a little fatigued? or have you no sympathy? While one Sir Horace Mann has been overwhelmed with ceremonies -- At the Installation of Knights of the Bath. Sir Horace Mann the younger acted as his uncle's proxy. ^†1, was the other quite at his ease and insensible? In short, you have been installed to-day; and your representative is actually at this moment doing part of your honours to all

the remaining town, at a magnificent ball that you and the knights your companions are giving at the Opera House. New Sir Horace has been quite kind to me, and pressed me to accept as many tickets as I pleased: but I could not bring myself to go into such a formal crowd in this warm weather, for it is the first summer we have had for years, and so I only took two tickets for younger performers. Pray, one Sir Horace, write very cordially to the other Sir Horace, for he has really done everything with the best grace in the world.

On Thursday there is to be a higher chapter, and Lord North is to receive the Garter.

Colonel Heywood Groom of the Bedchamber to the Duke of Gloucester. Walpole. ^†2 has sent me word of the box that is coming, so I conclude it will be taken care of.

The papers have told you what is indeed now very public, that the Duke of Gloucester, the very evening of his return, allowed my niece to acquaint her father that they have been married ever since September 1766. Lady Waldegrave, which I think very prudent, does not take the royal title, but her father has shown the letter See Last Journals, vol. i. pp. 100-1. ^†3 so much, that even copies of it have got about. For my own part, I have not at all changed my sentiments from the event, but still think her prudence to have been perfect.... Half a line obliterated in MS. LETTER 1410. ^†4 It is, however, a great satisfaction that her character is invulnerable: and it gives me much more pleasure that she has preserved the honour she had, than that she has obtained this great honour, which does not dazzle me at all.

As the Parliament is risen, and everybody gone or going out of town, you cannot expect news. It is a kind of vacation that my letters are forced to observe. Your friend Lord Cowper has done a noble act: he has given a pension of two hundred pounds a year to an old friend of

his aunt, Lady Frances Elliot, who had left her but a bare thousand pounds: you cannot imagine how I admire him for it. Generosity is not the extravagance in fashion. Adieu! my dear Sir.

1410. To the Rev. William Cole.

Strawberry Hill, June 17, 1772.

Dear Sir,

You are a mine that answer beyond those of Peru. I have given the treasures you sent me to the gentleman from whom I had the queries. He is vastly obliged to you, and I am sure so am I, for the trouble you have given yourself--and therefore I am going to give you more. King Edward's Letters are printed; shall I keep them for you or send them, and how? I intend you four copies; shall you want more? Lord Ossory takes a hundred, and I have as many; but none will be sold.

I am out of materials for my press. I am thinking of printing some numbers of miscellaneous MSS. from my own and Mr. Gray's collections. If you have any among your stores that are historic, new, and curious, and like to have them printed, I shall be glad of them. Among Gray's are letters of Sir Thomas Wyat the elder. I am sure you must have a thousand hints about him. If you will send them to me, I will do you justice, as you will see I have in King Edward's Letters. Do you know anything of his son, the insurgent, in Queen Mary's reign?

I do not know whether it was not to Payne -- Thomas Payne (1719-1799). ^†1 the bookseller, but I am sure I gave somebody a very few notes to the British Typography. They are indeed of very little consequence.

I have got to-day, and am reading with entertainment, two vols. in octavo, the Lives of Leland, Hearne, and Antony

Wood. I do not know the author Rev. Thomas Huddesford (1732-1772). ^†2, but he is of Oxford. I think you should add that of your friend Browne Willis Browne Willis (1682-1760), antiquary. ^†3. There is a queer piece on Freemasonry in one of the volumes, said to be written, on very slender authority, by Henry VI, with notes by Mr. Locke--a very odd conjunction! It says that arts were brought from the East by Peter Gower. As I am sure you will not find an account of this singular person in all your collections, be it known to you, that Peter Gower was commonly called Pythagoras. I remember our newspapers insisting, that Thomas Kouli Khan Tamasp Kouli Khan (known as Nadir Shah), King of Persia, 1736-1747. LETTER 1411. ^†4 was an Irishman, and that his true name was Thomas Callaghan.

On reading over my letter, I find I am no sceptic, having affirmed no less than four times that I am sure. Though this is extremely awkward, I am sure I will not write my letter over again: so pray excuse or burn my tautology.

Yours ever,

H. W.

P.S. I had like to have forgotten the most obliging, and to me the most interesting part of your letter, your kind offer of coming hither. I accept it most gladly; but, for reasons I will tell you, wish it may be deferred a little. I am going to Park Place, then to Ampthill, and then to Goodwood; and the beginning of August to Wentworth Castle, so that I shall not be at all settled here till the end of the latter month. But I have a stronger reason. By that time will be finished a delightful chapel I am building in my garden, to contain the shrine of Capoccio, and the window with Henry III and his Queen. My new bedchamber will be finished too, which is now all

in litter--and, besides, September is a quiet month; visits to make or receive are over, and the troublesome go to shoot partridges. If that time suits you, pray assure me I shall see you on the first of September.

1411. To the Hon. Henry Seymour Conway.

Strawberry Hill, Monday, June 22, 1772.

It is lucky that I have had no dealings with Mr. Fordyce -- Alexander Fordyce (d. 1789), partner in the firm of Neale, James, Fordyce, and Down. They stopped payment on June 10, 1772. Their failure was followed by that of many other firms, both in England and Scotland. ^†1; for, if he had ruined me, as he has half the world, I could not have run away. I tired myself with walking on Friday; the gout came on Saturday in my foot; yesterday I kept my bed till four o'clock, and my room all day--but, with wrapping myself all over with bootikins, I have scarce had any pain--my foot swelled immediately, and to-day I am descended into the blueth and greenth; and though you expect to find that I am paving the way to an excuse, I think I shall be able to be with you on Saturday. All I intend to excuse myself from is walking. I should certainly never have the gout, if I had lost the use of my feet. Cherubims that have no legs, and do nothing but stick their chins in a cloud and sing, are never out of order. Exercise is the worst thing in the world, and as bad an invention as gunpowder.

Apropos to Mr. Fordyce, here is a passage ridiculously applicable to him, that I met with yesterday in the Letters of Guy Patin Gui Patin (1601-1672), physician and author of poetical and literary Letters first published in 1718. ^†2: 'Il n'y a pas long-temps qu'un auditeur des comptes nommé Mons. Nivelle fit banqueroute; et tout fraîchement, c'est-à-dire depuis trois jours, un trésorier des parties casuelles, nommé Sanson, en a fait autant; et

pour vous montrer qu'il est vrai que res humanæ faciunt circulum, comme il a été autrefois dit par Plato et par Aristote, celui-là s'en retourne d'où il vient. Il est fils d'un paysan; il a été laquais de son premier métier, et aujourd'hui il n'est plus rien, sinon qu'il lui reste une assez belle femme Fordyce married in 1770 Lady Margaret Lindsay (d. 1814), second daughter of fifth Earl of Balcarres. She married secondly (in 1812) Sir James Bland-Burges. ^†3.'--I do not think I can find in Patin or Plato, nay, nor in Aristotle, though he wrote about everything, a parallel case to Charles Fox: there are advertised to be sold more annuities of his and his society, to the amount of five hundred thousand pounds a year! I wonder what he will do next, when he has sold the estates of all his friends!

I have been reading the most delightful book in the world, the Lives of Leland, Tom Hearne, and Antony Wood. The last's diary makes a thick volume in octavo. One entry is, 'This day old Joan began to make my bed.' In the story of Leland is an examination of a Freemason, written by the hand of King Henry VI, with notes by Mr. Locke. Freemasonry, Henry VI, and Locke, make a strange heterogeneous olio; but that is not all. The respondent, who defends the mystery of masonry, says it was brought into Europe by the Venetians--he means the Phœnicians.-- And who do you think propagated it? Why, one Peter Gore.--And who do you think that was?--One Pythagoras, Pythagore.--I do not know whether it is not still more extraordinary, that this and the rest of the nonsense in that account made Mr. Locke determine to be a Freemason: so would I too, if I could expect to hear of more Peter Gores.

Pray tell Lady Lyttelton that I say she will certainly kill herself if she lets Lady Ailesbury drag her twice a day to feed the pheasants, and you make her climb cliffs and

clamber over mountains. She has a tractability that alarms me for her; and if she does not pluck up a spirit and determine never to be put out of her own way, I do not know what may be the consequence. I will come and set her an example of immovability. Take notice, I do not say one civil syllable to Lady Ailesbury. She has not passed a whole day here these two years. She is always very gracious, says she will come when you will fix a time, as if you governed, and then puts it off whenever it is proposed, nor will spare one single day from Park Place-- as if other people were not as partial to their own Park Places. Adieu!

Yours ever,

HOR. WALPOLE.

Tuesday noon.

I wrote my letter last night; this morning I received yours, and shall wait till Sunday, as you bid me, which will be more convenient for my gout, though not for other engagements; but I shall obey the superior, as nullum tempus occurrit regi et podagrae.

1412. Not in C.; printed in the 4to (1818) edition of Letters to Cole; now printed from original in British Museum. ^†1412. To the Rev. William Cole.

June 28, 1772.

Dear Sir,

As I am getting into my chaise I received your packet, for which I have only time to give you a thousand thanks. I have sent you six copies, and have left orders for Dr. Glynn Robert Glynn, afterwards Clobery (1719-1800), a Cambridge physician. LETTER 1414. ^†1 and his friends to see my house; but I fear it will be to great disadvantage; for my housekeeper is very ill, and there will only be a maid that can tell them nothing.

Yours ever,

H. W.

July

1413. To Sir Horace Mann.

Strawberry Hill, July 1, 1772.

It is true, you had forgot the list of maps, but I have received them in your postscript to-day, and as I shall be in London to-morrow, I will give my bookseller orders about them.

I am very sorry you are so little pleased with your nephew. He certainly did not like the knighthood, but was very desirous of pleasing you; and the less he tasted it, the more I think you are obliged to him. I have already told you how much I was charmed with his behaviour; and to say the truth, if he had not been your brother's nephew too, I believe we both should have had little cause to be dissatisfied with him. Your brother and I just got upon the foot I could have wished: he takes all methods to avoid seeing me; but is otherwise very civil--and so it shall remain for me.

Will you believe, in Italy, that one rascally and extravagant banker had brought Britannia, Queen of the Indies, to the precipice of bankruptcy! It is very true, and Fordyce is the name of the caitiff. He has broke half the bankers, and was very willing to have added our friend Mr. Croft to the list; but he begged to be excused lending him a farthing. He went on the same errand to an old Quaker; who said, 'Friend Fordyce, I have known several persons ruined by two dice; but I will not be ruined by Four dice.'

As the fellow is a Scotchman, and as the Scots have given provocation even to the Bank of England, by circulating vast quantities of their own bank's notes, all the clamour against that country is revived, and the war is carried very far, at least in the newspapers. This uproar

has given spirits, too, to the popular party in the City, who are recovering some of the ground they had lost, and will beat the court in the election of sheriffs, which I think was to be decided this morning: but, to say the truth, I know little either of this matter, or of the history of the bankers. Nay, I am not more au fait of Poland, where, they say, their Imperial Russian and Prussian Majesties are going to make the royalty hereditary in the present King's person and family, by dividing his dominions amongst themselves. It is very kind, for as his relations were never born to crowns, they might, no more than he, know how to wear a very heavy one. But what do you say to the affronts offered to France, where this partition treaty was not even notified? How that formidable monarchy is fallen, debased! It gives us brave time for playing the fool.

And so all the Pope's subterfuges cannot save the Jesuits! Methinks I wish the King of Spain would insist on our dismissing our black militia too. The peace between the Russians and Turks seems to be made, but I have never thought of that war, since I found that Constantinople was not to be taken. You know I do not love piddling politics. Nothing but a vast revolution could revive my taste for them. Indeed, Denmark is pretty well: Poland pretty well,--but can one care whether some thousand acres of Tartary, more or less, belong to the Grand Signior or the Czarina? Good night.

3rd.

Four more bankers are broken; and two men ruined by these failures (which are computed to amount to four millions) shot themselves the day before yesterday! It is now thought that Fordyce only advanced the crash, and that it would have happened without his interference, for the Scotch bankers have been pursuing so deep a game by remitting bills and drawing cash from hence, that the

Bank of England has been alarmed, and was not sorry to seize this opportunity of putting an end to so pernicious a traffic. In short, it has given a great shock to credit, and it will require some time to re-establish it.

1414. To the Rev. William Mason.

Strawberry Hill, July 6, 1772.

It is with great pleasure, dear Sir, I see the time approach of making you my visit. The first of August I shall begin my progress, or very near that day: but, as I do not travel on maccaronic-wings, it is uncertain how long I shall be before I reach Aston; but you shall know before, that I may not keep you waiting. You must be so good as to tell me my road, and if there is anything in my way worth stopping to see--I mean literally to see--for I do not love guessing whether a bump in the ground is Danish, British, or Saxon. Give me leave to consult you too on the rest of my journey. From you I shall go to Lord Strafford, and thence wish to make excursions to York, Beverly, Castle Howard, and Mr. Aislabie's -- Studley Royal, near Ripon, the seat of William Aislabie (d. 1781), M.P. for Ripon. ^†1. Will you draw me a map, and mark the distances? Consider I am lazy, and not young; and do not weigh what can be done, but what I can do.

Mr. Stonhewer has not returned me the book, and unwilling to hurry him, I have forborne to send for it; if you write to him, will you mention it? I have printed King Edward's Letters, and will bring you a copy. I have since begun a kind of Desiderata Curiosa Published under the title of Miscellaneous Antiquities. Only two numbers appeared. LETTER 1415. ^†2, and intend to publish it in numbers, as I get materials; it is to be an Hospital of Foundlings; and though I shall not take in all that offer,

there will be no inquiry into the nobility of the parents; nor shall I care how heterogeneous the brats are.

Mr. Cole tells me Dr. Brown has given him a print of Mr. Gray, and that it is very like, which rejoices me, and makes me more impatient for one.

I have a visitor just come in; you will lose nothing by it, for I do not know a syllable worth telling you,

And am, dear Sir,

Yours most sincerely,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1415. To the Rev. William Cole.

Strawberry Hill, July 7, 1772.

Dear Sir,

I sent you last week by the Cambridge Fly, that puts up in Gray's Inn Lane, six copies of K. Edward's Letters, but fear I forgot to direct their being left at Mr. Bentham's, by which neglect perhaps you have not yet got them; so that I have been very blamable, while I thought I was very expeditious; and it was not till reading your letter again just now that I discovered my carelessness. I have not heard of Dr. Glynn and Co.: but the housekeeper has orders to receive them.

I thank you a thousand times for the Maltese notes, which I have given to the gentleman; and for the Wyattiana: I am going to work on the latter.

I have not yet seen Mr. Gray's print, but I am glad it is so like. I expected Mr. Mason would have sent me one early; but I suppose he keeps it for me, as I shall call on him in my way to Lord Strafford's.

Mr. West -- James West, M.P. for Boroughbridge, sometime Secretary to the Treasury. ^†1, one of our brother antiquaries, is dead. He had a very curious collection of old pictures, English coins,

English prints, and MSS., but he was so rich, that I take for granted nothing will be sold. I could wish for his family-pictures of Henry V and Henry VIII.

Foote, in his new comedy of The Nabob, has lashed Master Doctor Milles and our Society The Society of Antiquaries. LETTER 1416. ^†2 very deservedly for the nonsensical discussion they had this winter about Whittington and his cat--I am not sorry for it: few of them are fit for anything better than such researches.

Poor Mr. Granger has been very ill, but is almost recovered; I intend to invite him to meet you in September. It is a party I shall be very impatient for; you know how sincerely I am,

Dear Sir,

Your obliged and obedient

Humble servant,

HOR. WALPOLE.

P.S. Pray tell me who the Cardinal was, whose lectures, Ant. Wood says, Sir T. Wyat went to Oxford to hear. In my edition the column is 56; not 51, as in your letter. I have not Hearne's Langtoft: if there is any fact in Hearne's notes relating to Sir Thomas, be so good as to transcribe it.

1416. To the Rev. William Mason.

Strawberry Hill, July 21, 1772.

Dear Sir,

I answer your letter, as you bid me, the moment I receive it, though I can scarce write for laughing at Alma Mater and her nurslings. I thank you a thousand times for so inestimable a present: I do not know where Lord R. -- The Marquis of Rockingham, from whom Horace Walpole acquired the silver bell by Benvenuto Cellini. ^†1 could

get another bell that would purchase it. It makes me very impatient to see the new poem that is cast in the same mint.

You have chalked me out a noble route, but I have not courage to undertake so mighty a compass at once. I must besides be at Lord Strafford's earlier than such a tour would allow. I shall, therefore, set out on the third, go directly to him, and wait on you afterwards, which will be soon after your return from York. A bad inn terrifies me more than any antiquity of art or nature can invite me, and I have no taste for crossing washes and rivers: one should look so silly to be drowned at my age, and to be asked by Charon, Qu'avois-tu à faire dans cette galère? I can pick up a few sights in a detached manner from Lord Strafford's, and the remainder I will consult with you at Aston.

Thank you for the account of the picture painted by Lambert Perhaps George Lambert (1710-1765), a landscape and scene painter. ^†2. The print of Mr. Gray is the print of Mr. Mason, that is, either Mr. Cole named one for the other, or I misunderstood him; one of those you was so good as to give me is framed, and installed in the chamber where I am writing; it is the blue room, where hang Mad. du Deffand, Grammont, and Hamilton, company that will tell you the value I set on your portrait.

I shall bring you a copy of King Edward's Letters, and I hope my edition of Grammont The Mémoires de Grammont, printed at Strawberry Hill in 1772; dedicated to Madame du Deffand, with notes by Horace Walpole. ^†3, if I can get Hamilton's print from the engraver; by that time too I shall have the first number of my Miscellaneous Antiquities ready. The first essay is only a republication of some tilts and tournaments. I have been at work on Sir Thomas Wyat's life, to prefix to his speech and letters, but it is not yet finished,

so if you know anything more about him than is in Gray's papers, and in Leland, and our old biographers, I shall have ample room for it. Would it not be a pity to have so industrious a Caxton drowned? Mr. Cole has told me of somebody else, I forgot who it is, that is going to republish old historians à la Hearne. This taste of digging up antiquated relics flourishes abundantly, unless Foote's last new piece blows us up. He has introduced the Learned Society in Chancery Lane, sitting, as they really did, on Whittington and his cat; and as I do not love to be answerable for any fooleries but my own, I think I shall scratch my name out of their books. Oxford has lately contributed to the mass the Lives of Leland, Hearne, and Wood. In the latter's journal one of the most important entries is, 'This day old Joan began to make my bed.' What a figure will this our Augustan age make; Garrick's prologues, epilogues, and verses, Sir W. Chambers's Gardening, Dr. Nowel's Dr. Thomas Nowell (1730-1801), Principal of St. Mary Hall, Oxford. On Jan. 30, 1772 (the anniversary of the execution of Charles I), Dr. Nowell preached at St. Margaret's, Westminster, before the Speaker and several members of the House of Commons. In the sermon 'George III was compared to Charles I, the existing House was likened to the opponents of Charles, and the grievances of the subjects of both monarchs were declared illusory' (D.N.B.). A vote of thanks to the preacher passed on Jan. 31. On Feb. 21, however, Thomas Townshend suggested that the sermon should be burned by the hangman, and on Feb. 25 the entry of thanks was expunged without a division. ^†4 sermon, Whittington and his cat, Sir John Dalrymple's Sir John Dalrymple (1726-1810), fourth Baronet; in 1771 he published Memoirs of Great Britain and Ireland from the Dissolution of the last Parliament of Charles II until the Sea Battle of La Hogue. ^†5 History, and the life of Henry II By Lord Lyttelton. LETTER 1417. ^†6! What a library of poetry, taste, good sense, veracity, and vivacity! ungrateful Shebbear! indolent Smollett! trifling Johnson! piddling Goldsmith! how little have they contributed to the glory of a period in which all arts, all sciences are encouraged and rewarded. Guthrie buried his mighty genius in a review, and Mallet died of the first effusions of his loyalty. The retrospect makes one melancholy, but Ossian has appeared, and were Paradise once more lost, we should not want an epic poem. Adieu! dear Sir.

Yours ever,

H. W.

1417. To Sir Horace Mann.

Strawberry Hill, July 23, 1772.

I ought, I know, to have acknowledged sooner a letter of yours with very particular and kind advice, but I have waited to tell you that I have received the cassolette of Benvenuto Cellini, and in hopes of having something to fill a letter; but Benvenuto is still performing quarantine, and nothing has happened worth repeating; so, lest the delay should make you apprehend for the safety of your letter, I will no longer neglect to thank you for it, though I can no farther follow your advice than to be entirely a cipher in the affair. The part I have acted was dictated by the most scrupulous honour. I cannot repent it. I will not offer to atone for it. I may be hated, but I will not deserve to be despised. Honours I never sought; money I never valued; and if I did, I have what to my moderate wishes will always seem riches; and, what is more than all, I am fifty-five; is that an age to care for favour, or fear frowns?

I have executed your commission, but not at all in a way to satisfy me. The size of the maps you have fixed on is too small: there are none good that are not larger. I should be ashamed to send those I have got. For accounts of them, I do not know what to say more than maps say of themselves. Still I begged Mr. Conway, who is a great geographer, to assist me. He knows a General Loyd, still more an adept, and wrote to him for his assistance, but this person is out of town; so I will wait for farther directions. As to the price, unless the commission is

extended, the maps that answer the orders will come but to a parcel of shillings. Let me know farther, and you shall be punctually obeyed--but foreigners not understanding this country give strange commissions. Everything is to be had here for money; but Italians have little idea how dearly, and therefore I would not exceed without particular allowance. I shall give you, my dear Sir, some commissions in my turn. I want a print of the Pretender's new wife, if there is one, and of him, if a recent one. I much want Patch's caricatures that were added to his Masaccio, and a book of 150 views by one Mr. Stephens. I saw them at Lord Ossory's lately, who says the man is mad, and was much at your house. It is chiefly his head prefixed to them that I wish for, as I am indefatigable in collecting English portraits.

On reading your letter over again, I must say one word more in answer to it. I did make a very proper excuse for my absence, and have rather reason to think it was not disapproved. It remains no longer with me--nor is it come to my turn, while another, who has a much stronger right, has received no attention. No, my dear Sir, you must allow me to sit with my arms folded and my mouth shut.

We have had the only perfect summer I ever remember; hot, fine, and still very warm, without a drop of rain. Our verdure suffers, and so do the poor cows, but I have fretted over so many deluges, that I cannot help enjoying these halcyon days. They are indeed, in all senses, halcyon. Not a cloud even in the political sky, except a caprice of Lord Hillsborough, who is to quit his American Seals, because he will not reconcile himself to a plan of settlement on the Ohio -- A number of gentlemen, headed by Thomas Walpole (first cousin of Horace Walpole), wished to purchase and develop Crown lands on the Ohio. LETTER 1418. ^†1, which all the world approves; but I should

think this exit will terminate in a single alteration, and that Lord Weymouth will return to the Cabinet.

I am going for a fortnight or three weeks into Yorkshire, and hope by my return to find your positive directions about the maps, and Benvenuto in Arlington Street.

1418. To the Rev. William Cole.

Strawberry Hill, July 28, 1772.

I am anew obliged to you, as I am perpetually, for the notice you give me of another intended publication against me in the Archæologia, or Old Women's Logic. By your account, the author will add much credit to their Society! For my part, I shall take no notice of any of his handicrafts. However, as there seems to be a willingness to carp at me, and as gnats may on a sudden provoke one to give a slap, I choose to be at liberty to say what I think of the learned Society, and therefore have taken leave of them, having so good an occasion presented as their council on Whittington and his cat, and the ridicule that Foote has thrown on them. They are welcome to say anything on my writings, but that they are the works of a Fellow of so foolish a Society.

I am at work on the Life of Sir Thomas Wyat, but it does not please me, nor will it be entertaining, though you have contributed so many materials towards it. You must take one trouble more: it is to inquire and search for a book that I want extremely to see. It is called The Pilgrim, was written by William Thomas -- William Thomas (beheaded for treason in 1554), Clerk of the Council to Edward VI, and compiler of an Italian grammar and dictionary. The Pilgrim, which consists of a defence of Henry VIII, was published abroad in Italian in 1552. ^†1, who was executed in Q. Mary's time, but the book was printed under, and dedicated to, Edward VI. I have only an imperfect

memorandum of it, and cannot possibly recall to mind from whence I made it. All I think I remember is, that the book was in the King's library. I have sent to the Museum to inquire after it: but I cannot find it mentioned in Ames's History of English Printers. Be so good as to ask all your antiquarian friends if they know such a work.

Amidst all your kindness, you have added one very disagreeable paragraph--I mean, your doubt about coming hither in September. Fear of a sore throat would be a reason for your never coming. It is one of the distempers in the world the least to be foreseen, and September, a dry month, one of the least likely months to bring it. I do not like your recurring to so very ill-founded an excuse, and positively will not accept it, unless you wish I should not be so much as I am,

Dear Sir,

Your most faithful

Humble servant,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1419. Misplaced by C. amongst letters of January 1777. (See Notes and Queries, July 7, 1900.) ^†1419. To the Countess of Upper Ossory.

Arlington Street, Saturday, 8 in the evening of your public day.

Solitude of solitudes! all is solitude. I am justly punished, Madam, for leaving the most agreeable place in the world Ampthill. ^†1, and two and a half persons for whom I have the greatest regard, to come to a place where grass would grow in the streets, if this summer it would grow anywhere. Even Lady Hertford is gone, and I suppose my Lady Townshend is on the wing. The former, I conclude, is at Wakefield races, for she does not return till Monday. In

short, I have repacked up my nightcap, and am hurrying to Strawberry, only staying to do you justice on myself, and sign my confession. I was as unlucky at Luton; I sent in a memorial, begging only to see the chapel--the lord was not at home, and admittance was denied.

As I do not take the St. James's Evening Post, nor think my own works worth twopence, pray send me, if there appears, any answer to Jocasta.

On my table I found a deprecation from the Secretary of the Antiquaries Horace Walpole had recently left the Society. See letter to Cole of July 28, 1772. LETTER 1420. ^†2, but I intend to be obdurate. Having antiquarian follies enough of my own, I cannot participate of Whittington and his cat.

You may believe, Madam, that I cannot have heard any news, having seen no soul but my maid Mary. A million of thanks for all your goodness to me; I do not deserve it, and I would blush at it, if that was not too common a sacrifice with me to merit being laid on your altar.

NOBLE JEFFERY,

A POEM IN THE PRIMITIVE STYLE,

HUMBLY INSCRIBED

TO THE

MOST HONOURABLE LADY ANNE, COUNTESS OF UPPER OSSORY,

BY THOMAS TRUEMAN, GENT.

Jeffery was a noble wight,

I will tell you all his story;

It may chance to please you much,

If it happens not to bore ye.

He was not extremely rich,

Though his birth was very great;

Yet he did for nothing want,

When he got a good estate.

Of good manners he the pink was,

And so humble with the great,

That he always stood uncover'd

But when he put on his hat.

To his servants he was gentle,

After his good father's fashion,

And was never known to scold

But when he was in a passion.

Bacchus was our hero's idol;

And, my Lady, would you think it?

He, to show his taste in wine,

Thought the best way was to drink it.

Galen's sons he seldom dealt with,

Having neither gout nor phthisic,

Nor evacuations used

But when he had taken physic.

More for pastime than for lucre

Cards and dice would Jeffery use;

Nor at either was unlucky,

Unless it was his chance to lose.

A beautiful and virtuous lady

Crown'd the bliss of Jeffery's life;

And when he became her spouse,

She also became his wife.

Five short years with her he pass'd:

Had it been as much again,

As she brought him children five,

Perhaps she might have brought him ten.

Jeffery was extremely comely,

Made exactly to a T;

And no doubt had had no equal,

Had there been no men but he.

Great and various were his talents;

He could speak and could compose;

And in verse had often written,

But that he always wrote in prose.

In music few excell'd our Jeffery;

No man had a lighter finger;

And if he had but had a voice,

He would have made a charming singer.

In optics Jeffery had great knowledge,

And could prove as clear as light

That all diseases of the eyes

Are very hurtful to the sight.

Jeffery's nurse had told his fortune;

And it happen'd, as said she,

That he would expire at land,

If he did not die at sea.

At land he died the very day

On which deceas'd his loving wife:

And more I know, the day he died

Was the last day of all his life.

JEFFERY'S EPITAPH.

Here Jeffery lies, who all the dead surviv'd,

And ne'er had died if he had never liv'd.

August

1420. To Sir Horace Mann.

Arlington Street, Aug. 3, 1772.

Can I help writing to you, my dear Sir, though I wrote but the other day? Benvenuto Cellini -- 'A fine silver trunk to hold perfumes, the top from Raphael's Judgement of Paris; the work of Benvenuto Cellini. Bought out of the Great Duke's wardrobe; a present from Sir Horace Mann.' (Description of Strawberry Hill, p. 499.) ^†1 is this moment arrived, but so fine, so beautiful, so Raffaelesque, that I am charmed and ashamed; all gratitude and confusion. Is this what you called an old battered meuble? It is in perfect preservation, and every god and goddess as celestial as if just dropped from heaven. You are too good and too magnificent: all I can do is to dedicate your offering in the chapel at Strawberry, which, by the way, is full of your

presents. Your Caligula, your Castiglione 'Tobit burying the Dead,' a picture by Benedetto Castiglione. ^†2, your Bianca Capello, your &c., &c. I wonder I have not a red face with blushing--and then when I reflect that you have been mortified on my account 'Nor was I pleased with the Duke of Gloucester, who had recently mortified my particular friend, Sir Horace Mann, Resident at Florence, by unmerited slights.' (Last Journals, May 1772, vol. i. p. 98.) ^†3!--but at least I was innocent of the guilt, and resent it as much as possible. I cannot say more without being understood by others; but knowing my unalterable friendship for you, you may be sure I shall never forget what happened.

I chanced to be in town to-day, as I set out to-morrow to make a visit to Lord Strafford in Yorkshire, a very old friend too; for my old friends must give me great provocation before I change. To say the truth, I had almost despaired of Benvenuto--however, he was brought by a chairman from the Hotel de ----. Et voilà tout. So much the better.

The most ancient of our acquaintance is dead at last, the Princess Craon. She has been sitting ready-dressed for death for some years. I mean, she was always full-dressed, and did nothing, nor saw anybody; but now and then one of her old children or grandchildren.

The crack in credit is not stopped: two more persons broke last week; the lesser for two hundred and forty thousand pounds. There are some great Scotch lords in violent danger of becoming de très petits seigneurs.

In Denmark there seems to be another scene to come. Rantzau, the active and ostensible chief of the revolution, is sent away with a pension. The principal governors are not known, which implies insecurity, unless, as I believe, the Prussian is the soul of the conspiracy. The Queen enjoys herself in Hanover: her sister of Brunswick has made her a visit. Shall you wonder if the Queen reappears in Copenhagen?

We have had and have the summerest summer that I have known these hundred years. We had really begun to fancy that some comet had brushed us a little out of the sun's way.

Once more accept my thanks: I never can give you enough, and yet I can never be more than I always have been, yours most affectionately.

1421. Collated with copy of original in possession of Mr. R. B. Adam. ^†1421. To George Augustus Selwyn.

York, Aug. 12, 1772.

Dear George,

I love to please you when it is in my power, and how can I please you more than by commending Castle Howard George Selwyn had a great regard for the fifth Lord Carlisle, the then owner of Castle Howard. ^†1? for though it is not the house that Jack built, yet you love even the cow with the crumpledy horn, that feeds in the meadow that belongs to the house that Jack's grandfather built. Indeed, I can say with exact truth, that I never was so agreeably astonished in my days as with the first vision of the whole place. I had heard of Vanbrugh, and how Sir Thomas Robinson and he stood spitting and swearing at one another; nay, I had heard of glorious woods, and Lord Strafford alone had told me I should see one of the finest places in Yorkshire; but nobody, no, not votre partialite, as Louis Quatorze would have called you, had informed me that I should at one view see a palace, a town, a fortified city, temples on high places, woods worthy of being each a metropolis of the Druids, vales connected to hills by other woods, the noblest lawn in the world fenced by half the horizon, and a mausoleum that would tempt one to be buried alive; in short, I have seen gigantic places before, but never a sublime one. For the house, Vanbrugh

has even shown taste in its extent and cupolas, and has mercifully remitted ponderosity. Sir Thomas's front is beautiful without, and, except in one or two spots, has not a bad effect, and I think, without much effort of genius, or much expense, might be tolerably harmonized with the rest. The spaces within are noble, and were wanted; even the hall being too small. Now I am got into the hall, I must beg, when you are in it next, to read Lord Carlisle's verses on Gray, and then write somewhere under the story of Phaeton these lines, which I ought to have made extempore, but did not till I was half-way back hither:

Carlisle, expunge the form of Phaeton;

Assume the car, and grace it with thy own,

For Phœbus owns in thee no falling son.

Oh, George, were I such a poet as your friend, and possessed such a Parnassus, I would instantly scratch my name out of the buttery-book of Almack's; be admitted, ad eundem, among the Muses; and save every doit to lay out in making a Helicon, and finishing my palace.

I found my Lord Northampton Henry Howard (1540-1614), Earl of Northampton. ^†2: his name is on his picture, though they showed me his nephew Suffolk's Thomas Howard (1561-1626), first Earl of Suffolk. ^†3 portrait, who was much fatter, for his. There is a delicious whole-length of Queen Mary, with all her folly in her face and her hand, and a thousand other things, which I long to talk over with you. When you write to Spa, pray thank Lord Carlisle for the great civilities I received there. The housekeeper showed me and told me everything, and even was so kind as to fetch Rosette a bason of water, which completed the conquest of my heart. Wine I was offered, and fruit was heaped on me, and even dinner was tendered; in short, I never passed a day more to my content. I only wanted you, and I should have been as happy as I was at

Frederick Howard, fifth Earl of Carlisle

From a painting by George Romney.

Sceaux See letter to Mme. du Deffand of Jan. 27, 1775, where Walpole's delight on visiting the château of Sceaux (the former residence of the Duchesse du Maine) is mentioned. LETTER 1422. ^†4; you know my ecstasies when I am really pleased. By the end of next week I shall be in town, and hope to find you there, that I may satisfy both ourselves with larger details.

When I mentioned the attentions paid to me, I am ungrateful to forget the sun, who was complaisance itself, shone all day, gilt an hundred haycocks that were spread over the great lawn, and illuminated the mausoleum during my dinner. And now, will you tell me that Lord Carlisle is not nearer related to him than some folks thought? Let me tell you, this is much better authenticated than his Lordship's priority to Howard of Corbie, in which you are mistaken, and so good night.

Yours most cordially,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1422. To the Rev. William Mason.

Aug. 24, 1772.

I should be very ungrateful, dear Sir, after all your goodness to me, particularly for your kind request in asking an account of my journey, if I did not immediately thank you for all your favours. My journey was as agreeable as it could be after leaving so pleasant a place and such good company, and was attended by no accident, except an escape from being drowned in a torrent of whores and apprentices at Barnet races. I passed through Clumber and Thoresby Parks, and saw no one temptation to stop in either. Strawberry I found parched to the bone. It has rained for three days since, which has only brought down bushels of dead leaves, and advanced autumn without its change of hues. To make me amends, I found my new bedchamber finished,

and it is so charming that I have lost all envy of Castle Howard. The bed would become Cleopatra on the Cydnus, or Venus if she was not past Cupid-bearing. In truth, I fear I must call it Sardanapalus's, who Margaret may, without breach of veracity, assure strangers lived still longer ago than the Goths.

Pray remember what I am going to tell you against you find yourself en chapitre. Your church of York enjoys an estate given by Queen Philippa on the burial of her son William of Hatfield, and yet you have the conscience to let the poor Prince's tomb be tossed about without a yard of earth it can call its own -- Prince William of Hatfield (d. 1344), second son of Edward III. His effigy appears to have been placed in its present position in the north aisle of York Minster through the exertions of Mason and Walpole. ^†1! My compliments to Mr. Alderson, to Argentile and Curan A play, of which the story is given in Percy's Reliques. ^†2, &c.; nay, to the old woman's picture if you insist upon it.

Yours ever,

H. WALPOLE.

Arlington Street.

I happened to come hither to-day on business, and find Dr. Brown has called twice, and left me in his own and your names a Goa-stone 'A fever-medicine ... consisting of various drugs made up in the form of a hard ball, from which a portion was scraped as required.' (N.E.D.) LETTER 1423. ^†3 and a blood-stone seal, which both belonged to Mr. Gray. You know how really I shall value them, and I thank you very much, but I am greatly distressed how to thank Dr. Brown. He has not left a direction where he lodges, and I am impatient to express how much I am obliged, of which I will beg you, dear Sir, to bear witness: I certainly would not neglect waiting on him directly, if I knew where to find him. If I do not, I will write to Cambridge.

1423. To the Rev. William Cole.

Strawberry Hill, Aug. 25, 1772.

I thank you for your notices, dear Sir, and will deliver you from the trouble of any further pursuit of the Peleryne of Thomas: I have discovered him among the Cottonian MSS. in the Museum, and am to see him.

If Dr. Brown is returned to Cambridge, may I beg you to give him a thousand thanks for a present he left for me at my house, a Goa-stone and a seal, that belonged to Mr. Gray? I shall lay them up in my cabinet at Strawberry among my most valuables. Dr. Brown, however, was not quite kind to me, for he left no direction where I might find him in town, so that I could not wait on him, nor invite him to Strawberry Hill, as I much wished to do.

Do not these words invite him to Strawberry make your ears tingle? September is at hand, and you must have no sore throat. The new chapel in the garden is almost finished, and you must come to the dedication.

I have seen Lincoln and York, and, to say the truth, prefer the former in some respects. In truth, I was scandalized in the latter. William of Hatfield's tomb and figure is thrown aside into a hole; and yet the Chapter possess an estate that his mother gave them. I have charged Mr. Mason with my anathema, unless they do justice. I saw Roche Abbey -- Near Rotherham, in Yorkshire. ^†1, too, which is hid in such a venerable chasm, that you might lie concealed there even from a 'squire-parson of the parish. Lord Scarborough, to whom it belongs, and who lives at next door, neglects it as much as if he was afraid of ghosts. I believe Montesino's cave lay in just such a solemn thicket, which is now so overgrown that, when one finds the spot, one can scarce find the ruins.

I forgot to tell you that in the screen of York Minster there are most curious statues of the kings of England, from the Conqueror to Henry VI, very singular, evidently by two different hands, the one better than the other, and most of them, I am persuaded, very authentic; Richard II, Henry III, and Henry V, I am sure are; and Henry IV, though unlike the common portrait at Hampton Court Near Leominster, in Herefordshire, formerly the seat of the Coningsbys, and at this time in possession of their representative, Lady Frances Hanbury-Williams. LETTER 1424. ^†2, in Herefordshire, the most singular and villainous countenance I ever saw. I intend to try to get them well engraved. That old fool, James I, is crowded in, in the place of Henry 6th, that was taken away to make room for this piece of flattery--for the Chapter did not slight live princes.

Yours ever,

H. W.

1424. To the Rev. William Cole.

Strawberry Hill, Aug. 28, 1772.

Your repentance is much more agreeable than your sin, and will cancel it whenever you please. Still I have a fellow-feeling for the indolence of age, and have myself been writing an excuse this instant for not accepting an invitation above threescore miles off. One's limbs, when they grow old, will not go anywhere when they do not like it. If yours should find themselves in a more pliant humour, you are always sure of being welcome here, let the fit of motion come when it will.

Pray what is become of that figure you mention of Henry VII -- A statuette found in one of the chapels of Ely Cathedral. Cole and other experts came to the conclusion that it represented Henry VII, but the Society of Antiquaries disagreed with them. ^†1, which the destroyers, not the builders, have rejected? and which the antiquaries, who know a man by

his crown better than by his face, have rejected likewise? The latter put me in mind of characters in comedies, in which a woman disguised in a man's habit, and whose features her very lover does not know, is immediately acknowledged by pulling off her hat, and letting down her hair, which her lover had never seen before. I should be glad to ask Dr. Milles if he thinks the crown of England was always made, like a quart pot, by Winchester measure? If Mr. Tyson has made a print from that little statue, I trust he will give me one; and if he, or Mr. Essex, or both, will accompany you hither, I shall be glad to see them.

At Buckden, in the Bishop's palace, I saw a print of Mrs. Newcome The wife of John Newcome, Master of St. John's College, Cambridge, and Dean of Rochester. She wrote An Enquiry into the Evidences of the Christian Religion. ^†2, I suppose the late mistress of St. John's. Can you tell me where I can procure one? Mind, I insist that you do not serve me as you have often done, and send me your own, if you have one--I seriously will not accept it, nor ever trust you again. On the staircase, in the same palace, there is a picture of two young men, in the manner of Vandyck, not at all ill done; do you know who they are, or does anybody? There is a worse picture in a large room, of some lads, which, too, the housemaid did not know 'The picture on the staircase of two young men, after the manner of Vandyck, is of a Duke of Florence and his Secretary. The other, in a large room, of some lads, and damaged, belongs to the family of Howard, Earl of Stafford, the popish family.' (Cole to Walpole, Oct. 3, 1772.) ^†3. Adieu! dear Sir.

Yours ever,

H. W.

1425. To Sir Horace Mann.

Strawberry Hill, Aug. 29, 1772.

Your letter arrived just time enough, my dear Sir, for me to deliver the maps I had got to Sir William Hamilton, who

is on the point of returning to Naples, and as you do not expect soon the person they are designed for, they will arrive early enough. Some of them are not in excellent condition, but they are the best I could get of the size prescribed.

How can you speak so slightly of the fine chest of Benvenuto? It is most beautiful, and fitted up in the prettiest manner; nor do I at all perceive ill usage in it. Mr. Chute, who is here, is delighted with it; and the more, in that the top is copied from a most scarce print after Raphael, by Marc Antonio, which Stosch procured for him, and which is different from three others. The chest is deposited in a new glazed closet in a sumptuous state bedchamber, which was finished but to-day, and which completes my house. I must terminate it, for I have at last exhausted all my hoards and collections: and such a quantity of things were scarce ever amassed together!

It has been said in our newspapers that the Cardinal of York was dead; but your silence makes me conclude it is not true, which is probable too by its being in our papers, for they are absolutely nothing but magazines of lies, blunders, scandal, virulence, and absurdity. Of true news we have none at all at present. This very brief epistle must, therefore, set out, ill provided as it is. Wars in Poland are out of our reach, and the Turkish war or peace is like a Chancery suit, of which one just hears once in a term, and then it goes to sleep again. Common, small events, like fine ornaments at a great height, will not do for so great a distance as we stand at.

1426. Not in C.; reprinted from Horace Walpole's Last Journals, vol. i. pp. 135-6. ^†1426. To the Duchess of Gloucester.

Having long known, Madam, that your understanding is as good as your heart is excellent, I must believe that you have not changed a plan of conduct which I thought so right The Duke of Gloucester formally notified his marriage to the King on Sept. 16, 1772--the day preceding that on which this letter was written. LETTER 1427. ^†1 without having still stronger reasons for what you have done. I am very happy to hear that, though forced to act impartially, his Majesty has softened his justice with kindness. It must be my prayer, as well as expectation, that your virtues will reconcile the King to you and ease his Royal Highness's mind of the only pang which, I flatter myself, you will ever occasion to him.

My wish is to pay my duty to you, Madam, immediately, and to the Duke, if I might be allowed that honour; but as I think that would be too great a liberty to take without his Royal Highness's permission, I must hope that the kind familiarity which you still show me, Madam, and which I burn to return, but restrain from a proper respect, will prescribe the conduct to me which his Royal Highness and you choose I should observe, and which may best express the regard with which I am his and your

Royal Highness's

Most faithful and most obedient

Humble servant,

HORACE WALPOLE.

September

1427. To the Rev. William Mason.

Strawberry Hill, Sept. 19, 1772.

I am ashamed of having been so awkward about the direction, but in good truth I did not think it was necessary

to specify what market-town of Parnassus you lived near. For the future, I will remember that a letter to Governor Macdregs at Muxaduvad would in this age find its way better than to Virgil, if he was living at Hampstead. I shall go to town next week, and will consign Gray's letters, as you order, to Mr. Fraser -- Under-Secretary of State for the Northern Province. ^†1. I need not say that there are several things you will find it necessary to omit, and indeed, though to any one that knew him and me they would be charming, I question whether you will find more than a very few proper for the public taste. That same public taste is the taste of the public, and it is a prodigious quantity of no tastes, generally governed by some very bad taste, that goes to the composition of a public: and it is much better to give them nothing, than what they do not comprehend and which they consequently misunderstand, because they will think they comprehend, and which, therefore, must mistake. I do not know whether it is not best that good writings should appear very late, for they who by being nearest in time are nearest to understanding them, are also nearest to misapprehending. At a distant period such writings are totally dark to most, but are clear to the only few that one should wish to enjoy them. It must be a comfort to great authors to reflect that in time they will be little read but by good judges.

Thank you for the new couplet. I have repeated it to myself forty times, and laughed as often; it is at least as good as any of the rest. The papers, alas! will tell you that I am doomed to sojourn in Egypt, and must call cousins with Colonel Luttrell, who thinks it

The sweetest of all earthly things,

To live with princes and to talk of kings Alluding to the marriage of Colonel Luttrell's sister to the Duke of Cumberland. ^†2!

Not that I am removing to the palace neither. No, I hear the Five Mile Act is drawing up against us too The Duke and Duchess of Gloucester were forbidden to appear at court, and Horace Walpole chose to stay away also. ^†3, but I have a strange sang-froid, and bear my honours and disgraces with equal temper: yet the former are showered upon me. But this very day, Mr. Garrick, who had dropped me these three years, has been here by his own request, and told Mr. Raftor how happy he was at the reconciliation. I did not know we had quarrelled, and so omitted being happy too. He would not have been so much diverted as I was the other day, I believe. Mr. Granger lent me a book, called Sketches and Characters of the most Eminent and Singular Persons now Living, printed a year or two ago. My brother is mentioned, and said to be the only surviving son of a late great minister. I was charmed with finding that though I have so often played the fool, I am still so fortunate as to be thought dead and gone. I will take care not to undeceive the kind person, who scorns to disturb my ashes. Apropos to Mr. Granger, he is dying to have your print, and swears as much as he loves a print of anybody only because it is a print of somebody, that he shall value yours for your own sake, and because he admires you infinitely. He has promised me an unique print, in return, of King Charles the First's chimney-sweeper, and I am sure you will not prevent my collection from being enriched with such a curiosity.

You are perfectly indifferent I hope about the revolution in Sweden Gustavus III of Sweden had taken the whole administrative power, including that of taxation, into his own hands. ^†4, and do not care whether the poor people are to be slaves to the King or House of Lords.

I intend to make a list of all that are going to shun me in public and squeeze my hand in private, assuring me how

excessively glad they are of my niece's good fortune; and of all that will not squeeze my hand till they see me at St. James's again, and then pinch half my fingers off with protestations of their joy. I have gone through all this farce in the former part of my life, therefore the repetition will divert me the more. When my father fell, the good Bishop of Carlisle Charles Lyttelton; d. 1768. ^†5, my old friend, came to condole with me, and to express his fears that we should all go to the Tower, though he could scarce contain his button-mouth from smiling. Even then I had the happy carelessness to be indifferent to what was passing, and it grievously offended Sir John Barnard. I was sitting under him in the House of Commons: somebody asked me if I would go to Vauxhall one day in the next week--'Vauxhall,' said I, 'bless me--we are all going to Siberia.' Well! one can't help it if one's niece Dolgoruchi marries the Czar, but at least one is not liable to have the knout, if there is a change of decoration. I am not at all desirous that Kirgate Thomas Kirgate, Horace Walpole's printer and secretary. ^†6 my printer should, as no doubt he would, say like Caxton of Earl Tiptoft (I had rather it had been Earl Rivers for the royal marriage sake Rivers was brother of Elizabeth Wydvill, wife of Edward IV. ^†7), 'O good blessed Lord God! what grete losse was it of that noble, vertuous, and well disposed Lord! The axe then did at one blow cut off more learning, than was left in the heads of all the surviving nobility.'--I hope he would except my Lord Chancellor Henry Bathurst, Lord Apsley. ^†8, my Lord Rochford, and the Bishop of London Richard Terrick. LETTER 1428. ^†9.

1428. To Sir Horace Mann.

Strawberry Hill, Sept. 20, 1772.

There is an end of palliating, suppressing, or disbelieving: the marriage (my niece's marriage) is formally notified to the King by the Duke of Gloucester. Many symptoms had convinced me of late that so it would be. Last Wednesday night I received a letter signed Maria Gloucester, acquainting me the declaration had been made, and been received by his Majesty with grief, tenderness, and justice. I say justice, tout oncle as I am, for it would have been very unjust to the Duke of Cumberland to have made any other distinction between two brothers equally in fault, than what affection without overt acts cannot help making. This implies that the Duke of Gloucester must undergo the same prohibition as his brother did, which I am told is to be the case, though the step is not yet taken.

Having acted so rigorously while I could have any doubt of any sort left, it was but decent now to show that respect, nay gratitude, for so great an honour done to the family, which was due to the Prince, and still more to his honour and justice. I accordingly begged the Duchess to ask leave for me to kiss his Royal Highness's hand, which was immediately granted. I went directly to the Pavilions at Hampton Court, where they were, and the Duke received me with great goodness, even drawing an arm-chair for me himself when I refused to continue sitting by the Duchess, or even to sit at all. He entered into the detail of his reasons for declaring the marriage, which he knew, by a former letter to the Duchess, I had approved their not publishing so far as her taking the title; and by something that dropped apropos to the title, I am persuaded that my having obstinately avoided all connection with him, had

been a principal cause of his anger, though I do not doubt but some who were averse to the marriage had said everything they could to the disadvantage of the family; and as I had shown most disapprobation of the connection, impressions against me naturally took the easiest root. Well, here ends my part of this history; I neither shall be, nor seek to be a favourite, and as little a counsellor. Were I to advise, it should be to submit themselves entirely to the King. A Prince of the blood, especially of a character so esteemed, may give great trouble, but whom do they hurt but their own family? The Duke of Cumberland was slighted by the opposition, because he married the sister of the man in England -- Colonel Luttrell. ^†1 the most obnoxious to them. To them the Duke of Gloucester is a very different case, and they are not likely not to make the distinction; but I shall think the Duchess very ill-advised, if she does not dissuade everything that can displease the King. Her temper is warm, but she has an admirable understanding and a thousand virtues. You will be charmed, I am sure, with an instance of her modesty and humility A passage in the MS. is here cancelled by a later hand. This sentence and the next can, however, still be read, besides the detached expressions printed above, which show that Walpole here related to Mann what is recorded in his Last Journals, vol. i. p. 136, under date of Sept. 16, 1772 (four days before the date of this letter):--The Duchess 'asked me if I did not approve her signing Maria Gloucester, instead of simply Maria, in the royal style; for, said she, modestly, "there was a time when I had no right to any name but Maria."' The Duchess was a natural daughter. ^†2. She asked me if I did not approve her signing herself Maria Gloucester, and not simply Maria, in the royal style. 'I thought,' said she, 'it was ... to assume it, but ... I recollected that Maria was once all the name I had any right to. I thought this ...' We have another instance in our family, and I set it down as the most honourable alliance in the pedigree. The Dowager Lady Walpole Mary Magdalen Lombard, wife of Horatio, first Lord Walpole, and brother of Sir Robert Walpole. Walpole. ^†3, you know, was a French staymaker's daughter. When Ambassadress in France, the Queen expressed surprise at her speaking so good French. Lady Walpole said she was a French woman. 'Française!' replied the Queen. 'Vous, Française, Madame! et de quelle famille?'--'D'aucune, Madame,' answered my aunt. Don't you think that aucune sounded greater than Montmorency would have done? One must have a great soul to be of the aucune or ... Word erased in MS. ^†4 families, which is not necessary, to be a Howard.

Don't trouble yourself any more about the head of Stephens; I have got one here. I will subscribe for anything of Mr. Patch's, but have very little taste for those gates The gates of the Baptistery at Florence, of which Patch, assisted by F. Gregory, published a set of etchings in 1774. ^†5; though the originals are fine. Jesses seem to me still less agreeable. Zoffany Johann Zoffany (1735-1810). ^†6 is delightful in his real way, and introduces the furniture of a room with great propriety; but his talent is neither for rooms simply, nor portraits. He makes wretched pictures when he is serious. His talent is, to draw scenes in comedy, and there he beats the Flemish painters in their own way of detail. Butler, the author of Hudibras, might as well be employed to describe a solemn funeral, in which there was nothing ridiculous. This Zoffani went to Florence to paint a view of the Tribune. Walpole. ^†7, however, is better than his going to draw naked savages, and be scalped, with that wild man Banks Sir Joseph Banks. Walpole. ^†8, who is poaching in every ocean for the fry of little islands that escaped the drag-net of Spain.

So they do not think at Rome that the Pretender is worthy to have his face engraved! And yet they wonder the King of Spain is not a bigot, when even the Pope himself does not pretend to be so. It is well for the world when there is a grain of honesty amongst the great umpires

of the earth. The King of Sweden is not quite so frank; he is taking oaths on the Bible that he means to keep the oath he is breaking! Truly, between him and the nobility, I am very neutral. Nobility harassed Poland, till they see it parcelled out as if a company of brokers had bought it at an auction; the brokers, however, would have paid the purchase-money; three or four righteous sovereigns are above such mechanic dealings! Oh, by how much is the only rational being Man. Walpole. LETTER 1429. ^†9 in the world the worst! Pious Maria Theresa! Humane Joseph, the father and the idol of his people! Catherine, the legislatress! Well, I vow I think Frederick of Prussia, who never pretended to a single virtue, is the best of the set. He never had the impudence to deny that there is nothing he would not do. He quarters Poland, deposes the Queen of Denmark, inspires the nobility to enslave their King, and prompts the King of Sweden to enslave nobility and people; and yet one must say for him that he does not go to church, and invite God to be of the plot. A highwayman is an honest fellow compared to a priest that poisons you in the Sacrament. Bless us! bless us! who would not tremble to have power!

October

1429. To the Rev. William Mason.

Strawberry Hill, Oct. 13, 1772.

Dear Sir,

I doubt you will have thought me very inattentive to your orders, but, alas! it is far from being my fault. I have been in my bed this fortnight with the gout in every limb, and have not the use of either hand or foot.

Were I at liberty, I fear I could be but of little use to your friend -- Francis Ferrand Moore Foljambe (d. 1814), of Aldwarke, near Rotherham. Mason had asked for letters of introduction for him to some of Horace Walpole's French friends. ^†1. The acquaintance I had in the Parliament

have left Paris, and are retired into the provinces. I have left off and had not seen in my three last journeys the philosophers and litterati; the house of Choiseul is dispersed. The Président Hénault, where I used to sup frequently, is dead and the house broke up. In short, I have no connection left at Paris but with my old blind friend and her society, which would not at all suit a young man of three-and-twenty. The best person to whom I could have recommended him, the Duchesse d'Aiguillon, mother of the Duke, is lately dead, and I have no more friends at court. If the young gentleman goes into Italy I can be useful to him at Florence and Naples, and will give him letters thither very willingly. I don't know whether anybody had had a curiosity about your last letter but one, but I did not receive it till six days after it was dated.

I will not say any more, because I have no more to say, but about my own sufferings, with which I do not wish to grieve anybody.

I am, &c.

1430. Not in C.; reprinted from Horace Walpole's Last Journals, vol. i. pp. 158-9. ^†1430. To the Duchess of Gloucester.

Strawberry Hill, Oct. 27, 1772.

I thank you extremely, my dear Madam, for your answer to my letter, and for the permission of concealing what is passed from the two persons in question The Earl of Hertford and General Conway. The Duchess imagined that the first had influenced the King in his decision to forbid the court to those who visited her husband and herself. The second (on Horace Walpole's advice) had refrained from visiting the Duchess. LETTER 1431. ^†1, who, I am sure, would suffer as much as I have done; but I had rather bear anything from my friends, and for my friends, than give them the pain, and the world the pleasure, of knowing it.

I wish I had strength to add a few more explanations, Madam, that would be for your satisfaction, or was able to send you a letter, which, as far as my confused head can recollect, would be a better justification of the elder than all I have said; but I am not capable yet of searching for it, nor can employ anybody to look for it. I must, therefore, wait till I am better.

Indeed I am now so low and faint to-day that I must stop; and will take advantage, my dear Madam, of your late reproof for my too abundant ceremony, though nothing can ever make me forget the respect I owe to the Duke of Gloucester's wife--no, not even the kindness of my niece.

I am, &c.

November

1431. To Sir Horace Mann.

Strawberry Hill, Nov. 4, 1772.

It is so very long since I heard a word of you, my dear Sir, that I can almost fancy you have been laid up with the gout, as I have been. Yes, to-day commences the sixth week of my confinement, close confinement, almost to my bed, and strictly to my bedchamber. I have had this terrible illness in every limb and every joint; and it is but to-day that I can say every symptom is mending; but how the comfort of recovery is abated by the reflection on the returns I must expect of the same complaint! To what satisfaction can one look forward, when one sees the gout peeping over happiness's shoulder, and threatening one with being of the party? This thought puts an end to all views; I resign myself to age and its proper nurse, retirement; and only propose to be so reasonable as neither to wish to live or die.

Being in a perfect solitude here, and incapable, from

weakness and languor, to see even my friends, you may conceive I can have nothing to tell you. The papers, my only informers, will have given you the whole history of Wilkes, of which I know not one tittle more. He was on the point of being Lord Mayor; and it would have been a phenomenon!

I have been told, I know not how truly, that there has been a revolution not only in the Czarina's Cabinet, but bedchamber; and that while her favourite Orloff -- Gregory Orloff (1734-1783), Russian plenipotentiary at the Congress of the Turks and Russians held at Fokchani or Foczani in the summer of 1772. In spite of reports to the contrary his favour with the Empress continued. ^†1 was making and breaking the peace with the Turks, a new Adonis or Hercules has supplanted him at St. Petersburgh. I have an opinion, that when violent systems once begin to be deranged, they do not last long; the present scene in the North is throughout so violent and unjust, that no reflecting being can be sorry for any catastrophe that befalls any of the principal actors.

The iniquities of our East India Company and its crew of monsters seem to be drawing towards a conclusion, at least to be falling on their own heads. They have involved themselves in such difficulties, that the Parliament is forced to meet earlier than was intended, in order to assist or correct them. Tisiphone, Alecto, and Megæra should correct them!

Are Lord Huntingdon and Mr. Nicholls still at Florence? You never say a word to me of the latter, who I thought likely to please you. Consider, we have not so many people left that we both know, that you need be sparing of naming those we can talk about. I am often going to ask you what remains there are of my Florentine acquaintance; but you never indulge my curiosity that way, though it would amuse me. Well.--Adieu.

P.S. If Mr. Nicholls has not left you, he might bring me a parcel of my letters.

1432. To the Rev. William Cole.

Strawberry Hill, Nov. 7, 1772.

Dear Sir,

I did receive the print of Mrs. Newcome, for which I am extremely obliged to you, with a thousand other favours; and should certainly have thanked you for it long ago, but I was then, and am now, confined to my bed with the gout in every limb, and in almost every joint. I have not been out of my bedchamber these five weeks to-day, and last night the pain returned violently into one of my feet, so that I am now writing to you in a most uneasy posture, which will oblige me to be very short.

Your letter, which I suppose Mr. Essex left at my house in Arlington Street, was brought to me this morning. I am exceedingly sorry for his disappointment, and for his coming without writing first, in which case I might have prevented his journey. I do not know, even, whither to send to him, to tell him how impossible it is for me just now, in my present painful and helpless situation, to be of any use to him. I am so weak and faint, that I do not see even my nearest relations, and God knows how long it will be before I am able to bear company, much less application. I have some thoughts, as soon as I am able, of removing to Bath; so that I cannot guess when it will be in my power to consider duly Mr. Essex's plan with him. I shall undoubtedly, if ever I am capable of it, be ready to give him my advice, such as it is, or to look over his papers, and even to correct them, if his modesty thinks me more able to polish them than he is himself. At the same time, I must own, I think he will run too great a risk by the expense. The engravers in London are now arrived at such a pitch of exorbitant

imposition, that, for my own part, I have laid aside all thoughts of having a single plate more done.

Dear Sir, pray tell Mr. Essex how concerned I am for this mischance, and for the total impossibility I am under of seeing him now. I can write no more, but shall be glad to hear from you on his return to Cambridge; and, when I am recovered, you may be assured how glad I shall be to talk his plan over with him. I am his and

Your

Obliged humble servant,

HOR. WALPOLE.

1433. Not in C.; now first printed from original in British Museum. LETTER 1434. ^†1433. To the Earl of Hardwicke.

[Strawberry Hill, Nov. 1772.]

Mr. Walpole has received Lord Hardwicke's commands and has in town what his mother always kept as the best picture of Sir R. Walpole, done when about forty. It is painted by Richardson in a green frock and hat, and the dogs and landscape by Wootton. The most like print, which is in the Garter robes, was taken from this. At Rainham is a very good one by Sir Godfrey Kneller. If Lord Hardwicke chooses that in Arlington Street to be copied, it is very much at his Lordship's service.

Mr. W. begs pardon for writing so ill, but is in bed with the gout.

1434. To the Rev. William Mason.

Strawberry Hill, Nov. 10, 1772.

Dear Sir,

Having from the shipwreck of all my limbs recovered the use of three fingers, I cannot employ them better than in thanking you for your kind letter and inquiry. Six weeks

finish to-morrow, and I have not been yet out of my bedchamber, and little out of my bed, till lately, and in the middle of the day. The amendment is so slow, and so dispiriting, that I find it almost as difficult to recover of the recovery, as of the gout; but I will not talk of it, though I pay it off with thinking.

You will oblige me much with that print of Mr. Gray -- A proof of an unfinished print from Eckardt's portrait of Gray. ^†1. You may guess how much I have thought of him lately, and how I have been weighing a shorter life against pain!

I see nobody: I know nothing: I cannot amuse you, and will not tire you. The most pleasing thing that you could tell me, would be, that you had some thoughts of London. Adieu!

1435. Not in C.; reprinted from Horace Walpole's Last Journals, vol. i. pp. 160-1. ^†1435. To the Duchess of Gloucester.

Strawberry Hill, Nov. 15, 1772.

That you have many enemies, my dear Madam, I do not doubt; your merit and fortune will raise you numbers of such in those who have not the former, and are given up to the pursuit of the latter. Lies will be the consequence, as your very merit will prevent them from hurting you, were they to speak nothing but truth. All I take the liberty to beseech of you is, not to let your own honest warmth and sincerity add to the number. At least wait till you can make your resentment felt as well as known--or, what is more like you, till it will be noble to forgive. You are now in a position in which your every word will be weighed and, if possible, misinterpreted. In this country nobody escapes; and you are capable of being hurt till the King and Duke are reconciled. I know how ready you are to bear anything for the Duke's sake, therefore for his sake bear ill-nature;

and when your own virtue is so great as to be willing to waive the honours due to his wife rather than obstruct his Royal Highness's return to court, carry the sacrifice so much farther as not to let the malicious know you know them, since by that f jump to main content

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