IT is a misfortune to me to be at a distance from both of you at once. A letter can give one so little idea of such matters, * I always believed well of his heart and temper, and would gladly do so still. If they are as they should be, I should have expected every thing from such an explanation; for it is a tenet with me (a simple one, you'll perhaps say) that if ever two people, who love one another, come to breaking, it is for want of a timely eclaircissement, a full and precise one, without witnesses or mediators,

and without reserving any one disagreeable circumstance for the mind to brood upon in silence.

I am not totally of your mind as to Mr. Lyttleton's elegy, though I love kids and fawns as little as you do. If it were all like the fourth stanza, I should be excessively pleased. Nature and sorrow, and tenderness, are the true genius of such things; and something of these I find in several parts of it (not in the orange-tree :) poetical ornaments, are foreign to the purpose; for they for they only show a man is not sorry;-and devotion worse; for it teaches him that he ought not to be sorry, which is all the pleasure of the thing. I beg leave to turn your weathercock the contrary way. Your epistle* I have not seen a great while, and Doctor M is not in the way to give me a sight of it: but I remember enough to be sure all the world will be pleased with it, even with all its faults upon its head, if you don't care to mend them. I would try to do it myself, (however hazardous) rather than it should remain unpublished. As to my Eton ode, Mr. Dodsley is padrone. The second + you had, I suppose you do not think worth giving him: otherwise, to me it seems not worse than the former. He might have Selima too, unless she be of too little importance for his patriot-collection; or perhaps the connections you had with her may interfere. Che so io? Adieu! I am yours ever,

T. G.

* From Florence to Thomas Asheton. See Walpole's Works, Vol. 1, p. 4.

+ The Ode on Spring.

The Ode on Mr. Walpole's Cat, drowned in a tub of gold fishes.

LETTER XXXII.

MR. GRAY TO MR. WALPOLE.

Cambridge, Dec. Monday.

THIS comes du fond de ma cellule to salute Mr. H. W. not so much him that visits and votes, and goes to White's and to Court; as the H. W. in his rural capacity, snug in his tub on Windsor-hill, and brooding over folios of his own creation: him that can slip away, like a pregnant beauty, (but a little oftener,) into the country, be brought to bed perhaps of twins, and whisk to town again the week after, with a face as if nothing had happened. Among the little folks, my godsons and daughters, I cannot choose but enquire more particularly after the health of one; I mean (without a figure) the Memoires: Do they grow? Do they unite, and hold up their heads, and dress themselves? Do they begin to think of making their appearance in the world, that is to say, fifty years hence, to make posterity stare, and all good people cross themselves? Has Asheton (who will then be Lord Bishop of Killaloe, and is to publish them) thought of an aviso all' lettore to prefix to them yet, importing, that if the words church, king, religion, ministry, &c. be found often repeated in this book, they are not to be taken literally, but poetically, and as may be most strictly reconcileable to the faith then established;-that he knew the author well when he was a young man; and can testify upon the honour of his function, that he said his prayers regularly and devoutly, had a profound reverence for

the clergy, and firmly believed every thing that was the fashion in those days?

you

When you have done impeaching my Lord Lovat, I hope to hear de vos nouvelles, and moreover, whether have got Colonel Conway yet? Whether Sir C. Williams is to go to Berlin? What sort of a prince Mitridate may be ?-and whatever other tidings you may chuse to refresh an anchoret with. Frattanto I send you a scene in a tragedy:* if it don't make you cry it will make you laugh; and so it moves some passion, that I take to be enough. Adieu, dear Sir!

I am sincerely yours,

T. GRAY.

LETTER XXXIII.

MR. GRAY TO MR. WHARTON.

MY DEAR WHARTON,

YOU are apprised by this time, (I don't doubt) that your Mr. Spencer is chose at Pembroke. I received, while I was at Stoke, a letter from Tuthill, wherein were these words,

6

Spencer, will, I am almost persuaded, be chose at this audit, and perhaps without a quarrel. I shall vote for him with great

*The first Scene in Agrippina.

pleasure, because I believe he may justly claim it; and because I believe, Dr. Wharton would, if he knew of our election, desire it; for he was maintained by his Mr. Wilkinson.' Dr. Long did not make any resistance, when he saw how it would go, so Chapman had little occasion for his effectual interest. Oh! by the way I give you joy of that agreeable creature, who has got one of your Prebends of £400 a year, and will visit you soon, with that dry piece of goods, his wife.

Of my house* I cannot say much. I wish I could! but for my heart it is no less your's, than it has long been: and the last thing in the world, that will throw it into tumults is a fine Lady; the versest you so kindly try to keep in countenance were wrote to divert that particular family; and succeeded accordingly; but being shewed about in town, are not liked there at all.

Mrs. French, a very fashionable personage, told Mr. Walpole that she had seen a thing by a friend of his, which she did not know what to make of, for it aimed at every thing and meant nothing, to which he replied, that he had always taken her for a woman of sense, and was very sorry to be undeceived;-on the other hand the stanzas which I now enclose to you, have had the misfortune, by Mr. Walpole's fault, to be made still, more public, for which they certainly were never meant: but it is too late to complain. They have been so applauded, it is quite a shame to repeat it. I mean not to be modest; but I mean, it is a shame for those who have said such superlative

* The house he was rebuilding in Cornhill.-Mason.

+ The long story.

The Elegy in a Country Church-yard.