lope among you? good lack! he will pull off my head for never writing to him, oh Conscience, Conscience!

London, October 8 [44 or 45].

Fragment.

LI. TO THOMAS WHARTON.

I AM not lost; here am I at Stoke, whither I came on Tuesday, and shall be again in town on Saturday, and at Cambridge on Wednesday or Thursday, you may be anxious to know what has past. I wrote a note the night I came, and immediately received a very civil answer. I went the following evening to see the party (as Mrs. Foible says), was something abashed at his confidence: he came to meet me, kissed me on both sides with all the ease of one, who receives an acquaintance just come out of the country, squatted me into a Fauteuil, begun to talk of the town and this and that and t'other, and continued with little interruption for three hours, when I took my leave very indifferently pleased, but treated with wondrous good breeding. I supped with him next night (as he desired) Ashton1 was there, whose formalities tickled me inwardly, for he I found was to be angry about the letter I had wrote him. However in going home together our hackney-coach jumbled us into a sort of reconciliation: he hammered out somewhat like an excuse; and I received it very readily, because I cared not twopence, whether it were true or not. So we

1 See Walpole's Letter to Mann, vol. ii. p. 371.-[Ed.]

grew the best acquaintance imaginable, and I sat with him on Sunday some hours alone, when he informed me of abundance of anecdotes much to my satisfaction, and in short opened (I really believe) his heart to me with that sincerity, that I found I had still less reason to have a good opinion of him, than (if possible) I ever had before. Next morning I breakfasted alone with Mr. Walpole]; when we had all the eclaircissement1 I ever expected, and I left him far better satisfied, than I had been hitherto. When I return, I shall see him again. Such is the epitome of my four days. Mr. and Mrs. Simms and Made. Nanny have done the honours of Leaden Hall to a miracle, and all join in a compliment to the Doctor. Your brother is well, the books are in good condition. Madme. Chenevix has frightened me with Ecritoires she asks three

1 It appears by this Letter, that the reconciliation which is mentioned as having taken place between Gray and Walpole, was (as far at least as the former was concerned) rather an act of civility and good manners, than the re-establishment of a cordial and sincere attachment. I am now, by the kindness of a gentleman, to whom I have been more than once obliged, enabled to lay before the public the real cause of their separation, on the authority of the late Mr. Isaac Reed; in whose bandwriting, in Wakefield's Life of Gray, is the following note: "Mr. Roberts, of the Pell-office, who was likely to be well informed, told me at Mr. Deacon's, 19th April 1799. That the quarrel between Gray and Walpole was occasioned by a suspicion Mr. Walpole entertained, that Mr. Gray had spoken ill of him to some friends in England. To ascertain this, he clandestinely opened a letter, and resealed it, which Mr. Gray, with great propriety, resented; there seems to have been but little cordiality afterwards between them."-[Mit.]

guineas for, that are not worth three half-pence: I have been in several shops and found nothing pretty. I fear it must be bespoke at last.

The day after I went you received a little letter directed to me, that seems wrote with a skewer, please to open it, and you 'll find a receipt of Dan. Adcock for ten pound, weh I will beg you to receive of Gillham for me. If the letter miscarried, pray take care the money is paid to no one else. I expect to have a letter from you when I come to town, at your lodgings. Adieu, S", I am sincerely yours,

Stoke, Thursday, [post-mark 16th Nov.]

T. G.

[endorsement 1744 or 1745.]

LII. TO JOHN CHUTE-FRAGMENT.

Jews-harp, ask Mr. Whithed, whither when he goes to Heaven, he does not expect to see all his favourite Hens, all his dear little Pouls, untimely victims of the pot and the spit, come pipping and gobling in a melodious voice about him; I know he does; there's nothing so natural. Poor Conti! is he going to be a Cherub? I remember here (but he was not ripe then) he had a very promising squeak with him, and that his mouth, when open, made an exact square. I have never been at Ranelagh Gardens since they were opened (for what does it signify to me), but they do not succeed, people see it once, or twice, and so they go to Vauxhall; well, but is not

it a very great design, very new, finely lighted, well, yes, ay, very fine truly, so they yawn and go to Vauxhall, and then it's too hot, and then it's too cold, and here's a wind, and there's a damp, and so the women go to bed, and the men to a House. You are to take notice, that in our Country, Delicacy and Indelicacy amount to much the same thing. The first will not be pleased with anything, and the other cannot. However, to do us justice, I think we are a reasonable, but by no means a pleasurable people; and to mend us we must have a dash of the French and Italian; yet I don't know how. Travelling does not produce its right effect.—I find I am talking, but you are to attribute it to my having at last found a Pen that writes.

You are so good, 'tis a shame to scold at you, but you never till now certified me, that you were at Casa Ambrosio. I did not know in what light to consider you. I had an Idea, but did not know where to put it, for an Idea must have a place per campeggiar bene. You were an Intaglia unset, a Picture without a frame, but now all is well; tho' I am not very sure yet, whether you are above stairs, or on the ground-floor, but by your mentioning the Terrazino, it must be the latter. Do the Frogs of Arno sing as sweetly as they did in my days? do you sup al fresco? Have you a Mugherino tree, and a Nanny? I fear, I don't spell this last word right, pray ask Mr. M. Oh! dear! I fear I was a blunderer about Hyacynths, for to be sure they cannot be taken out

of the ground, till they have done blooming, and they are perhaps just now in flower. That you may know my Place, I am just going into the country, for one easy fortnight, and then in earnest intend to go to Cambridge, to Trinity Hall: my sole reason (as you know) is to look, as if and when I feel it go against my stomach, I remember it was your Prescription, and so it goes down. Look upon me, then, my dear Sir, in my proper light, and consider how necessary it is to me, to hear from you as often as you can bestow an hour upon me. I flatter myself, your kindness will try to get the better of your indolence, when you reflect how cruelly alone I must be in the midst of that crowd!

The remainder of this page I hope you will pardon me, if I dedicate to my good dear Mr. Mann. Sir, I had the pleasure of receiving your good dear letter, and only deferred thanking you till now, that I might be able to execute your little commission first, the contents of which I send to your Brother, along with this letter. But first let me enquire how you do? alas! Sir, you may call 'em Benevoli, or whatever soft names you please, but I much fear they don't understand their business, like our people with a thousand consonants. I perfectly believe Dr. Cocchis' good intentions, but he is not the executioner himself, and here it is not sufficient to wish well. If it were, I'm certain my wishes are fervent enough to be felt even at Florence, in spite of all the lands, and seas, and enemies that lie betwixt us. They are daily em