was born to suffer with a good grace. He is a Stoick without knowing it, and seems to think pain a pleasure. I am very sorry to compliment him upon such an occasion, and wish with all my heart, he were not so pleased. I much fear his books are gone already; but if not, to be sure he shall have Middleton and the Sofa;1 it seems most people here are not such admirers of it as I was: but I wont give up an inch of it, for all that. Did I tell you about Mr. Garrick, that the town are horn-mad after: there are a dozen Dukes of a night at Goodmansfields sometimes, and yet I am stiff in the opposition. Our fifth Opera was the Olympiade, in which they retained most of Pergolesi's songs, and yet 'tis gone already, as if it had been a poor thing of Galuppis'.2 Two nights did I enjoy it all alone, snug in a nook of the gallery, but found no one in those regions had ever heard of Pergolesi, nay, I heard several affirm it was a composition of Pescetti's.* Now there is a 6th

3

sprung up, by the name of Cephalo and Procri. My Lady of Queensbury is come out against my Lady of Marlborough, and she has her spirit too, and her originality, but more of the woman, I think, than t'other. As to the facts, it don't signify two pence who's in the right; the manner of fighting, and character of the combatants is all: 'tis hoped old Sarah 1 The Sofa of Crebillon, see p. 128.—[Ed.]

2 Baldassaro Galuppi (1706-1785).

3 Giambattista Pergolesé (1710-1736).

4 Giambattista Pescetti, died in 1758, a composer of facile operas, then popular, now entirely forgotten.-[Ed.]

will at her again. A play of Mr. Glover's1 I am told, is preparing for the stage, call'd Boadicea; it is a fine subject, but I have not an extreme opinion of him. The invalides at Chelsea intend to present Ranelagh Gardens, as a nuisance, for breaking their first sleep with the sound of fiddles; it opens, I think, to-night. Messieurs the Commons are to ballot for 7 persons to-morrow, commission'd to state the public accounts, and they are to be such, who have no places, nor are any ways dependent on the King. The Committee have petitioned for all papers relating to the Convention. A bill has pass'd the lower house, for indemnifying all who might subject themselves to penalties, by revealing any transaction with regard to the conduct of my Lord Orford, and to-morrow the Lords are summon'd about it. The wit of the times consists in Satyrical Prints; I believe there have been some hundreds within this month. If you have any hopeful young designer of caricaturas, that has a political turn, he may pick up a pretty subsistence here let him pass thro' Holland to improve his taste by the way. We are all very sorry for poor Queen Hungary but we know of a second battle (which perhaps you may never hear of, but from me), as how Prince Lobbycock came up in the nick of time, and cut 120,000 of them all to pieces; and how the King

1 Richard Glover (1712-1785), a merchant and Whig M.P., who wrote the once-famous epic of Leonidas. His tragedy of Boadicea awakened great expectations, but was a failure on the stage. It was not brought out until 1753.-[Ed.]

of Prussia narrowly escap'd aboard a ship, and so got down the Dannub to Wolf-in-Bottle, where Mr. Mallyboyce lay encamped; and how the Hannoverians, with Prince Hissy-Castle, at their head, fell upon the French Mounseers, and took him away with all his treasure, among which is Pitt's diamond, and the great cistern—all this is firmly believed here, and a vast deal more: upon the strength of which we intend to declare war with France.

You are so obliging as to put me in mind of our last year's little expeditions; alas! Sir, they are past, and how many years will it be, at the rate you go on, before we can possibly renew them in this country in all probability I shall be gone first on a long expedition to that undiscover'd country, from whose bourn no traveller returns: however (if I can), I will think of you, as I sail down the River of Eternity. I can't help thinking, that I should find no difference almost between this world, and t'other (for I converse with none but the dead here), only indeed I should receive nor write no more letters (for the Post is not very well regulated). If you see the King of Naples, pray talk with him on this subject, for I see he is upon settling one between his country and Constantinople, and I take this to be but a little more difficult.

My dab of Musick, and Prints, you are very good to think of sending with your own, to which I will add a farther trouble, by desireing you to send me some of the roots of a certain Flower, which I have

seen at Florence. It is a huge white Hyacynth tinged with pink (Mr. M. knows what I mean, by the same token that they grow sometimes in the fat Gerina's Boosom), I mean if they bear a reasonable price, which you will judge of for me: but don't give yourself any pains about it, for if they are not easily had, and at an easy rate, I am not at all eager for them. Do you talk of Strumming? ohi me! who have not seen the face of a Haspical, since I came home; no! I have hang'd up my Harp on the Willows: however, I look at my musick now and then, that I may not forget it; for when you return, I intend to sing a song of thanksgiving, and praise the Lord with a cheerful noise of many - stringed instruments. Adieu! dear Sir, I am sincerely yours, T. G.

O. S. London. Not forgetting my kiss-hands to Mr. Whithed.

MY DEAR SIR-What do you choose I should think of a whole year's silence; have you absolutely forgot me, or do you not reflect, that it is from yourself alone I can have any information concerning you. I do not find myself inclined to forget you, the same regard for your Person, the same desire of seeing you again I felt when we parted, still continues with

me as fresh as ever; don't wonder then if in spite of appearances, I try to flatter myself with the hopes of finding sentiments something of the same kind, however, buried in some dark corner of your heart; and perhaps more than half extinguished by long absence and various cares of a different nature. I will not alarm your indolence with a long letter, my demands are only three, and may be answer'd in as many words, how you do? where you are? and when you return? if you choose to add anything farther, it will be a work of superer- I will not write so long a word entire, least I fatigue your delicacy, and you may think it incumbent on you to answer it by another of equal dimensions. You believe me, I hope, with great sincerity, yours,

T. G.

P.S.-For ought I know you may be in England. My very true compliments (not such as People make to one another) wait upon Mr. Whithed. He will be the most travelled Gentleman in Hampshire.

October 25, Cambridge.

LVI. TO THOMAS WHARTON.

MY DEAR WHARTON-I am just returned hither from town, where I have past better than a fortnight (including an excursion that I made to Hampton Court, Richmond, Greenwich, and other places), and am