CLVI. TO THE REV. JAMES BROWN.

October 28, 1758.

DEAR SIR-You will not imagine me the less grateful for the long letter you were so good to write me some time since, because I have omitted to answer it, especially if you know what has since happened. Mrs. Rogers died in the end of September; and what with going to town to prove her will and other necessary things, what with returning back hither to pay debts, make inventories, and other such delightful amusements, I have really been almost wholly taken up. I might perhaps make a merit even of writing now, if you could form a just idea of my situation, being joint executor with another aunt, who is of a mixed breed between and the Dragon of Wantley. So much for her. I next proceed to tell you that I saw Mason in town, who stayed there a day on my account, and then set out (not in a huff) with a laudable resolution to pass his winter at Aston, and save a curate.1 My Lord2 has said something to him, which I am glad of, that looked like an excuse for his own dilatoriness in preferring him; but this is a secret. He told me he had seen you, and that you were well. Dr. Wharton continues dispirited, but a little better than he was.

1 I presume that he did so; for there appears a vacancy in the curacy between Mr. Delap's leaving Aston and Mr. Wood coming in 1759, by the Aston Register.―[Mit.]

2 Lord Holdernesse.

The first act of Caractacus is just arrived here, but I have not read it over.

I am very disagreeable; but who can help that? Adieu, my best Mr. Brown; I am ever yours,

T. G.

I shall hardly be at Cambridge before Christmas. I recollect that it is very possible you may have paid my bills; if so, pray inform me what they amount to, that I may send the money when I get to London, or sooner, if you please.

CLVII. TO THOMAS WHARTON.

Stoke, November 1758.

DEAR DOCTOR-My judgement is, that if your picture possess but any one of the beauties you see and describe in it, it must certainly be worth eight or ten times as much as you gave for it. I only wonder, you should forget to say by what lucky chance you came by it. Old Frank1 was a Dutch master of some note: the history of that school I am very little acquainted with, but if I am not mistaken, there was lately published a French account of their lives in two or more volumes, 4to., which I have seen at Nourse's, in which you may meet with better information.

I am agreeably employed here in dividing nothing 1 Jerome Franck or Francken, called old Franck, died about 1620. He was a Flemish painter of minor merit, a pupil of Floris.-[Ed.]

with an old Harridan,1 who is the Spawn of Cerberus and the Dragon of Wantley. When I shall get to town, I cannot divine, but doubtless it will be between this and Christmas. You were so good to offer me house-room for some of my lumber: I am therefore packing up certain boxes and baskets, which I believe you will be troubled with. But I beg Mrs. Wharton to consider well first, whether it will be inconvenient to her. If she assures me, it will not, I shall inform you shortly of their shapes and numbers. At present it seems to me, that there will be three or four large boxes; and five baskets of china: the rest Madame Forster shall accommodate.

Ah, poor King of Prussia!2 what will become of him? I am told here, that matters are much worse, than is yet avowed. I also hear that seven Generals have refused the command, which Hopson3 is now gone with, who has been before censured for ill-conduct, and is besides so infirm, that he will not live the voyage. Adieu, dear Sir, I am ever yours,

T. G.

1 Gray's aunt, Mrs. Oliffe, who was his joint executor.-[Ed.] 2 Gray's lamentation was excited, I conclude, by the defeat of the King of Prussia at Hochkirchen, by the Austrians under Marshal Daun, the 14th of October 1758. In this battle he lost 7000 men, his tents, and baggage; and the day was rendered memorable by the death of Marshal Keith, who was shot through the heart.-[Mit.]

3 Major-General Hopson was appointed to the command of an expedition against Martinique, which sailed on the 12th of November 1758. The attack on this Island failed, and the armament directed its course to Guadaloupe, where General Hopson died.[Mit.]

VOL. II.

2 C

CLVIII. TO THE REV. WILLIAM MASON.

Stoke, November 9, 1758.

DEAR MASON-I should have told you that Caradoc came safe to hand, but my critical faculties have been so taken up in dividing nothing with "The Dragon of Wantley's Dam," that they are not yet composed enough for a better and more tranquil employment; shortly, however, I will make them obey me. But am I to send this copy to Mr. Hurd, or return it to you? Methinks I do not love this travelling to and again of manuscripts by the post. While I am writing, your second packet is just arrived. I can only tell you in gross that there seem to me certain passages altered, which might as well have been let alone; and that I shall not be easily reconciled to Mador's own song. I must not have my fancy raised to that agreeable pitch of heathenism and wild magical enthusiasm, and then have you let me drop into moral philosophy and cold good sense. I remember you insulted me when I saw you last, and affected to call that which delighted my imagination nonsense. Now I insist that sense is nothing in poetry but according to the dress she wears, and the scene she appears in. If you should lead me into a superb Gothic building with a thousand clustered pillars, each of them half a mile high, the walls all covered with fretwork, and the windows full of red and blue saints, that had neither head nor tail, and I should find the Venus of

Medici in person perked up in a long niche over the high altar, as naked as ever she was born, do you think it would raise or damp my devotions. I say that Mador must be entirely a Briton, and that his pre-eminence among his companions must be shewn by superior wildness, more barbaric fancy, and a more striking and deeper harmony, both of words and numbers. If British antiquity be too narrow, this is the place for invention; and if it be pure invention, so much the clearer must the expression be, and so much the stronger and richer the imagerythere's for you now.1

I am sorry to hear you complain of your eyes. Have a care of candle-light, and rather play at hotcockles with the children than either read or write. Adieu! I am truly and ever yours,

T. G.

CLIX.-TO THOMAS WHARTON.

DEAR DOCTOR-You are so hospitable in your offers, that my Cargo is preparing to set out on Monday next, and will (I imagine) present itself at your door on Tuesday or Wednesday next: it comes by water, and the Man undertakes the whole together, so that I need not trouble any one to send to the wharf about them. I have divided this incumbrance between yourself and Mrs. Forster, yet am afraid you will find your share of it more than enough. It consists of

1 The fourth Ode was afterwards new written.—[Mason.]