"ponderous sphere." The two last lines are the best.1

The sense of your simile about the "distant thunder" is not clear, nor well expressed; besides, it implies too strong a confession of guilt.

The stanza you sent me for the second Ode is very rude; and neither the idea nor verses touch me much. It is not the gout that makes me thus difficult. Finish but your Death-song as well as you imagined and begun it, and mind if I won't be more pleased than anybody. Adieu! dear Mason, I am ever truly T. G.

yours,

Did I tell you how well I liked Whitehead's two Odes they are far better than anything he ever wrote.2

Mr. Brown and Jemmy Bickham3 lament your indolence, as to the degree, in chorus; as to me, I should have done just so for all the world.

CLXII. TO THE REV. WILLIAM MASON.

April 10, 1759.

DEAR MASON-This is the third return of the gout in the space of three months, and worse than either of the former. It is now in a manner over, and I am so much the nearer being a cripple, but not at all the

1 By reference to the poem it will be seen that Mason adopted some of Gray's proposed alterations and rejected others.—[Mit.] 2 "Ode for his Majesty's Birth-day," and "Ode for the New Year, 1759."

3 James Bickham, Fellow of Emanuel College.

richer. This is my excuse for long silence; and, if you had felt the pain, you would think it an excuse for a greater fault. I have been all the time of the fit here in town, and doubtless ought to have paid my court to you and to Caractacus. But a critic with the gout is a devil incarnate, and you have had a happy escape. I cannot repent (if I have really been any hindrance) that you did not publish this spring. I would have it mellow a little longer, and do not think it will lose anything of its flavour; to comfort you for your loss, know that I have lost above £200 by selling stock.

I half envy your situation and your improvements (though I do not know Mr. Wood),1 yet am of your opinion as to prudence; the more so because Mr. Bonfoy tells me he saw a letter from you to Lady H.,2 and that she expressed a sort of kindness; to which my Lord added, that he should write a rattling epistle to you that was to fetch you out of the country. Whether he has or not don't much signify: I would come and see them.

I shall be here this month at least against my will, unless you come. Stonhewer is here with all his sisters, the youngest of which has got a husband. Two matches more (but in a superior class) are going to be soon:-Lord Weymouth to the Duchess of

3

1 The author of the "Essay on Homer."

2 Lady Holdernesse.

3 Thomas, third Viscount Weymouth on May 22, 1759, married the Lady Elizabeth Cavendish Bentinck, eldest daughter of William, second Duke of Portland.-[Mit.]

Portland's homely daughter, Lady Betty, with £35,000; and Lord Waldegrave to Miss Maria. Walpole, with £10,000. It is impossible for two handsomer people ever to meet.1

All the cruelties of Portugal are certainly owing to an amour of the King's (of long standing) with the younger Marquess of Tavora's wife. The Jesuits made their advantage of the resentments of that family. The disturbances at Lisbon are all false.

This is my whole little stock of news.

Here is a very pretty opera, the Cyrus; 2 and here is the Museum, which is indeed a treasure. The trustees lay out £1400 a-year, and have but £900 to spend. If you would see it you must send a fortnight beforehand, it is so crowded. Then here are Murdin's Papers, and Hume's History of the Tudors, and Robertson's History of Mary Stuart and her Son, and what not. Adieu, dear Mason, I am most faithfully T. G.

yours,

3

1 In 1759 he (Lord Waldegrave) married the natural daughter of Sir Edward Walpole, a lady of great beauty and merit.[Mit.]

2 Il Ciro Riconosciuto of Cocchi.

3 "A Collection of State Papers in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, from 1571 to 1596, from the library at Hatfield House; by William Murdin, etc.," folio, 1759. The collection is a continuation of that published by Dr. Haynes in 1740.-[Mit.]

CLXIII. TO THOMAS WHARTON.

Saturday, July 21, 1759.

DEAR DOCTOR-I have at last found rest for the sole of my gouty foot in your own old dining-room,1 hope in spite of the damnation denounced by the bishop's two chaplains, that you may find at least an equal satisfaction and repose at Old Park. If your bog prove as comfortable as my oven, I shall see no occasion to pity you; and only wish that you may brew no worse than I bake. You totally mistake my talents, when you impute to me any magical skill in planting roses. I know, I am no conjuror in these things; when they are done, I can find fault, and that is all. Now this is the very reverse of genius, and I feel my own littleness. Reasonable people know themselves better, than is commonly imagined; and therefore (though I never saw any instance of it) I believe Mason, when he tells me he understands planting better, than anything whatever. The prophetic eye of taste (as Mr. Pitt call'd it) sees all the beauties, that

2

1 The house in Southampton Row, where Mr. Gray lodged, had been tenanted by Dr. Wharton; who, on account of his ill health, left London the year before; and was removed to his paternal estate at Old Park, near Durham.-[Mason.]

2 I once called on Mr. Hurd, at Thurcaston, and he said to me: I wish you had come sooner, for Mason has just left me, he is going to Aston. I think you must have passed him in the gateway. He got up very early this morning to plant those roses opposite, and otherwise decorate my grounds; he boasts that he knows exactly where every rose ought to be planted. [Cradock.]

a place is susceptible of, long before they are born; and when it plants a seedling, already sits under the shadow of it, and enjoys the effect it will have from every point of view, that lies in prospect. You must, therefore invoke Caractacus, and he will send his spirits from the top of Snowdon to Cross Fell or Warden Law.

The thermometer is in the passage window (where the sun never comes) near the head of the back stairs. Since you went, I have never observed it lower than 68, most part of the day at 74, and yesterday at 5 in the afternoon it was at 79, the highest I have ever seen it. It now is prepared to correspond regularly with you at the hours you mention. The weather for this fortnight has been broiling without interruption, one thunder-shower excepted, which did not cool the air at all. Rye (I am told) is begun to be cut near London. In Cambridgeshire a fortnight ago the promise of harvest was the finest I ever saw, but the farmers complain (I hear) that the ears do not fill for want of wet. The wheat was then turning yellow. Duke-cherries are over in London; three days ago they sold for half-a-crown a pound. Caroons1 and Blackhearts very large and fine drive about the streets in wheel-barrows a penny a pound. Raspberries a few are yet remaining, but in a manner over. Melons are ripe, and apricots and Orleans-plums are to be seen in the fruit-shops. Roses are (I think) over a week ago. The jessamine (at Mrs. Dod's, on a S. W. wall) was in full bloom (if you remember) long before 1 A sort of cherries.-[Ed.]