to proceed on a much more rational and more useful plan. The biography of the illustrious of your country will be an honour to Scotland, to those illustrious, and to the authors, and may contribute considerably to the general history; for the investigation of particular lives may bring out many anecdotes that may unfold secrets of state, or explain passages in such histories as have been already written; especially as the manners of the times may enter into private biography, though before Voltaire manners were rarely weighed in general history, though very often the sources of considerable events. I shall be very happy to see such lives as shall be published, while I remain alive.

I cannot contribute any thing of consequence to your lordship's meditated account of John Law. I have heard many anecdotes of him, though none that I can warrant, particularly that of the duel for which he fled early. I met the other day with an account in some French literary gazette, I forget which, of his having carried off the wife of another man. Lady Catherine Law his wife lived, during his power in France, in the most stately manner. Your lordship knows to be sure that he died and is buried at Venice. I have two or three different prints of him, and an excellent head of him in crayons by Rosalba, the best of her portraits. It is certainly very like; for were the flowing wig converted into a female head-dress, it would be the exact resemblance of lady Wallingford, his daughter, whom I see frequently at the duchess of Montrose's, and who has by no means a look of the age to which she is arrived. Law was a very extraordinary man, but not at all an estimable one.

Dr. Hunter's magnificent future donation will be a great addition to the collection of curiosities in Scotland, though, I suppose, not much connected with the pursuits of your society: but it will gratify the thirst of knowledge which does your country, my lord, so much honour.

I shall wish much to see lord Hailes's life of Barclay, and the other of James the first, when finished, and that of the regent Murray. May I ask your lordship if there is any portrait known of the last ?

I don't remember whether I ever told your lordship that there are many charters of your ancient kings preserved in the Scots college at Paris, and probably many other curiosities. I think I did mention many paintings of the old house of Lenox in the ancient castle at Aubigny. Was not one of your countrymen, my lord, constable of France? I suspect my memory is worse than it was, and therefore you will excuse me both if I make mistakes, forget names, or repeat what I have said before, when zeal to obey your commands draws me into blunders or tautology. I have the honour to be

Your lordship's

Most obedient, humble servant,

HOR. WALPole.

III.

Oct. 1784.

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I AM much obliged to you for the many civil and 、 kind expressions in your letter, and for the friendly information you give me. Partiality, I fear, dictated the former; but the last I can only ascribe to the goodness of your heart.

I have published nothing of any size but the pieces you mention, and one or two small tracts, now out of print and forgotten. The rest have been prefaces to some of my Strawberry editions, and to a few other publications, and some fugitive pieces, which I reprinted some years ago in a small volume, and which shall be at your service, with the Catalogue of Noble Authors.

With regard to the bookseller who has taken the pains of collecting my writings for an edition (amongst which I do not doubt but he will generously bestow on me many that I did not write, according to the liberal practice of such compilers), · and who also intends to write my life, to which (as I never did any thing worthy of the notice of the public) he must likewise be a volunteer contributor, it would be vain for me to endeavour to prevent such a design. Whosoever has been so unadvised as to throw himself on the public, must pay such a tax in a pamphlet or magazine when he dies; but happily the insects that prey on carrion are still

more short-lived than the carcasses were from which they draw their nutriment. Those momentary abortions live but a day, and are thrust aside like embryos. Literary characters, when not illustrious, are known only to a few literary men; and amidst the world of books, few readers can come to my share. Printing, that secures existence (in libraries) to indifferent authors of any bulk, is like those cases of Egyptian mummies, which, in catacombs, preserve bodies of one knows not whom, and which are scribbled over with characters that nobody attempts to read, till nobody understands the language in which they were written.

I believe, therefore, it will be most wise to swim for a moment on the passing current, secure that it will soon hurry me into the ocean where all things are forgotten. To appoint a biographer is to bespeak a panegyric; and I doubt whether they who collect their works for the public, and, like me, are conscious of no intrinsic worth, do but beg mankind to accept of talents (whatever they were) in lieu of virtues. To anticipate spurious publications by a comprehensive and authentic one, is almost as great an evil it is giving a body to scattered atoms; and such an act in one's old age is declaring a fondness for the indiscretions of youth, or for the trifles of an age, which, though more mature, is only the less excuseable. It is most true, sir, that so far from being prejudiced in favour of my own writings, I am persuaded, that had I thought early as I think now, I should never have appeared as an author. Age, frequent illness, and pain, have given me as many hours of reflection in the intervals of the two latter, as the two latter have drawn from reflection;

and, besides their showing me the inutility of all our little views, they have suggested an observation that I love to encourage in myself from the rationa lity of it. I have learnt and have practised the humiliating task of comparing myself with great authors; and that comparison has annihilated all the flattery that self-love could suggest. I know how trifling my own writings are, and how far below the standard that constitutes excellence; for the shades that distinguish mediocrity, they are not worth discrimination; and he must be very modest, or easily satisfied, who can be content to glimmer for an instant a little more than his brethren glowworms. Mine, therefore, you find, sir, is not humility, but pride! When young, I wished for fame, not examining whether I was capable of attaining it, nor considering in what lights fame was desirable. There are two parts of honest fame; that attendant on the truly great, and that better sort that is due to the good. I fear I did not aim at the latter, nor discovered, till too late, that I could not compass the former. Having neglected the best road, and having, instead of the other, strolled into a narrow path that led to no goal worth seeking, I see the idleness of my journey, and hold it more graceful to abandon my wanderings to chance or oblivion, than to mark solicitude for trifles, which I think so myself.

I beg your pardon for talking so much of myself; but an answer was due to the unmerited attention which you have paid to my writings. I turn with more pleasure to speak on yours. Forgive me if I shall blame you, whether you either abandon your intention, or are too impatient to execute it. A