You

and have got all my china safe from that here in town. will see the fruits when you come to Strawberry-hill. Adieu! Yours ever.

DEAR SIR,

TO THE REV. MR. COLE.

If you wonder you have not received the china and pastils, I must tell you the reason. They were sent for late in the evening when I was not at home. The servant desired they might be ready by eight next morning, but did not come for them, but afterwards left word they were to go by the waggon. I knew that was not safe for the china, and would reduce the pastils to powder, and therefore did not send them. When you send for them, be so good as to let me have a day or two of notice, because I am never at home in an evening, and often out of town.

The cups certainly cost but nine livres a piece, and nineteen was a mistake.

Yours ever.

DEAR SIR,

TO THE REV. MR. COLE.

Arlington-street, May 13, 1766.

I am forced to do a very awkward thing, and send you back one of your letters, and, what is still worse, opened. The case was this: I received your two at dinner, opened one and laid the other in my lap; but forgetting that I had taken one out of the first, I took up the wrong and broke it open, without perceiving my mistake, till I saw the words, Dear Sister. I give you my honour I read no farther, but had torn it too much to send it away. Pray excuse me; and another time I beg you will put an envelope, for you write just where the seal comes; and besides, place the seals so together, that though I did not quite open the fourth letter, yet it stuck so to the outer seal, that I could not help tearing it a little.

Your things shall be ready whenever they are called for. Adieu!

Yours ever.

To GEORGE MONTAGU, Esq.

Strawberry-hill, May 25, 1766.

WHEN the weather will please to be in a little better temper, I will call upon you to perform your promise; but I cannot in conscience invite you to a fire-side. The Guerchys and French dined here last Monday, and it rained so that we could no more walk in the garden than Noah could. I came again to-day, but shall return to town to-morrow, as I hate to have no sun in May, but what I can make with a peck of coals.

I know no news, but that the duke of Richmond is secretary of state, and that your cousin North has refused the vicetreasurer of Ireland. It cost him bitter pangs, not to preserve his virtue, but his vicious connections. He goggled his eyes, and groped in his money pocket, more than half consented; nay, so much more, that when he got home he wrote an excuse to lord Rockingham, which made it plain that he thought he had accepted. As nobody was dipped deeper in the warrants and prosecution of Wilkes, there is no condoling with the ministers on missing so foul a bargain. They are only to be pitied, that they can purchase nothing but damaged goods. So my lord Grandison is dead! 1 much?

Does the general inherit

Have you heard the great loss the church of England has had! It is not avowed, but hear the evidence and judge. On Sunday last, George Selwyn was strolling home to dinner at half an hour after four. He saw my lady Townshend's coach stop at Caraccioli's' chapel. He watched, saw her go in; her footman laughed; he followed. She went up to the altar,

1 John Villiers, fifth viscount Grandison: he had been elevated to the earldom in 1721, which title became extinct and the viscounty devolved upon William third earl of Jersey. [Ed.]

2 The marquis de Carraccioli, ambassador from the court of Naples. He was afterwards ambassador to the French court. [Ed.]

a woman brought her a cushion; she knelt, crossed herself, and prayed. He stole up, and knelt by her. Conceive her face, if you can, when she turned and found his close to her. In his demure voice, he said, "Pray, madam, how long has your ladyship left the pale of our church?" She looked furies, and made no answer. Next day he went to her, and she turned it off upon curiosity; but is any thing more natural? No, she certainly means to go armed with every viaticum, the church of England in one hand, methodism in the other, and the host in her mouth.

Have you ranged your forest, and seen your lodge yourself? I could almost wish it may not answer, and that you may cast an eye towards our neighbourhood. My lady Shelburne3 has taken a house here, and it has produced a bon-mot from Mrs. Clive. You know my lady Suffolk is deaf, and I have talked much of a charming old passion I have at Paris, who is blind; "Well," said the Clive, "if the new countess is but lame, I shall have no chance of ever seeing you." Good night!

To GEORGE MONTAGU, Esq.

Strawberry-hill, June 20, 1766.

I DON'T know when I shall see you, but therefore must not I write to you? yet I have as little to say as may be. I could cry through a whole page over the bad weather. I have but a lock of hay, you know; and I cannot get it dry, unless I bring it to the fire. I would give half-a-crown for a pennyworth of sun. It is abominable to be ruined in coals in the middle of June.

What pleasure have you to come! there is a new thing published, that will make you split your cheeks with laughing. It is called the New Bath Guide.' It stole into the world, and

3 Mary, countess of Shelburne, widow of the hon. John Fitzmaurice, first earl of Shelburne. She was likewise his first cousin, being the daughter of the hon. William Fitzmaurice, of Gallane, in the county of Kerry. [Ed.]

1 By Christopher Anstey. It has recently been reprinted, and is now of

for a fortnight no soul looked into it, concluding its name was its true name. No such thing. It is a set of letters in verse, in all kind of verses, describing the life at Bath, and incidentally every thing else; but so much wit, so much humour, fun, and poetry, so much originality, never met together before. Then the man has a better ear than Dryden or Handel. A-propos to Dryden, he has burlesqued his St. Cecilia, that you will never read it again without laughing. There is a description of a milliner's box in all the terms of landscape, painted lawns and chequered shades, a Moravian ode, and a methodist ditty, that are incomparable, and the best names that ever were composed. I can say it by heart, though a quarto, and if I had time would write it you down; for it is not yet reprinted, and not one to be had.

There are two volumes, too, of Swift's correspondence, that will not amuse you less in another way, though abominable, for there are letters of twenty persons now alive; fifty of lady Betty Germain, one that does her great honour, in which she defends her friend my lady Suffolk, with all the spirit in the world, against that brute, who hated every body that he hoped would get him a mitre, and did not.

*

*

His own journal, sent to Stella during the four last years of the queen, is a fund of entertainment. You will see his insolence in full colours, and, at the same time, how daily vain he was of being noticed by the ministers he affected to treat arrogantly. His panic at the Mohocks is comical; but what strikes one, is bringing before one's eyes the incidents of a curious period. He goes to the rehearsal of Cato, and says the drab that acted Cato's daughter could not say her part. This was only Mrs. Oldfield. I was saying before George Selwyn, that this journal put me in mind of the present time, there was the same indecision, irresolution, and want of system; but I added, "There is nothing new under the sun." "No," said Selwyn, "nor under the grandson."

2

My lord Chesterfield has done me much honour: he told increased interest from its faithful portraiture of the time in which it was composed. [Ed.]

2 A celebrated actress and most accomplished woman. She was born in London 1683, and died in 1730. [Ed.]

Mrs. Anne Pitt that he would subscribe to any politics I should lay down. When she repeated this to me, I said, “Pray tell him I have laid down politics."

I am got into puns, and will tell you an excellent one of the king of France, though it does not spell any better than Selwyn's. You must have heard of count Lauragais, and his horse-race, and his quacking his horse till he killed it. At his return the king asked him what he had being doing in England? "Sire, j'ai appris à penser"—" Des chevaux?" replied the king. Good night! I am tired, and going to bed.

Yours ever.

TO THE RIGHT HON. LADY HERVEY.

Strawberry-hill, June 28, 1766.

It is consonant to your ladyship's long experienced goodness, to remove my error as soon as you could. In fact, the same post that brought madame d'Aiguillon's letter to you, brought me a confession from madame du Deffand of her guilt. I am not the less obliged to your ladyship for informing against the true criminal. It is well for me however that I hesitated, and did not, as monsieur de Guerchy pressed me to do, constitute myself prisoner. What a ridiculous vain-glorious figure I should have made at Versailles, with a laboured letter and my present! I still shudder when I think of it, and have scolded madame du Deffand black and blue. However, I feel very comfortable; and though it will be imputed to my own vanity, that I showed the box as madame de Choiseul's present, I resign the glory, and submit to the shame with great satisfaction. I have no pain in receiving this present from madame du Deffand, and must own have great pleasure that nobody but she could write that most charming of all letters. Did not lord Chesterfield think it so, madam? I doubt our friend Mr. Hume must allow that not only madame de Boufflers, but

1 Madame du Deffand had sent Mr. Walpole a snuff-box, in which was a portrait of madame de Sevigné, accompanied by a letter written in her name from the Elysian-fields, and addressed to Mr. Walpole, who did not at first suspect madame du Deffand as the author, but thought both the present and letter had come from the duchess of Choiseul. [Or.]