neither love to foresee, nor to spread misfortunes of my country, when my letter must pass through the ordeal of as many hostile post-houses as formerly galant ladies passed over burning plough-shares.-Let us talk rather of galant ladies—but no, I hate scandal; and, besides, our greatest dames are no longer galant, but errant street-walkers, and I have never promised to send you the register of Doctors' Commons: our newswriters are the proper secretaries of that tribunal, and can scarcely outstrip the truth.

What I have long apprehended is on the point of conclusion, the sale of the pictures at Houghton: the mad master has sent his final demand of forty-five thousand pounds for them to the Empress of Russia, at the same time that he has been what he calls improving the outside of the house; basta! Thus end all my visions about Houghton, which I never will see, though I must go thither at last; nor, if I can help it, think of more.

Your old acquaintance, Mr. Worseley,* is dead, and in a shocking way to us moderns, though à la Romaine : he had such dreadful internal complaints, that he determined to starve himself, and for the four last days tasted exactly nothing.

My newly recovered voice will not permit me to dictate your nephew and the newspaper can tell you as much more as I could. If I have any judgment, which I doubt, the tragedy is coming rather to the fifth act than to the conclusion. Hitherto the drama has been

* James Worseley, Master of the Board of Works.

carried on by relation, or-behind the scenes; now the dénouement may be on the stage. Adieu! I am quite tired.

LETTER CCXCVI.

Strawberry Hill, Jan. 5, 1779.

OLD Women-our only remaining prophets, except the Opposition and a little common sense,-prognosticate great woes for the coming year, from the omens of its first day. A tempest at the instant of the new year made terrible havoc of tiles, chimneys, and trees; and at night great part of Greenwich Hospital was burnt. I doubt casualties will not be the sole completion of the augury. There is actually great apprehension for Jamaica, or, at least, some of the West Indian Islands. I believe there are no eggs laid for achievements on our side, but some for discontent. The trial of Admiral Keppel is most unpopular, especially with his own profession. Lord Hawke and eleven other Admirals have presented to the King a remonstrance against the precedent, on the lateness of the complaint, on the impropropriety of it as subjecting Commanders-in-chief to the uncertainty of opinion, and on the precipitation of the Admiralty in ordering the trial. A draught of the Remonstrance was shown to Mr. Keppel himself; he tore it, and desired it might not be presented. This did him great honour, but did not prevent the delivery.* I should think the Parliament would meet

* The conduct of the Admiralty in appointing the court-martial gave the highest disgust to all ranks in the navy. Twelve British Admirals, at

again in cloudy weather, though they may vote it is fair.

I came hither on New Year's Day to try change of weather, as I mend very slowly, or not at all. In truth, I expect but little melioration. My natural weakness, with so many attacks, so much gout in my constitution, and sixty-one-no elastic age, make me conclude that I shall not pass much of my remaining time out of my own houses. It is a doom I shall not struggle with: I have no idea of forcing a helpless skeleton upon other people, nor can see myself but what I am. It seems strange to me that so many decrepit cardinals should have accepted the tiara, when they were as likely to be buried as crowned.

I shall carry this letter to town with me to-morrow, and add any news, if I hear any before Friday. I might, from the little I had to say, have waited till the Parliament met next week; but it seems as if I had not written to you for some time. Your nephew, I conclude, is out of town, for I have seen him but the once I told you. But I am still more impatient to hear from you again, as your last left you with remains of fever. I know you are not rash, and know how to manage yourself in fevers; but you have not good Dr. Cocchi to watch you, and I have no opinion of Italian Galens. I think, too, that there was lowspirited accent in your style, but trust it was the

the head of whom was Keppel's old commander, the veteran Hawke, drew up a memorial, which was presented to the King by the Duke of Bolton.-ED.

effect of the times. I impute to that habit an expression, which, though the effusion of your friendship and tenderness for me, I must reclaim against. You say, you love and adore me. Jesus my dear sir! What an object of adoration! You put me in mind of what I have read in some traveller, who, viewing some Indian temple that blazed with gold and jewels, was at last introduced into the sanctum sanctorum, where behind the veil sat the object of worship-an old baboon! and, perhaps, poor pug's inside, as well as out, was fairer than mine!

8th.

I have no news to add: all eyes are now on Portsmouth, where the trial began yesterday. Prudence is not gone thither, nor had any hand in the business : but she has been out of fashion for some time; and her mimic, Cunning, does not act her part with sucAdieu!

cess.

LETTER CCXCVII.

Jan. 29, 1779.

SUSPENSE Still! The Court-martial continues, and everything respectfully awaits its determination: even France and America seem to lie upon their oars till the oracle at Portsmouth has pronounced.* The response,

* Gibbon, writing at this time to Mr. Holroyd, says, "Portsmouth is no longer an object of speculation. The whole stream of all men and all parties runs one way. Sir Hugh is disgraced, ruined, &c. In a night or two we shall be in a blaze of illumination, from the zeal of naval heroes, land patriots, and tallow-chandlers; the last are not the least sincere."-ED.

however, is not likely to be ambiguous. There has been such juggling to warp the judgment of the priests of Neptune; and the frauds have been so openly detected, and salt-water Flamens are so boisterous when they can see through an imposition; that Palliser and his accomplices, high and low, will probably rue the tempest they have brewed. I hinted in my last that there is a man,* whom you once knew well, that prefers cunning to prudence: he will not exult in the choice he has made. The Duke of Marlborough and Lord Pembroke declare against the First Lord of the Admiralty; the second is expected to be less out of humour with the Court-martial than with being denied the Mastership of the Horse; but, when a tide turns, it sweeps many along with it. I will say no more of politics; the horizon does not clear-but I have no events to tell you. I write only to amuse your impatience.

Garrick is dead; quitted the stage.

not a public loss, for he had

He is to be buried on Monday

* Lord Sandwich, First Lord of the Admiralty.

+ David Garrick died on the 20th of January, at his house on the Adelphi Terrace, in the sixty-third year of his age. His widow survived him forty-three years, and died in 1822, in her ninety-ninth year. Dr. Johnson pays the following high tribute to the memory of the great actor, in the concluding passage of his Life of Edmund Smith, the poet : "At this man's table I enjoyed many cheerful and instructive hours, with companions such as are not often found; with one who has lengthened, and one who has gladdened life; with Dr. James, whose skill in physic will be long remembered, and with David Garrick, whom I hoped to have gratified with this character of our common friend; but what are the hopes of man! I am disappointed by this stroke of death, which has eclipsed the gaiety of nations, and impoverished the public stock of harmless pleasures."-Ed.