taste was, Beard did more justice to sense than any of our performers; for though he laid a stress on every syllable, yet at least the audience, such as were capable, could suppose the right accents. In short, I wish your Opera could be accompanied only by the lyre and the tibia.

There is no new event. The Parliament has done little or nothing, as they wait for Lord George to lead up the Blues. I have no time for details, and, in truth, I am thinking more of 'Sappho' than of the nation, and am happy when I can amuse myself with reading anything but politics, which I am sure nobody will ever read after the day they are published; but indeed who does write what is readable? I have got two more volumes of Shenstone's Correspondence,' and they are like all the rest, insipidity itself. Home's Alfred' died three days old; 'The Battle of Hastings' [by Cumberland] is to appear this evening; the child of as feeble a parent. Garrick has been reading plays at Althorp à la Texier, and been adored as usual; yet I do not believe he succeeded half so well in the women. He goes on writing his wretched epilogues too, for he cannot sit down with the strulbruggism that he had the sense to take up.

There is a Mr. Potter too, I don't know who, that has published a translation of Eschylus, and as far as I have looked is a good poet. I am sure he has taste, for in his preface he speaks like an initiate of Elfrida' and 'Caractacus.' I am delighted with 'Prometheus,' though I do not approve of a mad cow for first

woman.

1703. TO THE REV. WILLIAM MASON.

Arlington Street, Feb. 4, 1778.

I SHALL be sorry if you depend on me for your winter provision of news; I know so little, and the papers so much, that I could only repeat their information with not half their eloquence. All last week I was confined with a great cold which I thought it impossible for me to catch, not having had a genuine one these five or six years; I mean, not more than what I call a cold when I want an excuse for not doing what I have not a mind to do; I was blooded in spite of the gout's teeth, and yet am well again.

I hear you have finished a third book of the 'Garden;' thank the Muses you seldom do anything when you have nothing to do. It seems I am to learn your deeds from second and third hands.

As I suppose you care more about authors than politicians, I shall begin with the former. The Battle of Hastings,'-or rather one side of it, for not a Norman appears, has been acted. I have not seen it; the accounts are a little like a charade, for they say, the first part makes one cry, the latter laugh, and the whole sleep. It will soon be gathered in due chronologic order to its predecessor 'Alfred.'

I forgot till I had filled my sheet to answer your question about Lord Pigot, and then it was not worth while to tap a new page, as the account was contradicted. It is now confirmed. I know no more than you see in the newspapers, and thence you will collect that there has been more than meets the ear.

The enigma of the day, as he has oft been, is Lord Chatham. He has quarrelled with General Rockingham on the question of independence, and in a manner declared off; yet he is expected today in the House of Lords to anathematise the new levies. There is much talk too of his coming into place, which I doubt; everybody must have discovered that his crutch is no magic wand, and if the lame leads the blind it is not the way of shunning a ditch. Charles Fox has tumbled old Saturn from the throne of oratory, and if he has not all the dazzling lustre, has much more of the solid materials. They say nothing ever excelled his oration against the unfortunate Minister [North], who was truly unfortunate that day, for had Lord George [Germaine] been present, the thunder had fallen on him. Charles's speech on Monday was as marvellous for method and memory, and was really unanswerable, for not one of the Ministers knew what to say, and so said nothing, and that silence cost them many votes. In short, the minority amounted to above an hundred and sixty, in which were several Tories. It is supposed the inquiries will be put to a violent death, which will be very weak, for the people are contented with whatever is discussed and voted, but grow impatient when their ears are stopped by force.

The new levies are like Glendower's: he can stamp and call spirits from the vasty deep; but they don't come, consequently they will not go. I fancy the American war is pretty near an endI mean as to attempting more than keeping what remains. I don't think there will be a French war yet, unless we chance to go together by the ears at sea. However, it hangs by a thread.

Having now given you the quintessence of my intelligence, you see it would not have made one more letter than it does. I shall reserve a vacuum for what may pass to-day in the Lords; but

Chance

I have very rarely known a much-expected debate answer. is as much mistress of Orators as of Generals; and the prepared engagements of both frequently turn out like Sir W. Howe's two surveys of Washington's army.

5th.

Lord Chatham did not appear: they say, he has the gout, but I suppose not so bad but he could hobble to the end of the Park [the Queen's House] if he was much intreated. I have heard of nothing particular that passed in either House, but have seen nobody that was in either; in good truth I am little curious about debates. The ruin has gone a great deal too far to make Parliament of any consequence; speakers may amuse themselves with filling up the interstices of events, but when a house is falling, does one care who painted the staircase? Yes, Lord Chatham does. Because he once raised the building a story higher, he thinks he could do as much when the foundations have given way. Adieu! I long to see your Garden.' I am forced to read the newspapers, or my eyes would starve, yet it is feeding them with offals.'

1 TO THE HON. HORACE WALPOLE.

Aston, Feb. 6, 1778. I KNOW thee, and the wickedness of thy heart! You would have my Opera turned into a Tragedy. I know the speech of Sappho would be much better if turned as you would have it. But if three drops of cold water which had never been mixed with the unchaste wave of Alphæus is not a sufficient cure for the most outrageous love that ever was, there is no faith in mythology; all the rest of your criticism I submit to, and kiss the rod I even will expunge the line about the harp, though it is a verbatim translation of a fragment of Sappho.

As to Giardini, look you, if I did not think better of him than I do of Handel, my little shoemaker would not have had the benefit he will have (I hope) from this labour of my brain. Let Handel's music vibrate on the tough drum of royal ears; I am for none of it.

However, as I am now fully employed in writing a Fast Sermon for York Minster, music and operas must be lain by for a season. I hope, however, you have sent the Act to Giardini, otherwise he will think I have cheated him.

Will you be at Elfrida' on Saturday night, and will you clap like a dragon? I have taken more pains in fitting it for the stage, than I did about Caractacus.' On Wednesday I go to York; pray remember to direct to York, to yours

Most faithfully,

TO THE HON. HORACE WALPOLE.

W. MASON.

Aston, Feb. 8, 1778.

I AM much obliged to you for your letter received to-day. Your news about the English Garden' has been told you as imperfectly as that of the Opera. It is far from finished, and not even fit for anybody's inspection at present; when it is, you shall hear more from me. I now write to tell you a story which I think I have told you before, but which the debate which I read in the papers about Lord Abingdon's motion, makes me think ought to be more public. In 1745, when the rebels were at Derby, and subscriptions were going on in London, a certain (then) Barrister at

Lord Mansfield.-CUNNINGHAM.

1704. TO SIR HORACE MANN.

Feb. 6, 1778.

It is odd, that in the heat of a Parliamentary campaign, enlivened by a civil war, I should have nothing particular to tell you. The troops of the latter are gone into winter quarters. The others are in the field, and skirmish every day. If any of the generals are wounded, they do not own it. Some of the forces of the larger army have deserted to the enemy; and on Monday the numbers of the Opposition mounted to an hundred and sixty odd. On the other hand, it is commonly believed, that the old general of the minority, Lord Chatham, is to command the King's forces. It is certain that there is a great coolness between him and General Rockingham, but I think that disagreement so much more beneficial to the Court; and I see so little advantage to be acquired by gaining an old commander without soldiers, so fractious, so unsettled, and so impracticable, that I shall wonder much if he is invited to take the lead. It might add to the present distractions, and could cure none. As my opinions do not always, agree with the majority anywhere, it is not mine that we are on the brink of a French war. needless to repeat my reasons; I have told you them before.

It is

The Duke of Gloucester has again been out of order; but not nearly so ill, I think, as some thought, or as I have seen him. He still coughs a good deal. His constitution is always alarming, and one must not trust too much to the wonderful recoveries he has had; yet perhaps frequent advertisements are not contrary, lest his youth and courage should make him presume too much.

These paragraphs are the quintessence of my letter, and it ought to end here, were it a decent quantity: yet why should one write more than one has to say? A letter tells you I am not negligent, though perhaps I grow lazy. I never was good at detailing. The event of things is all I mind; which I own does not help con

Lincoln's Inn was called upon by a parish officer for his name, &c.; he was treated as a man should be that solicits an illegal unconstitutional subscription. The rebels retreated from Derby. The barrister flew immediately to the parish officer's house to put down his name; the P. O. was from home, had locked up the book; a blacksmith was called for to break open the bureau, and the name was inserted! This parish officer lived either in Long Acre, or Great Queen Street. This I had from good authority two years ago, and was told the fact might yet be authenticated. Adieu.

I wrote a long letter two posts ago.

W. MASON.

The present

versation. I leave you ignorant of nothing decisive. inquiries in Parliament into the conduct of the war I look on as a tale of a tub. The Ministers give themselves up to be teazed, more to amuse their antagonists than inform them; and the latter are pleased with making speeches. But can all this make peace, or carry on the war? Neither: but the inability of making either will produce other-guess events, and they will be serious.

These are my politics, which I adopt from no side, and preach to nobody. They are of not much use even to myself; for I am not of an age to trouble myself about what is to happen. When one talks of the times, one must think something; and, isolé as I am, it is more natural to look at the affairs of nations than at the feathers and fashions of the young, though perhaps as grave a subject. I would neither be boyish nor morose. Age, without any study on my part, has given me great indifference, and yet has been so good as to leave me spirits enough to be tranquil and to amuse myself. It is enough, not to wish to live or die.

1705. TO THE REV. WILLIAM MASON.

Arlington Street, Feb. 12, 1778.

I HAVE received two letters from you, one of the 6th, and another of the 8th, but not the long one you mention; for the first was but

twenty-five lines, and the latter of twenty-three, neither of which I should think a long one from anybody from whom I liked to hear at all, much less shall you pretend that one page is to pass for length; yet I conclude you have written none that I have not received. However, I answer you immediately, that you may ascer tain the fact, and I wish for the future you would keep the dates of the letters you do write, long or short.

I will not talk now of the story you mention, which I not only know, but remember happening. Basta! there will be a

time.

I am dismally afraid I shall not be able to go to Elfrida' on Saturday. My cold, that I thought gone, is worse, with the addition of a sore throat. I have not been out of my doors these two days, and as putrid sore throats are very rife, of which one of Lord Bute's daughters is dead, I am afraid of ripening mine to one. I am a little sorry you bestow your words, not only on folk that