he wrote rapidly and without premeditation. This, however, was by no means the case, as he took great pains with his letters, and even collected and wrote down beforehand anecdotes, with a view to their subsequent insertion. Some of these stories have been discovered among the papers of Strawberry hill.”

Walpole's temper appears to have been somewhat capricious and testy ; his quarrel with Gray is well known; though the editor does not seem to have been aware of the real cause, which was for the first time given in Mr. Mitford's Life of Gray. He quarrelled with his intimate companion Mr. Bentley; and he held in the later years of his life no intercourse with the gay and good-humoured George Montagu. Lady Townshend said, "Oh! Mr. Walpole is all spirits of hartshorn."-But perhaps it is still more difficult to account for the praise (flattery we must call it) which in his later days he profusely showered on such very MODERATE persons as Messrs. Pinkerton and Beloe. Uncertain, however, as his temper might be, there was a solid stratum of valuable and virtuous affection in his heart. If the old rule is a sound one, "That a man may be known by his friends; then indeed will Walpole stand on a proud and lofty elevation. His offer of sharing his fortune with Marshal Conway, when the latter was dismissed from his employments, is well known; and honourable indeed it is to the character of that excellent and estimable man, that on the same occasion, similar offers were pressed on him by his brother Lord Hertford, and by the Duke of Devonshire, without any concert between them. Of any injustice or cruelty to the unfortunate Chatterton, Walpole was entirely guiltless, though for a considerable time the prejudices of the public were most unwarrantably excited against him. Chatterton was neither indigent nor distressed at the time of his correspondence with him. He was maintained by his mother, and lived with a lawyer. His pleas to Walpole's assistance were disgust of his profession, inclination to poetry, and communication of some suspicious manuscripts.* Chatterton's subsequent distress arose from his leaving his employer and coming to London without any certain means of support.

The old age of Horace Walpole glided on with the same gentle motion, and even course, in which the earlier part of his life had been passed. The gout, indeed, crippled him at last, emaciated his limbs, affected his temper, and was attended with severe suffering, but it never clouded the brightness of his intellect, or diminished the activity of his mind; he says,

Fortune, who scatters her gifts out of season,

Tho' unkind to my limbs, has yet left me my reason.

In 1791 he succeeded his unfortunate nephew, George Earl of Orford, in the family estate and the Earldom; but he never took his Seat in the House of Lords, and indeed was unwilling to assume the title. He died in the 80th year of his age, in 1797, and was buried at Houghton, and with him ended the male line † of the descendants of Sir Robert Walpole

The letters to Sir Horace Mann commence in the year 1741, and end in 1760. If compared to the Correspondence of Walpole which has been

Chatterton's Manuscripts are now in the British Museum, and not only is the appearance of them suspicious, but they are clumsily ignorant forgeries, such as could deceive no man who possessed any knowledge of antiquated writing at different periods of time.

+ H. Walpole never married; he says in one letter, "I own I cannot felicitate much any body that marries for love. It is bad enough to marry; but to marry when one lores, ten times worse. It is so charming at first, that the decay of inclination renders it infinitely more disagreeable afterwards.”

Horace Walpole landed in England from his foreign trave's in 1741.

GENT, MAG. VOL 1.

Ꭰ

previously published, it will be found to abound more in political information, and conversational anecdote, and to dwell less on little circumstances of a personal nature, on his daily occupations and amusements, on his garden, his house, his purchases, his visits, and his decorations. This arises from the situation of his correspondent, who, being our Envoy at Florence, was of course greatly interested in the political information that might reach him from the Cabinet of England. The account of the gay, the accomplished, the witty, the careless Lord Carteret; the close, reserved Mr. Pelham; the bustling, vapouring, chattering Duke of Newcastle; the portraits of his old uncle Horace, of Lord Bath, of the Duke of Cumberland, are admirable, painted with the freedom and spirit of Vandyck while the slighter sketches, the Princess of Craon (called Mamie), Lord Carteret, the Duchess of Queensbury, Lady Orford, Lady Pomfret, and Mrs. Pulteney, whom he called the Wife of Bath, squabbling at the gate with St. Peter for a halfpenny, have all the lightness, the grace, the elegance, it is possible to give. The very portraits seem to slide down from the frames, and appear the living models before us.

In most collections of letters which we have met with, the difficulty consists in finding any worthy of selection; in these now before us, we are so overwhelmed by the variety of their elegance, and the entertainment of their information, that one can hardly give one the prefereuce over the other.-There is Sir Thomas Robinson's ball,- -a ball has been described ten thousand times, but never in such language as this-" Lady Sophia Fermor out of humour, because no minuets were danced, in which she excelled. Churchill's daughter prettyish, and dances well. The Duke of Richmond sitting by his handsome wife all night, and kissing her hand and then there was Alderman Parson's family from Paris who danced, but à force des muscles."-Turn to another scene: "Old Marlborough is dying-but who can tell? Last year she had lain a great while ill, without speaking. Her physicians said, She must be blistered, or she will die.' She called out, 'I won't be blistered, and I won't die.' If she takes the same resolution now, I don't believe she will." We meet with a very characteristic anecdote of the old Duchess of Buckingham, daughter of James the Second, "The Duchess of Buckingham, who is more mad with pride than any mercer's wife in Bedlam, came the other night to the opera en Princesse, literally in robes, red velvet and ermine. I must tell you a story of her last week. She sent for Cori to pay hin for her opera-ticket; he was not at home, but went in an hour afterwards. She said, did he treat her like a tradeswoman? She would teach him respect to women of her birth. Said he was in league with Mr. Sheffield to abuse her, and bade him come the next morning at nine. He came, and she made him wait till eight at night, only sending him an omelet and a bottle of wine; and said as it was Friday, and he a Catholic, she supposed he did not eat meat. At last she received him, in all the form of a princess giving audience to an ambassador. Now, she said, she had punished him."

Everybody has heard the story of Lady Sandon and her ear-rings, but when was it ever so well told?

"Lady Sandon is dead, and Lady M

disappointed. She, who is full as politic as my Lord Hervey, had made herself an absolute servant to Lady Sandon, but I don't hear that she has left her even her old clothes. Lord Sandon is in great grief. I ain surprised, for she has had fits of madness ever since her ambition met such a check on the death of the Queen. She had great power with her, though the Queen pretended to despise her, but had unluckily told her, or fallen into her power by some

secret. I was saying to Lady Pomfret,' To be sure she is dead very rich.'* She replied, with some warmth, She never took money.' When I came home I mentioned this to Sir Robert. 'No (said he), but she took jewels. Lord Pomfret's place of Master of the Horse to the Queen, was bought of her for a pair of diamond earrings of fourteen hundred pounds value.' One day that she wore them at a visit at old Marlborough's, as soon as she was gone the Duchess said to Lady Mary Wortley, 'How can that woman have the confidence to go about with that bribe?' 'Madam,' said Lady Mary, 'how would you have people know where wine is to be sold, unless there is a sign held out.' Sir Robert told me that, in the enthusiasm of her vanity, Lady Sandon had proposed to him to unite with her, and govern the Kingdom together.' He bowed, begged her patronage, but said he thought nobody fit to govern the Kingdom but the King and Queen."

The masquerade at Court is well sketched :

"There were five hundred persons in the greatest variety of rich and handsome dresses I ever saw, and all the jewels of London,—and London has some. There were dozens of ugly queens of sixty, of which I will only name to you the eldest Miss Shadwell. The Princess of Wales was one covered with diamonds, but did not take off her mask. None of the Royalties did; but every body else. Lady Conway was a charming Mary Stuart. Lord and Lady Euston a man and woman Russian. But the two finest and most charming masks were their Graces of Richmond, like Harry the Eighth and Jane Seymour, exceedingly rich, and both so handsome. Here was a nephew of the King of Denmark, who was in armour, and his Governor a most admirable Quixote. There were quantities of pretty Vandykes, and all kinds of old pictures walked out of their frames. It was an assemblage of all ages and nations. My dress was an Aurengzebe: but of all extravagant figures commend me to my friend the Countess ! She and my Lord trudged in like pilgrims, with staffs in their hands, and she was so heated, that you would have thought her pilgrimage had been like Pantagruel's voyage to the Oracle of the Bottle, Lady Sophia was in a Spanish dress-so was Lord Lincoln; not, to be sure, by design, but so it happened. When the King came in, the Faussans † were there, and danced an entrée. At the masquerade the King sate by Mrs. Selwyn, and with tears told her, that The Whigs should find that he loved them, as he had done the poor man that had gone.' He had sworn that he would not speak to the Prince at their meeting, but was prevailed on."

His account of Garrick's first appearance is curious:

"There is a little simple farce at Drury Lane, called Miss Lucy in Town, in which Mrs. Clive mimics the Muscovita admirably, and Beard Amorevili intolerably. But all the run is now after Garrick, a wine merchant, who is turned player, at Goodman's Fields. He plays all parts, and is a very good mimic. His acting I have seen, and may say to you, who will not tell it again here, I see nothing wonderful in it, but it is heresy to say so. The Duke of Argyll says, he is superior to Betterton. Now I talk of players, tell Mr. Chute that his friend Bracegirdle breakfasted with me this morning. As she went out, and wanted her clogs, she turned to me, and said, I remember at the playhouse they used to call Mrs. Oldfield's chair! Mrs. Barry's clogs! and Mrs. Bracegirdle's pattens!' "'

From Pulteney to Patapan, from George Selwyn's stories to General Braitwitz's deux Potences, every thing came under Walpole's description. In one letter is a Lord Essex who believes he does not exist; in another, a Prince's coachman who left his son 3007. a-year, upon condition that he did not marry a Maid of Honour,-so sick was he of driving them. In a third, a General Ilton, who was called the Confectioner of the Guards, because he says he preserved them. In a letter of July 1743, he

says:

"There is no determination yet about the Treasury. Most people wish for Mr. Pelham, few for Lord Carteret, none for Lord Bath. My Lady Townshend said an admirable thing the other day to this last. He was complaining much of a pain in his side. 'Oh (said she) that can't be-you have no side.'

* A Gallicism. "Elle est morte bien riche."

+ Two celebrated comic dancers.

General Braitwitz, commander of the Queen of Hungary's troops, speaking of the two Powers, his Mistress and the King of Sardinia, instead of saving Ces deux Pouvoirs, said, Ces deux Potences!

"I must tell you a bon-mot of Winnington's. I was at dinner with him and Lord Leicester and Lord Stafford last week, and it happened to be a maigre-day, of which Stafford was talking, though, you may believe, without any scruples. Why,' said Winnington, what a religion is yours! They let you eat nothing, and yet make you swallow every thing."

Walpole's lighter Poems, and what are called Les Vers de Société, are not so happily touched off as we might have expected from the general ease of his manner, and elegance of his talents. A few verses, supposed to be sent by his lapdog Patapan to Mr. Chute, occur at p. 325, and are a fair specimen of his manner:

"I am so nice; who ever saw
A Latin book on my sofá?
You'll find as soon a primer there,
Or recipes for pastry-ware.
Why, do you think I ever read
But Crebillon, or Calprenede ?
This very thing of Mr. Chute's

Scarce with my taste or fancy suits.

Oh! had it but in French been writ,
'Twere the genteelest, sweetest bit!
One hates a vulgar English poet;

I vow t'ye I should blush to show it
To women de ma connoissance,
Did not that agreeable stance
Cher double entendre! furnish means
Of making sweet pata pavins !”'

Occasionally we meet with new anecdotes of our old acquaintance:

"Pope (he writes in a letter May 1744) is given over with a dropsy, which is mounted into his head. In an evening he is not in his senses. The other day at Chiswick he said to my Lady Burlington, Look at our Saviour there; how if Higham has erucified him.' We are now mad about tar-water, on the publication of a book that I will send you, by Dr. Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne. The book contains every subject, from tar-water to the Trinity. However, all the women read, and understand it no more than if it were intelligible. A man came into an apothecary's shop the other day. Do you sell tar-water?' 'Tar-water,' replied the apothecary, 'I sell nothing else.' Adieu."

Some verses are given at p 379 on Pope's death, which we never met with before, and which from their sentiment and style we presume to be Walpole's own, though he afterwards disclaims them :

"Here lies, who died, as most folks die, in hope,

The mouldering, more ignoble part of Pope,
The bard whose sprightly genius dared to wage
Poetic war with our commercial age;
Made ev'ry vice and private folly known
In friend or foe-a stranger to his own;
Set virtue in its loveliest form in view,
And still profess'd to be the sketch he drew.
As humour or as interest serv'd, his verse
Could praise or flatter, libel or asperse ;
Unharming innocence with guilt could load,
Or lift the rebel patriot to a God;
Give the censorious critic standing laws,
The first to violate them with applause.

The just translator, and the solid wit,

Like whom the passions few so truly hit;
The scourge of dunces whom his malice made;
The impious plague of the defenceless dead.
To real knaves and real fools a sore,
Belov'd by many, but abhorr'd by more :
If here his merits are not full express'd,
His never-dying strains shall tell the rest."

We shall conclude our extracts for the present with the latter part of one of his letters in Aug. 1744:

"I heard of an admirable dialogue which has been written at the Army on the battle of Dettingen, but one can't get a copy. I must tell you two dry strokes in it I have heard. Pierot asks Harlequin-Que donne t'on aux Generaux qui ne se sont pas trouvés à la bataille ? HARL. On leur donne le cordon rouge. PIER. Et que donne t'on au General en Chef [Lord Stair] qui a gagné la victoire? congé. PIER. Qui a soin des blessés ? HARL. Ennemi. Adicu." (To be continued.)

HARL. SOR

DESTRUCTION OF CHURCHES IN THE CITY OF LONDON.

MR URBAN,-As you have ever been the watchful guardian and protector of the sacred rights of the Established Church, I can have no hesitation in addressing you upon a subject vitally affecting its interests. It is no less than the contemplated destruction of numerous Churches in the city of London, some of them part of the admired works of Sir Christopher Wren. This extensive scheme of demolition proceeds, it is said, upon the suggestion of a Committee of the Corporation of London, whose predecessors, only a few years ago, without going further back, would have shrunk with horror at the meditated desecration, and with one heart and voice have preserved the sacred temples of Religion, as well as the resting places of the dead, from wanton violence and rude intrusion.

The specious pretence for such an act of rash and unfeeling outrage, is stated to be grounded upon the expediency of consolidating small Benefices and Parishes, in order to widen streets, reduce the Church Rates,* and promote the residence and increase the efficiency of the Parochial Clergy.

Now, Mr. Urban, in the first place the mere widening of streets is not a sufficient plea for the demolition of a sacred edifice; and there is not one solitary instance where the projection of a Church in great public thoroughfares, imperiously requires it; and even if imperious necessity did require it, due regard should be had to the rights of incumbents and parishioners, and the decent disinterment and removal of the remains of the dead. In the most rude and barbarous nations places of sepulture have ever been held sacred, and guarded with scrupulous care against unhallowed interference and wanton desecration.

I am aware that many excellent individuals have expressed their objection to the custom which has prevailed for many centuries of the burial of the dead in churches, and, as a substitute, have proposed the formation of cemeteries in large and open spaces, and in the environs of cities and towns; but the same individuals have shuddered at the idea of a wanton violation of the existing repositories of the remains of the dead. They considered that the very memorials of the departed awakened recollections which hallowed the ground in which they rested. The late instance of the numerous disinterments which took place from the church of St. Michael, Crooked-lane (notwithstanding provision was made by Act of Parliament for the decent performance of that mournful duty), was most painful to the feelings of relatives and friends, and also to a numerous part of the public who witnessed it. The constant cry of remonstrance was heard; and it was loudly contended that, even in that instance, the demolition was effected for the mere lengthening of the approach to the new London Bridge. Indeed, no actual necessity existed, as the church itself stood at a sufficient distance from the bridge to have made suitable collateral roads branching from it on cach side; the edifice could have been made an interesting object to the view, standing as it did, in the very centre of the straight line of the vista from the bridge; and an enormous sum would have been saved in the unnecessary destruction of houses and property, not to speak of the expences of the removal of the dead from that church alone, which, it is stated, amounted to no less than 4,0007. ; and when the numerous disinterments are considered, it could scarcely be expected to be carried into effect with due decorum for less. Now indeed

Are there not estates left in some parishes for general purposes. Have not these lessened the rates?