[Footnote 1:  Mr. Tyrrhwitt, a critic of great eminence, especially as the editor of “Chaucer,” had at first believed the poems published by Chatterton to be the genuine works of Rowley, but was afterwards convinced, as Dr. Johnson also was, by the inspection of the manuscripts which the poor youth called the “originals,” that they were quite recent.]

ADMIRAL KEPPEL’S SUCCESS—­THREATS OF INVASION—­FUNERAL OF LORD CHATHAM.

TO SIR HORACE MANN.

STRAWBERRY HILL, July 7, 1778.

You tell me in yours of the 23rd of last month, which I received to-day, that my letters are necessary to your tranquillity.  That is sufficient to make me write, though I have nothing very positive to tell you.  I did not mention Admiral Keppel’s skirmish with and capture of two frigates of the Brest squadron; not because I thought it trifling, but concluding that it would produce immediate declaration of war; and, for the fact itself, I knew both our papers and the French would anticipate me.  Indeed, Sir John Dick has talked to me so much of his frequency and punctuality with you, that I might have concluded he would not neglect so public an event; not that I trust to anybody else for sending you intelligence.

No Declaration has followed on either side.  I, who know nothing but what everybody knows, am disposed to hope that both nations are grown rational; that is, humane enough to dislike carnage.  Both kings are pacific by nature, and the voice of Europe now prefers legislators to heroes, which is but a name for destroyers of their species.

It is true, we are threatened with invasion.[1] You ask me why I seem to apprehend less than formerly?  For many reasons.  In the first place, I am above thirty years older.  Can one fear anything in the dregs of life as at the beginning?  Experience, too, has taught me that nothing happens in proportion to our conceptions.  I have learnt, too, exceedingly to undervalue human policy.  Chance and folly counteract most of its wisdom.  From the “Memoires de Noailles"[2] I have learnt, that, between the years 1740 and 1750, when I,—­ay, and my Lord Chesterfield too,—­had such gloomy thoughts, France was trembling with dread of us.  These are general reasons.  My particular ones are, that, if France meditated a considerable blow, she has neglected her opportunity.  Last year, we had neither army nor a manned fleet at home.  Now, we have a larger and better army than ever we had in the island, and a strong fleet.  Within these three days, our West India and Mediterranean fleets, for which we have been in great pain, are arrived, and bring not only above two millions, but such a host of sailors as will supply the deficiencies in our unequipped men-of-war.  The country is covered with camps; General Conway, who has been to one of them, speaks with astonishment of the fineness of the men, of the regiments, of their discipline and manoeuvring.  In short, the French Court has taught all our young nobility to be soldiers.  The Duke of Grafton, who was the most indolent of ministers, is the most indefatigable of officers.  For my part, I am almost afraid that there will be a larger military spirit amongst our men of quality than is wholesome for our constitution:  France will have done us hurt enough, if she has turned us into generals instead of senators.