the Great.  It is true I have dipped into the others, particularly into the story of Cosmo the Third’s wife, of whom I had read much in French Memoires; and into that of John Gaston, which was so fresh when I was at Florence; but as the author, in spite of the Great Duke’s injunctions, has tried to palliate some of the worst imputations on Cosmo and his son Ferdinand, so he has been mighty modest about the Caprean amours of John Gaston and his eldest brother.  Adieu!  I have been writing a volume here myself.  Pray remember to answer me about Camilla Martelli.

P.S.—­Is there any china left in the Great Duke’s collection, made by Duke Francis the First himself?  Perhaps it was lately sold with what was called the refuse of the wardrobe, whence I hear some charming things were purchased, particularly the Medallions of the Medici, by Benvenuto Cellini.  That sale and the “History” are enough to make the old Electress[1] shudder in her coffin.

[Footnote 1:  The Electress Palatine Dowager was sister of John Gaston, the last Grand Duke of the House of Medici; after her husband’s death she returned to Florence and died there.]

THE LANGUAGE PROPER FOR INSCRIPTIONS IN ENGLAND—­FALL OF LORD NORTH’S MINISTRY—­BRYANT.

TO THE REV.  WILLIAM COLE.

April 13, 1782.

Your partiality to me, my good Sir, is much overseen, if you think me fit to correct your Latin.  Alas!  I have not skimmed ten pages of Latin these dozen years.  I have dealt in nothing but English, French, and a little Italian; and do not think, if my life depended on it, I could write four lines of pure Latin.  I have had occasion once or twice to speak that language, and soon found that all my verbs were Italian with Roman terminations.  I would not on any account draw you into a scrape, by depending on my skill in what I have half forgotten.  But you are in the metropolis of Latium.  If you distrust your own knowledge, which I do not, especially from the specimen you have sent me, surely you must have good critics at your elbow to consult.

In truth, I do not love Roman inscriptions in lieu of our own language,[1] though, if anywhere, proper in an University; neither can I approve writing what the Romans themselves would not understand.  What does it avail to give a Latin tail to a Guildhall?  Though the words are used by moderns, would major convey to Cicero the idea of a mayor? Architectus, I believe, is the right word; but I doubt whether veteris jam perantiquae is classic for a dilapidated building—­but do not depend on me; consult some better judges.

[Footnote 1:  Walpole certainly here shows himself superior in judgement to Johnson, who, when Burke, Reynolds, and others, in a “round-robin,” requested that the epitaph on Goldsmith, which was entrusted to him to draw up, should be in English instead of Latin, refused, with the absurd expression that “he would never be guilty of defacing Westminster Abbey with an English inscription.”]