charmed with Miss Seward[2] and Mr. Hayley[3] piping to one another:  but you I exhort, and would encourage to write; and flatter myself you will never be royally gagged and promoted to fold muslins, as has been lately wittily said on Miss Burney, in the List of five hundred living authors. Your writings promote virtues; and their increasing editions prove their worth and utility.  If you question my sincerity, can you doubt my admiring you, when you have gratified my self-love so amply in your “Bas Bleu”?  Still, as much as I love your writings, I respect yet more your heart and your goodness.  You are so good that I believe you would go to heaven, even though there were no Sunday, and only six working days in the week.  Adieu, my best Madam!

[Footnote 1:  “Evelina” and “Cecilia” are novels by Miss Burney, afterwards Mme. d’Arblay.  The former was extravagantly praised by Johnson and the Literary Club, and is probably a favourable specimen of the style of the conversation of the day.]

[Footnote 2:  Miss Seward was the authoress of that most ingenious riddle on the letter H, and also of some volumes of poetry.]

[Footnote 3:  Mr. Hayley was the author of several works in prose and verse; in the latter, of a poem called “The Triumphs of Temper,” and entitled to the name, according to Byron, since “at least they triumphed over his” ("English Bards and Scotch Reviewers").]

DIVISIONS IN THE ROYAL FAMILY—­THE REGENCY—­THE IRISH PARLIAMENT.

TO SIR HORACE MANN.

BERKELEY SQUARE, Feb. 12, 1789.

I now do believe that the King is coming to himself:  not in the language of the courtiers, to his senses—­but from their proof, viz., that he is returned to his what! what! what! which he used to prefix to every sentence, and which is coming to his nonsense.  I am corroborated in this opinion by his having said much more sensible things in his lunacy than he did when he was reckoned sane, which I do not believe he has been for some years.

Well! now, how will this new change of scene operate?  I fancy if any one could win access to him, who would tell him the truth, he would be as little pleased with his Queen, and his or her Pitt, as they will take care he shall be with his sons.  Would he admire the degradation of his family in the person of all the Princes? or with the tripartite division of Royalty between the Queen, the Prince, and Mr. Pitt, which I call a Trinity in disunity?  Will he be charmed with the Queen’s admission to power, which he never imparted to her?  Will he like the discovery of his vast private hoard?  Will he be quite satisfied with the codicil to his Will,[1] which she surreptitiously obtained from him in his frenzy in the first agony of her grief?  How will he digest that discovery of his treasure, which will not diffuse great compassion when he shall next ask a payment of his pretended debts?  Before his madness he was indisposed towards Pitt; will he be better pleased with him for his new dictatorial presumption?