I am not in any eagerness to see Mr. What-d’ye-call-him’s pamphlet against me; therefore pray give yourself no trouble to get it for me.  The specimens I have seen of his writing take off all edge from curiosity.  A print of Mr. Gray will be a real present.  Would it not be dreadful to be commended by an age that had not taste enough to admire his “Odes”?  Is not it too great a compliment to me to be abused, too?  I am ashamed.  Indeed our antiquaries ought to like me.  I am but too much on a par with them.  Does not Mr. Henshaw come to London?  Is he a professor, or only a lover of engraving?  If the former, and he were to settle in town, I would willingly lend him heads to copy.  Adieu!

POPULARITY OF LOUIS XVI—­DEATH OF LORD HOLLAND—­BRUCE’S “TRAVELS."

TO SIR HORACE MANN.

STRAWBERRY HILL, July 10, 1774.

The month is come round, and I have, besides, a letter of yours to answer; and yet if I were not as regular as a husband or a merchant in paying my just dues, I think I should not perform the function, for I certainly have no natural call to it at present.  Nothing in yours requires a response, and I have nothing new to tell you.  Yet, if one once breaks in upon punctuality, adieu to it!  I will not give out, after a perseverance of three-and-thirty years; and so far I will not resemble a husband.

The whole blood royal of France is recovered from the small-pox.  Both Choiseul and Broglie are recalled, and I have some idea that even the old Parliament will be so.  The King is adored, and a most beautiful compliment has been paid to him:  somebody wrote under the statue of Henri Quatre, Resurrexit.[1]

[Footnote 1:  “Resurrexit.” A courtly picture-dealer, eager to make a market of the new sovereign’s popularity, devised even a neater compliment to him, issuing a picture of the three sovereigns—­Louis XII., Henri IV., and the young king—­with an explanation that 4 and 12 made 16.]

Lord Holland is at last dead, and Lady Holland is at the point of death.  His sons would still be in good circumstances, if they were not his sons; but he had so totally spoiled the two eldest, that they would think themselves bigots if they were to have common sense.  The prevailing style is not to reform, though Lord Lyttelton [the bad Lord] pretends to have set the example.  Gaming, for the last month, has exceeded its own outdoings, though the town is very empty.  It will be quite so to-morrow, for Newmarket begins, or rather the youth adjourn thither.  After that they will have two or three months of repose; but if they are not severely blooded and blistered, there will be no alteration.  Their pleasures are no more entertaining to others, than delightful to themselves; one is tired of asking every day, who has won or lost? and even the portentous sums they lose, cease to make impression.  One of them has committed a murder, and intends to repeat it.  He betted L1,500 that a man could live twelve hours under water; hired a desperate fellow, sunk him in a ship, by way of experiment, and both ship and man have not appeared since.  Another man and ship are to be tried for their lives, instead of Mr. Blake, the assassin.