Dear sir, I had time to write but a short note with the Castle of Otranto, as your messenger called on me at four o’clock, as I was going to go abroad.  Your partiality to me and Strawberry have, I hope, inclined you to excuse the wildness of the story.  You will even have found some traits to put you in mind of this place.(764)—­When you read of the Picture quitting its panel,(765) did not you recollect the portrait of Lord Falkland, all in white, in my gallery?  Shall I even confess to you, what was the origin of this romance!  I waked one morning, in the beginning of last June, from a dream, of which, all I could recover was, that I had thought myself in an ancient castle, (a very natural dream for a head filled like mine with Gothic story,) and that on the uppermost bannister of a great staircase I saw a gigantic hand in armour.  In the evening I sat down, and began to write, without knowing in the least what I intended to say or relate.  The work grew on my hands, and I grew fond of it—­add, that.  I was very glad to think of any thing, rather than politics.  In short, I was so engrossed with my tale, which I completed in less than two months, that one evening, I wrote from the time I had drunk my tea, about six o’clock, till after one in the morning when my hand and fingers were so weary, that I- could not hold my pen to finish the sentence, but left Matilda and Isabella talking, in the middle of a paragraph.  You will laugh at my earnestness; but if I have amused you by retracing with any fidelity the manners of ancient days, I am content, and give you leave to think me as idle as you please.

You are, as you have long been to me, exceedingly kind, and I should, with great satisfaction, embrace your offer of visiting the solitude of Bleckely, though my cold is in a manner gone, and my cough quite, if I was at liberty:  but as I am preparing for my French journey, and have forty businesses upon my hands, and can only now and then purloin a day, or half a day, to come hither.  You know I am not cordially disposed to your French journey, which is much more serious, as it is to be much more lasting.  However, though I may suffer by your absence, I would not dissuade what may suit your inclination and circumstances.  One thing, however, has struck me, which I must mention, though it would depend on a circumstance, that would give me the most real concern.  It was suggested to me by that real fondness I have for your MSS. for your kindness about which I feel the utmost gratitude.  You would not, I think, leave them behind you:  and are you aware of the danger you would run, If, you settled entirely in France?  Do You know that the King of France is heir to all strangers who die in his dominions, by what they call the Droit d’Aubaine.  Sometimes by great interest and favour, persons have obtained a remission of this right in their lifetime:  and yet that, even that, has not secured their effects from being embezzled.