there is some style and manner to recommend them, and unless some novelty is struck out from their appearance.  The best merit of the society lies in their prints; for their volumes, no mortal will ever touch them but an antiquary.  Their Saxon and Danish discoveries are not worth more than monuments of the Hottentots; and for Roman remains in Britain, they are upon a foot with what ideas we should get of Inigo Jones, if somebody was to publish views of huts and houses, that our officers run up at Senegal and Goree.  Bishop Lyttelton used to torment me with barrows and Roman camps, and I would as soon have attended to the turf graves in our churchyards.  I have no curiosity to know how awkward and clumsy men have been in the dawn of arts, or in their decay.

I exempt you entirely from my general censure on antiquaries, both for your singular modesty in publishing nothing yourself, and for collecting stone and bricks for others to build with.  I wish your materials may ever fall into good hands—­perhaps they will! our empire is falling to pieces! we are relapsing to a little island. n that state men are apt to inquire how great their ancestors have been; and, when a kingdom is past doing any thing, the few that are studious look into the memorials of past time; nations, like private persons, seek lustre from their progenitors, when they have none in themselves, and the farther they are from the dignity of their source.  When half its colleges are tumbled down, the ancient university of Cambridge will revive from your Collections,(323) and you will be a living witness that saw its splendour.

Since I began this letter, I have had another curious adventure.  I was in the Holbein chamber, when a chariot stopped at my door.  A letter was brought up—­and who should be below but—­Dr. Kippis.  The letter was to announce himself and his business, flattered me on My Writings, desired my assistance, and particularly my direction and aid for his writing the life of my father.  I desired he would walk up, and received him very civilly, taking not the smallest notice of what you had told me of his flirts at me in the new Biographia.  I told him if I had been applied to, I could have pointed out many errors in the old edition, but as they were chiefly in the printing, I supposed they would be corrected.  With regard to my father’s life, I said, it might be partiality, but I had such confidence in my father’s virtues, that I was satisfied the more his life was examined, the clearer they would appear.  That I also thought that the life of any man written under the direction of his family, did nobody honour; and that, as I was persuaded my father’s would stand the test, I wished that none of his relations should interfere in it.  That I did not doubt but the Doctor would speak impartially, and that was all I desired.  He replied, that he did suppose I thought in that manner, and that all he asked was to be assisted in facts and dates.  I said, if he would please to write the life first, and then communicate it to me, I would point out any errors in facts that I should perceive.  He seemed mightily well satisfied-and so we parted-but is it not odd. that people are continually attacking me, and then come to me for’ assistance?—­ but when men write for profit, they are not very delicate.