——­to call your doves yourself,

and visit me in your Parnassian quality, I might send for you as my physicianess.  Yet why should I not ask you to come and see me?  You are not such a prude as to

——­blush to show compassion,

though it should

not chance this year to be the fashion,(567)

And I can tell you, that powerful as your poetry is, and old as I am, I believe a visit from you would do me as much good almost as your verses.(568) In the meantime, I beg you to accept of an addition to your Strawberry editions; and believe me to be, with the greatest gratitude, your too much honoured, and most obliged humble servant.

See “Florio,” a poetical tale, which Miss Hannah More had recently published with the “Bas Bleu."-E.

(568) on the 11th, Hannah More paid him a visit.  “I made poor Vesey,” she says, “go with me on Saturday to see Mr. Walpole, who has had a long illness.  Notwithstanding his sufferings, I never found him so pleasant, so witty, and so entertaining.  He said a thousand diverting things about ‘Florio;’ but accused me of having imposed on the world by a dedication full of falsehood; meaning the compliment to himself:  I never knew a man suffer pain with such entire patience.  This submission is certainly a most valuable part of religion; and yet, alas! he is not religious.  I must however, do him the justice to say, that, except the delight he has in teasing me for what he calls over-strictness, I never heard a sentence from him which savoured of infidelity.”  Memoirs, vol. ii, p. 11.-E.

Letter 301 To The Hon. H. S. Conway.  Sunday night, June 18, 1786. (page 301)

I suppose you have been swearing at the east wind for parching your verdure, and are now weeping for the rain that drowns your hay.  I have these calamities in common, and my constant and particular one,-people that come to see my house, which unfortunately is more in request than ever.  Already I have had twenty-eight sets, have five more tickets given out; and yesterday, before I had dined, three German barons came.  My house is a torment, not a comfort!

I was sent for again to dine at Gunnersbury on Friday, and was forced to send to town for a dress-coat and a sword.  There were the Prince of Wales, the Prince of Mecklenburg, the Duke of Portland, Lord Clanbrassil, Lord and Lady Clermont, Lord and Lady Southampton, Lord Pelham, and Mrs. Howe.  The Prince of Mecklenburg went back to Windsor after coffee; and the Prince and Lord and Lady Clermont to town after tea, to hear some new French players at Lady William Gordon’s.  The Princess, Lady Barrymore, and the rest of us, played three pools at commerce till ten.  I am afraid I was tired and gaped.  While we were at the dairy, the Princess insisted on my making some verses on Gunnersbury.  I pleaded being superannuated.  She would not excuse me.  I promised she should have an ode on her next birthday, which diverted the Prince; but all would not do.  So, as I came home, I made the following stanzas, and sent them to her breakfast next morning:—­