number of additions, both of works and omitted writers. I shall therefore be much obliged to you, if, without interrupting your own much more valuable writings, you can favour me with that list. All I know of lord Elibank's publications are the following:

1. Inquiry into the Origin and Consequence of the Public Debts.

2. Thoughts on Money, Circulation, and Paper Currency. Edinb. 1758.

3. A pamphlet on the Scottish peerage, 1771. I do not know the title.

I have a very imperfect memorandum, made long ago, and which being only written with a pencil, is almost effaced; so that all that remains legible are these words, "Lord Lyttelton's correspondents, Lord Elibank's answer to"

I recollect that it alluded to some remarkable anecdote; but my memory grows superannuated, and I cannot recover it. Have you any idea?

I do not even know lord Elibank's Christian name; was it Patrick?

In 1778, I cut out of a newspaper almost a whole column, containing an account of the death and character of Patrick, lord Elibank; and as he is there described as a very aged man, I conclude it was the lord I remember, who married the widow of lord North and Grey, and was brother of Mr. Alexander Murray, imprisoned by the house of

commons.

When I have the pleasure of seeing you here (which I hope will be in about a fortnight, when I shall be free from all engagements), I will, if you care to see it, trouble you with a sight of my in

tended supplement, to which, perhaps, you can contribute some additions, as I think you told me. I

am in no haste, for I only intend to leave it behind me; and have actually put all the materials in order, except the article of lord Elibank. I do not pretend to show you any thing worthy of your curiosity, for nothing is more trifling than my writings; but I am glad to lay you under a sort of debt of communication, in which I am sure of being greatly overpaid.

I can tell you what is truly curious: I have a list (over and above those whom I shall mention, being dead) of at least thirty living authors and authoresses. Would not one think this a literary age? As perhaps you was not aware of what a mass of genius the house of lords is possessed-I ought rather to say, the peerage of the three kingdoms, and of all, except of two of the ladies (who are five), the works are in print, I will show you the catalogue; nay, you shall have a copy, if you please, lest so many illustrious names should be lost, when I, their painful chronicler, am not alive to record them. Nor is there an atom of vanity in that expression. Books of peerage are like the precious spices that embalm corpses, and preserve the dead for ages.-Adieu, dear gir.

Yours most sincerely,

HOR. WALPole.

DEAR SIR,

XII.

Strawberry-hill, August 14, 1788.

THE new regulation of the post proves very inconvenient to this little district. It arrives and departs again in half an hour; so that having a visit when I received your letter yesterday, I could not possibly answer it then; nor can I write now expeditiously, as for these thirteen days I have had a third fit of the gout in my left arm and hand, and can barely hold the paper.

Your intelligence of the jubilees to be celebrated in Scotland* in honour of the revolution was welcome indeed. It is a favourable symptom of an age when its festivals are founded on good sense and liberality of sentiment, and not to perpetuate superstition and slavery. Your countrymen, sir, have proved their good sense too in their choice of a poet. Your writings breathe the noble, generous spirit congenial to the institution. Give me leave to say, that it is very flattering to me to have the Ode communicated to me.-I will not say, to be consulted, for of that distinction I am not worthy; I am not a poet; and am sure cannot improve your ideas, which you have expressed with propriety and clearness, the necessary ingredients of an address to a populous meeting, for I doubt our numerous audiences are not arrived at Olympic taste enough

* At Glasgow, it should have been.

to seize with enthusiasm the eccentric flights of Pindar. You have taken a more rational road to inspiration by adhering to the genuine topics of the occasion: and you speak in so manly a style, that I do not believe a more competent judge could amend your poetry. I approve of it so much, that if you commanded me to alter it, I would alter but one word, and would insert but one more. In the second stanza, for

Here ever gleam'd the patriot sword,

I would rather read,

Here ever flash'd,

as I think gleam'd not forcible enough for the thought, nor expressive enough of the vigorous ardour of your heroes. In the third stanza, I think, there wants a syllable, not literally, but to the ear;

And slavery, with arts unbless'd.

Slavery, if pronounced as three syllables, does not satisfy the fulness of harmony, and besides obliges the tongue to dwell too strongly on with, which ought not to occupy much accent. An epithet to arts would make the whole line sonorous.

These are trifling criticisms of a trifling critic, but they mark both my attention and satisfaction with your ode. I must add, how beautifully is introduced, innocent of blood! How ought that circumstance to be dwelt upon at the jubilee of the revolution!

I will tell you how more than occasionally the meution of Pindar slipped into my pen. I have fre

quently, and even yesterday, wished that some attempt were made to ennoble our horse-races, particularly at Newmarket, by associating better arts with the courses, as by contributions for odes, the best of which should be rewarded by medals. Our nobility would find their vanity gratified, for as the pedigrees of their steeds would soon grow tiresome, their own genealogies would replace them; and in the mean time poetry and medals would be improved. Their lordships would have judgment enough to know if their horse (which should be the impress on one side) were not well executed; and as I hold there is no being more difficult to draw well than a horse, no bad artist could be employed. Such a beginning would lead further, and the cups or plate for the prize might rise into beautiful verses. But this is a vision; and I may as well go to bed and dream of any thing else. I do not return the ode, which I flatter myself you meant I should keep.

Your much obliged, humble servant,
HOR. WALPole.

P. S. I must not forget how difficult it is to write to a given tune, especially with so much ease as you have done; and nothing is more happy than making November smile as May.