I go no farther than you do, but it is down in my book.

What do you say to all our Victories? The night we rejoiced for Boscawen,* in the midst of squibs and bonfires arrived Lord G. Sackville. He sees company, and to-day has put out a short address to the Public, saying he expects a Court-Martial (for no one abroad had authority to try him), and desires people to suspend their judgement. I fear it is a

rueful case.

I believe I shall go on Monday to Stoke for a time, where Lady Cobham has been dying. My best respects to Mrs. Wharton. Believe me ever

I KNOW not what to say to you after so long a silence, but that I have been down at Stoke to see poor Lady

* Victory of Admiral Boscawen over the French Fleet under M. de la Clue, in the Mediterranean:-Ed.

Cobham, and after about three weeks passed there, she being obliged to come for advice (as they call it) to town, I returned with her, and have been ever since, till about ten days ago, by her desire in the house with her in Hanover-Square. She is dying (as it now plainly appears) of a dropsy, and the contemplation of lingering death is not apt to raise the spirits of any spectator I have had an en

quiry from Mr. Jonathan about painted glass, and have given him such information as I could procure. The manufacture at York seems to be the thing for your purpose, but the name of the person I cannot learn. He at Worcester sells it for two shillings a pound (for it is sold by weight). I approve very well of the canopy-work border on the sides of each light descending to the bottom, provided it do not darken the window too much, and take up so much of the twenty inches space, as to make the plain glass in the middle appear over narrow. But I have been more used to see the whole top of coloured glass (from where the Arch begins to turn), the gloom above contributing much to the beauty of the clear view below. I cannot decide: the first is more Gothic and more uncommon; the latter more convenient and more cheerful. Green glass is not classical, nor ever seen in a real church-window, but where there is history painted, and there the green is remarkably bad. I propose the rich amethyst-purple instead of it. The Mosaic pattern can hardly come amiss, only do not let too much yellow and scarlet come together. If I could describe the Mosaic at Mr. Walpole's it would be of no use to you, because it is not merely made of squares put together, but painted in a pattern of Price, and shaded. It is as if little Balaustines, or Pomegranate flowers, were set four together and formed a Lozenge. These are of a golden yellow, with a white Pearl at the junctions, and the spaces inclosed by them are scarlet or blue. This repeated makes a diaper-work, and fills

the whole top of the window. I am sorry any I am sorry any of your designs depend upon Virginia; I fear it will fail you. Stonehewer tells me, you have a neighbouring scene superior to any banks of the Thames, where I am to live

clever, and forced from him by a nonsensical speech of Beckford's. The second was a studied and puerile declamation on funeral honours (on proposing proposing a Monument for Wolfe). In the course of it he wiped his eyes with one handkerchief, and Beckford (who seconded him) cried too, and wiped with two handkerchiefs at once, which was very moving. The third was about Gen. Amherst, and in commendation of the industry and ardour of our American Commanders, very spirited and eloquent. This is a very critical time, an action being hourly expected between the two great Fleets, but no news as yet. I don't know where my thermometer left off, but I do not find any observations till the 8th September.

23,

24,

25,

59. fair, aftern. cold and gloomy, set by a fire. (Went to Stoke.)

fine black and white Muscadine Grapes, black Figs (the white

are over), Melons, and Walnuts.

red and blue double Asters, Musk and Monthly Roses, Marygolds, Sweet Peas, Carnations, Mignonette, and double Stocks, in bloom.

N.E. at night a little frost.

N.W. high.

Elm, Oak, and old Ash, in full verdure. Horse Chesnut
and Lime turn yellow. Young Beeches russet, Cherry-Trees
red, and dropping their Leaves.

62. clouds and sun.

Sept. 20, 59.

27,

28,

29,

64. fine.

30, 62.

Oct. 1,

Catherine Peaches very ripe. Black Frontignac Grapes.
(All the rest is lost.)

The 20th of November, some snow fell in the night.

23d Thermometer at 32 (Freezing Point) for the first time; since which it has continued rising: weather wet.

To-day, the 28th, at 54. Wind W.N.W. high. Warm and wet.

My best respects to Mrs. Wharton. I am, dear Sir, ever

Nov. 28, [1759.]

Yours,

LETTER LXXXVI.

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON.

London, Thursday, Jan. 23, 1760.

DEAR DOCTOR,

I AM much obliged to you for your antique news. Froissard is a favourite book of mine (though I have not attentively read him, but only dipp'd here and there), and it is strange to me that people who would give thousands for a dozen Portraits (originals of that time) to furnish a Gallery, should never cast an eye on so many moving Pictures of the

life, actions, manners, and thoughts of their ancestors done on the spot, and in strong though simple colours. In the succeeding century Froissard (I find) was read with great satisfaction by every body that could read, and on the saine footing with King Arthur, Sir Tristram, and Archbishop Turpin; not because they thought him a fabulous writer, but because they took them all for true and authentic Historians. To so little purpose was it in that age for a man to be at the pains of writing truth! Pray are you come to the four Irish Kings, that went to school to K. Richard ye 2d.'s Master of the Ceremonies, and the man who informed Froissard of all he had seen in St. Patrick's Purgatory.

You ask after Quebec. Gen. Townsend says, it is much like Richmond-Hill, and the River as fine (but bigger), and the Vale as riant, as rich, and as well cultivated. No great matters are attributed to his conduct. The Officer who brought over the news, when the Prince of Wales asked, how long Gen. Townsend commanded in the action after Wolfe's death? answered, "a minute, Sir." It is certain he was not at all well with Wolfe, who for some time had not cared to consult with him, or communicate any of his designs to him. He has brought home an Indian Boy with him (designed for Lord G. Sackville, but he did not chuse to take him) who goes about in his own dress, and is brought into the room to divert his company. The General after dinner one day had been shewing them a box of scalps, and some Indian arms and utensils. When they were gone, the boy got the box, and found a scalp, which he knew by the hair belonged to one of his own nation. He grew into a sudden fury (though but eleven years old), and catching up one of the scalping-knives made at his Master with intention to murther him, who in his surprise hardly knew how to avoid him; and by laying open his breast,