XVI. TO MR. WALPOLE. My dear sir, I should say* Mr. Inspector General of the Exports and Imports; but that appellation would make but an odd figure in conjunction with the three familiar monosyllables above written, for Non bene conveniunt nec in una sede morantur Which is, being interpreted, Love does not live at the Custom-house; however, by what style, title, or denomination soever you choose to be dignified or distinguished. hereafter, these three words will stick by you like a bur, and you can no more get quit of these and your christian name than St. Anthony could of his pig My motions. at present (which you are pleased to ask been more profuse in his praise of the Alcaic fragment. He might (I think) have said, without paying too extravagant a compliment to Mr. Gray's genius, that no poet of the Augustan age ever produced four more perfect lines, or what would sooner impose upon the best critic, as being a genuine ancient composition Mr. Walpole was just named to that post, which he exchanged soon after for that of Usher of the Exchequer. after) are much like those of a pendulum or (*Dr. Longically speaking) oscillatory. I swing from chapel or hall home, or from home to chapel or ball. All the strange incidents that happen in my journeys and returns I shall be sure to acquaint you with; the most wonderful is, that it now rains exceedingly, this has refreshed the prospect, as the way for the most part lies between green fields on either hand, terminated with buildings at some distance, castles, I presume, and of great antiquity. The roads are very good, being, as I suspect, the works of Julius Cæsar's army, for they still preserve, in many places, the appearance of a pavement in pretty good repair, and, if they were not so near home, might perhaps be as much admired as the Via Appia; there are at present several rivulets to be crossed, and which serve to enliven the view all around. The country is exceeding fruitful in ravens and such black cattle; but, not to tire you with my travels, I abruptly conclude. August, 1738. Yours, &c. * Dr. Long, the master of Pembroke-Hall, at this time read leetures in experimental philosophy. + All that follows is a humorously hyperbolic description of the quadrangle of Peter-House. XVII. TO MR. WEST. I AM coming away all so fast, and leaving behind me, without the least remorse, all the beauties of Sturbridge Fair. Its white bears may roar, its apes may wring their hands, and crocodiles cry their eyes out, all's one for that; I shall not once visit them, nor so much as take my leave. The university has published a severe edict against schismatical congregations, and created half a dozen new little procterlings to see its orders executed, being under mighty apprehensions lest *Henley and his gilt tub should come to the fair and seduce their young oues: but their pains are to small purpose, for lo, after all, he is not coming. I am at this instant in the very agonies of leaving college, and would not wish the worst of my enemies a worse situation. If you knew the dust, the old boxes, the bedsteads, and tutors that are about my ears, you would look upon this letter as a great effort of my resolution and unconcernedness in the * Orator Henley. midst of evils. I fill up my paper with a loose sort of version of that scene in Pastor Fido that begins, Care selve beati.* Sept. 1738. XVIII. FROM MR. WEST. I THANK you again and again for your two last most agreeable letters. They could not have come more à-propos; I was without any books to divert me, and they supplied the want of every thing: I made them my classics in the country; they were my Horace and Tibullus-Non ita loquor assentandi causâ, ut probe nôsti si me nôris, verum quia sic mea est sententia. I am but just come to town, and, to show you my esteem of your favours, I venture to send you by the penny-post, to your father's, what you will find on the next page: I hope it will reach you soon after your arrival, your boxes out of the waggon, yourself out of the coach, and tutors out of your memory. Adieu, we shall see one another, I hope, to-morrow. *This Latin version is extremely elegiac, (but as it is only a version I do not insert it., ELEGIA. Quod mihi tam gratæ misisti dona Camœnæ, Et mihi rura placent, et me quoque sæpe volentem Et, noto ut jacui gramine, nota cano. Sineero siquis pectore amare vetat : Si vultus modo amatus adesset, non ego contra |