Books: Letters of Horace Walpole, V4

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You know I have lost a niece, and found another nephew: he makes
the fifty-fourth reckoning both sexes. We are certainly an
affectionate family, for of late we do nothing but marry one
another. Have not You felt a little twinge in a remote corner of
your heart on Lady Harrington's death?(524) She dreaded death so
extremely that I am glad she had not a moment to be sensible of
it. I have a great affection for sudden deaths; they save
oneself and every body else a deal of ceremony.

The Duke and Duchess of Marlborough breakfasted here on Monday,
and seemed much pleased, though it rained the whole time with an
Egyptian darkness. I should have thought there had been deluges
enough to destroy all Egypt's other plagues: but the newspapers
talk of locusts: I suppose relations of your beetles, though
probably not so fond of green fruit; for the scene of their
campaign is Queen square, Westminster, where there certainly has
not been an orchard since the reign of Canute.

I have, at last, seen an air-balloon; just as I once did see a
tiny review, by passing one accidentally on Hounslow-heath. I
was going last night to Lady Onslow at Richmond, and over Mr.
Cambridge's field I saw a bundle in the air not bigger than the
moon,(525) and she herself could not have descended with more
composure if she had expected to find Endymion fast asleep. It
seemed to 'light on Richmond-hill; but Mrs. Hobart was going by,
and her coiffure prevented my seeing it alight. The papers say,
that a balloon has been made at Paris representing the castle of
Stockholm, in compliment to the King of Sweden; but that they are
afraid to let it off: so, I suppose, it will be served up to him
in a dessert. No great progress.. surely, is made in these airy
navigations, if they are still afraid of risking the necks of two
or three subjects for the entertainment of a visiting sovereign.
There is seldom a feu de joie for the birth of a Dauphin that
does not cost more lives. I thought royalty and science never
haggled about the value of blood when experiments are in the
question.

I shall wait for summer before I make you a visit. Though I dare
to say that you have converted your smoke-kilns into a
manufacture of balloons, pray do not erect a Strawberry castle in
the air for my reception, if it will cost a pismire a hair of its
head. Good night! I have ordered my bed to be heated as hot as
an oven, and Tonton and I must go into it.

(524) See vol. i. p. 379, letter 143.-E.(525) "Lunardi's nest,"
says Hannah More, " when I saw it yesterday, looking like a
pegtop, seemed, I assure you, higher than the moon, 'riding
towards her highest noon.'"-E.

Letter 277 To The Earl Of Strafford.
Strawberry Hill, August 6, 1784. (page 349)

I am very sorry, my dear lord, that I must answer your lordship's
letter by a condolence. I had not the honour Ur of being
acquainted with Mrs. Vyse, but have heard so much good of her,
that it is impossible not to lament her. Since this month began
we have had fine weather; and 'twere great pity if we had not,
when the earth is covered with Such abundant harvests! They talk
of an earthquake having been felt in London. Had Sir William
Hamilton been there, he would think the town gave itself great
airs. He, I believe, is putting up volcanos in his own country.
In my youth, philosophers were eager to ascribe every uncommon
discovery to the Deluge; now it is the fashion to solve every
appearance by conflagrations. If there was such an inundation
upon the earth, and such a furnace under it, I am amazed that
Noah and company were not boiled to death. Indeed, I am a great
sceptic about human reasonings; they predominate only for a time,
like other mortal fashions, and are so often exploded after the
mode is passed, that I hold them little more serious, though they
call themselves wisdom. How many have I lived to see established
and confuted! For instance, the necessity of a southern continent
as a balance was supposed to be unanswerable; and so it was, till
Captain Cook found there was no such thing. We are poor silly
animals: we live for an instant upon a particle of a boundless
universe, and are much like a butterfly that should argue about
the nature of the seasons and what creates their vicissitudes,
and does not exist itself to see one annual revolution of them!

Adieu! my dear lord! If my reveries are foolish, remember, I give
them for no better, If I depreciate human wisdom, I am sure I do
not assume a grain to myself; nor have any thing to value myself
upon more than being your lordship's most obliged humble servant.

Letter 278 To Mr. Dodsley.(526)
Strawberry Hill, August 8, 1784. (page 350)

I must beg, Sir, that you will tell Mr. Pinkerton, that I am much
obliged to him for the honour he is willing to do me, though I
must deg his leave to decline it. His book(527) deserves an
eminent patron: I am too inconsiderable to give any relief to it,
and even in its own line am unworthy to be distinguished. One of
my first pursuits was a collection of medals; but I early gave it
over, as I could not afford many branches of virt`u, and have
since changed or given away several of my best Greek and Roman
medals. What remain, I shall be glad to show Mr. Pinkerton; and,
if it would not be inconvenient to him to come hither any morning
by eleven o'clock, after next Thursday, that he Will not only see
my medals, but any other baubles here that can amuse him. I am,
Sir, your most obedient humble servant.

(526) Now first collected.

(527) The first edition of Pinkerton's "Essay on Medals" was
published by Dodsley, in two volumes octavo, in this year,
without the name of the author.-E.

Letter 279 To The Hon. H. S. Conway.
Strawberry Hill, August 14, 1784. (page 350)

As Lady Cecilia Johnston offers to be postman, I cannot resist
writing a line, though I have not a word to say. In good sooth,
I know nothing hear Of nothing but robberies and housebreaking;
consequently never think of ministers, India directors, and such
honest men. Mrs. Clive has been broken open, and Mr. Raftor
miscarried, and died of the fright. Lady Browne has lost all her
liveries and her temper, and Lady Blandford has cried her eyes
out on losing a lurch and almost her wig. In short, as I do not
love exaggeration, I do not believe there have been above
threescore highway robberies within this week, fifty-seven houses
that have been broken open, and two hundred and thirty that are
to be stripped on the first opportunity. We are in great hopes,
however, that the King of Spain, now he has demolished Algiers,
the metropolitan see of thieves, will come and bombard Richmond,
Twickenham, Hampton-court, and all the suffragan cities that
swarm with pirates and banditti, as he has a better knack at
destroying vagabonds than at recovering his own.

Ireland is in a blessed way; and, as if the climate infected
every body that sets foot there, the viceroy's aides-do-camp have
blundered into a riot, that will set all the humours afloat. I
wish you joy of the summer being come now it is gone, which is
better than not coming at all. I hope Lady Cecilia will return
with an account of your all being perfectly well. Adieu! Yours
ever.

Letter 280 To John Pinkerton, Esq.(528)
Strawberry Hill, August 24, 1784. (page 351)

I am much obliged to you, Sir, for the pieces you have sent me of
your own composition.(529) There is great poetic beauty and
merit in them, with great knowledge of the ancient masters and of
the best of the modern. You have talents that will succeed in
whatever you pursue, and industry to neglect nothing that will
improve them. Despise petty critics, and confute them by making
your works as perfect as you can.

I am sorry you sent me the old manuscript; because, as I told
you, I have so little time left to enjoy any thing, that I should
think myself a miser if I coveted for a moment what I must leave
so soon. I shall be very glad, Sir, to see you here again,
whenever it is convenient to you.

(528) This is the first of the series of letters addressed by Mr.
Walpole to Mr. Pinkerton. They are taken from his " Literary
Correspondence," first printed in 1830, in two volumes octavo, by
Dawson Turner, Esq. M.A. F.R.S. from the originals in his
valuable collection. Mr. Pinkerton was born at Edinburgh, in
February 1758, and died at Paris in May 1826. "He was," says Mr.
Dawson Turner, "a man of a capacious mind, great acuteness,
strong memory, restless activity, and extraordinary perseverance:
the anecdotes contained in this correspondence afford a striking
proof of the power of talent,, and industry to raise their
possessor in the scale of society, as well as in the opinion of
the world: unfortunately, they are also calculated to read us
another and not less instructive lesson, that somewhat more is
required to turn such advantages to their full account; and that
the endowments of the mind, unless accompanied by sound and
consistent principles, can tend but little to the happiness of
the individual, or to the good of society."-E.

(529) In 1781, Mr. Pinkerton had published an octavo volume
entitled "Rimes;" a second edition of which, with additions,
appeared in the following year.-E.

Letter 281 To The Earl Of Strafford.
Strawberry Hill, Sept. 7, 1784. (page 351)

The summer is come at last, my lord, drest as fine as a birthday,
though with not so many flowers on its head. In truth, the sun
is an old fool, who apes the modern people of fashion by arriving
too late: the day is going to bed before he makes his appearance;
and one has scarce time to admire his embroidery of green and
gold. It was cruel to behold such expanse of corn every where,
and yet see it all turned to a water-souchy. If I could admire
Dante,--which, asking Mr. Hayley's pardon, I do not,--I would
have written an olio of jews and Pagans, and sent Ceres to
reproach Master Noah with breaking his promise of the world never
being drowned again. But this last week has restored matters to
their old channel; and I trust we shall have bread to eat next
winter, or I think we must have lived on apples, of which to be
sure there is enough to prevent a famine. This is all I know, my
lord; and I hope no news to your lordship. I have exhausted the
themes of air-balloons and highwaymen; and if you will have my
letters, you must be content with my commonplace chat on the
seasons. I do nothing worth repeating, nor hear that others do:
and though I am content to rust myself, I should be glad to tell
your lordship any thing that would amuse you. I dined two days
ago at Mrs. Garrick's -with Sir William Hamilton, who is
returning to the kingdom of cinders. Mrs. Walsingham(530) Was
there with her son and daughter. He is a very pleasing young
man; a fine figure; his face like hers, with something of his
grandfather, Sir Charles Williams, without his vanity: very
sensible, and uncommonly well-bred. The daughter is an
imitatress of Mrs. Damer, and has modelled a bust of her brother.
Mrs. Damer herself is modelling two masks for the keystones of
the new bridge at Henley. Sir William, who has seen them, says
they are in her true antique style. I am in possession of her
sleeping dogs in terra cotta. She asked me if I would consent to
her executing them in marble for the Duke of Richmond? I said
gladly; I should like they should exist in a more durable
material; but I would not part with the original, Which is
sharper and more alive. Mr. Wyat the architect saw them here
lately; and said, he was sure that if the idea was given to the
best statuary in Europe, he would not produce so perfect a group.
Indeed with those dogs and the riches I possess by Lady Di,(531)
poor Strawberry may vie with much prouder collections.

Adieu, my good lord! when I fold up a letter I am ashamed of it;
but it is your own fault. The last thing I should think of would
be troubling your lordship with such insipid stuff, if you did
not command it. Lady Strafford will bear me testimony how often
I have protested against it.

(530) Charlotte, daughter of Sir Charles Hanbury Williams, Bart,
married to the Hon. Robert Boyle Walsingham.-E.

(531) The number of original drawings by Lady Diana Beauclerc, at
Strawberry Hill.

Letter 282 To John Pinkerton, Esq.(532)
Strawberry Hill, Sept. 27, 1784. (page 353)

I have read your piece, Sir, very attentively; and, as I
promised, will give you my opinion of it fairly. There is much
wit in it, especially in the part of Nebuchadnezer and the
dialogue is very easy, and the dinouement in favour of Barbara
interesting. There are, however, I think, some objections to be
made, which, having written so well, you may easily remove, as
they are rather faults in the mechanism than in the writing.
Several scenes seem to me to finish too abruptly, and not to be
enough connected. Juliana is not enough distinguished, as of an
age capable of more elevated sentiments: her desire of playing at
hot-cockles and blind-man's-buff sounds more childish than
vulgar. There is another defect, which is in the conduct of the
plot: surely there is much too long an interval between the
discovery of the marriage of Juliana and Philip, and the anger of
her parents. The audience must expect immediate effect from it;
and yet the noise it is to make arrives so late, that it would
have been forgotten in the course of the intermediate scenes.

I doubt a little, whether it would not be dangerous to open the
piece with a song that must be totally incomprehensible to at
least almost all the audience. It is safer to engage their
prejudices by something captivating. I have the same objection
to Julia's mistaking deposit for posset, which may give an ill
turn: besides, those mistakes have been too often produced on the
stage: so has the character of Mrs. Winter, a romantic old maid;
nor does she contribute to the plot or catastrophe. I am afraid
that even Mrs. Vernon's aversion to' the country is far from
novel; and Mr. Colman, more accustomed to the stage than I am,
would certainly think so. Nebuchadnezer's repartees of "Very
well, thank you!" and bringing in Philip, when bidden to go for a
rascal, are printed in the Terrce Filius, and, I believe, in
other jest-books; and therefore had better be omitted.

I flatter myself, Sir, you will excuse these remarks; as they are
intended kindly, both for your reputation and interest, and to
prevent them being made by the manager, or audience, or your
friends the reviewers. I am ready to propose your piece to Mr.
Colman at any time; but, as I have sincerely an opinion of your
parts and talents, it is the part of a friend to wish you to be
very correct, especially in a first piece; for, such is the
ill-nature of mankind, and their want of judgment too, that, if a
new author does not succeed in a first attempt on the stage, a
prejudice is contracted against him, and may be fatal to others
of his productions, which might have prospered, had that bias not
been taken. An established writer for the stage may venture
almost any idleness; but a first essay is very different.

Shall I send you your piece, Sir; and how? As Mr. Colman's
theatre will not open till next summer, you will have full time
to make any alterations you please. I mean, if you should think
any of my observations well founded, and which, perhaps, are very
trifling. I have little opinion of my own sagacity as a critic,
nor love to make objections; nor should have taken so much
liberty with you, if you had not pressed it. I am sure in me it
is a mark of regard, and which I never pay to an indifferent
author: my admiration of your essay on medals was natural,
uninvited, and certainly unaffected. My acquaintance with you
since, Sir, has Confirmed my opinion of your good sense, and
interested me In behalf of' your works; and, having lived SO long
in the world myself, if My experience can be of any service to
you, I cannot withhold it when you ask it; at the same time
leaving you perfectly at liberty to reject it, if not adopted by
your own judgment. The experience of old age Is very likely to
be balanced by the weaknesses incident to that age. I have not,
however, its positiveness yet; and willingly abandon my criticism
to the vigour of your judgment.

(532) Now first collected.

Letter 283 To John Pinkerton, Esq.(533)
Strawberry Hill, Oct. 6, 1784. (page 354)

You have accepted my remarks with great good-humour, Sir: I wish
you may not have paid too much regard to them: and I should be
glad that you did not rest any alterations on my single judgment,
to which I have but little respect myself. I have not thought
often on theatric performances, and of late not at all. A chief
ground of my observations on your piece proceeded from having
taken notice that an English audience is apt to be struck with
some familiar sound, though there is nothing, ridiculous in the
passage; and fall into a foolish laugh, that often proves fatal
to the author. Such was my objection to hot-cockles. You have,
indeed, convinced me that I did not enough attend to your piece,
as a farce; and, you must excuse me, my regard for you and Your
wit made me consider it rather as a short comedy. Very probably
too, I have retained the pedantic impression,, of the French, and
demanded more observance of their rules than is necessary or
just: yet I myself have often condemned their too delicate
rigour. Nay, I have wished that farce and speaking harlequins
were more encouraged, in order to leave open a wider field of
invention to writers for the stage. Of late I have amply had my
wish: Mr. O'Keefe has brought our audiences to bear with every
extravagance; and, were there not such irresistible humour in his
utmost daring, it would be impossible to deny that he has passed
even beyond the limits of nonsense. But I confine this
approbation to his Agreeable Surprise. In his other pieces there
is much more untempered nonsense than humour. Even that
favourite performance I wondered that Mr. Colman dared to
produce.

Your remark, that a piece full of marked characters would be void
of nature, is most just. This is so strongly my opinion, that I
thought it a great fault in Miss Burney's Cecilia, though it has
a thousand other beauties, that she has laboured far too much to
make all her personages talk always in character; whereas, in the
present refined or depraved state of human nature, most people
endeavour to conceal their real character, not to display it. A
professional man, as a pedantic fellow of a college or a seaman,
has a characteristic dialect; but that is very different from
continually letting out his ruling passion. This brings me, Sir,
to the alteration you offer in the personage of Mrs. Winter, whom
you wittily propose -to turn into a mermaid. I approve the idea
much: I like too the restoration of Mrs. Vernon to a plain
reasonable woman. She will be a contrast to the bad characters,
and but a gradation to produce Barbara, without making her too
glaringly bright without any intermediate shade. In truth, as
you certainly may write excellently if you please, I wish you to
bestow your utmost abilities on whatever you give to the public.
I am wrong when I would have a farce as chaste and sober as a
comedy; but I would have a farce made as good as it can be. I do
not know how that is to be accomplished; but I believe you do.
You are so obliging as to offer to accept a song of mine, if I
have one by me. Dear Sir, I have no more talent for writing a
song than for writing an ode like Dryden's or Gray's. It is a
talent per se; and given, like every other branch of genius, by
nature alone. Poor Shenstone was labouring through his whole
life to write a perfect song, and, in my opinion at least, never
once succeeded; not better than Pope did in a St. Cecilian ode.
I doubt whether we have not gone a long, long way beyond the
possibility of writing a good song. All the words in the
language have been so often employed on simple images (without
which such a song cannot be good), and such reams of bad verses
have been produced in that kind, that I question whether true
simplicity itself could please now. At least we are not likely
to have any such thing. Our present choir of poetic virgins
write in the other extreme. They colour their compositions so
highly with choice and dainty phrases, that their own dresses are
not more fantastic and romantic. Their nightingales make as many
divisions as Italian singers. But this is wandering from the
subject; and, while I only meant to tell you what I could not do
myself, I am telling you what others do ill..I will yet hazard
one other opinion, though relative to composition in general.
There are two periods favourable to poets: a rude age, when a
genius may hazard any thing, and when nothing has been
forestalled - the other is, when, after ages of barbarism and
incorrection, a master or two produces models formed by purity
and taste: Virgil, Horace, Boileau, Corneille, Racine, Pope.,
exploded the licentiousness that reigned before them. What
happened? Nobody dared to write in contradiction to the severity
established; and very few had abilities to rival their masters.
insipidity ensues, novelty is dangerous, and bombast usurps the
throne which had been debased by a race of fain`eants. This
rhapsody will probably convince you, Sir, how much you was
mistaken in setting any value on my judgment.

February will certainly be time enough for your piece to be
finished. I again beg you, Sir, to pay no deference to my
criticisms, against your own cool reflections. It is prudent to
consult others before one ventures on publication; but every
single person is as liable to be erroneous as an author. An
elderly man, as he gains experience, acquires prejudices too:
Day, old age has generally two faults; it is too quick-sighted
into the faults of the time being, and too blind to the faults
that reigned in his own youth, which, having partaken of or
having admired, though injudiciously, he recollects with
complacence. A key in writers for I confess, too, that there
must be two distinct views of writers 4 the stage, one of which
is more allowable to them than to other authors. The one is
durable fame; the other, peculiar to dramatic authors, the view
of writing to the present taste, (and, perhaps, as you say, to
the level of the audience). I do not mean for the sake of
profit; but even high comedy must risk a little of its
immortality by consulting the ruling taste; and thence comedy
always loses some of its beauties, the transient, and some of its
intelligibility. Like its harsher sister satire, many of its
allusions must vanish, as the objects it aims at correcting
ceases to be in vogue; and, perhaps, that cessation, the natural
death of fashion, is often ascribed by an author to his own
reproofs. Ladies would have left off patching on the Whig or
Tory side of their face, though Mr. Addison had not written his
excellent Spectator.(534) Probably even they who might be
corrected by his reprimand, adopted some new distinction as
ridiculous; not discovering that his satire was levelled at their
partial animosity, and not at the mode of placing their patches;
for, unfortunately, as the world cannot be cured of being
foolish, a preacher who eradicates one folly, does but make room
for some other.

(533) Now first collected.

(534) The singularly clever and witty paper here alluded to was
written by Addison himself; it is No. 81, "Female Party-spirit
Discovered by Patches," and was published June 2, 1711-D. T.

Letter 284 To The Hon. H. S. Conway.
Strawberry Hill, Oct. 15, 1784. (page 356)

As I have heard nothing from you, I flatter myself Lady Ailesbury
mends, or I think you would have brought her again to the
physicians. you will, I conclude, next week, as towards the end
of it the ten days they named will be expired. I must be in town
myself about Thursday, on some little business of my own.

As I was writing this, my servants called me away to see a
balloon. I suppose Blanchard's, that was to be let off from
Chelsea this morning. I saw it from the common field before the
window of my 'round tower. It appeared about the third of the
size of the moon, or less, when setting, something above the tops
of the trees on the level horizon. It was then descending; and,
after rising and declining a little, it sunk slowly behind the
trees, I should think about or beyond Sunbury, at five minutes
after one. But you know I am a very inexact guesser at measures
and distances, and may be mistaken in many miles; and you know
how little I have attended to those airgonaut;. only t'other
night I diverted myself with a sort of meditation on future
airgonation, supposing that it Will not only be perfected, but
will depose navigation. I did not finish it, because I am not
skilled, like the gentleman that used to write political
ship-news, in that style, which I wanted to perfect my essay -.
but in the prelude I observed how ignorant the ancients Were in
supposing that Icarus melted the wax of his Wings by too near
access to the sun, whereas he would have been frozen to death
before he made the first post on that road. Next, I discovered
an alliance between Bishop Wilkins's art Of flying, and his plan
of an universal language the latter of which he no doubt
calculated to prevent the want of an interpreter when he should
arrive at the moon.