To the above meritorious nobleman, it has been already observed to you that our celebrated Horace Walpole, the youngest son of Sir Robert, and uncle to Lord George, succeeded. It has been said very truly, that his Royal and Noble Authors, and Historic Doubts, sufficiently prove his excellence as an English antiquary, and how much the most dull and dry subjects in the hands of a man of genius, may be rendered interesting and amusing. His lighter works are all marked by an easy elegance of style, a playfulness of imagination, and a delicacy of wit, of which kind of writing* he first set the example in England, as Voltaire some years before had done in France. His Lordship

I will not add to the volumes written on the charges brought against his Lordship, respecting his conduct to "The boy whom once patrician pens adorn'd, "First meanly flatter'd, then as meanly scorn'd;"

because too much has already been said on that subject; and, perhaps, too little proved, either in accusation or defence. But the lovers of true genius will never cease to deplore the untimely loss of Chatterton.

dying in the 80th year of his age, March 2, 1797, the earl Cholmondeley came into pos session of the Houghton estate, the 20th of the same month, and it could not have de. volved into more worthy hands,

Houghton village consists of a single street of neat brick buildings, uniform both within and without it was erected by Sir Robert for his own appropriate little tenantry and poor. From forty to fifty families of this description have here comfortable homes, with various indulgent privileges attached, and for which, that it may not altogether have the air of a bounty, they are rated for room-rent, at an annual guinea, which has, for a time long past, been received in full by a yearly shilling; a mode of payment continued by the present noble proprietor of the town. I have conversed with several of the inhabitants, sat down in their cottages, heard their tales of satisfaction, and seeing them all happy, am myself the happier. It has, indeed, been a sincere joy to me this morning, to observe not only those who had gaily yielded to the brief respite of their toils last night, but a

numerous band of others, young and old, the garrulous Jarvis at their head, each crowned with a sickle, going with willing hearts, and therefore me e able hands, to begin that harvest, which a few hours ago I had heard them so gleefully anticipate. I saw them gather into jovial rings the length of their street, three deep, the centre formed by the men, the top part by the women, and that nearest the road by the park paling,—which is their boundary, gave space for the children. Three merry and heart-sent huzzas were given, and then, quitting hands, they all started together for the field, as if they were rushing to their pastime.

Happy, harmless beings! we commiserate, my friend, those whom we should gratulate, and measure the sum of felicity, not by the healthful labour of others, but by our own dispiriting indolence. I was up with the sun to witness this preparation for hard work. The face of that sun, though he had risen in splendour, looked not more joyous than did the blithe and rosy countenances he shone upon. To a man of your unsophisticated feeling-to any man who has

a heart, and loves his kind-it was a sight worth a journey from your German Chateau, to the spot in England where scarce two hours ago it delighted your friend.

In what spirits did it not send me back to my little inn! and what a zest has it given to my pleasant breakfast; which, instead of taking alone in the room where I had at first ordered it, mixed me with mine hostess and her family. in her own bar parlour. A scene of sadness would have sent me pining into the solitude of my chamber, for I derive little solace from making others as wretched as myself, when the division of pain is the only good to be expected from its communication. But in joy!—in the fulness of happy feelings, not to seek, and even throw oneself in the way of any human creature that has enough of heart to share it, unites folly to avarice. It hoards the treasure which would accumulate by circulation.

And mine hostess has a heart, and her fair daughter another. I described what I had heard and seen; a tale of glee and good humour seldom wants a well-natured hearer, and all was

as it should be. I had ordered my horse, when

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I found, all at once, that mine hostess was a poet; Whilom she had sung, a famous coursing match, in Houghton-park:

"When Catch was deem'd the swiftest dog that run, "By whom, of course, the ladle then was won."

And those were two of her verses, which, for aught I know, merit the prize as well as the greyhounds. Yea, and her Muse had mourned, if not amid the inspirings of poesy, in the simplicity of truth, which is better, the death of Lord George:

"When his just soul on heavenly gales had flown
"To regions where no human ills are known,
"Where ev'ry scene does endless pleasures prove,
"And all is rapture, harmony, and love."

Moreover a song of her own composing was amongst the joyous tributes of yesterday's con viviality, and the poet hostess herself has furnished me with a stanza, by which you may judge of the rest;