STRAWBERRY HILL, _Oct._ 24, 1758.
It is a very melancholy present I send you here, my dear Sir; yet,
considering the misfortune that has befallen us, perhaps the most
agreeable I could send you. You will not think it the bitterest tear you
have shed when you drop one over this plan of an urn inscribed with the
name of your dear brother, and with the testimonial of my eternal
affection to him! This little monument is at last placed over the pew of
your family at Linton [in Kent], and I doubt whether any tomb was ever
erected that spoke so much truth of the departed, and flowed from so
much sincere friendship in the living. The thought was my own, adopted
from the antique columbaria, and applied to Gothic. The execution of the
design was Mr. Bentley's, who alone, of all mankind, could unite the
grace of Grecian architecture and the irregular lightness and solemnity
of Gothic. Kent and many of our builders sought this, but have never
found it. Mr. Chute, who has as much taste as Mr. Bentley, thinks this
little sketch a perfect model. The soffite is more beautiful than
anything of either style separate. There is a little error in the
inscription; it should be _Horatius Walpole posuit_. The urn is of
marble, richly polished; the rest of stone. On the whole, I think there
is simplicity and decency, with a degree of ornament that destroys
neither.
What do you say in Italy on the assassination of the King of
Portugal?[1] Do you believe that Portuguese subjects lift their hand
against a monarch for gallantry? Do you believe that when a slave
murders an absolute prince, he goes a walking with his wife the next
morning and murders her too? Do you believe the dead King is alive? and
that the Jesuits are as _wrongfully_ suspected of this assassination as
they have been of many others they have committed? If you do believe
this, and all this, you are not very near turning Protestants. It is
scarce talked of here, and to save trouble, we admit just what the
Portuguese Minister is ordered to publish. The King of Portugal
murdered, throws us two hundred years back--the King of Prussia _not_
murdered, carries us two hundred years forward again.
[Footnote 1: The Duke of Aveiro was offended with the King of Portugal
for interfering to prevent his son's marriage, and, in revenge, he
plotted his assassination. He procured the co-operation of some other
nobles, especially the Marquis and Marchioness of Tavora, and also of
some of the chief Jesuits in the country, who promised absolution to any
assassin. The attempt was made on September 3rd, when the King was fired
at and severely wounded. The conspirators were all convicted and
executed, and the Jesuits were expelled from the country.]
Another King, I know, has had a little blow: the Prince de Soubise has
beat some Isenbourgs and Obergs, and is going to be Elector of Hanover
this winter. There has been a great sickness among our troops in the
other German army; the Duke of Marlborough has been in great danger, and
some officers are dead. Lord Frederick Cavendish is returned from
France. He confirms and adds to the amiable accounts we had received of
the Duc d'Aiguillon's[1] behaviour to our prisoners. You yourself, the
pattern of attentions and tenderness, could not refine on what he has
done both in good-nature and good-breeding: he even forbad any ringing
of bells or rejoicings wherever they passed--but how your representative
blood will curdle when you hear of the absurdity of one of your
countrymen: the night after the massacre at St. Cas, the Duc d'Aiguillon
gave a magnificent supper of eighty covers to our prisoners--a Colonel
Lambert got up at the bottom of the table, and asking for a bumper,
called out to the Duc, "My Lord Duke, here's the Roy de Franse!" You
must put all the English you can crowd into the accent. _My Lord Duke_
was so confounded at this preposterous compliment, which it was
impossible for him to return, that he absolutely sank back into his
chair and could not utter a syllable: our own people did not seem to
feel more.
[Footnote 1: The Duc d'Aiguillon was governor of Brittany when the
disastrous attempt of the Duke of Marlborough on St. Cast was repulsed.
But he did not get much credit for the defeat. Lacretelle mentions that:
"Les Bretons qui le considérent comme leur tyran prétendent qu'il
l'était tenu caché pendant le combat" (iii. 345). He was subsequently
prosecuted on charges of peculation and subornation, which the
Parliament declared to be fully established, but Mme. de Barri persuaded
Louis to cancel their resolution.]
You will read and hear that we have another expedition sailing,
somewhither in the West Indies. Hobson, the commander, has in his whole
life had but one stroke of a palsy, so possibly may retain half of his
understanding at least. There is a great tranquillity at home, but I
should think not promising duration. The disgust in the army on the late
frantic measures will furnish some warmth probably to Parliament--and if
the French should think of returning our visits, should you wonder?
There are even rumours of some stirring among your little neighbours at
Albano--keep your eye on them--if you could discover anything in time,
it would do you great credit. _Apropos_ to _them_, I will send you an
epigram that I made the other day on Mr. Chute's asking why Taylor the
oculist called himself Chevalier?[1]
[Footnote 1: Walpole was proud of the epigram, for the week before he
had sent it to Lady Hervey. It was--
Why Taylor the quack calls himself Chevalier
'Tis not easy a reason to render,
Unless blinding eyes that he thinks to make clear
Demonstrates he's but a _Pretender_.
Le Chevalier was the name commonly given in courtesy by both parties to
Prince Charles Edward in 1745. Colonel Talbot says: "'Well, I never
thought to have been so much indebted to the Pretend--' 'To the Prince,'
said Waverley, smiling. 'To the Chevalier,' said the Colonel; 'it is a
good travelling name which we may both freely use'" ("Waverley," c.
55).]
_A NEW EDITION OF LUCAN--COMPARISON OF "PHARSALEA"--CRITICISM ON THE
POET, WITH THE AENEID--HELVETIUS'S WORK, "DE L'ESPRIT."_