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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 897 pages of information about The Letters of Horace Walpole, Earl of Orford Volume 4.
amused for a moment the busy and idle metropolis; and the most rational Part of the laity, and even of the clergy, appear to have been satisfied of my innocence and accuracy I would not print it in quarto, lest it should be bound and preserved with the history itself At the distance of twelve years, I calmly affirm my judgment of Davis, Chelsum, etc.  A victory over such antagonists was a sufficient humiliation.  They, however were rewarded in this world, Poor Chelsum was, indeed, neglected; and I dare not boast the making Dr. Watson a bishop:  he is a prelate of a large mind and a liberal spirit:  but I enjoyed the pleasure of giving a royal pension to Mr. Davis, and of collating Dr. Althorpe to an archiepiscopal living."-E.

Letter 165 To The Rev. Mr. Cole.  Arlington Street, April 12, 1779. (page 218)

As your gout was so concise, I will not condole on it, but I am sorry you are liable to it if you do but take the air.  Thank you for telling me of the vendible curiosities at the Alderman’s.  For St. Peter’s portrait to hang to a fairie’s watch, I shall not think of it, both as I do not believe it very like, and as it is composed of invisible Writing, for which my eyes are not young enough.  In truth, I have almost left off making purchases:  I have neither room for any thing more, nor inclination for them, as I reckon every thing very dear when One has so little time to enjoy it.  However, I cannot say but the plates by Rubens do tempt me a little—­yet, as I do not care to, buy even Rubens in a poke, I should wish to know if the Alderman would let me see. if it were but one.  Would he be persuaded?  I would pay for the carriage, though I should not buy them.

Lord de Ferrers will be infinitely happy with the sight of the pedigree, and I will certainly tell him of it, and how kind you are.

Strype’s account, or rather Stow’s, of Richard’s person is very remarkable—­but I have done with endeavouring at truth.  Weeds grow more naturally than what one plants.  I hear your Cantabrigians are still unshaken Chattertonians.  Many men are about falsehood like girls about the first man that makes love to them:  a handsomer, a richer, or even a sincerer lover cannot eradicate the first impression—­but a sillier swain, or a sillier legend, sometimes gets into the head of a miss or the learned man, and displaces the antecedent folly.  Truth’s kingdom is not of this world.

I do not know whether our clergy are growing Mahometans or not:  they certainly are not what they profess themselves—­but as you and I should not agree perhaps in assigning the same defects to them, I will not enter on a subject which I have promised you to drop.  All I allude to now is, the shocking murder of Miss Ray(353) by a divine.  In my own opinion we are growing more fit for Bedlam, than for Mahomet’s paradise.  The poor criminal in question, I am persuaded, is mad—­and the

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