H. I am told you are going to entertain the town with something in our way.  W. Not very soon, Mr. Hogarth.  H. I wish you would let me have it, to correct; I should be very sorry to have you expose yourself to censure; we painters must know more of those things than other people.  W. Do you think nobody understands painting but painters?  H. Oh! so far from it, there’s Reynolds, who certainly has genius; why, but t’other day he offered a hundred pounds for a picture, that I would not hang in my cellar; and indeed, to say truth, I have generally found, that persons who had studied painting least were the best judges of it; but what I particularly wished to say to you was about Sir James Thornhill (you know he married Sir James’s daughter):  I would not have you say anything against him; there was a book published some time ago, abusing him, and it gave great offence.  He was the first that attempted history in England, and, I assure you, some Germans have said that he was a very great painter.  W. My work will go no lower than the year one thousand seven hundred, and I really have not considered whether Sir J. Thornhill will come within my plan or not; if he does, I fear you and I shall not agree upon his merits.  H. I wish you would let me correct it; besides, I am writing something of the same kind myself; I should be sorry we should clash.  W. I believe it is not much known what my work is, very few persons have seen it.  H. Why, it is a critical history of painting, is not it?  W. No, it is an antiquarian history of it in England; I bought Mr. Vertue’s MSS., and, I believe, the work will not give much offence; besides, if it does, I cannot help it; when I publish anything, I give it to the world to think of it as they please.  H. Oh! if it is an antiquarian work, we shall not clash; mine is a critical work; I don’t know whether I shall ever publish it.  It is rather an apology for painters.  I think it is owing to the good sense of the English that they have not painted better.  W. My dear Mr. Hogarth, I must take my leave of you, you now grow too wild—­and I left him.  If I had stayed, there remained nothing but for him to bite me.  I give you my honour this conversation is literal, and, perhaps, as long as you have known Englishmen and painters, you never met with anything so distracted.  I had consecrated a line to his genius (I mean, for wit) in my Preface; I shall not erase it; but I hope nobody will ask me if he is not mad.  Adieu!

INTENDED MARRIAGE OF THE KING—­BATTLES IN GERMANY—­CAPTURE OF PONDICHERRY—­BURKE.

TO GEORGE MONTAGU, ESQ.

STRAWBERRY HILL, July 22, 1761.