“Esher’s peaceful grove Where Kent and Nature vie for Pelham’s love.”—Pope. “Esher’s groves, Where, in the sweetest solitude, embraced By the soft windings of the silent Mole, From courts and senates Pelham finds repose.”—Thomson. “When London shall be an habitation of bitterns, when St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey shall stand, shapeless and nameless ruins, in the midst of an unpeopled marsh; … some Transatlantic commentator will be weighing … the respective merits of the Bells and the Fudges, and their historians.”—Shelley, Dedication to Peter Bell the Third. The rest are still more remote. ‘Is it credible that five or six of the great trading towns have presented addresses against the Americans?—Same to Same, Oct. 10, 1775. The writer tries to persuade himself that these addresses were procured by ‘those boobies, the country gentlemen.’ “See Thrale’s grey widow with a satchel roam, And bring in pomp laborious nothings home.” “As this will come to you by my servant, give me leave to add a word on your most unfounded idea that I can forget you, because it is almost impossible for me ever to meet you. Believe me, I heartily regret that privation, but would not repine, were your situation, either in point of fortune or position, equal in any degree to your merit. But were your talents given to be buried in obscurity? You have retired from the world to a closet at Court—where, indeed, you will still discover mankind, though not disclose it; for if you could penetrate its characters, in the earliest glimpse of its superficies, will it escape your piercing eye when it shrinks from your inspection, knowing that you have the mirror of truth in your pocket? I will not embarrass you by saying more, nor would have you take notice of, or reply to what I have said: judge only, that feeling hearts reflect, not forget. Wishes that are empty look like vanity; my vanity is to be thought capable of esteeming you as much as you deserve, and to be reckoned, though a very distant, a most sincere friend,—and give me leave to say, dear Madam, your most obedient humble servant, Hor. Walpole. “Strawberry Hill, October, ’90.” |