ss, as the most certain way of recompensing
his mother for her care, and of securing his own independence. He
mentioned that more competent judges, than he pretended to be, were not
satisfied of the manuscripts being genuine; and at the same time stated
their reasons for concluding them to be of another age than that to
which they were assigned. Shortly after, Chatterton wrote to him two
letters, which though querulous, are not disrespectful. In the first,
while he thanks his correspondent for the advice he had given him, he
professes his resolution "to go a little beyond it, by destroying all
his useless lumber of literature, and never using his pen again but in
the law;" and in the other, declaring his settled conviction that the
papers of Rowley were genuine, he asks him to return the copy which had
been sent him. Owing to the absence of Walpole, who was then in Paris,
some time elapsed without any notice being taken of this request; and on
his return Walpole found the following letter, which he terms singularly
impertinent.

Sir,--I cannot reconcile your behaviour to me with the notions I once
entertained of you. I think myself injured, Sir; and did you not know my
circumstances, you would not dare to treat me thus. I have sent for a
copy of the M.S. No answer from you. An explanation or excuse for your
silence would oblige

Thomas Chatterton.

July 24th.

The manuscripts and letters were all returned in a blank cover, on the
fourth of August, and here the intercourse was at an end. Gray and Mason
were the friends whom Walpole had consulted about the manuscripts, and
they had no hesitation in pronouncing them to be forgeries. It may seem
strange, that with such men, the uncommon beauty of the poetry they
contained did not create some interest for the author. But Gray was now
in a state of health that, perhaps, left him little power of being
interested in anything; or the wonder may resolve itself into that
blindness which poets, no less than patrons, too frequently discover for
the excellence of their contemporaries. Chatterton himself spoke with
contempt of the productions of Collins. As to Walpole, he had no doubt
more pleasure in petting the lap-dog that was left to his care by the
old blind lady at Paris, than he could ever have felt in nursing the
wayward genius of Chatterton.

During his residence in Lambert's house, his constitutional reserve had
assumed an air of gloomy sullenness: he had repeatedly be