the
metropolis. Mrs. Pritchard, likewise, was attracted there; but the
proximity of the Countess of Suffolk, who lived at Marble Hill was the
delight of a great portion of Horace Walpole's life. Her reminiscences,
her anecdotes, her experience, were valuable as well as entertaining to
one who was for ever gathering up materials for history, or for
biography, or for letters to absent friends.

In his own family he found little to cheer him: but if he hated one or
two more especially--and no one could hate more intensely than Horace
Walpole--it was his uncle, Lord Wapole, and his cousin, that nobleman's
son, whom he christened Pigwiggin; 'my monstrous uncle;' 'that old
buffoon, my uncle;' are terms which occur in his letters, and he speaks
of the bloody civil wars between 'Horatio Walpole' and 'Horace Walpole.'

Horatio Walpole, the brother of Sir Robert, was created in June, 1756,
Baron Walpole of Wolterton, as a recompense for fifty years passed in
the public service--an honour which he only survived nine months. He
expired in February, 1757. His death removed one subject of bitter
dislike from the mind of Horace; but enough remained in the family to
excite grief and resentment.

Towards his own two brothers, Robert, Earl of Orford, and Edward
Walpole, Horace the younger, as he was styled in contradistinction to
his uncle, bore very little affection. His feelings, however, for his
nephew George, who succeeded his father as Earl of Orford in 1751, were
more creditable to his heart; yet he gives a description of this
ill-fated young man in his letters, which shows at once pride and
disapprobation. One lingers with regret over the character and the
destiny of this fine young nobleman, whose existence was rendered
miserable by frequent attacks, at intervals, of insanity.

Never was there a handsomer, a more popular, a more engaging being than
George, third Earl of Orford. When he appeared at the head of the
Norfolk regiment of militia, of which he was colonel, even the great
Lord Chatham broke out into enthusiasm:--'Nothing,' he wrote, 'could
make a better appearance than the two Norfolk battalions; Lord Orford,
with the front of Mars himself, and really the greatest figure under
arms I ever saw, as the theme of every tongue.' His person and air,
Horace Walpole declared, had a noble wildness in them: crowds followed
the battalions when the king reviewed them in Hyde Park; and among the
gay young officers in their scarl