cial to one another.

"At any rate, be civil to him for my sake, as well as for the
honour and glory of publishers and authors now and to come for
evermore.

"With him I also consign a great number of MS. letters written in
English, French, and Italian, by various English established in
Italy during the last century:--the names of the writers, Lord
Hervey, Lady M.W. Montague, (hers are but few--some billets-doux in
French to Algarotti, and one letter in English, Italian, and all
sorts of jargon, to the same,) Gray, the poet (one letter), Mason
(two or three), Garrick, Lord Chatham, David Hume, and many of
lesser note,--all addressed to Count Algarotti. Out of these, I
think, with discretion, an amusing miscellaneous volume of letters
might be extracted, provided some good editor were disposed to
undertake the selection, and preface, and a few notes, &c.

"The proprietor of these is a friend of mine, _Dr. Aglietti_,--a
great name in Italy,--and if you are disposed to publish, it will
be for _his benefit_, and it is to and for him that you will name a
price, if you take upon you the work. _I_ would _edite_ it myself,
but am too far off, and too lazy to undertake it; but I wish that
it could be done. The letters of Lord Hervey, in Mr. Rose's[19]
opinion and mine, are good; and the _short_ French love letters
_certainly_ are Lady M.W. Montague's--the _French_ not good, but
the sentiments beautiful. Gray's letter good; and Mason's
tolerable. The whole correspondence must be _well weeded_; but this
being done, a small and pretty popular volume might be made of
it.--There are many ministers' letters--Gray, the ambassador at
Naples, Horace Mann, and others of the same kind of animal.

"I thought of a preface, defending Lord Hervey against Pope's
attack, but Pope--_quoad_ Pope, the poet--against all the world, in
the unjustifiable attempts begun by Warton and carried on at this
day by the new school of critics and scribblers, who think
themselves poets because they do _not_ write like Pope. I have no
patience with such cursed humbug and bad taste; your whole
generation are not worth a Canto of the Rape of the Lock, or the
Essay on Man, or the Dunciad, or 'any thing that is his.'--But it
is three in the matin, and I must go to bed. Yours alway," &c.