t honour, in which she defends her friend my Lady Suffolk, with
all the spirit in the world,[1] against that brute, who hated everybody
that he hoped would get him a mitre, and did not. There is one to his
Miss Vanhomrigh, from which I think it plain he lay with her,
notwithstanding his supposed incapacity, yet not doing much honour to
that capacity, for he says he can drink coffee but once a week, and I
think you will see very clearly what he means by coffee. His own journal
sent to Stella during the four last years of the Queen, is a fund of
entertainment. You will see his insolence in full colours, and, at the
same time, how daily vain he was of being noticed by the Ministers he
affected to treat arrogantly. His panic at the Mohocks is comical; but
what strikes one, is bringing before one's eyes the incidents of a
curious period. He goes to the rehearsal of "Cato," and says the _drab_
that acted Cato's daughter could not say her part. This was only Mrs.
Oldfield. I was saying before George Selwyn, that this journal put me in
mind of the present time, there was the same indecision, irresolution,
and want of system; but I added, "There is nothing new under the sun."
"No," said Selwyn, "nor under the grandson."

[Footnote 1: The letter dated Feb. 8, 1732-3.]

My Lord Chesterfield has done me much honour: he told Mrs. Anne Pitt
that he would subscribe to any politics I should lay down. When she
repeated this to me, I said, "Pray tell him I have laid down politics."

I am got into puns, and will tell you an excellent one of the King of
France, though it does not spell any better than Selwyn's. You must have
heard of Count Lauragais, and his horse-race, and his quacking his horse
till he killed it.[1] At his return the King asked him what he had been
doing in England? "Sire, j'ai appris a penser"--"Des chevaux?"[2]
replied the King. Good night! I am tired and going to bed. Yours ever.

[Footnote 1: In a previous letter Walpole mentioned that the Count and
the English Lord Forbes had had a race, which the Count lost; and that,
as his horse died the following night, surgeons were employed to open
the body, and they declared he had been poisoned. "The English," says
Walpole, "suspect that a groom, who, I suppose, had been reading Livy or
Demosthenes, poisoned it on patriotic principles to secure victory to
his country. The French, on the contrary, think poison as common as oats
or beans in the stables at Newmarket. In short