ce, and I will be more modest for
the future in trespassing on your kindness. Yet, before I break out on
my new wants, it will be but decent, Sir, to answer some particulars of
your letter.

I have lately read Mr. Goodall's[1] book. There is certainly ingenuity
in parts of his defence; but I believe one seldom thinks a defence
_ingenious_ without meaning that it is unsatisfactory. His work left me
fully convinced of what he endeavoured to disprove; and showed me, that
the piece you mention is not the only one that he has written against
moderation.

[Footnote 1: Mr. Goodall had published an Essay on the letters put
forward as written by Queen Mary to Bothwell, branding them as
forgeries. The question of their genuineness has been examined with
great acuteness by more than one subsequent writer, and the arguments
against their genuineness are certainly very strong.]

I have lately got Lord Cromerty's "Vindication of the legitimacy of King
Robert [the Third]," and his "Synopsis Apocalyptica," and thank you
much, Sir, for the notice of any of his pieces. But if you expect that
his works should lessen my esteem for the writers of Scotland, you will
please to recollect, that the letter which paints Lord Cromerty's pieces
in so ridiculous a light, is more than a counterbalance in favour of the
writers of your country; and of all men living, Sir, you are the last
who will destroy my partiality for Scotland.

There is another point, Sir, on which, with all your address, you will
persuade me as little. Can I think that we want writers of history while
Mr. Hume and Mr. Robertson are living? It is a truth, and not a
compliment, that I never heard objections made to Mr. Hume's History
without endeavouring to convince the persons who found fault with it,
of its great merit and beauty; and for what I saw of Mr. Robertson's
work, it is one of the purest styles, and of the greatest impartiality,
that I ever read. It is impossible for me to recommend a subject to him;
because I cannot judge of what materials he can obtain. His present
performance will undoubtedly make him so well known and esteemed, that
he will have credit to obtain many new lights for a future history; but
surely those relating to his own country will always lie most open to
him. This is much my way of thinking with regard to myself. Though the
Life of Christina[1] is a pleasing and a most uncommon subject, yet,
totally unacquainted as I am with Sweden and its lan