You totally mistake my talents, when you impute to me any magical skill in planting roses. I know I am no conjuror in these things; when they are done, I can find fault, and that is all. Now this is the very reverse of genius, and I feel my own littleness. Reasonable people know themselves better than is commonly imagined, and therefore (though I never saw any instance of it) I believe Mason, when he tells me he understands planting better than any thing whatever. The prophetic eye of taste (as Mr. Pitt called it) sees all the beauties that a place is susceptible of, long before they are born; and when it plants a seedling, already sits under the shadow of it, and enjoys the effect it will have from every point of view that lies in prospect. You must, therefore, invoke Caractacus, and he will send his spirits from the top of Snowdon to Cross-Fell or Warden-Law.

The thermometer is in the passage-window (where the sun never coines) near the head of the back-stairs. Since you went, I have never observed it lower than 68, most part of the day at 74, and yesterday at 5 in the afternoon it was at 79, the highest I have ever seen it. It now is prepared to correspond regularly with you, at the hours you mention. The weather, for this fortnight, has been broiling without interruption, one thunder-shower excepted, which did not cool the air at all. Rye (I am told) is begun to be cut near London. In Cambridgeshire, a fortnight ago, the promise of harvest was the finest I ever saw; but the farmers complain (I hear) that the ears do not fill for want of wet. The wheat was then turning yellow. Duke-cherries are over in London, three days ago they sold for half-a-crown a pound. Caroons and Black-hearts, very large and fine, drive about the streets in wheel-barrows a penny a pound. Raspberries, a few are yet remaining, but in a manner over. Melons are ripe, and apricots and Orleans-plums are to be seen in

the fruit-shops. Roses are (I think) over a week ago. The jessamine (at Mrs. Dod's, on a S. W. wall) was in full bloom (if you remember) long before you went from hence, and so it continues. That below in the garden, on a N. E. wall, has been all this week covered with flowers. My nosegays, from Coventgarden, consist of nothing but scarlet-martagons, everlasting-peas, double-stocks, pinks, and flowering-marjoram. As I have kept

no exact account hitherto this year, I can say no more of July, that now is. Therefore, I shall annex one for the year 1754, which I observed day by day at Stoke. Observe, it had been then a cold rainy sunimer.

The heat was very moderate this month, and a great deal of rain fell. The sown hay was all got in by the first day; but the meadow-hay was not before the 23d. It was very good and in plenty, but sold at 40 shillings a load in the field, on account of the scarcity the year preceding. Barley was in ear on the first day; grey and white peas in bloom. The bean flowers were going off. Duke-cherries in plenty on the 5th; hearts were also ripe. Green melons on the 6th, but watry and not sweet. Currants begun to ripen on the 8th; and red gooseberries had changed colour; tares were then in flower, and meadow-hay cutting. Lime-trees in full bloom on the 9th. Mushrooms in perfection on the 17th. Wheat and oats had changed colour; and buck-wheat was in bloom on the 19th. The vine had then opened its blossoms, and the end of the month grapes were near the size of small peas. Turnips appeared above ground on the 22d; and potatoes were in flower. Barley had changed its hue, and rye was almost ripe on the 23d. The pine-apple-strawberry was then in perfection. Black caroons were ripe, and some duke cherries still remained on walls the 26th, but the hearts were then all spoiled by the

Goose-berries, red and white, were then ripe, and cur

In the Fields: Scabions, St. John's Wort, Trefoil, Yarrow, Bugloss, Purple Vetch, Wild-thyme, Pale Wood-Orchis, Betony, and white Clover, flowering on the first. Large blue Cranes-bill the

9th; Ragwort, Moth-mullein, and Brambles, the 20th; Knapweed all the month. There was rain, more or less, 13 days out of the 31, this month; and 17 days out of 30, in June preceding.

I was too late for the post on Saturday, so I continue on Monday. It is now 6 in the afternoon, and the thermometer is mounted to 80, though the wind is a N. E. by N. The gay Lady Essex is dead of a fever during her lying in; and Mrs. Charles York last week, with one of her children, of the sore throat. Heberden, and (I think) Taylor, attended her; the latter had pronounced her out of danger, but Heberden doubted about her. The little boy was at Acton, and escaped the infection.

Every body continues as quiet about the invasion, as if a Frenchman, as soon as he set his foot on our coast, would die, like a toad in Ireland. Yet the king's tents and equipage are ordered to be ready at an hour's warning. Nobody knows, positively, what is the damage that Rodney * has done, whether much or little; he can only guess himself; and the French have kept their own secret, as yet. Of the 12 millions raised for the year, eight are gone already; and the old party assure us there is no more to be had for next year. You may easily guess at the source of my intelligence, and therefore will not talk of it. News is hourly expected of a battle in Westphalia, for P. Ferdinand was certainly preparing to fight the French, who have taken Minden by storm.

* This alludes to the Bombardment of Havre-de-grace, by Admiral Rodney, in the month of July in this year; the French having collected several large flatbottomed boats there, for a threatened invasion on some part of the British Territories,-Ed.

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I have heard the D. of N. is much broke ever since his sister Castle-comer died, not that he cared for her, or saw her above once a year; but she was the last of the brood that was left; and he now goes regularly to church, which he never did before. Adieu !

I am ever yours.

I hope Mrs. Wharton's native air will be more civil to her, when they are better acquainted; my best compliments to her; I am glad the children are well.

LETTER LXXXIII.

MR. GRAY TO MR. PALGRAVE.

London, July 24, 1759.

I AM now settled in my new territories commanding Bedford gardens, and all the fields as far as Highgate and Hampstead, with such a concourse of moving pictures as would astonish you; so rus-in-urbe-ish, that I believe I shall stay here, except little excursions and vagaries, for a year to come. What though I am separated from the fashionable world by broad St. Giles's, and many a dirty court and alley, yet here is air, and sunshine, and quiet, however, to comfort you: I shall confess that I am basking with heat all the summer, and I suppose shall be blown down all the winter, besides being robbed every night; I trust, however, that the Museum, with all its manu