Mrs. Martha More to one of her sisters. LADY WALDEGRAVE was drinking tea here the other evening, when the butler came in, and told us that there was a report that the king had been shot at in the play-house: the gentlemen flew for information, and found, alas! that it was too true. The pistol went off just before the queen entered the box. The king quietly said, "Keep back; there has been one squib; perhaps there will be another." He thought of this at the moment, as she is remarkably fearful of them. Sheridan met the princesses, and apologized to them for not lighting them himself, but he was looking for a constable to take up a fellow: this he said to prepare them for some bustle, but they could not long be kept in ignorance. They were a long time recovering Princess Augusta. One of the lords in waiting was near making an abrupt communication from fright and agitation, but the king kept him and everybody else from being indiscreet; such self-control is astonishing: everybody is of opinion that this was one of the grandest and most interesting dramas ever witnessed. The king was wonderfully great and collected through the whole; but when the house continued shouting for an unreasonable length of time, he appeared much affected, sat down, and looked for a minute on the ground. When he got home, he said to the queen, "As it is all safe, I am not sorry it has happened, for I can not regret anything that has caused so much affection to be displayed." Lady Cremorne and Mrs. Carter yesterday told us that the king's confidence exceeds all belief. Were you not delighted to see all the opposition at the levee? The bishop says that both that and the drawing-room were so full that it was complete mobbing and trampling. Nothing is more talked of than Robert Hall's Sermons. Our bishop makes every family of every description, possessed of money, buy that and "The Strictures," and speaks of both as grand engines to reform the times; but of all the admirers of the latter, every one falls short of Mr. Cecil: his words to us were, yesterday, "It is one of the most perfect works, in all its parts, that any century or country has produced." Adieu. MARTHA MORE. I forgot to mention that the Bishop of Durham and his lady breakfasted with us at Fulham Palace last Thursday. The bishop was kind and condescending, as usual; he talked over all the Blagdon business; bid us not be afraid; they could not injure our useful schemes. He is steady and warm in his approbation. He fully feels the importance of instructing the poor, as the grand means of instructing the nation. Dr. Beattie to the Duchess of Gordon, informing her of the death of his son. Aberdeen, Dec. 1, 1790. KNOWING With what kindness and condescension your grace is interested in every thing that concerns me and my family, I take the liberty to inform you that my son James is dead; that the last duties to him are now paid; and that I am endeavouring to return, with the little ability that is left me, and with entire submission to the will of Providence, to the ordinary business of life. I have lost one who was always a pleasing companion; but who, for the last five or six years, was one of the most entertaining and instructive companions that ever man was blessed with: for his mind comprehended almost every science; he was a most attentive observer of life and manners; a master of classical learning; and he possessed an exuberance of wit and humour, a force of understanding, and a correctness and delicacy of taste, beyond any other person of his age whom I have ever known. He was taken ill in the night of the thirtieth of November, 1783; and from that time his decline commenced. It was long what physicians call a nervous atrophy; but towards the end of June, symptoms began to appear of his lungs being affected. Goats' milk, and afterwards asses' milk, were procured for him in abundance; and such exercise as he could bear, he regularly took. These means lengthened his days, no doubt, and alleviated his sufferings, which, indeed, were not often severe. But, in spite of all that could be done, he grew weaker and weaker, and died on the nineteenth of November, 1790, without complaint or pain, without even a groan or a sigh; retaining to the last moment the use of his rational faculties. He lived twenty-two years and thirteen days. Many weeks before death came, he saw it approaching; and he met it with such composure and pious resignation as may, no doubt, be equalled, but cannot be surpassed. He has left many things in writing, serious and humorous, scientific and miscellaneous, prose and verse, Latin and English; but it will be a long time before I shall be able to harden my heart so far as to revise them. I have the satisfaction to know that every thing has been done for him that could be done; and every thing according to the best medical advice that Scotland could afford. For the last five months, I kept in my family a young medical friend, who was constantly at hand; and from the beginning to the end of my son's illness, I was always either by him or within call. From these circumstances, your grace will readily believe that I derive no little satisfaction. But my chief comfort arises from reflecting on the particulars of his life, which was one uninterrupted exercise of piety, benevolence, filial affection, and, indeed, of every virtue which it was in his power to practise. I shall not, with respect to him, adopt a mode of speech which has become too common, and call him my poor son: for I must believe that he is infinitely happy, and that he will be so for ever. May God grant every blessing to your grace, your family, and all your friends! The Duke of Gordon has done me the honour, according to his wonted and very great humanity, to write me a most friendly and sympathetic letter on this occasion. I have the honour to be, &c. JAMES BEATTIE. The Hon. Horace Walpole to R. West, Esq. DEAR WEST, ONE hates writing descriptions that are to be found in every book of travels; but we have seen something to-day that I am sure you never read of, and perhaps never heard of. Have you ever heard of the subterraneous town? a whole Roman town, with all its edifices, remaining under ground? Don't fancy the inhabitants buried it there to save it from the Goths: they were buried with it themselves, which is a caution we are not told they ever took. You remember, in Titus's time, there were several cities destroyed by an eruption of Vesuvius, attended with an earthquake. Well, this was one of them, not very considerable, and then called Herculaneum. Above it has since been built Portici, about three miles from Naples, where the king has a villa. This under-ground city is, perhaps, one of the noblest curiosities that ever has been discovered. It was found out by chance about a year and a half ago. They began digging; they found statues; they dug further; they found more. Since that, they have made a very considerable progress, and find continually. You may walk the compass of a mile; but, by the misfortune of the modern town being overhead, they are obliged to proceed with great caution, lest they destroy both one and t'other. By this occasion, the path is very narrow, just wide enough and high enough for one man to walk upright. They have hollowed as they found it easiest to work, and have carried their streets not exactly where were the ancient ones, but sometimes before houses, sometimes through them. You would imagine that all the fabrics were crushed together: on the contrary, except some columns, they have found all the edifices standing upright in their proper situation. There is one inside of a temple quite perfect, with the middle arch, two columns, and two pilasters. It is built of brick, plastered over, and painted with architecture: almost all the insides of the houses are in the same manner; and what is very particular, the general ground of all the painting is red. Besides this temple, they make out very plainly an amphitheatre: the stairs, of white marble, and the |