"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. [Footnote 19: Among Lord Byron's papers, I find some verses addressed to him, about this time, by Mr. W. Rose, with the following note annexed to them:--"These verses were sent to me by W.S. Rose, from Abaro, in the spring of 1818. They are good and true; and Rose is a fine fellow, and one of the few English who understand _Italy_, without which Italian is nothing." The verses begin thus: