soon made inroads on a heart still susceptible. The ever-green passions
of this venerable sinner threw out fresh shoots; and she became
enamoured of the attentive and admired Englishman. Horace was
susceptible of ridicule: there his somewhat icy heart was easily
touched. Partly in vanity, partly in playfulness, he encouraged the
sentimental-exaggeration of his correspondent; but, becoming afraid of
the world's laughter, ended by reproving her warmth, and by chilling,
under the refrigerating influence of his cautions, all the romance of
the octogenarian.

In later days, however, after his solicitude--partly soothed by the
return of his letters to Madame du Deffand, partly by her death--had
completely subsided, a happier friendship was permitted to solace his
now increasing infirmities, as well as to enhance his social pleasures.

It was during the year 1788, when he was living in retirement at
Strawberry, that his auspicious friendship was formed. The only grain of
ambition he had left he declared was to believe himself forgotten; that
was 'the thread that had run through his life;' 'so true,' he adds,
'except the folly of being an author, has been what I said last year to
the Prince' (afterwards George IV.), 'when he asked me "If I was a
Freemason," I replied, "No sir; I never was anything."'

Lady Charleville told him that some of her friends had been to see
Strawberry. 'Lord!' cried one lady, 'who is that Mr. Walpole?' 'Lord!'
cried a second; 'don't you know the great epicure, Mr. Walpole?' 'Who?'
cried the first,--'great epicure! you mean the antiquarian.' 'Surely,'
adds Horace, 'this anecdote may take its place in the chapter of local
fame.'