y God! Mr. Chute in England? what, and have ou seen him, and did he say nothing to you? not word of me? such was my conversation, when first heard news so surprising, with a person, that when I reflect) it is indeed no great wonder you d not much interrogate concerning me, as you new nothing of what has passed of late.

But let me ask you yourself, have a few years tally erased me from your memory? you are gerous enough perhaps to forget all the obligations have to you. But is it generosity to forget the rson you have obliged too? while I remember yself, I cannot but remember you: and conseently cannot but wonder, when I find nowhere

You have not then forgot me, and I shall see you oon again. It suffices, and there needed no other I loved you too well not to forgive you, without a reason: but I could not but be sorry for myself.

excuse.

You are lazy (you say) and listless, and gouty, and old, and vexed, and perplexed: I am all that the gout excepted) and many things more, that I hope you never will be: so that what you tell me on that head, est trop flateux pour moi. Our imperfections may at least excuse, and perhaps recommend us to one another; methinks I can readily pardon sickness, and age, and vexation, for all the depredations they make within and without, when I think they make us better friends, and better men, which I am persuaded is often the case. I am very sure, I have seen the best tempered, generous, tender young creatures in the world, that would have been very glad to be sorry for people they liked, when under any pain, and could not, merely for want of knowing rightly, what it was themselves.

I find Mr. Walpole then made some mention of me to you; yes, we are together again. It is about a year, I believe, since he wrote to me, to offer it, and there has been, (particularly of late) in appear