Pray exert yourself with such friends as your heterodox opinions on Longs and Shorts have left you in Oxford, in favour of Lord Grenville for the Chancellorship. I am sure you would do it con amore if you had heard our conversation at Dropmore the other day, and the warm and enthusiastic way in which he spoke of Peter Plymley. I did not fail to remind him that the only author to whom we both thought he could be compared in English, lost a bishopric for his wittiest performance; and I hoped that if we could discover the author, and had ever a bishopric in our gift, we should prove that Whigs were both more grateful and more liberal than Tories. He rallied me upon my affectation of concealing who it was, but added that he hoped Peter would not always live in Yorkshire, where he was persuaded he was at present; for, among other reasons, we felt the want of him just now in the state of the press, and that he heartily wished Abraham would do something to provoke him to take up his pen. But I must write some more letters to Oxford people. Yours ever,