mation of that sort. I hear there is great strife and contention between Mr. Barry and Garrick, each acting the part of Romeo every night, and that the ladies think the first makes the better lover, by which one may learn they think beauty a better qualification than sense in that character; for Barry always seems to betray the fool in all the parts he appears in. Lady Townshend says he has sentimental blue eyes; it seems to me the sentiment Lady Townshend admires in Mr. Barry's eyes might bear an interpretation not more elegant than my cousin's translation of en famille by the word higgledypiggledy. I wish you would come on to London on Friday, instead of going to Hatchlands. I believe we shall stay here some time, for Mr. Montagu seems in no manner of haste to go into the country; for my part I repine at losing so many days that one might enjoy in the pleasures of the rural scene; and at this time of the year one is more choice and covetous of good weather. Sunshine at this time, like chearfulness in old age, pleases the more as it is not the usual temper of the season. I was very glad to hear by my brother that you were better; but pray have great attention to your health, for believe me, even with the best spirits, one can but just keep up to the mark of content without it; so if advice of physicians is necessary let not any consideration tempt you to neglect it. As to my cousin, whose ruling maxim is, the more the merrier, she will easily be prevailed on to come to London; and if she gathers mirth by poll tax, this is undoubtedly the place for her. I could wish to get into the country while I am well enough to read and amuse myself; if I carried any sense to Tunbridge, (which indeed I am not sure of) I have dissipated it entirely, for my head feels weaker than ever; if I had laid out any talents in the wit of the times I might account for being so exhausted. Some people reduce their wit to an impalpable powder, and mix it up in a rebus; other's wrap up their's in a riddle, but mine and Mr. Plunket's, certainly went off by insensible perspiration in small-talk. I am extremely ashamed of the length of my letter, as it is the first time of my appearing to you in this shape; but pray remember I did not begin with an encomium upon brevity, like good Mr. Dowden, when he designed us a longer sermon than usual; and I really look upon a long letter as the only opiate that does not hurt the nerves; and happy shall I be if I can be ranked among those benevolent writers who, Mr. Pope says, are sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep. If you ever talk in your sleep, I should be glad if you would make my compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Smith, if they should be with you when you receive this. As to my cousin, with all the affection of a cousin, and all the tenderness of an aunt, I greet her; for her sake may every name she bears be made into a rebus, and every object she sees into a riddle. But for her lovers, let them not speak in parable, but in plain and honest English, else her shield and buckler of decorum, the honi soit qui mal y pense, by which she signifies she is not to avoid or understand any expression that is not very plain and unequivocal, may occasion infinite loss of time, and a tedious delay of matrimony. I am dear Mrs. Boscawen's most obedient, obliged, and faithful humble servant, E. MONTAGU. To the Same. October the 16th, 1749. My dear Mrs. Boscawen knows enough of the hurry and bustle of London not to expect the performance of the devoirs of friendship from any of its wicked inhabitants. Had I inhabited the regions of peace, leisure, and reason, I should have told you long ago that I was much concerned at the complaint of your eyes; but I have been in so many shops to buy what I did not want, and in so many houses to visit people I did not care for, and in so many places to learn news I was not interested in, that, for myself and my friends, no hours remained. This sort of life is by no means to be reckoned amongst les égaremens du coeur et de l'esprit; for the heart acts no part in the scene, but is merely attending to the animal œconomy. What is the antidote or cure of the fatal poison of this city tarantula, so much worse than that of the fields, as the dancing is constant, and the giddiness perpetual, and not to be cured by a reasonable degree of exercise for we continue this figure-dance in regular confusion till Holbein's universal partner takes us by the hand? Reason, say you, would be the cure; but, my dear, do you think reason knocks at people's doors like the Evening Post? Or comes every morning like the Daily Advertiser? If he comes as a Daily Advertiser it is to people in the country; in town he does not come out above once a year, like the almanac. Reason is an old gentleman, who from the infancy of |