LETTER CCXXIV.

Το Mrs. THRAL E.

London, Nov. 20, 1779

INDEED, dear Madam, I do not think that you have any reafon to complain of Mr. or Mr. What I propofed is, I fuppofe, unufual. However, Mr. Thrale knows that I have fuggefted nothing to you that I had not first said to him. I hear he grows well fo fast, that we are not likely to try whofe way is beft; and I hope he will grow better, and better, and better; and then away with executors and executrixes. He may fettle his family himfelf.

I am not vexed at you for not liking the Borough, but for not liking the Borough better than other evils of greater magnitude. You must take phyfick, or be sick;

you

you must live in the Borough, or live ftill worse.

Pray tell my Queeney how I love her for. her letters; and tell Burney that now she is a good girl, I can love her again. Tell Mr. Scrafe, that I am fincerely glad to hear that he is better. Tell my mafter, that I never was fo glad to fee him in my life, as I fhall be now to see him well; and tell yourself, that except my mafter, nobody has more kindness for you, than,

ou had written fo often. I have had but

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two letters from Bath, and the second complains that the firft, which you call fo many, was neglected, and you pretend to be

afraid of being forgotten. I wonder what should put you out of my mind. You fay rightly, that I fhall not find fuch another; for there is not, if I had the choice of all, fuch another to be found.

It is happy, both for you and Mrs. Montague, that the fates bring you both to Bath at the fame time. Do not let new friends. fupplant the old; they who first distinguished you have the beft claim to your attention; thofe who flock about you now, take your excellence upon credit, and may hope to gain upon the world by your countenance.

Prior

I am

I have not quite neglected my Lives. Addifon is a long one, but it is done. is not fhort, and that is done too. upon Rowe, who cannot fill much paper. If I have done them before you come again, I think to bolt upon you at Bath; for I fhall not be now afraid of Mrs. Cotton. Let Burney take care that fhe does me no harm.

The diligence of Dr. Moify I do not underftand. About what is he diligent? If Mr. Thrale is well, or only not well because he has been ill, I do not fee what the physician. can do. Does he direct any regimen, or

does Mr. Thrale regulate himself? Or is there no regularity among you? Nothing can keep him fo fafe as the method which has been fo often mentioned, and which will be not only practicable but pleasant in the Summer, and before Summer is quite gone, will be made supportable by custom.

If health and reafon can be preferved by changing three or four meals a week, or if fuch a change will but encrease the chances of preferving them, the purchafe is furely not made at a very high price. Death is dreadful, and fatuity is more dreadful, and fuch ftrokes bring both so near, that all their terrours ought to be felt. I hope that to our anxiety for him, Mr. Thrale will add fome anxiety for himself.

Seward called on me one day, and read Spence. I dined yesterday at Mr. Jodrel's in a great deal of company. On Sunday I dine with Dr. Lawrence, and at night go to Mrs. Vefey. I have had a little cold, or two, or three, but I did not much mind them, for they were not very bad.

Make my compliments to my master, and Queeney, and Burney, and Mrs. Cotton, and VOL. II. H

to

to all that care about me, and more than all-or else.

Now one courts you, and another careffes you, and one calls you to cards, and another wants you to walk; and amidst all this, pray try to think now and then a little of me, and write often. Mrs. Strahan is at Bath, but, I believe, not well enough to be in the rooms.

I am, deareft Madam,

Your, &c.

LETTER CCXXVI.

To Mrs. THRAL E.

DEAR MADAM,

ON Sunday I dined with poor Lawrence, who is deafer than ever. When he was told that Dr. Moify vifited Mr. Thrale, he enquired, for what? and faid that there was nothing to be done, which Nature would not do for herself. On Sunday evening I was at Mrs. Vefey's, and there was enquiry about my

mafter,