Toujours strawberries and cream.

Dr. Taylor is much better, and my rheumatism is less painful.  Let me hear, in return, as much good of you and of Mrs. Salusbury.  You despise the Dog and Duck:  things that are at hand are always slighted.  I remember that Dr. Grevil, of Gloucester, sent for that water when his wife was in the same danger; but he lived near Malvern, and you live near the Dog and Duck.  Thus, in difficult cases, we naturally trust most what we least know.

Why Bromefield, supposing that a lotion can do good, should despise laurel-water, in comparison with his own receipt, I do not see; and see, still less, why he should laugh at that which Wall thinks efficacious.  I am afraid philosophy will not warrant much hope in a lotion.

Be pleased to make my compliments from Mrs. Salusbury to Susy.  I am, &c.

IX.—­To THE SAME.

October 31, 1772.

MADAM,—­Though I am just informed, that, by some accidental negligence, the letter, which I wrote on Thursday, was not given to the post, yet I cannot refuse myself the gratification of writing again to my mistress; not that I have any thing to tell, but that, by showing how much I am employed upon you, I hope to keep you from forgetting me.

Doctor Taylor asked me, this morning, on what I was thinking; and I was thinking on Lucy.  I hope Lucy is a good girl.  But she cannot yet be so good as Queeney.  I have got nothing yet for Queeney’s cabinet.

I hope dear Mrs. Salusbury grows no worse.  I wish any thing could be found that would make her better.  You must remember her admonition, and bustle in the brewhouse.  When I come, you may expect to have your hands full with all of us.

Our bulls and cows are all well, but we yet hate the man that had seen a bigger bull.  Our deer have died, but many are left.  Our waterfall, at the garden, makes a great roaring this wet weather.

And so no more at present from, madam, your, &c.

X.—­To MRS. THRALE.

November 23, 1772.

DEAR MADAM,—­I am sorry that none of your letters bring better news of the poor dear lady.  I hope her pain is not great.  To have a disease confessedly incurable, and apparently mortal, is a very heavy affliction; and it is still more grievous, when pain is added to despair.

Every thing else in your letter pleased me very well, except that when I come I entreat I may not be flattered, as your letters flatter me.  You have read of heroes and princes ruined by flattery, and, I question, if any of them had a flatterer so dangerous as you.  Pray keep strictly to your character of governess.

I cannot yet get well; my nights are flatulent and unquiet, but my days are tolerably easy, and Taylor says, that I look much better than when I came hither.  You will see when I come, and I can take your word.