did not cease before I got to the middle of the terrace, between the fence and the hill.  Yet this is nothing:  to what is to come.  The Bishop and I walked down to my meadow by the river.  At this end were two fishermen in a boat, but their backs had been turned to the agitation, and they had seen nothing.  At the farther end of the field was a gentleman fishing, and a woman by him; I had perceived him on the same spot at the time of the motion of the waters, which was rather beyond where it was terminated.  I now thought myself sure of a witness, and concluded he could not have recovered his surprise.  I ran up to him.  “Sir,” said I, “did you see that strange agitation of the waters?” “When, Sir? when, Sir?” “Now, this very instant, not two minutes ago.”  He replied, with the phlegm of a philosopher, or of a man that can love fishing, “Stay, Sir, let me recollect if I remember nothing of it.”  “Pray, Sir,” said I, scarce able to help laughing, “you must remember whether you remember it or not, for it is scarce over.”  “I am trying to recollect,” said he, with the same coolness.  “Why, Sir,” said I, “six of us saw it from my parlour window yonder.”  “Perhaps,” answered he, “you might perceive it better where you were, but I suppose it was an earthquake.”  His nymph had seen nothing neither, and so we returned as wise as most who inquire into natural phenomena.  We expect to hear to-morrow that there has been an earthquake somewhere; unless this appearance portended a state-quake.  You see, my impetuosity does not abate much; no, nor my youthfullity, which bears me out even at a sabat.  I dined last week at Lady Blandford’s, with her, the old Denbigh, the old Litchfield, and Methuselah knows who.  I had stuck some sweet peas in my hair, was playing at quadrille, and singing to my sorci`eres.  The Duchess of Argyle and Mrs. Young came in; you may guess how they stared; at last the Duchess asked what was the meaning of those flowers?  “Lord, Madam,” said I, “don’t you know it is the fashion?  The Duke of Bedford is come over with his hair full.”  Poor Mrs. Young took this in sober sadness, and has reported that the Duke of Bedford wears flowers.  You will not know me less by a precipitation of this morning.  Pitt and I were busy adjusting the gallery.  Mr. Elliott came in and discomposed us; I was horridly tired of him.  As he was going, he said, “Well, this house is so charming, I don’t wonder at your being able to live so much alone.”  I, who shudder at the thought of any body’s living With me, replied very innocently, but a little too quick, “No, only pity me when I don’t live alone.”  Pitt was shocked, and said, “To be sure he will never forgive you as long as he lives.”  Mrs. Leneve used often to advise me never to begin being civil to people I did not care for:  For,” says she, “you grow weary of them, and can’t help showing it, and so make it ten times worse than if you had never attempted to please them.”