I think I have touched all your paragraphs, and have nothing new to send you in return.  In truth, I go nowhere but into private rooms,; for I am not enough recovered to relaunch into the world, when I have so good an excuse for avoiding it.  The bootikins have done wonders; but even two or three such victories will cost too dear.  I submit very patiently to my lot.  I am old and broken, and it never was my system to impose upon myself when one can deceive nobody else.  I have spirits enough for my use, that is, amongst my friends and contemporaries:  I like Young people and their happiness for every thing but to live with; but I cannot learn their language, nor tell them old stories, of which I must explain every step as I go.  Politics’ the proper resource of age, I detest—­I am Contented, but see few that are so—­and I never will be led by any man’s self-interest.  A great scene is opening, of which I cannot expect to see the end!  I am pretty sure not a happy end—­so that, in short, I am determined to think the rest of my life but a postscript:  and as this has been too long an One, I will wish You good night, repeating what you know already, that the return of you three is the most agreeable prospect I expect to see realized.  Adieu!

(187) Daughter of Sir Robert Rich, and sister to the second wife of George Lord Lyttelton.

(188) They were published under the title of “Poetical Amusements at a Villa near Bath.”  An edition appeared in 1781, in four volumes.-E.

(189) “The pen which I now take and brandish
Has long lain useless in my standish. 
Know, every maid, from her on patten,
To her who shines in glossy satin,
That could they now prepare an oglio
>From best receipt of book in folio,
Ever so fine, for all their puffing,
I should prefer a butter’d muffin;
A muffin Jove himself might feast on,
If eat with Miller at Batheaston."-E.

(190) The following are the concluding lines of a poem on Beauty, by Lord Palmerston:—­

“In vain the stealing hand of Time
May pluck the blossoms of their prime;
Envy may talk of bloom decay’d,
How lilies droop and roses fade;
But Constancy’s unalter’d truth,
Regardful of the vows of youth,
Affection that recalls the past,
And bids the pleasing influence last,
Shall still preserve the lover’s flame
In every scene of life the same;
And still with fond endearments blend
The wife, the mistress, and the friend!"-E.

(191) “Lady Miller’s collection of verses by fashionable people, which were put into her vase at Batheaston, in competition for honourary prizes being mentioned, Dr. Johnson held them very cheap:  ‘Bouts-rim`es,’ said be, ’is a mere conceit, and an old conceit; I wonder how people were persuaded to write in that manner for this lady.’  I named a gentleman of his acquaintance who wrote for the vase.  Johnson—­’He was a blockhead for his pains!’ Boswell.  ’The Duchess of Northumberland wrote.’  Johnson:  ’Sir, the Duchess of Northumberland may do what she pleases; nobody will say any thing to a lady of her high rank:  but I should be apt to throw * * * ’s verses in his face.’” Boswell. vol. v. p. 227.-E.