custom; and men are so much the same every where, that one scarce perceives any change of situation.  The same weaknesses, the same passions that in England plunge men into elections, drinking, whoring, exist here, and show themselves in the shapes of Jesuits, Cicisbeos, and Corydon ardebat Alexins.  The most remarkable thing I have observed since I came abroad, is, that there are no people so obviously mad as the English.  The French, the Italians, have great follies, great faults; but then they are so national, they cease to be striking.  In England, tempers vary so excessively, that almost every one’s faults are peculiar to himself.  I take this diversity to proceed partly from our climate, partly from our government:  the first is changeable, and makes us queer; the latter permits our queernesses to operate as they please.  If one could avoid contracting this queerness, it must certainly be the most entertaining to live in England, where such a variety of incidents continually amuse.  The incidents of a week in London would furnish all Italy with news for a twelvemonth.  The only two circumstances of moment in the life of an Italian, that ever give occasion to their being mentioned, are, being married, and in a year after taking a cicisbeo.  Ask the name, the husband, the wife, or the cicisbeo, of any person, et voila qui est fini.  Thus, child, ’tis dull dealing here!  Methinks your Spanish war is little more livel By the gravity of the proceedings, one would think both nations were Spaniard.  Adieu!  Do you remember my maxim, that you used to laugh at?  Every body does every thing, and nothing comes on’t.  I am more convinced of it now than ever.  I don’t know whether S***w,’s was not still better, Well, gad, there is nothing in nothing.  You see how I distil all my speculations and improvements, that they may lie in a small compass.  Do you remember the story of the prince, that, after travelling three years, brought home nothing but a nut?  They cracked it:  in it was wrapped up a piece of silk, painted with all the kings, queens, kingdoms. and every thing in the world:  after many unfoldings, out stepped a little dog, shook his ears, and fell to dancing a saraband.  There is a fairy tale for you.  If I had any thing as good as your old song, I would send it too; but I can only thank you for it, and bid you good night.  Yours ever.

P. S. Upon reading my letter, I perceive still plainer the sameness that reigns here; for I find I have said the same thing ten times over.  I don’t care, I have made out a letter, and that was all my affair.

143 Letter 17 To Richard West, Esq.  Florence, February 27, 1740, N. S.