To Mrs. Robinson. “_Tunbridge Wells, 1778._ ... I love London extremely, where one has the choice of society, but I hate ye higgledy-piggledy of the watering-places. One never sees an owl in a flock of wild geese, nor a pigeon in the same company as hawks and kites. I leave it to the naturalists to determine on ye merit of each species of fowl. All I assert is, that nature has designed birds of a feather should flock together. On the menagerie of the Pantiles there is not so just an assortment. However, I have been fortunate now in finding Lady Spencer, Lady Clermont, Mrs. Boughton, Mr. and Mrs. Wedderburne, and many of my voluntary London society here. There was a pretty good ball last Tuesday; and Lady Spencer and the Duchess of Devonshire were so good as to chaperone Miss Gregory; so I did not think it necessary for me to sit and see the graces of Messrs. L’Epy Valhouys and Mlle. Heinel exhibited by the misses. I understand there are not above three dancing-men, and the master of the ceremonies makes one of this number. “Minouet dancing is just now out of fashion; and by the military air and dress of many of the ladies, I should not be surprised if backsword and cudgell playing should take place of it. I think our encampment excellent for making men less effeminate; but if they make our women more masculine, the male and female character, which should ever be kept distinct, will now be more so than they have been. “... We still have fine weather here, and I agree with you, that the dust and other little inconveniences that attend a dry season are not to be put in any account. I would have months of dust for one fine day. “... I have not said anything yet to you of my poor father. The subject is a very melancholy one. At present, all one can hope for him is an easy exit. The great decay of his mental powers has for some time rendered him an object of great pity; yet, to my unspeakable indignation, I was told by a gentleman here, that one of ye whist-party at the coffee-house, some months ago, had not only refus’d to pay a debt of eighteen guineas, which he owed my father, but had triumphed over him in a shocking manner, asserting his loss of memory and imbecillity. What a wretch must it be that would insult an old man. Extream old age is little to be coveted. In a long life one must outlive one’s friends, and, perhaps, oneself. I imagine by the accounts of to-day, that the great deliverer from human woes has before this time given him his release. My porter calls every night, just before the last letter bell, to let me know how he does.... “It is much the fashion here to go and see the camp at Coxheath.... My father’s illness would make it impossible for me to go; and I had much rather have the honour of seeing their majesties at St. James’s. Of all fields, the field of Mars is that I like least. The fields which sustain manhood are pleasant objects; those in which they are destroyed, suggest melancholly ideas.