"TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. "Twickenham, 17--. "DEAR SISTER,--I WAS very glad to hear from you, though there was something in your letters very monstrous and shocking. I wonder with what conscience you can talk to me of your being an old woman; I beg I may hear no more on't. For my part I pretend to be as young as ever, and really am as young as needs to be, to all intents and purposes. I attribute all this to your living so long at Chatton, and fancy a week at Paris will correct such wild imaginations, and set things in a better light. My cure for lowness of spirits is not drinking nasty water, but galloping all day, _and a moderate glass of champaign at night in good company_; and I believe this regimen, closely followed, is one of the most wholesome that can be prescribed, and may save one a world of filthy doses, and more filthy doctor's fees at the year's end. I rode to Twickenham last night, and, after so long a stay in town, am not sorry to find myself in my garden; our neighbourhood is something improved by the removal of some old maids, and the arrival of some fine gentlemen, amongst whom are Lord Middleton and Sir J. Gifford, who are, perhaps, your acquaintances: they live with their aunt, Lady Westmoreland, and we endeavour to make the country agreeable to one another. "Doctor Swift and Johnny Gay are at Pope's, and their conjunction has produced a ballad,[21] which, if nobody else has sent you, I will, being never better pleased than when I am endeavouring to amuse my dear sister, and ever yours, "M. W. M." [21] Published in Swift's Works. What a picture we have of Mrs. Lowther! How the _Mall_ is revived with its strollers of fashion and beauty! "I am yet in this wicked town, but purpose to leave it as soon as the parliament rises. Mrs. Murray and all her satellites have so seldom fallen in my way, I can say little about them. Your old friend Mrs. Lowther is still fair and young, _and in pale pink every night in the parks_." To the name of Mrs. Lowther is appended the following note,--and we do not know that we ever remember an anecdote, _in years_, better set off.