o my master.

I am just come home from not seeing my lord mayor's show, but I might
have seen, at least, part of it. But I saw Miss Wesley and her brothers;
she sends her compliments. Mrs. Williams is come home, I think, a very
little better.

Every body was an enemy to that wig.--We will burn it, and get drunk;
for what is joy without drink? Wagers are laid in the city about our
success, which is yet, as the French call it, problematical. Well--but,
seriously, I think, I shall be glad to see you in your own hair; but do
not take too much time in combing, and twisting, and papering, and
unpapering, and curling, and frizling, and powdering, and getting out
the powder, with all the other operations required in the cultivation of
a head of hair; yet let it be combed, at least, once in three months on
the quarterday.--I could wish it might be combed once at least, in six
weeks; if I were to indulge my wishes but what are wishes without hopes,
I should fancy the operation performed--one knows not when one has
enough--perhaps, every morning. I am, dearest lady, your, &c.

XXXIX.--To MRS. THRALE.

Ashbourne, June 14, 1779.

DEAR MADAM,--Your account of Mr. Thrale's illness is very terrible; but
when I remember that he seems to have it peculiar to his constitution,
that, whatever distemper he has, he always has his head affected, I am
less frighted. The seizure was, I think, not apoplectical but
hysterical, and, therefore, not dangerous to life. I would have you,
however, consult such physicians as you think you can best trust.
Broomfield seems to have done well and, by his practice, appears not to
suspect an apoplexy. This is a solid and fundamental comfort. I remember
Dr. Marsigli, an Italian physician, whose seizure was more violent than
Mr. Thrale's, for he fell down helpless, but his case was not considered
as of much danger, and he went safe home, and is now a professor at
Padua. His fit was considered as only hysterical.

I hope sir Philip, who franked your letter, comforts you as well as Mr.
Seward. If I can comfort you, I will come to you; but I hope you are now
no longer in want of any help to be happy. I am, &c.

The doctor sends his compliments; he is one of the people that are
growing old.

XL.--To MRS. THRALE.

Ashbourne, June 14, 1779.

DEAR MADAM,--How near we are all to extreme danger. We are merry or sad,
or busy or idle, and forget that death is hovering over us. You are a
dear lady for writi