tempted to reproduce an air which he
dreamt that Satan had played to him while he was asleep; but, in his own
opinion, he failed so entirely, that he declared that if he had any
other means of livelihood he would break his violin and give up music.]

But for the Academy, I am not of it, but frequently in company with it:
'tis all disjointed. Madame ----, who, though a learned lady, has not
lost her modesty and character, is extremely scandalised with the other
two dames, especially with Moll Worthless [Lady Mary Wortley], who knows
no bounds. She is at rivalry with Lady W[alpole] for a certain Mr. ----,
whom perhaps you knew at Oxford. If you did not, I'll tell you: he is a
grave young man by temper, and a rich one by constitution; a shallow
creature by nature, but a wit by the grace of our women here, whom he
deals with as of old with the Oxford toasts. He fell into sentiments
with my Lady W[alpole] and was happy to catch her at Platonic love: but
as she seldom stops there, the poor man will be frightened out of his
senses when she shall break the matter to him; for he never dreamt that
her purposes were so naught. Lady Mary is so far gone, that to get him
from the mouth of her antagonist she literally took him out to dance
country dances last night at a formal ball, where there was no measure
kept in laughing at her old, foul, tawdry, painted, plastered personage.
She played at pharaoh two or three times at Princess Craon's, where she
cheats horse and foot. She is really entertaining: I have been reading
her works, which she lends out in manuscript, but they are too womanish:
I like few of her performances. I forgot to tell you a good answer of
Lady Pomfret to Mr. ----, who asked her if she did not approve Platonic
love? "Lord, sir," says she, "I am sure any one that knows me never
heard that I had any love but one, and there sit two proofs of it,"
pointing to her two daughters.

So I have given you a sketch of our employments, and answered your
questions, and will with pleasure as many more as you have about you.

Adieu! Was ever such a long letter? But 'tis nothing to what I shall
have to say to you. I shall scold you for never telling us any news,
public or private, no deaths, marriages, or mishaps; no account of new
books: Oh, you are abominable! I could find it in my heart to hate you,
if I did not love you so well; but we will quarrel now, that we may be
the better friends when we meet: there is no danger of th