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our teeth after dinner, and dabble in cold water, and Lord knows how many other things: which Mons. de Sabot says every body comi fo does. And such a thing he tells me (for I am a sort of favourite and scholar of his) is comi fo in the first course, and such a thing in the second; and this in the entries, and that in the removes. Comi fo, it seems, means vastly fine in his language, though we country folks, if we durst own it, find the comi fo things often very ill tasted, and now and then a little stinking. But we shall learn to like them monstrously by and by, as Mons. de Sabot assures us.

My father is hardest of us all to be taught to do what he ought; and he cursed comi fo once or twice to Mons. de Sabot's face. But my brother and my sister-in-law are doing all that they can to wean him from his old customs, that he mayn't affront himself before company. He fought hard for his pipe and his spit-box; but my sister-in-law would not suffer the new window-curtains and chair covers to be put up till he had given over both. And, what do you think, sir, the old gentleman was caught yesterday by my brother and a young baronet of his acquaintance, who went into the stable to look at one of my brother's stud, as they call it, smoking his pipe in one of the empty stalls. And I heard Sir Harry Driver give an account of it to my sister-in-law when they came in to supper, and how, as he said, he had tallyho'd old Squaretoes, as he slunk from his kennel.'

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My brother, you must know, has a mind to be a parliament-man, and so he invites all the country, high and low, to eat and drink with him; and sometimes I have been sadly out of countenance, and so have we all, when some of his old acquaintance have told long stories of things which happened to them formerly, though ten to one my brother does not remember a syllable of them. As t'other day, when

our school-master's son Samuel put him in mind of their going together to Edinburgh for the first time, and how they had but one pair of silk stockings between them, and my brother had them on in the morning to see a gentleman who was first cousin to an East India director, and Sam got them in the evening to visit the principal of the college; and all this before Sir Harry Driver, Lord Squanderfield, and Lady Betty Lampoon.

Then my brother is turned an improver, which every body says is an excellent way of laying out his money, and is so public-spirited!-and the planner who has come to give directions about it tells us, that in a few years hence he will get five pounds for every five shillings he lays out now in that way. In the mean time, however, it gives him a great deal of trouble; when every thing is resolved upon to-day, 'tis a chance but it is all turned topsy-turvy to-morrow; for his voters, as they call the gentlemen on my brother's side of the question, who come to visit us, have every one their own opinion, and are always giving him advice how to do things for the best. One told him lately he should level such a piece of ground which is in sight of the bow-window in the drawingroom; another, a few mornings after, blamed this first adviser for want of taste, and said he would give 500 guineas for such a knoll in the very spot where they had levelled it; and so they are building rocks there, and planting them as fast as they can. He pulled down a piece of an old church that stood in the way of what they call the approach to the house; and presently a gentleman from England told him a ruin was the very thing wanted in that place, and so the old church must be built up anew. Lord Squanderfield advised him to make a piece of water in the garden; and they had almost finished it, when Lady Betty convinced him that in summer it would

be a puddle, as she termed it, that would stink him out of his house, and fly-blow every bit of meat at his table.

Lady Betty has been very useful to my sister-inlaw too about the choice of the furniture, though that likewise has been a troublesome job, owing to bad advice in the beginning. We had got sofas and stuffed chairs in the drawing-room, which my lady has made her change for cabrioles ; and the damask beds she has persuaded her are not in the least fit for a country house; and so they are all taken down, and chintzes put up in their place.

In the same ship with the blacks, my brother brought down a great collection of pictures which were purchased for him at a sale in London, and are worth, I am told, Lord knows how much, though he got them, as he assures us, for an old song; and yet several of them I have heard cost some hundreds of pounds. But this, between ourselves, is the most plaguy of all his fineries. Would you believe it, sir, he is obliged to be two or three hours every morning in the gallery, with a little book in his hand, like a poor school-boy, getting by heart the names and the stories of all the men and women that are painted there, that he may have his lesson pat for the company that are to walk and admire the paintings till dinner is served up. And yet, after all, he is sometimes mistaken about them, as last Thursday he told a gentleman that was looking at the pictures, that the half-naked woman above the chimney piece was done for one Caroline Marrot (I suppose from the picture of some miss no better than she should be); whereas the gentleman, Mr. Gusto, declared it was as like Widow Renny as one egg is like another.

I could tell you a great deal more of embarrassments and vexations in the enjoyment of our good fortune; but I am sure I must have wearied you by

my scribble-scrabble account of what I have told. It will be sufficient to show you that Mr. Homespun has not so much cause for envy as from his letter I presume he feels against us, and will, I hope, also procure a little of your good counsel how to make a comi fo life somewhat more comfortable to the greatest part of our family, and inparticular to your humble servant,

Z.

MARJORY MUSHROOM.

No. 37. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 15, 1785.

THE mythology of the ancients has given rise to many an elegant allusion, and adorned many a beautiful description.

In a book published lately at Paris, containing an account of the principal gems in the cabinet of the Duke of Orleans, is the following excellent illustration of the pleasing effects of the popular religion of antiquity.

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The delightful fictions built on their religious system,' says the author of this work, have peopled and animated all nature, and made a solid temple of the vast universe. Those flowers, whose varied and shining beauty we so much admire, are the tears of Aurora. It is the breath of Zephyrus which gently agitates the leaves. The soft murmurs of the waters are the sighs of the Naiads. A god impels the winds. A god pours out the rivers. Grapes are the

gift of Bacchus. Ceres presides over the harvest. Orchards are the care of Pomona. Does a shepherd sound his reed on the summit of a mountain, it is Pan who, with his pastoral pipe, returns the amorous lay. When the sportsman's horn rouses the attentive ear, it is Diana armed with her bow and quiver, more nimble than the stag she pursues, who takes the diversion of the chase. The Sun is a god, who, riding on a car of fire, diffuses his light through the world. The Stars are so many divinities, who measure with their golden beams the regular process of time. The Moon presides over the silence of the night, and consoles the world for the absence of her brother. Neptune reigns in the seas, surrounded by the Nereides, who dance to the joyous shells of the Tritons. In the highest heavens is seated Jupiter, the father and master of men and gods: under his feet roll the thunders formed by the Cyclops in the cavern of Lemnos; his smile rejoices nature, and his nod shakes the foundation of Olympus. Surrounding the throne of their sovereign, the other divinities quaff the nectar from a cup presented to them by the young and beautiful Hebe. In the middle of the bright circle shines with distinguished lustre the unrivalled beauty of Venus, alone adorned with a splendid girdle, on which the graces and sports for ever play; and in her hand is a smiling boy, whose power is universally acknowledged by heaven and earth.'

It is impossible to read this elegant passage without feeling something of that delusion it describes ; and the reader who is conversant in the classics will at once call to his recollection many of those animated descriptions and pleasing allusions with which those admirable works so much abound.

For my own part, however, while I must always remember, with a pleasing sort of gratitude, the de

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