 I find it morally impossible to move about in the same Vehicle with my Head-dress, which I design to be preceded by in future, as the Knights were by their Helmet, in Days of Chivalry. Nor are the Men one whit behind us in Point of Extravagance and Absurdity. I never see one of them on Horseback when the Sun shines, but I think of the Knight of the Looking Glasses in Don Quixote, with Buttons as large and as beautiful as the Brass-plates on a Street-door. To compensate however for this Extravagance, their Waistcoats are generally laced, like a Woman's Stays, and without any Buttons at all. Then nobody can stir without two Watches, (so that a Man need

never be at a Loss to know how much Time he wastes,) and these decorated with enormous Gold Chains, and as many Seals and Trinkets as would furnish a Jew Pedlar's Travelling-Box. As for the Article of Buckles, their Size may perhaps render them extremely serviceable as Bridges in crossing over a Kennel, but for their Beauty I must beg to be excused. A few Nights since I went to Stevens's Lecture upon Heads, and was not a little entertained. He ridicules all the fashionable Absurdities most excellently. A Head he defines to be a Kind of Wen, or Fungus, or in the Language of Botanists, a Sort of Bulbous Excrescence, growing out between the Shoulders; whose chief Use is, to hang a Hat

upon, have one's Hair drest upon, and the like. And so much for the Vanities of this Wicked World. Next Week I believe we shall return to the Country, as Mr. Melmoth begins to think his Presence necessary amongst his Workmen, and I poor vulgar Creature, find myself almost tired with this perpetual Round of Confusion. So very luckily both Husband and Wife are agreed in this Matter. As I shall see you soon, I will not prolong my Scrawl, but conclude with an Ode I received lately from a Lady of my Acquaintance, exceedingly applicable to the present Subject. It was sent her from America by her Nephew, who protests it is founded on Facts,

however you may believe the Verity of it or not, as you feel most disposed.—
ODE.
Twas near a lofty Mansion's Side,
Where big with Continental Pride,
Met Boston's Patriot Race;
Sublimest of the feather'd Kind,
Belinda, British Dame, reclined,
Gaz'd Pensive in her Glass.
The varying Glories of her Vest,
Her tow'r-crown
