of transmigration; for no soul but that of Lord Herbert of Cherbury could possibly inhabit his body.
Lady Mary Wortley Montague, who knows every thing about everybody, has greatly diverted me with the Great Cyrus style of their correspondence. I remember hearing you read—ah, dear uncle, how pleasant were those winter evenings!—of some plant that exists floating on the air, never deigning to touch our meaner earth. The grands sentimens of these epistles have a similar kind of existence. One compliment is so very original, that I must quote it. He says,
"The chief attribute of the devil is, tormenting. Who could look upon you, and give you that title? Who can feel what I do, and give you any other? But, most certainly, I have more to lay to the charge of my fair one than can be objected to Satan or Beelzebub. We believe that they have only a mind to torment because they are tormented,—they, at least, are our companions in suffering; but my white devil partakes of none of my torments."
