Chapter X: Letter IX: To Mr. K

Dalkeith, July 16, 1770.
Sunday.

ALIVE; alive ho!--my dear boy, I am glad to see you?--Well, and how goes it?--Badly, sayest thou--no conversation, no joy, no felicity!--Cruel absence, thou lover’s hell! what pangs, what soul-felt pangs, dost thou inflict! Cheer up, my child of discretion--and comfort yourself that every day will bring the endearing moment of meeting, so much nearer--chew the cud upon rapture in reversion--and indulge your fancy with the sweet food of intellectual endearments;--paint in your imagination the thousand graces of your H----, and believe this absence a lucky trial of her constancy.--I don’t wonder the cricket-match yielded no amusement--all sport is dull, books unentertaining--Wisdom’s self but folly--to a mind under Cupidical influence.--I think I behold you with supple-jack in hand--your two faithful happy companions by your side--complimenting like courtiers every puppy they meet--yourself with eyes fixed in a lover-like rumination--and arms folded in sorrow’s knot--pace slowly thro’ the meadows.--I have done--for too much truth seldom pleases folks in love.--We came home from our Highland excursion last Monday night, safe and well--after escaping manifold dangers.--Mesdames H----, D----, and self, went into the post-coach, and were honour’d with the freedom of Dumbarton. By an overset, the ladies shewed their--delicacy--and I my activity[1]--Mr. B---- his humanity;--all was soon to rights--nothing broke--and no one hurt--and laughter had its fill.--Inverary is a charming place--the beauties various--and the whole plan majestic;--there are some worthy souls on the spot, which I admire more than the buildings and prospects.--We had herrings in perfection--and would have had mackarel; but the scoundrels were too sharp for us--and would not be caught. The Loch-Loman--Ben-Loman--Domiquith--and Arsenhoe--with Hamilton and Douglas houses--are by much too long for description by letter.--We paraded to Edinburgh last Friday in a post coach and four;--H---- D----, Mrs. M----, housekeeper, and self, were the party;--we saw the usual seeings, and dined at Lord Chief Baron’s, but--dare I tell you?--H--’s figure attracted universal admiration.--True!--Alas, poor K----!--but, man, never fret--my honesty to a rotten egg--we bring her home sound.--We read a shocking account in the papers of a storm of rain at Richmond Gardens, and distress, &c. &c. is it true? if so, why did not you mention it? H---- sends her service to you, M---- his best respects--and all their best wishes to you and birds.--Your confounded epistle cost me seven pence;--deuce take you, why did not you inclose it?--So you do not like Eloisa--you are a noddy for that--read it till you do like it.--I am glad you have seen Cymon;--that you like it, does but little credit to your taste--for every body likes it--I can afford you no more time--for I have three letters to write besides this scrawl.--I hear nothing of moving as yet--pray God speed us southward! though we have fine weather--fine beef--fine ale--and fine ladies.

Lady Mary grows a little angel;--the Dutchess gets pretty round--they all eat--drink--and seem pure merry--and we are all out of mourning this day--farewell.

Yours, &c. &c.
I. SANCHO.

[1] Mr. Sancho was remarkably unwieldy and inactive, and never gave a
greater proof of it than at this overset, when he and a goose-pye
were equally incapable of raising themselves.