Chapter XCII: Letter XC: To Mr. R

May, 1779.

MY DEAR WORTHY R----,

YOUR letter was a real gratification to a something better principle than pride--it pleased my self-love--there are very few (believe me) whose regards or notice I care about--yourself, brother, and O----, with about three more at most--form the whole of my _male_ connexions.--Your brother is not half so honest as I thought him--he promises like a tradesman, but performs like a lord.--On Sunday evening we expected him--the hearth was swept--the kettle boiled--the girls were in print--and the marks of the folds in Mrs. Sancho’s apron still visible--the clock past six--no Mr. R----. Now to tell the whole truth, he did add a kind of clause, that in case nothing material happened of hospital business, he would surely do himself the--&c. &c. &c.--So, upon the whole, I am not quite clear that he deserves censure--but that he disappointed us of a pleasure, I am very certain.--You don’t say you have seen Mr. P----. I beg you will, for I think he is the kind of soul congenial to your own.--Apropos, the right hand side (almost the bottom) of Gray Street, there is a Mrs. H----, an honest and very agreeable northern lady, whom I should like you to know something of--which may easily be done--if you will do me the credit just to knock at her door when you go that way--and tell her, there is a Devil that has not forgot her civilities to him--and would be glad to hear she was well and happy.--Mr. R---- called on me in the friendly style--when I say that, I mean in the R---- manner--he asked a question--bought some tea--looked happy--and left us pleased:--he has the Graces.--The gout seized me yesterday morning--the second attempt--I looked rather black all day:--tell Mrs. C----, I will lay any odds that she is either the handsomest or ugliest woman in Bath--and among the many trinkets she means to bring with her--tell her not to forget health.--May you all be enriched with that blessing--wanting which, the good things of this world are trash!--You can write tiresome letters! Alas! will you yield upon the recept of this?--if not--that palm unquestionably belongs to your friend,

I. SANCHO.