You will of course make Men and Things your study—their different genius, aims, and passions:—you will also note climes, buildings, soils, and products, which will be neither tedious nor unpleasant. If you adopt the rule of writing every evening your remarks on the past day, it will be a kind of friendly téte-a-téte between you and yourself, wherein you may sometimes happily become your own Monitor;—and hereafter those little notes will afford you a rich fund, whenever you shall be inclined to re-trace past times and places.——I say nothing upon the score of Religion—for, I am clear, every good affection, every sweet sensibility, every heart-felt joy—humanity, politeness, charity—all, all, are streams from that sacred spring;—so that to say you are good-tempered, honest, social, &c. &c. is only in fact saying you live according to your DIVINE MASTER's rules, and are a Christian.

Your B—— friends are all well, excepting the good Mrs. C——, who is at this time but so, so. Miss C—— still as agreeable as when you knew her, if not more so. Mr. R——, as usual, never so happy, never so gay, nor so much in true pleasure, as when he is doing good—he enjoys the hope of your well-doing as much as any of your family. His brother John has been lucky—his abilities, address, good nature, and good sense, have got him a surgeoncy in the batalion of guards, which is reckoned a very good thing.

As to news, what we have is so incumbered with falshoods, I think it, as Bobadil says, “a service of danger” to meddle with: this I know for truth, that the late great Dagon of the people has totally lost all his worshipers, and walks the streets as unregarded as Ignatius Sancho, and I believe almost as poor—such is the stability of popular greatness:

Your brother and sister C—d sometimes look in upon us; her boys are fine, well, and thriving; and my honest cousin Joe increases in sense and stature; he promises to be as good, as clever. He brought me your first letter, which, though first wrote, had the fate to come last: the little man came from Red-Lion-Court to Charles Street by himself, and seemed the taller for what he had done; he is indeed a sweet boy, but I fear every body will be telling him so. I know the folly of so doing, and yet am as guilty as any one.

There is sent out in the Besborough, along with fresh governors, and other strange commodities, a little Blacky, whom you must either have seen or heard of; his name is S——. He goes out upon a rational well-digested plan, to settle either at Madrass or Bengal, to teach fencing and riding—he is expert at both. If he should chance to fall in your way, do not fail to give the rattle-pate what wholesome advice you can; but remember, I do strictly caution you against lending him money upon any account, for he has every thing but—principle; he will never pay you; I am sorry to say so much of one whom I have had a friendship for, but it is needful; serve him, if you can—but do not trust him.—There is in the same ship, belonging to the Captain's band of music, one C— L—n, whom I think you have seen in Privy Gardens: he is honest, trusty, good-natured, and civil; if you see him, take notice of him, and I will regard it as a kindness to me.—I have nothing more to say. Continue in right thinking, you will of course act well; in well-doing, you will insure the favor of GOD, and the love of your friends, amongst whom pray reckon

LORD! what is Man?—and what business have such lazy, lousy, paltry beings of a day to form friendships, or to make connexions? Man is an absurd animal—yea, I will ever maintain it—in his vices, dreadful—in his few virtues, silly—religious without devotion—philosophy without wisdom—the divine passion (as it is called) love too oft without affection—and anger without cause—friendship without reason—hate without reflection—knowledge (like Ashley's punch in small quantities) without judgement—and wit without discretion.—Look into old age, you will see avarice joined to poverty—letchery, gout, impotency, like three monkeys, or London bucks, in a one-horse whisky, driving to the Devil.—Deep politicians with palsied heads and relaxed nerves—zealous in the great cause of national welfare and public virtue—but touch not—oh! touch not the pocket—friendship—religion—love of country—excellent topics for declamation!—but most ridiculous chimera to suffer either in money or ease—for, trust me, my M——, I am resolved upon a reform.—Truth, fair Truth, I give thee to the wind!—Affection, get thee hence! Friendship, be it the idol of such silly chaps, with aching heads, strong passions, warm hearts, and happy talents, as of old used to visit Charles Street, and now abideth in fair G—h House.

I give it under my hand and mark, that the best recipe for your aching head (if not the only thing which will relieve you) is cutting off your hair—I know it is not the ton; but when ease and health stand on the right—ornament and fashion on the left—it is by no means the Ass between two loads of hay—why not ask counsel about it? Even the young part of the faculty were formerly obliged to submit to amputation, in order to look wise.—What they sacrificed to appearances, do thou to necessity.—Absalom had saved his life, but for his hair. You will reply, “Cæfar would have been drowned, but his length of hair afforded hold to the friendly hand that drew him to shore.” Art, at this happy time, imitates Nature so well in both sexes, that in truth our own growth is but of little consequence. Therefore, my dear M—, part with your hair and head-achs together;—and let us see you spruce, well shorn, easy, gay, debonnair—as of old.

I have made enquiry after L——'s letter. My friend R—— went to demand the reason for omitting to publish it, and to reclaim the copy. The publisher smiled at him, and bid him examine the M. C. of J. 13, where he would find L. and the same paper of the 20th instant, where he would also find P—— B——'s very angry answer.—Indeed the poor fellow foams again, and appears as indecently dull as malice could wish him. I went to the coffee-house to examine the file, and was greatly pleased upon the second reading of your work, in which is blended the Gentleman and the Scholar. Now, observe, if you dare to say I flatter, or mean to flatter, you either impeach my judgement or honesty—at your peril then be it.—For your letter of yesterday, I could find in my conscience not to thank you for it—it gave a melancholy tint to every thing about me. Pope had the head-ach vilely—Spenser, I have heard, suffered much from it—in short, it is the ail of true geniuses.—They applied a thick wreath of laurel round their brows—do you the same—and, putting the best foot foremost—duly considering the mansion—what it has suffered through chance, time, and hard use—be thankfully resigned, humble, and say, “It is well it is no worse!”

I do not wish you to be any other than nice in what new acquaintance you make—as to friendship—it is a mistake—real friendships are not hastily made —friendship is a plant of slow growth, and, like our English oak, spreads, is more majestically beautiful, and increases in shade, strength, and riches, as it increases in years. I pity your poor head, for this confounded scrawl of mine is enough to give the head-ach to the strongest brain in the kingdom—so remember I quit the pen unwillingly, having not said half what I meant; but, impelled by conscience, and a due consideration of your ease, I conclude, just wishing you as well as I do my dear self,

I AM uneasy about your health—I do not like your silence—let some good body or other give me a line, just to say how you are—I will, if I can, see you on Sunday;—it is a folly to like people and call them friends, except they are blest with health and riches.—A very miserable undone poor wretch, who has no portion in this world's goods, but honesty and good-nature in the article of covering, has applied to me.—I do know something of her—no greater crime than poverty and nakedness.—Now, my dear M——, I know you have a persuasive eloquence among the women—try your oratorical powers.—You have many women—and I am sure there must be a great deal of charity amongst them—Mind, we ask no money—only rags —mere literal rags—patience is a ragged virtue—therefore strip the girls, dear M——, strip them of what they can spare—a few superfluous worn-out garments—but leave them pity—benevolence—the charities—goodness of heart—love—and the blessings of yours truly with affection, or something very like it,

It is, my dear M——, the same with the rest of our passions;—we have Reason given us for our rudder—Religion is our sheet anchor—our fixed star Hope—Conscience our faithful monitor—and Happiness the grand reward;—we all in this manner can preach up trite maxims:—ask any jackass the way to happiness—and like me they will give vent to picked up common-place sayings—but mark how they act—why just as you and I do—content with acknowledging a slight acquaintance with Wisdom, but ashamed of appearing to act under her sacred guidance.—You do me much more honor than I deserve, in wishing to correspond with me—the balance is entirely in your favor—but I fancy you were under the malady of your country, hypp'd for want of fresh air and exercise—so sitting in a pensive attitude, with lack-lustre eye, and vacant countenance—the thought obtruded on your fancy to give Sancho a letter—and after a hard conflict 'twixt laziness and inclination—the deed was done.—I verily believe you commit errors—only for the sake of handsomely apologizing for them, as tumblers oft make slips to surprize beholders with their agility in recovering themselves.—I saw Mr. B—— last night—who by the way I like much—the Man I mean—and not the Genius (tho' of the first rate)—he chatted and laughed like a soul ignorant of evil. He asked about a motley creature at——. I told him with more truth than wit—that you was hypp'd.—I enclose you a proof print:—and how does Mad. M——, &c. &c.? Is Miss S—— better.—Is Mrs. H——, Mrs. T——, Mrs. H——. Lord preserve me! what in the name of mischief have I to do with all this combustible matter? Is it not enough for me that I am fast sliding down the vale of years? Have not I a gout? six brats, and a wife?—Oh! Reason, where art thou? you see by this how much easier it is to preach than to do—but stop—we know good from evil; and, in serious truth, we have powers sufficient to withstand vice, if we will choose to exert ourselves. In the field, if we know the strength and situation of the enemy, we place out-posts and centinels—and take every prudent method to avoid surprize. In common life we must do the same;—and trust me, my honest friend, a victory gained over passion, immorality, and pride, deserves Te Deums, better than those gained in the fields of ambition and blood.—Here's letter for letter, and so farewell,

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 you self 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 ever puppy they meet—yourself with eyes fixed in 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 in the post-coach, and were honor'd with the freedom of Dumbarton. By an overset the ladies shewed their—delicacy—and I my activity *

* Mr. Sancho was remarkably unweildy and in active, and never gave a greater proof of it than at this overset, when he and a goose-pye were equally incapable of raising themselves.

Do not you condemn me for the very thing that you are guilty of yourself;—but before I recriminate—let me be grateful, and acknowledge that heart-felt satisfaction which I ever feel from the praise of the good.—Sterne says—every worthy mind loves praise—and declares that he loves it too—but then it must be sincere.—Now I protest that you have something very like flattery;—no matter—I honestly own it pleases me—Vanity is a shoot from self-love—and self-love, Pope declares to be the spring of motion in the human breast.—Friendship founded upon right judgement takes the good and bad with the indulgence of blind love;—nor is it wrong—for as weakness and error is the lot of humanity—real friendship must oft kindly overlook the undesigning frailties of undisguised nature.—My dear Madam, I beg ten thousand pardons for the dull sermon I have been preaching:—you may well yawn.—So the noble! the humane! the patron! the friend! the good Duke leaves Tunbridge on Monday—true nobility will leave the place with him—and kindness and humanity will accompany Miss L—— whenever she thinks fit to leave it.—Mrs. Sancho is pretty well, pretty round, and pretty tame!—she bids me say, Thank you, in the kindest manner I possibly can—and observe, I say, Thank you kindly.—I will not pretend to enumerate the many things you deserve our thanks for:—you are upon the whole an estimable young woman—your heart is the best part of you—may it meet with its likeness in the man of your choice!—and I will pronounce you happy couple.—I hope to hear in your next—(that is, if—) that you are about thinking of coming to town—no news stirring but politics—which I deem very unfit for ladies.—I shall conclude with John Moody's prayer—“The goodness of goodness bless and preserve you!”—I am dear Miss L——'s most sincere servant and friend,

You cannot conceive the odd agreeable mixture of pleasure and pain I felt on the receipt of your favor;—believe me, good friend, I honor and respect your nobleness of principle—but at the same time greatly disapprove of your actions.—My dear Madam, bribery and corruption are the reigning topics of declamation;—and here, because I happen to be a well-wisher, you are loading us with presents.—One word for all, my good Mrs. H—— must not be offended when I tell her it hurts my pride—for pride I have too much, God knows—I accept your present this time—and do you accept dame Sancho's and my thanks—and never aim at sending aught again.—Your daughter Kate brought me your letter—she seemed a little surprized at my being favor'd with your correspondence—and I am sure wished to see the contents.—As I from my soul honor filial feelings—it hurt me not to gratify her honest curiosity—but I do not chuse to let her know any thing of the matter—to save her the anxiety of hope and fear. She is very well, and rules over us not with an iron sceptre—but a golden one—we tell her we love her too well—in truth I can never return her a tithe of the kindnesses she has shewn my family—but what's all this to you?—I shall tire you with a jargon of nonsense, therefore I shall only with you all many happy returns of this season—good stomachs—good cheer—and good fires.—My kind remembrance to Madam Tilda—tell her, if she's a good girl, I will try to recommend her to Mr. G—— the painter, for a wife;—he is really, I believe, a first rate genius—and, what's better, he is a good young man—and I flatter myself will do honor to his science and credit to his friends. —Kitty looks like the Goddess of Health—I am sure every drop of blood in her honest heart beats for the welfare and happiness of her parents.—Believe me ever your obliged servant and friend,

BRAVO! my ingenious friend!—to say you exceed my hopes, would be to lye.—At my first knowledge of you—I was convinced that Providence had been partial in the talents entrusted to you—therefore I expected exertion on your side—and I am not disappointed; go on, my honest heart, go on!—hold up the mirror to an effeminate gallimawfry—insipid, weak, ignorant, and dissipated set of wretches—and scourge them into shame—the pen—the pencil—the pulpit—oh! may they all unite their endeavours—and rescue this once manly and martial people from the silken slavery of foreign luxury and debauchery—thou, my worthy M——, continue thy improvements; and may the Almighty bless thee with the humble mein of plenty and content!—riches ensnare—the mediocrity is Wisdom's friend—and that be thine!—When you see S——, note his behaviour—he writes me word that he intends a thorough and speedy reformation;—I rather doubt him, but should be glad to know if you perceive any marks of it.—You do not tell me that you have seen Mr. G——; if you have not, I shall be angry with you—and attribute your neglect to pride;—pray render my compliments most respectful and sincere to Mrs. H——, and the little innocent laughing rose-bud—my love to my son.—I am heartily tired of the country;—the truth is—Mrs. Sancho and the girls are in town;—I am not ashamed to own that I love my wife—I hope to see you married, and as foolish.

I HAVE sincere pleasure to find you honor me in your thoughts—to have your good wishes, is not the least strange, for I am sure you possess that kind of soul, that christian philanthropy, which wishes well—and, in the sense of scripture, breathes peace and good-will to all.—Part of your scheme we mean to adopt—but the principal thing we aim at is in the tea, snuff, and sugar, with the little articles of daily domestic use—in truth, I like your scheme, and I think the three articles you advise would answer exceeding well—but it would require a capital—which we have not—so we mean to cut our coat according to our scanty quantum—and creep with hopes of being enabled hereafter to mend our pace.—Mrs. Sancho is in the straw—she has given me a fifth wench—and your worthy Kate has offered her the honor of standing for her sponsor, but I fear it must be by proxy.—Pray make my respects to Mrs. Matilda—I hope she enjoys every thing that her parents wish her.—I shall dine with Mr. Jacob some day this week—I saw him at Dodd's chapel yesterday—and if his countenance is to be believed, he was very well—I could not get at him to speak to him;—as soon as we can get a bit of house, we shall begin to look sharp for a bit of bread—I have strong hope—the more children, the more blessings—and if it please the Almighty to spare me from the gout, I verily think the happiest part of my life is to come—soap, starch, and blue, with raisins, figs, &c.—we shall cut a respectable figure—in our printed cards.—Pray make my best wishes to Mr. H——; tell him I revere his whole family, which is doing honor to myself.—I had a letter of yours to answer, which I should have done before, had my manners been equal to my esteem.—Mrs. Sancho joins me in respectful love and thanks: I remain ever your much obliged servant to command,

I have not seen Sir Jacob near a fortnight—but hope and conclude him well.—R—— is well, and grows very fat—an easy mind—full purse—and a good table—great health—and much indulgence—all these conduce terribly to plumpness.—I must beg when you see Mr.——, if not improper or inconvenient, that you will inform him—that where there is but little—every little helps;—I think he is too humane to be offended at the liberty—and too honest to be displeased with a truth—I am, with grateful thanks to Mr. H——, your sincerely humble servant and poor friend,

YOUNG says, “A friend is the balsam of life”—Shakspeare says,—but why should I pester you with quotations?—to shew you the depth of my erudition, and strut like the fabled bird in his borrowed plumage—in good honest truth, my friend—I rejoice to see thy name at the bottom of the instructive page—and were fancy and invention as much my familiar friends as they are thine—I would write thee an answerer—or try, at least, as agreeably easy—and as politely simple.—Mark that; simplicity is the characteristic of good writing—which I have learnt, among many other good things, of your Honor—and for which I am proud to thank you;—in short I would write like you—think like you (of course); and do like you; but as that is impossible, I must content myself with my old trick;—now what that trick is—thou art ignorant—and so thou shalt remain—till I congratulate you upon your recovery—A propos, you begun your letter ill, as we do many things in common life;—ten days elapsed before you finished it—consequently you finished it well.—My dear friend, may you, thro' God's blessing, ever finish happily what you undertake—however unpromising the beginning may appear to be!—I want you much in town—for my own sake—that's a stroke of self-love.—And do you mean to bring any candles up with you?—that's another!—I do not wonder at your making your way amongst the folks of Hull—although there are four of the same profession;—we love variety.—I will give them credit for admiring the Artist;—but if they—that is two or three of them—have penetration to look deeper—and love the Man—then I shall believe that there are souls in Hull.—So —my cramp epistle fell into the hands of thy good and rev. father—tant pis—why he must think me blacker than I am.—Mons. B— goes on well:—I suppose you know he has opened an Academy in St. Albans Street—at two guineas a year—naked figures three nights a week—Mr. Mortimer—and several eminent names upon his list—and room left for yours—he hops about with that festivity of countenance—which denotes peace and good-will to man.—I have added to my felicity—or Fortune more properly has—three worthy friends—they are admirers and friends of Mortimer and Sterne;—but of this—when we meet.—You are expected at B—— House upon your return—and I hope you will call on them, if consistent with your time—and agreeable to you.—My friend L—— is in town, and intends trying his fortune among us—as teacher of murder and neck-breaking—alias—fencing and riding.—The Tartars, I believe, have few fine gentlemen among them—and they can ride —though they have neither fencing nor riding masters;—and as to genteel murder—we are mere pedlars and novices—for they can dispatch a whole caravan—or a hoorde—and eat and drink—wench and laugh—and, in truth, so far they can match our modern fine gents.;—they have no acquaintance with conscience—but what's all this to you?—nothing—it helps to fill up the sheet—and looks like moralizing;—the good-natured partiality of thy honest heart will deem it—not absolutely nonsense.—Alas!—thus it often happens—that the judgement of a good head is—bumfiddled—and wrong biass'd by the weakness of a too kind heart;—under that same weakness let me shelter my failings and absurdities—and let me boast at this present writing—that my heart is not very depraved—and has this proof of not being dead to virtue;—it beats stronger at the found of friendship—and will be sincerely attached to W—— S——, Esq—while its pulsations continue to throb in the breast of your obliged

I HAVE just now had the pleasure of seeing a gentleman who is honored in calling you sister.—He suspended the pain in my foot for full five minutes, by the pleasing account he gave of your health.—I delivered my charge*

* Miss L——'s picture.