Letter CLI To Mr. S ——
Friday, Oct. 18, 1780.
Pooh, no, thou simpleton! I tell thee, I got no cold, neither is my breath one jot the worse.—I wish I knew that you suffered as little from break of rest, and raw air.—I am glad I have left you, for your sake as well as my own, my dear Stee.—The corks flew out of thy bottles in such rapid succession, that prudence and pity held a council upon it.—Generosity stepped in, followed by a pert coxcomb, whom they called Spirit—and God knows how the affair is to end.—I intend to write a line to the worthies of your town, the good Mr. S— and Dr. N—f—d. O Stee! had I thy abilities, I would say what should credit my feelings, though it fell far short of the merits of such friends to mankind—and
Your IGN. SANCHO, in particular.
Love and respects to thy generous scholars—the Greens—the Browns, &c. &c. to reverends Mess. Prettyman, and the other gentleman with pretty wife, whose name is deserted from the silly pate of thy true friend Sancho.—I have not seen Mr. J—— H——; but they are all well, as Mr. Anthony has just announced.
Say handsomely to the Greens—and much as you please to the Prettymans.