Chapter CLIII: 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.