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22 my intimate knowledge of your genius, I was convinced that your soul is as impregnated with fire as the flint, and that both, when struck, are equally prone to produce pain. I began to consider that even a glance was sufficient to unman a breast so susceptible of the least impulse, and concluded, in consequence, that some happy fair one—possessed of all the accomplishments, and as thick legs as the once favoured Elliott—had enslaved my friend’s affections. “Ever prompt to blaze at Beauty’s sacred call.” So that, from motives of pity, I had pardoned your omission to me before the receival of your excuse.

I am sorry you had not an opportunity of communicating all the handsome things I had penned for Mrs. Jeffries; but as she is fully convinced of my profound adoration and respect for her and her sister without the proof of Panegyride, the loss of so superfluous a compliment is not very material.

I despair of ever bringing our friend Southwell to a proper sense of his duty as a correspondent. I wrote him a long letter, and have not yet received a line in answer, but suppose his Donegal expedition, and his intention of assuming the garb of sobriety which you say he is resolved upon, has obliterated all epistolary thought. Where is he gone to, in so remote a part of Ireland as Donegal?

I still remain very comfortable and snug, and pleased with my situation. I begin to like the people of the country rather more than I did. I ride about as much as I can, and have lately been two or three days at Mallow, which is a most lovely situation as I ever saw. I met many people there whom I knew; among the rest, Mrs. Coote, the dowager, and Mrs. Anketell, her daughter. Dissipation, as Martin would say, reigns perpetually there. Nothing but dancing and public breakfasting, and such riotous customs, are practised. I propose going there again soon, and mixing a little with the beau monde, by way of recreation.

I received a letter lately from poet Hussey, who is studying the law hard with Foster in a little retirement in Surrey. It was half poetry, half prose. There are some good lines, the best of which I will just transcribe for you, as you are one of the wooers of the tuneful ladies. In praising my “idle