LETTER To the Same. XXIX. Ireland, 29th May, 1776. Do you think, that to make fuch proposals, as your last contained, is the way to reconcile me to this worfe than banishment? You refufed to come into my scheme of marriage— Nothing fhall tempt me to come into your scheme. Perfift in your idea of going on the stage; and, as I live, I'll come over and make a party to damn you the first night of your appearance. Since you will not fhare my fortunes, I will not share your earnings. The story you mention at Flamborough, of Boardingham, who was murdered by his wife and her lover, is most shocking. The reflections you draw from it are most just; and what you say of our fituation moft true. The woman must have been beyond a wild beast favage. Yet their feelings, when the and Aikney were at the gallows together (fuppofing any thing like love remained) muft have been exquifite.--I proteft,I would willingly embrace with M. the cruelleft death which torture could invent (provided the were on a bed of roses, than lead the happiest life without her. -What vifions have I conjured up!-my pen drops from my hand. Your catch upon a bumper I like much. It beats, both in words and mufic, "a bumper 'Squire Jones." By the way, what an odd word it is! Let me make a linguift of you to-day. The learned Johnson deriveth bumper (" a cup "filled till the liquor fwells over the brims") from bump, which cometh, he faith, from bum, perhaps, as being prominent; the which bum cometh, we are told, from bomme, (Dutch) and fignifieth "the part on which we fit."-The word bumper is by fome writer derived from bonpere, the ufual familiar phrafe for priests, who were fuppofed not to dislike bumpers.-This I may fay-if a cup filled till the liquor fwells "over the brims" comes from "the part on "which we fit," it must be granted, as a French poet says of Alfana's coming from equus, Qu' en venant de la, jusqu' icy, And now I have ended in good spirits, as well as you. I remember the time when Hamlet might have faid to me, as he does to Horatio, "Thou "Thou haft no revenue but thy good fpirits "To feed and cloath thee." Now, I have got a little revenue, which M. will not share with me, and God knows who has got my good spirits.-Well, I must not think. LETTER To the Same. XXX. Ireland, 18 June, 76. Mr Laura is not angry with me, I hope, for the three or four tender letters I have written to her fince the beginning of this month. And yet, your's of yesterday feems to say you are. If I bear my fituation like a man, will you not allow me to feel it like a man? Misfortune, like a creditor fevere, But you fay I must not write thus. If I can" help it, I will not. Shall I write about the weather or politics? The fun fhines to-day, yesterday it rained. If you you wish to appear learned, tell the next.company you go into, that the distresses of this country will foon oblige England to grant her a free trade, or fomething very much like it. And add, that her grievances are more real now, than when, in 1601, fhe complained to Elizabeth of the introduction of trials by jury.--Another flice of politics. Affert boldly, that Junius was written by Grenville's fecretary. This is a fact, notwithstanding what Wilkes relates of Lord Germaine's bishop. Is this the ftyle of letter-writing you allow me-Try again, then, The favours I have received from the worthy man I mentioned in a letter or two ago, are by his goodness every day increased. Some superior fouls have affected to hate mankind. Here is one, who, with an understanding and an experience inferior to none, never lofes an opportunity of befriending a fellow-creature. I am afraid fometimes, that misfortune will one day or another play him fome confounded dog's trick, he takes fuch pleasure in thwarting every scheme The lays for any one's ruin. Yet, even this amiable character is not without his defects. The following lines I fent him this morning, morning, after playing at Vignt-Un in company with him laft night. To H, fays a certain friend, (Both idle, rhyming bards) with good manners and best sense, "Can't bear to lofe at cards. "With fuch a head"- "And fuch a heart," Adds H, "tis high treafon. "But I, who knew that heart fo well, "Have found, I think, the reason. "Friend to the poor, his purfe their box, "He always would be winner; "For then they win. But, fhould he lose, "The poor too lose a dinner." This country's facetious Dean faid, his friend Arbuthnot could do every thing but walk. My friend can do every thing but lose at cards. Feeling, and all the commanding powers of the mind, were never perhaps before fo mixed up together. A tale of forrow will make his little eyes wink, wink, wink, like a green girl's. Before the company came last night, I showed him "Auld Robin Gray"; and, though he had seen it before, he could not get over 66 My mother could na fpeak," without winking. For the credit of your fide |