Dear Heartily,
Having cut college for a bolt to the village,{8} I expected to have found you in the bay of condolence,{9} but hear you left your moorings lately
8 London, so called at Oxford.
9 The consolation afforded by friends when plucked or
rusticated.
to waste the ready among the sharks at Brighton. Though not quite at point nonplus, I am very near the united kingdoms of Sans Souci and Sans Sixsous,{10} and shall bring to, and wait for company, in the province of Bacchus. I have only just quitted Æager Haven, and been very near the Wall{11}; have sustained another dreadful fire from Convocation Castle,{12} which had nigh shattered my fore-lights, and was very near being blown up in attempting to pass the Long Hope.{13} If you wish to save an old Etonian from east jeopardy,{14} set sail directly, and tow me out of the river Tick into the region of rejoicing; then will we get bosky together, sing old songs, tell merry tales, and spree and sport on the states of Independency.
Yours truly,
The Oxford rustic,
London.
TOM ECHO.
P. S. I should not have cut so suddenly, but joined Bob Transit and Eglantine in giving two of the old big wigs a flying leap t'other evening, as they left Christ Church Hall, in return for rusticating me:—to escape suspicion, broke away by the mail. I know your affection for a good joke, so induced Bob to book it, and let me have the sketch, which I here enclose.