My dear Mrs. Watson,
Plunged in the deepest gloom, I write these few words to let you know that, just now, when the bell was striking ten, I drank to
H. E. R.!
and to all the rest of Rockingham; as the wine went down my throat, I felt distinctly that it was "changing those thoughts to madness."
On the way here I was a terror to my companions, and I am at present a blight and mildew on my home.
Think of me sometimes, as I shall long think of our glorious dance last night. Give my most affectionate regards to Watson, and my kind remembrances to all who remember me, and believe me,
Ever faithfully yours.
P.S.—I am in such an incapable state, that after executing the foregoing usual flourish I swooned, and remained for some time insensible. Ha, ha, ha! Why was I ever restored to consciousness!!!
P.P.S.—"Changing" those thoughts ought to be "driving." But my recollection is incoherent and my mind wanders.