I am sorry you are plagued about your book. I would strongly recommend you to take for one story Massinger's "Old Law." It is exquisite. I can think of no other.
Dash is frightful this morning. He whines and stands up on his hind legs. He misses Becky, who is gone to town. I took him to Barnet the other day, and he couldn't eat his vittles after it. Pray God his intellectuals be not slipping.
Mary is gone out for some soles. I suppose 'tis no use to ask you to come and partake of 'em; else there is a steam vessel.
I am doing a tragi-comedy in two acts, and have got on tolerably; but it will be refused, or worse, I never had luck with anything my name was put to.
Oh, I am so poorly! I waked it at my cousin's the bookbinder, who is now with God; or if he is not,'tis no fault of mine.
We hope the Frank wines do not disagree with Mrs. Patmore. By the way, I like her.
Did you ever taste frogs? Get them if you can. They are like little
Lilliput rabbits, only a thought nicer.
How sick I am!—not of the world, but of the Widow Shrub. She's sworn under £6,000; but I think she perjured herself. She howls in E la, and I comfort her in B flat. You understand music?
If you haven't got Massinger, you have nothing to do but go to the first Bibliothèque you can light upon at Boulogne, and ask for it (Gifford's edition); and if they haven't got it, you can have "Athalie," par Monsieur Racine, and make the best of it. But that "Old Law" is delicious.
"No shrimps!" (that's in answer to Mary's question about how the soles are to be done.)