Will you send the second volume of “Caleb,” and pray lend me a bit of Indian-rubber. I have lost mine. Should you be obliged to quit home before the hour I have mentioned, say. You will not forget that we are to dine at four. I wish to be exact, because I have promised to let Mary go and assist her brother this afternoon. I have been tormented all this morning by puss, who has had four or five fits. I could not conceive what occasioned them, and took care that she should not be terrified. But she flew up my chimney, and was so wild, that I thought it right to have her drowned. Fanny imagines that she was sick and ran away.
March 11, 1797.
Saturday morning.—I must dine to-day with Mrs. Christie, and mean to return as early as I can; they seldom dine before five.
Should you call and find only books, have a little patience, and I shall be with you.
Do not give Fanny a cake to-day. I am afraid she stayed too long with you yesterday.
You are to dine with me on Monday, remember; the salt beef awaits your pleasure.
Friday morning.—And so, you goose, you lost your supper, and deserved to lose it, for not desiring Mary to give you some beef.
There is a good boy, write me a review of Vaurien. I remember there is an absurd attack on a Methodist preacher because he denied the eternity of future punishments.
I should be glad to have the Italian, were it possible, this week, because I promised to let Johnson have it this week.