'While there was so much talk about the town concerning maladministration, some of the Streatham coterie, in a quibbling humour, professed themselves weary of male-administration, as they pronounced it emphatically, and proposing a female one, called on Dr. Johnson to arrange it. "Well then," said he "we will have
Carter for Archbishop of Canterbury.
Montague, First Lord of the Treasury.
Hon. Sophia Byron, Head of the Admiralty.
Heralds' Office under care of Miss Owen.
Manager of the House of Commons, Mrs. Crewe.
Mrs. Wedderburne, Lord Chancellor.
Mrs. Wallace, Attorney-General.
Preceptor to the Princes, Mrs. Chapone.
Poet Laureate, Hannah More."
"And no place for me, Dr. Johnson?" cried your friend. "No, no; you will get into Parliament by your little silver tongue, and then rise by your own merit." "And what shall I do?" exclaims Fanny Burney. "Oh, we shall send you out for a spy, and perhaps you will get hanged. Ha, ha, ha!" with a loud laugh.'
Having thus noted what may be said about love, let us turn to the opposite feeling, and see what may be written under the influence of hate.
'Ungracious offspring of hellish brood, whome heavens permit for a plague, and the earth nourisheth as a peculiar mischiefe, monster of mankinde and devourer of men, what may I tearme thee? With what illsounding titles maie I raise myselfe upon thee? Thou scorne of the world, and not scorne but worldes foule disdaine, and enemie of all humaine condition, shall thy villanies scape for ever unpunished? Will the earth yet support thee, the clouds shadow thee, or the aire breath on thee? What lawes be these, if at leastwise such may be tearmed lawes, whereout so vile a wretch hathe so manie evasions? But shalt thou longer live to become the vexation and griefe of men? No; for I protest, though the lawes doe faile thee, myselfe will not overslip thee. I, I am hee that will plague thee; thou shalt not scape me. I will be revenged of thee. Thinke not thy injuryes are so easie that they are of all to bee supported; for no sooner shall that partched, withered carkasse of thine sende foorth thy hatefull and abhorred lookes into anie publicke shew, but mine eyes shall watch thee and I will not leave thee till I have prosequuted that which I have intended towardes thee, most unworthie as thou art to breath amongst men, which art hated and become lothsome even in the verie bowels and thoughtes of men. Triumph, then, in thy mischiefes, and boast that thou hast undone mee and a number of others, whom with farre lesse despight thou hast forced to bende unto thee; and when by due deserte I shall have payed what I have promised thee, vaunt then (in God's name) of thy winnings. For my part—but I will saie no more, let the end trie all. Live wretchedlie and die villainouslie, as thou hast deserved, whome heavens hencefoorth doe shunne, and the world denieth longer to looke upon.'
This is the model that Angel Day, in his 'English Secretary' (1590), thinks suitable for 'a hot enraged spirit' to write to his adversary.
Most persons at some time in their lives are called upon to write letters of condolence, but it is usually found to be a difficult task. However well the writer may succeed, he must feel how inadequate words are to give relief to a troubled spirit, and it is only insomuch as he shows his own heart and sympathy that he is successful in his attempt. When Alexander Lindsay, Earl of Balcarres, died, a few months before the Restoration, Charles II., who was then at Bruxelles, wrote the following kindly letter to the widow, Lady Anna Mackenzie:—
'Madame,—I hope you are so well persuaded of my kindness to you as to believe that there can no misfortune happen to you and I not have my share in it. I assure you I am troubled at the loss you have had; and I hope that God will be pleased to put me into such a condition before it be long, as I may let you see the care I intend to have of you and your children, and that you may depend upon my being very truly, madame,
'Your affectionate, Charles R.'
Letters of thanks are frequently difficult things to write well, as it is a hard matter to appear grateful for the present of something that we do not want. Talleyrand made a practice of instantly acknowledging the receipt of books sent to him; for he could then express the pleasure he expected to enjoy in reading the volume, but if he delayed he thought it would be necessary to give an opinion, and that might sometimes be embarrassing. A celebrated botanist used to return thanks somewhat in the following form:—'I have received your book, and shall lose no time in reading it.' The unfortunate author might put his own construction on this rather ambiguous language. When Southey published his 'Doctor' anonymously, he gave directions to his publishers to send all letters directed for the author to Theodore Hook, and the following letter from Southey himself was found among Hook's papers:—