Monday will be a grand day here in choosing the mayor, and at night a mock election takes place, with fireworks, &c.—and this day month Greenwich-fair is held in the fields. The people here are any thing but sociable, and “keep themselves to themselves.” The sailors are the most obliging, and very communicative—they usually carry Bob over any dirty place or so for me—and, to tell the truth, I have almost changed my mind from a parson to a sailor.
If you can, do come down on Sunday; but, by no means, empty-handed, or rather, empty-pocketed—my cash is now very low, though I have been as saving as possible. I find no alteration in the price of provisions except potatoes and milk—every thing else I think is as in London. I should like some pens, paper, and a book or two—for one, the Duchess D’Orleans’ Court of Louis the XIV., I think it is—and any thing, as poor Mrs. —— says, wery amusing; for the evenings are “cursedly” dull—stop—it’s your own word—and as I have said it, it may relieve a little of this evening’s ennui. Whatever you bring you can put into the little portmanteau, which I shall find very useful when we return. Bob and Harry send you a kiss apiece, and mine “I will twist up in a piece of paper, and bring with me when I come to town.”
This is a scribble—but Bob is asleep on my lap.
I am, my dear Harry,
Yours, very affectionately,
* * * * * * * * *
N.B. Please to send me word the day of the month, and what’s o’clock.
Can you, Mr. Editor, imagine any thing more expressive of loneliness, and desire for intelligence, than this young wife’s capital N.B., with the execratory citation from her husband’s vocabulary—or more sportively affectionate than the “twist up” of her kiss, with “Bob” Lobski asleep on her lap. I like a letter, and a letter writer of this sort mightily: one with a fearless and strong expression of feeling—as in the epithet about the dull evenings, which a female can scarcely extenuate, except by such a confession and assignment to its right owner, implying its impropriety, as this female makes. How oddly, and yet how well, her fondness for reading and her domestic management collocate—the Memoirs of the Court of Louis XIV. and the price of provisions. How natural is her momentary hesitation between mud-rubbing and bathing. Then the instant determination, so essential when there is no time to spare, marks such “decision of character!”—even the author of the excellent essay on that noble quality would admire it. I presume that “Lobski” may be rickety; and I take this opportunity of observing, on the authority of a medical friend, that town-bred children, who eat profusely of sugar, and are pampered with sweets, usually are. Sugar has the effect of softening the bones, and causes the rickets: it should form no part of the food of rickety children, or only in a small degree; and such children should be allowed and encouraged to eat common salt freely.
To return however to the letter.—I should really like to know the secret of the allusion respecting the “parson” and the “sailor,” so naturally called forth by the playful services of the tars; which, I have observed, are ever exerted on such occasions, and remind one of the labours of Hercules with the distaff. Her account of Lobski’s “animated nature” is so pretty and true a sketch of boyish infancy, that you may perceive the hand of the mother in every line. In the anticipation of the mayoralty show and the fair, and the unsociableness of Gravesend society, I think I can trace something of the woman. I hope she may live to see her boys “good men and true,” gladdening her heart by fearless well-doing. She must look well to Lobski:—he’s a “Pickle.” It is in the power of a mother to effect more in the formation of a child’s early disposition than the father.
Lastly, that you may be assured of the genuineness of the letter I found, and have copied, the original accompanies this communication to your publishers; with authority, if its ownership be claimed, to deliver it to the claimant, on the production of a line in the handwriting of the epistle itself.
I am, Sir, &c.
Curio So.