In a man’s letters, you know, madam, his soul lies naked, his letters are only the mirror of his breast; whatever passes within him, is shown, undisguised, in its natural process; nothing is inverted, nothing distorted:  you see systems in their elements; you discover actions in their motives.

Of this great truth, sounded by the knowing to the ignorant, and so echoed by the ignorant to the knowing, what evidence have you now before you?  Is not my soul laid open in these veracious pages?  Do not you see me reduced to my first principles?  This is the pleasure of corresponding with a friend, where doubt and distrust have no place, and every thing is said as it is thought.  The original idea is laid down in its simple purity, and all the supervenient conceptions are spread over it, “stratum super stratum,” as they happen to be formed.  These are the letters by which souls are united, and by which minds, naturally in unison, move each other, as they are moved themselves.  I know, dearest lady, that in the perusal of this, such is the consanguinity of our intellects, you will be touched, as I am touched.  I have, indeed, concealed nothing from you, nor do I expect ever to repent of having thus opened my heart.  I am, &c.

XXXVIII.—­To MRS. THRALE.

November 10, 1777.

DEAR MADAM,—­And so, supposing that I might come to town, and neglect to give you notice, or thinking some other strange thought, but certainly thinking wrong, you fall to writing about me to Tom Davies, as if he could tell you anything that I would not have you know.  As soon as I came hither, I let you know of my arrival; and the consequence is, that I am summoned to Brighthelmstone, through storms, and cold, and dirt, and all the hardships of wintry journeys.  You know my natural dread of all those evils; yet, to show my master an example of compliance, and to let you know how much I long to see you, and to boast how little I give way to disease, my purpose is to be with you on Friday.

I am sorry for poor Nezzy, and hope she will, in time, be better; I hope the same for myself.  The rejuvenescency of Mr. Scrase gives us both reason to hope, and, therefore, both of us rejoice in his recovery.  I wish him well, besides, as a friend to my master.

I am just come home from not seeing my lord mayor’s show, but I might have seen, at least, part of it.  But I saw Miss Wesley and her brothers; she sends her compliments.  Mrs. Williams is come home, I think, a very little better.

Every body was an enemy to that wig.—­We will burn it, and get drunk; for what is joy without drink?  Wagers are laid in the city about our success, which is yet, as the French call it, problematical.  Well—­but, seriously, I think, I shall be glad to see you in your own hair; but do not take too much time in combing, and twisting, and papering, and unpapering, and curling, and frizling, and powdering,