Ashbourne, Aug. 7.  ’Since I was here I have two little letters from you, and have not had the gratitude to write.  But every man is most free with his best friends, because he does not suppose that they can suspect him of intentional incivility.  One reason for my omission is, that being in a place to which you are wholly a stranger, I have no topicks of correspondence.  If you had any knowledge of Ashbourne, I could tell you of two Ashbourne men, who, being last week condemned at Derby to be hanged for a robbery, went and hanged themselves in their cell[1113].  But this, however it may supply us with talk, is nothing to you.  Your kindness, I know, would make you glad to hear some good of me, but I have not much good to tell; if I grow not worse, it is all that I can say.  I hope Mrs. Hoole receives more help from her migration.  Make her my compliments, and write again to, dear Sir, your affectionate servant.’

Aug. 13.  ’I thank you for your affectionate letter.  I hope we shall both be the better for each other’s friendship, and I hope we shall not very quickly be parted.  Tell Mr. Nicholls that I shall be glad of his correspondence, when his business allows him a little remission; though to wish him less business, that I may have more pleasure, would be too selfish.  To pay for seats at the balloon is not very necessary, because in less than a minute, they who gaze at a mile’s distance will see all that can be seen.  About the wings[1114] I am of your mind; they cannot at all assist it, nor I think regulate its motion.  I am now grown somewhat easier in my body, but my mind is sometimes depressed.  About the Club I am in no great pain.  The forfeitures go on, and the house, I hear, is improved for our future meetings.  I hope we shall meet often and sit long.’

Sept. 4.  ’Your letter was, indeed, long in coming, but it was very welcome.  Our acquaintance has now subsisted long[1115] and our recollection of each other involves a great space, and many little occurrences, which melt the thoughts to tenderness.  Write to me, therefore, as frequently as you can.  I hear from Dr. Brocklesby and Mr. Ryland, that the Club is not crouded.  I hope we shall enliven it when winter brings us together.’

To DR. BURNEY:—­

August 2.  ’The weather, you know, has not been balmy; I am now reduced to think, and am at last content to talk of the weather.  Pride must have a fall[1116].  I have lost dear Mr. Allen, and wherever I turn, the dead or the dying meet my notice, and force my attention upon misery and mortality.  Mrs. Burney’s escape from so much danger, and her ease after so much pain, throws, however, some radiance of hope upon the gloomy prospect.  May her recovery be perfect, and her continuance long.  I struggle hard for life.  I take physick, and take air; my friend’s chariot is always ready.  We have run this morning twenty-four miles, and could run forty-eight more. But who can run the race with death?’