Oh God! chance, nature, or whatever thou art, receive the grateful thanks and prayers that flow from my heart in acknowledgment for the health I now enjoy; a full week have I been free from suffering or alarm. What are the gifts of fortune in comparison to the enjoyment of health! Grant that it may continue, and that I may, whilst life lasts, feel no other anguish than what is incidental to the gradual decay of mortality. Let it be gradual, for I am too happy to bear with equanimity the thought of being torn from the felicity of a life replete with every blessing human nature is capable of relishing. Formerly in the bitterness of sorrow I prayed for death; I looked to it as a relief to a broken spirit, and when I viewed its approach with indifference I imputed to philosophy that resignation and contempt, which despair alone had caused. Now I am a coward indeed; a spasm terrifies me, and every memento of the fragile tenure of my bliss strikes a panic through my frame. Oh! my beloved friend, how hast thou by becoming mine endeared the every-day occurrences of life! I shrink from nothing but the dread of leaving or of losing thee, but alas! the day must come:-- La Mort a des rigueurs à nulle autre pareilles; On a beau la prier. La cruelle qu’elle est se bouche les oreilles Et nous laisse crier. Le pauvre en sa cabane, où le chaume le couvre, Est sujet à ses lois; Et la garde qui veille aux barrières du Louvre N’en défend pas nos Rois. (_Trad. d’Horace, par Malherbe._[203]) _May ’98._--He spoke upon the D. of Bedford’s motion, and his praises were sounded everywhere. His manner is like his uncle’s. The great features of his speaking are eagerness, quickness, and argument. I saw a _critique_ in a letter from an enemy, that said he was the counterpart of his uncle--full of ability, spirit, and impetuosity, presumption in reply, rashness in assertion, and arrogance in conclusion. But it was an enemy. At a supper after a great ball the other night at Burlington House, Sheridan and Lewis got into a dispute, which the latter would have decided by a wager, and said, ‘I lay you the profits of my play (which, by-the-bye, Sheridan, you have not paid me).’ ‘I do not like high wagers,’ replied S., ‘but I’ll lay you a small one, _the worth of it_.’ The little author became as mute as a fish from the rebuff.