Nondimeno l’e dolce ad cui l’assagia.” This race of men, though s&vage they may seem, The country, too, with many a mountain rough, Yet are they sweet to him who tries and tastes them.” _Uberties Travels thro’ Ireland, 14th Century_ In Two Volumes, Vol. II New York: P. M. Haverty. 1879. LETTER XVI. TO J. D. ESQ., M. P. I wish you were to have seen the look with which the worthy Mr. Clendinning met me, as I rode up the avenue to M-------- house. To put an end at once to his impertinent surmises, curiosity, and suspicion, which I evidently saw lurking in his keen eye, I made a display of my fractured arm, which I still wore in a sling; and naturally enough accounted for my absence, by alleging that a fall from my horse, and a fractured limb had obliged me to accept the humane attentions of a gentleman, near whose house the accident had happened, and whose guest and patient I had since been. Mr. Clendinning affected the tone of regret and condolence, with some appropriate suppositions of what his lord would feel when he learnt the unfortunate circumstance. “In a word, Mr. Clendinning,” said I, “I do not choose my father’s feelings should be called in question on a matter which is now of no ill consequence; and as there is not the least occasion to render him unhappy to no purpose, I must insist that you neither write nor mention the circumstance to him on any account.” Mr. Clendinning bowed obedience, and I contrived to ratify his promise by certain inuendoes; for, as he is well aware many of his villanies have reached my ear, he hates and fears me with all his soul. My first inquiry was for letters. I found two from my father, and one, only one, from you. My father writes in his usual style. His first is merely an epistle admonitory; full of prudent axioms, and fatherly solicitudes. The second informs me that his journey to Ireland is deferred for a month or six weeks, on account of my brother’s marriage with the heiress of the richest banker in the city. It is written in his best style, and a brilliant flow of spirit pervades every line. In the plenitude of his joy all _my_ sins are forgiven; he even talks of terminating my exile sooner than I had any reason to suspect: and he playfully adds, “of changing my banishment into slavery”--“knowing from experience that provided my shackles are woven by the rosy fingers of beauty, I can wear them patiently and pleasurably enough. In short,” he adds, “I have a connexion in my eye, for you, not less brilliant in point of fortune than that your brother has made; and which will enable you to forswear your Coke, and burn your Blackstone.”