Clare [3] and
Delawarr [4], who were there on the same speculation, were less
fortunate. I saw them by accident,--we were not together. I wished for
you, to gratify your love of Shakspeare and of fine acting to its
fullest extent. Last week I saw an exhibition of a different kind in a
Mr. Coates, [5] at the Haymarket, who performed Lothario in a _damned_
and damnable manner.
I told you the fate of B[land] and H[odgson] in my last. So much for
these sentimentalists, who console themselves in their stews for the
loss--the never to be recovered loss--the despair of the refined
attachment of a couple of drabs! You censure _my_ life, Harness,--when I
compare myself with these men, my elders and my betters, I really begin
to conceive myself a monument of prudence--a walking statue--without
feeling or failing; and yet the world in general hath given me a proud
pre-eminence over them in profligacy. Yet I like the men, and, God
knows, ought not to condemn their aberrations. But I own I feel provoked
when they dignify all this by the name of _love_--romantic attachments
for things marketable for a dollar!
Dec. 16th.--I have just received your letter;--I feel your kindness very
deeply. The foregoing part of my letter, written yesterday, will, I
hope, account for the tone of the former, though it cannot excuse it. I
do _like_ to hear from you--more than _like_. Next to seeing you, I have
no greater satisfaction. But you have other duties, and greater
pleasures, and I should regret to take a moment from either.
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