In truth he did not _diable_ without
reason, for my whole face, neck, hands, and arms are most bountifully
covered with something like the measles or rash. All these pleasant
appearances seem to be the effects of a great cold, taken I know not
when or how--
"_Nil illi larva aut tragicis upus esse cothurnis._"
My throat is something better, notwithstanding I went abroad
yesterday.
Sunday, 27th September.
I am so much better to-day, that, if the weather was good, I should
prosecute my journey if I could find the means of getting on; but the
rain, which is continual and very heavy, keeps well and sick within
doors.
It is now ten days since I have heard from you; a very long time,
considering the situation in which you was left at the date of your
last: in a city infected with a mortal and contagious fever. I hope,
nay, I persuade myself that you obeyed my wishes by escaping from it
to Pelham. The next mail will tell me, and, I trust, relieve me from
an anxiety which pursues me day and night.
Monday, 28th September.
Your letter of the 21st, written, I suppose, at Dr. Brown's, is just
come in, and relieves me from a weight of anxiety about your health. I
am sorry, however (very sorry), that you are not at Frederick's, and
am not absolutely either pleased or satisfied with the change.
Of attention and tenderness you will receive not only enough, but a
great deal too much; and an indulgence to every inattention, awkward
habit, and expression, which may lead you to imagine them to be so
many ornaments: as to your language, I shall expect to find it
perfectly infantine.
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