HORE SARISBURIENSES. PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE. DEAR KENYON, May 7th. I AM indeed become author-scribbler-(or whatever else you may be pleased to denominate one who has given you such ample, such voluminous, proofs of his profession.) Ought I to complain of, or rejoice in, my mania for composing? For my own part I scarcely know whether to censure or to thank you, for having been the cause. Every thing about me clearly marks my employment; examine my writing desk, for instance: there, instead of a few sober letters to Charles Dashwood, Esq. &c. you will find huge bundles of Sonnets, Elegies, Stanzas to and letters to the Editors of the "Hora Sarisburienses." Well would it be, if my authorlike propensities had ended here! Last week I was detected in slipping a Sonnet into Miss Stanhope's workbox-I fancy I hear you muttering, "So, indeed! it is not our Horæ' alone which has inflamed you with a cacoethes scribendi:" but I positively aver, though I might have made love in fifty other shapes, I should never have attempted it in poetical effusions. Miss R. too surprised me, in quite a Latham-like K 66 study, as I was sitting in one of the prettiest little summer-houses imaginable; and at dinner, much to my annoyance, entertained a large party with a humorous description of me and my grotto. This almost determined me on sending you a severe lampoon on her, but one of her smiles soon dispelled my fit of anger, and had I written any thing, it must have been a sonnet on her beauty. Captain Ricardo (of the Guards) has very nearly cut me for that odious "mustachio" in the " Gentleman," and a certain beautiful young lady (excuse my giving her name,) has completely given me up for my Inconstancy."-You see, therefore, that I have some reason to blame you. I hear you, as it were in your defence, muttering something about "expansion of the mind," "emanation of genius," "chasteness of style," and various other improvements. This may be true, but time only will show, whether or not you are entitled to my gratitude.-By-the-by, Mr. Kenyon, there is one thing, which has nearly destroyed your character for gallantry: "Mr. Dashwood," said Miss R. the other day, "what sort of a man is Mr. Kenyon?" Of course I immediately uttered a panegyric on you. "Dear me," she said, when I had finished, "what a delightful young man he must be." You must know Miss R. is a "blue," and I soon had cause to tremble; for, on opening her writing desk, she handed me a very delicate little note, "Written upon gilt-edge paper With a neat little crow-quill slight and new." "Mr. "Do you think," added she, giving me the paper, Kenyon will insert these few lines, On Sentiment?'' In what a predicament was I! The question completely paralyzed me.-What excuse could I stammer out? I was obliged to tell her, that I should be very happy in being allowed to keep them myself; but that I was sorry to say, the Editors received no foreign communications, not even from the Ladies. From that moment, you fell sadly in her estimation: however, I was commissioned by several fair lips, to propose at the next meeting of the Club, that an exception be made in behalf of the Ladies. |