1758 Dear Friend,

These few Lines Comes hoping to find You well as they Leave Me1 & I hear You have got a Letter of Mine & I desire You to Send it or bring it. I wonder You wou'dt Send it by our Dick. I wanted dreadfuly to hear from our Molly2 for I Suppose it is from her.

I wish when You Send it you wou'd Send word how Your Girl does tell her that I Say the Grass is Grown finely, & She May have the Ynkingest Frolicks that ever was with You. We are all well here But our Nathan who wrestleing hurt his Collar bone. Mother Say that She Never See Such a Booby in all her Life time. You never See Such a greate Straping fellow in all You born days as did do it. Lawfull Sus, well I e'en Most forgot to tell You that our Nab went out with Long Shank't Jedediah—You no him Nasty Duke—as ever was. I hate him. I wonder in My Heart how She can go with him. She been gone tow Day—& father Say he will go & fetch her home. They all Send Love to You—Mother says She will Give You Some fresh Butter If you come home & bring Your Girl. I remain Your Loving Friend till deth do us part,

JEMIMA

PS, Training Day Poss'et Sight of Folks.

RC ; addressed: "To Robert Treat Paine In Boston. Q.D.C."; endorsed. Written on address leaf: "Arma virumque Cano3 Trojæ cano4 RTP 1758"; also four undeciphered lines in shorthand in Paine's hand.

1.

Unidentified.

2.

Possibly Mary Fletcher.

3.

Arms and the man I sing. Virgil, the opening words of the Ænid.

4.

I sing of Troy.

1758? My ever dear Ethelinda,1

They who are united in true freindship by a certain reciprocal Communication, like the Soul & Body mutually partake in all the good or evil that happens to either. One cannot be affected with any misfortune but the other presently sympathizes with him, & endeavours to mitigate his Grief by taking part upon himself. I do not69 dissemble when I tell you that this was my Case with respect to you. Yr. Letter caused me both Pain & pleasure; A Pain to hear of yr. & yr. Mamma's indisposition, & a pleasure to find so long an Epistle, but which was far, very far from being tedious. But harkee my dear, I'm going to Answer yr. Letter. I know then a dialogue that lately pass'd between one Mr. Informer & yr. freind Stella. Stella, pray Mr. Inforr. what's the reason I must Never expect long Letters from my Ethelinda? Mr. Infr. 'tis because Ethelinda writes in a window scituated in the middle of the Town, where the rattling of Coaches & the cry of 'fresh Cod & Haddock,' makes it impossible for her to compose her Mind to think. Stella, very well, & very saucy too Mr. Infr., but since you've forced yr. self into my Company, pray Sr. what is yr. advice to her. Mr. Infr., I beg pardon Madam for Intruding. Why my advice to her is this, to withdraw from that window, to some remote corner of her Chamber, then Madam you'll have the pleasure of long letters, & she the pleasure of composing her thoughts. Madam I'm yr. hble. servt. (Exit) Now Ethelinda (but dont let Mr. Infr. hear me least it should feed his Vanity) I must beg of you to take up with his advice. Self Ends, youll say—& so it is, for I dearly love to Read what you write. Well no more of that, I come now to the rest of yr. Letter. "What do you think of the Poetry I sent? What do I think! Why I think "it is a very pretty peice" but that is not all I'm going to say Neither; I do think my Dear, there are Some (perhaps a Century may produce four or five) Such as these discribed. Tis pretty much like a Lottery, Ethelinda, where among several hundred Ticketts you may chance to find three or four worth having; & what the great Sr. Ths. More once apply'd to our Sex may as truly be applyd to them vizt. "put nineteen Snakes & one Eell into a Bag & shake them well together, then put in yr. hand & you may chance to pull out the Eell";2 tho' I may seem somewhat Severe on the other sex yet you see I'm partial enough to allow there may be some good ones, But let us Remember my Dear, that we are not to look for Perfection, no! that is not to be found even in our Sex, tho' the flattering Animals would feign make us believe so; but us not mind what they say; I really think with Mr. Pope

He who 'ere thinks a faultless peice to see Thinks wt. neer was, nor is, nor 'eer shall be3

We have all our failings, there are none without some blemishes, no not70the most perfect, but what at some time or other would Err, for as Pomfret says

The best may Slip, & the most cautious fall He's more than mortal that neer Errd at all4

Well I'm sure that if I write any more at present, I shall be guilty of a very great Error my self for I make no doubt but I've called you from a better Employment than reading these Scrawls, & least I should do so any longer, I beg leave to subscribe my self yr. ever faithful freind, &c.

R. T. PAINE

Dft ; endorsed in another hand: "by a Lady of 14."

1.

Not further identified.

2.

Sir Thomas More (1478–1535), lord chancellor of England and author. Source of quotation not located. Closing quotation marks supplied.

3.

Alexander Pope, "Essay on Criticism," pt. 2, verses 254–255, in his Works, 6 vols. (Edinburgh, 1764), 1:96.

4.

John Pomfret, "Love triumphant over Reason" in Pomfret's Poems upon Several Occasions (Boston, 1751), 11.