To Agnes McLehose (Clarinda)
Thursday mornin [24th January 1788]

“Unlavish Wisdom never works in vain”-*

I have been tasking my reason, Clarinda, why a woman, who for
native genius, poignant wit, strength of mind, generous sincerity of
soul, and the sweetest female tenderness, is without a peer; and
whose personal charms have few, very, very few parallels, among her
sex; why, or how she should fall to the blessed lot of a poor hairum-
­scairum Poet, whom Fortune has kept for her particular use to
wreak her temper on, whenever she was in ill-humour. One time I
conjectured that as Fortune is the most capricious jade ever known;
she may have taken, not a fit of remorse, but a paroxysm of whim,
to raise the poor devil out of the mire, where he had so often and so
conveniently served her as a stepping-stone, and give him the most
glorious boon she ever had in her gift, merely for the maggot’s sake,
to see how his fool head and his fool heart will bear it. At other
times I was vain enough to think that Nature, who has a great deal to
say with Fortune, had given the coquettish goddess some such hint
as, “Here is a paragon of Female Excellence, whose equal, in all my
former conpositions, I never was lucky enough to hit on, and despair
of ever doing so again; you have cast her rather in the shades of life;
there is a certain Poet, of my making; among your frolicks, it would
not be amiss to attach him to this master-piece of my hand, to give
her that immortality among mankind which no woman of any age
ever more deserv’d, and which few Rhymesters of this age are better
able to confer.”

Evening, 9 o’clock
I am here, absolutely unfit to finish my letter—pretty hearty after a
bowl, which has been constantly plied since dinner, till this moment.
I have been with Mr. Schetki, the musician, and he has set it finely.
—l have no distinct ideas of any thing, but that I have drunk your
health twice tonight, and that you are all my soul holds dear in this
world.—

Sylvander

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