Friday Morning 7 o’clock, [1st February 1788]
Your fears for Mary are truly laughable. I suppose, my love, you and
I showed her a scene which, perhaps, made her wish that she had a swain, and one who could love like me; and ‘tis a thousand pities
that so good a heart as hers should want an aim, an object. I am
miserably stupid this morning. Yesterday I dined with a Baronet,
and sat pretty late over the bottle. And “who hath woe—who hath
sorrow? they that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed
wine.’ Forgive me, likewise, a quotation from my favourite author.
Solomon’s knowledge of the world is very great. He may be looked
on as the “Spectator” or “Adventurer” of his day: and it is, indeed
surprising what a sameness has ever been in human nature. The
broken, but strongly characterizing hints, that the royal author gives
us of the manners of the court of Jerusalem and country of Israel
are, in their great outlines, the same pictures that London and
England, Versailles and France exhibit some three thousand years
later. The loves in the “Song of songs” are all in the spirit of Lady
MW. Montague, or Madame Ninon de l’Enclos; though, for my part,
I dislike both the ancient and modem voluptuaries; and will dare to
affirm, that such an attachment as mine to Clarinda, and such
evenings as she and I have spent, are what these greatly respectable
and deeply experienced Judges of Life and Love never dreamed of.
I shall be with you this evening between eight and nine, and shall
keep as sober hours as you could wish.
I am ever, my dear Madam, yours,
Sylvander
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