As you are connected with the Representatives of Dr. Farmer, or the person who acts for them, I wish you would procure a receipt for a copy of Skelton, which was found in my Father's collection after his death, and which was evidently Mr. Farmer's property.
As I hear that Dr. Farmer's Library is intended for sale, I should be glad that this book might be soon restored to the Executors; and my original wish to return it, may appear from a letter of mine to Dr. Farmer, dated so long ago as the 4th of February last, which has probably been found among his papers. I received no answer to it, which I imputed to his then bad state of health.
Our history, since I saw you, is briefly this. We left London on the 18th of July, and made a journey of three days to Spital, near Chesterfield. After resting there, for as many days, we set off for this place, which we found very full, and made our quarters good at the humblest house we could find; but with the most comfortable accommodations that a very uncomfortable place can afford; and are reconciled to our situation. We dine (_en masse_) about 20 on the average, keep good hours, and are not pestered with gamblers, ladies-maids, or lap-dogs. In some houses they dine 120 people!!!
The water of this place is a very strong sulphur, and I believe, is the most powerful of any in the kingdom. The most quiet of this sort of houses is much too turbulent for me; besides that it is difficult for one who cannot walk, or even saunter about, as others do, to fill up the chasms between meals, except by reading, which is scarcely practicable here. I find myself, however, tolerably habituated to noise and talk; and as to the art of doing nothing, I have made myself perfectly master of it. As a proof of it, I have been three weeks in writing this letter.
If you ask me how I do? I answer, I don't know at present. I have experienced much _non_-valescence, and am told _con_-valescence will follow.
The Lady[63] mentioned in the enclosed Article is my Niece, who hopes to open the Ball in the List of Marriages in this Month. I send also an article for the Obituary[64], the death of a Brother of my Wife, and whose death has long been expected. I am a lodger in my own first-floor, with some gout, which will neither lead nor drive; but I should be very happy to receive a charitable visit of chat in any evening that you can spare. I do not ask Mr. Bowyer Nichols, as I cannot encounter more than one person at a time.