DEAR Rickman,—I enclose you a wonder, a letter from the shades. A dead body wants to return, and be inrolled inter vivos. Tis a gentle ghost, and in this Galvanic age it may have a chance.
Mary and I are setting out for the Isle of Wight. We make but a short stay, and shall pass the time betwixt that place and Portsmouth, where Fenwick is. I sadly wanted to explore the Peak this Summer; but Mary is against steering without card or compass, and we should be at large in Darbyshire.
We shall be at home this night and to-morrow, if you can come and take a farewell pipe.
I regularly transmitted your Notices to the “Morning Post,” but they have not been duly honoured. The fault lay not in me.—
