NOVEMBER 18, 1711.
IF you will again allow me the pleasure of hearing from you, without murmuring, I will let you enjoy that of laughing at me for any foolish word I misapply; for I know you are too reasonable to expect me to be nicely right in the matter; but then when you take a fancy to be angry, pray let me know it quietly, that I may clear my meanings, which are always far from offending my friends, however unhappy I may be in my expressions. Could I expect you to remember any part of my letters so long ago, I would ask you, that you should know where to find me when you had a mind to it; but I suppose you were in a romantick strain, and designed to have surprised me talking to myself in a wood, or by the sea. Forgive the dullness of my apprehension, and if telling you that I am at Linn will not do, I will print it, however inconvenient it may yet be to me; for I am not the better for the old lady's death, but am put in hopes of being easy at Christmas, however, I shall still continue to be Mrs. Smyth, near St. Nicholas's church in the town aforesaid; so much for my affairs. Now as to my health, that was much out of order last Summer; my distemper was a dropsy or asthma (you know what I mean, but I cannot spell it right) or
both,
