But how ill, my Bob, does it become me to ridicule women with whom I have scarce any correspondence!  There are, ’tis certain, handsome women here; and ’tis as certain there are handsome men to keep them company.  An ugly and a poor man is society for himself; and such society the world lets me enjoy in great abundance.  Fortune has given you circumstances, and nature a person to look charming in the eyes of the fair world.  Nor do I envy my dear Bob such blessings, while I may sit down and laugh at the world and at myself, the most ridiculous object in it.  But I begin to grow splenetic, and perhaps the fit may continue till I receive an answer to this.  I know you can’t send news from Ballymahon, but such as it is, send it all; everything you write will be agreeable and entertaining to me.

Has George Conway put up a sign yet; or John Finecly left off drinking drams; or Tom Allen got a new wig?  But I leave to your own choice what to write.  While Oliver Goldsmith lives, know you have a friend.

PS.—­Give my sincere respects (not compliments, do you mind) to your agreeable family, and give my service to my mother, if you see her; for, as you express it in Ireland, I have a sneaking kindness for her still.

Direct to me,—­Student in Physic, in Edinburgh.

TO HIS UNCLE CONTARINE

In Holland,

Leyden, April or May, 1754.

DEAR SIR,

I suppose by this time I am accused of either neglect or ingratitude, and my silence imputed to my usual slowness of writing.  But believe me, Sir, when I say, that till now I had not an opportunity of sitting down with that ease of mind which writing required.  You may see by the top of the letter that I am at Leyden; but of my journey hither you must be informed.  Some time after the receipt of your last, I embarked for Bordeaux, on board a Scotch ship called the St. Andrews, Capt.  John Wall, master.  The ship made a tolerable appearance, and as another inducement, I was let to know that six agreeable passengers were to be my company.  Well, we were but two days at sea when a storm drove us into a city of England called Newcastle-upon-Tyne.  We all went ashore to refresh us after the fatigue of our voyage.  Seven men and I were one day on shore, and on the following evening as we were all very merry, the room door bursts open, enters a sergeant and twelve grenadiers with their bayonets screwed, and puts us all under the King’s arrest.  It seems my company were Scotchmen in the French service, and had been in Scotland to enlist soldiers for the French army.  I endeavoured all I could to prove my innocence; however, I remained in prison with the rest a fortnight, and with difficulty got off even then.  Dear Sir, keep this all a secret, or at least say it was for debt; for if it were once known at the University, I should hardly get a degree.  But hear how Providence interposed in my favour; the ship was gone on to Bordeaux before I got from prison, and was wrecked at the mouth of the Garonne, and every one of the crew were drowned.  It happened the last great storm.  There was a ship at that time ready for Holland.  I embarked, and in nine days, thank my God, I arrived safe at Rotterdam; whence I travelled by land to Leyden; and whence I now write.