ought to write as well as most
women in England) never persuaded him to alter his style, and make it a
little more intelligible. He is an honest gentleman, in earnest, has
understanding enough, and was an excellent husband to two very different
wives, as two good ones could be. My sister was a melancholy, retired
woman, and, besides the company of her husband and her books, never
sought any, but could have spent a life much longer than hers was in
looking to her house and her children. This lady is of a free, jolly
humour, loves cards and company, and is never more pleased than when she
sees a great many others that are so too. Now, with both these he so
perfectly complied that 'tis hard to judge which humour he is more
inclined to in himself; perhaps to neither, which makes it so much the
more strange. His kindness to his first wife may give him an esteem for
her sister; but he was too much smitten with this lady to think of
marrying anybody else, and, seriously, I could not blame him, for she
had, and has yet, great loveliness in her; she was very handsome, and is
very good (one may read it in her face at first sight). A woman that is
hugely civil to all people, and takes as generally as anybody that I
know, but not more than my cousin Molle's letters do, but which, yet,
you do not like, you say, nor I neither, I'll swear; and if it be
ignorance in us both we'll forgive it one another. In my opinion these
great scholars are not the best writers (of letters, I mean); of books,
perhaps they are. I never had, I think, but one letter from Sir
Justinian, but 'twas worth twenty of anybody's else to make me sport. It
was the most sublime nonsense that in my life I ever read; and yet, I
believe, he descended as low as he could to come near my weak
understanding. 'Twill be no compliment after this to say I like your
letters in themselves; not as they come from one that is not indifferent
to me, but, seriously, I do. All letters, methinks, should be free and
easy as one's discourse; not studied as an oration, nor made up of hard
words like a charm. 'Tis an admirable thing to see how some people will
labour to find out terms that may obscure a plain sense. Like a
gentleman I know, who would never say "the weather grew cold," but that
"winter began to salute us." I have no patience for such coxcombs, and
cannot blame an old uncle of mine that threw the standish at his man's
head because he writ a letter for him where, instead of sa