The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 18/Letter from Thomas Sheridan to Jonathan Swift - 16
FROM DR. SHERIDAN.
I AM so tormented, and have been for eight days, that I lie stretched in my bed as I now write; however, I begin to be easier, and I have hopes that I shall be able to attend in my school on Monday. Surely no person can be so stupid as to imagine you wrote the Panegyrick on the Legion Club. I have seen and read it in various editions, which indeed makes me imagine every body to be its author; and what they have done to deserve such treatment, is to me a mystery.
I never writ in this posture before; and therefore wonder not if lines and words be crooked. My pains are likewise great; and therefore whether I will or not, I must take pains with this letter.
Now as to your coming down here, the weather will be good, the roads pleasant, and my company likewise, to set out with you from Dublin on Thursday fortnight, and to bring you here in three days. I have three deer parks at my command; Coote's, Fleming's, and Hamilton's. I have at present forty chickens, all fat; twenty sheep of my own, and sixteen lambs (for lamb will be in season a month longer) geese, turkeys, &c. My hens are hatching, my house is thatching, my geese a gagling, my wife a dragling, my corn a threshing, my sheep a washing, my turf a drawing, my timber sawing, my gravel walk raking, my rollingstone making, my ale a brewing, myself a stewing, my boys a teaching, my webs a bleaching, my daughter's reading, my garden weeding, my lime a burning, my milk a churning.
I do not wonder that Mr. Towers has discarded that graceless whelp; but I wonder more he kept him above a week. He has a genius for mischief would jade even the devil to attend him. If Mrs. Whiteway will prove false, I have willows enough to crown me, and ladies enough here to pick and choose, where I like best. The summer has brought them and the flies in great abundance into our country; the latter I think, indeed, less troublesome. All of them long for your coming; but I know not whether you long for them, I am grieved to hear you have lost so much flesh, which indeed is my present case. If my skin were dry, my bones would rattle like a bag of bobbins. However, I make no doubt but to plump us both up by help of some housewife's remedies. My poor dear wife has run mad for joy of your coming: Sure I have a gravel walk finished twelve perches in length, eight gradations of pease, which will last you to October. You cannot imagine what a good housewife I am grown; my garden is well stocked; I have every thing but money: but that is neither here nor there. Mr. Jones will order the money by first opportunity. May all happiness attend you.