272. Robert Bloomfield to Mary Lloyd Baker, 10 January
1812*
City Road. Jan 10. 1812
Memorandom.
'Some time ago, in the year 1811, or thereabouts, I had a valuable corispondent, and an invalid, name'd Mary Baker. When I last heard of her she was residing at Dawlish in Devonshire, and
never answering her letters in due time, and appearing to her, no doubt, as if I paid her very little attention, she at last slipd
through my fingers and I stood gazing around like a Greyhound when a Hare pops through a hedge!! However I am determin'd to leap
the fence and try to find what she's about.' And so
Dear Madam
How do you do? But untill I hear your reply I can only send my love, not at all worn out, not even threadbare, and
proceed to talk about myself.—First then, I am well, thank Heaven! I have no rhumatism, but have stood the Autumn, and am bearing
the Winter magnanimously. My family circle have no complaints, except the 2d Daughter, and that I hope, not serious. From what I think I stated to you last time concerning the
Wye, you will expect a 2d Edition by this time, and so did I; but when the matter was
enquired into one Bookseller has, or had, 5 hundred copies which they have shared between them untill more are wanted, if that
should ever be the case. I have therefore not fully used your mutual critiques which shall be fairly and honourably treated if I
have the opportunity. And if you have occasion to write to Ferney* Hill, wish you would
intimate so much to the party. Whenever I come to cut and hack the Journal again I will write to you or Mr Cooper a general reply to your joint labours, where every one shall find out his
own answer as a man finds his Hat, by fitting it on.
I write now to Miss Sharp, for I am realy afraid she is ofended, and
if I can perswade her that she has no cause I shall be a cleverer fellow yet than even you are aware of. Miss Ansted calls sometimes to scold me, but what's that? she allways sends us mince
pies at Christmas, and my younkers look out for them as naturally as they do for the new Almanack. I am now writing in a little
cold parlour, and so far is my enthusiasm dampt that I would not give three farthings to be on the Summit of Penybale,** [1] NB. It is about 8 at night,
exceedingly dark, and a deep snow.
Well, now I have warm'd my toes, I want to make my respects to Mr
Baker, and to send my love to the Children. The former, I doubt, finds abroad little remains of antiquity, and little to
analize but snow, and the latter like all other chickens are best under their mother's wing. How does the Genius of English
weather behave to you? Is it realy a milder season on your coast? I hope it is for your sake, and those in
like situations, My eldest Boy after all his misfortunes, is hearty, and is
growing into a companion; and the youngest (under 5 years) is a celebrated singer: no tune can escape him if he often hears it. and he sings with the utmost precision as to
time, and in the glee 'Come let us all a Maying go'—winds his gay infant tones round the subject as a Kitten climbs a pole. [2] Thus it is that parents always run wild in praise of their children, and most benignly was it contrived by
providence that we should feed our craving souls at home with sensations but a few degrees lower than
Heaven.
We had a true London fog yesterday of which it would have been very desirable to send a part by every night and
day-Coach in England, that we might have gone 'Share and share alike.' But what is all this to you, at your distance? I hope and
trust I shall see you somehow, or somewhere in the ensuing Spring or Summer, and with this hope and my congratulations on your
partial recovery, and Respect to all friends
Remain Yours, ever.
Robt Bloomfield
* Mr Coopers residence [note by T. J.
Lloyd Baker]
** The Sugar Loaf Mountain – See Banks of Wye – T J Ll B [note by T. J. Lloyd Baker]