On Monday night & yesterday morning I visited the never-sufficiently-by-the-Citizens-venerated, and if time and circumstance permit, ever, after three Centuries hence, most venerable Institution2 with the hope of seeing you—but whither strays the collector?
Now mark me—in the palm. I have a heavy payment to make this forenoon, and, that being a weighty matter, I say most seriously, that if you possibly can let Ben have Sixty Pounds it will permit me to finish the subscribing of my Mysteries3 with which I get on capitally — and that interruption will take place if you cannot, for instead of finishing the West End & delivering the books at 12 o'clock I must go dunning, & have a storm from the booksellers who have already subscribed, past all bearing by one who is author as well as publisher.
Do then my dear fellow oblige me with the needful — and let the Mysteries unfold themselves to public view in the Booksellers windows. Money is the forceps of delivery without pain.