Tallies don't draw — We cannot join your New Wedding year day party. I was nearly run over on Saturday — escaping with bruises from a horses hoof on the Achilles tendon of each leg — carried in the conjoined arms of a policeman and the Revd. Doctor Surridge into Plowdon's the Chemists near Temple Bar — and coached home. I have rested and lotioned, and my legs are better.
I assure you that a long previous engagement, including my wife and daughters, preclude us on that day from seeing you. I sincerely wish you and Mrs. Rodd the greatest felicity that can attend you, and with hopes and prayers for your happiness.
[The reverse side of Hone's letter presents this comic dialogue.]
"Dear Sir"
— I did not expect it would come to this — "Dear Sir" — but I suppose increasing riches, I mean increasing stock, elevates the man — And so, I have lost my friend, honest Tom Rodd — ah! well, he is now Mr. Rodd — I am sorry for him. Poor Rodd — and so, he's gone!
"Come," says our friend Epps, "I think that's a rub — but when I see him I'll give him a rubber — Don't mind him Tom!"
"Law," say Mrs. Rodd, "I am sure it serves Thomas right — to write in that way, so stiff and formal — why Mr. Hone is an intellectual man, and sits here and talks all on almost as he used to do, quite pleasant and agreeable, but not so well as he did before he had that paralytic stroke. I assure you he's quite silly and childish sometimes, and Thomas should consider that. It may hurt the poor man's mind, in such a weak state as he is. I'm sure I pity him. I think he's better though, ever since the Parliament-houses have been burned — the old Tallies seem to have revived him.2 Do you know I think he'll get better and better, till he gets to be himself again. I do indeed. Thomas, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!"
[Addressed:]
To
Mr. Thomas Rodd
2 Great Newport Street