I address my letter to you because I intend you shall pay for it for I do not imagine my coming or not coming a matter of such consequence as that I ought by all means to let you know it, tho I do know that you are too polite not to let it have the appearance of some to me. Mrs. Stevenson woud not grudge any for my good [name?] any good thing, but to people who seldom pay six groats a year for spoil’d paper, [one] groat would be thought too much, and with too much reason, to pay for being disappointed. I shall not be at Craven Street this week for some Domestic reasons that prevent Sir Chas: Blunt from Coming, but as they will not subsist after this week I shall certainly be there the second day of the next. But least you should not begin yours when I do, I shall name it—on Monday—and I think by dinner time but beg Mrs. S: not to make a stranger of me. [Think?] not to eat all up and then say “dear who should think of your not having dined at this time of the day? I have nothing in the house. Well what will you have?” But I will have mercy, which few people have, that have the assurance to write with so much freedom as I permit myself to do to you.

Pray let timely notice be given of my arrival to all the Americans that frequent your house that I have the honour of being acquainted with. I like your plain [food so?] much. They like plain food a gre[at deal?] and one best[?] for us, and woud always be most agreable to us if our tastes had not been visiated by less pure food and conversation. The days almost past, and the Night being at hand in which among other works this letter is to be conveyd to you, I must take my leave but not without first bidding you a hearty farewel and adieu.