I write, having nothing essential to say, merely because you are ill, & have but too much time to read me. I plead no merit in my sympathy, because I have the same enemy, & am daily expecting her attacks, the more violent perhaps for having been now for some years suspended. talk not of round windows, nor of dying in them: our distemper (remember) is the means of health & long life, now this latter is only the name of another distemper, of wch I know enough already to say, when the gout pinches me, 'tis well, it is nothing worse. I do not understand, why (with your temperance) you are treated so severely; but suspect, it is owing to a little indolence & want of motion between the fits, as I have lately heard you complain of a tenderness in your feet, that would not let you walk as usual. Man is a creature made to be jumbled, & no matter whether he goes on his head or heels, move or be moved he must. I am convinced, I owe my late & present ease to the little expeditions I always make in summer. the smartness of the pain you undergo, is an undoubted sign of strength & youth, & the sooner it will be over. I know, this is poor comfort: but I flatter myself, that in some few days you will be at ease, & will have the good nature to tell me so.

I have neither seen Tyson, nor Cole of late, but will take care they shall know, what you say. the latter lives at Milton near the Ely road. for myself I shall hardly be in Town before the end of November.