Joseph Mitchell

Poor M—l! my heart bleeds for him. I beg that you will let me know how I may write to him. I hope I shall never neglect an acquaintance for his being unfortunate. I feel for him, and make all his uneasy reflections my own. The poetical tribe put me in mind of the grasshopper's fate in the fables: they are often obliged in the winter of want to dance to the tune they sung in their summer of plenty and renown.