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Letters of the late Ignatius Sancho, an African, by Ignatius Sancho—A Project Gutenberg eBook
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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 66908 ***</div>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover image" class="w100" />
</div>
<div class="tnbox noindentcenter">
<p class="sp2">The cover image was created by the transcriber, and is in the public domain.</p>
</div>
<!-- Autogenerated TOC -->
<div class="section noindent">
<p class="sp4">
<a href="#ADVERTISEMENT">ADVERTISEMENT.</a><br />
<a href="#LIFE">THE LIFE OF IGNATIUS SANCHO.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_I">LETTER I. TO MR. J— W——E.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_II_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER II. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_III_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER III. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_IV_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER IV. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_V_TO_MR_K_mdash">LETTER V. TO MR. K——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_VI">LETTER VI. TO MRS. F——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_VII_TO_EDWARD_YOUNG_ESQ">LETTER VII. TO EDWARD YOUNG, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_VIII_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER VIII. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_IX_TO_MR_K_mdash">LETTER IX. TO MR. K——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_X_TO_MISS_L_mdash">LETTER X. TO MISS L——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XI_TO_MR_S_mdashN">LETTER XI. TO MR. S——N.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XII_TO_MRS_H_mdash">LETTER XII. TO MRS. H——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XIII_TO_MR_B_mdash">LETTER XIII. TO MR. B——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XIV_TO_MR_S_mdashE">LETTER XIV. TO MR. S——E.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XV_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XV. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XVI_TO_MRS_H_mdash">LETTER XVI. TO MRS. H——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XVII_TO_MRS_H_mdash">LETTER XVII. TO MRS. H——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XVIII_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER XVIII. TO MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XIX_TO_MRS_C_mdash">LETTER XIX. TO MRS. C——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XX_TO_MISS_L_mdash">LETTER XX. TO MISS L——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXI_TO_MISS_L_mdash">LETTER XXI. TO MISS L——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXII_TO_MR_R_mdash">LETTER XXII. TO MR. R——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXIII_TO_MRS_C_mdash">LETTER XXIII. TO MRS. C——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXIV_TO_MISS_L_mdash">LETTER XXIV. TO MISS L——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXV_TO_MR_B_mdash">LETTER XXV. TO MR. B——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXVI_TO_MRS_C_mdash">LETTER XXVI. TO MRS. C——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXVII_TO_MISS_L_mdash">LETTER XXVII. TO MISS L——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXVIII_TO_MISS_L_mdash">LETTER XXVIII. TO MISS. L——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXIX_TO_MISS_L_mdash">LETTER XXIX. TO MISS L——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXX_TO_MISS_L_mdash">LETTER XXX. TO MISS L——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXXI_TO_MR_R_mdash">LETTER XXXI. TO MR. R——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXXII_TO_MR_L_mdash">LETTER XXXII. TO MR. L——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXXIII_TO_MISS_L_mdash">LETTER XXXIII. TO MISS L——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXXIV_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XXXIV. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXXV_TO_MR_R_mdash">LETTER XXXV. TO MR. R——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXXVI_TO_MR_STERNE">LETTER XXXVI. TO MR. STERNE.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXXVII_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XXXVII. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXXVIII_TO_MR_K_mdash">LETTER XXXVIII. TO MR. K——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XXXIX_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XXXIX. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XL_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XL. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XLI_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XLI. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XLII_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XLII. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#For_THE_GENERAL_ADVERTISER1">For THE GENERAL ADVERTISER.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XLIII_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XLIII. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XLIV_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XLIV. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XLV_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XLV. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XLVI_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XLVI. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XLVII_TO_MISS_C_mdash">LETTER XLVII. TO MISS C——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XLVIII_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XLVIII. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XLIX_TO_MR_R_mdash">LETTER XLIX. TO MR. R——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_L_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER L. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LI_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER LI. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LII_TO_MR_R_mdash">LETTER LII. TO MR. R.——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LIII_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER LIII. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LIV_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER LIV. TO MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LV_TO_MRS_C_mdash">LETTER LV. TO MRS. C——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LVI_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER LVI. TO MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LVII_TO_J_S_mdash_Esq">LETTER LVII. TO J. S——, Esq.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LVIII_TO_MR_F_mdash">LETTER LVIII. TO MR. F——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LIX_TO_MR_W_mdashE">LETTER LIX. TO MR. W——E.</a><br />
<a href="#For_THE_GENERAL_ADVERTISER2">For THE GENERAL ADVERTISER.</a><br />
<a href="#To_the_Editor_of_the_MORNING_POST">To the Editor of the MORNING POST.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LX_TO_MRS_H_mdash">LETTER LX. TO MRS. H——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXI_TO_MR_J_mdash_WmdashmdashE">LETTER LXI. TO MR. J—— W——E.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXII_TO_MISS_C_mdash">LETTER LXII. TO MISS C——.</a><br />
<a href="#From_the_PUBLIC_ADVERTISER_of_May_13th_1778">From the PUBLIC ADVERTISER of May 13th, 1778.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXIII_TO_MR_R_mdash">LETTER LXIII. TO MR. R——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXIV_TO_MISS_C_mdash">LETTER LXIV. TO MISS C——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXV_TO_MR_I_mdash">LETTER LXV. TO MR. I——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXVI_TO_MR_H_mdash">LETTER LXVI. TO MR. H——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXVII_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER LXVII. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXVIII_TO_MR_J_mdash_Wmdashmdash">LETTER LXVIII. TO MR. J—— W——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXVIII_TO_MR_R_mdash">LETTER LXVIII. TO MR. R——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXIX_TO_MRS_C_mdash">LETTER LXIX. TO MRS. C——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXX_TO_MR_K_mdash">LETTER LXX. TO MR. K——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXI_TO_MR_R_mdash">LETTER LXXI. TO MR. R——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXII_TO_MISS_C_mdash">LETTER LXXII. TO MISS C——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXIII_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER LXXIII. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXIV_TO_MISS_C_mdash">LETTER LXXIV. TO MISS C——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXV_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER LXXV. TO MR. S——,</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXVI_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER LXXVI. TO MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXVII_TO_MR_R_mdash">LETTER LXXVII. TO MR. R——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXVIII_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER LXXVIII. TO MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXIX_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER LXXIX. TO MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXX_TO_MR_I_mdash">LETTER LXXX. TO MR. I——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXXI_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER LXXXI. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXXII_TO_MR_F_mdash">LETTER LXXXII. TO MR. F——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXXIII_TO_MRS_I_mdash">LETTER LXXXIII. TO MRS I——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXXIV_TO_MRS_H_mdash">LETTER LXXXIV. TO MRS. H——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXXV_TO_MR_G_mdash">LETTER LXXXV. TO MR. G——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXXVI_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER LXXXVI. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXXVII_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER LXXXVII. TO MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXXVIII_TO_MR_W_mdashE">LETTER LXXXVIII. TO MR. W——E.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_LXXXIX_TO_MR_L_mdash">LETTER LXXXIX. TO MR. L——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XC_TO_MR_R_mdash">LETTER XC. TO MR. R——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XCI_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER XCI. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XCII_TO_MR_H_mdash">LETTER XCII. TO MR. H——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XCIII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER XCIII. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XCIV_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XCIV. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XCV_TO_MR_I_mdash">LETTER XCV. TO MR. I——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XCVI_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XCVI. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XCVII_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER XCVII. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XCVIII_TO_MRS_C_mdash">LETTER XCVIII. TO MRS. C——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_XCIX_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER XCIX. TO MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_C_TO_MR_I_mdash">LETTER C. TO MR. I——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CI_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER CI. TO MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CII_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER CII. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CIII_TO_MRS_W_mdashE">LETTER CIII. TO MRS. W——E.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CIV_TO_MR_R_mdash">LETTER CIV. TO MR. R——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CV_TO_MISS_L_mdash">LETTER CV. TO MISS. L——,</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CVI_TO_MR_I_mdash">LETTER CVI. TO MR. I——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CVII_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER CVII. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CVIII_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER CVIII. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CIX_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER CIX. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CX_TO_MR_R_mdash">LETTER CX. TO MR. R——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXI_TO_MR_R_mdash">LETTER CXI. TO MR. R——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXII_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER CXII. TO MR S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXIII_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER CXIII. TO MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXIV_TO_I_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CXIV. TO I—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXV_TO_THE_REV_MR_S_mdash">LETTER CXV. TO THE REV. MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXVI_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER CXVI. TO MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXVII_TO_D_mdash_BmdashmdashE_ESQ">LETTER CXVII. TO D—— B——E, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXVIII_TO_MR_B_mdash">LETTER CXVIII. TO MR. B——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXIX_TO_MR_B_mdash">LETTER CXIX. TO MR. B——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXX_TO_MRS_M_mdash">LETTER CXX. TO MRS. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXI_TO_MR_W_mdashE">LETTER CXXI. TO MR. W——E.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXII_TO_D_B_mdashE_ESQ">LETTER CXXII. TO D. B——E, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXIII_TO_MR_I_mdash">LETTER CXXIII. TO MR. I——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXIV_TO_MR_R_mdash">LETTER CXXIV. TO MR. R——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXV_TO_mdash_MR_Smdashmdash">LETTER CXXV. TO —— MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXVI_TO_MR_J_mdash_WmdashmdashE">LETTER CXXVI. TO MR. J—— W——E.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXVII_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER CXXVII. TO MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXVIII_TO_MR_M_mdash">LETTER CXXVIII. TO MR. M——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXIX_TO_MR_W_mdashE">LETTER CXXIX. TO MR. W——E.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXX_TO_MRS_H_mdash">LETTER CXXX. TO MRS. H——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXXI_For_the_General_Advertiser">LETTER CXXXI. For the <span class="smcap">General Advertiser</span>.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXXII_TO_MRS_H_mdash">LETTER CXXXII. TO MRS. H——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXXIII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CXXXIII. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXXIV_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CXXXIV. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXXV_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CXXXV. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXXVI_TO_J_S_mdash_ESQ">LETTER CXXXVI. TO J. S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXXVII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CXXXVII. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXXVIII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CXXXVIII. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXXXIX_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CXXXIX. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXL_TO_MR_J_mdash_WmdashmdashE">LETTER CXL. TO MR. J—— W——E.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXLI_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CXLI. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXLII_TO_MR_O_mdash">LETTER CXLII. TO MR. O——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXLIII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CXLIII. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXLIV_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CXLIV. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXLV_TO_MRS_C_mdash">LETTER CXLV. TO MRS. C——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXLVI_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CXLVI. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXLVII_TO_MISS_C_mdash">LETTER CXLVII. TO MISS C——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXLVIII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CXLVIII. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CXLIX_TO_DOCTOR_N_FmdashD">LETTER CXLIX. TO DOCTOR N—F—D.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CL_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CL. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CLI_TO_MR_S_mdash">LETTER CLI. TO MR. S——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CLII">LETTER CLII.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CLIII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CLIII. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CLIV_TO_MRS_O_mdash">LETTER CLIV. TO MRS. O——.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CLV_TO_J_S_mdash_ESQ">LETTER CLV. TO J. S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CLVI_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CLVI. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CLVII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CLVII. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#LETTER_CLVIII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ">LETTER CLVIII. TO J—— S——, ESQ.</a><br />
<a href="#Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber's Notes</a><br />
<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. -->
</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h1 class="center sp4"><span class="fs125 gesperrt3">LETTERS</span><br /><br />
<span class="fs65 gesperrt1">OF THE LATE</span><br /><br />
<span class="gesperrt1">IGNATIUS SANCHO,</span><br /><br />
<span class="fs90 gesperrt2">AN AFRICAN</span>.</h1>
</div>
<p class="center fs125 sp3">To which are prefixed,</p>
<p class="center sp2 fs150 gesperrt1"><span class="smcap">MEMOIRS of his LIFE</span>.</p>
<div class="noindent">
<p><span class="figline1"><img src="images/dec_line.png" alt="" /></span></p>
</div>
<p class="center fs125 gesperrt1">
THE THIRD EDITION.
</p>
<div class="noindent">
<p><span class="figline2"><img src="images/dec_line.png" alt="" /></span></p>
</div>
<p class="center fs125 sp3 gesperrt3">LONDON:</p>
<p class="center sp1 gesperrt1">PRINTED BY J. NICHOLS;</p>
<p class="center sp05"><span class="smcap">And Sold by C. DILLY, in the POULTRY</span>.</p>
<p class="center sp05 fs90">MDCCLXXXIV.
</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">[p. iii]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak gesperrt2 fs125" id="ADVERTISEMENT">ADVERTISEMENT.</h2>
</div>
<div class="noindent lh200">
<p class="drop-capa0_15_0_6 sp2">T<span class="gesperrt1">HE</span> Editor of these Letters thinks
proper to obviate an objection, which
she finds has already been suggested, that they
were originally written with a view to publication.
She declares, therefore, that no such
idea was ever expressed by Mr. Sancho; and
that not a single letter is here printed from
any duplicate preserved by himself, but all
have been collected from the various friends
to whom they were addressed. Her motives
for laying them before the publick were, the
desire of shewing that an untutored African
may possess abilities equal to an European;
and the still superior motive, of wishing to
serve his worthy family. And she is happy
in thus publicly acknowledging she has not
found the world inattentive to the voice of
obscure merit.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[p. v]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LIFE"><span class="fs100 gesperrt3">THE LIFE</span><br /><br />
<span class="fs80 gesperrt1">OF</span><br /><br />
<span class="fs125 gesperrt1">IGNATIUS SANCHO.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class="noindent">
<p><span class="figline2"><img src="images/dec_line.png" alt="" /></span></p>
</div>
<div class="lh200 pvertsp">
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">“Quamvis ille niger, quamvis tu candidus esses.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class="right">
<span class="smcap">Virgil. </span></p>
<div class="noindent">
<p class="firstpara">THE extraordinary Negro, whose Life I
am about to write, was born A. D. 1729, on
board a ship in the Slave trade, a few days
after it had quitted the coast of Guinea
for the Spanish West-Indies; and, at Carthagena,
he received from the hand of
the Bishop, Baptism, and the name of Ignatius.</p>
</div>
<p>A disease of the new climate put an early
period to his mother’s existence; and his
father defeated the miseries of slavery by an
act of suicide.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">[p. vi]</span></p>
<p>At little more than two years old, his
master brought him to England, and gave
him to three maiden sisters, resident at
Greenwich; whose prejudices had unhappily
taught them, that African ignorance was the
only security for his obedience, and that to
enlarge the mind of their slave would go
near to emancipate his person. The petulance
of their disposition surnamed him Sancho,
from a fancied resemblance to the ’Squire
of Don Quixote.</p>
<p>But a patron was at hand, whom Ignatius
Sancho had merit enough to conciliate at a
very early age.</p>
<p>The late Duke of Montagu lived on
Blackheath: he accidentally saw the little
Negro, and admired in him a native frankness
of manner as yet unbroken by servitude,
and unrefined by education—he brought him
frequently home to the Duchess, indulged<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[p. vii]</span>
his turn for reading with presents of books,
and strongly recommended to his mistresses
the duty of cultivating a genius of such apparent
fertility.</p>
<p>His mistresses, however, were inflexible,
and even threatened on angry occasions to
return Ignatius Sancho to his African slavery.
The love of freedom had increased with
years, and began to beat high in his bosom.—Indignation,
and the dread of constant reproach
arising from the detection of an
amour, infinitely criminal in the eyes of
three Maiden Ladies, finally determined him
to abandon the family.</p>
<p>His noble patron was recently dead.—Ignatius
flew to the Duchess for protection,
who dismissed him with reproof.—He retired
from her presence in a state of despondency
and stupefaction.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[p. viii]</span></p>
<p>Enamoured still of that liberty, the scope
of whose enjoyment was now limited to his
last five shillings, and resolute to maintain it
with life, he procured an old pistol for
purposes which his father’s example had
suggested as familiar, and had sanctified as
hereditary.</p>
<p>In this frame of mind the futility of remonstrance
was obvious. The Duchess secretly
admired his character; and at length
consented to admit him into her household,
where he remained as butler till her death,
when he found himself, by her Grace’s bequest
and his own œconomy, possessed of
seventy pounds in money, and an annuity of
thirty.</p>
<p>Freedom, riches, and leisure, naturally
led a disposition of African texture into indulgences;
and that which dissipated the
mind of Ignatius completely drained the
purse. In his attachment to women, he displayed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[p. ix]</span>
a profuseness which not unusually
characterizes the excess of the passion.—Cards
had formerly seduced him; but an
unsuccessful contest at cribbage with a Jew,
who won his cloaths, had determined him
to abjure the propensity which appears to
be innate among his countrymen.—A French
writer relates, that in the kingdoms of
Ardrah, Whydah, and Benin, a Negro
will stake at play his fortune, his children,
and his liberty. Ignatius loved the theatre
to such a point of enthusiasm, that his last
shilling went to Drury-Lane, on Mr. Garrick’s
representation of Richard.—He had
been even induced to consider the stage as
a resource in the hour of adversity, and his
complexion suggested an offer to the manager
of attempting Othello and Oroonoko;
but a defective and incorrigible articulation
rendered it abortive.</p>
<p>He turned his mind once more to service,
and was retained a few months by the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[p. x]</span>
Chaplain at Montagu-house. That roof
had been ever auspicious to him; and the
present Duke soon placed him about his
person, where habitual regularity of life led
him to think of a matrimonial connexion,
and he formed one accordingly with a very
deserving young woman of West-Indian
origin.</p>
<p>Towards the close of the year 1773, repeated
attacks of the gout and a constitutional
corpulence rendered him incapable
of farther attendance in the Duke’s family.</p>
<p>At this crisis, the munificence which had
protected him through various vicissitudes
did not fail to exert itself; with the result
of his own frugality, it enabled him and his
wife to settle themselves in a shop of grocery,
where mutual and rigid industry decently
maintained a numerous family of
children, and where a life of domestic virtue<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[p. xi]</span>
engaged private patronage, and merited
public imitation.</p>
<p>In December, 1780, a series of complicated
disorders destroyed him.</p>
<div class="noindent">
<p><span class="figline3"><img src="images/dec_line.png" alt="" /></span></p>
</div>
<p>Of a Negro, a Butler, and a Grocer,
there are but slender anecdotes to animate
the page of the biographer; but it has been
held necessary to give some sketch of the
very singular man, whose letters, with all
their imperfections on their head, are now
offered to the public.</p>
<p>The display those writings exhibit of
epistolary talent, of rapid and just conception,
of wild patriotism, and of universal
philanthropy, may well apologize for the
protection of the great, and the friendship
of the literary.</p>
<p>The late Duchesses of Queensberry and
Northumberland pressed forward to serve<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">[p. xii]</span>
the author of them. The former intrusted
to his reformation a very unworthy favourite
of his own complexion.—Garrick and
Sterne were well acquainted with Ignatius
Sancho.</p>
<p>A commerce with the Muses was supported
amid the trivial and momentary interruptions
of a shop; the Poets were
studied, and even imitated with some
success;—two pieces were constructed
for the stage;—the Theory of Music was
discussed, published, and dedicated to the
Princess Royal;—and painting was so much
within the circle of Ignatius Sancho’s judgement
and criticism, that several artists paid
great <em>deference</em> to his opinion.</p>
<div class="noindent">
<p><span class="figline3"><img src="images/dec_line.png" alt="" /></span></p>
</div>
<p>Such was the man whose species philosophers
and anatomists have endeavoured to
degrade as a deterioration of the human;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiii">[p. xiii]</span>
and such was the man whom Fuller, with
a benevolence and quaintness of phrase peculiarly
his own, accounted</p>
<div class="blockquotfull">
<p>“God’s Image, though cut in Ebony.”</p>
</div>
<div class="noindent">
<p>To the harsh definition of the naturalist,
oppressions political and legislative have been
added; and such are hourly aggravated towards
this unhappy race of men by vulgar
prejudice and popular insult. To combat
these on commercial principles, has been the
labour of Labat, Ferman, and Bennezet—such
an effort here would be an impertinent
digression.</p>
</div>
<p>Of those who have speculatively visited and
described the slave-coast, there are not wanting
some who extol the mental abilities of
the natives. D’Elbée, Moore, and Bosman,
speak highly of their mechanical powers
and indefatigable industry. Desmarchais
does not scruple to affirm, that their ingenuity
rivals the Chinese.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiv">[p. xiv]</span></p>
<p>He who could penetrate the interior of
Africa, might not improbably discover negro
arts and polity, which could bear little analogy
to the ignorance and grossness of slaves
in the sugar islands, expatriated in infancy,
and brutalized under the whip and the taskmaster.</p>
<p>And he who surveys the extent of intellect
to which Ignatius Sancho had attained
by self-education, will perhaps conclude,
that the perfection of the reasoning faculties
does not depend on a peculiar conformation
of the scull or the colour of a common integument,
in defiance of that wild opinion,
“which,” says a learned writer of these
times, “restrains the operations of the mind
to particular regions, and supposes that a
luckless mortal may be born in a degree
of latitude too high or too low for wisdom
or for wit.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
</div>
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[p. 1]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTERS"><span class="gesperrt3 fs150">LETTERS</span>.</h2>
</div>
<div class="noindent">
<p><span class="figline1"><img src="images/dec_line.png" alt="" /></span></p>
</div>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_I"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="1">I.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. J— W——E.</span></h2>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Feb. 14, 1768.</p>
<p class="sp2 fs90">
MY WORTHY AND MUCH RESPECTED FRIEND,
</p>
<p class="firstpara">POPE observes,</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">“Men change with fortune, manners change with climes;</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Tenets with books, and principles with times.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Your</span> friendly letter convinced me that
you are still the same—and gave in that conviction
a ten-fold pleasure:—you carried out
(through God’s grace) an honest friendly
heart, a clear discerning head, and a soul
impressed with every humane feeling.—That
you are still the same—I repeat it—gives me
more joy—than the certainty would of your
being worth ten Jaghires:—I dare say you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[p. 2]</span>
will ever remember that the truest worth is
that of the mind—the best rectitude of the
heart—the conscience unsullied with guilt—the
undaunted noble eye, enriched with innocence,
and shining with social glee—peace
dancing in the heart—and health smiling in
the face—May these be ever thy companions!—and
for riches you will ever be more than
vulgarly rich—while you thankfully enjoy—and
gratefully assist the wants (as far as you
are able) of your fellow-creatures. But I
think (and so will you) that I am preaching.
I only meant in truth to thank you, which
I most sincerely do, for your kind letter:—believe
me, it gratifies a better principle than
vanity—to know that you remember your
dark-faced friend at such a distance. But what
would have been your feelings—could you
have beheld your worthy, thrice worthy
father—joy sitting triumphant in his honest
face—speeding from house to house, amongst
his numerous friends, with the pleasing
testimonials of his son’s love and duty in his
hands—every one congratulating him, and
joining in good wishes—while the starting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[p. 3]</span>
tear plainly proved that over-joy and grief
give the same livery?</p>
<p>You met with an old acquaintance of mine,
Mr. G——. I am glad to hear he is well;
but, when I knew him, he was young, and
not so <em>wise</em> as <em>knowing</em>: I hope he will take
example by what he sees in you—and you,
young man, remember, if you should unhappily
fall into bad company, that example
is only the fool’s plea, and the rogue’s excuse,
for doing <em>wrong</em> things:—you have
a turn for reflection, and a steadiness, which,
aided by the best of social dispositions, must
make your company much coveted, and your
person loved.—Forgive me for presuming to
dictate, when I well know you have many
friends much more able, from knowledge
and better sense—though I deny—a better
will.</p>
<p>You will of course make Men and Things
your study—their different genius, aims,
and passions:—you will also note climes,
buildings, soils, and products, which will
be neither tedious nor unpleasant. If you
adopt the rule of writing every evening your
remarks on the past day, it will be a kind of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[p. 4]</span>
friendly <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-a tête</i> between you and yourself,
wherein you may sometimes happily become
your own Monitor;—and hereafter those
little notes will afford you a rich fund, whenever
you shall be inclined to re-trace past
times and places.——I say nothing upon the
score of Religion—for, I am clear, every
good affection, every sweet sensibility, every
heart-felt joy—humanity, politeness, charity—all,
all, are streams from that sacred
spring;—so that to say you are good-tempered,
honest, social, &c. &c. is only in fact
saying, you live according to your <span class="smcap">Divine
Master</span>’s rules, and are a Christian.</p>
<p>Your B—— friends are all well, excepting
the good Mrs. C——, who is at this time
but so, so. Miss C—— still as agreeable as
when you knew her, if not more so. Mr.
R——, as usual, never so happy, never so
gay, nor so much in true pleasure, as when
he is doing good—he enjoys the hope of your
well-doing as much as any of your family.
His brother John has been lucky—his abilities,
address, good nature, and good sense,
have got him a surgeoncy in the batalion<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[p. 5]</span>
of guards, which is reckoned a very good
thing.</p>
<p>As to news, what we have is so incumbered
with falshoods, I think it, as Bobadil
says, “a service of danger” to meddle with:
this I know for truth, that the late great
Dagon of the people has totally lost all his
worshipers, and walks the streets as unregarded
as Ignatius Sancho, and I believe
almost as poor—such is the stability of popular
greatness:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">“One self-approving hour whole years outweighs</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Of idle starers, or of loud huzza’s,” &c.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>Your brother and sister C—d sometimes
look in upon us; her boys are fine, well,
and thriving; and my honest cousin Joe
increases in sense and stature; he promises to
be as good as clever. He brought me your
first letter, which, though first wrote, had
the fate to come last; the little man came
from Red-Lion Court to Charles Street by
himself, and seemed the taller for what he
had done; he is indeed a sweet boy, but I
fear every body will be telling him so. I
know the folly of so doing, and yet am as
guilty as any one.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[p. 6]</span></p>
<p>There is sent out in the Besborough,
along with fresh governors, and other strange
commodities, a little Blacky, whom you
must either have seen or heard of; his name
is S——. He goes out upon a rational well-digested
plan, to settle either at Madrass or
Bengal, to teach fencing and riding—he is
expert at both. If he should chance to fall in
your way, do not fail to give the rattlepate
what wholesome advice you can; but remember,
I do strictly caution you against
lending him money upon any account, for
he has every thing but—principle; he will
never pay you; I am sorry to say so much of
one whom I have had a friendship for, but
it is needful. Serve him, if you can—but
do not trust him.—There is in the same
ship, belonging to the Captain’s band of
music, one C— L—n, whom I think you
have seen in Privy Gardens: he is honest,
trusty, good-natured, and civil; if you see
him, take notice of him, and I will regard it
as a kindness to me. I have nothing more
to say. Continue in right thinking, you
will of course act well; in well-doing, you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[p. 7]</span>
will insure the favour of God, and the love of
your friends, amongst whom pray reckon</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours faithfully,</p>
<p class="signature">IGNATIUS SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_II_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="2">II.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="fs75"> TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">August 7, 1768.</p>
<p class="firstpara"><span class="smcap">Lord</span>! what is Man?—and what business
have such lazy, lousy, paltry beings of a day
to form friendships, or to make connexions?
Man is an absurd animal—yea, I will ever
maintain it—in his vices, dreadful—in his
few virtues, silly—he has religion without
devotion—philosophy without wisdom—the
divine passion (as it is called) love too oft
without affection—and anger without cause—friendship
without reason—hate without
reflection—knowledge (like Ashley’s punch
in small quantities) without judgement—and
wit without discretion.—Look into old age,
you will see avarice joined to poverty—letchery,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[p. 8]</span>
gout, impotency, like three monkeys,
or London bucks, in a one-horse
whisky, driving to the Devil.—Deep politicians
with palsied heads and relaxed nerves—zealous
in the great cause of national welfare
and public virtue—but touch not—oh! touch
not the pocket—friendship—religion—love
of country—excellent topics for declamation!—but
most ridiculous chimera to suffer either
in money or ease—for, trust me, my M——,
I am resolved upon a reform.—Truth, fair
Truth, I give thee to the wind!—Affection,
get thee hence! Friendship, be it the idol of
such silly chaps, with aching heads, strong
passions, warm hearts, and happy talents, as
of old used to visit Charles Street, and now
abideth in fair G——h House.</p>
<p>I give it under my hand and mark, that
the best receipe for your aching head (if not
the only thing which will relieve you) is
cutting off your hair—I know it is not the
<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ton</i>; but when ease and health stand on the
right—ornament and fashion on the left—it
is by no means the Ass between two loads of
hay—why not ask council about it? Even the
young part of the faculty were formerly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[p. 9]</span>
obliged to submit to amputation, in order to
look wise.—What they sacrificed to appearances,
do thou to necessity.—Absalom had
saved his life, but for his hair. You will
reply, “Cæsar would have been drowned,
but his length of hair afforded hold to the
friendly hand that drew him to shore.”
Art, at this happy time, imitates Nature so
well in both sexes, that in truth our own
growth is but of little consequence. Therefore,
my dear M—, part with your hair and
head-achs together; and let us see you spruce,
well-shorn, easy, gay, debonnair—as of old.</p>
<p>I have made enquiry after L——’s letter.
My friend R—— went to demand the reason
for omitting to publish it, and to reclaim
the copy. The publisher smiled at him, and
bid him examine the M. C. of J. 13, where
he would find L. and the same paper of the
20th instant, where he would also find
P—— B——’s very angry answer.—Indeed
the poor fellow foams again, and appears as
indecently dull as malice could with him.
I went to the coffee-house to examine the file,
and was greatly pleased upon the second
reading of your work, in which is blended<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[p. 10]</span>
the Gentleman and the Scholar. Now,
observe, if you dare to say I flatter, or mean
to flatter, you either impeach my judgement
or honesty—at your peril then be it.—For
your letter of yesterday, I could find in my
conscience not to thank you for it—it gave a
melancholy tint to every thing about me.
Pope had the head-ach vilely—Spenser, I
have heard, suffered much from it—in short,
it is the ail of true Geniuses.—They applied
a thick wreath of laurel round their brows—do
you the same—and putting the best foot
foremost—duly considering the mansion—what
it had suffered through chance, time,
and hard use—be thankfully resigned, humble,
and say, “It is well it is no worse!”</p>
<p>I do not wish you to be any other than
nice in what new acquaintance you make.
As to friendship, it is a mistake—real friendships
are not hastily made—friendship is a
plant of slow growth, and, like our English
oak, spreads—is more majestically beautiful,
and increases in shade, strength, and riches,
as it increases in years. I pity your poor
head, for this confounded scrawl of mine is
enough to give the head-ach to the strongest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[p. 11]</span>
brain in the kingdom—so remember I quit
the pen unwillingly, having not said half
what I meant; but, impelled by conscience,
and a due consideration of your ease, I conclude,
just wishing you as well as I do my
dear self,</p>
<p class="right sp1">
Yours, <span class="allsmcap gesperrt05">I. SANCHO</span>.</p>
<div class="noindent">
<p class="center sp2">
Your cure, in four words, is</p>
<p class="center sp05"><span class="allsmcap fs125">CUT—OFF—YOUR—HAIR!</span></p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_III_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="3">III.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Sept. 17, 1768.</p>
<p class="firstpara">I AM uneasy about your health—I do
not like your silence—let some good body
or other give me a line, just to say how
you are.—I will, if I can, see you on
Sunday;—it is a folly to like people, and
call them friends, except they are blest
with health and riches.—A very miserable
undone poor wretch, who has no portion<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[p. 12]</span>
in this world’s goods but honesty and
good temper, has a child to maintain, and
is very near in a state of nature in the article
of covering, has applied to me.—I do
know something of her—no greater crime
than poverty and nakedness.—Now, my
dear M——, I know you have a persuasive
eloquence among the women—try your
oratorical powers.—You have many women—and
I am sure there must be a great
deal of charity amongst them—Mind, we
ask no money—only rags—mere literal rags.—Patience
is a ragged virtue—therefore
strip the girls, dear M——, strip them
of what they can spare—a few superfluous
worn-out garments—but leave them pity—benevolence—the
charities—goodness of
heart—love—and the blessings of yours
truly with affection, or something very
like it,</p>
<p class="signature">
I SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[p. 13]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_IV_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="4">IV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Sept. 20, 1768.</p>
<p class="firstpara">OH! my M——, what a feast! to a mind
fashioned as thine is to gentle deeds!—Could’st
thou have beheld the woe-worn
object of thy charitable care receive the
noble donation of thy blest house!—the
lip quivering, and the tongue refusing its
office, thro’ joyful surprize—the heart gratefully
throbbing—overswelled with thankful
sensations—I could behold a field of battle,
and survey the devastations of the Devil,
without a tear—but a heart o’ercharged with
gratitude, or a deed begotten by sacred pity—as
thine of this day—would melt me,
although unused to the melting mood. As
to thy noble, truly noble, Miss ——, I
say nothing—she serves a Master—who can
and will reward her as ample—as her worth
exceeds the common nonsensical dolls of
the age;—but for thy compeers, may they
never taste any thing less in this world—than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[p. 14]</span>
the satisfaction resulting from heaven-born
Charity! and in the next, may they
and you receive that blest greeting—“Well
done, thou good and faithful,” &c. &c.
Tell your girls that I will kiss them twice
in the same place—troth, a poor reward;—but
more than that—I will respect them
in my heart, amidst the casual foibles of
worldly prejudice and common usage.—I
shall look to their charitable hearts, and
that shall spread a crown of glory over
every transient defect.—— The poor woman
brings this in her hand;—she means to
thank you—your noble L——, your good
girls—her benefactors—her saviours. I too
would thank—but that I know the opportunity
I have afforded you of doing what
you best love, makes you the obliged party—the
obliger,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your faithful friend,</p>
<p class="signature">I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[p. 15]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_V_TO_MR_K_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="5">V.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. K——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Richmond, Oct. 20, 1769.</p>
<p class="firstpara">WHAT, my honest friend K——, I am
heartily glad to see you, quoth I—long
look’d for, come at last.—Well, we will
have done with that;—you have made ample
amends for your silence—have approved
yourself, what I ever esteemed you—an honest,
hearty, good lad.—As to your apologizing
about your abilities for writing—’tis
all a humm—you write sense;—and verily,
my good friend, he that wishes to do better
must be a coxcomb.—You say you was
thrown from your horse but once—in my
conscience, I think once full oft enough—I
am glad, however, you escaped so well.—The
description of your journey I return
you thanks for—it pleased me much—and
proved that you looked rather farther than
your horse’s head.—A young man should
turn travel—home—leisure—or employment—all
to the one grand end of improving<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[p. 16]</span>
himself. From your account of Dalkeith,
I now view it “in my mind’s eye” (as
Hamlet says), and think it a delightful spot.—I
was wrong, I find, in my notions of
the Edinburghers—for I judged them the
grand patterns for—cleanliness—politeness—and
generosity. Your birth-day entertainments
made a blaze in our papers, which
said, amongst other things, that the puncheons
of rum flood as thick in your park
as the trees—oh; how I licked my lips, and
wished the distance (400 miles) less between
us.—You do not say a word about coming
back again.—Poor Pat has paid his last debt—peace
and bliss to his spirit! rest to his
bones!—his wife and daughter (both with
child) and his youngest child all came down;—what
a scene had I to be spectator of!—trust
me, James, I cry’d like a whipt school-boy!—But
then my noble master—Great
God, reward him!—Tell me not of ninety
covers—splendour—and feasting—To
wipe away the tears of distress, to make
the heart of the widow to sing for joy—may
such actions ever (as they have long
been) be the characteristic of the good Duke<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[p. 17]</span>
of M——! Dr. James, thy favourite,
twice came here:—at his first visit he gave
no hope—the next day he came, and poor
Pat had resigned up his spirit two hours
before he got here;—his Grace paid him
the tribute, the rich tribute, of many tears—and
ordered me to get a lodging for his
widow and children:—in the evening he ordered
me to go to them for him—and acquaint
Mrs. W—— how very sensible he
was of her great loss, as well as his own—that
he would ever be a friend to her—and
as to the boy—though he was perfectly well
satisfied with his conduct in his place—yet,
if he would like any trade better than continuing
his servant—he would put him out,
and support him through his apprenticeship;—and
he would give him a year to consider
it.—Pat has chose to stay, and his Grace
promises whoever uses him ill shall be no
servant here:—on the night of his interment,
after all was over, the Duke wrote
to the widow himself, and inclosed a twenty
pound bill—and repeated his promises.—Your
own heart, my dear James, will
make the best comment—which is grandest—one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[p. 18]</span>
such action—or ten birth-days;—though
in truth the latter has his merit—it
creates business, and helps the poor.—I
suppose you will expect me to say something
of our family. Her Grace, I am
truly sorry to say it, has been but poorly
for some time—and indeed is but indifferent
now—God of his mercy grant her better
health! and every good that can contribute
to her happiness!—The good Marquiss
is with us—Are not you tired? This
is a deuced long letter.—Well, one word
more, and then farewell. Mrs. M——
is grown generous—has left off swearing
and modelling. S—— is turned Jew, and
is to be circumcised next Passover. W——
is turned fine gentleman—and left off work—and
I your humble friend, I am for my
sins turned Methodist.—Thank God! we
are all pretty hobbling as to health.—Dame
Sancho will be much obliged to you for
your kind mention of her—she and the
brats are very well, thank Heaven! Abraham
gives up the stockings—and monkey
Tom his box—they both, with all the rest,
join in love and best wishes to your worship.—I,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[p. 19]</span>
for my own share, own myself
obliged to you—and think myself honoured
in your acknowledging yourself my pupil;
were I an ambitious man, I should never
forgive you,—for in truth you by far excel
your master:—go on, and prosper, “Render
unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar’s;”—laugh
at all the tall boys in the
kingdom.—I rest, dear Jemmy, thy true
friend and obliged fellow-servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_VI"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="6">VI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. F——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Richmond, Oct. 20, 1769.</p>
<p class="firstpara">I SENT you a note in Mrs. Sancho’s
name this day fortnight—importing that she
would hope for the pleasure of seeing you
at Richmond before the fine weather takes
its leave of us:—neither hearing from nor
seeing you—though expecting you every
day—we fear that you are not well—or
that Mr. F—— is unhappily ill—in either<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[p. 20]</span>
case we shall be very sorry—but I will hope
you are all well—and that you will return
an answer by the bearer of this that you
are so—and also when we may expect to
have the pleasure of seeing you;—there is
half a bed at your service.—My dear Mrs.
Sancho, thank God! is greatly mended.
Come, do come, and see what a different
face she wears now—to what she did when
you kindly proved yourself her tender, her
assisting tender friend.—Come and scamper
in the meadows with three ragged wild
girls.—Come and pour the balm of friendly
converse into the ear of my sometimes low-spirited
love! Come, do come, and come
soon, if you mean to see Autumn in its
last livery.—Tell your coachman to drive
under the hill to Mr. B——’s on the
common, where you will be gladly received
by the best half of your much and greatly
obliged friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[p. 21]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_VII_TO_EDWARD_YOUNG_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="7">VII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO EDWARD YOUNG, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="center">On the death of Lord ——, Son
to the Duke of ——.</p>
<p class="dateline sp1">
Richmond, April 21, 1770.</p>
<p class="salut">HONOURED SIR,
</p>
<p class="firstpara">I <span class="allsmcap">BLESS</span> God, their Graces continue in
good health, though as yet they have not
seen any body—I have duly acquainted his
Grace with the anxious and kind enquiries
of yourself and other of his noble friends.—Time
will, I hope, bring them comforts.
Their loss is great indeed; and not
to them only. The public have a loss—Goodness—Wisdom—Knowledge—and
Greatness—were united in him. Heaven
has gained an Angel; but earth has lost
a treasure. Hoping you are as well as
you wish your friends, I am, honoured
Sir,</p>
<p class="signoff1">Your most obedient and grateful</p>
<p class="signoff2">humble servant to command,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[p. 22]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_VIII_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="8">VIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
March 21, 1770.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">“He, who cannot stem his anger’s tide,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Doth a wild horse without a bridle ride.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class="firstpara">IT is, my dear M——, the same with
the rest of our passions; we have Reason
given us for our rudder—Religion is our
sheet anchor—our fixed star Hope—Conscience
our faithful monitor—and Happiness
the grand reward.—We all in this manner
can preach up trite maxims:—ask any
jackass the way to happiness—and like
me they will give vent to picked-up common-place
sayings—but mark how they act—why
just as you and I do—content with
acknowledging a slight acquaintance with
Wisdom, but ashamed of appearing to act
under her sacred guidance.—You do me
much more honour than I deserve, in wishing
to correspond with me—the balance is
entirely in your favour—but I fancy you
were under the malady of your country,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[p. 23]</span>
hypp’d for want of fresh air and exercise—so,
sitting in a pensive attitude, with lack-lustre
eye, and vacant countenance—the
thought obtruded on your fancy to give
Sancho a letter—and after a hard conflict
’twixt laziness and inclination—the deed
was done.—I verily believe you commit errors—only
for the sake of handsomely apologizing
for them, as tumblers oft make
slips to surprize beholders with their agility
in recovering themselves.—I saw Mr. B—
last night—who by the way I like much—the
Man I mean—and not the Genius
(tho’ of the first rate) he chattered and
laughed like a soul ignorant of evil. He
asked about a motley creature at ——.
I told him with more truth than wit—that
you was hypp’d.—I inclose you a proof
print:—and how does Mad. M——, &c.
&c.? Is Miss S—— better?—Is Mrs.
H——, Mrs. T——, Mrs. H——? Lord
preserve me! what in the name of mischief
have I to do with all this combustible matter?
Is it not enough for me that I am
fast sliding down the vale of years? Have
not I a gout? six brats, and a wife?—Oh!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[p. 24]</span>
Reason, where art thou? you see by this
how much easier it is to preach than to do!
But stop—we know good from evil; and,
in serious truth, we have powers sufficient
to withstand vice, if we will choose to exert
ourselves. In the field, if we know
the strength and situation of the enemy,
we place out-posts and centinels—and take
every prudent method to avoid surprize.
In common life, we must do the same;—and
trust me, my honest friend, a victory
gained over passion, immorality, and pride,
deserves <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Te Deums</i>, better than those gained
in the fields of ambition and blood.—Here’s
letter for letter, and so farewell,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours—as you behave,</p>
<p class="signature">I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[p. 25]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_IX_TO_MR_K_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="9">IX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. K——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Dalkeith, July 16, 1770.<br />
Sunday.</p>
<p class="firstpara">ALIVE; alive ho!—my dear boy, I
am glad to see you?—Well, and how goes it?—Badly,
sayest thou—no conversation, no
joy, no felicity!—Cruel absence, thou lover’s
hell! what pangs, what soul-felt pangs,
dost thou inflict! Cheer up, my child of discretion—and
comfort yourself that every day
will bring the endearing moment of meeting,
so much nearer—chew the cud upon rapture
in reversion—and indulge your fancy with the
sweet food of intellectual endearments;—paint
in your imagination the thousand graces
of your H——, and believe this absence a
lucky trial of her constancy.—I don’t wonder
the cricket-match yielded no amusement—all
sport is dull, books unentertaining—Wisdom’s
self but folly—to a mind under Cupidical
influence.—I think I behold you with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[p. 26]</span>
supple-jack in hand—your two faithful happy
companions by your side—complimenting
like courtiers every puppy they meet—yourself
with eyes fixed in a lover-like rumination—and
arms folded in sorrow’s knot—pace
slowly thro’ the meadows.—I have done—for
too much truth seldom pleases folks in
love.—We came home from our Highland
excursion last Monday night, safe and well—after
escaping manifold dangers.—Mesdames
H——, D——, and self, went into the
post-coach, and were honour’d with the
freedom of Dumbarton. By an overset, the
ladies shewed their—delicacy—and I my
activity<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>—Mr. B—— his humanity;—all
was soon to rights—nothing broke—and no
one hurt—and laughter had its fill.—Inverary
is a charming place—the beauties various—and
the whole plan majestic;—there are
some worthy souls on the spot, which I
admire more than the buildings and prospects.—We
had herrings in perfection—and would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[p. 27]</span>
have had mackarel; but the scoundrels were
too sharp for us—and would not be caught.
The Loch-Loman—Ben-Loman—Domiquith—and
Arsenhoe—with Hamilton and
Douglas houses—are by much too long for
description by letter.—We paraded to Edinburgh
last Friday in a post coach and four;—H——
D——, Mrs. M——, housekeeper,
and self, were the party;—we saw the usual
seeings, and dined at Lord Chief Baron’s,
but—dare I tell you?—H—’s figure attracted
universal admiration.—True!—Alas, poor
K——!—but, man, never fret—my honesty
to a rotten egg—we bring her home sound.—We
read a shocking account in the papers
of a storm of rain at Richmond Gardens, and
distress, &c. &c. is it true? if so, why did
not you mention it? H—— sends her service
to you, M—— his best respects—and all their
best wishes to you and birds.—Your confounded
epistle cost me seven pence;—deuce
take you, why did not you inclose it?—So
you do not like Eloisa—you are a noddy for
that—read it till you do like it.—I am glad
you have seen Cymon;—that you like it,
does but little credit to your taste—for every<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[p. 28]</span>
body likes it—I can afford you no more
time—for I have three letters to write besides
this scrawl.—I hear nothing of moving as
yet—pray God speed us southward! though
we have fine weather—fine beef—fine ale—and
fine ladies.</p>
<p>Lady Mary grows a little angel;—the
Dutchess gets pretty round—they all eat—drink—and
seem pure merry—and we are all
out of mourning this day—farewell.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signature">I. SANCHO.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p>
<a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Mr. Sancho was remarkably unwieldy and inactive, and never gave a
greater proof of it than at this overset, when he and a goose-pye were
equally incapable of raising themselves.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_X_TO_MISS_L_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="10">X.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS L——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August, 31, 1770.</p>
<p class="firstpara">DO not you condemn me for the very
thing that you are guilty of yourself;—but
before I recriminate—let me be grateful, and
acknowledge that heartfelt satisfaction which
I ever feel from the praise of the good.—Sterne
says—‘every worthy mind loves
praise’—and declares that he loves it too—but
then it must be sincere. Now I protest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[p. 29]</span>
that you have something very like flattery;—no
matter—I honestly own, it pleases me—Vanity
is a shoot from self-love—and self-love
Pope declares to be the spring of motion in
the human breast.—Friendship founded upon
right judgement takes the good and bad with
the indulgence of blind love;—nor is it wrong—for
as weakness and error is the lot of humanity—real
friendship must oft kindly overlook
the undesigning frailties of undisguised nature.—My
dear Madam, I beg ten thousand pardons
for the dull sermon I have been preaching:—You
may well yawn.—So the noble! the humane!
the patron! the friend! the good Duke
leaves Tunbridge on Monday—true nobility
will leave the place with him—and kindness and
humanity will accompany Miss L—— whenever
she thinks fit to leave it.—Mrs. Sancho
is pretty well, pretty round, and pretty tame!
she bids me say, Thank you in the kindest
manner I possibly can—and observe, I say,
Thank you kindly.—I will not pretend to
enumerate the many things you deserve our
thanks for:—you are upon the whole an
estimable young woman—your heart is the
best part of you—may it meet with its likeness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[p. 30]</span>
in the man of your choice!—and I will
pronounce you a happy couple.—I hope to
hear in your next—(that is, if—) that you
are about thinking of coming to town—no
news stiring but politics—which I deem very
unfit for ladies.—I shall conclude with John
Moody’s prayer—“The goodness of goodness
bless and preserve you!”—I am
dear Miss L——’s most sincere servant and
friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XI_TO_MR_S_mdashN"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="11">XI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——N</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Dalkeith, Sept. 15, 1770.</p>
<p class="firstpara">IT was kindly done of my worthy old
friend to give me the satisfaction of hearing
he was well and happy.—Believe me, I very
often think of and wish to be with you;—without
malice, I envy you the constant felicity
of being with worthy good children—whose
regards and filial tenderness to yourself—and
christian behaviour to each other—reflect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[p. 31]</span>
honor to themselves and credit to you.
But the thing I have much at heart you are
provokingly silent about—is my sweet Polly
married yet? has she made Mr. H——
happy? May they both enjoy every comfort
God Almighty blesses his children with!
And how comes it my dear Tommy does not
give me a line? I hope he is well, hearty, and
happy—and honest downright Sally also;—tell
Tommy he has disappointed me in not
writing to me.—I hope Mrs. Sancho will be
as good as her word, and soon pay you a
visit.—I will trust her with you, though she
is the treasure of my soul.—We have been a
week in the Highlands, and a fine country it
is.—I hear nothing of coming home as yet—but
I fancy it will not be long now.—Mrs.
H—— sends her love to you and yours—and
I my double love to self and the four young
ones—with my best wishes and respects to
Mrs. B——y, and tell her I am half a Methodist:—here
is a young man preaches here,
one of those five who were expelled from
Oxford—his name is M——n; he has a
good strong voice—much passion—and
preaches three times a day—an hour and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[p. 32]</span>
half each time;—he is well-built—tall—genteel—a
good eye—about twenty-five—a
white hand, and a blazing ring—he has
many converts amongst the ladies;—I cannot
prevail on Mrs. H—— to go and hear him—I
have been four or five times, and heard
him this day—his text was the epistle in the
communion service.—I am, dear friend,
yours sincerely, and all your valuable family’s
sincere well-wisher, and, were it in my
power, I would add friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGNATIUS SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Their Graces are all well—and Lady Mary
grows every day—she is a sweet child.—Remember
me to Mrs. ——, and tell her Mrs.
M—— is quite the woman of fashion:—she
is pretty well in every thing except her eyes,
which are a little inflamed with cold—and
she does not forget they are so. Once more
my cordial love to the girls; and to the worthies,
Tommy, Mr. H—— B——, and self.
Adieu.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[p. 33]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XII_TO_MRS_H_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="12">XII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. H——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Richmond, Dec. 22, 1771.</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOU cannot conceive the odd agreeable
mixture of pleasure and pain I felt on the
receipt of your favor;—believe me, good
friend, I honor and respect your nobleness of
principle—but at the same time greatly disapprove
of your actions.—My dear Madam,
bribery and corruption are the reigning topics
of declamation;—and here, because I happen
to be a well-wisher, you are loading us with
presents.—One word for all, my good Mrs.
H—— must not be offended when I tell her
it hurts my pride—for pride I have—too
much, God knows. I accept your present
this time—and do you accept dame Sancho’s
and my thanks—and never aim at sending
aught again—Your daughter Kate brought
me your letter: she seemed a little surprized at
my being favoured with your correspondence—and
I am sure wished to see the contents.—As
I from my soul honor filial feelings—it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[p. 34]</span>
hurt me not to gratify her honest curiosity—but
I do not chuse to let her know any thing
of the matter—to save her the anxiety of
hope and fear. She is very well, and rules
over us—not with an iron sceptre—but a
golden one. We tell her we love her too
well—in truth I can never return her a tithe of
the kindnesses she has shewn my family—but
what’s all this to you?—I shall tire you with
a jargon of nonsense; therefore I shall only
wish you all many happy returns of this season—good
stomachs—good cheer—and good
fires.—My kind remembrance to Madam
Tilda—tell her, if she’s a good girl, I will try
to recommend her to Mr. G—— the painter,
for a wife;—he is really, I believe, a first-rate
genius—and, what’s better, he is a good
young man—and I flatter myself will do
honor to his science, and credit to his friends.—Kitty
looks like the Goddess of Health—I
am sure, every drop of blood in her honest
heart beats for the welfare and happiness of
her parents.—Believe me ever your obliged
servant and friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[p. 35]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XIII_TO_MR_B_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="13">XIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. B——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
London, July 18, 1772.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">NOTHING could possibly be more welcome
than the favor of your truly obliging
letter, which I received the day before yesterday.—Know,
my worthy young man—that
it’s the pride of my heart when I reflect that,
through the favor of Providence, I was the
humble means of good to so worthy an
object.—May you live to be a credit to your
great and good friends, and a blessing and comfort
to your honest parents!—May you, my
child, pursue, through God’s mercy, the
right paths of humility, candour, temperance,
benevolence—with an early piety, gratitude,
and praise to the Almighty Giver of all
your good?—gratitude—and love for the
noble and generous benefactiors his providence
has so kindly moved in your behalf!
Ever let your actions be such as your own
heart can approve—always think before you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[p. 36]</span>
speak, and pause before you act—always suppose
yourself before the eyes of Sir William—and
Mr. Garrick.—To think justly, is the
way to do rightly—and by that means you
will ever be at peace within.—I am happy to
hear Sir W—— cares so much about your
welfare—his character is great, because it is
good;—as to your noble friend Mr. Garrick—his
virtues are above all praise—he has not
only the best head in the world, but the best
heart also;—he delights in doing good.—Your
father and mother called on me last
week, to shew me a letter which Mr. Garrick
has wrote to you—keep it, my dear boy, as
a treasure beyond all price—it would do
honor to the pen of a divine—it breathes the
spirit of father—friend—and christian!—indeed
I know no earthly being that I can
reverence so much as your exalted and noble
friend and patron Mr. Garrick.—Your
father and mother, I told you, I saw lately—they
were both well, and their eyes overflowed
at the goodness of your noble patrons—and
with the honest hope that you
would prove yourself not unworthy of their
kindness.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[p. 37]</span></p>
<p>I thank you for your kindness to my poor
black brethren—I flatter myself you will find
them not ungrateful—they act commonly
from their feelings: I have observed a dog
will love those who use him kindly—and
surely, if so, negroes in their state of ignorance
and bondage will not act less generously,
if I may judge them by myself—I should suppose
kindness would do any thing with them;—my
soul melts at kindness—but the contrary—I
own with shame—makes me almost a
savage.—If you can with conveniency—when
you write again—send me half a dozen
cocoa-nuts, I shall esteem them for your sake—but
do not think of it if there is the least
difficulty.—In regard to wages, I think you
acted quite right—don’t seek too hastily to
be independent—it is quite time enough yet
for one of your age to be your own master.—Read
Mr. Garrick’s letter night and morning—put
it next your heart—impress it on your
memory—and may the God of all Mercy
give you grace to follow his friendly dictates!—I
shall ever truly rejoice to hear from you—and
your well-doing will be a comfort to
me ever; it is not in your own power and option<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[p. 38]</span>
to command riches—wisdom and health
are immediately the gift of God—but it is in
your own breast to be good—therefore, my
dear child, make the only right election—be
good, and trust the rest to God; and remember
he is about your bed, and about your
paths, and spieth out all your ways. I am,
with pride and delight,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your true friend,</p>
<p class="signature">IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XIV_TO_MR_S_mdashE"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="14">XIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——E</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Richmond, Oct. 11, 1772.</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOUR letter gave me more pleasure than
in truth I ever expected from your hands—but
thou art a flatterer;—why dost thou demand
advice of me? Young man, thou
canst not discern wood from trees;—with
awe and reverence look up to thy more than
parents—look up to thy almost divine benefactors—search
into the motive of every
glorious action—retrace thine own history—and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[p. 39]</span>
when you are convinced that they (like
the All-gracious Power they serve) go about
in mercy doing good—retire abashed at the
number of their virtues—and humbly beg
the Almighty to inspire and give you strength
to imitate them.—Happy, happy lad! what
a fortune is thine!—Look round upon the
miserable fate of almost all of our unfortunate
colour. Superadded to ignorance, see slavery,
and the contempt of those very wretches who
roll in affluence from our labours superadded
to this woful catalogue—hear the ill-bred and
heart-racking abuse of the foolish vulgar.—You,
S——e, tread as cautiously as the
strictest rectitude can guide you—yet must
you suffer from this—but, armed with truth—honesty—and
conscious integrity—you
will be sure of the plaudit and countenance
of the good;—if, therefore, thy repentance
is sincere—I congratulate thee as sincerely
upon it—it is thy birth-day to real happiness.—Providence
has been very lavish of her
bounty to you—and you are deeply in arrears
to her—your parts are as quick as most mens;
urge but your speed in the race of virtue
with the same ardency of zeal as you have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[p. 40]</span>
exhibited in error—and you will recover, to
the satisfaction of your noble patrons—and
to the glory of yourself.—Some philosopher—I
forget who—wished for a window in his
breast—that the world might see his heart;—he
could only be a great fool, or a very
good man:—I will believe the latter, and
recommend him to your imitation.—Vice is
a coward—;—to be truly brave, a man must
be truly good; you hate the name of cowardice—then,
S——e, avoid it—detest a lye,—and
shun lyars—be above revenge;—if
any have taken advantage either of your
guilt or distress, punish them with forgiveness—and
not only so—but, if you can
serve them any future time, do it—you
have experienced mercy and long-sufferance
in your own person—therefore gratefully remember
it, and shew mercy likewise.</p>
<p>I am pleased with the subject of your
last—and if your conversion is real, I shall
ever be happy in your correspondence—but
at the same time I cannot afford to pay five
pence for the honour of your letters;—five
pence is the twelfth part of five shillings—the
forty-eighth part of a pound—it would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[p. 41]</span>
keep my girls in potatoes two days.—The
time may come, when it may be necessary
for you to study calculations;—in the mean
while, if you cannot get a frank, direct to
me under cover to his Grace the Duke of
——. You have the best wishes of
your sincere friend (as long as you are your
own friend)</p>
<p class="right sp1">
<span class="smcap gesperrt05">Ignatius Sancho.</span></p>
<p class="sp2">You must excuse blots and blunders—for
I am under the dominion of a cruel head-ach—and
a cough, which seems too fond
of me.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XV_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="15">XV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Nov. 8, 1772.<br />
</p>
<p class="firstpara">BRAVO! my ingenious friend!—to say
you exceed my hopes, would be to lye.—At
my first knowledge of you—I was convinced
that Providence had been partial in
the talents entrusted to you—therefore I expected<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[p. 42]</span>
exertion on your side—and I am not
disappointed; go on, my honest heart, go
on!—hold up the mirror to an effeminate
gallimawfry——insipid, weak, ignorant, and
dissipated set of wretches—and scourge them
into shame—the pen—the pencil—the pulpit—oh!
may they all unite their endeavours—and
rescue this once manly and martial
people from the silken slavery of foreign
luxury and debauchery!—Thou, my worthy
M——, continue thy improvements; and
may the Almighty bless thee with the humble
mien of plenty and content!—Riches
ensnare—the mediocrity is Wisdom’s friend—and
that be thine!—When you see S——,
note his behaviour—he writes me word that
he intends a thorough and speedy reformation;—I
rather doubt him, but should be
glad to know if you perceive any marks of
it—You do not tell me that you have seen
Mr. G——; if you have not, I shall be
angry with you—and attribute your neglect
to pride:—pray render my compliments
most respectful and sincere to Mrs. H——,
and the little innocent laughing rose-bud—my
love to my son.—I am heartily tired of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[p. 43]</span>
the country;—the truth is—Mrs. Sancho
and the girls are in town;—I am not ashamed
to own that I love my wife—I hope to see
you married, and as foolish.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
I am yours, sincerely, &c. &c.</p>
<p class="right sp1"><span class="smcap gesperrt05">Ign. Sancho.</span></p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XVI_TO_MRS_H_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="16">XVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. H——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Nov. 1, 1773.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR AND RESPECTED MADAM,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I HAVE sincere pleasure to find you honour
me in your thoughts—to have your
good wishes, is not the least strange, for I
am sure you possess that kind of soul, that
Christian philanthropy, which wishes well—and,
in the sense of Scripture, breathes peace
and good-will to all.—Part of your scheme
we mean to adopt—but the principal thing
we aim at is in the tea, snuff, and sugar way,
with the little articles of daily domestic use.—In
truth, I like your scheme, and I think<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[p. 44]</span>
the three articles you advise would answer
exceedingly well—but it would require a
capital—which we have not—so we mean to
cut our coat according to our scanty quantum—and
creep with hopes of being enabled
hereafter to mend our pace.—Mrs.
Sancho is in the straw—she has given me
a fifth wench—and your worthy Kate has
offered her the honour of standing for her
sponsor, but I fear it must be by proxy.—Pray
make my respects to Mrs. Matilda—I
hope she enjoys every thing that her
parents wish her.—I shall dine with Mr.
Jacob some day this week—I saw him at
Dodd’s chapel yesterday—and, if his countenance
is to be believed, he was very well—I
could not get at him to speak to him.—As soon
as we can get a bit of house, we shall begin
to look sharp for a bit of bread—I have
strong hope—the more children, the more
blessings—and if it please the Almighty to
spare me from the gout, I verily think the
happiest part of my life is to come—soap,
starch, and blue, with raisins, figs, &c.—we
shall cut a respectable figure—in our
printed cards.—Pray make my best wishes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[p. 45]</span>
to Mr. H——; tell him I revere his
whole family, which is doing honor to myself.—I
had a letter of yours to answer,
which I should have done before, had my
manners been equal to my esteem.—Mrs.
Sancho joins me in respectful love and
thanks. I remain ever your much obliged
servant to command,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGNATIUS SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XVII_TO_MRS_H_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="17">XVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. H——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
February 9, 1774.</p>
<p class="firstpara">IT is the most puzzling affair in nature, to
a mind that labours under obligations, to
know how to express its feelings;—your
former tender solicitude for my well-doing—and
your generous remembrance in the present
order—appear friendly beyond the common
actions of those we in general style good<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[p. 46]</span>
sort of people;—but I will not teaze you
with my nonsensical thanks—for I believe
such kind of hearts as you are blest with
have sufficient reward in the consciousness of
acting humanely.—I opened shop on Saturday
the 29th of January—and have met
with a success truly flattering;—it shall be my
study and constant care not to forfeit the
good opinion of my friends.—I have pleasure
in congratulating you upon Mrs. W——’s
happy delivery and pleasing increase of her
family;—it is the hope and wish of my heart—that
your comforts in all things may multiply
with your years—that in the certain
great end—you may immerge without pain—full
of hope—from corruptible pleasure—to
immortal and incorruptible life—happiness
without end—and past all human comprehension;—there
may you and I—and all we
love (or care for) meet!—the follies—the
parties—distinctions—feuds of ambition—enthusiasm—lust—and
anger of this miserable
motley world—all totally forgot—every
idea lost, and absorbed in the blissful mansions
of redeeming love.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[p. 47]</span></p>
<p>I have not seen Sir Jacob near a fortnight—but
hope and conclude him well.—R——
is well, and grows very fat—an easy mind—full
purse—and a good table—great health—and
much indulgence—all these conduce terribly
to plumpness.—I must beg, when you
see Mr. ——, if not improper or inconvenient,
that you will inform him—that where
there is but little—every little helps;—I think
he is too humane to be offended at the liberty—and
too honest to be displeased with a truth.—I
am, with greatful thanks to Mr. H——,
your sincerely humble servant and poor
friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">My best half and Sanchonetta’s are all
well.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[p. 48]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XVIII_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="18">XVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Nov. 26, 1774.</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOUNG says, “A friend is the balsam
of life”—Shakespear says,—but why should
I pester you with quotations?—to shew you
the depth of my erudition, and strut like the
fabled bird in his borrowed plumage. In
good honest truth, my friend—I rejoice to
see thy name at the bottom of the instructive
page—and were fancy and invention as much
my familiar friends as they are thine—I
would write thee an answer—or try, at least,
as agreeably easy—and as politely simple.—Mark
that; simplicity is the characteristic of
good writing—which I have learnt, among
many other good things, of your Honor—and
for which I am proud to thank you;—in
short I would write like you—think like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[p. 49]</span>
you (of course); and do like you; but, as
that is impossible, I must content myself
with my old trick;—now what that trick is—thou
art ignorant—and so thou shalt remain—till
I congratulate you upon your recovery.—<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">A
propos</i>, you began your letter ill, as we
do many things in common life;—ten days
elapsed before you finished it—consequently
you finished it well.—My dear friend, may
you, thro’ God’s blessing, ever finish happily
what you undertake—however unpromising
the beginning may appear to be!—I
want you much in town—for my one sake—that’s
a stroke of self-love.—And do you
mean to bring any candles up with you?—that’s
another!—I do not wonder at your
making your way amongst the folks of Hull—although
there are four of the same profession;—we
love variety.—I will give them credit
for admiring the Artist;—but if they—that
is two or three of them—have penetration
to look deeper—and love the Man—then I
shall believe that there are souls in Hull.—So—my
cramp epistle fell into the hands of
thy good and reverend farther—<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tant pis</i>—why,
he must think me blacker than I am.—Mons.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[p. 50]</span>
B—— goes on well:—I suppose
you know he has opened an Academy in St.
Alban’s Street—at two guineas a year—naked
figures three nights a week—Mr.
Mortimer and several eminent names upon
his list—and room left for yours—he hops
about with that festivity of countenance
which denotes peace and good-will to man.—I
have added to my felicity—or Fortune
more properly has—three worthy friends—they
are admirers and friends of Mortimer
and Sterne;—but of this when we meet.—You
are expected at B—— House upon
your return—and I hope you will call on
them, if consistent with your time—and
agreeable to you.—My friend L—— is in
town, and intends trying his fortune among
us—as teacher of murder and neck-breaking—alias—fencing
and riding.—The Tartars,
I believe, have few fine gentlemen
among them—and they can ride—though
they have neither fencing nor riding masters;—and
as to genteel murder—we are mere
pedlars and novices—for they can dispatch
a whole caravan—or a hoorde—and eat and
drink—wench and laugh—and, in truth,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[p. 51]</span>
so far they can match our modern fine gents.;—they
have no acquaintance with conscience—but
what’s all this to you?—nothing—it
helps to fill up the sheet—and looks like moralizing;—the
good-natured partiality of thy
honest heart will deem it—not absolutely
nonsense.—Alas!—thus it often happens—that
the judgement of a good head is—bum-fiddled—and
wrong-biass’d by the weakness
of a too kind heart;—under that same weakness
let me shelter my failings and absurdities—and
let me boast at this present writing—that
my heart is not very depraved—and has
this proof of not being dead to virtue;—it
beats stronger at the sound of friendship—and
will be sincerely attached to W—— S——,
Esq; while its pulsations continue to throb
in the brest of your obliged</p>
<p class="signature">
IGNATIUS SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Do pray think about returning—the captain—the
girls—the house—the court, stand
all—just where they did—when you left them.—Alas!
Time leaves the marks of his rough
fingers upon all things—Time shrivels female
faces—and sours small-beer—gives insignificance,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[p. 52]</span>
if not impotency, to trunk-hose—and
toughness to cow-beef.—Alas! alas!
alas!—</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XIX_TO_MRS_C_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="19">XIX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. C——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, July 4, 1775.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR MADAM,</p>
<p class="firstpara">IT would be affronting your good-nature to
offer an excuse for the trouble I am going to
give you—my tale is short.—Mrs. O——
is with us—she was, this day, observing poor
Lydia with a good deal of compassion—and
said, she knew a child cured by roses boiled in
new milk;—observed, that you had, at this
very time, perhaps bushels of rose-leaves
wasting on the ground.—Now my petition
is—that you would cause a few of them to be
brought you—(they will blush to find their
sweetness excelled by your kindness)—they
are good dryed, but better fresh—so when
you come to town think of honest Lydia.—Mrs.
O—— this morning saw your picture<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[p. 53]</span>
in Bond Street.—She approves much—and
I fancy means to sit—she thinks that you
enriched me with the strongest likeness—but
the whole length the best.—I have the honor
to transmit the compliments of Mesdames
A—— and Sancho—to which permit
me to add mine, with the most grateful sensibility
for the recent favor of favors.—I am,
dear madam,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your most obliged,</p>
<p class="signoff2">humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XX_TO_MISS_L_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="20">XX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS L——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
July 26, 1775.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR MADAM,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I HAVE just now had the pleasure of
seeing a Gentleman who is honoured in calling
you sister.—He suspended the pain in
my foot for full five minutes, by the pleasing
account he gave of your health.—I delivered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[p. 54]</span>
my charge<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> safe into his hands—he
viewed it with an eye of complacency—from
which I conclude he is not unworthy your
sister’s hand;—we commonly behold those
with a sort of partiality who bring good
tidings from our friends—in that view I
could not forbear thinking him a very good
kind of man. I have to thank you for a
very obliging and friendly letter—which I
should have done much sooner, could I
have complied with your kind wishes in
giving a better account of myself;—my better
self has been but poorly for some time—she
groans with the rheumatism—and I grunt
with the gout—a pretty concert!—Life is
thick-sown with troubles—and we have no
right to exemption.—The children, thank
God! are well—your name-sake gets strength
every day—and trots about amazingly.—I
am reading Bossuet’s Universal History,
which I admire beyond any thing I have
long met with: if it lays in your way, I
would wish you to read it, if you have not
already—and if you have, it is worth a second
perusal. Mrs. Sancho rejoices to hear<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[p. 55]</span>
you are well—and intrusts me to send you
her best wishes.—I hope you continue your
riding—and should like to see your <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">etiquette</i>
of hat, feather, and habit. Adieu.—May
you enjoy every wish of your benevolent
heart—is the hope and prayer of your much
obliged humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">If the Universal History of Bossuet, Bishop
of Meaux, and Preceptor to Louis XV.
should be difficult to find at Tunbridge—when
you return to town, and give us the
pleasure of seeing you—he will be exceeding
proud of the happiness (and what Frenchman
would not,—although a bishop?) of riding
to Bond Street in your pockets.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p>
<a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Miss L——’s picture.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[p. 56]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXI_TO_MISS_L_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="21">XXI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS L——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, June 20, 1775.</p>
<p class="firstpara">I PROTEST, my dear Madam, there is
nothing so dangerous to the calm philosophic
temper of fifty—as a friendly epistle from a
pretty young woman;—but when worth—benevolence—and
a train of amiabilities—easier
felt than described—join in the attack,—the
happy receiver of such an epistle must
feel much in the same manner as your humble
servant did this day;—but I did not mean
to write a starch complimentary letter—and
I believe you will think I have flourished rather
too much;—here then I recover my
wits—and the first use I make of them is to
thank you, in Mrs. Sancho’s name, for
your friendly enquiries—and to assure you,
we both rejoice that you had so pleasant a
passage—and that you enjoy your health.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[p. 57]</span>
We hope also, that your young gallant will
repay your humane attentions—with grateful
regard—and dutiful attachment.—I beg
your pardon, over and over, for my blundering
forgetfulness of your kind order—it
was occasioned by being obliged to say goodbye.—Taking
leave of those we esteem is, in
my opinion, unpleasant!—the parting of
friends is a kind of temporary mourning.
Mrs. Sancho is but indifferent—the hot weather
does not befriend her—but time will, I
hope;—if true worth could plead an exemption
from pain and sickness—Miss L——
and Mrs. Sancho would, by right divine,
enjoy the best health—but, God be blessed!
there is a reward in store for both, and all
like them—which will amply repay them for
the evils and cross accidents of this foolish
world. I saw Miss and Mrs. S——, and
Johnny, at church last Sunday—they all
looked pleasant, and told me they had heard
you were well.—I would recommend a poem,
which, if you have not, you should read—it
is called Almeria; I have not read it—but
have heard such an account of it as makes
me suspect it will be worth your notice.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[p. 58]</span>
This end of the town is fairly Regatta-mad—and
the prices they ask are only five shillings
each seat.—They are building scaffoldings on
Westminster-hall—and the prayers of all parties
is now for a fine evening—May your
evenings be ever fair—and mornings bright!
I should have said nights happy—all in God’s
good time! which, you must be convinced,
is the best time.—Lydia mends—she walks a
little—we begin to encourage hope—Kitty is
as lively as ever—and almost goes alone—the
rest are well.—Mrs. Sancho joins me in
cordial wishes for your health and wealth.—I
am, dear Madam,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your most sincere friend,</p>
<p class="signoff2">and obliged humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[p. 59]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXII_TO_MR_R_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="22">XXII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. R——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">THOU hast an honest sympathizing heart—and
I am sure will feel sorrow to hear poor
Mr. W—— has paid the debt to Nature:—last
Sunday heaven gained a worthy soul—and
the world lost an honest man!—a Christian!—a
friend to merit—a father to the poor
and society—a man, whose least praise was
his wit—and his meanest virtue, good-humour;—he
is gone to his great reward;—may
you, and all I love and honor, in God’s
good time, join him!—I wish to hear about
you—how you all do—when you saw Johnny—and
whether Mrs. O—— holds in the
same mind—if so, she is on the road for
London, and Johnny on the road for
B——. Pray have you heard from Mr.
L——? A spruce Frenchman brought me
a letter from him on Thursday; he left him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[p. 60]</span>
well and in spirits—he wishes we would enquire
for a place for him—he longs to be in
England;—he is an honest soul, and I should
feel true pleasure in serving him;—pray remember
he wants a place.—I know not what
words to use in way of thanks to Mrs.
C——, for the very valuable present of
her picture.—I have wrote to her—but my
pen is not able to express what I feel—and I
think Mr. Gardner has hit off her likeness
exceeding well;—my chimney-piece now—fairly
imitates the times—a flashy fine outside—the
only intrinsic nett worth, in my
possession, is Mrs. Sancho—whom I can compare
to nothing so properly as to a diamond in
the dirt—but, my friend, that is Fortune’s
fault, not mine—for had I power, I would
case her in gold.—When heard you from
our friend Mr. J—— N——? when you
see or write to him—tell him we still care
for him—and remember his easy good-nature
and natural politeness,—I will trouble you
with the inclosed without any ceremony—for
I have been so often obliged to you,
that I begin now to fancy I have a right to
trouble you. Commend me to squire<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[p. 61]</span>
S——, and all worthy friends.—Lydia sends
her love to you—she trots about amazingly—and
Kitty imitates her, with this
addition, that she is as mischievous as a
monkey.—Mrs. Sancho, Mrs. M——, and
Mrs. B——, all think well of you, as well
as yours.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXIII_TO_MRS_C_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="23">XXIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. C——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, July 31, 1775.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR MADAM,</p>
<p class="firstpara">IF aught upon earth could make mortals
happy—I have the best right to believe myself
so.—I have lived with the great—and
been favoured by beauty—I have cause to
be vain—let that apologize for my boasting.
I am to thank you for the best ornament
of my chimney-piece—your picture, which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[p. 62]</span>
I had the joy to receive from Mr. Gardner,
and which (exclusive of the partiality I
have to your resemblance) I think a very
good one;—it proves, unquestionably, three
things—your goodness—Mr. Gardner’s
skill—and my impudence!—in wishing so
pleasing a prize.—If Kitty should live to
woman’s estate—she will exultingly tell folks—that’s
my godmother’s picture!—and the
next generation will swear the painter
was a flatterer—and scarce credit there was
ever a countenance so amiably sweet—in the
days of George the Third—except a Hamilton
or Lady Sarah.—Mrs. Sancho desires
her thanks may be joined with mine—as
the thanks of one flesh.—Mr. M——
is well—and hopes, in concert with the
Sanchos, that you had a pleasant journey—and
good health your companion.—That
health and pleasure—with love and friendship
in its train—may ever accompany you—is
the wish, dear Madam, of your greatly
obliged humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGNATIUS SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[p. 63]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXIV_TO_MISS_L_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="24">XXIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS L——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, August, 7, 1775.</p>
<p class="firstpara">I NEVER can excuse intolerable scrawls—and
I do tell you, that for writing conversable
letters you are wholly unfit—no
talent—no nature—no style;—stiff—formal
and unintelligible;—take that—for your
apology—and learn to be honest to yourself.—The
Dutchess of Kingston and Mr.
Foote have joined in a spirited paper-war—(I
should have said engaged)—but I fear
her Grace will have the worst of it:—had
she either the heart or head of our friend
Miss L——, I should pity her from my
soul—and should muster up gallantry enough
to draw a pen (at least) in her defence;
as it is—I think—in principles they are
well-matched;—but as her Grace appears
to me to want temper—I think the Wit
will be too hard for her. I am pleased<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[p. 64]</span>
with the Tunbridgians for their respectful
loyalty on his Royal Highness’s birth day;—it
is too much the fashion to treat the
Royal Family with disrespect.—Zeal for
politics has almost annihilated good manners.—Mrs.
Sancho feels the kindness of
your good wishes;—but we hope you will
be in town before she tumbles in the straw,
when a Benjamin mess of caudle will meet
your lips with many welcomes.—Mrs.
Sancho is so, so—not so alert as I have
known her;—but I shall be glad she holds
just as well till she is down—My silly
gout is not in haste to leave me—I am in
my seventh week—and in truth am peevish—and
sick of its company.—As to Dr.
D——, the last I heard of him was, that
he was in France;—he has not preached for
these nine Sundays at Pimlico.—You did
not tell me the name of your Suffolk preacher;—I
fancy it is Dr. W—ll—ton—who
is reckoned equal to D——; I am glad you
have him—as I would wish you to have
every thing that God can give you conducive
to your love and pleasure.—Mrs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[p. 65]</span>
Sancho joins me in respects and thanks—good
wishes, &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
I am, dear Madam,</p>
<p class="signoff2">Your ever obliged, humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXV_TO_MR_B_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="25">XXV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. B——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 12, 1775.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">IF I knew a better man than yourself—you
would not have had this application—which
is in behalf of a merry, chirping,
white-toothed, clean, tight, and light, little
fellow!—with a woolly pate—and face as
dark as your humble;—Guiney-born, and
French-bred—the sulky gloom of Africa
dispelled by Gallic vivacity—and that softened
again with English sedateness—a rare<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[p. 66]</span>
fellow!—rides well—and can look upon a
couple of horses—dresses hair in the present
taste—shaves light—and understands
something of the arrangement of a table and
side-board;—his present master will authenticate
him a decent character—he leaves
him at his own (Blacky’s) request:—he
has served him three years—and, like
Teague, would be glad of a good master—if
any good master would be glad of him.—As
I believe you associate chiefly with
good-hearted folks—it is possible your interest
may be of service to him.—I like
the rogue’s looks, or a similarity of colour
should not have induced me to recommend
him.—Excuse this little scrawl from your
friend, &c.</p>
<p class="right sp1">
<span class="smcap gesperrt05">Ignatius Sancho.</span></p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">“For conscience, like a fiery horse,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Will stumble if you check his course;</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“But ride him with an easy rein,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“And rub him down with worldly gain,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“He’ll carry you through thick and thin,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Safe, although dirty, to your Inn.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[p. 67]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXVI_TO_MRS_C_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="26">XXVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. C——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 14, 1775.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR MADAM,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I AM happy in hearing that the bathing
and drinking has been of real service to
you.—I imagine you rise out of the waves
another Venus—and could wish myself Neptune,
to have the honor of escorting you
to land.—Mr. P—— has sent me a pretty
turtle, and in very good condition.—I must
beg you will do me the honor to accept
of it;—it will attend you at Privy Gardens,
where (had turtles a sense of ambition) it
would think itself happy in its destination.—Pray
my best respects to their honors
R—— and Squire S——. I live in hopes
of seeing you all next week.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
I am, dear Madam,</p>
<p class="signoff2">Your much obliged,</p>
<p class="signoff3">humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[p. 68]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXVII_TO_MISS_L_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="27">XXVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS L——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 27, 1775.</p>
<p class="firstpara">JUST upon the stroke of eleven—as I
was following (like a good husband) Mrs.
Sancho to bed—a thundering rap called me
to the street-door—A letter from Tunbridge,
Sir!—thanks many thanks—good
night.—I hugged the fair stranger—and—as
soon as up stairs—broke open the seal
with friendly impatience—and got decently
trimmed, for what? why, truly, for having
more honesty than prudence.—Well, if
ever I say a civil thing again to any of your
sex—but it is foolish to be rash in resolves—seriously,
if aught at any time slips from
my unguarded pen, which you may deem
censurable—believe me truly and honestly—it
is the error of uncultivated nature—and
I will trust the candour of friendship to
wink at undesigned offence;—not but I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[p. 69]</span>
could defend—and would against any but
yourself—the whole sad charge of flattery—but
enough.—I paid a visit in Bond Street
this morning.—Your sister looked health itself—she
was just returned from the country,
and had the pleasure to hear from you at
her first entrance.</p>
<p>Your friendly offer for the little stranger
is in character—but if I was to say what
my full heart would dictate—you would
accuse me of flattery.—Mrs. Sancho is more
than pleased—I won’t say what I am—but
if you love to give pleasure, you have your
will.—Are you not pleased to find Miss
Butterfield innocent?—It does credit to my
judgement, for I never believed her guilty—her
trial proves undeniably that one half
of the faculty are very ignorant.—I hear
she intends suing for damages—and if ever
any one had a right to recover, she certainly
has;—and were I to decree them—they
should not be less than 400<i><abbr title="pounds">l.</abbr></i> a year for
life, and 5000 pound down by way of
smart-money.—In my opinion, the D——ss
of K—— is honoured, to be mentioned
in the same paper with Miss Butterfield—You<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[p. 70]</span>
should read the St. James’s Evening
papers for last week—you will easily get
them at any coffee-house—the affair is too
long for a letter—but I will send you some
black poetry upon the occasion:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">With Satire, Wit, and Humour arm’d,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Foote opes his exhibitions;</div>
<div class="verse indent2">High-titled Guilt, justly alarm’d,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">The Chamberlain petitions.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">My Lord, quoth Guilt, this daring fiend</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Won’t let us sin in private;</div>
<div class="verse indent2">To his presumption there’s no end,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Both high and low he’ll drive at.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">Last year he smoak’d the cleric<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> gown;</div>
<div class="verse indent2">A D——ss now he’d sweat.</div>
<div class="verse indent2">The insolent, for half a crown,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Would libel all the Great.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">What I can do, his Lordship cries,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Command you freely may:</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Don’t licence him, the Dame replies,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">Nor let him print his play.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>Poor Lydia is exceedingly unwell.—They
who have least sensibility are best off<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[p. 71]</span>
for this world.—By the visit I was able to
make this morning—you may conclude, my
troublesome companion is about taking
leave. May you know no pains but of
sensibility!—and may you be ever able to
relieve where you wish!—May the wise
and good esteem you more than I do—and
the object of your heart love you, as
well as you love a good and kind action!—These
wishes—after the trimming you
gave in your last—is a sort of heaping coals
on your head—as such, accept it from
your sincere—aye, and <em>honest</em> friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGNATIUS SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Mrs. Sancho says little—but her moistened
eye expresses—that she feels your friendship.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p>
<a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> Dr. Dodd.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[p. 72]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXVIII_TO_MISS_L_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="28">XXVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS. L——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Sept. 12, 1775.</p>
<p class="firstpara">THERE is nothing in nature more
vexatious than contributing to the uneasiness
of those, whose partiality renders them
anxious for our well-doing—the honest
heart dilates with rapture when it can happily
contribute pleasure to its friends.
You see by this that I am coxcomb
enough to suppose me and mine of consequence!—but
if it is so—it is such as
you whose partial goodness have grafted
that folly on my natural trunk of dulness.—I
am, in truth, in a very unfit mood for
writing—for poor Lydia is very so, so—Mrs.
Sancho not very stout;—and for me, I assure
you, that of my pair of feet—two are
at this instant in pain! This is the worst
side—but courage! Hope! delusive cheating
Hope! beckons Self-love, and enlists him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[p. 73]</span>
of her side—and, together, use their friendly
eloquence to persuade me that better times
are coming.—Your beloved wife (cries Self-love)
will have a happy time, and be up
soon, strong and hearty.—Your child (cries
Hope) will get the better of her illness—and
grow up a blessing and comfort to
your evening life—and your friend will
soon be in town, and enliven your winter
prospects.—Trust, trust in the Almighty—his
providence is your shield—’tis his love,
’tis his mercy, which has hitherto supported
and kept you up.—See, see! cries Hope!
look where Religion, with Faith on her
right, and Charity on her left, and a numerous
train of blessings in her rear, come
to thy support.—Fond foolish mortal, leave
complaining—all will be right—all is right.—Adieu,
my good friend—write me something,
to chase away idle fears, and to
strengthen hope.—Too true it is, that
where the tender passions are concerned,
our sex are cowards.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours sincerely,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Mrs. Sancho sends her best wishes.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[p. 74]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXIX_TO_MISS_L_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="29">XXIX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS L——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Oct. 4, 1775.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">Just as the twig is bent, the tree’s inclin’d,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">’Tis education forms the tender mind.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class="right">
So says <span class="smcap">Pope</span>.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">Children like tender osiers take the bow,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">And as they first are fashoned, always grow.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class="right">
<span class="smcap">Dryden. </span></p>
<p class="firstpara">THE sense of each is just the same, and
they both prove an opinion which I have
long been grounded in—that the errors of
most children proceed in great part from
the ill cultivation of the first years.—Self-love,
my friend, bewitches parents to give
too much indulgence to infantine foibles;—the
constant cry is, “Poor little soul,
it knows no better!”—if it swears—that’s
a sign of wit and spirit;—if it fibs—it’s
so cunning and comical;—if it steals—’tis<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[p. 75]</span>
only a paw trick—and the mother exultingly
cries—My Jacky is so sharp, we
can keep nothing from him!—Well! but
what’s all this to you?—You are no mother.—True,
my sincerely esteemed friend,
but you are something as good—you are
perhaps better—much better and wiser I
am sure than many mothers I have seen.—You,
who believe in the true essence
of the gospel—who visit the sick, cover
the naked, and withdraw not your ear
from the unfortunate:—but I did not intend
to write your elogium—it requires
the pen of one less interested—and perhaps
less partiality and more judgement would
also be requisite.—Jacky S—— is the occasion
of this prefatory vast shew of learning. I do
believe him a fine child spoil’d for want of proper
management—he is just now in high disgrace—he
is wrong enough in all conscience,
I believe—but are they, who are about him,
right?—We will talk about this matter when
I have the pleasure of seeing you;—you
shall forgive my impertinent meddling—I
will ask pardon, and sin again—so we
serve Heaven—so complain, if you dare.—Mrs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[p. 76]</span>
Sancho is yet up;—if I pray at all,
it’s for the blessing of a happy moment, with
little pain for her;—as to what she brings,
I care not about its sex—God grant health
to the mother!—and my soul and lips
shall bless his holy name.—We cannot remove
till after Mrs. Sancho is up.—The
house will not be ready till towards Christmas,
which is not the most desirable time of
the year for moving—but we must do as we
can, not as we would.</p>
<p>At Charlotte Chapel, we had last Sunday
a most excellent discourse from Mr.
H——n, whom I suppose you have
heard preach—if not, he is well worth hearing—to
please me—for to the best of my
knowledge, he reads prayers better than most—Mr.
B—— not excepted; there is a dignity
of expression in his Psalms, which
catches the whole attention—and such an
animated strength of devotion in his Litany,
as almost carries the heart to the gates of
Heaven—he is fine in the pulpit;—but
comparisons are unfair—if H—— reads
prayers, and D—— preaches, at the same
church—I should suppose greater perfection<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[p. 77]</span>
could not be found in England.—I have to
thank you for the honor of your correspondence—and
can laugh in my sleeve like a
Dutch Jew—to think that I get sterling
sense for my farrago of absurdities—but
you will, I hope, soon be in town.—Mrs.
Sancho joins me in every sentiment of gratitude
and sincerity.—I am, as much as a
poor African can be, sincerely</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours to command,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO</p>
<p class="ps">We are in great hopes about poor Lydia.—An
honest and ingenious motherly woman
in our neighbourhood has undertaken the
perfect cure of her—and we have every reason
to think, with God’s blessing—she will
succeed—which is a blessing we shall owe
entirely to the comfort of being poor—for,
had we been rich, the doctors would have
had the honor of killing her a twelvemonth
ago.——Adieu.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[p. 78]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXX_TO_MISS_L_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="30">XXX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS L——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Thursday Morning, Oct. 16, 1775.</p>
<p class="firstpara">MY worthy and respected friend, I hear,
has protracted her stay.—I am greatly obliged
to Miss L——’s goodness, who has given
me this opportuity of addressing my good
friend.—I am very low in heart—poor Mrs.
Sancho is so indifferent—and Lydia, though
upon the whole better, yet weak and poorly.—I
am sufficiently acquainted with care—and
I think fatten upon calamity.—Philosophy is
best practised, I believe, by the easy and
affluent.—One ounce of practical religion is
worth all that ever the Stoics wrote.—Mrs.
Sancho smiles in the pains which it has
pleased Providence to try her with—and her
belief in a better existence is her cordial drop,—Adieu;
bring health with you, and the
sight of you will glad us all.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[p. 79]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXXI_TO_MR_R_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="31">XXXI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. R——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Oct. 18, 1775.</p>
<p class="firstpara">I BEGIN to fear with you that our friend
L—— is sick or married—or—what I would
rather hope—is on his way to England.—Thanks
to our Suffolk friends—you take care
we shall not starve.—I was for five minutes,
when dinner was on table, suspended, in inclination,
like the ass between the two loads
of hay—the turtle pulled one way, and a
sweet loin of pork the other—I was obliged
to attack both in pure self-defence;—Mrs.
Sancho eat—and praised the pork—and
praised the giver.—Let it not, my worthy
R——, mortify thy pride—to be obliged to
divide praise with a pig; we all echoed her—O——
and R—— were the toasts—I know
not in truth two honester or better men—were
your incomes as enlarged as your hearts,
you would be the two greatest fortunes in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[p. 80]</span>
Europe. But I wrote merely to thank you—and
to say Mrs Sancho and Mrs. M—— are
both better than when I wrote last night—in
short, Mrs. M—— is quite well—I pray God
to send my dear Mrs. Sancho safe down and
happily up—she makes the chief ingredient
of my felicity—whenever my good friend
marries—I hope he will find it the same
with him—My best respects to Mesdames C.
and C. and take care of my brother.—I fear
this will be a raking week.—Compliments to
Master S—— and the noble Mr. B——.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXXII_TO_MR_L_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="32">XXXII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. L——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Friday, Oct. 20, 1774.</p>
<p class="firstpara">IN obedience to my amiable friend’s request—I,
with gratitude to the Almighty—and
with pleasure to her—(I am sure I am right)—acquaint<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[p. 81]</span>
her, that my ever dear Dame
Sancho was exactly at half past one this
afternoon delivered of a—child.—Mrs.
Sancho, my dear Miss L——, is as well as
can be expected—in truth, better than I
feared she would be—for indeed she has been
very unwell for this month past—I feel myself
a ton lighter:—In the morning I was
crazy with apprehension—and now I talk
nonsense through joy.—This plaguy scrawl
will cost you I know not what—but it’s not
my fault—’tis your foolish godson’s—who,
by me, tenders his dutiful respects. I am
ever yours to command, sincerely and affectionately,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXXIII_TO_MISS_L_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="33">XXXIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS L——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Dec. 14, 1775.</p>
<p class="firstpara">THERE is something inexpressibly flattering
in the notion of your being warmer—from
the idea of your much obliged friend’s caring<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[p. 82]</span>
for you;—in truth we could not help caring
about you—our thoughts travelled with you
over-night from Bond Street to the Inn.—The
next day at noon—“Well, now she’s
above half way—alas! no, she will not get
home till Saturday night—I wonder what
companions she has met with—there is a
magnetism in goodnature, which will ever
attract its like—so if she meets with beings
the least social—but that’s as chance wills!”—Well,
night arrives—“And now our friend
has reached the open arms of parental love—excess
of delightful endearments gives place
to tranquil enjoyments—and all are happy in
the pleasure they give each other!”—Were I
a Saint or a Bishop, and was to pass by your
door, I would stop, and say, “Peace be upon
this dwelling!”—and what richer should I
leave it?—for I trust, where a good man
dwells, there peace makes its sweet abode.—When
you have read Bossuet, you will find at
the end, that it was greatly wished the
learned author had brought the work down
lower—but I cannot help thinking he concluded
his design as far as he originally meant.—Mrs.
Sancho, thank Heaven, is as well as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[p. 83]</span>
you left her, and your godson thrives;—he
is the type of his father—fat—heavy—sleepy;—but
as he is the head of the noble family,
and your godson, I ought not to disparage
him.——The Dutchess of K—— is so unwell,
that she has petitioned for a longer day:—they
say that her intellects are hurt;—though
a bad woman, she is entitled to pity.—Conscience,
the high chancellor of the
human breast, whose small still voice speaks
terror to the guilty—Conscience has pricked
her;—and, with all her wealth and titles, she
is an object of pity.—Health attend you and
yours!—Pleasure of course will follow.—Mrs.
Sancho joins me in all I say, and the
girls look their assent.—I remain—God forgive
me! I was going to conclude, without
ever once thanking you for your goodness in
letting us hear from you so early:—there is
such a civil coldness in writing, a month
perhaps after expectation has been snuffed
out, that the very thought is enough to chill
friendship;—but you—like your sister Charity,
as Thomson sweetly paints her (smiling
through tears)—delight in giving pleasure,
and joy in doing good.—And now<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[p. 84]</span>
farewell—and believe us, in truth, our dear
Miss L——’s</p>
<p class="signoff1">
obliged and grateful friends,</p>
<p class="right sp1">
<span class="allsmcap gesperrt05">ANNE</span> and <span class="allsmcap gesperrt05">I. SANCHO</span>.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXXIV_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="34">XXXIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Jan. 4, 1776.</p>
<p class="firstpara">I KNOW not what predominates in my
worthy friend—pride or good-nature;—don’t
stare—you have a large share of both:—happy
it is for you—as well as your acquaintance—that
your pride is so well accompanied
by the honest ardor of youthful
benevolence.—You would, like the fabled
pelican—feed your friends with your vitals.
Blessed Philanthropy!—Oh! the delights of
making happy—the bliss of giving comfort
to the afflicted—peace to the distressed mind—to
prevent the request from the quivering<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[p. 85]</span>
lips of indigence!—But, great God!—the
inexpressible delight—the not-to-be-described
rapture, in soothing, and <em>convincing</em> the tender
virgin that “<em>You alone</em>,” &c. &c. &c. (Prior’s
Henry and Emma see.)—But I think you
dropt a word or two about flattery.—Sir,—honest
friend,—know, once for all—I never
yet thought you a coxcomb:—a man of sense
I dare not flatter, my pride forbids it;—a
coxcomb is not worth the dirty pains.—You
have (through the bounty of your great
Creator) strong parts, and, thank the Almighty
Goodness, an honest sincere heart;—yes,
you have many and rare talents, which
you have cultivated with success:—you have
much fire, which, under the guidance of a
circumspect judgement, stimulates you to
worthy acts;—but do not say that I flatter in
speaking the truth;—I can see errors even in
those I half reverence;—there are spots in the
Sun—and perhaps some faults in Johnny
M——, who is by far too kind, generous,
and friendly, to his greatly obliged friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[p. 86]</span></p>
<p class="ps">P. S. I tell you what—(are you not coming
to town soon?)—F—— and venison are
good things; but by the manes of my ancestors—I
had rather have the pleasure of
gossipation with your sublime highness.—What
sketches have you taken?—What
books have you read?—What lasses gallanted?—The
venison is exceeding fine, and
the cleanest I ever saw;—to-morrow we dress
it;—a thankful heart shall be our sweet
sauce:—were you in town, your partaking
of it would add to its relish.—You say I was
not in spirits when you saw me at G——;
why, it might be so—in spight of my philosophy—the
cares and anxieties attendant on
a large family and small finances sometimes
overcloud the natural chearfulness of yours
truly,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">N. B. A very short P—— S——.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[p. 87]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXXV_TO_MR_R_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="35">XXXV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. R——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
June 25, 1776.</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOU had a pleasant day for your journey—and
after five or six miles ride from town—you
left the dust behind you;—of course the
road and the country also improved as you
drew nearer B——. I will suppose you
there—and then I will suppose you found
Mrs. C—— well in health, and the better for
the preceding day’s motion;—she and Miss
C—— meet you with the looks of a Spring-morning—I
see you meet in fancy;—I wish
I could see you in reality;—but of that hereafter.—I
want to know how Mrs. C—— does—and
what Miss C—— does;—what you
intend to do—and what Mr. S—— will
never do.—This letter is a kind of much-ado-about—what—I
must not say nothing—because
the ladies are mentioned in it.—Mr.
and Mrs. B—— have a claim to my best<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[p. 88]</span>
respects.—Pray say what’s decent for me—and
to the respectable table also—beginning
with my true friend Mrs. C——, and then
steering right and left—ending at last with
your worship. Tell Mrs. C—— that Kitty
is as troublesome as ever; that Billy gets
heavier and stronger.—Mrs. Sancho remains,
thank God, very well—and all the rest ditto.—Let
me know how you all do—and how
brother O—— does.—As to news, all I hear
is about Wilkes;—he will certainly carry
his point—for Administration are all strongly
in his interest:—betts run much in his favor:—for
my part, I really think he will get it—if
he can once manage so—as to gain the
majority.—I am, my dear R——, yours—(much
more than Wilkes’s—or indeed
any man’s, O——’s excepted) in love and
zeal,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Ever faithfully,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[p. 89]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXXVI_TO_MR_STERNE"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="36">XXXVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. STERNE</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
July, 1776.</p>
<p class="salut">REVEREND SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">IT would be an insult to your humanity
(or perhaps look like it) to aplogize for the
liberty I am taking.—I am one of those
people whom the vulgar and illiberal call
“<em>Negurs</em>.”—The first part of my life was
rather unlucky, as I was placed in a family who
judged ignorance the best and only security
for obedience.—A little reading and writing
I got by unwearied application.—The latter
part of my life has been—through God’s
blessing, truly fortunate, having spent it in
the service of the best families in the kingdom.—My
chief pleasure has been books.—Philanthropy
I adore.—How very much,
good Sir, am I (amongst millions) indebted
to you for the character of your amiable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[p. 90]</span>
uncle Toby!—I declare, I would walk ten
miles in the dog-days, to shake hands with
the honest corporal.—Your Sermons have
touched me to the heart, and I hope have
amended it, which brings me to the point.—In
your tenth discourse, page seventy-eight,
in the second volume—is this very affecting
passage:—“Consider how great a part of our
species—in all ages down to this—have been
trod under the feet of cruel and capricious
tyrants, who would neither hear their cries,
nor pity their distresses.—Consider slavery—what
it is—how bitter a draught—and how
many millions are made to drink it!”—Of
all my favourite authors, not one has drawn
a tear in favour of my miserable black
brethren—excepting yourself, and the humane
author of Sir George Ellison.—I think
you will forgive me;—I am sure you will
applaud me for beseeching you to give one
half-hour’s attention to slavery, as it is at
this day practised in our West Indies.—That
subject, handled in your striking manner,
would ease the yoke (perhaps) of many;—but
if only of one—Gracious God!—what a
feast to a benevolent heart!—and, sure I am,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[p. 91]</span>
you are an Epicurean in acts of charity.—You,
who are universally read, and as universally
admired—you could not fail.—Dear
Sir, think in me you behold the uplifted
hands of thousands of my brother Moors.—Grief
(you pathetically observe) is eloquent;—figure
to yourself their attitudes;—hear
their supplicating addresses!—Alas!—you
cannot refuse.—Humanity must comply—in
which hope I beg permission to subscribe
myself,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Reverend Sir, &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXXVII_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="37">XXXVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 12, 1776.</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="sp1">“We have left undone the things we should have
done,” &c. &c.——</p>
</div>
<p class="firstpara">THE general confession—with a deep
sense of our own frailties—joined to penitence—and
strong intentions of better doing—insures<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[p. 92]</span>
poor sinners forgiveness, obliterates the
past, sweetens the present, and brightens the
future;—in short, we are to hope that it reconciles
us with the Deity;—and if that
conclusion is just, it must certainly reconcile
us in part to each other.—Grant me that,
dear M——, and you have no quarrel
towards me for epistolary omissions:—look
about you, my dear friend, with a fault-searching
eye—and see what you have left undone!—Look
on your chair!—those cloaths
should have been brushed and laid by—that
linen sent to wash—those shoes to be cleaned.—Zooks!
why you forget to say your prayers—to
take your physick—to wash your ——.
Pray how does Mrs. H——? Lord what a
deal of rain! I declare I fear it will injure the
harvest.—And when saw you Nancy?—Has
the cat kittened?—I suppose you have heard
the news:—great news!—a glorious affair!
(and is two <em>ff’s</em> necessary?)—O! Lord, Sir!—very
little bloodshed—pity <em>any</em> should—how!—do
not you admire!—How so?—Why
this, Sir, is writing, ’tis the true
sublime—and this the stuff that gives my
friend M—— pleasure:—thou vile flatterer!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[p. 93]</span>
blush! blush up to thine eyelids!—I am
happy to think I have found a flaw in thee:—thou
art a flatterer of the most dangerous
sort, because agreeable.—I have often observed—there
is more of value in the manner
of doing the thing—than in the thing itself—my
mind’s eye follows you in the selecting
the pretty box—in arranging the pickled
fruit.—I see you fix on the lid, drive the last
nail, your countenance lit up with glee, and
your heart exulting in the pleasure you were
about giving to the family of the Sancho’s—and
then snatch the hat and stick, and walk
with the easy alacrity of a soul conscious of
good.—But hold, Sir, you were rather saucy
in a part or two of your letter:—for which
reason I shall not thank you for the fruit;—the
good woman and brats may—and with
reason; for they devoured them: the box,
indeed, is worth thanks; which, if God,
gout, and weather permit, you may probably
hear something of on Sunday next, from
yours, with all your sins, &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[p. 94]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXXVIII_TO_MR_K_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="38">XXXVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. K——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 28, 1776</p>
<p class="salut">MY WORTHY FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I SHOULD have answered your billet as
soon as received—but I wanted to know the
quantum that I was to wish you joy of—as
nothing has yet for certainty transpired.—I
will hope your legacy from Mrs. —— is
handsome:—you can easily imagine the pleasure
I felt—in finding she had so amply
remembered poor Mrs. M——. That one
act has more true generosity in it, aye, and
justice perhaps, than any thing I ever knew
of her in her long life:—it has removed an
anxiety from me which (in spite of self-felt
poverty—and the heart-felt cares of a large
family) troubled me greatly;—as to myself,
she used to promise largely formerly, that she
would think of me:—as I never believed—I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[p. 95]</span>
was not disappointed.—More and more convinced
of the futility of all our eagerness after
worldly riches, my prayer and hope is only
for bread, and to be enabled to pay what I
owe. I labour up hill against many difficuties;
but God’s goodness is my support,
and his word my trust.—Mrs. Sancho joins
me in her best wishes, and gives you joy
also: the children are well—William grows,
and tries his feet briskly—and Fanny goes on
well in her tambour-work;—Mary must
learn some business or other—if we can
possibly atchieve money;—but we have
somehow no friends—and, bless God!—we
deserve no enemies. Trade is duller than
ever I knew it—and money scarcer;—foppery
runs higher—and vanity stronger;—extravagance
is the adored idol of this sweet town.—You
are a happy being;—free from the cares
of the world in your own person—you enjoy
more than your master—or his master into
the bargain.—May your comforts know no
diminution, but increase with your years!—and
may the same happen, when it shall
please God, to your sincere friend I. Sancho
and his family!</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[p. 96]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XXXIX_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="39">XXXIX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
September 1, 1776.</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOU have the happiest manner of obliging!—How
comes it that—without the advantages
of a twentieth generationship of noble
blood flowing uncontaminated in your veins—without
the customary three years dissipation
at college—and the (nothing to be done
without) four years perambulation on the
Continent—without all these needful appendages—with
little more than plain sense—sheer
good-nature—and a right honest heart—thou
canst—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">“Like low-born Allen, with an aukward shame,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame!”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>Now, by my grandame’s beard—I will not
thank you for your present—although my
ears have been stunned with your goodness
and kindness—the best young man!—and,
good Lord! how shall we make him amends?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[p. 97]</span>
&c. &c.—Pshaw! simpleton, quoth I, do
you not plainly ken, that he himself has a
satisfaction in giving pleasure to his friends,
which more than repays him?—so I strove
to turn off the notion of obligation—though,
I must confess, my heart at the same time
felt a something—sure it was not envy—no,
I detest it—I fear it was pride—for I feel
within myself this moment, that I could
turn the tables in repaying principal with
treble interest—I should feel gratified—though
perhaps not satisfied.—I have a long
account to balance with you—about your
comments upon the transcript:—you are a
pretty fellow, to dare put in your claim—to
better sense—deeper thinking—and stronger
reasoning than my wise self.—To tell you
the truth (though at my own expence) I read
your letter the first time with some little
chagrin;—your reasoning, though it hurt
my pride—yet almost convinced my understanding.—I
read it carefully a second time—pondered—weighed—and
submitted—Whenever
a spark of vanity seems to be glowing at
my heart—I will read your letter—and what
then?—Why then, humbled by a proper<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[p. 98]</span>
sense of my inferiority, I shall still have cause
for pride—triumph—and comfort—when I
reflect that my valued Censor—is the true
friend of his sincerely affectionate</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XL_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="40">XL.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Dec. 4, 1776.</p>
<p class="firstpara">I FORGOT to tell you this morning—a
jack-ass would have shewn more thought—(are
they rationals or not?)—the best recipe
for the gout, I am informed—is two or
three stale Morning-Posts;—reclined in easy
chair—the patient must sit—and mull over
them—take snuff at intervals—hem—and
look wise;—I apply to you as my pharmacopolist—do
not criticize my orthography—but,
when convenient, send me the medicine—which,
with care and thanks, I will return.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours,</p>
<p class="right sp1">
Dismal <span class="allsmcap gesperrt05">SANCHO</span>.</p>
<p class="sp2">Pray how do you do?</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[p. 99]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" title="LETTER XLI TO MR M—" id="LETTER_XLI_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="41">XLI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
January 4, 1777.</p>
<p class="firstpara">I HAVE read, but have found nothing
of the striking kind of sentimental novelty—which
I expected from its great author—the
language is good in most places—but
never rises above the common pitch.—In
many of our inferior tragedies—I have ever
found here and there a flower strewn, which
has been the grace and pride of the poetic parterre,
and has made me involuntarily cry out,
Bravo!—From dress—scenery—action—and
the rest of play-house garniture—it may
shew well and go down—like insipid fish
with good sauce;—the Prologue is well—the
Epilogue worth the whole—such is my
criticism—read—stare—and conclude your
friend mad—though a more Christian supposition
would be—what’s true at the same
time—that my ideas are frozen, much more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[p. 100]</span>
frigid than the play;—but allowing that—and
although I confess myself exceeding cold,
yet I have warmth enough to declare myself
yours sincerely,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<div class="hang">
<p class="ps">Love and many happy new years to the
ladies.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p>
<a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> On reading the Tragedy of Semiramis, <cite>from the French of Mons.
Voltaire</cite>.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XLII_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="42">XLII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
February 9, 1777.</p>
<p class="firstpara">ZOUNDS! if alive—what ails you?
if dead—why did you not send me word?—Where’s
my Tristram?—What, are all
bucks alike!—all promise, and no—but I
won’t put myself in a passion—I have but one
foot, and no head—go-to—why, what a
devil of a rate dost thou ride at anathematizing
and reprobating poor ——! pho! thou
simpleton—he deserves thy pity—and whoever
harbours a grain of contempt for his
fellow-creatures—either in the school of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[p. 101]</span>
poverty or misfortune—that Being is below
contempt—and lives the scorn of men—and
shame of devils.—Thou shalt not think
evil of ——; nor shall he, either by word or
thought, dispraisingly speak or think of
M——.</p>
<p>In regard to thy N——, thou art right—guard
her well—but chiefly guard her from
the traitor in her own fair breast, which,
while it is the seat of purity and unsullied
honor—fancies its neighbours to be the same—nor
sees the serpent in the flowery foliage—till
it stings—and then farewell sweet peace
and its attendant riches.</p>
<p>I have only time to thank you for the
leaves, and to lament your want of perspicuity
in writing.—My love to George when you
see him—and two loves to Nancy—tell her I
could fold her to my bosom with the same
tender pressure I do my girls—shut my eyes—draw
her to my heart—and call her Daughter!—and
thou, monkey-face, write me a
decent letter—or you shall have another
trimming from yours,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[p. 102]</span></p>
<p class="ps">Look’ye Sir, I write to the ringing of the
shop-door bell—I write—betwixt serving—gossiping—and
lying. Alas! what cramps
to poor genius!</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="For_THE_GENERAL_ADVERTISER1">For <span class="gesperrt1">THE GENERAL ADVERTISER</span>.</h2>
</div>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>The outline of a plan for establishing a most respectable body
of Seamen to the number 20,000, to be ever ready for the
manning a fleet upon twelve days notice.</p>
</div>
<p class="firstpara">THE proposer is humbly of opinion, that
his plan is capable of many wholesome improvements,
which he thinks would prove
no unprofitable study, even to the Lords of
the Admiralty.</p>
<p class="sp1">Ist, Let the number of seamen, now upon
actual service, be each man inrolled upon
his Majesty’s books, at the rate of 5<i><abbr title="pounds">l.</abbr></i> <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">per
annum</i> for life; let them also receive the
same quarterly, or half-yearly, upon personal
application.</p>
<p class="sp1">IIdly, Let books be opened for them in all
his Majesty’s different yards and sea ports,
and there their dwelling, age, time they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[p. 103]</span>
have served, &c. to be fairly entered; each
man to bring a certificate from his ship,
signed by the captain, or some one he shall
please to depute.</p>
<p class="sp1">IIIdly, As an encouragement to his Majesty’s
service and population at the same time,
let there be instituted in each of the ship-yards,
or ports, &c. of these Kingdoms, a kind of
asylum, or house of refuge, for the sons of
these honest tars, to be received therein at
the age of six years; there to be taught
navigation, or, after the common school
learning, to be bound to such parts of ship-building
as they by nature are most inclined
to; such as chuse sea service, to be disposed
on board his Majesty’s ships at fifteen years
old, and to be enrolled upon the pension-books
after ten years faithful service, unless
better provided for.</p>
<p class="sp1">Might not there be some plan hit on to
employ the daughters, as well as sons of poor
sailors? Does not our Fisheries (if they
should ever happen to be attended to) open
many doors of useful employment for both
sexes?</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[p. 104]</span></p>
<p>To defray the above, I would advise the
following methods:</p>
<p>First, The pension of 5<i><abbr title="pounds">l.</abbr></i> <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">per</i> man for
20,000, amounts only to 100,000<i><abbr title="pounds">l.</abbr></i>: let
this be taken from the Irish list; it will surely
be better employed, than in the present mode
for Pensioners of noble blood.</p>
<p>Secondly, Let the book and office keepers
at the different yards, ports, &c. be collected
from under-officers who have served with reputation;
it will be a decent retreat for them
in the evening of life, and only a grateful reward
for past service.</p>
<p>May some able hand, guided by a benevolent
heart, point out and strongly recommend
something of this sort, that the honoured
name of England may be rescued
from the scandalous censure of man-stealing,
and from the ingratitude also of letting
their preservers perish in the time of
peace!</p>
<p class="signoff1">
I am, Sir, yours, &c.</p>
<p class="right sp1">
<span class="smcap gesperrt05">Africanus.</span></p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[p. 105]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XLIII_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="43">XLIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
July 27, 1777.</p>
<p class="firstpara">GO-TO!—the man who visits church
twice in one day, must either be religious—curious—or
idle—whichever you please, my
dear friend;—turn it the way which best
likes you, I will cheerily subscribe to it.—By
the way, H——n was inspired this
morning; his text was from Romans—chapter
the—verse the—both forgot;—but
the subject was to present heart, mind, soul,
and all the affections—a living sacrifice to
God;—he was most gloriously animated,
and seemed to have imbibed the very spirit
and manners of the Great Apostle. Our
afternoon Orator was a stranger to me—he
was blest with a good, clear, and well-toned
articulate voice:—he preached from the
Psalms—and took great pains to prove that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[p. 106]</span>
God knew more than we—that letters were
the fountain of our knowledge—that a man
in Westminster was totally ignorant of what
was going forward in Whitechapel—that we
might have some memory of what we did last
week—but have no sort of conjecture of what
we shall do to-morrow, &c. &c.—Now
H——n’s whole drift was, that we should
live the life of angels here—in order to be
so in reality hereafter:—the other good soul
gave us wholesome matter of fact;—they
were both right—(but I fear not to speak
my mind to my M——, who, if he condemns
my head, will, I am sure, acquit
my heart.)—You have read and admired
Sterne’s Sermons—which chiefly inculcate
practical duties, and paint brotherly love—and
the true Christian charities—in such
beauteous glowing colours—that one cannot
help wishing to feed the hungry—cloathe
the naked, &c. &c.—I would to God, my
friend, that the great lights of the church
would exercise their oratorical powers upon
Yorick’s plan:—the heart and passions once
listed under the banners of blest philanthropy—would
naturally ascend to the redeeming
God—flaming with grateful rapture.—Now<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[p. 107]</span>
I have observed among the modern Saints—who
profess to pray without ceasing—that
they are so fully taken up with pious
meditations—and so wholy absorbed in the
love of God—that they have little if any
room for the love of man:—if I am wrong,
tell me so honestly—the censure of a friend
is of more value than his money—and to
submit to conviction, is a proof of good
sense.—I made my bow to-night to Mrs.
H——; the rest of the rogues were out—bright-eyed
S—— and all.—Mrs.
H—— says that you are hypped—nonsense!—few
can rise superior to pain—and
the head, I will allow, is a part the most
<em>sensible</em>, if affected;—but even then you
are not obliged to use more motion than
you like—though I can partly feel the aukward
sensations and uneasy reflections,
which will often arise upon the least ail of
so precious a member as the eye—yet certain
I am, the more you can be master of
yourself (I mean as to chearfulness, if not
gaiety of mind) the better it will of course
be with you.—I hope G—— is well—and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[p. 108]</span>
that you ride often to see him I make
no doubt.—I like the monkey—I know not
for why, nor does it signify a button—but
sure he is good-tempered and grateful;—but
what’s that to me?—Good-night:——the
clock talks of eleven.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XLIV_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="44">XLIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
July 23, 1777.</p>
<p class="firstpara">YES—too true it is—for the many (aye,
and some of those many carry their heads
high) too true for the miserable—the needy—the
sick—for many, alas! who now may
have no helper—for the child of folly poor
S——, and even for thy worthless friend
Sancho.—It is too true, that the Almighty
has called to her rich reward—she who,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[p. 109]</span>
whilst on earth, approved herself his best
delegate.—How blind, how silly, is the mortal
who places any trust or hope in aught
but the Almighty!—You are just, beautifully
just, in your sketch of the vicissitudes
of worldly bliss.—We rise the lover—dine
the husband—and too oft, alas! lay down
the forlorne widower.—Never so struck in
my life;—it was on Friday night, between
ten and eleven, just preparing for my concluding
pipe—the Duke of M——’s man
knocks.—“Have you heard the bad news?”—No.—“The
Dutchess of Queensbury died
last night!”—I felt fifty different sensations—unbelief
was uppermost—when he
crushed my incredibility, by saying he had
been to know how his Grace did—who
was also very poorly in health.—Now the
preceding day, Thursday (the day on which
she expired) I had received a very penitential
letter from S——, dated from St.
Helena;—this letter I inclosed in a long tedious
epistle of my own—and sent to Petersham,
believing the family to be all there.—The
day after you left town her Grace
died;—that day week she was at my door—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[p. 110]</span>
day after I had the honour of a long
audience in her dressing-room.—Alas! this
hour blessed with health—crowned with honors—loaded
with riches, and encircled
with friends—the next reduced to a lump
of poor clay—a tenement for worms!—Earth
re-possesses part of what she gave—and
the freed spirit mounts on wings of
fire:—her disorder was a stoppage—she fell
ill the evening of the Friday that I last saw
her—continued in her full senses to the
last.—The good she had done reached the
skies long before her lamented death—and
are the only heralds that are worth the
pursuit of wisdom:—as to her bad deeds,
I have never heard of them.—Had it been
for the best, God would have lent her a little
longer to a foolish world, which hardly
deserved so good a woman;—for my own
part, I have lost a friend—and perhaps ’tis
better so.—“Whatever is,” &c. &c.—I
wish S—— knew this heavy news, for many
reasons.—I am inclined to believe her
Grace’s death is the only thing that will
most conduce to his reform.—I fear neither
his gratitude nor sensibility will be much<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[p. 111]</span>
hurt upon hearing the news—it will act
upon his fears, and make him do <em>right</em>
upon a <em>base</em> principle.—Hang him! he teazes
me whenever I think of him.—I supped last
night with St——; he called in just now,
and says he has a right to be remembered
to you.—You and he are two old monkeys—the
more I abuse and rate you, the better
friend you think me.—As you have found
out that your spirits govern your head—you
will of course contrive every method
of keeping your instrument in tune;—sure
I am that bathing—riding—walking—in
succession—the two latter not violent—will
brace your nerves—purify your blood—invigorate
its circulation:—add to the rest
<em>continency</em>—yes, again I repeat it, <em>continency</em>;—before
you reply, think—re-think—and
think again—look into your <em>Bible</em>—look in
<em>Young</em>—peep into your own breast—if your
heart warrants what your head counsels—act
then boldly.—Oh! <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">apropos</i>—pray thank
my noble friend Mrs. H—— for her friendly
present of C— J—; it did Mrs. Sancho
service, and does poor Billy great good—who
has (through his teeth) been plagued<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[p. 112]</span>
with a cough—which I hope will not turn
to the whooping sort;—the girls greet you
as their respected school-master.—As to your
spirited kind offer of a F——, why when
you please—you know what I intend doing
with it.</p>
<p>Poor Lady S——, I find, still lingers this
side the world.—Alas! when will the happy
period arrive, that the sons of mortality
may greet each other with the joyful news,
that sin, pain, sorrow, and death, are no
more; skies without clouds, earth without
crimes, life without death, world without
end!—peace, bliss, and harmony, where the
Lord God—All in all—King of kings—Lord
of lords—reigneth—omnipotent—for
ever—for ever!—may you, dear M——,
and all I love—yea the whole race of Adam,
join with my unworthy weak self, in the
stupendous—astonishing—soul-cheering Hallelujahs!—where
Charity may be swallowed
up in Love—Hope in Bliss—and Faith in
glorious Certainty!—We will mix, my
boy, with all countries, colours, faiths—see
the countless multitudes of the first
world—the myriads descended from the—Ark—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[p. 113]</span>
Patriarchs—Sages—Prophets—and
Heroes! My head turns round at the
vast idea! we will mingle with them, and
try to untwist the vast chain of blessed Providence—which
puzzles and baffles human
understanding. Adieu.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XLV_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="45">XLV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 8, 1777.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">“Know your own self, presume not God to scan;</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“The only science of mankind, is man.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class="firstpara">THERE is something so amazingly
grand—so stupendously affecting—in the
contemplating the works of the Divine
Architect, either in the moral or the intellectual
world, that I think one may rightly
call it the cordial of the soul—it is the
physic of the mind—and the best antidote
against weak pride—and the supercilious<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[p. 114]</span>
murmurings of discontent.—Smoaking my
morning pipe, the friendly warmth of that
glorious planet the sun—the leniency of the
air—the chearful glow of the atmosphere—made
me involuntarily cry, “Lord, what
is man, that thou in thy mercy art so
mindful of him! or what the son of man,
that thou so parentally carest for him!”
David, whose heart and affections were
naturally of the first kind (and who indeed
had experienced blessings without number),
pours forth the grateful sentiments of
his enraptured soul in the sweetest modulations
of pathetic oratory;—the tender mercies
of the Almighty are not less to many
of his creatures—but their hearts, unlike
the royal disposition of the Shepherd King,
are cold, and untouched with the sweet
ray of gratitude.—Let us, without meanly
sheltering our infirmities under the example
of others—perhaps worse taught—or possessed
of less leisure for self-examination—let
us, my dear M——, look into ourselves—and,
by a critical examination of
the past events of our lives, fairly confess
what mercies we have received—what God<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[p. 115]</span>
in his goodness hath done for us—and how
our gratitude and praise have kept pace in
imitation of the son of Jesse.—such a research
would richly pay us—for the end
would be conviction—so much on the side
of miraculous mercy—such an unanswerable
proof of the superintendency of Divine
Providence, as would effectually cure us of
rash despondency—and melt our hearts—with
devotional aspirations—till we poured
forth the effusions of our souls in praise
and thanksgiving.—When I sometimes endeavour
to turn my thoughts inwards, to
review the power or properties the indulgent
all-wise Father has endow’d me with,
I am struck with wonder and with awe—worm,
poor insignificant reptile as I am,
with regard to superior beings—mortal like
myself.—Amongst, and at the very head of
our riches, I reckon the power of reflection:—Where?
where, my friend, doth it
lie?—Search every member from the toe to
the nose—all—all ready for action—but all
dead to thought—it lies not in matter—nor
in the blood—it is a party, which
though we feel and acknowledge, quite past<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[p. 116]</span>
the power of definition—it is that breath
of life which the Sacred Architect breathed
into the nostrils of the first man—image of
his gracious Maker—and let it animate our
torpid gratitude—it rolls on, although diminished
by our cruel fall, through the
whole race.—“We are fearfully and wonderfully
made,” &c. &c. were the sentiments
of the Royal Preacher upon a self-review—but
had he been blessed with the
full blaze of the Christian dispensation—what
would have been his raptures?—The
promise of never, never-ending existence
and felicity, to possess eternity—“glorious,
dreadful thought!” to rise, perhaps, by regular
progression, from planet to planet—to
behold the wonders of immensity—to pass
from good to better—increasing in goodness—knowledge—love—to
glory in our Redeemer—to
joy in ourselves—to be acquainted
with prophets, sages, heroes, and poets
of old times—and join in symphony with
angels!—And now, my friend, thou smilest
at my futile notions—why preach to thee?—For
this very good and simple reason, to
get your thoughts in return.—You shall be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[p. 117]</span>
my philosopher—my Mentor—my friend;—you,
happily disengaged from various cares
of life and family, can review the little
world of man with steadier eye, and more
composed thought, than your friend, declining
fast into the vale of years, and beset
with infirmity and pain.—Write now and
then, as thought prompts, and inclination
leads—refute my errors—where I am just,
give me your plaudit.—Your welfare is
truly dear in my sight;—and if any man
has a share in my heart, or commands my
respect and esteem, it is I—— M——.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Witness my mark,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[p. 118]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XLVI_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="46">XLVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 14, 1777.</p>
<p class="firstpara">MY dear M——, I know full well thy
silence must proceed from ill health. To say
it concerns me, is dull nonsense—self-love
without principle will inspire even Devils
with affection;—by so much less as thou
apprehendest thy friend has diabolical about
him—so may’st thou judge of his feelings
towards thee.—Why wilt thou not part with
thy hair? most assuredly I do believe it
would relieve thee past measure—thou dost
not fancy thy strength (like Sampson’s the
Israelite) lieth in thy hair. Remember he
was shorn thro’ folly—he lost his wits previous
to his losing his locks—do thou consent
to lose thine, in order to save thy better
judgement,—I know no worse soul sinking
pain than the head-ach, though (thank
heaven) I am not often visited with it.—I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[p. 119]</span>
long to see thee—and will soon, if in my
power:—some odd folks would think it
would have <em>been</em> but good manners to have
thanked you for the fawn—but then, says
the punster, that would have <em>been</em> so like
<em>fawn</em>-ing—which J. M—— loves not, <em>no</em>,
nor Sancho either;—’tis the hypocrite’s key
to the great man’s heart—’tis the resource of
cowardly curs—and deceitful b—p—s—it is
the spaniel’s sort—and man’s disgrace—it is—in
short, the day is so hot—that I cannot
say at present any more about it—but
that the fawn was large, fresh, and worthy
the giver, the receiver, and the joyous souls
that eat it.—Billy has suffered much in
getting his teeth—I have just wished him
joy by his mother’s desire, who says that
he took resolution at last, and walked to her
some few steps quite alone. Albeit it gave
me no small pleasure—yet, upon consideration,
what I approve of now, perhaps,
(should I live to see him at man’s estate)
I might then disapprove—unless God’s grace
should as ably support him through the
quick-sands—rocks—and shoals of life—as
it has happily the honest being I am now<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[p. 120]</span>
writing to.—God give you health!—your
own conduct will secure peace—your friends
bread.—As to honors, leave it with titles—to
knaves—and be content with that of an
honest man,</p>
<p class="sp05 indent4">“the noblest work of God.”</p>
<div class="sp05 noindent">
<p>Shave—shave—shave.</p>
</div>
<p class="signoff1">
Farewell, yours sincerely,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XLVII_TO_MISS_C_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="47">XLVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS C——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 15, 1777.</p>
<p class="firstpara">I WAITED, in hopes that time or
chance might furnish me with something
to fill a sheet, with better than the praises
of an old man.—What has youth and beauty
to do with the squabbling contentions
of mad ambition?—Could I new-model Nature—your
sex should rule supreme:—there
should be no other ambition but that of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[p. 121]</span>
pleasing the ladies—no other welfare but the
contention of obsequious lovers—nor any
glory but the bliss of being approved by
the Fair.—Now, confess that this epistle
opens very gallant, and allow this to be a
decent return to one of the best and most
sensible letters that L—— Wells has produced
this century past.—I much wish for
the pleasing hopes raised by your obliging
letter—that my good friend’s health is restored
so fully, that she has by this time
forgot what the pains in the stomach mean,—that
she has sent all her complaints to
the lake of Lethe—and is thinking soon
to enliven our part our world, enriched
with health—spirits—and a certain
bewitching benignity of countenance—which
cries out—‘Dislike me if you can!’—I want
to know what conquests you have made—what
savages converted—whom you have
smiled into felicity, or killed by rejection;—and
how the noble Master of Ceremonies
acquits himself, John S—— Esq; I mean.—I
hear my friend R—— will be in town
this week, to my great comfort;—for, upon
my conscience, excepting my family, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[p. 122]</span>
town to me is quite empty.—Mrs. R——
is gone to Bury—and the good man is
toiling a lonely and forlorne object.—Mrs.
Sancho joins in every good and grateful
wish for your amiable friend, with, dear
Miss C——, your obliged friend and humble
servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XLVIII_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="48">XLVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 25, 1777.</p>
<p class="center">
<span class="smcap">Jack-asses.</span></p>
<p class="firstpara">MY gall has been plentifully stirred—by
the barbarity of a set of gentry, who <em>every
morning</em> offend my feelings—in their cruel
parade through Charles Street, to and from
market:—they vend potatoes in the day—and
thieve in the night season.—A tall lazy
villian was bestriding his poor beast (although
loaded with two panniers of potatoes at the
same time), and another of his companions<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[p. 123]</span>
was good-naturedly employed in whipping
the poor sinking animal—that the gentleman-rider
might enjoy the two-fold pleasure of
blasphemy and cruelty:—this is a too common
evil—and, for the honor of rationality,
calls loudly for redress.—I do believe it
might be in some measure amended—either
by a hint in the papers, of the utility
of impressing such vagrants for the king’s
service—or by laying a heavy tax upon the
poor Jack-asses.—I prefer the former, both
for thy sake and mine:—and, as I am convinced
we feel instinctively the injuries of
our <em>fellow creatures</em>; I do insist upon your
exercising your talents in behalf of the honest
sufferers.—I ever had a kind of sympathetic
(call it what you please) for that
animal—<em>and do I not love you?</em>—Before Sterne
had wrote them into respect, I had a friendship
for them—and many a civil greeting
have I given them at casual meetings:—what
has ever (with me) stamped a kind of
uncommon value and dignity upon the long-ear’d
kind of the species, is that our Blessed
Saviour, in his day of worldly triumph,
chose to use that in preference to the rest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[p. 124]</span>
of his own blessed creation—“meek and
lowly, riding upon an ass.” I am convinced
that the general inhumanity of mankind
proceeds—first, from the cursed false principle
of common education;—and, secondly,
from a total indifference (if not disbelief) of
the Christian faith;—a heart and mind impressed
with a firm belief of the Christian
tenets, must of course exercise itself in a
constant uniform general philanthropy:—such
a being carries his heaven in his breast!—and
such be thou! therefore write me a
bitter Philippick against the misusers of Jack-asses;—it
shall honor a column in the Morning
Post—and I will bray—bray my thanks
to you:—thou shalt figure away the champion
of poor friendless asses here—and hereafter
shalt not be ashamed in the great day of
retribution.</p>
<p>Mrs. Sancho would send you some tamarinds.—I
know not her reasons;—as I
hate contentions, I contradicted not—but
shrewdly suspect she thinks you want cooling.—Do
you hear, Sir? send me some
more good news about your head.—Your
letters will not be the less welcome for talking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[p. 125]</span>
about J—— M——; but pray do not let
vanity so master your judgement—to fancy
yourself upon a footing with George for
well looking:—if you were indeed a proof-sheet—you
was marred in the taking-off—for
George (ask the girls) is certainly the
fairest impression.</p>
<p>I had an order from Mr. H—— on
Thursday night to see him do Falstaff;—I
put some money to it, and took Mary and
Betsy with me:—it was Betty’s first affair—and
she enjoyed it in truth—H——’s
Falstaff is entirely original—and I think as
great as his Shylock;—he kept the house
in a continual roar of laughter:—in some
things he falls short of Quin—in many I
think him equal.—When I saw Quin play,
he was at the height of his art, with thirty
years judgement to guide him. H——,
in seven years more, will be all that better—and
confessedly the first man on the
English stage, or I am much mistaken.</p>
<p>I am reading a little pamphlet, which I
much like: it favours an opinion which I
have long indulged—which is the improbability
of eternal Damnation—a thought which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[p. 126]</span>
almost petrifies one—and, in my opinion,
derogatory to the fullness, glory, and benefit
of the blessed expiation of the Son of
the Most High God—who died for the sins
of all—all—Jew, Turk, Infidel, and Heretic;—fair—sallow—brown—tawney—black—and
you—and I—and every son and
daughter of Adam.—You must find eyes
to read this book—head and heart—with a
quickness of conception thou enjoyest—with
many—many advantages—which have the
love—and envy almost of yours,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Respects in folio to Mrs. H——.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[p. 127]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XLIX_TO_MR_R_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="49">XLIX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. R——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 27, 1777.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">WHETHER this finds your officially
parading on Newmarket turfs—or in the
happier society of the good geniuses of
B—— house—may it find you well—in
good joyous spirits—gay, debonnair—happy
at heart—happy as I have seen my meaning
expressed in the countenance of my
friend Mrs. C——, where humanity—humility—and
goodwill—have outshone beauty—in
one of the finest faces of your country—but
this between ourselves;—and pray how
does the aforesaid lady do?—does she ride,
walk, and dance, with moderation?—and
can you tell me that she continues as well
as when she first went down—and still
finds good from her western expedition?—And
the little Syren Miss C——?—Have
there no letters, sent by Cupid’s post, sticking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[p. 128]</span>
on the arrow’s point, been picked up
about your grounds, blown by western
breezes across the country?—Tell her nothing
can ever hurt her but Love and Time.—May
Love bring her happiness, and Time
honour!—As to wealth—may she have no
more than she can manage with comfort
and credit!—Monsieur L——’s letter is a
good one—and I think it would make one
laugh even in the gout.—God bless this old
boy—for he is a true type of beggarly pride—cunning—narrow-hearted—vain
and mean—one
of Satan’s dupes—who do his dirty
work for a little worldly trash—and cheat
themselves at last.—I know a man who delights
to make every one he can happy—that
same man treated some honest girls
with expences for a Vauxhall evening.—If
you should happen to know him—you may
tell him from me—that last night—three
great girls—a boy—and a fat old fellow—were
as happy and pleas’d as a fine evening—fine
place—good songs—much company—and
good music—could make them.—Heaven
and Earth!—how happy, how
delighted, were the girls!—Oh! the pleasures<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[p. 129]</span>
of novelty to youth!—We went by
water—had a coach home—were gazed at—followed,
&c. &c.—but not much abused.—I
must break off before I have half finished—for
Mr. —— is just come in—you
are not the first good friend that has been
neglected for a fop.</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_L_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="50">L.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
September 3, 1777.</p>
<p class="firstpara">I FEEL it long since I heard from you—very
long since I saw you—and three or
four days back had some notion, I should
never, in this paltry world, see thee again—but
(thanks to the Father of Mercies!)
I am better, and have a higher relish of
health and ease, from contrasting the blessings
with the pains I have endured.—Would
to God you could say that your dizzy dismal
headachs were flown to the moon, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[p. 130]</span>
embarked for Lapland—there to be tied up
in a witch’s bag—and sold to Beelzebub
with a cargo of bad winds—religious quarrels—politics—my
gout—and our American
grievances!—But what are you about in your
last (where you dropt the candid friend and
assumed the flatterer)?—You hinted as if
there was a chance of seeing you in Charles
Street: I wish it much.—My friend, I have
had a week’s gout in my hand, which was
by much too hard for my philosophy.—I
am convinced, let the Stoics say what they
list—that pain is an evil;—in short, I was
wishing for death—and little removed from
madness—but (thank Heaven)! I am much
better—my spirits will be mended if I hear
from you—better still to see you.—I find
it painful to write much, and learn that
two hands are as necessary in writing as
eating.—You see I write, like a lady, from
one corner of the paper to the other.—My
respects—and love—and admiration—and
compliments—to Mrs. ——, and Mrs. and
Miss ——. Tell M——l, he kept his
word in calling to see us before he left
town!—I hope—confound the ink!—what a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[p. 131]</span>
blot! Now don’t you dare suppose I was
in fault—no, Sir, the pen was disabled—the
paper worse—there was a concatenation
of ill-sorted chances—all—all—coincided to
contribute to that fatal blot—which has so
disarranged my ideas—that I must perforce
finish before I had half disburthened my
head and heart:—but is N—— a good girl?—and
how does my honest George do?
Tell Mrs. H—— what you please in the
handsome way of me.—Farewell, I will
write no more nonsense this night—that’s
flat.</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">How do you like the print:—Mr. D——
says, and his wife says the same—that you
are exceedingly clever—and they shall be
happy to do any thing which is produced
by the same hand which did the original—and
if Mr. D—— can be of any service
to you in the etching—you may command
him when you please.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[p. 132]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LI_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="51">LI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
September 16, 1777.</p>
<p class="firstpara">SIR, he is the confounded’st dunderhead—sapscull—looby—clodpate,
nincompoop—ninnyhammer—booby-chick—farcical—loungibuss—blunderbuss—this
good day in
the three kingdoms!—You would bless
yourself, were it possible for you to analyze
such a being—not but his heart is susceptible
of a kind of friendly warmth—but then
so cursed careless—ever in a hurry—ever in
the wrong, at best but blundering about the
right.—Why now, for example, when you
sent the ——, I can make oath, if need be—that
the dunce I speak of longed more for a
letter than the animal. The basket was
searched with hurry—not care;—no letter?
well, it can’t be help’d—his head ach’d—he
had not time, &c. &c.—the P—— was disengaged
from the basket—the straw consigned
to the chimney:—this being rather a coolish
morning, a little fire was thought necessary—and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[p. 133]</span>
in raking up the loose dirty waste stuff
under the grate, there appeared a very bloody
letter, which seemed unopened:—your hand-writing
was discernible through the dirt and
blood;—curiosity and affection ran a race to
pick up and examine it—when, behold, it
proved to be the companion of the P——,
but so effaced with blood—that very—very
little of my friend’s good sense could be made
out.—Your poor letter is a type of what
daily happens—merit oppressed and smothered
by rubbish.—Alas, poor letter! it shared the
fate the poor world, which we inhabit, will
hereafter undergo:—one bright gleam of
imitation of the mind that dictated it—some
few sparks.—Alas! alas! my poor letter—pass
but a few years—perhaps a few months—thy
generous friendly compost may—thy friend
whose heart glows while he writes—who
feels thy worth—yea, and reveres it too.—Nonsense,
why we know the very hinges of
our last cradles will rust and moulder;—and
that, in the course of another century,
neither flesh, bone, coffin, nor nail—will be
dicernible from mother earth.—Courage—while
we live, let us live—to Virtue—Friendship—Religion—Charity—then<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[p. 134]</span>
drop
(at death’s call) our cumbrous (you are thin)
load of flesh, and mount in spirit to our
native home.—Bless us, at what a rate have
I been travelling!—I am quite out of breath—Why!
my friend, the business was to
thank you for the pig.—Had you seen the
group of heads—aye, and wise ones too—that
assembled at the opening of the fardel—the
exclamations—Oh! the finest—fattest—cleanest—why,
Sir, it was a pig of pigs;—the
pettitoes gave us a good supper last
night—they were well dressed—and your pig
was well eat—it dined us Sunday and Monday.—Now,
to say truth, I do not love pig—merely
pig—I like not—but pork corned—alias—salted—either
roast or boiled—I will
eat against any filthy Jew naturalized—or
under the bann.—On Saturday night the
newsman brought me two papers of J——
13th and 20th;—right joyful did I receive
them:—I ran to Mrs. Sancho—with, I beg
you will read my friend’s sensible and spirited
defence of—of, &c.—She read—though it
broke in upon her work—she approved;—but
chance or fortune—or ill-luck—or what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[p. 135]</span>
you ever mean by accident—has played us a
confounded trick;—for since Saturday they
have—both papers—disappeared—without
hands—or legs—or eyes—for no one has
seen them;—bureau—boxes—cupboards—drawers—parlour—chamber—shop—all—all
has been rummaged—pockets—port-folio—holes—corners—all
been searched;—Did
you see them?—did you?—where can they
be?—I know not—nor I—nor I—but God
does!—Omnipotence knoweth all things.—It
has vexed me—fretted dame Sancho—teazed
the children—but so it is;—hereafter
I suppose they will be found in some obvious
(though now unthought of) place, and
then it will be, Good Lord, who could have
thought it!</p>
<p>Where is the <em>Jack-ass</em> business?—do not
be lazy—I feel myself a party concerned—and
when I see you, I have a delicious
morsel of true feminine grace and generosity
to shew you.—I shall not apologize for this
crude epistle;—but mark and remark—I do
thank you in the name of every Sancho but
self—they eat, and were filled;—I have
reason to thank you;—but as I do not affect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[p. 136]</span>
pig—in a piggish sense—I hold myself excepted;—and,
although I did eat—and did
also commend, yet I will not thank you,
that’s poss.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">The papers are found, as you will see:—here
is one and a piece; it has suffered through
ignorance;—but what cannot be cured, must
be endured.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LII_TO_MR_R_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="52">LII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. R.——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
September 17, 1777.</p>
<p class="salut">MY RESPECTED FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I FEEL myself guilty of an unmannerly
neglect, in delaying to give my good Mrs.
C—— some account of the little commissions
she honoured me with.—You must
exert your friendly influence, in making
my peace with her;—not but that I well
know mercy has the blest preponderancy in
her scale—nor can kindness or mercy be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[p. 137]</span>
lodged in a fairer breast;—in faith, I am
scarce half alive;—yet what really is alive
about me—hungers to hear news from
B——: first, how Mrs. C—— got down—and
her good companion;—how her health
is: tell her, I hope she left all her pains behind
her;—if so, I believe I have taken
possession of them all. Alas, my friend, I
never was but half so bad before;—both feet
knocked up at once; plenty of excruciating
pains, and a great lack of patience.—Mrs.
Sancho has had a blessed week of it;—for
my companion did not contribute much to
the sweetening my temper—it was the washing-week,
which you know made it a full
chance and half better.—she was forced to
break sugar, and attend shop.—God bless
her, and reward her!—she is good—good in
heart—good in principle—good by habit—good
by Heaven! God forgive me, I had
almost sworn.—Tell me how the ladies got
down—how they do; and what they do;—how
you do;—and how —— feels, now the
broom is hung on his door top.—The
certainty that B—— and his connexions are
all alive and merry—will be a cure for my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[p. 138]</span>
gout—and thou shalt be sole doctor, as well
as first friend, to thy ever obliged true
friend.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LIII_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="53">LIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
September 20, 1777.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">“What Reason warrants, and what Wisdom guides,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“All else is tow’ring frenzy, or rank folly.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class="firstpara">SO says Addison—<br />
—And so well knoweth my friend I. M——.
Well, and what then? why it follows of
course—that, instead of feeling myself delighted
and gratefully thankful, for—I will
and must speak out—yet if these kindnesses
cost the pocket of my friend—they are not
kindnesses to the Sanchos.—For innate goodness
of heart—greatness of spirit—urbanity—humanity—temperance—justice—with
the
whole sweet list of heaven-born manly virtues—I
do, without flattery, give thee (and with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[p. 139]</span>
pride do I avouch it) credit—I respect thy
person, and love thy principles;—but, my
good M——, there is a prior duty—which I
dare believe you will never willingly be deficient
in—and yet your generosity of soul
may let even such a worm as I break into it;—now,
that should not be—for—take me
right—I do not mean any thing derogatory
to your rank in the world—or to the
strength of your finances—what Sterne said
of himself that think I of you—that you are
as good a gentleman as the King—but not
quite so rich.—I honor thy feelings—and
am happy that I can honestly say, that I
conceive them;—the joy of giving and making
happy is almost the attribute of a God—and
there is as much sweetness conveyed to
the senses by doing a right well-natured deed,
as our frame can consistently bear—<em>So much
for chastisement—a pretty way of thanking!</em>—Well,
I have critically examined thy song—some
parts I like well—as it is a maidenhead,
it should be gently treated—But why N——
Oh! Nature! A true passion is jealous even
of the initials of its mistress’s name.—Well,
N—— let it be—I will certainly attempt giving<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[p. 140]</span>
it a tune—such as I can—the first leisure—but
it must undergo some little pruning
when we meet.—I have had another little
visit from the gout—and my hand yet remembers
the rough salute; my spirits have
been rather low.—Young’s ninth night, the
Consolation, has been my last week’s study.
It is almost divine;—how many times has it
raised, warmed, and charmed me!—and is
still new. I hope you found your mother
and honest George as well as you wished—and
had the full enjoyment of maternal and
filial affections.—The girls are rampant-well—and
Billy gains something every day.—The
rogue is to excess fond of me—for
which I pity him—and myself more.—My
respects and kind enquiry to your old horse.—Tell
him, I wish him better—and am a
real friend to honest brutes—some I could
almost envy.—To say I am rejoiced to hear
you are better, is telling you no news—be but
as well as I wish you—as rich—and as good—Sampson,
Solomon, and the Duke de
Penthievre, will never be comparisons more.—Adieu.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[p. 141]</span></p>
<p class="ps">I am as melancholy—as a tea-kettle when
it sings (as the maidens calls it) over a dead
fire.</p>
<p>Oh!—but is it N—— indeed?—now
don’t you be after humming me; believe me,
honey—if I never find out the truth, I shall
know it for all that.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LIV_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="54">LIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
October 24, 1777.</p>
<p class="firstpara">I DENY it. That I ought to have acknowledged
your favour two weeks ago I
confess—but my silence was not so long—nor
broad—nor rusty—nor fusty as yours.—Blithe
health—festive hours—and social
mirth—be thine, my friend! Thy letter,
though late, was truly welcome—it unbended
the brow of care—and suspended,
for some hours, disagreeable thoughts.——By
St. Radagunda! quoth I—(ramming my
nostrils with Hardham) he has catched the
mantle.—Alas, poor Yorick! oh! that thou<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[p. 142]</span>
hadst, by divine permission, been suffered
a little—little longer, amongst the moonstruck
children of this namby-pamby world!
Father of light and life! thy will be done;—but
surely—half the wit—half the good
sense—of this present age—were interred in
Sterne’s grave. His broad philanthropy—like
the soul-cheering rays of the blessed
sun, invested his happy spirit, and soared
into Heaven with it—where, in progressive
rise from bliss to bliss, he drinks in large
draughts of rapture, love, and knowledge,
and chants the praises of redeeming love,
with joy unbounded, and unceasing vigour.—Your
invocation has mounted me, Merry-Andrew
like, upon stilts.—I ape you as
monkeys ape men, by walking upon two.—That
you have recovered the true tone of
your health and spirits, I rejoice—to be
happy in despight of fortune, shews the Philosopher—the
Hero—the Christian. I must
confess, my fortitude (which is wove of
very flimsy materials) too oft gives way in
the rough and unfriendly jostles of life:—Madam
Fortune, who by the way is a bunter
(and such I love not), has been particularly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[p. 143]</span>
cross and untoward to me since you
left us. They say she is fond of fools—’tis
false and scandalous—she hates me—and I
have the vanity to say and believe—that if
folly, sheer folly, had any charms—I should
stand as fair in her esteem—as A. B. C.
D. E. F.—or any of Folly’s family through
the whole alphabet.—You halted at Burleigh—you
did just what I wished you to do—and
left it, I trust, as well in health as
you entered that sweet mansion—stopp’d at
Retford—and found your venerable parents
well—and contributed to their happiness—increased
their felicity by the many nice
little attentions of filial love—which the
good heart delights in—and even angels approve.—And
how do the worthy souls of
Hull and its environs?—Do they credit
themselves by esteeming a good-enough
kind of mortal?—You cannot imagine what
hold little Billy gets of me—he grows—prattles—and
every day learns something
new—and by his good-will would be ever
in the shop with me. The monkey! he
clings round my legs—and if I chide him
or look sour—he holds up his little mouth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[p. 144]</span>
to kiss me;—I know I am the fool—for
parent’s weakness is child’s strength:—truth
orthodox—which will hold good
between lover and lovee—as well as - - - - - - - - - - - - - -.
Mrs. Sancho and
her virgins are so, so. Mr. Sancho, the
virgins, well as youth and innocence, souls
void of care and consciences of offence,
can be.—Dame Sancho would be better if
she cared less.—I am her barometer—if a
sigh escapes me, it is answered by a tear
in her eye;—I oft assume a gaiety to illume
her dear sensibility with a smile—which
twenty years ago almost bewitched
me;—and <em>mark</em>!—after twenty years enjoyment—constitutes
my highest pleasure!—Such
be your lot—with a competency—such
as will make œconomy a pleasant acquaintance—temperance
and exercise your
chief physician—and the virtues of benevolence
your daily employ—your pleasure
and reward! And what more can friendship
wish you?—but to glide down the
stream of time—blest with a partner of
congenial principles, and fine feelings—true
feminine eloquence—whose very looks speak<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[p. 145]</span>
tenderness and sentiment.—Your infants
growing—with the roseate bloom of health—minds
cultured by their father—expanding
daily in every improvement—blest little
souls!—and happy—happy parents!—such
be thy lot in life—in marriage;—but take a
virgin—or a maiden—to thy arms;—but—be
that as thy fate wills it.—Now for news.—Two
hours ago (in tolerable health and
cheary spirits) considering his journey not
so fatigued as might be expected—followed
by four superb carriages—their Royal Highnesses
the Duke and Dutchess of Gloucester
arrived in town. As to America, if you
know any thing at Hull, you know more
than is known in London.—Samuel Foote,
Esq; is dead—a leg was buried some years
since—and now the whole <em>foote</em> follows.—I
think you love a pun.—Colman is the
gainer, as he covenanted to give him 1600<i><abbr title="pounds">l.</abbr></i>
<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">per annum</i>, for his patent;—in short, Colman
is happy in the bargain—and I trust Foote
is no loser.—I have seen poor Mr. de
Groote but once—and then could not attend
to speak with him, as I had customers
in the shop.—I waited by appointment for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[p. 146]</span>
Mr. ——, to get your honor’s address—and
then three weeks before I could get
the franks—a fortnight since for Mr. ——
writing to you—I call this a string of beggarly
apologies.—I told M—— you expected
a line from him—he wanted faith.—I
made him read your letter—and what
then? “truly he was not capable—he had
no classical education—you write with elegance—ease—propriety.”——Tut,
quoth I,
pr’ythee give not the reins to pride—write
as I do—just the effusions of a warm though
foolish heart:—friendship will cast a veil of
kindness over thy blunders—they will be
accepted with a complacent smile—and read
with the same eye of kindness which indulges
now the errors of his sincere friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">A true Genius will always remember to
leave a space unwritten—to come in contact
with the wax or wafer—by which means the
reader escapes half an hour’s puzzle to make
out a sentence;—and ever while you live—never
omit—no—not that—what?—what!—dates!
dates!—am not I a grocer?——Pun
the Second.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[p. 147]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LV_TO_MRS_C_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="55">LV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. C——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Nov. 5, 1777.</p>
<p class="firstpara">NOW, whether to address—according to
the distant, reserved, cold, mechanical forms
of high-breeding—where polished manners,
like a horse from the manage, prances fantastic—and,
shackled with the rules of art,
proudly despises simple nature;—or shall I,
like the patient, honest, sober, long-ear’d
animal, take plain Nature’s path, and address
you according to my feelings?—My
dear friend—you wanted to know the reason
I had never addressed a line to you;—the
plain and honest truth is, I thought writing
<em>at</em>—was better than writing <em>to</em> you;—that’s
one reason:—now a second reason is—I
know my own weakness too well to encounter
with your little friend—whom I
fear as a critic—and envy as a writer:—another
reason is—a case of conscience—which
some time or other you may have explained:—reason
the fourth—a secret—and so must<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[p. 148]</span>
be—till the blessed year 1797;—and then, if
you will deign to converse with an old friend—you
shall know all.—Kitty sends her respects
to Nutts—and her duty to her godmother.—Billy
looks wisely by turns—and
will speak for himself—if you should ever
come to town again.—The girls all improve
in appetite. Mrs. Sancho is tolerably well—and
I am yours very seriously,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">P. S. I wrote to my friend R——,
and then made some modest demands upon
your good-nature—There are a sort of people
in the world (one or two in a large extent
of country) rare enough to meet with—and
you are one whom nature hath left entirely
defenceless to the depredations of knaves;—for
my part, I own I have no remorse when
I tax your good-nature—which proceeds from
your having obliged me so much—that I
think with the street paupers—when they cry—“Good
your Ladyship, give me something—you
always used to remember your
poor old woman!”—Well but to conclude—we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[p. 149]</span>
courtiers are all alive upon this great
good news—the Queen, God bless her—safe;—another
Princess—Oh the cake and
cawdle!—Then the defeat of Washintub’s
army—and the capture of Arnold and Sulivan
with seven thousand prisoners;—thirteen
counties return to their allegiance;—all this
news is believed—the delivery of her Majesty
is certain—pray God the rest may be as
certain—that this cursed carnage of the
human species may end—commerce revive—sweet
social peace be extended throughout
the globe—and the British empire be strongly
knit in the never-ending bands of sacred
friendship and brotherly love!—Her good
Grace of P—— is just arrived:—the
gardens would look as they were wont—but
for you. But to conclude—the little dance
(which I like because I made it)—I humbly
beg you will make Jacky play—and amongst
you contrive a figure.—The Dutchess of
—— visits the Queen this evening—which
being a piece of news you may credit—and
of the utmost consequence—I close my very
sensible decent epistle with—And so God
bless you!—Pray tell Mr. K—— my thanks<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[p. 150]</span>
for his obliging letter—and that I join him
and all his friends in honest gladness—upon
his brother’s account.—I fear, also, he has
had, and still has, too much practice.—I
have this opinion of him, that his humanity
will ever be found equal to his skill—and
that he will be a credit to his profession—as
well as a blessing to his patients.—My
humble respects and best wishes attend
Miss —— and Messieurs B—— and S——,
&c.</p>
<p>The grand news is not yet officially authenticated—as
no express is yet arrived from
the Howes—the Isis man of war, which is
supposed to have the dispatches, not being
got in;—but the K—— and Cabinet
believe the news to be true, though brought
by hear-say—at sea.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LVI_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="56">LVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
December 20, 1777.</p>
<p class="firstpara">WITH the old story of the Season, &c.
&c. most sincerely, and amen.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[p. 151]</span></p>
<p>When Royal David—in the intoxication
of success and fullness of pride—imprudently
insisted upon the numbering of his people—we
are told, the Prophet was sent to announce
the Divine displeasure—and to give him the
choice of one of the three of the Almighty’s
heaviest punishments:—in his choice—he
shewed both wisdom and true piety—you
know the rest.—Now, my friend—thou
knowest my weakness;—I sincerely believe
the Sacred Writ—and of course look upon
war in all its horrid arrangements as the bitterest
curse that can fall upon a people; and
this American one—as one of the very worst—of
worst things:—that it is a just judgement,
I do believe;—that the eyes of our
rulers are shut, and their judgements stone-blind,
I believe also.—The Gazette will give
you a well-drest melancholy account—but
you will see one thing in it which you will
like—and that is, the humane solicitude of
General Burgoyne—for the safety and good
treatment indiscriminately of all his camp-artificers
and attendants:—he is certainly a
man of feeling—and I regard him more for
the grandeur of his mind in adversity—than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[p. 152]</span>
I should in all the triumphal pomp of
military madness.—But let me return, if
possible, to my senses:—for God’s sake!
what has a poor starving Negroe, with six
children, to do with kings and heroes, and
armies and politics?—Aye, or poets and
painters!—or artists—of any sort? quoth
Monsieur S——. True—indubitably true.—For
your letter, thanks—It should have
come sooner—better late, &c. &c.—What
have I to do with your good or evil fortune—health
or sickness—weal or woe?—I am resolved
from henceforth to banish feelings—Misanthrope
from head to foot!—<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Apropos</i>—not
five minutes since I was interrupted,
in this same letter of letters, by a pleasant
affair—to a man of no feelings.—A fellow
bolted into the shop with a countenance in
which grief and fear struggled for mastery.—“Did
you see any body go to my cart,
Sir?”—“No, friend, how should I? you
see I am writing—and how should I be able
to see your cart or you either in the dark?”—“Lord
in heaven pity me! cries the man,
what shall I do? oh! what shall I do?—I
am undone!—Good God!—I did but go<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[p. 153]</span>
into the court here—with a trunk for the
lady at Captain G——’s (I had two to
deliver), and somebody has stole the other;—what
shall I do?—what shall I do?”—“Zounds,
man!—who ever left their cart
in the night with goods in it, without leaving
some one to watch?”—“Alack, Sir, I
left a boy, and told him I would give him
something to stand by the cart, and the boy
and trunk are both gone!”—Oh nature!—oh
heart!—why does the voice of distress so
forcibly knock at the door of hearts—but to
hint to pride and avarice our common
kindred—and to alarm self-love?—Mark, I
do think, and will maintain it—that self-love
alone, if rightly understood, would make
man all that a dying Redeemer wills he
should be.—But this same stolen trunk;—the
ladies are just gone out of my shop—they
have been here holding a council—upon law
and advertisements;—God help them!—they
could not have come to a worse—nor
could they have found a stupider or sorrier
adviser:—the trunk was seen parading between
two in the Park—and I dare say the
contents by this time are pretty well gutted.—Last
Sunday I met, coming from church,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[p. 154]</span>
Mr. C——; he looks well, better than
when you left him.—I took occasion, as we
were prating about and about your worship—to
pin Mr. de Groote’s interest upon the
skirts of his feelings;—he desired, when I
saw him next, I would send him into
Crown-street—which I religiously performed,
but have not seen Mr. de Groote since;—in
truth, there is (despight of his nose) so much
of the remains of better times—somewhat of
the gentleman and artist in ruins—something
creative of reverence as well as pity—that I
have wished to do more than I ought—though
at the same time too little for such a
being to receive without insult from the
hands of a poor Negroe—(pooh, I do not
care for your prancings, I can see you at
this distance).—We have agreed upon one
thing;—which is, I have undertaken to write
to Mr. G—— for him, in the way of local
relief;—I will wager a tankard of porter I
succeed in some sort;—I will aim at both
sides of him—his pity and his pride—which,
alas!—the last I mean, finds a first-floor in
the breast of every son of Adam. S——
called on me this day, and left a picture for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[p. 155]</span>
you at your lodgings—and a very spirited
head in miniature, of your own doing, with
me—which I like so well—you will find it
difficult to get it from me—except you talk
of giving me a copy—Self-love again!—How
can you expect business in these hard times—when
the utmost exertions of honest industry
can scarce afford people in the middle sphere
of life daily provisions?—When it shall please
the Almighty that things shall take a better
turn in America—when the conviction of
their madness shall make them court peace—and
the same conviction of our cruelty and
injustice induce us to settle all points in
equity—when that time arrives, my friend,
America will be the grand patron of genius—trade
and arts will flourish—and if it shall
please God to spare us till that period—we
will either go and try our fortunes there—or
stay in Old England and talk about it.—While
thou hast only one mouth to feed—one
back to cloath—and one wicked member
to indulge—thou wilt have no pity from
me—excepting in the argument of health.
May that cordial blessing be thine—with its
sweet companion ease!—Peace follows rectitude—and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[p. 156]</span>
what a plague would’st thou have
more?—Write soon if thou dar’st—retort
at thy peril—boy—girls—and the old
Duchess, all pretty well—and so, so, is
yours,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LVII_TO_J_S_mdash_Esq"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="57">LVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J. S——, Esq</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, December 26, 1777.</p>
<p class="firstpara">I HAD the favor of a letter—replete with
kindness which I can never deserve—and
have just now received the valuable contents—of
which said letter was harbinger—without
either surprize or emotion—save a kind of
grateful tickling of the heart—the child of
respect—and I believe twin-brother of gratitude.——Now
had I heard of an A—hb—p
(at this sacred season especially)—gladdening
the hearts of the poor, aged and infirm—with
good cheer—informing the minds of
the young with Christian precepts, and reforming<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[p. 157]</span>
his whole See by his pious example—that
would have surprized me:—had
I been informed of a truly great man—who,
laying aside party and self-interest, dared to
step forth the advocate of truth, and friend
to his country; or had any one told me of a
lord—who was wise enough to live within
bounds—and honest enough to pay his debts—why
it would have surpriz’d me indeed.—But
I have been well informed there is a Mr.
S—— at Bury—and I think I have seen the
gentleman—who lives in a constant course of
doing beneficent actions—and, upon these
occasions, the pleasure he feels constitutes
him the obliged party.—You, good Sir,
ought of course to thank me—for adding one
more to the number you are pleased to be
kind to—so pray remember, good Sir, that
my thanks—(however due in the eye of
gratitude) I conceive to be an act of supererogation—and
expect that henceforth
you will look upon the Sancho’s—as a family
that have a rightful call upon your notice.—Mrs.
Sancho joins me in repetition of the
customary wishes.—Give me credit for having
a heart which feels your kindness as it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[p. 158]</span>
ought.—That Heaven may lengthen your
days for the good of mankind—and grant
every wish of your heart—is the true conclusion
of</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your greatly obliged</p>
<p class="signoff2">and respectful humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LVIII_TO_MR_F_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="58">LVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. F——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, January 27, 1778.</p>
<p class="firstpara">FULL heartily and most cordially do I
thank thee, good Mr. F——, for your kindness
in sending the books—that upon the unchristian
and most diabolical usage of my
brother Negroes—the illegality—the horrid
wickedness of the traffic—the cruel carnage
and depopulation of the human species—is
painted in such strong colours—that I should
think would (if duly attended to) flash conviction,
and produce remorse, in every<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[p. 159]</span>
enlightened and candid reader.—The perusal
affected me more than I can express;—indeed
I felt a double or mixt sensation—for while
my heart was torn with the sufferings which—for
aught I know—some of my nearest kin
might have undergone—my bosom, at the
same time, glowed with gratitude and praise
toward the humane—the Christian—the
friendly and learned Author of that most
valuable book.—Blest be your sect!—and
Heaven’s peace be upon them!—I, who,
thank God! am no bigot—but honour
virtue and the practice of the great moral
duties equally in the turban or the lawn-sleeves—who
think Heaven big enough for
all the race of man—and hope to see and mix
amongst the whole family of Adam in bliss
hereafter—I with these notions (which,
perhaps, some may style absurd) look upon
the friendly Author—as a being far superior
to any great name upon your continent.—I
could wish that every member of each house
of parliament had one of these books.—And if
his Majesty perused one through before breakfast—though
it might spoil his appetite—yet
the consciousness of having it in his power to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[p. 160]</span>
facilitate the great work—would give an
additional sweetness to his tea.—Phyllis’s
poems do credit to nature—and put art—merely
as art—to the blush.—It reflects
nothing either to the glory or generosity of
her master—if she is still his slave—except he
glories in the <em>low vanity</em> of having in his
wanton power a mind animated by Heaven—a
genius superior to himself. The list of
splendid, titled, learned names, in confirmation
of her being the real authoress, alas!
shews how very poor the acquisition of wealth
and knowledge are—without generosity—feeling—and
humanity.—These good great
folks all knew—and perhaps admired—nay,
praised Genius in bondage—and then, like
the Priests and the Levites in sacred writ,
passed by—not one good Samaritan amongst
them.—I shall be ever glad to see you—and
am, with many thanks,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your most humble servant.</p>
<p class="signature">
IGNATIUS SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[p. 161]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LIX_TO_MR_W_mdashE"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="59">LIX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. W——E</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, March 12, 1778.</p>
<p class="firstpara">WILL you forgive me—if I take the
liberty to trouble you with getting my enclosed
plan inserted in the General Advertiser,
or Morning Intelligencer, as speedily as
they conveniently can, if after you have
perused it, you think it admissable?—if not,
destroy it; for I have not yet vanity sufficient
to think whatever I privately approve must
of course be approveable.—I send you the
copy of what real affection made me draw
up for the late unfortunate Dr. Dodd<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a>
(which, as it never was inserted, I must
believe the learned editor thought it too
insignificant for the laudable service it was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[p. 162]</span>
meant to help).—My respects attend your
whole family.—I am, dear Sir,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">I prefer Mr. Parker’s paper for many reasons;—let
me have your opinion of my
plan—for, in serious truth, I think it ought
to be put in execution.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p>
<a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> Mr. Sancho also wrote to Dr. Dodd when in prison.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak fs100" id="For_THE_GENERAL_ADVERTISER2">For<span class="gesperrt1"> THE GENERAL ADVERTISER</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Palace Yard, March 12, 1778.</p>
<p class="sp1 gesperrt1">
SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">THE Romans were wont to decree public
honors on the man who was so fortunate
as to save the life of a citizen; a noble
act of policy, founded on true humanity,
to stimulate the endeavours of every
individual towards acts of benevolence and
brotherly regard to each other. Actuated
by zeal to my prince, and love to my country—I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[p. 163]</span>
mean to deserve well of both, by
publishing, through the channel of your paper,
a plan for greatly diminishing the national
debt; or, in case a war with the House
Bourbon should be inevitable, for raising
three or four years supplies, without oppresing
the merchant, mechanic, or labouring
husbandman; in short, without abridging
one needful indulgence, or laying any fellow-subject
under the least self-denying restraint.</p>
<p>Mr. Editor, we all know that in noble
families plate is merely ideal wealth—and
in very many houses of your first connexions
and over-grown fortunes, there are vast quantities
of it old and useless, kept merely for
the antiquity of its fashion, and the ostentatious
proof of the grandeur of ancestry.
Our neighbours the French (if I mistake
not) in the last war had the spirit (when
the treasures of their Grand Monarque were
nearly exhausted) to send their plate generously
to the mint, in aid of national honour
and security. Their churchmen have
often shewn the laity the glorious example
of aiding the state. We, to our immortal
honour, have never yielded them the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[p. 164]</span>
palm in courage, wisdom, or gallantry.
Let every gentleman, whose landed property
exceeds 500<i><abbr title="pounds">l.</abbr></i> <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">per annum</i>, give up,
without reserve, his useful family plate, all
except knives, forks, and spoons, which
may be deemed useful and necessary. I
trust, such is the exalted spirit of the British
nobility and gentry, that they will resign
with chearfulness what they can so well
do without. Should this meet (as I hope
it will) with the chearful assent of the
public, let the quantities, so nobly given,
be printed against the names of the patriotic
donors, as a lasting testimony of their
zeal for the public good, and a glorious
proof of the internal riches of this queen
of isles!</p>
<p class="right sp1">
<span class="smcap gesperrt05">Africanus.</span></p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[p. 165]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak fs100" id="To_the_Editor_of_the_MORNING_POST">To the Editor of the <span class="gesperrt1">MORNING POST</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="sp1 gesperrt1">
SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I AM one of the many who have been
often edified by the graceful eloquence and
truly Christian doctrine of the unfortunate
Dr. Dodd.—As a Divine, he had, and still
has, my love and reverence; his faults I regret;
but, alas! I feel myself too guilty to
cast a stone: justice has her claims;—but
Mercy, the anchor of my hope, inclines
me to wish he might meet with Royal clemency—his
punishments have already been
pretty severe!—the loss of Royal favor—the
cowardly attacks of malicious buffoonry—and
the over-strained zeal for rigid justice
in the prosecution.—Oh! would to God the
reverend bishops, clergy, &c. would join
in petitioning the Throne for his life!—it
would save the holy order from indignity,
and even the land itself from the reproach
of making too unequal distinctions in punishments.
He might, by the rectitude
of his future life, and due exertion of his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[p. 166]</span>
matchless powers, be of infinite service—as
chaplain to the poor convicts on the river,
which would be a punishment, and, at the
same time, serve for a proof or test of
his contrition—and the sincerity of a zeal
he has often manifested (in the pulpit) for
the service of true Religion—and he may
rise the higher by his late fall—and do more
real service to the thoughtless and abandoned
culprits, than a preacher, whose character
might perhaps be deemed spotless. If
this hint should stimulate a pen, or heart,
like the good B——p of Chester’s, to exert
itself in the behalf of a man who has
formerly been alive to every act of heaven-born
charity—the writer of this will have
joy, even in his last moments, in the reflection
that he paid a mite of the vast
debt he owes Dr. Dodd as a preacher.</p>
<p class="signature">
I—— S——.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[p. 167]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LX_TO_MRS_H_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="60">LX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. H——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, April 9, 1778.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR MADAM,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I HAVE to thank you for repeated favors—and
I do most sincerely.—You have
a pleasure in doing acts of kindness—I wish
from my soul that your example was more
generally imitated.—I have given to the
care of Mr. W—— one of Giardini’s benefit-tickets—which
I present not to you,
Madam, but to Mr. H——, that he may
judge of fidlers’ taste and fidlers’ consequence
in our grand metropolis—the ticket was a
present from the great Giardini to the lowly
Sancho—and I offer it as a tribute of musical
affection to thy worthy partner—and with
it, to both, the sincereest best wishes and
respects of their much obliged servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[p. 168]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXI_TO_MR_J_mdash_WmdashmdashE"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="61">LXI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. J—— W——E.</span></h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
May 4, 1778.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR W——E,</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOUR short letter gave me much pleasure—which
would have been enlarged, had
your epistle been longer;—but I make allowances—as
I ought—for the number of
friends who wish equally with me—and expect
to be gratified. You are greatly fortunate
in enjoying your health—for which
I doubt not but you are truly thankful to
the Almighty Giver.—As to your success, it
is the best comment upon your conduct;—for
rectitude of principle and humble
deportment, added to strict attention and
good-nature, must make even fools and
knaves wish you well—though envy will mix
itself with the transient kindness of such—but
with such noble natures as you went
out happily connected with, you are every
day sowing the good seeds of your future<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[p. 169]</span>
fortune.—I hope to live to see you return—the
comfort and honor of your good
father and family;—but observe—I do not
wish you half a million, clogged with the
tears and blood of the poor natives;—no—a
decent competence got with honesty—and
that will keep increasing like the
widow’s cruse, and descend down to posterity
with accumulated blessings.—You desire
to transfer your share in me to your
brother Joe;—now be it known to you—Joe
has interest sufficient in his own natural
right with me, to secure him every attention
in my poor power. But you flatter, my good
friend—though your flattery carries a good
excuse with it—you flatter the poor.</p>
<p>I say nothing of politics—I hate such subjects;—the
public papers will inform you of
mistakes—blood—taxes—misery—murder—the
obstinacy of a few—and the madness and
villainy of a many.—I expect a very, very
long letter from you—in answer to a sermon
I wrote you last year.—Miss —— is still
divinely fair;—she is a good girl, but no
match for Nabobs.—Mrs. C—— is as
handsome as ever—and R—— as friendly.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[p. 170]</span>
God bless them! feasting or fasting! sleeping
or waking! May God’s providence watch
over and protect them—and all such!—Your
brother Frank is a sweet boy—a painter,
who would wish to draw a cherub, will
find no fitter subject.—The C——ds—but
what have I to do with good people, who
will of course all write for themselves?—so
let them.—Your father—Oh Jack! what a
cordial!—what a rich luxury is it to be able
to contribute, by well-doing, to a father’s,
nay a whole family of kindred love, and
heart-felt affection! what a bliss to add to
all their happiness—and to insure your own
at the same time!—May this high pleasure
be thine! and may the God of truth and
fountain of all good enrich thy heart and
head with his spirit and wisdom—crown
your labours with success—and guard you
from avarice—ambition—and every Asiatic
evil—so that your native land may receive
you with riches and honor—your friends
with true joy—heightened with sincere respect!
So wishes—so prophesies—thy true
friend and obliged servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[p. 171]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXII_TO_MISS_C_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="62">LXII.</abbr></h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, May 9, 1778.</p>
<p class="center sp2"><span class="fs90 gesperrt1">TO MISS C</span>——.</p>
<p class="firstpara">THE Sanchos—in full synod—humbly
present their respectful compliments to the
good Mrs. C—— and Miss —— (what a
C——!) are happy in hearing they got well
into Suffolk—that they continue so—and
enjoy the beauties of this sweetest of seasons—with
its attendant dainties—fresh butter—sweet
milk—and the smiles of boon
nature—on hill and dale—fields and groves—shepherds
piping—milk-maids dancing—and
the chearful respondent carolings of
artless joy in the happy husbandmen—Should
you perchance rise early in pursuit of
May dew—I earnestly make it my request—you
will save—and bring to town a little
bottle of it for my particular use.—Happy—thrice<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[p. 172]</span>
happy nymphs—!—be merciful to
the poor hapless swains. The powerful little
god of mischief and delight now—at this
blest season—prunes his beauteous wings—new
feathers and sharpens his arrows—tight
strings his bow—and takes too sure his aim.—Oh!
lads, beware the month of May.
For you, blest girls—nature, decked out as
in a birth-day suit, courts you with all its
sweets where-e’er you tread—the grass and
wanton flowerets fondly kiss your feet—and
humbly bow their pretty heads—to the gentle
sweepings of your under-petticoats—the
soft and amorous southern breezes toy with
your curls, and uncontroul’d steal numberless
kisses—the blackbirds and thrushes suspend
their songs—and eye beauty and humanity
with pleasure;—and, could their
hearts be read, thank most sincerely the generous
fair hands that fed them in the winter;—the
cuckoo sings on every tree the joys
of married life—the shrubbery throws out all
its sweets to charm you—though, alas! an
unlucky parciplepliviaplemontis seizes my
imagination—my brains are on the ferment—Miss
C—— will excuse me.—Make my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[p. 173]</span>
best wishes to Mrs. C——, tell her I hope
she rides and walks in moderation—eats
heartily, and laughs much—sleeps soundly,
dreams happily—that she—you—my R——
and your connexions—may enjoy the good of
this life without its evil—is the true Black-a-moor
wish of</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Now mark, this is not meant as a letter—no—it
is an address to the ladies.—Pray
our best respects to Mr. and Mrs. B——;
it is an address to Spring-birds and flowers—and
when you see Johnny, our loves—it is
a caution to the swains against the popery of
Love.—The K—— and Q—— are just
now returned from Portsmouth.—I said nothing
in regard to the month by way of advice
to the ladies.—The Spectator—blessings
on his memory—has.—They say the Royal
chaise was covered with dirt—even the very
glasses.—Quistus Quirini—was found very
late last night.—Nothing broke—except the
hemmings of advantage.—They say the
Queen never looked better.—But what amaz’d
most people—both the Royal postillions
rode the off-horses—which it is expected<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[p. 174]</span>
the Gazette of this night will explain—Adieu.</p>
<p class="center sp2">
Is not that—<em>a good one</em>.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak fs125" id="From_the_PUBLIC_ADVERTISER_of_May_13th_1778">From the <span class="gesperrt1">PUBLIC ADVERTISER</span> of May 13th, 1778.</h2>
</div>
<p class="center">Inserted unknown to Mr. Sancho.</p>
<p class="center sp2">TO MR. B——.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I COULD not see Mr. de Groote till
this morning—he approached the threshold—poor
man—in very visible illness;—yet,
under the pressure of a multitude of infirmities—he
could not forget his recent humane
benefactor. With faultering speech he enquired
much who you were;—and, in the
conclusion, put up his most earnest petitions
to the Father of Mercies in your behalf—which
(if the prayers of an indigent genius
have as much efficacy as those of a fat bishop)<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[p. 175]</span>
I should hope and trust you may one day be
the better for.—He is in direct descent from
the famous Hugo Grotius by the father’s
side.—His own mother was daughter to Sir
Thomas Hesketh. He married the widow
Marchioness de Melaspina.—His age is 86;
he had a paralytic stroke—and has a rupture.—His
eyes are dim, even with the help of
spectacles.—In truth, he comes close to
Shakspeare’s description in his last age of
man—“Sans teeth—sans eyes—sans taste—sans
every thing.”</p>
<p>He has the honour to be known to Dr.
Johnson—and the luck to be sometimes remembered
by Mr. Garrick.—If you help
him—you do yourself a kindness—me a pleasure—and
he, poor soul, a good—which he
may one time throw in your teeth—in that
country where good actions are in higher estimation
than stars—ribbons—or crowns.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, most respectfully,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGNATIUS SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps center">He lodges at Nᵒ. 9, New Pye-Street, Westminster.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[p. 176]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXIII_TO_MR_R_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="63">LXIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. R——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="firstpara">MY good friend, take my thanks for
your kind attention;—and, believe me, I
am exceedingly mortified at being thus thrust
forward in the public prints.—You may observe,
by what has happened to me, how
very difficult it is to do even a right thing,
so as to escape uneasiness.—Trust me, this
same letter (though wrote, I dare say, with
the kindest intention imaginable) will do
me hurt in the opinion of many;—I therefore
repeat, I like it not—and dare own to
my friend R—— it hurts my pride.—You
may laugh—but it’s truth.—The drawing
was gone to my friend S——, but I recovered
it in time.—Hope the ladies are
well—and that it will amuse them for a few
moments. The young man who invented
the design is no artist—but I think he has
genius.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[p. 177]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXIV_TO_MISS_C_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="64">LXIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS C——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
May 14, 1778.</p>
<p class="firstpara">WHAT terms shall I find to express my
gratitude to the obliging, the friendly Miss
C——, for the pleasure we enjoyed from
the contents of the best letter that has been
wrote this good year?—You, who delight
to please, will also feel high satisfaction in
knowing you have succeeded.—We hope
the change of weather has had no ill effect
upon our friend—and that she will adhere
to her promise in remembering how ill she
has been—and that it is too probable any
cold got by over-exertion or fatigue may
occasion a relapse. We have had much
thunder and rain this morning—and, if old
saws say true, we are to expect a continuance
of about thirty-seven days good ducking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[p. 178]</span>
weather;—we will leave it to the all-wise
Disposer of events, with this comfortable
reflection—that whatever he wills—is best.—We
are happy to hear such an account
of the ——; she especially, as very likely
a good course of fatigue, sweetened with
gain, may contribute as much to her health
as her pleasure, and re-establish her perfectly.—We
have nothing stirring in the news
way, or any other way:—the town is literally
empty, saving a few sharks of both sexes,
who are too poor to emigrate to the camps
or watering-places, and so are forced to prey
upon one another in town.—I protest, it is
to me the most difficult of things to write to
one of your female geniuses;—there is a certain
degree of cleverality (if I may so call it),
an easy kind of derangement of periods, a gentleman-like—fashionable—careless—seesaw
of dialogue—which I know no more of than
you do of cruelty.—I write as I think—foolishly—and
you write well—why?—because
you think well.—So much for praise—compliment—flattery,
&c.—My respects attend
Mr. B—— and Mrs. S—— and Mrs. ——.
Tell Miss A——s, one of us will come to see<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[p. 179]</span>
her—perhaps.—I have received a kind letter
from my good friend the doctor—and one
also for the surgeon to the guards, dated New
York, June 12:—he thinks the commissioners
might have saved themselves the trouble,
as they are like to come back just as
wise as they went.—The Panton-Street good
folks are well, for what I know—not having
seen them since I last had the honor of addressing
Mrs. C——. Adieu.—Our best
respects—with Kitty’s and Billy’s in particular—attend
Monsieur Nuts<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a>;—pray tell
him so—with all civility;—he deserves it on
the score of his own merits—were it not
even so—yet surely, I think, we should regard
him for the sake of our friend.</p>
<p>Mrs. Sancho joins me, in every thing to
Self and Co.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, dear Miss C——,</p>
<p class="signoff2">with zeal and esteem,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p>
<a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> A favourite Spaniel.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[p. 180]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXV_TO_MR_I_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="65">LXV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. I——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
May 22, 1778.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I CLAIM your indulgence—and modestly
insist upon your help.—The companions to
this billet are the hobby-horses of a young
man that I respect.—Darley has used him
with less attention than he ought—having
kept the press affair above a month—and
done nothing—so he is (of course) out of
favor.—I want first your approbation—that
gained, I wish your interest, to get them
speedily into the world;—there are some inaccuracies
in both—which any regular artist
will amend.—As my friend is self-taught,
his errors must be excused.—I wish I could
wait upon you;—but my stiff joint—my leg—is
so unwell, that at present I must give
up any hopes of that pleasure.—I hope Mrs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[p. 181]</span>
I——’s health is perfectly restored.—I should
wish to win her over to our interests in the
affairs before you: in good faith, I like the
subject myself—and can fancy I discern
something like wit in both of them.—Forgive
and assist yours faithfully,</p>
<p class="right sp1">
<span class="smcap gesperrt05">Sancho</span> the Big.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXVI_TO_MR_H_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="66">LXVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. H——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Westminster, May 31, 1778.</p>
<p class="firstpara">THE Sanchonian chapter of enquiries,
dictated by an esteem nearly bordering upon
affection (perhaps as warmly sincere as most
modern friendships), runs thus—How do
you do? Are you the better for your journey?
Did the exercise create any amendment
of appetite? Was your travelling party
agreeable? And how did you find the good
couple?—The sweet sensations arising from
the sight of those we love, the reviewing
the places, either houses, fields, hedges,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[p. 182]</span>
stiles, or posts, of our early morn of life
acquaintance, the train of pleasurable ideas
awakened, are more salutary than the college
of grave faces.—Tell me much about
yourself—and more about your honored
parents, whom I hope you found as well as
you wished—your kindred at Lancaster, to
whom my hearty wishes—and to all who
have charity enough to admit dark faces into
the fellowship of Christians.—Say much for
me to your good father and mother—in the
article of respect thou canst not exaggerate;—excepting
conjugal, there are no attentions
so tenderly heart-soothing as the parental.—Amidst
the felicity of thy native fields, may’st
thou find health, and diffuse pleasure round
the respectable circle of thy friends!—No
news—but that Keppel is in chace of de-Chartres.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours truly,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">If you can afford a line, inclose it in the
inclosed.—Mrs. Sancho and girls wish you
every pleasure.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[p. 183]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXVII_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="67">LXVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
June 10, 1778.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">“’Tis with our judgements as our watches—none</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Go just alike—yet each believes his own.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class="right">
<span class="smcap">Pope.</span></p>
<p class="firstpara">SO, my wise critic—blessings on thee,—and
thanks for thy sagacious discovery!—Sterne,
it seems, stole his grand outline of
character from Fielding—and who did Fielding
plunder? thou criticizing jack-ape!—As
to S——, perhaps you may be right—not
absolutely right—nor quite so very <em>altogether</em>
wrong—but that’s not my affair.—Fielding
and Sterne both copied Nature—their
pallettes stored with proper colours of
the brightest dye—these masters were both
great originals—their outline correct—bold—and
free—Human Nature was their subject—and
though their colouring was widely
different, yet <em>here</em> and there some features in
each might bear a little resemblance—some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[p. 184]</span>
faint likeness to each other—as for example—in
your own words—Toby and Allworthy—the
external drapery of the two are as wide
as the poles—their hearts—perhaps—twins
of the same blessed form and principles;—but
for the rest of the Dramatis Personæ,
you must strain hard, my friend, before you
can twist them into likeness sufficient to
warrant the censure of copying.—Parson
Adams is yet more distant—his chief feature
is absence of thought. The world affords
me many such instances—but in the course
of my reading, I have not met with his
likeness, except in mere goodness of heart—in
that, perhaps, Jack M—— may equal
him—but then he is so confounded jingle-headed!—Read,
boy, read—give Tom Jones
a second <em>fair</em> reading!—Fielding’s wit is
obvious—his humour poignant—dialogue
just, and truly dramatic—colouring quite
nature—and keeping chaste.—Sterne equals
him in every thing; and in one thing excels
him and all mankind—which is the distribution
of his lights; which he has so artfully
varied throughout his work, that, the oftener
they are examined, the more beautiful they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[p. 185]</span>
appear.—They were two great masters, who
painted for posterity—and, I prophesy, will
charm to the end of the English speech.—If
Sterne has had any one great master in his
eye—it was Swift, his countryman—the first
wit of this or any other nation;—but there
is this grand difference between them—Swift
excels in grave-faced irony—whilst Sterne
lashes his whips with jolly laughter.—I
could wish you to compare (after due attentive
reading) Swift and Sterne—Milton and
Young—Thomson and Akenside—and then
give your free opinion to yours ever.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">I want a handful or two of good fresh
peach leaves—contrive to send me them
when opportunity serves—and word, at the
first leisure period, how Miss <em>Anne Sister-like</em>—<em>George
Grateful-look</em>—Mrs. &c. &c.—and
how your worship’s hip does.—You
had set up my bristles in such guise—in attacking
poor Sterne—that I had quite forgot
to give you a flogging for your punning grocery
epistle—but omittance is no quittance.—Swift
and Sterne were different in this—Sterne
was truly a noble philanthropist—Swift<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[p. 186]</span>
was rather cynical;—what Swift would fret
and fume at—such as the petty accidental <em>sourings</em>
and <em>bitters</em> in life’s cup—you plainly may
see, Sterne would laugh at—and parry off by
a larger humanity, and regular good-will to
man. I know you will laugh at me—do—I
am content;—if I am an enthusiast in any
thing, it is in favor of my Sterne.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXVIII_TO_MR_J_mdash_Wmdashmdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="68">LXVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. J—— W——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
1778.</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOUR good father insists on my
scribbling a sheet of absurdities, and gives
a notable reason for it—that is, ‘Jack will
be pleased with it.’—Now be it known to
you—I have a respect both for father and
son—yea, for the whole family, who are
every soul (that I have the honour or pleasure
to know any thing of) tinctured and leavened
with all the obsolete goodness of old times—so
that a man runs some hazard, in being seen
in the W——e’s society, of being biassed to
Christianity.—I never see your poor father—but
his eyes betray his feelings—for the hopeful
youth in India—a tear of joy dancing upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[p. 187]</span>
the lids—is a plaudit not to be equalled this
side death!—See the effects of right-doing, my
worthy friend; continue in the tract of rectitude—and
despise poor paltry Europeans—titled
Nabobs.—Read your Bible—as day
follows night, God’s blessing follows virtue;—honour
and riches bring up the rear—and
the end is peace.—Courage, my boy—I have
done preaching.—Old folks love to seem
wise—and if you are silly enough to correspond
with grey hairs—take the consequence.—I
have had the pleasure of reading most of
your letters, through the kindness of your
father.—Youth is naturally prone to vanity:
such is the weakness of human nature, that
pride has a fortress in the best of hearts.—I
know no person that possesses a better than
Johnny W——;—but although flattery is
poison to youth, yet truth obliges me to confess
that your correspondence betrays no
symptom of vanity—but teems with truths of
an honest affection—which merits praise—and
commands esteem.</p>
<p>In some of your letters which I do not
recollect, you speak (with honest indignation)
of the treachery and chicanery of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[p. 188]</span>
natives<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>.—My good friend, you should remember
from whom they learnt those vices:—the
first Christian visitors found them a
simple, harmless people—but the cursed
avidity for wealth urged these first visitors
(and all the succeeding ones) to such acts of
deception—and even wanton cruelty—that
the poor ignorant natives soon learnt to turn
the knavish and diabolical arts which they
soon imbibed—upon their teachers.</p>
<p>I am sorry to observe that the practice of
your country (which as a resident I love—and
for its freedom, and for the many
blessings I enjoy in it, shall ever have my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[p. 189]</span>
warmest wishes—prayers—and blessings;) I
say, it is with reluctance that I must observe
your country’s conduct has been uniformly
wicked in the East—West Indies—and even
on the coast of Guinea.—The grand object of
English navigators—indeed of all Christian
navigators—is money—money—money—for
which I do not pretend to blame them.—Commerce
was meant, by the goodness of the
Deity, to diffuse the various goods of the
earth into every part—to unite mankind in
the blessed chains of brotherly love—society—and
mutual dependence:—the enlightened
Christian should diffuse the riches of the
Gospel of peace—with the commodities of
his respective land.—Commerce, attended
with strict honesty—and with Religion for
its companion—would be a blessing to every
shore it touched at.—In Africa, the poor
wretched natives—blessed with the most
fertile and luxuriant soil—are rendered so
much the more miserable for what Providence
meant as a blessing:—the Christians’
abominable traffic for slaves—and the horrid
cruelty and treachery of the petty Kings—encouraged
by their Christian customers—who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[p. 190]</span>
carry them strong liquors, to enflame
their national madness—and powder and bad
fire arms, to furnish them with the hellish
means of killing and kidnapping.—But
enough—it is a subject that sours my blood—and
I am sure will not please the friendly
bent of your social affections.—I mention
these, only to guard my friend against being
too hasty in condemning the knavery of a
people, who, bad as they may be—possibly
were made worse by their Christian visitors.—Make
human nature thy study wherever
thou residest—whatever the religion or the
complexion, study their hearts.—Simplicity,
kindness, and charity, be thy guide;—with
these, even Savages will respect you—and
God will bless you!</p>
<p>Your father—who sees every improvement
of his boy with delight—observes that your
hand-writing is much for the better;—in
truth, I think it as well as any modest man
can wish:—if my long epistles do not frighten
you—and I live till the return of next spring—perhaps
I shall be enabled to judge how
much you are improved since your last favour.—Write
me a deal about the natives—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[p. 191]</span>
soil and produce—the domestic and interior
manners of the people—customs—prejudices—fashions—and
follies.—Alas! we
have plenty of the two last here—and what
is worse, we have politics—and a detestable
Brothers war—where the right hand is hacking
and hewing the left—whilst Angels weep
at our madness—and Devils rejoice at the
ruinous prospect.</p>
<p>Mr. R—— and the ladies are well.—Johnny
R—— has favourd me with a long
letter; he is now grown familiar with danger—and
can bear the whistling of bullets—the
cries and groans of the human species—the
roll of drums—clangor of trumpets—shouts
of combatants—and thunder of cannon—all
these he can bear with soldier-like fortitude—with
now and then a secret wish for
the society of his London friends—in the
sweet blessed security of peace and friendship.</p>
<p>This, young man, is my second letter;—I
have wrote till I am stupid, I perceive—I
ought to have found it out two pages back.—Mrs.
Sancho joins me in good wishes—I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[p. 192]</span>
join her in the same;—in which double sense
believe me,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="pshead">
Postscript. (Very short.)</p>
<p class="sp1">It is with sincere pleasure I hear you have
a lucrative establishment—which will enable
you to appear and act with decency;—your
good sense will naturally lead you to proper
œconomy—as distant from frigid parsimony,
as from a heedless extravagancy;—but as you
may possibly have some time to spare upon
your hands for necessary recreation—give me
leave to obtrude my poor advice.—I have
heard it more than once observed of fortunate
adventurers—they have come home enriched
in purse—but wretchedly barren in intellects:—the
mind, my dear Jack, wants food—as
well as the stomach;—why then should not
one wish to increase in knowledge as well as
money?—Young says—“Books are fair
Virtue’s advocates and friends:”—now my
advice is—to preserve about 20<i><abbr title="pounds">l.</abbr></i> a year for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[p. 193]</span>
two or three seasons—by which means you
may gradually form a useful, elegant, little
library.—Suppose now the first year you
send the order and the money to your father—for
the following books—which I recommend
from my own superficial knowledge as
useful.—A man should know a little of Geography—History,
nothing more useful, or
pleasant.</p>
<p>
Robertson’s Charles the Fifth, 4 vols.</p>
<p>Goldsmith’s History of Greece, 2 vols.</p>
<p>Ditto, of Rome, 2 vols.</p>
<p>Ditto, of England, 4 vols.</p>
<div class="noindent">
<p>Two small volumes of Sermons—useful—and
very sensible—by one Mr. Williams, a dissenting
minister—which are as well as fifty—for
I love not a multiplicity of doctrines—a
few plain tenets—easy—simple and directed
to the heart—are better than volumes of controversial
nonsense.—Spectators—Guardians—and
Tatlers—you have of course.—Young’s
Night-Thoughts—Milton—and
Thomson’s Seasons were my summer companions
for near twenty years—they mended
my heart—they improved my veneration<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[p. 194]</span>
to the Deity—and increased my love to my
neighbours.</p>
</div>
<p>You have to thank God for strong natural
parts—a feeling humane heart;—you write
with sense and judicious discernment. Improve
yourself, my dear Jack, that if it
should please God to return you to your
friends with the fortune of a man in upper
rank, the embellishments of your mind may
be ever considered as greatly superior to your
riches—and only inferior to the goodness of
your heart. I give you the above as a sketch—your
father and other of your friends will
improve upon it in the course of time—I do
indeed judge that the above is enough at first—in
conformity with the old adage——“A
few Books and a few Friends, and those well
chosen.” Adieu. Yours,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="ctr">
<a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> Extracts of two letters from Mr. W——e to his Father, dated
Bombay, 1776 and 1777.</p>
<p>“1776. I have introduced myself to Mr. G——, who behaved very friendly
in giving me some advice, which was very necessary, as the inhabitants,
who are chiefly Blacks, are a set of canting, deceitful people, and of
whom one must have great caution.”</p>
<p>“1777. I am now thoroughly convinced, that the account which Mr. G——
gave me of the natives of this country is just and true; that they
are a set of deceitful people, and have not such a word as Gratitude
in their language, neither do they know what it is;—and as to their
dealings in trade, they are like unto Jews.”</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[p. 195]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXVIII_TO_MR_R_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="68">LXVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. R——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
July 16, 1773.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR M——,</p>
<p class="firstpara">S*** is a riddle—I will serve him if I can—were
I rich, he should have no reason
to despise me—but he must learn to try to
serve himself—I wish you would throw your
good sense upon paper for him—advice from
one of his own years would sink deeper than
the fusty phlegmatic saws of an old man—do,
in charity, give him half an hour’s
labour—I do really think that you and S***
have sense enough for a dozen young fellows—and
if it pleased God it were so divided—they
would each be happier, wiser, and
richer, than S*** or M——. And this by
the way of thanking you—pooh—will do
that when I see you—and if that never
happens, a good action thanks itself.—Mr.
Garrick called upon S—— on Tuesday night,
and won his heart; he called to pay poor de<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[p. 196]</span>
Groote’s lodgings, sat with him some time,
and chatted friendly.</p>
<p>I admire your modesty in grudging me
two letters for one—and greasing me with
the fulsoms of sneering praise—Sirrah, be
quiet—what, you Snoodle-poop! have you
any care—wife—or family? You ought to
write volumes—it gives expansion to your
thoughts—facility to your invention—ease to
your diction—and pleases your Friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Write, Knave—or—or—or—</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXIX_TO_MRS_C_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="69">LXIX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. C——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
July 23, 1778.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR MADAM,</p>
<p class="firstpara">SHALL I acknowledge myself a weak
superstitious Fool? Yes, I will tell the honest
truth—you have this foolish letter in consequence
of a last night’s dream—Queen Mab
has been with me—aye, and with Mrs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[p. 197]</span>
Sancho too—for my part, I dare not reveal
half my dream—but upon telling our night’s
visions over the tea-table at breakfast—it was
judged rather uncommon for us all to dream
of the same party.—Now, I own, I have
great reason to dream of you waking—for
you have been a true and uncommon friend
to me and mine—neither have I the least objection
to these nightly visits, so as I have
the pleasure to meet you (though but in
vision) in good health. Thy health is the
very thing that I doubt about—therefore
graciously let us know by the next post that
you are well, and mean to take every prudent
step so to continue. That you have left off
tea, I do much approve of—but insist that
you make your visitors drink double quantity—that
I may be no loser. I hope you find
cocoa agree with you—it should be made
always over-night, and boiled for above fifteen
minutes; but you must caution Miss C——
not to drink it—for there is nothing so
fattening to little folks. The R—ns waylaid
my friend R——, and pressed Dame
Sancho and self into the service last Sunday—we
had a good and social dinner; and Mrs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[p. 198]</span>
Sancho forced me to stay supper—I think the
Doctor looks as well as I ever saw him—indeed
I could read in his chearful countenance
that he left you well—I do not doubt but
you have paid a visit to the camp—and seen
brother O—— in his glory—I hope he will
have regard to his health, and for profit I do
think it must answer better to him than to
(almost) any other man in the country.
Pray be so kind to make our best respects
to Miss A——s, and to every one who
delighteth in Blackamoor greetings.—We
have no news but old lies—scoured and
turned like misers coats which serve very
well. We gape and swallow—wonder and
look wise—conjurers over a news-paper, and
blockheads at home.—Adieu! let me hear
that you are very well; it will please Mrs.
Sancho; and, if I know any thing of her
husband, it will be no less pleasing to your
much obliged humble servant and friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">N. B. I walk upon two legs now.</p>
<p class="ps">Our best respects to Miss C——, hope
she is intent upon camp fashions; but caution<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[p. 199]</span>
her, in my name, to be on her guard.
Cupid resides in camp by choice. Oh, Miss
C——! beware—beware of the little God.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. S.</p>
<p class="ps">Now this is writing to Miss C——.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXX_TO_MR_K_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="70">LXX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. K——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
July 23, 1778.</p>
<p class="firstpara">I RECEIVED yours with satisfaction,
as it gave me a certainty of your being
(upon the whole) much better. As to your
saying you are not girlishly inclined—why,
I give you credit for it.—Thou must watch—and
pray—for Satan is artful, and knoweth
all our weak parts—and that dirty little
blind feathered-shouldered scoundrel of a
boy, master Cupid—lurks couchant—in the
pupil of an eye—in the hollow of a dimple—in
the cherry-ripe plumpness of a pair of
lips—in the artfully timid pressure of a fair
hand—in the complimentary squeeze of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[p. 200]</span>
farewell—in short, and in one word, watch—watch.</p>
<p>So you forgot all I said about Charles the
Fifth—well, you gave your reasons—but
when you have got through your sugar-works—I
hope you will give due attention to Robertson:—his
first volume is the most learned,
and the dryest, yet absolutely necessary to be
read with great attention—as it will render
the other much more easy, clear, and intelligible—make
yourself tolerably acquainted
with the feudal system of Europe, which you
will find explained in his first volume—the
rest will amply reward you.—I recommend
to you to make extracts upon the
passages which strike you most—it will be of
infinite use to you—as I trust you will find
it as much a history of Europe during two
centuries, as of Charles the Fifth.—After all,
I shall fume and scold if you do not read
this work—and abuse you if you do not
relish it.—You flatter my vanity very agreeably—in
ever supposing that any hints of
mine should conduce to the culture of your
little farm:—be that as it may—I am
happy in the certainty of never intentionally<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[p. 201]</span>
misleading or misadvising any male
youth—I wish I could say, Virgin!—Farewell!
read, reflect! then write, and let me
have your opinions.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours sincerely,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXI_TO_MR_R_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="71">LXXI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. R——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
July 31, 1778.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">THANKS for your very valuable letter,
and its obliging companion:—your brother
writes in good spirits—but I fear the
m—n—ty members were right in their predictions
of the success of the commissioners.—Alas!
what desolation, destruction, and
ruin, bad hearts or bad heads have brought
upon this poor country!—I must, however,
give Mr. J— R—— another letter, he
fluctuates so terribly in his opinions—as
you will see by the contents of his letter to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[p. 202]</span>
me, which I hope you will soon enable me
to shew you.—Yes, I must and will give
him a flogging, which you will say is extremely
grateful, and a civil return for his
kindness in thinking of me.—I have had a
very kind and good letter from the little
wren;—we were pleased to hear Mrs. C——
had enjoyed so great a share of health;—she,
who is lovely even in sickness, with
the additional roseate bloom of health and
flow of spirits, will be almost too much for
meer mortals to bear:—tell her from me, to
get sick before she comes up, in pity to the
beaux.—Mrs. Sancho is better;—poor Kitty
goes on after the old sort;—the happiest, my
R——, in this life, have something to sigh
for!—alas! I have enough!—I feel much
pleasure in the happy view Mr. and Mrs.
R—n have before them;—I have no sort
of doubt but they will be successfully happy—I
should have true pleasure to see my
friend Mr. J. R—— in as likely a road.—I
have spoke and wrote to Mr. W——
to look out sharp.—Time, which ripens revolutions,
and murders empires—Time will,
I hope, produce happiness and content to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[p. 203]</span>
us all.—Your coming to town will give me
spirits; for, large as the town is, I cannot
say I have more than one friend in it:—come,
you and I shall be rich indeed; for,
I believe, few of the sons of Adam can boast
of having more than two real friends.—The
best respects to Mrs. C——, and the
amiable little C——, from</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
IGNATIUS SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXII_TO_MISS_C_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="72">LXXII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS C——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Sept. 4, 1778.</p>
<p class="firstpara">FOR this month past, we have wished to
hear something about you;—and every day,
for these two past weeks, have I had it
in serious contemplation to put the question
not to the amiable Miss C——, but to my
friend R——, who, notwithstanding your
friendly excuse, is, I do think, rather culpable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[p. 204]</span>
for his silence.—But hang recrimination;
your goodness is more than sufficient to exculpate
a thousand such sinners. We thank
you, with heart-felt pleasure, for the information
of our and your dear friend Mrs.
C——’s health, which I hope she will be
careful of, for our and many sakes.—I have
a favour to beg of her, through your mediation,
which is this—I have a pair of Antigua
turtles—the gift of Mr. P——, who
kindly burthened himself with the care of
them. The true property is vested in Kitty;—but
so it is—we having neither warmth
nor room, and Kitty’s good godmother
having both, and that kind of humanity
withal which delighteth in doing good to
orphans—I, in the name of Kate and her
doves, do through you—our trusty council—petition
Mrs. C—— in behalf of said
birds.—Were I poetically turned—what a
glorious field for fancy flights—such as the
blue-eyed Goddess with her flying carr—her
doves and sparrows, &c. &c.—Alas!
my imagination is as barren as the desart
sands of Arabia;—but, in serious truth,
the shop (the only place I have to put them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[p. 205]</span>
in) is so cold, that I shall be happy to billet
them to warmer quarters, which shall be
done as soon as Mrs. C—— announces
her consent, and empowers Molly to take
them in.—As to news—we have none worth
heeding!—your camps have ruined all trade—but
that of hackney-men. You much
surprize us in the account of your late fair
visitant—but pleased us more in the account
of O——’s success: the season has been,
through God’s blessing, as favourable as his
friends;—he is a lucky soul.—The S——s
are both well, I hope, to whom pray be so
kind to remember us:—as to friend R——,
tell him, that whatever censure his omissions
in writing may draw upon him, when the
goodness of his heart, and urbanity of soul,
is flung into the other scale, the faulty scale
kicks the beam—we forgive, because we love—and
love sees no faults.</p>
<p>Mrs. Sancho joins me in love and good
wishes to both of you.—Kitty has been very
poorly for above a month past, and continues
but very so, so.—Betsy mends fast;—Billy
needs no mending at all—the rest are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[p. 206]</span>
well—and all join in respects and compliments
to Nutts.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
I am,</p>
<p class="signoff2">Dear Miss C— and Co’s</p>
<p class="signoff3">Most obliged,</p>
<p class="signoff4">humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXIII_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="73">LXXIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Sept. 16, 1778.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR M——,</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOURS just received—and by great good
luck I have found Mr. B—’s list, which I
inclose—and God speed your labours! Poor
—— sets off this evening for ——, to take
one parting look of his ——, and on Monday
sets off fresh for ——. Mr. H—’s anxieties
end in good luck at last; he also on Monday
enters in one of the best houses in the city.—On
Thursday I hope you will succeed in
your affair—and then my three Geniuses will<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[p. 207]</span>
be happy;—I have had plague and perplexity
enough with two of you.—When do you
think of coming to town? In my last was
some of the best poetry—that has—or was—aye,
aye. Pray, Sir, read it over once
more. Well, what do you, or can you, say
to it? Oh, envy—envy!—but, Mr. Monkey,
the wit and true poetry of that billet must
make amends for the shortness of it.—This
is Saturday night—consequently it must be
esteemed a favour that I write at all:—my
head aches—and, though my invention
temes with brilliancies, I can only remember
that I am very much</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXIV_TO_MISS_C_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="74">LXXIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS C——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
October 1, 1778.</p>
<p class="firstpara">IT is recorded of some great personage, I
forget who, that they had so pleasing a
manner in giving a refusal, that the <em>Refused</em><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[p. 208]</span>
has left <em>them</em> with more satisfaction under a
rejection—than many have experienced
from receiving a <em>favour</em> conferred with perhaps
more kindness than <em>grace</em>.—So it fares
with me—I had anticipated the future happiness
of my new friends—the comforts of
warmth—the pleasures of being fed and
noticed, talked to and watched by the best
heart and finest face within a large latitude—but
I am content—I am certain of the <em>inconveniency</em>—and
my best thanks are due, which
I pray you make with our best wishes.—I
am sorry, both for O—— and my friend’s
sake, that the camp breaks up so soon—as to
brother O——, his harvest has, I hope,
been plentiful and well got in—my friend
poor S——, like most modest men of merit,
is unlucky—he set out before I got either
my friend R——’s or your letter—his best
way is to turn about—and may good luck
over take him—detain him—fill his pockets—and
send him in glee home again!—This
is more to be wished than expected.—If he
falls in your way, I shall envy him—he will
meet Hospitality and the Graces.—Betsy and
Kitty are both invalids—Mrs. Sancho is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[p. 209]</span>
well, and joins me in every good wish.—Next
month I hope brings you all to town—bring
health and spirits with you.—We have
no news—no trade! consequently no money
or credit.</p>
<p>Give Mr. R—— my thanks for his
friendly letter in your kindest manner—and
say all to our worthy esteemed friend Mrs.
C—— that gratitude can conceive and friendship
dictate—in the names of all the Sanchos,
and at the head place</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXV_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="75">LXXV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>,</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Yours just received, Thursday,<br />
Oct. 4, 1778.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">“Whatever—is—is right—the world, ’tis true,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Was made for Cæsar—and for Billy too.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class="firstpara">POVERTY and Genius were coupled
by the wisdom of Providence, for wise and
good ends no doubt—but that’s a mystery.—I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[p. 210]</span>
feel for and pity you.—A pox upon pity
and feelings—say I, they neither fill the
belly, nor cloath the body—neither will they
find lodging or procure an inside birth in a
rascally stage—Thee and I too well know all
this—but as I am at this present moment,
thank fortune! not quite worth ten shillings,
pity—cursed foolish pity—is, with as silly
wishes, all I have to comfort you with.—Were
I to throw out my whole thoughts
upon paper, it would take a day’s writing,
and thou would’st be a fool to read it—one
dawn of hope I enjoy from the old saw—that
“gloomy beginnings are for the most part
blessed with bright endings:”—may it
be so with you, my friend!—at the worst,
you can only face about—and your lodgings
and old friends will cordially receive you—for
my part, I have use for every mite of my
philosophy—my state at present is that of
suspense—God’s will be done!</p>
<p>This letter will reach you by the hands of
a friend indeed—the best and truest I ever
found—a man who, if the worth of his heart
were written in his face, would be esteemed
by the whole race of Adam—he will greet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[p. 211]</span>
you kindly from the benevolence of his
nature—and perhaps will not dislike you the
more for the attachment which for thee is
truly felt by thy sincere friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Mrs. Sancho is well—Kitty mends very
slow—Billy improves in sauciness—the girls
are pretty good—Monsieur H—— rides uneasily—his
saddle galls him—his beast is restive—I
fear he will never prosecute long journies
upon him—he is for smoother roads—a
pacing tit—quilted saddle—snaffle bridle with
silken reins—and gold stirrups.—So mounted
we all should like; but I query albeit,
though it might be for the ease of our bodies,
whether it would be for the good of our
souls! Adieu.</p>
<p>Should you be so lucky to see B——, the
house of the worthy Baronet Sir C——
B——, mind I caution thee to guard thy
heart; you will there meet with sense that
will charm exclusive of beauty—and beauty
enough to subdue even were sense wanting—add
to this good-nature and all the charities
in one fair bosom.—Guard! guard thy
heart!</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[p. 212]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXVI_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="76">LXXVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
October 15, 1778.</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOU want a long letter—where am I to
find subject? My heart is sick with untoward
events—poor Kitty is no better—the Duke
of Queensbury ill, dangerously I fear—the
best friend and customer I have. M——
is just now come in—nay he is at my elbow—you
know I wish you well—and that we
all are well, Kitty excepted—so let M——
conclude for your loving friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">The above you are to consider as bread and
cheese. M—— will give you goose stuffed
with grapes<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a>. Mr. H—— called here last
night, and read yours:—he is worked sweetly—what
with his office late hours, and his
family’s odd humours—but all is for the
best.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p>
<a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> Alluding to Mr. S——’s last letter, wherein he had informed Mr.
Sancho, that that epicurean morsel was one of the many dishes with
which he had been regaled at a place where he had lately dined.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[p. 213]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXVII_TO_MR_R_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="77">LXXVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. R——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
October 16, 1778.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">ACCEPT my thanks—my best thanks—for
your kind readiness in obliging and
serving my friend S——. He has sense,
honour, and abilities—these we should naturally
suppose would insure him bread—but
that is not always the case:—in the race of
fortune, knaves often win the prize—whilst
honesty is distanced—but then mark the end—whilst
the knave full often meets his deserved
punishment, Honesty yoked with Poverty
hugs Peace and Content in his bosom.—But
truce with moralizing—though in serious
truth my heart and spirits are low—the
noble and good Duke of Queensbury is, I
fear, very dangerously ill: exclusive of gratitude
for past favours, and my own interest
in the hope of future, I grieve for the
public loss in him—a man who ennobled
his titles, and made greatness lovely by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[p. 214]</span>
uniting it with goodness:—if he dies—his
gain is certain, for he has served a Master
who will not wrong him—but the world will
lose a rare example, and the poor a friend!
He never knew a day’s illness till now for
fifty years past—his regularity of life and
serenity of mind are in his favour—but his
advanced life is against him—80 odd—the
great fear is a mortification in his leg—The
K—g and Q—n paid him a visit, as the
prints must have informed you—he came
to town on purpose to present himself at the
levee—to thank them for the honour done
him—he was taken ill the Sunday after their
Majesties visit—and came to town the Tuesday
after. I have been or sent daily to enquire
about him—and was there about
two hours ago. The faculty are pouring in
the bark—and allow his Grace strong wines
as much as he can drink.—<em>God’s will be
done!</em></p>
<p>Mr. S——n writes in raptures of you all.—I
wonder not at him—I only wish, for the
good of mankind, such characters as B——
house contains were more plenty.—Poor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[p. 215]</span>
Kitty continues much the same—the rest are,
thank God, well.—Mrs. Sancho joins me
in cordial wishes to self and ladies. Adieu,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours sincerely and gratefully,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXVIII_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="78">LXXVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
October 22, 1778.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">HAVE you never beheld a bust with double—no,
not double—but with two very different
profiles—one crying, and one laughing?—That
is just my situation at present:—for
poor de Groote—huzza!—is presented to the
Charter-house—by—bless him!—the good
Archbishop of Canterbury;—but, by a standing
law, he cannot be admitted till a fresh
quarter begins—and, as he says, he may be
dead by that time;—we will hope not;—well,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[p. 216]</span>
this is the laughing side.—The Duke of
Queensbury died this morning:—Alas! “I
ne’er shall look upon his like again!”—the
clearest head, and most humane of hearts:—I
have in common with many—many—a
heavy loss—I loved the good Duke—and not
without reason:—he is gone to reap a reward—which
St. Paul could not conceive in the
flesh—and which, I will be bold to say, they
both perfectly enjoy at this moment.—God
of his mercy grant!—that thee and I—and
all I love—yea—and all I know—may enter
eternity with as promising hopes—and realize
the happiness in store for such as the
Duke of Queensbury!</p>
<p>Lord Lincoln died on his passage;—the
news came last night; but he has left a son
and daughter.</p>
<p>T—— is well—but still plagued with his
uncouth kinsfolk.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Adieu, Yours, &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Kitty very poorly, the rest all well.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[p. 217]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXIX_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="79">LXXIX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Nov. 29, 1778.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR S——,</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOURS, dated from Madrass, came safe
to hand.—I need not tell you that your account
pleased me—and the style of your letter
indicated a mind purged from its follies,
and a better habit of thinking, which I trust
happily preceded a steadier course of action.—I
know not whether or not Providence
may not, in your instance, produce much
good out of evil.—I flatter myself you will
yet recover, and stand the firmer in your future
life, from the reflection (bitter as it is)
of your former.—I have no doubt but you
received my letter charged with the heavy
loss of your great, your noble, friendly benefactress
and patroness, the good Dutchess
of Q——y: she entered into bliss, July 17,
1777, just two days after you sailed from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[p. 218]</span>
Portsmouth.—I have now to inform you,
that his Grace followed her October 21st
this year; just fifteen months after his good
Dutchess, full of years and honors: he is
gone to join his Dutchess, and share in the
rewards of a righteous God, who alone
knew their merits, and alone could reward
them.</p>
<p>Thus it has pleased God to take your
props to himself;—teaching you a lesson, at
the same time, to depend upon an honest
exertion of your own industry—and humbly
to trust in the Almighty.</p>
<p>You may safely conclude now, that you
have not many friends in England:—be it
your study, with attention, kindness, humility,
and industry, to make friends where
you are.—Industry, with good-nature and
honesty, is the road to wealth.—A wise
œconomy—without avaricious meanness, or
dirty rapacity—will in a few years render
you decently independent.</p>
<p>I hope you cultivate the good-will and
friendship of L——. He is a jewel—prize
him—love him—and place him next your
heart;—he will not flatter or fear you—so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[p. 219]</span>
much the better—the fitter for your friend:—he
has a spirit of generosity—such are never
ungrateful;—he sent us a token of his
affection, which we shall never forget.—Let
me counsel you, for your character’s sake,
and as bound in honour, the first money
you can spare, to send over 20<i><abbr title="pounds">l.</abbr></i> to discharge
your debt at Mr. P——’s the sadler:—it
was borrowed money, you know.—As for
me, I am wholly at your service to the extent
of my power;—but whatever commissions
you send over to me, send money,
or I stir none;—thou well knowest my
poverty—but ’tis an honest poverty—and I
need not blush or conceal it.—You also are
indebted to Mr. O——, Bond-street:—what
little things of that kind you can recollect,
pay as soon as you are able;—it will
spunge out many evil traces of things past
from the hearts and heads of your enemies—create
you a better name—and pave the
way for your return some years hence into
England with credit and reputation.—Before
I conclude, let me, as your true friend, recommend
seriously to you to make yourself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[p. 220]</span>
acquainted with your Bible:—believe me,
the more you study the word of God, your
peace and happiness will increase the more
with it.—Fools may deride you—and wanton
youth throw out their frothy gibes;—but
as you are not to be a boy all your life—and
I trust would not be reckoned a fool—use
your every endeavour to be a good man—and
leave the rest to God.—Your letters
from the Cape, and one from Madeira, I
received; they were both good letters, and
descriptions of things and places.—I wish to
have your description of the sort and town
of Madrass—country adjacent—people—manner
of living—value of money—religion—laws—animals—fashions—taste,
&c. &c.—In
short, write any thing—every thing—and,
above all, improve your mind with
good reading—converse with men of sense,
rather than the fools of fashion and riches—be
humble to the rich—affable, open, and
good-natured to your equals—and compassionately
kind to the poor.—I have treated
you freely in proof of my friendship.—Mrs.
S——, under the persuasion that you are
really a good man, sends her best wishes—when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[p. 221]</span>
her handkerchief is washed, you
will send it home—the girls wish to be
remembered to you, and all to friend
L——n.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXX_TO_MR_I_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="80">LXXX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. I——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Jan. 1, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">IN compliance with custom, I beg leave to
wish Mr. and Mrs. I—— happy years—many
or few, as the Almighty shall think
fit—but may they be happy! As I wish it
sincerely, their obligation is of course the
greater—and, to oblige them yet more, I
will put it in their power to oblige me,
which they can do by lending me the volume
of Annual Registers (I think it is that
of 1774) which has Goldsmith’s Retaliation
in it.—I hope Mr. and Mrs. I—— have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[p. 222]</span>
no complaints but the general one, extreme
coldness of the weather, which though happily
extempted themselves from much suffering,
by good fires and good cheer, yet I am sure
their sympathizing hearts feel for the poor.—I
find upon inquiring, that ten o’clock in
the morning will best suit Mr. L——; I
will be in Privy Gardens just five minutes
before Mr. and Mrs. I—— and Mr. Mortimer.—I
hope Mrs. I—— will not pretend
to repent—Sunday is a lazy morning. If
Mrs. I—— has not read Ganganelli, it is
time she should. I therefore take the liberty
to send them—<em>them</em>, Mr. I—— will say, is
bad grammar—he is, madam, a good natured
critic—I address myself to you therefore,
because my heart tells me you will be a successful
advocate for the blunders of a true
Blackamoor.—I have had the confidence to
mark the passages that pleased me most in
my post-haste journey through the good
Pontiff’s letters—and I shall be vain, if Mrs.
I—— should like the same passages, because
it would give a sanction to the profound
judgement of her most obedient servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[p. 223]</span></p>
<p class="ps">Note, The sixteenth letter, 1st verse, is
a kind of stuff which would almost turn me
to the Romish—there is every thing in it
which St. Paul had in his heart.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXXI_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="81">LXXXI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Jan. 1779.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">“Beyond the fix’d and settled rules</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Of Vice and Virtue in the schools,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Beyond the letter of the Law,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Which keeps mere formalists in awe,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“The better sort do set before ’em</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“A Grace—a manner—a decorum;</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Something that gives their acts a light;</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Makes ’em not only just—but bright,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“And sets ’em in such open fame,</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Which covers—<em>quality</em>—with shame.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class="firstpara">JUDICIOUSLY elegant Prior has befriended
me—and described my honoured
friend Mr. S——. I wish I knew which
way to shew my gratitude—the only method
I think of is to enjoy the benefits with a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[p. 224]</span>
thankful heart, and leave God in his own
good time to reward you.</p>
<p>I should last night have gratefully acknowledged
the receipt of your letter and
note—but I hoped for a frank—I am disappointed,
and a long delay would be unpardonable.—Be
assured, dear Sir, I shall (with
all the alacrity of a heavy man) bestir myself
in the execution of your generous order.—I
hope Mrs. S——, and every one of your
family, enjoy health and every good.—Mrs.
Sancho joins me in respects and thanks to
Mrs. S—— and yourself.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
I remain, dear Sir,</p>
<p class="signoff2">Your very obliged</p>
<p class="signoff3">and faithful servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[p. 225]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXXII_TO_MR_F_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="82">LXXXII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. F——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Jan. 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I HAVE just received your favour of the
20th instant. As to the letters in question;
you know, Sir, they are not now mine, but
the property of the parties they are addressed
to.—If you have had their permission, and
think that the simple effusions of a poor
Negro’s heart are worth mixing with better
things, you have my free consent to do as
you please with them—though in truth there
wants no increase of books in the epistolary
way, nor indeed in any way—except we
could add to the truly valuable names of
Robertson—Beattie—and Mickle—new
Youngs—Richardsons—and Sternes.—Accept
my best thanks for the very kind opinion
you are so obliging to entertain of me—which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[p. 226]</span>
is too pleasing (I fear) to add much
to the humility of,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Dear Sir,</p>
<p class="signoff2">Yours, &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXXIII_TO_MRS_I_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="83">LXXXIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. I——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Jan. 22, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR MADAM,</p>
<p class="firstpara">MY wife wishes to see Cymon—and my
wishes (like a civil husband) perfectly correspond
with hers.—I had rather be obliged
to you than any good friend I have;—for I
think you have an alacrity in doing good-natured
offices—and so I would tell the
Q——n if she dared dispute it: you are not
so great indeed—but I am sure you are as
good—and I believe her to be as rich in
goodness as she is high in rank. If my request<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[p. 227]</span>
is within the limits of your power,
you will favour us with the order soon in
the day. I have looked abroad for the wonder
you wished to be procured for you—but
have met with nothing likely hitherto.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours most gratefully,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXXIV_TO_MRS_H_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="84">LXXXIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. H——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Feb. 9, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR MADAM,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I FELICITATE you in the first place—on
the pleasing success of your maternal
care in restoring your worthy son to good
health—he looks now as well, fresh, and
hearty, as love and friendship can wish him.—Mrs.
Sancho joins me in hearty thanks for
your kind attention to our well-doing—and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[p. 228]</span>
your goodness in the very friendly order,
which I have endeavoured to execute with
attention and honesty.—As to news, there is
none good stiring—trade is very dull—money
scarce beyond conception—fraud! perfidy!
villainy! from the highest departments
to the lowest. The K—g, God bless him,
is beset by friends, which he ought to fear.—I
believe he has one true friend only; and
that is the Q—n, who is the ornament and
honour to the sex. Pray, dear Madam,
make my best respects to your good son and
daughter, Mr. J——, and all I have the
honour to know; our best thanks and wishes
attend Mr. H—— and yourself; and believe
me</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[p. 229]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXXV_TO_MR_G_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="85">LXXXV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. G——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Feb. 1779.</p>
<p>
SIR</p>
<p class="firstpara">THE very handsome manner in which
you have apologized for your late lapse of
behaviour does you credit.—Contrition—the
child of conviction—serves to prove the
goodness of your heart—the man of levity
often errs—but it is the man of sense alone
who can gracefully acknowledge it.—I accept
your apology—and, if in the manly
heat of wordy contest aught escaped my lips
tinged with undue asperity, I ask your pardon,
and hope you will mutually exchange
forgiveness with</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[p. 230]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXXVI_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="86">LXXXVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
March 9, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">IT has given me much concern, dear Sir,
the not having it in my power to make my
grateful acknowledgements sooner, for your
very kind letter, and friendly present which
accompanied it.—My first thanks are due to
Heaven, who, for the example as well as service
of mortals, now and then blesses the
world with a humane, generous Being.—My
next thanks are justly paid to you, who
are pleased to rank me and mine in the
honourable class of those you wish to serve.—For
these six past weeks, our days have
been clouded by the severe illness of a child,
whom it has pleased God to take from us:
and a cowardly attack of the gout at a time
when every exertion was needful.—I have
as yet but very little use of my hand;—but
I am thankful to have sufficient to exculpate
me from the vice of ingratitude—which
my long silence might lay me under<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[p. 231]</span>
the imputation of.—Mrs. Sancho begs me to
express her sense of your kindness; and
joins me cordially in the most respectful
sensations and best wishes to Mrs. S——
and yourself. I am, dear Sir,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
(and with very great reason)</p>
<p class="signoff2">Your much obliged</p>
<p class="signoff3">humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXXVII_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="87">LXXXVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
March 11, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I RECEIVED yours about three hours
since.—I give you due credit for your sympathizing
feelings on our recent very distressful
situation—for thirty nights (save
two) Mrs. Sancho had no cloaths off;—but
you know the woman. Nature never
formed a tenderer heart—take her for all in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[p. 232]</span>
all—the mother—wife—friend—she does
credit to her sex—she has the rare felicity
of possessing true virtue without arrogance—softness
without weakness—and dignity
without pride:—she is ——’s full sister,
without his foibles—and, to my inexpressible
happiness, she is my wife, and truly
best part, without a single tinge of my defects—Poor
Kitty! happy Kitty I should
say, drew her rich prize early—wish her
joy! and joy to Mortimer! He left life’s
table (before he was cloyed or surfeited with
dull sickly repetitions) in prime of years,
in the meridian of character as an artist,
and universally esteemed as a man:—he
winged his rapid flight to those celestial
mansions—where Pope—Hogarth—Handel—Chatham—and
Garrick, are enjoying the
full sweets of beatific vision—with the great
Artists—Worthies—and Poets of time without
date.—Your father has been exceeding
kind—this very day a Mr. W——, of Retford,
called on me, a goodly-looking gentleman:
he enquired after you with the anxious
curiosity of a friend;—told me your father
was well, and, by his account, thinks<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[p. 233]</span>
by much too well of me.—Friend H——
shall produce the things you wot of—and
brother O—— bring them in his hand:
H—— is a very silly fellow—he likes silly
folks; and, I believe, does not hate Sancho.—To-morrow
night I shall have a few
friends to meet brother O——; we intend
to be merry:—were you here, you might
add to a number, which I think too many
for our little room.—So I hear that the
—— No, hang me! if I say a word about
it.—Well, and how do you like the company
of Monsieur Le Gout? Shall I, in
compliance with vulgar custom, wish you
joy? Pox on it, my hand aches so, I can
scrawl no longer.—Mrs. Sancho is but so,
so;—the children are well.—Do write large
and intelligible when you write to me. I
hate fine hands and fine language;—write
plain honest nonsense, like thy true friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[p. 234]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXXVIII_TO_MR_W_mdashE"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="88">LXXXVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. W——E</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, March 31, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOU wish me to writ a consolatory letter
to Mrs. W——e. My good friend, what
can I possibly write but your good sense
must have anticipated? The soul-endearing
soothings of cordial love have the best and
strongest effects upon the grief-torn mind:—you
have of course told her that thanks
are due, greatly so! to a merciful God, who
might have bereaved her of a child, instead
of a worthy cousin;—or that she ought to
feel comfort—and to acknowledge divine
mercy—that it was not her husband:—that
to lament the death of that amiable girl,
is false sorrow in the extreme:—why lament
the great bliss and <em>choice prize</em> of what we
love?—what is it she has not gained by an
early death?—You will say—she was good—and
will suppose that in the tender connexions
of wife—friend—and mother—she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[p. 235]</span>
would have been an honoured and esteemed
example.—True, she might—and it is as
true, she might have been unhappily paired,
ill-matched to some morose, ill-minded,
uneven bashaw;—she might have fell from
affluence to want—from honour to infamy—from
innocence to guilt:—in short, we
mistake too commonly the objects of our
grief;—the living demand our tears—the
dead (if their lives were virtuous) our gratulations;—in
your case, all that can be
said is—earth has lost an opening sweet
flower (which, had it lasted longer, must of
course soon fade)—and heaven has gained
an angel, which will bloom for ever—so
let us hear no more of grief. We all must
follow.—No! let us rejoice, with your
worthy friend Mrs. ——<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a>. Joy to the
good couple! May they each find their respective
wishes! May he find the grateful
acknowledgement of obliged and pleasing
duty!—and she, the substantial, fond, solid
rewards due to a rectitude of conduct,
marked strongly with kindness and wisdom!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[p. 236]</span>
And may you, my friend!—but my leg
aches—my foot swells—I can only say, my
love to the C—ds, and to poor Joe and
Frank.—Read this to Mrs. W——e. My
silly reasoning may be too weak to reach
her;—but, however, she may smile at my
absurdities;—if so, I shall have a comfort—as
I ever wish to give pleasure to her dear
sex—and the pride of my heart is ever to
please one—alas!—and that one a wife.—So
writes thy true friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Mr. W——e comes as far as P—— Gardens—but
cannot reach Charles Street.</p>
<p class="indent4"><em>How’s that?</em></p>
<p>I hear my scheme of taxation was inserted
directly, and should be glad to see
the paper if easily got.</p>
<p class="indent4"><em>Vanity.</em></p>
<div class="footnote">
<p>
<a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> This union was remarkable for disparity of years; the bridegroom
being 78, the bride in the bloom of youth.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[p. 237]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_LXXXIX_TO_MR_L_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="89">LXXXIX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. L——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
May 4, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR CHILD,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I AM truly sorry to address this letter to
you at this season in the English Channel.—The
time considered that you have left us,
you ought in all good reason to have been a
seasoned Creole of St. Kitt’s;—but we must
have patience:—what cannot be cured, must
be endured.—I dare believe, you bear the
cruel delay with resignation—and make the
best and truest use of your time, by steady
reflection and writing.—I would wish you to
note down the occurrences of every day—to
which add your own observation of men and
things—the more you habituate yourself to
minute investigation, the stronger you will
make your mind;—ever taking along with
you in all your researches the word of God—and
the operations of his divine providence.—Remember,
young man—nothing happens<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[p. 238]</span>
by chance.—Let not the levity of frothy wit,
nor the absurdity of fools, break in upon
your happier principles, your dependence
upon the Deity—address the Almighty with
fervor, with love and simplicity—carry his
laws in your heart—and command both
worlds;—but I meant mere fatherly advice,
and I have wrote a sermon.—Dear boy, ’tis
my love preaches; N—— begged me to write
a line for him, as he said you wanted news—I
have none but what you know as well as myself—such
as the regard and best wishes of
Mrs. Sancho—the girls and myself—such as
wishing a happy end to your long-protracted
voyage—and a joyful meeting with your
worthy and respectable family;—and in order
to leave room for friend N——, I here
assure you I am your affectionate friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[p. 239]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XC_TO_MR_R_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="90">XC.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. R——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
May, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR WORTHY R——,</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOUR letter was a real gratification to a
something better principle than pride—it
pleased my self-love—there are very few
(believe me) whose regards or notice I care
about—yourself, brother, and O——, with
about three more at most—form the whole of
my <em>male</em> connexions.—Your brother is not
half so honest as I thought him—he promises
like a tradesman, but performs like a lord.—On
Sunday evening we expected him—the
hearth was swept—the kettle boiled—the
girls were in print—and the marks of the
folds in Mrs. Sancho’s apron still visible—the
clock past six—no Mr. R——. Now to tell
the whole truth, he did add a kind of clause,
that in case nothing material happened
of hospital business, he would surely do himself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[p. 240]</span>
the—&c. &c. &c.—So, upon the whole,
I am not quite clear that he deserves censure—but
that he disappointed us of a pleasure, I
am very certain.—You don’t say you have
seen Mr. P——. I beg you will, for I think
he is the kind of soul congenial to your
own.—<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Apropos</span>, the right hand side (almost
the bottom) of Gray Street, there is a Mrs.
H——, an honest and very agreeable
northern lady, whom I should like you to
know something of—which may easily be
done—if you will do me the credit just to
knock at her door when you go that way—and
tell her, there is a Devil that has not
forgot her civilities to him—and would be
glad to hear she was well and happy.—Mr.
R—— called on me in the friendly style—when
I say that, I mean in the R——
manner—he asked a question—bought some
tea—looked happy—and left us pleased:—he
has the Graces.—The gout seized me yesterday
morning—the second attempt—I looked
rather black all day:—tell Mrs. C——, I will
lay any odds that she is either the handsomest
or ugliest woman in Bath—and among the
many trinkets she means to bring with her—tell<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[p. 241]</span>
her not to forget health.—May you all
be enriched with that blessing—wanting
which, the good things of this world are
trash!—You can write tiresome letters! Alas!
will you yield upon the recept of this?—if not—that
palm unquestionably belongs to your
friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XCI_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="91">XCI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, June 16, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">IN truth, I was never more puzzled in my
life than at this present writing—the acts of
common kindness, or the effusions of mere
common-will, I should know what to reply
to—but, by my conscience, you act upon
so grand a scale of urbanity, that a man
should possess a mind as noble, and a heart as
ample, as yourself! before he attempts even<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[p. 242]</span>
to be grateful upon paper.—You have made
me richer than ever I was in my life—till
this day I thought a bottle of good wine a
large possession. Sir, I will enjoy your
goodness with a glad heart—and every deserving
soul I meet with shall share a glass with
me, and join in drinking the generous
donor’s health. Mrs. Sancho’s eyes betray
her feelings—she bids me think for her—which
I do most sincerely, and for myself,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XCII_TO_MR_H_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="92">XCII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. H——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
June 17, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR MADAM,</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOUR son, who is a welcome visitor
wherever he comes, made himself more welcome
to me by the kind proof of your regard
he brought in his hands.—Souls like yours,
who delight in giving pleasure, enjoy a
heaven on earth; for I am convinced that the
disposition of the mind in a great measure<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[p. 243]</span>
forms either the heaven or hell in both worlds.—I
rejoice sincerely at the happiness of Mrs.
W——, and may their happiness increase
with family and trade!—and may you both
enjoy the heartfelt delight of seeing your
children’s children walking in the track of
grace!—I have, to my shame be it spoken,
intended writing to you for these twelve
months past—but in truth I was deterred
through a fear of giving pain: our history
has had little in it but cares and anxieties—which
(as it is the well-experienced lot of
mortality) we struggle with it, with religion
on one hand, and hope on the other.</p>
<p>Mr. W——, whose looks and address bespeak
a good heart and good sense, called on
me.—I will not say how much I was pleased—pray
make my kindest respects to your
good partner, and tell him, I think I have a
right to trouble him with my musical nonsense.—I
wish it better for my own sake—bad
as it is, I know he will not despise it,
because he has more good-nature:—I hear a
good report of Mr. S——, and that his humanity
has received the thanks of a community
in a public manner.—May he! and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[p. 244]</span>
you! and all I love, enjoy the blissful feelings
of large humanity!—There is a plaudit—as
much superior to man’s as heaven is
above earth! Great God, in thy mercy and
unbounded goodness, grant that even I may
rejoice through eternity with those I have respected
and esteemed here!—Mrs. Sancho
joins me in love to yourself and Mr. H——.
Your son Jacob is the delight of my girls—whenever
he calls on us, the work is flung
by, and the mouths all distended with
laughter: he is a vile romp with children.—I
am, dear Madam, with true esteem and
respect,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your obliged servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XCIII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="93">XCIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
June 29, 1779.</p>
<p>A LITTLE fish—which was alive this
morn—sets out this eve for Bury—ambitious
of presenting itself to Mrs. S——: if it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[p. 245]</span>
should come good, the Sancho’s will be
happy;—in truth, Mr. S—— ought not to
be displeased—neither will he, I trust, if he
considers it as it really is—a grain of salt,
in return for favors received of princely
magnitude, and deeply engraven in the
hearts of his much obliged and faithful
servants,</p>
<p class="right sp1">
He and She <span class="smcap gesperrt05">Sancho’s</span>.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XCIV_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="94">XCIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 1, 1779.<br />
Coat and Badge.</p>
<p class="firstpara">BRAVO! So you think you have given
me the retort-courteous—I admit it.—Go
to! you are seedy, you are sly—true son, in
the right direct line, of old Gastpherious
Sly.—Your letter to S—n makes ample
amends for your impudence in presuming to
mount my hobby:—yes, I do affirm it to be
a good, yea, and a friendly letter.—The
leading-string thought is new, and almost<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[p. 246]</span>
poetic;—I watched him while he read it;—he
read it twice.—I judge he felt the force
of your argumentation.—May he avail himself
of your friendly hints! and may you
have the heart-felt satisfaction of finding him
a wiser being than heretofore! How doth
George’s mouth?—I honour you for your humane
feelings—and much more for your brotherly
affection;—but do not Namby-Pamby
with the manly exertions of benevolence:—what
I mean is—ah me! poor George—to be
sure ’tis well its no worse;—but the loss of a
tooth and a scar are so disfiguring!—Pooh,
simpleton, if his heart is right, and God
blesses him with health—his exterior will
ever be pleasing, in spight of the gap in his
gums, or scar above his chin. G—— is
likely—the rogue has a pleasing cherry phiz:
neither so old nor so mouldy as some folks,
not having been rocked in the cradle of flattery—he
has consequently more modesty than
his elders.—I could easily fill the sheet in
contrasting the merits of the two lads;—but
then it would (I plainly foresee) turn out so
much to the advantage of Prince Jacky—that
in mere charity I forbear—and shall conclude
with wishing both your heads to agree, as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[p. 247]</span>
well in good health, as in the many good
qualities which I have not time to enumerate.</p>
<p>Mrs. Sancho is pretty well—the girls and
Billy well,—I am sometimes better—sometimes
so, so.—I should have answered
you sooner; but yesterday was obliged
to write all day—though fast asleep the
whole time:—perhaps you will retort—that
it is the case with me at this present writing.
False and scandalous! I declare I was never
more awake.—Remember me to Mr. S——,
the ladies, and to thyself, if thou knowest
him.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Farewell. Thine, &c. &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XCV_TO_MR_I_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="95">XCV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. I——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 3, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I MUCH wish to hear that Mrs. I—— is
quite recovered—or in the best possible way
towards it. I have next to thank you for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[p. 248]</span>
your princely present—and to say I feel myself
rich and happy in the splendid proofs I
have of your regard.</p>
<p>You love a pun almost as well as Dennis.—I
shall contrive to be in your debt as long
as I live—and settle accounts hereafter—where,
I know no more than the Pope;—but
you, Sterne, and Mortimer, are there, sure
I am, it will be the abode of the blest.—But
to business—I am commissioned to get as
good an impression as possible of St. Paul
preaching to the Britons:—shall esteem it a
fresh obligation, if you will be kind enough
to chuse one, and send by the bearer.—I
return faith for pudding—and Mr. Sharpe’s
strictures upon Slavery;—the one may
amuse, if not edify—the other I think of
consequence to every one of humane feelings.—Do,
pray, let me know how Mrs.
I—— does;—with thanks, respects; and
why not friendship?</p>
<p class="signoff1">
I am dear Sir,</p>
<p class="signoff2">Yours, &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[p. 249]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XCVI_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="96">XCVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 14, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOU kindly gave me liberty to bring
Mrs. S——: the proposal did honour to
your heart—and credit to your judgement;—but
an affair has rendered that part of your
invitation inadmissible,—Now pox take bad
quills—and bad pen-makers!—Sir, it was
fifty pound to a bean-shell, but that you had
had a blot as big as both houses of parliament
in the very fairest, yea and handsomest,
part of this epistle:—my pen, like a
drunkard, sucks up more liquor than it can
carry, and so of course disgorges it at random.—I
will that ye observe the above simile
to be a good one—not the cleanliest in nature
I own—but as pat to the purpose as
dram-drinking to a bawd—or oaths to a serjeant
of the guards—or—or—dullness to a
Black-a-moor;—good—excessive good:—and
pray what—(oh, this confounded pen!)—what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[p. 250]</span>
may your Worship’s chief employ have
been?—You have had your Devil’s dance—found
yourself in a lazy fit—the ink-stand,
&c. staring you full in the face—you yawned—stretched—and
then condescended to scold
me for omitting what properly, and according
to strict rule, you should have done
yourself a month ago.—Zounds!—God forgive
us!——this thought oversets the patience—coat
and lining—of your right trusty
friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XCVII_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="97">XCVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 20 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">IN all doubtful cases, it is best to adhere to
the side of least difficulty.—Now whether
you ought to have shewn the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">politesses</i> of the
<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ton</i> in making enquiry after my Honour’s
health and travels—or whether my Honour
should have anticipated all enquiry—by sending
a card of thanks for more than friendly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[p. 251]</span>
civilities—is a very nice point, which, for
my part, I willingly leave to better casuists;—and
as I honestly feel myself the obliged
party—so I put pen to paper as a testimonial
of the same.—I will suppose your head improved—I
mean physically: I will also hope
your heart light—and all your combustible
passions under due subordination;—and then
adding the fineness of the morning—from
these premises I will believe that my good
friend is well and happy.</p>
<p>I hope George effected his wish in town:
if he has to do with people of feeling—there
is a something in his face which will command
attention and love—the boy is much
handsomer than ever you were; and yet
you never look better than when you look
on him:—would to God you were as well
settled!</p>
<p>The stage contained five good souls, and one
huge mass of flesh<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a>:—they, God bless them,
thought I took up too much room—and I
thought there was too little:—we looked at
each other, like folks dissatisfied with their
company—and so jolted on in sullen silence
for the first half hour;—and had there been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[p. 252]</span>
no ladies, the God or Goddess of silence
would have reigned the whole way:—for my
part, quoth I to myself, I have enjoyed true
pleasure all day—the morning was bright,
refreshing, and pleasant; the delicious bowl
of milk, the fresh butter, sweet bread, cool
room, and kind hostess—the friendly converse,
the walk—the animated flow of soul
in I— M——; the little but elegant treat,
high-seasoned with welcome.—Oh, Sancho,
what more could luxury covet, or ambition
wish for? True, cries Reason—then be
thankful:—Hold! cries Avarice, with squinting
eyes and rotten stumps of teeth—hungry,
though ever cramming;—it cost thee
one shilling and nine pence—one shilling
and nine pence I say.—What of that, cries
Œconomy, we eat fairly half a crown’s
worth.—Aye, cries Prudence, that alters the
case—od-so, we are nine pence in pocket,
besides the benefit of fresh air, fresh scenes,
and the pleasure of the society we love.—The
sky was cloudless, and, to do me a
particular favour, the moon chose to be at
full—and gave us all her splendor;—but our
envious mother Earth (to mortify our vanity)
rose up—rolling the whole way in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[p. 253]</span>
clouds of dust.—Contention flew in at the
coach-windows, and took possession of both
the females:—“Madam, if you persist in
drawing up the glass, we shall faint with
heat.”—“Oh dear! very sorry to offend your
delicacy; but I shall be suffocated with dust—and
my cloaths—” “I have cloaths to
spoil as well as other folks, &c. &c. &c.”
The males behaved wisely, and kept a stricter
neutrality than the French with the
Americans.—I chewed the cud of sweet remembrance,
and, with a heart and mind in
pretty easy plight, gained the castle of peace
and innocence about nine o’clock.—Well,
Sir, and how do you find yourself by this
time?—I sweat, I protest—and then the
bright God of day darts his blessings full upon
my shop-window—so intensely, that I
could fancy myself St. Bartholomew broiling
upon a gridiron.</p>
<p>Oh! thou varlet—down—down upon thy
knees, and bless thy indulgent stars for the
blessings—comforts—beauties, &c. of thy
situation—the Land of Canaan in possession
milk and honey—shady trees—sweet walks
covered with the velvet of nature—pleasant
views—cool house—and the superintendency<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[p. 254]</span>
of the sweet girls—to whom my love and
blessings—and, sirrah! mark what I say, and
obey me without reply: there is a plump
good-natured looking soul—I think you
called her Patty—my conscience tells me,
that I owe her something more than kind
words and cool thanks!—therefore tell her,
a man that notes particularly the welcome
of the eye—and saw plainly good-will and
good-nature in the expression of her honest
countenance—sends her a dish of tea—which
she must sweeten by her cheery acceptance
of it—from one who knows not how to
return the many, many obligations he has
received from the he’s and she’s of P——
house—exclusive of what he owes—and shall
be content ever to owe—the saucy rogue he
addresses.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Farewell. Yours, &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p>
<a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> Mr. Sancho was remarkable for corpulency.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[p. 255]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XCVIII_TO_MRS_C_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="98">XCVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. C——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Aug. 25, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">
<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">MA CHERE AMIE</span>,</p>
<p class="firstpara">IN the visions of the night—Behold I fancied
that Mrs. Sancho was in Suffolk—that
she saw strange places—fine sights—and good
people—that she was at B—— amongst
those I love and honor—that she was charmed
and enraptured with some certain good
folks who shall be nameless—that she was
treated, caressed, and well pleased—that she
came home full of feasts, kindness, and camps—and
in the conclusion dunned me for a
whole month to return some certain people
thanks—for what?—why, for doing as they
ever do—contrive to make time and place
agreeable—truly agreeable to those who are
so lucky to fall in their way: in truth, so
much has been said, and description has ran
so high, that, now I am awake, I long for
just such a week’s pleasure. But time and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[p. 256]</span>
chance are against me.—I awake to fears of
invasion, to noise, faction, drums, soldiers,
and care:—the whole town has now but two
employments—the learning of French—and
the exercise of arms—which is highly political—in
my poor opinion—for should the
military fail of success—which is not impossible—why,
the ladies must take the field,
and scold them to their ships again.—The
wits here say our fleet is outlawed—others
have advertised it—the republicans teem
with abuse, and the K—g’s friends are observed
to have long faces—every body looks
wiser than common—the cheating shop-counter
is deserted, from the gossiping door-threshold—and
every half-hour has its fresh
swarm of lies.—What’s to become of us?
“We are ruined and sold!” is the exclamation
of every mouth—the monied man
trembles for the funds—the landholder for
his acres—the married men for their families—old
maids—alas! and old fusty batchelors—for
themselves. For my part, I can
be no poorer—I have no quarrel to the Romish
religion—and so that you come to
town in health and spirits, and occupy the
old spot—so that the camp at Cavenham<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[p. 257]</span>
breaks not up to the prejudice of Johnny
O——, and my worthy R—— is continued
clerk at ——: in short, let those I
love be uninjured in their fortunes, and unhurt
in their persons—God’s will be done!
I rest perfectly satisfied, and very sincerely
and cordially,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Dear Madam, Yours,</p>
<p class="signoff2">and my sweet little Miss C——’s</p>
<p class="signoff3">most obedient</p>
<p class="signoff4">and obliged servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">I should have said a deal about thanks and
your kindness—but I am not at all clear it
would please you.—Mrs. Sancho certainly
joins me in every good wish—the girls are
well—and William thrives—our best respects
attend Mr. B—— and his good Lady—Mr.
and Mrs. S——. Adieu!</p>
<p>Pray make Mr. William Sancho’s and
my compliments acceptable to Nutts.—We
hope he is well, and enjoys this fine
weather unplagued by flies, and unbitten by
fleas.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[p. 258]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_XCIX_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="99">XCIX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 31, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOU have made ample amends for your
stoical silence—insomuch that, like Balaam,
I am constrained to bless—where, peradventure,
I intended the reverse.—For hadst thou
taken the wings of the morning—and searched
North, East, South, and West—or dived
down into the sea, exploring the treasures of
old Ocean—thou could’st neither in art or
nature have found aught that could have
made me happier—gift-wise—than the
sweet and highly finished portrait of my
dear Sterne. But how you found it—caught
it—or came by it—Heaven and you
know best!—I do fear it is not thy own
manufacturing.—Perhaps thou hast gratified
thy finer feeling at an expence which friendship
would blush for.—“But what have you
to do with that?” True—it may appear impertinent;
but could aught add to the value<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[p. 259]</span>
of the affair—it would be—its having
you—for its father;—but I must hasten to
a conclusion.—I meant this—not as an epistle
of cold thanks—but the warm ebullitions
of African sensibility.—Your gift
would add to the pride of Cæsar—were he
living, and knew the merits of its original—it
has half turned the head of a Sancho—as
this scrawl will certify. Adieu! The hen
and chicks desire to be remembered to you—as
I do—to all!—all!—all!</p>
<p class="signature">
I. S.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_C_TO_MR_I_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="100">C.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. I——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Sept. 2, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">IN truth I know myself to be a very troublesome
fellow—but as it is the general fate
of good-nature to suffer through the folly they
countenance—I shall not either pity or apologize.—I
have to beg you just to examine
my friend Laggarit’s petition: Mr. P——
does not seem to approve of it, but is for expunging<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[p. 260]</span>
almost the best half.—My friend
has tried to get the great E—— B——’s
opinion, but has met with a negative—he
being too busy to regard the distresses of the
lowly and unrecommended:—for my part,
I have as much faith in Mr. I——’s judgement
as in ——, and a much higher opinion
of his good-will;—and as Mr. P—— may
be partly hurried away by leaning rather
too much to republican modes, I dare say,
if he finds that your opinion coincides with
the sense of the petition as it now stands, he
will not be offended at its being presented
without his mutilations.—Mr. Laggarit is
fearful of offending any way, and has every
proper sense of Mr. P——’s zeal and good-will.—I
dare say, it will strike you as it does
me—that in the petitionary style every term
of respect is necessary; and although some
of the titles are rather profane, and others
farcical, yet custom authorizes the use, and it
is a folly to withstand it.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours to command,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">I hope Mrs. I—— is well as you would
wish her.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[p. 261]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CI_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="101">CI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Sept. 2, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOU can hardly imagine how impatient
I was to hear how they behaved to you at
B—h. I must confess, you give a rare account
of your travels. I am pleased much
with all the affair, excepting the cellar business,
which I fear you repented rather longer
than I could wish.—I had a letter from
my honest L——n, who takes pride to himself
in the honour you did him, and says
Mr. S—— pleases himself in the hope of
catching you on your return—when they
flatter themselves the pictures will merit
a second review:—but beware of the cellar!—I
hope you are as well known at Scarborough
as the Wells, and find more employment
than you want, and that you get
into friendly chatty parties for the evenings.—If
I might obtrude my silly advice—it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[p. 262]</span>
should be to dissipate a little with the girls—but,
for God’s sake, beware of sentimental
ladies! and likewise be on thy guard against
the Gambling Dames, who have their nightly
petite-parties at quadrille—and, with their
shining faces and smooth tongues, drain
unwary young men’s pockets, and feminize
their manners.—But why do I preach to
thee, who art abler to instruct grey hairs
than I am to dust my shop?—Vanity, which
has gulled mighty statesmen, misled poor
me; and for the sake of appearing wiser than
I am, I pray you, “set me down an ass!”
I inclosed a petulant billet to your Reverend
Sire, which I hope he did not send you.—There
is no news worth talking about in
town, excepting that it rains frequently, and
people of observation perceive that the
days are shorter.—Mrs. Sancho and children
are all well—and, I dare swear, wish
you so; in which they are heartily seconded
by</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours sincerely,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGNATIUS SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">How shall I know whether you get this
scrawl, except you send me word?</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[p. 263]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CII_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="102">CII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Sept. 4, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">THE <em>Lamb</em><a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> just now kindly delivered
to the <em>Bear</em><a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> the <em>Monkey’s</em><a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> letter.—I am
glad at heart that the forced exercise did
thy hip no hurt—but that M— of thine—I
do not like such faces!—if she is half what
she looks, she is too good for any place but
heaven, where the hallelujahs are for ever
chanting by such cherub-faced sluts as she!
Thank God! she is neither daughter nor
sister of mine—I should live in perpetual fear.—But
why do I plague myself about her?
She has a protector in you—and foul befall
the being (for no man would attempt it)
that wishes to injure her!—Mrs. D—— I
could like so well, that I wish to know but
very little of her!—strange, but true!—and
when you have been disappointed in your
schemes of domestic happiness, and deceived
in your too hasty-formed judgements to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[p. 264]</span>
the age of fifty, as oft as your friend, you
will fully enter into any meaning.</p>
<p>She looks open—honest—intelligently sensible—good-natured—easy—polite
and kind;—knowledge
enough of the world to render
her company desireable—and age just sufficient
to form her opinions, and fix her
principles;—add to all this an agreeable
face, good teeth, and a certain <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Je ne sai quoi</i>
(forgive the spelling, and do not betray me):—but
I say again, and again—when one has
formed a great opinion of either male or
female, ’tis best, for that opinion’s sake, to
look no further—there, rogue!</p>
<p>I shall take no notice of the tricking fraudulent
behaviour of the driver of the stage—<em>as
how</em> he wanted to palm a bad shilling upon
us—and <em>as how</em> they stopped us in the town,
and most generously insulted us—and <em>as how</em>
we took up a fat old man—his wife <em>fat</em> too—and
child;—and after keeping us half an
hour in sweet converse of the—of the <em>blasting</em>
kind—how that the fat woman waxed
wrath with her plump master, for his being
serene—and how that he caught choler at her
friction, tongue-wise;—how he ventured
his head out of the coach-door, and swore<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[p. 265]</span>
liberally—whilst his —— in direct line with
poor S——n’s nose—entertained him with
<em>sound</em> and sweetest of exhalations.—I shall say
nothing of being two hours almost on our
journey—neither do I remark that S——n
turned sick before we left G——, nor that
the child p— upon his legs:—in short, it
was near nine before we got into Charles
Street.</p>
<p>Sir, the pleasures of the day made us more
than amends for the nonsense that followed.—Receipt
in full.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">My best respects to Mr. Y——; and my
love, yea, cordial love to Nancy:—tell her—no,
if I live to see her again, I will tell
her myself.</p>
<p>Observe, we were seven in the coach;—the
breath of the old lady, in her heat of
passion, was not rose-scented;—add to that,
the warmth naturally arising from crowd
and anger—you will not wonder at S—t—’s
being sick—And he, S——, wanted to
be in town rather sooner.—My compliments
to George.—Mr. L—— is so kind to promise<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[p. 266]</span>
to call for this scrawl:—thank him
for me, as well as for thyself.—Adieu.—Mrs.
S—— pretty well, the two Fanny’s and
Kitty but indifferent.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p>
<a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> A Mr. Lamb.</p>
<p>
<a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> Meaning himself.</p>
<p>
<a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> Mr. M——, to whom he often gave that title.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CIII_TO_MRS_W_mdashE"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="103">CIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. W——E</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Sept. 5, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR MADAM,</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOUR wonder will be equal to your
indignation—when—(after due apologies for
the liberty of this address—and a few good-natured
protestations of friendship and so
forth—with an injunction to strict secresy)
I inform you that it is absolutely necessary
for your immediate setting out for Red-lion
Court.—Your good man is only running after
all the young gypsies about the neighbourhood—all
colours—black or fair—are alike;—this
is the effect of country air—and your
nursing.—The good man made his appearance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[p. 267]</span>
on Thursday evening last—the glow of
health in his face—joy in his eyes.—“Wife,
Joe, and little Frank all well, and myself
never better in my life;”—a pretty girl he
led by the hand—and, as if one petticoat
plague was not enough, he insisted upon
taking away two of mine—and carried his
point against every reasonable odds: away
they all went to the play—and God only
knows where else—I threatened him with a
modest report to Melchbourn, but he seemed
to care very lightly about it;—so I
humbly advise, as your best method of taming
him, either to insist upon his speedily
coming down to you—or else your immediate
setting out for home:—at present he only
attempts our daughters—but, should you
be absent a month longer, I tremble for our
wives;—for my part, I have some reason,
for here both wife and daughters are as fond
of Mr. W——e as they dare own—Seriously,
I think, you should coax him down, if only
for a fortnight; for it is amazing how
much better he is for the short time he was
absent—and this I take to be the pleasantest
and wholesomest time for the country, if the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[p. 268]</span>
evening dews are carefully guarded against—I
shall advise him strongly to take the other
trip—and I trust your documents, with the
innocent simplicity of all around him—fine
air—exercise—new milk—and the smell of
new hay—will make him ten thousand times
worse than he is—you won’t like him the
worse for that. My love attends cousins
I—— and F——.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
I am, dear Madam,</p>
<p class="signoff2">most sincerely yours to command,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGNATIUS SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Mrs. Sancho joins me in every thing but
the abuse of Mr. W——e.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CIV_TO_MR_R_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="104">CIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. R——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Sept. 7, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">WE are all in the wrong—a <em>little</em>.—Admiral
Barrington is arrived from the West<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[p. 269]</span>
India station—and brings the pleasant news,
that d’Estaigne fell in with five of our ships
of the line with the best part of his fleet.
We fought like Englishmen, unsupported by
the rest:—they fought till they were quite
dismasted, and almost wrecked;—and at last
gave the French enough of it, and got away
all, though in plight bad enough:—but the
consequence was, the immediate capture of
the Grenadas.—Add to this—Sir Charles
Hardy is put into Portsmouth, or Gosport;—and,
although forty odd strong in line of
battle ships, is obliged to give up the sovereignty
of the channel to the enemy.—L—d
S——h is gone to Portsmouth, to be a
witness of England’s disgrace—and his own
shame.—In faith, my friend, the present
time is rather <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">comique</i>—Ireland almost in as
true a state of rebellion as America—Admirals
quarrelling in the West-Indies—and
at home Admirals that do not chuse to
fight—The British empire mouldering away
in the West, annihilated in the North—Gibraltar
going—and England fast asleep.—What
says Mr. B—— to all this?—he is a
ministerialist,—for my part, it’s nothing to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[p. 270]</span>
me, as I am only a lodger, and hardly that.—Give
my love and respect to the ladies—and
best compliments to all the gentlemen—with
respects to Mr. and Mrs. I——.</p>
<p>Give me a line to know how you all do.—The
post is going—only time to say God
bless you.—I remain</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours affectionately,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Past eleven at night.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CV_TO_MISS_L_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="105">CV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS. L——</span>,</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Sept. 11, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">I CANNOT forbear returning my dear
Miss L—— our united thanks for her generous
present—which came exactly in time to
grace poor Marianne’s birth-day, which was
yesterday:—the bird was good, and well
dressed; that and a large apple-pye feasted
the whole family of the Sancho’s. Miss<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[p. 271]</span>
L—— was toasted; and although we had
neither ringing of bells, nor firing of guns,
yet the day was celebrated with mirth and
decency—and a degree of sincere joy and
urbanity seldom to be seen on R——l birth-days.—Mary,
as queen of the day, invited
two or three young friends—her breast filled
with delight unmixed with cares—her heart
danced in her eyes—and she looked the happy
mortal.—Great God of mercy and love!
why, why, in a few fleeting years, are all
the gay day dreams of youthful innocence
to vanish? why can we not purchase prudence,
decency, and wisdom, but at the expence
of our peace? Slow circumspect caution
implies suspicion—and where suspicion
dwells, confidence dwells not.—I believe I
write nonsense—but the dull weather, added
to a dull imagination, must, and I trust
will, incline you to excuse me:—if I mistake
not, writing requires—what I could tell you,
but dare not—for I have smarted once already.—In
short, I write just what I think—and
you know Congreve says somewhere,
that</p>
<div class="blockquotfull">
<p>“Thought precedes the will,”</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[p. 272]</span></p>
<div class="noindent">
<p>and</p>
</div>
<div class="blockquotfull">
<p>“Error lives ere Reason can be born.”</p>
</div>
<p>Now Will—Reason—and Gratitude, all
three powerfully impel me to thank you—not
for your goose—nor for any pecuniary
self-gratifying marks of generosity—but for
the benevolent urbanity of your nature—which
counsels your good heart to think of
the lowly and less fortunate.—But what are
my thanks, what the echoed praises of the
world, to the heart-approving sensations of
true charity!—which is but the prelude to
the divine address at the last day—“Well
done, thou good,” &c. &c—That you and
all I love—and even poor me—may hear
those joyful words, is the prayer of</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[p. 273]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CVI_TO_MR_I_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="106">CVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. I——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
October 3, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOU will make me happy by procuring
me an order from Mr. H—— for three,
any night this week—’tis to oblige a worthy
man who has more wants than cash;—believe
me, there is more of vanity than
good-nature in my request—for I have boasted
of the honour of being countenanced by
Mr. I——, and shall ostentatiously produce
your favor, as a proof of your kindness, and
my presumption:—thanks, over and over,
for Sir H—— Freeman’s letters, which I
will send home in a day or two:—I return
the Sermons, which I like so well, that I
have placed a new set of them by Yorick’s,
and think they will not disagree.—I pray
you to send by the bearer the bit of honored
Mortimer you promised for friend
M——, who, though he called some few
mornings since on purpose, yet was so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[p. 274]</span>
plagued with the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mauvaise hondt</i> (I believe I
spell it Yorkshirely, but you know what I
mean), that the youth could not for his
soul say what he was looking after:—if you
accompany it with the sea-piece you kindly
offered me, I shall have employment in
cleansing and restoring beauties which have
escaped your observation—and I shall consider
myself</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your much more obliged,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CVII_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="107">CVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
October 5, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOU mistake—I am neither sick—idle—nor
forgetful—nor hurried—nor flurried—nor
lame—nor am I of a fickle mutable disposition.—No!
I feel the life-sweetening affections—the
swell of heart-animating ardor—the
zeal of honest friendship—and, what’s
more, I feel it for thee.—Now, Sir, what
have you to say in humble vindication of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[p. 275]</span>
your hasty conclusions? what, because I did
not write to you on Monday last, but let a
week pass without saying—what in truth I
know not how to say, though I am now
seriously set about it? In short, such arts and
minds (if there be many such, so much the
better), such beings I say, as the one I am
now scribbling to, should make elections of
wide different beings than Black-a-moors,
for their friends:—the reason is obvious;—from
Othello to Sancho the big, we are
either foolish, or mulish—all, all without a
single exception.—Tell me, I pray you—and
tell me truly—were there any Black-a-moors
in the Ark?—Pooh! why there now—I see
you puzzled:—Well—well—be that as the
learned shall hereafter decide.—I will defend
and maintain my opinion—simply—I will
do more—wager a crown upon it—nay,
double that—and if my simple testimony
faileth, Mrs. Sancho and the children, five-deep,
will back me—that Noah, during his
pilgrimage in the blessed Ark, never, with
wife and six children, set down to a feast
upon a bit of finer goodlier—fatter—sweeter
salter—well-fed pork: we eat like hogs.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[p. 276]</span></p>
<p>When do your nobles intend coming
home?—The evenings get long, and the
damps of the Park after sun-set—but a word
to the wise.</p>
<p>Oh! I had like to have almost forgot—I
owe you a dressing for your last letter.—There
were some saucy strokes of pride in it—the
ebullitions of a high heart—and
tenderly over-nice feelings. Go-to—what
have I found you? My mind is not rightly
at ease—or you should have it—and so you
would not give me a line all the week—because—but
what? I am to blame—a man
in liquor—a man deprived of reason—and a
man in love—should ever meet with pity and
indulgence:—in the last class art thou!—nay,
never blush—plain as the nose in thy
face are the marks—refute it if you are able—dispute
if you dare—for I have proofs—yea,
proofs as undeniable as is the sincerity
of the affection and zeal with which thou
art ever regarded by thy</p>
<p class="signature">
IGNATIUS SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">How do the ladies—and Mr. M—?
Mind, I care not about ——; so tell her,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[p. 277]</span>
and lye.—You may tell George the same
story;—but I should like to hear something
about you all.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CVIII_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="108">CVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
October 9, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">MY friend Mr. I——, who—<em>like</em> a simple
fellow with a palish phiz—crazy head—and
hair of a pretty colour—an aukward loon—whom
I do sometimes care about—who has
more wit than money—more good sense than
wit—more urbanity than sense—and more
pride than some princes—a chap who talks
well—writes better—and means much better
than he either speaks or indites—a careless
son of nature, who rides without thinking—tumbles
down without hurt—and gets up
again without swearing—who can—in short,
he is such an excentric phizpoop—such a
vessel!—a new skin full of old wine is the
best type of him—know you such a one?
No! I guessed as much—nay—nay—if you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[p. 278]</span>
think for a twelvemonth and a day, you will
never be a jot the nearer—give it up, man.—Come,
I will solve the mystery—his name
is ——. I will tell you anon;—but as I
was saying—for I hate prolixity—as I was
saying above—Mr. I—— (in imitation of the
odd soul I have laboured to describe) wishing
to do me honour as well as pleasure—came
in person twice, to insist on my accompanying
<em>he</em> and <em>she</em>, and two more, to see Mr.
H—— take possession of the throne of
Richard. Into the boxes (I believe box is
properer) we went—the house as full, just as
it could be, and no fuller—as hot as it was
possible to bear—or rather hotter.—Now do
you really and truly conceive what I mean?
Alas! there are some stupid souls, formed of
such phlegmatic, adverse materials, that you
might sooner strike conception into a flannel
petticoat—or out of one—(now keep your
temper, I beg, sweet Sir) than convince their
simple craniums that six and seven makes
thirteen.—It was a daring undertaking—and
H—— was rather awed with the idea of
the great man, whose very robes he was to
wear—and whose throne he was to usurp.—But<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[p. 279]</span>
give him his due—he acquitted himself
well—tolerably well;—he will play it much
better next time—and the next better still;
Rome was not built in six weeks—and, trust
me, a Garrick will not be formed under
seven years.—I supped with his Majesty and
Mr. and Mrs. I——, where good-nature
and good-sense mixed itself with the most
chearful welcome.</p>
<p>And pray, how is your head by this
time?—I will teach you to wish for pleasure
from Black-a-moor dunderheads:—why,
Sir, it is a broken sieve to a ragged pudding-bag,
by the time you have gone through
this scrawl—you will be as flat, dull, and
tedious, as a drunken merry-andrew—or a
methodist preacher—or a tired poor devil of
a post-horse; or, to sum up all in one word,
as your most—what you please,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="indent4">
<i>Is pesorpher Quidois.</i></p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your true friend, and so forth.</p>
<p class="ps">Zounds, Sir! send me a good handsome
epistle—such as you were wont to do in
peaceful days, before * * * had warped your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[p. 280]</span>
faculties, and made you lazy.—Why you—but
I will not put myself in a passion.—Oh!
my M——, I would thou wert in town—but
it’s no matter—I am convinced, in our
next habitation there will be no care—love
will possess our souls—and praise and harmony—and
ever-fresh rays of knowledge,
wonder, and mutual communication will be
our employ. Adieu.</p>
<p>The best of women—the girls—the boy—all
well. I could really write as long a letter
on a taylor’s measure, as your last hurry-begotten
note.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CIX_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="109">CIX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
October 17, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">NO! you have not the least grain of genius.—Alas!
description is a science—a man
should in some measure be born with the knack
of it. Poor blundering M——, I pity thee:
once more I tell thee—thou art a bungler
in every thing—ask the girls else.—You<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[p. 281]</span>
know nothing of figures—you write a
wretched hand—thou hast a nonsensical style—almost
as disagreeable as thy heart—thy
heart, though better than thy head—and
which I wish from my soul (as it now is)
was the worst heart in the three kingdoms.—Thy
heart is a silly one—a poor cowardly
heart—that would shrink at mere trifles—though
there were no danger of fine or imprisonment:—for
example—come, confess
now—could you lie with the wife of your
friend? could you debauch his sister? could
you defraud a poor creditor? could you by
gambling rejoice in the outwitting a novice
of all his possessions?—No! why then thou
art a silly fellow, incumbered with three abominable
inmates;—to wit—Conscience—Honesty—and
Good-nature—I hate thee
(as the Jew says) because thou art a Christian.</p>
<p>And what, in the name of common
sense, impelled thee to torment my soul,
with thy creative pen-drawing of sweet
A—r—bn—s? I enjoyed content at least in
the vortex of smoak and vice—and lifted up
my thoughts no higher than the beauties of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[p. 282]</span>
the park or——gardens.—What have I to
do with rural deities? with parterres—fields—groves—terraces—views—buildings—grots—temples—slopes—bridges
and meandering
streams—cawing rooks—billing turtles—happy
swains—the harmony of the woodland
shades—the blissful constancy of rustic
lovers?—Sir, I say you do wrong, to awaken
ideas of this sort:—besides, as I hinted
largely above—you have no talent—no
language—no colouring—you do not groupe
well—no relief—false light and shadow—and
then your prespective is so false—no blending
of tints—thou art a sad fellow, and there is
an end of it.</p>
<p>S——n, who loves fools (he writes to
me) but mum; S——n wishes to have the
honour of a line from quondam friend
M——: now M—— is an ill-natured fellow,
but were it contrariwise—and M——
would indulge him—I would enclose it in a
frank—with something clever of my own to
make it more agreeable.—Sirrah! refuse if
you dare—I will so expose thee—do it—’tis
I command you:—S——n only intreats—you
have need of such a rough chap as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[p. 283]</span>
Sancho to counterpoise the pleasures of your
earthly paradise.—Pray take care of your Eve—and
now, my dear M——, after all my
abuse, let me conclude</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours affectionately,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="pshead">
Postscript,</p>
<p class="sp1">The tree of knowledge has yielded you
fruit in ample abundance:—may you boldly
climb the tree of life—and gather the fruits
of a happy immortality—in which I would
fain share, and have strong hope, through
the merits of a blessed Redeemer—to find
room sufficient for self and all I love—which,
to say what I glory in, comprehend the
whole race of man—and why not Namby-Pamby
M——? I cannot write to S——n
till I have your letter to enclose to him—if
there is any delay, the fault is not mine.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CX_TO_MR_R_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="110">CX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. R——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
October 20, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">ZOUNDS, Sir! would you believe—Ireland
has the * * * to claim the advantages
of a free unlimited trade—or they will join<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[p. 284]</span>
in the American dance!—What a pack of
* * * are * * *! I think the wisest thing
administration can do (and I dare wager they
will) is to stop the exportation of potatoes—and
repeal the act for the encouragement of
growing tobacco * * *. It is reported here
(from excellent authority) that the people at
large surrounded the Irish parliament, and
made the members—the courtiers—the formists
and non-cons—cats—culls—and pimp-whiskins—all—all
subscribe to their—.
Well, but what says your brother—no
better news I much fear from that quarter.—Oh,
this poor ruined country!—ruined by
its success—and the choicest blessings the
Great Father of Heaven could shower down
upon us—ruined by victories—arts—arms—and
unbounded commerce—for pride accompanied
those blessings—and like a canker-worm
has eaten into the heart of our political
body.—The Dutch have given up the
Serapis and the Scarborough, and detained
Paul Jones twenty-four hours after their
sailing:—how they will balance accounts
with France, I know not; but I do believe
the Mynheers will get into a scrape.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[p. 285]</span></p>
<p>Tell Mr. B—— the Pyefleets fluctuate in
price like the stocks, and were done this
morning at Billingsgate change, at 1<i><abbr title="pound">l.</abbr></i> 6<i><abbr title="shillings">s.</abbr></i> 8<i><abbr title="pence">d.</abbr></i>
<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">per</i> bushel; but I have sent them this evening
properly directed—also a book of <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Cogniscenti
dilitanti divertimenti</i>.—As for the
ladies, I cannot say any thing in justice to
their merits or my own feelings:—therefore
I am silent—write soon—a decent, plain,
and intelligible letter—a letter that a body
may read with pleasure and improvement—none
of your circumroundabouts for</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXI_TO_MR_R_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="111">CXI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. R——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Nov. 1, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I SHOULD on Sunday night have acknowledged
your kindness, but was prevented
by weakness!—idleness! or some
such nonsense!—Were you here, Mrs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[p. 286]</span>
Sancho would tell you I had quacked myself
to death.—It is true, I have been unwell—from
colds and from a purging!—which disorder
prevails much in our righteous metropolis—and
perhaps from quacking; but
of this when we meet.—I was much pleased
with my letter from Sir John—in which
there is very little news—and less hope of
doing any thing to the purpose, either in the
conquering or conciliating mode, than in
any letter I have been favoured with.—He
makes no mention of receiving any packets
from me, and I have wrote six or eight times
within the last twelve months—so you see
plainly the packets are either lost, or his
letters stopt.—I shall give him a line by
Wednesday’s post—and let it try its fortune.—I
enclose you some American congress
notes—for he does not say he has sent you
any—though he mentions the news-papers.</p>
<p>We talk of sending over a vast force next
spring. Why G—m—t will so madly pursue
a losing game, is amongst the number of
things that reason can never account for—and
good sense blushes at:—it is reported in
the city, that our safety this summer was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[p. 287]</span>
purchased of d’Orvilliers and Monsieur Sartin:—it
is certain (although a vote of credit
was granted for a million) that there is no
money in the Exchequer—and that the civil
list is 800,000<i><abbr title="pounds">l.</abbr></i> in arrears.—This looks dark—whilst
Ireland treats us rather laconic—Scotland
not too friendly—America speaks
but too plainly:—But what a plague is all
this to you or me? I am doomed to difficulty
and poverty for life—and let things go
as they will, if the French leave us Newmarket—they
will not ruin my friend.—I
hope the good ladies are well and preparing
for London.—Squire S—— and his good
woman well also, he in the enjoyment of his
gun—and she in the care of the sweet
children.—My best respects to Mr. and
Mrs. B——, and I should be a beast to
neglect my worthy friend Mr. S——k. Now
I have a scheme to propose to the electors of
Great Britain, to take Sir C—— and Mr.
S—— for their patterns—and at the
general election (if they can find as many)
to return 300 such—it would immortalize
them in the annals of this country for their
wisdom of choice—and what’s much better,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[p. 288]</span>
it would perhaps (with God’s blessing) save
Old England. We want, alas!—only a few
honest men of sound principles and good
plain understandings—to unite us—to animate
with one mind!—one heart!—one
aim!—and to direct the rouzed courage of a
brave people properly—then we might hope
for golden times—and the latter end of the
present reign emulate the grand close of the
last.</p>
<p>I got a very pretty young lady to chuse
this inclosed ticket—meaning to baffle ill-luck;
for, had I chose it myself, I am
certain a blank would have been the consequence.—May
it be prosperous!—Mrs.
Sancho joins me in every thing—love to
O——; the girls giggle their respects to Mr.
R——; Billy joins in silence, but his love
to Nutts is plain. How does he do?</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[p. 289]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXII_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="112">CXII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Nov. 14. 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOURS by my brother gave me money—and,
what was more pleasing to me, a tolerable
account of your success—the lateness
of the season considered.—Come, brighten
up; my brother P—— has left us much
happier than he found us.—We have succeeded
beyond our expectation—humility is
the test of Christianity—and parent of many
if not of all the virtues;—but we will talk
this over, when you return from grape-stuffed
geese and fine girls.—H—— seems to be
in better favour with her goddessship Lady-Fortune:—his
affair will do—he will stand a
fair chance of rising.—I wish from my soul
something good in the same line was destined
for you;—but have courage—time and patience
conquer all things.—I hope you will<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[p. 290]</span>
come home soon—and leave a foundation
for better fortune next year at B——, and
its friendly neighbourhood.—Kitty is very
poorly—God’s will be done!—I have a horrid
story to tell you about the—Zounds!
I am interrupted.—Adieu! God keep
you!</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Mrs. Sancho, and girls, and Billy, send
their compliments, &c. and pray all our
respective loves and best wishes to the
friendly circle at B——, and every where
else.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXIII_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="113">CXIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Nov. 16, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOU have missed the truth by a mile—aye
and more:—it was not neglect—I
am too proud for that;—it was not forgetfulness,
Sir—I am not so ungrateful;—it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[p. 291]</span>
was not idleness, the excuse of fools;—nor
hurry of business, the refuge of knaves:—it
is time to say what it was.—Why, Mrs.
D—— was in town from Tuesday to Monday
following—and then—and not till then—gave
me your letter—and most graciously
did I receive it—considering that both my
feet were in flannels, and are so to this
luckless minute.—Well, Sir, and what have
you to say to that? Friend H—— has paid
for them.—I pay him again—and shall draw
upon you towards Christmas—never poorer
since created—but ’tis a general case;—blessed
times for a poor Blacky grocer to hang
or drown in!—Received from your good reverend
parent (why not honoured father?)
a letter, announcing the approach of a hamper
of prog, which I wish you was near
enough to partake.—Your good father feels
a satisfaction in doing—I think a wrong
thing—his motive is right—and, like a true
servant of Christ, he follows the spirit, not
the letter:—he will be justified in a better
world—I am satisfied in this—and thou
wilt in thy feelings be gratified.—Huzza!—we
are all right—but your father pays the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[p. 292]</span>
piper. How doth Squire G——? odso—and
his pretty daughter?—kiss the father for
me—and drink a bottle with the fair lady.—I
mean as I have wrote—so tell them—and
do what’s best in thy own and their
eyes.—When you see brother O——, my
love to him and his houshold.——I have
no spirits when the gout seizes me—pox on
him!—Great news from Sir Charles Hardy—huzza
for ever!—all mad—nothing but
illuminations;—out with your lights—bells
ringing, bonfires blazing—crackers bouncing—and
all for what?—what?—The girls
open-mouthed—Billy stares—Mrs. Sancho
rubs her hands;—the night indeed is cold,
but Billy must go to bed:—the noisy rogues
with the Gazette-extra stun our ears.
Adieu!</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">I should have inclosed a paper, but it
will cost the devil and all.—My family all
join in customary customs.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[p. 293]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXIV_TO_I_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="114">CXIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO I—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Nov. 21, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">WE are happy to hear, by brother O——,
that you and Mrs S—— enjoy good health—may
God preserve it, and increase your
every comfort!</p>
<p>I am far from being sorry that you have
not been in town this Autumn;—for London
has been sickly—almost every body full
of complaint; add also that the times are
equally full of disease.—Luxury! Folly!
Disease! and Poverty! you may see daily
riding in the same coach—the doors ornamented
with the honours of a virtuous ancestry
topped with coronets, surrounded with
mantle ermined;—and, alas! Corruption
for the supporters.</p>
<p>Now, my good Sir, you can have no real
pleasure but what must arise from your own<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[p. 294]</span>
heart, were you amongst us—and that would
be in pitying our weakness, and sighing
over distresses your benevolence of heart
could not alleviate!—and yet I fear—if you
keep from town till times mend—I shall
have no chance of seeing you this side eternity.—You
should come up for a day or
two, were it only to be witness to the
roguery of M——rs and lottery-office-keepers—and
the madness of the dupes of
each.—I have much to thank you for—which
I will not forget in a better world,
if I see you not in this.—We have eat your
turkey to-day;—it is a joke to say it was
good—bad things seldom, if ever, come from
Mr. S——. Mrs. Sancho joins me in thanks
to Mrs. S——, who we hope will not be
always unknown.—The customary wishes
of the approaching sacred season to you and
all your connexions.—Pray excuse blunders;
for I am forced to write post, as I expect
O—— every moment. As I write first,
and think afterwards, my epistles are commonly
in the Irish fashion. You, who
prefer the heart to the head, will overlook<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[p. 295]</span>
the error of the man who is, and ever will
be, very sincerely and gratefully,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your much obliged</p>
<p class="signoff2">friend and servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">It is expected the whole M——y will
run from their posts before Friday next,
L—d S—h and Lord N—h excepted: Now,
I have a respect for L—d N—h: he is a good
husband! father, friend, and master—a
real <em>good man</em>—but, I fear, a bad <em>m——r</em>.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXV_TO_THE_REV_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="115">CXV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO THE REV. MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Dec. 5, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">REV. AND HON. SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I HAVE just now received your too valuable
favor:—forgive me, good Sir, if I
own I felt hurt at the idea of the trouble<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[p. 296]</span>
and cost you (from a spirit too generous)
have been put to—and for what, my good
Sir? Your son shewed me many kindnesses—and
his merits are such as will spontaneously
create him the esteem of those who
have the pleasure of knowing him—it is
honouring me to suppose I could be of
service to him.—Accept then, good Sir,
of my thanks, and Mrs. Sancho’s—and be
assured you have sevenfold overpaid any common
kindness I could render your deserving
son and my friend.—I wish he was here
to partake of your bountiful treat—for well
do I know his filial heart would exult, and
his eyes beam with love and respect.—Mrs.
Sancho joins me in respectful acknowledgements
and thanks to Mrs. S—— and
self.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
We are, dear Sir,</p>
<p class="signoff2">Your most obliged servants,</p>
<p class="right sp1">
<span class="allsmcap gesperrt05">IGN.</span> and <span class="allsmcap gesperrt05">A. SANCHO</span>.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[p. 297]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXVI_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="116">CXVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Dec. 14, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I EXPECT an answer.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. S.</p>
<p class="ps">Our friend H——’s head and heart are
fully occupied with schemes, plans, resolves,
&c. &c. in which (to his immortal honour)
the weal and welfare of his S—— are constantly
considered:—the proposal which accompanies
this letter, from what little judgement
I have, I think promises fair.—You
will, however, give it a fair examination—and
of course determine from the conviction
of right reason.—If, as a friend, I might
presume to offer my weak opinion—I freely
say, I think in every light it seems eligible.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[p. 298]</span>
The circle of your acquaintance is at present
circumscribed—I mean in the artist line:—now
in case you connect yourself in a business
which requires constant daily perambulation—the
chances are on your side for
forming acquaintance—perhaps friendships—with
men of genius and abilities, which
may happily change the colour of your fortunes—the
old proverb is on your side—“two
heads,” &c.—and very fortunately in
your case, where in fact one has <em>wit</em>, and
the other <em>judgement</em>,—the <em>chair</em> of <em>interest</em>
will have its compleat furniture in the two
top ornaments—and <em>honesty</em> for its <em>basis</em>. So
much for Mons. H——, and now I have
to reckon with you. How could you be so
preposterously wrong, to trouble the repose
of your worthy father and mother about
me? Surely you must think me exceedingly
interested—or your heart must be
a very proud one; if either—in the first instance
you did me a wrong—in the last, perhaps,
I may wrong you;—be it as it may—I
know it gave me real vexation.—Your
father sent such a basket, as ten times repaid
the trifling service I had the honour as well<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[p. 299]</span>
as pleasure in rendering a man of merit,
and my friend;—believe me, I never accepted
any present with so ill a will;—with
regard to them, every thankful acknowledgement
was due.—I wrote a very embarrassed
letter of thanks—with a resolution to
give you a chastisement for laying me under
the necessity.—I hear with pleasure that
you have enough to do. H—— declares he
is sorry for it—as he wants and wishes you
in town. Pray give my best wishes to Mess.
B—— and S——w, and my love to O——.
If you should happen to know a Miss
A——, a rich farmer’s daughter, remember
me to her—were you not widow-witched,
she or some other heavy-pursed lass might
be easily attainable to a man of your—aye,
aye, but that, says ——, will not be, I fear.—For
I verily believe, that * * * * * for the
* * * * and by the same token do you not
* * * * * * *? But this is matter of mere speculation.—God
bless you! Yours sincerely—cordially—and
sometimes offensively—but
always friendly,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[p. 300]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXVII_TO_D_mdash_BmdashmdashE_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="117">CXVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO D—— B——E, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Dec. 17, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">GOOD SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">A STRANGER to your person (not to
your virtues) addresses you—will you pardon
the interested intrusion? I am told, you delight
in doing good.—Mr. W——e (who
honours me with his friendships, by whose
persuasion I presume to trouble you) declares—you
are no respecter of country or colours—and
encourages me further—by saying,
that I am so happy (by the good offices of
his too partial friendship) to have the interest
and good wishes of Mr. B——.</p>
<p>Could my wish be possibly effected to have
the honour of a General post-office settled in
my house, it would certainly be a great good—as
(I am informed) it would emancipate
me from the fear of serving the parish offices,
for which I am utterly unqualified through<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[p. 301]</span>
infirmities—as well as complexion—Figure
to yourself, my dear Sir, a man of a convexity
of belly exceeding Falstaff—and a
black face into the bargain—waddling in the
van of poor thieves and pennyless prostitutes—with
all the supercilious mock dignity of
little office—what a banquet for wicked jest
and wanton wit—as, <em>Needs must</em>, <em>when</em>, &c.
&c.—Add to this, my good Sir, the chances
of being summoned out at midnight in the
severity of easterly winds and frosty weather—subject
as I unfortunately am to gout six
months in twelve—the consequence of which
must be death:—death! now I had much
rather live—and not die—live indebted to
the kindness of a few great and good—in
which glorious class, you, dear Sir, have
the pre-eminence in the idea of</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your most respectful</p>
<p class="signoff2">and obliged humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[p. 302]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXVIII_TO_MR_B_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="118">CXVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. B——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Dec. 20, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">THE Park guns are now firing, and never
was poor devil so puzzled as your humble
Sancho is at this present moment.—I have a
budget of fresh news—aye, and that of consequence—and
a million of stale thanks,
which perhaps you will think of no consequence.—Impelled
by two contrary passions,
how should a poor Negro know precisely
which to obey? Your turkey and chine are
absolutely as good, as fine, and as welcome—as
nobly given—and as gratefully accepted—as
heart can wish, or fancy conceive:—then
on the other hand—the news is as
glorious—as well timed and authenticated—as
pleasing,—as salutary in the ministerial way—as
much wanted—and as welcome—as the
turkey and chine to a certain sett, I mean—of
king’s friends and national * * * * *. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[p. 303]</span>
said turkey and chine will keep fresh and
good—and chear some honest hearts (I trust)
on Christmas-day.—The news, good as it
is, may half of it prove false by Christmas—and
the true part will be stale news by that
time—much of it will be liable to doubt
and malicious disquisition:—now, on the
other hand, the turkey and its honest fat
companion are bettering every day—and feast
us by anticipation.—But again, the news
will come with a handsome face—attested by
a Gazette extraordinary, garnished by the
happy flourishes of news-paper invention.
Then there is the speech of the noble Sir
C——; I meant to say much upon that
score; you have read it without doubt—so
have I more than once or twice—and I find
the same fault with it that the majority and
minority do—which is neither more nor less
than what’s exceeding natural to both parties.—The
majority detest it for its truth—the
minority would have better liked it, had
it not been so d—n’d <em>honest</em>. Now (between
ourselves) I do confess to you, my worthy
friend, strip this famed speech of its truth
and honesty, there will very little worth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[p. 304]</span>
notice remain, excepting candour, a spice of
benevolence, and perhaps too much charity;—but
as the above are the vices only of a
very few, we may the better endure it in
Sir C——. There is certainly an express
arrived this day with very comfortable news—plenty
of killed and wounded—plenty of
prisoners—and (as it always happens) with
little or no loss on our side;—but, dear me!
how I have run on!—I protest, the sole
business of this letter was to ease my mind—by
unburthening my head and heart of some
weighty thanks, which, for aught I know,
except very decently managed, are more
likely to give pain than pleasure to some odd-constructed
minds, men who fatten upon
doing good, and feel themselves richer in
proportion to their kindness:—such beings
are the S——’s, the B——s, the R——hs,
O——ns, &c. &c.—whom God mend—in
the next world I mean:—so, wishing you
every felicity in this, and every comfort attendant
on the approaching festival, with
love and good-will to all friends, especially to
Mrs. B——n, the worthy Mr. S——’s
family, Squire S——ns, and his mate, in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[p. 305]</span>
which Mrs. Sancho claims her full share, I
remain, dear Sir, (I fear I tire you)</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your most obliged</p>
<p class="signoff2">humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXIX_TO_MR_B_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="119">CXIX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. B——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Dec. 24, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">LOSERS have the privilege to rail—I
was taking the benefit of the act upon my
seeing Johnny O——, when he abruptly
(and not disagreeably) stopped my mouth—with
saying, he had just loaded a stout lad—in
the name of Mr. B——, and dispatched
him to Charles Street:—now this same
spirit of reparation may suit well with both
the in and out side of Mr. B——; and those
who know the man will not marvel at the
deed. For my own part, I have been long
convinced of the blindness, and more than
Egyptian stubbornness, of repiners of every
sect.—For how can we say but that seeming
evils in the seed, with the cultivation of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[p. 306]</span>
benevolence—mark that—may yield an
abundant crop of real substantial good?—The
confounded lurches, and four by honours,
trimmed me of ten pieces:—Ten
pieces; quoth I as I was preparing for bed—better
been at home:—Ten pieces! quoth
Prudence, you had no business to play:—So
much good money flung away! cries Avarice.—Avarice
is a lying old grub—I have pork
worth twice the money—and the friendly
wishes of a being who looks hospitality and
good-will.—The blessings of the season attend
you!—May you have the pleasure and
exercise of finding out want, and relieving
it! and may you feel more pleasure than the
benefited!—which I believe is mostly the
case in souls of a kind, generous, enlarged
structure.—My respects attend the gun and
dog of Squire S——, which, being the things
of most consequence, I name before Mrs.
S—— or himself.—They and every one
connected with B—— house have my best
wishes—and you, my good Sir, the thanks of</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your most humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[p. 307]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXX_TO_MRS_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="120">CXX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Christmas-day, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">MAY this blest season bring every pleasure
with it to my kind and worthy Mrs. M——!
and may the coming year bless the good and
happy man of her heart with the possession of
her person! and may every future one, for
a long period of time, bring an increase to
her joys and comforts!—So pray the Sancho’s—and
all join in thanks to Mrs. M—— for
her friendly present.—Will Mrs. M—— be
so kind to say all that’s civil and thankful
to Mrs. W——e, for her kindness in sending
me a bottle of snuff?—and also make my respectful
compliments to Mr. L——? God
keep you all!</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours I remain, much</p>
<p class="signoff2">obliged and thankful,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[p. 308]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXI_TO_MR_W_mdashE"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="121">CXXI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. W——E</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Dec. 26, 1779.</p>
<p class="firstpara">IT is needless, my dear Sir, to say how
pleasingly the news of your great good fortune
affected us:—for my part, I declare
(self excepted) I do not know, in the whole
circle of human beings, two people whom I
would sooner wish to have got it;—neither,
in my poor judgement, could it have fallen
with a probability of being better used in any
other hands. The blessings of decent competency
you have been used to from early
childhood:—your minds have been well
cultivated—virtuous and prudent in your
conduct, you have enjoyed the only true
riches (a good name) long;—your power of
doing good will certainly be amply increased;
but, as to real wealth, I will maintain it, you
were as rich before.—You must now expect
a decent share of envy;—for, as every one
thinks pretty handsomely of self, most of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[p. 309]</span>
the unfortunate adventurers of your acquaintance
will be apt to think how much pleasanter
it would have been to have had twenty
thousand pounds to themselves.—Avarice
will groan over his full bags, and cry,
“Well, I never had any luck!” Vanity
will exclaim, “It is better to be born lucky
than rich!” Whilst Content, sheltered in
her homely hovel, will cry, “Blessing on
their good hearts! aye, I knew their good
parents;—they were eyes to the blind, and
feet to the lame, and made the orphan’s and
the widow’s hearts sing for joy; God will
prosper the family.”—But, while I am prating
away, I neglect to thank you, which was
the chief business of this letter—to thank
you, and to admire that rectitude of temper
which could, in the full tide of worldly good
fortune, remember the obscure, the humble
old friend.—Accept my thanks, and the
plaudit also of a heart too proud to court
opulence—but alive to the feelings of truth,
sacred friendship, and humanity.—Mine
and Mrs. Sancho’s thanks for your genteel
present attend you, Mrs. W——, and the
worthy circle round!—May every year be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[p. 310]</span>
productive of new happiness in the fullest
sense of true wisdom, the riches of the heart
and mind!—So wishes thy obliged sincere
friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXII_TO_D_B_mdashE_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="122">CXXII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO D. B——E, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Dec. 30, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">HONOURED SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">PERMIT me to thank you—which I
do most sincerely—for the kindness and
good-will you are pleased to honour me
with.—Believe me, dear Sir, I was better
pleased with the gracious and soothing manner
of your refusal—than I have been in
former times with obligations less graciously
conferred.—I should regret the trouble I
have given you—but that my heart feels a
comfort, and my pride a gratification, from
the reflection, that I am cared for—and not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[p. 311]</span>
unnoticed—by a gentleman of the first worth
and highest character. I am dear Sir, with
profound respect and gratitude,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your most obliged</p>
<p class="signoff2">and humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXIII_TO_MR_I_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="123">CXXIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. I——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Dec. 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">THE bearer of this letter gives himself a
very good report—he is certainly the best
judge—he can cook upon occasion—dress
and shave—handle a salver with address—and
clean it too:—he is but little in make—and
I hope not great in opinion:—examine
his morals—if you can see through so opaque
a composition as a Bengalian.—Was he an
African—but it’s no matter, he can’t help
the place of his nativity!—I would have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[p. 312]</span>
waited upon the worthy circle yesterday; but
the day was so unfriendly, I had not the
heart to quit the fire-side.—I hope you and
Mrs. I—— have as much health and spirits
as you can manage.—I have had a pretty
smart engagement with the gout, of which I
can give a better account than Sir Charles
Hardy can of the combined fleet.—I wish to
place you, Sir, in the Censor’s chair—for
the which purpose, I most pressingly beg the
favor of your company to-morrow, Friday
the 19th, in the afternoon—to meet a young
unfledged genius of the first water—who, as
well as myself, is fool enough to believe
you possess as much true taste as true worth:—be
that as God pleases—if you delight to
do me honor, comply with this request, and
imagine Sterne would have done as much
for</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[p. 313]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXIV_TO_MR_R_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="124">CXXIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. R——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Last Day, 1779.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I WISH I could tell you how much
pleasure I felt in the reading your chearful
letter—I felt that you was in good health,
and in a flow of chearfulness, which pray
God continue to you!——I shall fancy myself
amongst you about the time you will get
this—I paint in my imagination the winning
smiles, and courteously kind welcome, in
the face of a certain lady, whom I cannot
help caring for with the decent pleasing demure
countenance of the little C—— Squire
B——, with the jovial expression of countenance
our old British freeholders were wont
to wear—the head and heart of Addison’s
Sir Roger de Coverley; S—— tipsy with
good will, his eyes dancing in his head,
considering within his breast every species of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[p. 314]</span>
welcome to do honor to his noble master,
and credit to the night; and, lastly, my
friend looking more kindness than his tongue
can utter and present to every individual, in
offices of love and respect. My R——,
what would I give to steal in unseen—and
be a happy spectator of the good old English
hospitality—kept up by so few—and which
in former times gave such strength and consequence
to the ancestry of the present
frivolous race of Apostates!—Honoured and
blest be Sir C—— and his memory, for
being one of those golden characters that can
find true happiness in giving pleasure to his
tenants, neighbours, and domestics!—where-ever
such a being moves—the eyes of love
and gratitude follow after him—and infant
tongues, joining the voice of youth and
maturer years, fill up the grand chorus of
his praise.—I inclose without apology a
billet for ——: he well knows how prone I
naturally am to love him;—but love is untractable,
there is no forcing affections—but
I, perhaps, too quickly feel coldness. —— has
a noble soul—and he has his foibles;—for
me, I fling no stone—I dare not; for, of all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[p. 315]</span>
created beings, I know none so truly culpable,
so full of faults, as is your very sincere
friend and obliged servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">As we commonly wish well to ourselves,
you may believe that we cordially join in
wishing every good, either in health, wealth,
or honour, to the noble owner of B——
Hall; to the thrice dearly respected—guess
who!—to you and all—and all and you.
Billy loves flesh—Kitty is a termagant—Betsy
talks as usual—the Fanny’s work pretty hard.
Adieu! I conclude 1779 with the harmony
of love and friendship.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXV_TO_mdash_MR_Smdashmdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="125">CXXV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO —— MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
1780, January the 4th day.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOU have here a kind of medley, a
heterogeneous, ill-spelt, heteroclite (worse)
excentric sort of a—a—; in short, it is a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[p. 316]</span>
true Negroe calibash—of ill-sorted, undigested
chaotic matter. What an excellent
proem! what a delightful sample of the grand
absurd!—Sir—dear Sir—as I have a soul
to be saved (and why I should not, would
puzzle a Dr. Price), as I have a soul to be
saved, I only meant to say about fifteen
words to you—and the substance just this—to
wish you a happy New-year—with the
usual appendages—and a long et cætera of
cardinal and heavenly blessings:—<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">à propos</span>,
blessings—never more scanty—all beggars by
Jove—not a shilling to be got in London;—if
you are better off in the country, and can
afford to remit me your little bill, I inclose
it for that good end. H—— is—but he can
better tell you himself what he is; for in
truth I do think he is in love: which puts
the pretty G—— into my head—and she
brings her father in view.—My love and
respects to each.—Mrs. Sancho joins me;
and the girls, her—and God keep you!</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours sincerely,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[p. 317]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXVI_TO_MR_J_mdash_WmdashmdashE"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="126">CXXVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. J—— W——E</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Jan. 5, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR W——E,</p>
<p class="firstpara">WERE I as rich in worldly commodity
as in hearty will—I would thank you
most princely for your very welcome and
agreeable letter;—but, were it so, I should
not proportion my gratitude to your wants;—for,
blessed be the God of thy hope!—thou
wantest nothing—more than—what’s
in thy possession—or in thy power to possess:—I
would neither give thee <em>Money</em>—nor
<em>Territory</em>—<em>Women</em>—nor <em>Horses</em>—nor <em>Camels</em>—nor
the height of Asiatic pride—<em>Elephants</em>;—I
would give thee <em>Books</em>—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">“<em>Books</em>, fair Virtue’s advocates and friends;”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="noindent">
<p>but you have books plenty—more than you
have time to digest:—after much writing—which
is fatiguing enough—and under
the lassitude occasioned by fatigue, and not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[p. 318]</span>
sin—the cool recess—the loved <em>book</em>—the
sweet pleasures of imagination poetically
worked up into delightful enthusiasm—richer
than all your fruits—your spices—your
dancing-girls—and the whole detail
of Eastern, effeminate foppery—flimsy splendour—and
glittering magnificence;—so thou
thinkest—and I rejoice with thee and for
thee. Shall I say what my heart suggests?
No, you will feel it praise—and call it
flattery. Shall I say, Your worthy parent
read your filial letter to me—and embalmed
the grateful tribute of a virtuous son with
his precious tears?—Will you believe?—he
was for some minutes speechless through
joy!—Imagine you see us—our heads close
together—comparing notes;—imagine you
hear the honest plaudits of love and friendship
sounding in thy ears;—’tis glory to be
proud on such occasions—’tis the pride of
merit:—and as you allow me to counsel
you with freedom—I do strongly advise you
to love praise—to court praise—to win it
by every honest, laudable exertion—and be
oft, very often jealous of it:—examine the
source it proceeds from—and encourage and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[p. 319]</span>
cherish it accordingly.—Fear not—mankind
are not too lavish of it—censure is dealt
out by wholesale—while praise is very
sparingly distributed:—nine times in ten
mankind may err in their blame—but in its
praises the world is seldom, if ever, mistaken.—Mark—I
praise thee <em>sincerely</em>, for the <em>whole</em>
and every <em>part</em> of thy <em>conduct</em> in regard to my
two sable brethren<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a>. I was an ass—or else
I might have judged from the national antipathy
and prejudice through custom even
of the Gentoos towards their woolly-headed
brethren, and the well-known dignity of my
Lords the Whites, of the impropriety of my
request.—I therefore not only acquit thee
honourably—but condemn myself for giving
thee the trouble to explain a right conduct.—I
fear you will hardly make out this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[p. 320]</span>
scrawl, although it is written with a pen
of thy father’s—a present mended from a
parcel of old quills by his foreman, or brother
C——d.—Your honest brother Joseph
came post with your letters—good-will
shining in his face—joy in his innocent
eyes:—he promises to be as much a W——
as his Indian brother:—you flatter my vanity
in supposing my friendship of any utility
to Joe;—he has in his good father
Moses and the Prophets—which you have
had, and availed yourself well of the blessing—and
I trust Joe will do the same—besides
having precept and example from a
worthy and loving brother.—Poor M——,
your favourite—I scarce knew her;—she was
as pure within, as amiable without:—she
enriches the circle of the blest—and you
have a friend in heaven.</p>
</div>
<p>I hope you sometimes—aye often—consult
with Dr. Young’s Night Thoughts—carry
him in your pockets—court him—quote
him—delight in him—make him your
own—and laugh at the wit, and wisdom,
and fashion of the world:—that book, well
studied, will make you know the value of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[p. 321]</span>
death—and open your eyes to the snares of
life; its precepts will exalt the festive hour,
brighten and bless the gloom of solitude,
comfort thy heart, and smooth thy pillow
in sickness, and gild with lustre thy prosperity—disarm
death itself of its terrors, and
sweetly soften the hour of dissolution.—I recommend
to all young people, who do me
the honour to ask my opinion—I recommend,
if their stomachs are strong enough
for such intellectual food, Dr. Young’s
Night Thoughts—the Paradise Lost—and
the Seasons;—which, with Nelson’s Feasts
and Fasts, a Bible and Prayer-book, used for
twenty years to make my travelling library—and
I do think it a very rich one. I never
trouble my very distant friends with articles
of news—the public prints do it so much
better—and then they may answer for their
untruths;—for among the multitude of our
public prints, it is hard to say which lyes
most.</p>
<p>Your enclosed trust was directly delivered
to the fair hands it was addressed to:—I
have the authority to say, it gave great pleasure
to both the ladies and your friend Mr.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[p. 322]</span>
R——, who wears the same cordial friendly
heart in his breast as when you first knew
him.—Your friend Mr. John R—— is still
at New York with the guards—where he is
very deservedly honoured, loved, and esteemed:—he
corresponds with his old acquaintance—and
does me the honour to remember me
amongst his friends:—our toast in P. Gardens
is often the three Johns—R——,
W——e, and O——, an honest—therefore
a noble triumvirate.</p>
<p>I feel old age insensibly stealing on me—and,
alas! am obliged to borrow the aid
of spectacles, for any kind of small print:—Time
keeps pacing on, and we delude
ourselves with the hope of reaching first
this stage, and then the next; till that ravenous
rogue Death puts a final end to our
folly.</p>
<p>All this is true—and yet I please and
flatter myself with the hope of living to see
you in your native country—with every
comfort possessed—crowned with the honest
man’s best ambition, a fair character.—May
your worthy, your respectable parents, relations,
and friends, enjoy that pleasure!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[p. 323]</span>
and that you may realize every fond hope
of all who love you, is the wish of</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your sincere friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGNATIUS SANCHO.</p>
<p class="pshead">
Postscript.</p>
<p class="sp1">This letter is of a decent length—I expect
a return with interest.—Mrs. Sancho
joins me in good wishes, love, and compliments.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p>
<a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> Mr. W——e having wrote word, that if any European in India
associated with those of that complexion, it would be considered as
a degradation, and would be an obstacle to his future preferment; he
laments, in very strong terms the cruelty of such an opinion; hopes not
to forfeit Mr. Sancho’s good opinion from being compelled to comply
with the custom of the country, with repeated assurances of serving
them, if in his power, though he must remain unknown to them.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXVII_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="127">CXXVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Jan. 11, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">MR. R—— faithfully discharged his commission—paid
me the desirable—and intrusted
me with ten guineas, to pay on demand;
and here he comes, faith—as fresh as May,
and warm as friendly zeal can make mortality—to
demand the two letters, which he
will deliver himself, for his own satisfaction.—I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[p. 324]</span>
wish from my soul, that Chancellors—Secretaries
of State—Kings—aye—and Bishops—were
as fond of doing kind things—but
they are of a higher order.—Friend R——
is only a Christian.—I give you credit for
your promises of reformation in the epistolary
way—and very glad am I to hear of
your success.—Know your own worth—honour
yourself, not with supercilious pride,
but with the decent confidence of your own
true native merit—and you must succeed in
almost any thing you chuse to undertake:
so thinks Sancho.—As to what you request
me to do by way of inspecting your goods
and chattels in your late lodging—I must
beg to decline it—as I feel it aukward, to
insinuate the least deficiency in point of attention
to your interests in such a heart
as H—s; a heart which, to my knowledge,
feels every sentiment of divine friendship
for you; an heart, animated with the strongest
zeal and flowing ardor to serve you, to love
you.</p>
<p>The kindness of you and your two friends
exceedingly embarrasses me.—I would not
wish to appear to any one either arrogant,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[p. 325]</span>
vain, or conceited;—no—nor servile, mean,
or selfish:—I grant your motive is friendly
in the extreme—and those of your companions
as nobly generous;—but—but what?—Why
this—and the truth—were I rich,
I would accept it, and say “Thank ye,”
when I chose it;—as I am poor, I do not
chuse to say “Thank ye”—but to those I
know and respect. You must forgive me—and
call it the error of African false principle—call
it any thing but coldness and unfeeling
pride, which is in fact ingratitude in
a birth-day suit.—As to the grand Turk
of Norfolk, if it comes—we will devour it—and
toast Don S—— and the unknown
giver.—Thou, my S——, hast (oh! prostrate,
and thank the Giver) a noble and
friendly heart, susceptible of the best, the
greatest feelings. H—— is thy twin-brother—perhaps
he has more fire in his composition:—Woman
apart, he is a glorious
fellow; * * * * apart—alas! alas! alas! * * * * * * * *
apart, what might not be hoped, expected,
from * * * * * * *! So the poor boy flew
his kite—but the tail was lost.—Poor H——
has a book and a fair one to manage;—ticklish—very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[p. 326]</span>
ticklish subjects—either:—and
your worship has a book to castrate—and a
Fandango to dance—with a <i>Tol de le rol, de
le rol</i>.—Your reason for postponing your
journey to town is wisely great, or greatly
wise;—it does you honour, because it is
founded in equity. I am glad to hear the
Rev. Mr. S—— is better.—I love and
venerate that good man:—not because he
begat you, but for his own great parts
and many virtues—by the bye, I know
more of him than you think for.—Tell
brother O—— I am glad to hear he is well,
and Mrs. O—— better;—and tell him the
name of the Bishop’s lady’s dog (that was
lost, and has been missing these two months)
is Sherry<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a>. When you see Mr. S——, the
good, the friendly, generous Mr. S——, my
and mine make the respects of—we wish
him many happy years and his family.—To
Mr. G—— and his amiable daughter, say all
that’s right for me. And now to conclude
with thanks, &c. &c. I and we—that’s spouse
and self—remain, &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p>
<a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a> Mr. O—— had promised Mr. Sancho two months before to send him
immediately a present of Sherry.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[p. 327]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXVIII_TO_MR_M_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="128">CXXVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. M——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Jan. 17, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I RECEIVED, as you taught me to
expect last week, a very fine * * *, and after
it as kind a letter—in name of a Mr. E——
W—— of Norfolk, near Houghton-Hall,
&c.—I have bespoke a frank, and mean to
thank him—as I also thank you, whom I
look upon as the grand friendly mover of the
generously handsome act.—You have your
reward, for you had a pleasure in doing it;—and
Mr. W—— has his, if he believes me
honest.—Could I any way retaliate, I should
feel lighter—that’s pride, I own it. Humility
should be the poor man’s shirt—and thankfulness
his girdle;—be it so—I do request
you to thank Mr. W—— for me, and tell
him he has the prayers—not of a raving mad
whig—nor fawning deceitful tory—but of a
coalblack, jolly African, who wishes health<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[p. 328]</span>
and peace to every religion and country
throughout the ample range of God’s creation!—and
believes a painter may be saved
at the last day, maugre all the Miss G——’s
and widows in this kingdom. I have done
nothing in the shoe affair yet—for which I
ought to ask poor C——’s pardon as well as
yours:—the rogue has left the court, and
gone to live in Fish-market, Westminster
bridge;—I shall ferret him out, and make
him bless his old master.</p>
<p>I inclose your receipts in proof of my
honesty—a rare virtue as times go!—M——
has wrote to you—left his letter with me—and
I, like a what you please, let it slip into
the fire—with a handful of company he had
no business to be amongst:—he shall write
you another—you will both be angry—but
you will both forgive, as good Christians
ought, accidents.—I am sorry. I will say no
more, but God keep you, and direct your
goings;</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">When you see the honourable Mr. B——,
give our loves and best wishes to him and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[p. 329]</span>
Mrs. B——, and Squire S—— and his
good dame also.—Salute the home of G——
for me.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXIX_TO_MR_W_mdashE"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="129">CXXIX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. W——E</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, March 1, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">MY GOOD FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I WISH to interest you in behalf of the
inclosed book—wrote by a greatly-esteemed
friend—a young man of much merit—and a
heart enriched with every virtue—the book
I beg you will snatch time to read with attention.—It
is an answer (as you will see) to
a flaming bigoted Mongrel against Toleration.—Swift
says, “Zeal is never so pleased
as when you set it a tearing.” He says truly.
Could you get the pamphlet (whose title I
forget), you would be better enabled to judge
of the force, truth, and strength of my
friend’s answer:—for my part, I love liberty
in every sense, whilst connected with honesty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[p. 330]</span>
and truth:—it has been shewn a bookseller,
but he happened to be the very man who
had just published a flimsy answer to the
same; consequently would not encourage
my friend’s, lest it should injure the sale
of his other.—Understand, my good friend,
that the author is very ill-calculated for
booksellers’ and printers’ jockeyship; which,
to a liberal mind fraught with high and
generous ideas, is death and the devil.</p>
<p>I own, I was guilty of teazing him into the
finishing this little work, with a view of
having it printed.—Now, my friend is not
richer than poets commonly are—and, in
short, will not run any risks.—I would
gladly stand the expence of printing; but I
am not richer than he;—I want it printed,
and request of you, if, upon perusing it, you
do not find it inimical, either to Religion,
Country, or Crown, that you contrive to
push it into the world without delay; but if,
upon mature deliberation, you find it dangerous,
with washed hands send it me back,
and set me down for an ass, in the trouble I
have given thee and myself.—Perhaps,
jaundiced by prejudice, I behold it with too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[p. 331]</span>
partial eyes; for I verily believe it will not
discredit the printer:—suppose you shew it in
confidence to the greatly amiable, the good
Mr. B——e. I mention him in particular;
for sure I am his nobly benevolent soul
would start at the bare idea of religious persecution:—he
would, I trust, feel the full
force of my friend’s reasoning—and his
good opinion would be the best sanction
for endeavouring to push the work forward.</p>
<p>I had the pleasure of meeting a gentleman
in our street one day last week, who seemed
to be so goodly a personage, that I said to
myself, There’s Sir Charles Grandison! His
figure was noble—his eye brightened with
kindness—the man of fashion and of sense
was conspicuous in him:—think how I
stared, when the gentleman accosted me—said,
he knew me through my friend
W——e;—his name was * * * *. I bowed,
and stammered some nonsense—I was taken
by surprize.—I am in such a hurry, and the
pen is naught, that I fear you will scarcely
understand this scrawl.—Remember I give
you full powers over this work;—do what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[p. 332]</span>
you can, but do it soon, and make your report
to your friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a>.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p>
<a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">[16]</a> The book alluded to in this letter was printed under the title of,
“An Answer to the Appeal from the Protestant Association.”</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXX_TO_MRS_H_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="130">CXXX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. H——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, March 25, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR MADAM,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I AND mine have a thousand things to
thank you for—shall I say the plain truth,
and own I am proud to know that you care
for me and my little ones? your friendly attention
to our interests proves it—but mortals
of your cast are oftener envied than loved:—the
majority, who are composed chiefly of
the narrow-minded or contracted hearts, and
of selfish avidity, cannot comprehend the
delight in doing as they would be done by—and
consequently cannot love what they do
not understand.—Excuse my nonsense, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[p. 333]</span>
ever write just what I think:—my business
was to give you some account why I delayed
the teas, and to thank you for your very
noble order.—Sir Jacob was here this afternoon,
and, if his looks tell truth, he is exceeding
well. H—— desires his love to you
and the worthy partner of your heart, to
whom I join with my spouse in wishing every
earthly felicity—heavenly you have both insured,
by being faithful stewards.—Sir Jacob
sent a parcel—which accompanies the teas—which
I hope will reach you safe and right,
as they set out to-morrow noon—Tell Mr.
H——, I pray you, that the winter has used
me as roughly as it has him—I never have
been so unwell for these four months past;—but,
alas! one reason is, I do believe, that
I am past fifty;—but I hope with you, that
spring will set us all right.—As to complaints
in trade, there is nothing else—we are all
poor, all grumblers, all preaching œconomy—and
wishing our neighbours to practise it;—but
no one but the quite undone begins at
home. We are all patriots, all politicians,
all state-quacks, and all fools:—the ladies are
turned orators, and declaim in public, expose<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[p. 334]</span>
their persons, and their erudition, to
every Jackanapes who can throw down half
a crown:—as to the men, they are past
saving;—as I can say no good, I will stop
where I am. And is my good friend Mr.
S—— unmarried still? Fie, fie upon him!
how can he enjoy any good alone? He should
take a partner, to lead him gently down the
hill of life—to superintend his linen and his
meat;—to give sweet poignancy to his beverage—and
talk him to sleep on nights.—Pray
tell him all I say—and also that the
majority are killing up the minority as fast as
they can:—nothing but duels, and rumours
of duels.—But is it now time to finish? Dear
Madam, forgive all my impertinences; and,
believe me, dame Sancho and self have a true
sense of your goodness, and repeatedly thank
you both for your kindness to,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours in sincerity,</p>
<p class="signoff2">and greatly obliged friends,</p>
<p class="right sp1">
<span class="allsmcap gesperrt05">ANNE</span> and <span class="allsmcap gesperrt05">IGN. SANCHO</span>.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[p. 335]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXXI_For_the_General_Advertiser"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="131">CXXXI.</abbr> <br /><br /><span class="toline">For the <span class="smcap gesperrt1">General Advertiser</span></span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
August 29, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">FRIEND EDITOR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">“IN the multitude of Counsellors there
is wisdom,” sayeth the preacher—and at
this present crisis of national jeopardy, it
seemeth to me befitting for every honest
man to offer his mite of advice towards
public benefit and edification.—The vast
bounties offered for able-bodied men sheweth
the zeal and liberality of our wise lawgivers—yet
indicateth a scarcity of men. Now,
they seem to me to have overlooked one
resource (which appears obvious); a resource
which would greatly benefit the people
at large (by being more usefully employed),
and which are happily half-trained
already for the service of their country, by
being <em>powder-proof</em>, light, active, young fellows:—I
dare say you have anticipated my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[p. 336]</span>
scheme, which is to form ten companies at
least, out of the very numerous body of
hair-dressers:—they are, for the most part,
clean, clever, young men—and, as observed
above, the utility would be immense:—the
ladies, by once more getting the management
of their heads into their own
hands, might possibly regain their native
reason and œconomy—and the gentlemen
might be induced by mere necessity to comb
and care for their own heads;—those (I
mean) who have heads to care for.—If the
above scheme should happily take place,
among the many advantages too numerous
to particularize, which would of course result
from it, one not of the least magnitude
would be a prodigious saving in the
great momentous article of time; people of
the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ton</i> of both sexes (to speak within probability)
usually losing between two or three
hours daily on that important business.—My
plan, Mr. Editor, I have the comfort
to think, is replete with good;—it tends to
serve my king and country in the first instance—and
to cleanse, settle, and emancipate
from the cruel bondage of French, as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[p. 337]</span>
well as native frizeurs, the heads of my
fellow-subjects.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c.</p>
<p class="right sp1">
<span class="smcap gesperrt05">Africanus.</span></p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXXII_TO_MRS_H_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="132">CXXXII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. H——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, May 20, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR MADAM,</p>
<p class="firstpara">YOUR goodness is never tired with action!—How
many, very many times have
I to thank you, for your friendly interesting
yourself in our behalf!—You will say
thanks are irksome to a generous mind—so
I have done—but must first ask pardon
for a sin of omission.—I never sent you
word that your good son, as friendly as polite,
paid me the note directly, and would
not suffer it to run its sight:—they that
know Sir Jacob will not wonder; for he
is a Christian, which means, in my idea,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[p. 338]</span>
a gentleman not of the modern sort.—Trade
is at so low an ebb, the greatest are glad to
see ready money:—in truth, we are a ruined
people—let hirelings affect to write and
talk as big as they please! and, what is
worse, religion and morality are vanished
with our prosperity—every good principle
seems to be leaving us:—as our means lessen,
luxury and every sort of expensive pleasure
increases.—The blessed Sabbath-day is
used by the trader for country excursions—tavern
dinners—rural walks—and then
whipping and galloping through dust and
over turnpikes drunk home.—The poorer
sort do any thing—but go to church;—they
take their dust in the field, and conclude
the sacred evening with riots, drunkenness,
and empty pockets:—the beau in upper life
hires his whisky and beast for twelve shillings;
his girl dressed <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en militaire</i> for half a
guinea, and spends his whole week’s earnings
to look and be thought <em>quite the thing</em>.—And
for upper tiptop high life—cards
and music are called in, to dissipate the
chagrin of a tiresome, tedious Sunday’s evening.—The
example spreads downwards from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[p. 339]</span>
them to their domestics;—the laced valet
and the livery beau either debauch the
maids, or keep their girls:—thus profusion
and cursed dissipation fill the prisons, and
feed the gallows.—The clergy—hush! I will
not meddle with them—God forbid I
should!—they are pretty much the same
in all places;—but this I will affirm, where-ever
a preacher is in earnest in his duty,
and can <em>preach</em>, he will not want for crouded
congregations.—As to our politics—now
don’t laugh at me—for every one has a right
to be a politician; so have I; and though
only a poor, thick-lipped son of Afric! may
be as notable a Negro state-botcher as
* * * * *, and so on for five hundred:—I do
not mean B—e, S—le, B—é, nor D—n—g.
Mind that——no, nor N—th,
G—m—e, J—k—n, nor W—dd—ne,
names that will shine in history when the
marble monuments of their earthly flatterers
shall be mouldering into dust.—I have wrote
absolute nonsense—I mean the monuments
of N—th, G—m—e, &c. and not of their
flatterers—but it is right I should give you
an apology for this foolish letter.—Know<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[p. 340]</span>
then, my dear Madam, I have been seriously
and literally fast asleep for these two
months;—true, upon the word of a poor
sufferer, a kind of lethargy.—I can sleep
standing, walking, and feel so intolerably
heavy, and oppressed with it, that sometimes
I am ready to tumble when walking
in the street.—I am exceeding sorry to hear
Mr. H—— is so poorly—and hope, through
God’s mercy, the waters will have the wished
effect. For my own part, I feel myself
ten years older this year than the last.—Time
tries us all—but, blessed be God! in
the end we shall be an over-match for Time,
and leave him, scythe and all, in the lurch—when
we shall all enjoy a blessed Eternity.—In
this view, and under the same hope,
we are as great, yea, as respectable and consequential—as
Statesmen! Bishops! Chancellors!
Popes! Heroes! Kings! Actors
of every denomination—who must all drop
the mask—when the fated minute arrives—and,
alas! some of the very high be obliged
to give place to Mr. and Mrs. H——. May
you and yours enjoy every felicity here!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[p. 341]</span>
every blessing hereafter! wish thy much obliged
friends!</p>
<p class="right sp1">
The <span class="allsmcap gesperrt05">SANCHOS</span>.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXXIII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="133">CXXXIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles-Street, June 6, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR AND MOST RESPECTED SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">IN the midst of the most cruel and ridiculous
confusion—I am now set down to
give you a very imperfect sketch of the maddest
people—that the maddest times were
ever plagued with.—The public prints have
informed you (without doubt) of last Friday’s
transactions;—the insanity of Ld. G.
G. and the worse than Negro barbarity of
the populace; the burnings and devastations
of each night—you will also see in the prints;—this
day, by consent, was set apart for
the farther consideration of the wished-for
repeal;—the people (who had their proper
cue from his lordship) assembled by ten<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[p. 342]</span>
o’clock in the morning.—Lord N—h, who
had been up in council at home till four in
the morning, got to the house before eleven,
just a quarter of an hour before the associators
reached Palace-yard:—but, I should
tell you, in council there was a deputation
from all parties;—the S—— party were for
prosecuting Lord G——, and leaving him
at large;—the At—y G——l laughed at the
idea, and declared it was doing just nothing;—the
M——y were for his expulsion, and
so dropping him gently into insignificancy;—that
was thought wrong, as he would still
be industrious in mischief;—the R——m
party, I should suppose, you will think
counselled best, which is, this day to expel
him the house—commit him to the Tower—and
then prosecute him at leisure—by
which means he will lose the opportunity of
getting a seat in the next parliament—and
have decent leisure to repent him of the
heavy evils he has occasioned.—There is at
this present moment at least a hundred thousand
poor, miserable ragged rabble, from
twelve to sixty years of age, with blue cockades
in their hats—besides half as many women<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[p. 343]</span>
and children—all parading the streets—the
bridge—the park—ready for any and
every mischief.—Gracious God! what’s the
matter now? I was obliged to leave off—the
shouts of the mob—the horrid clashing
of swords—and the clutter of a multitude in
swiftest motion—drew me to the door—when
every one in the street was employed in
shutting up shop—It is now just five o’clock—the
ballad-singers are exhausting their musical
talents with the downfall of Popery,
S—h, and N—h. Lord S—h narrowly escaped
with life about an hour since;—the
mob seized his chariot going to the house,
broke his glasses, and, in struggling to get
his lordship out, somehow have cut his face;
the guards flew to his assistance—the light-horse
scowered the road, got his chariot, escorted
him from the coffee-house, where he
had fled for protection, to his carriage, and
guarded him bleeding very fast home. This—this—is
liberty! genuine British liberty!—This
instant about two thousand liberty
boys are swearing and swaggering by with
large sticks—thus armed in hopes of meeting
with the Irish chairmen and labourers—all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[p. 344]</span>
the guards are out—and all the horse;—the
poor fellows are just worn out for want
of rest—having been on duty ever since Friday.
Thank heaven, it rains; may it increase,
so as to send these deluded wretches
safe to their homes, their families, and wives!
About two this afternoon a large party took
it into their heads to visit the King and
Queen, and entered the Park for that purpose—but
found the guard too numerous to
be forced, and after some useless attempts
gave it up. It is reported, the house will
either be prorogued, or parliament dissolved,
this evening—as it is in vain to think of attending
any business while this anarchy lasts.</p>
<p>I cannot but felicitate you, my good friend,
upon the happy distance you are placed from
our scene of confusion.—May foul Discord
and her cursed train never nearer
approach your blessed abode! Tell Mrs.
S——, her good heart would ach, did she
see the anxiety, the woe, in the faces of
mothers, wives, and sweethearts, each equally
anxious for the object of their wishes,
the beloved of their hearts. Mrs. Sancho
and self both cordially join in love and gratitude,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[p. 345]</span>
and every good wish—crowned with
the peace of God, which passeth all understanding,
&c.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
I am, dear Sir,</p>
<p class="signoff2">Yours ever by inclination,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="pshead">Postscript,</p>
<p class="sp1">The Sardinian ambassador offered 500 guineas
to the rabble, to save a painting of
our Saviour from the flames, and 1000
guineas not to destroy an exceeding fine organ:
the gentry told him, they would burn
him if they could get at him, and destroyed
the picture and organ directly. I am not
sorry I was born in Afric.—I shall tire you,
I fear—and, if I cannot get a frank, make
you pay dear for bad news. There is
about a thousand mad men, armed with
clubs, bludgeons, and crows, just now set
off for Newgate, to liberate, they say, their
honest comrades.—I wish they do not some
of them lose their lives of liberty before
morning. It is thought by many who discern
deeply, that there is more at the bottom<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[p. 346]</span>
of this business than merely the repeal
of an act—which as has yet produced no
bad consequences, and perhaps never might.—I
am forced to own, that I am for an
universal toleration. Let us convert by our
example, and conquer by our meekness and
brotherly love!</p>
<p>Eight o’clock. Lord G—— G—— has
this moment announced to my Lords the
mob—that the act shall be repealed this
evening:—upon this, they gave a hundred
chears—took the horses from his hackney-coach,
and rolled him full jollily away:—they
are huzzaing now ready to crack their
throats.</p>
<p class="right sp1">
<em>Huzza!</em> </p>
<p class="ps">I am forced to conclude for want of room—the
remainder in our next.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[p. 347]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXXIV_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="134">CXXXIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, June 9, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">GOVERNMENT is sunk in lethargic
stupor—anarchy reigns—when I look
back to the glorious time of a George II.
and a Pitt’s administration—my heart sinks
at the bitter contrast. We may now say
of England, as was heretofore said of Great
Babylon—“the beauty of the excellency of
the Chaldees is no more;”—the Fleet
Prison, the Marshalsea, King’s-Bench, both
Compters, Clerkenwell, and Tothill-Fields,
with Newgate, are flung open;—Newgate
partly burned, and 300 felons, from thence
only, let loose upon the world. Lord
M——’s house in town suffered martyrdom;
and his sweet box at Caen Wood
escaped almost miraculously, for the mob
had just arrived, and were beginning with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[p. 348]</span>
it, when a strong detachment from the
guards and light-horse came most critically
to its rescue—the library, and, what is of
more consequence, papers and deeds of vast
value, were all cruelly consumed in the
flames. Ld. N—’s house was attacked; but
they had previous notice, and were ready
for them. The Bank, the Treasury, and
thirty of the chief noblemen’s houses, are
doomed to suffer by the insurgents. There
were six of the rioters killed at Ld.
M——’s, and, what is remarkable, a
daring chap, escaped from Newgate, condemned
to die this day, was the most active
in mischief at Ld. M——’s, and was
the first person shot by the soldiers; so he
found death a few hours sooner than if he
had not been released.—The ministry have
tried lenity, and have experienced its inutility;
and martial law is this night to be declared.—If
any body of people above ten
in number are seen together, and refuse to
disperse, they are to be fired at without any
further ceremony—so we expect terrible
work before morning.—The insurgents visited
the Tower, but it would not do:—they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[p. 349]</span>
had better luck in the Artillery-ground,
where they found and took to their use
500 stand of arms; a great error in city
politics, not to have secured them first.—It
is wonderful to hear the execrable nonsense
that is industriously circulated amongst the
credulous mob, who are told his M——y
regularly goes to mass at Ld. P—re’s chaple—and
they believe it, and that he pays
out of his privy purse Peter-pence to
Rome. Such is the temper of the times—from
too relaxed a government;—and a
King and Queen on the throne who possess
every virtue. May God, in his mercy,
grant that the present scourge may operate
to our repentance and amendment! that it
may produce the fruits of better thinking,
better doing, and in the end make us a
wise, virtuous, and happy people!—I am,
dear Sir, truly, Mrs. S——’s and your
most grateful and obliged friend and servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">The remainder in our next.</p>
<p class="sp05">Half past nine o’clock.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[p. 350]</span></p>
<p>King’s-Bench prison is now in flames,
and the prisoners at large; two fires in
Holborn now burning.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXXV_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="135">CXXXV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
June 9, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">HAPPILY for us, the tumult begins
to subside:—last night much was threatened,
but nothing done—except in the early
part of the evening, when about four-score
or an hundred of the reformers
got decently knocked on the head;—they
were half killed by Mr. Langdale’s
spirits—so fell an easy conquest to the bayonet
and butt-end.—There are about fifty
taken prisoners—and not a blue cockade to
be seen:—the streets once more wear the
face of peace—and men seem once more to
resume their accustomed employments.—The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[p. 351]</span>
greatest losses have fallen upon the
great distiller near Holborn-bridge, and Lord
M——; the former, alas! has lost his
whole fortune;—the latter, the greatest and
best collection of manuscript writings, with
one of the finest libraries in the kingdom.
Shall we call it a judgement?—or what shall
we call it? The thunder of their vengeance
has fallen upon Gin and Law—the two most
inflammatory things in the Christian world.—We
have a Coxheath and Warley of our
own; Hyde Park has a grand encampment,
with artillery, Park, &c. &c. St. James’s
Park has ditto—upon a smaller scale. The
Parks, and our West end of the town, exhibit
the features of French government.
This minute, thank God! this moment
Lord G. G. is taken. Sir F. Molineux has
him safe at the horse-guards. Bravo! he is
now going in state in an old hackney-coach,
escorted by a regiment of militia and troop
of light horse, to his apartments in the
Tower.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">“Off with his head—so much—for Buckingham.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>We have taken this day numbers of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[p. 352]</span>
poor wretches, in so much we know not
where to place them. Blessed be the Lord!
we trust this affair is pretty well concluded.—If
any thing transpires worth your notice—you
shall hear from</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your much obliged, &c. &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Best regards attend Mrs. S——. His
lordship was taken at five o’clock this evening—betts
run fifteen to five, Lord G—
G— is hanged in eight days:—he wished
much to speak to his Majesty on Wednesday,
but was of course refused.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXXVI_TO_J_S_mdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="136">CXXXVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J. S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
June 13, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">THAT my poor endeavours have given
you information or amusement, gratifies the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[p. 353]</span>
warm wish of my heart; for, as I know not
the man to whose kindness I am so much
indebted, I may safely say, I know not the
man whose esteem I more ardently covet and
honour.—We are exceeding sorry to hear of
Mrs. S——’s indisposition; and hope, ere
this reaches you, she will be well, or greatly
mended.—The spring with us has been very
sickly—and the summer has brought with it
sick times;—sickness! cruel sickness! triumphs
through every part of the constitution:—the
State is sick—the Church (God
preserve it!) is sick—the Law, Navy, Army,
all sick—the people at large are sick
with taxes—the Ministry with Opposition,
and Opposition with Disappointment.—Since
my last, the temerity of the mob has gradually
subsided;—numbers of the unfortunate
rogues have been taken:—yesterday about
thirty were killed in and about Smithfield,
and two soldiers were killed in the affray.—There
is no certainty yet as to the number
of houses burnt and gutted—for every day
adds to the account—which is a proof how
industrious they were in their short reign.—Few
evils but are productive of some good<span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[p. 354]</span>
in the end:—the suspicious turbulence of
the times united the royal brothers;—the
two Dukes, dropping all past resentment,
made a filial tender of their services;—his
Majesty (God bless him!) as readily accepted
it—and on Thursday last the brothers met;—they
are now a triple cord—God grant a
blessing to the union! There is a report current
this day, that the mob of York city
have rose, and let 3000 French prisoners
out of York-castle—but it meets with very
little credit.—I do not believe they have any
thing like the number of French in those
parts—as I am informed the prisoners are
sent more to the western inland counties—but
every hour has its fresh cargo of lies.
The camp in St. James’s Park is daily increasing—that
and Hyde Park will be continued
all the summer.—The K—g is much
among them—walking the lines—and examining
the posts:—he looks exceeding grave.
Crowns, alas! have more thorns than roses.</p>
<p>You see things, my dear Sir, with the
faithful eye which looks, through nature,
up to Nature’s God—the sacred page is your
support—the word of God your shield and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[p. 355]</span>
armour—well may you be able so sweetly to
deduce good out of evil—the Lord ordereth
your goings—and gives the blessings of increase
to all your wishes. For your kind
anxiety about me and family, we bless and
thank you.—I own, at first I felt uneasy
sensations—but a little reflection brought me
to myself.—Put thy trust in God, quoth I.—Mrs.
Sancho, whose virtues out-number
my vices (and I have enough for any one
mortal), feared for me and for her children
more than for herself.—She prayed too, I
dare say—and her prayers were heard.</p>
<p>America seems to be quite lost or forgot
among us;—the fleet is but a secondary affair.—Pray
God send us some good news, to
chear our drooping apprehensions, and to
enable me to send you pleasanter accounts;—for
trust me, my worthy friend, grief, sorrow,
devastation, blood, and slaughter, are
totally foreign to the taste and affection of</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your faithful friend</p>
<p class="signoff2">and obliged servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Our joint best wishes to Mrs. S——, self,
and family.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">[p. 356]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXXVII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="137">CXXXVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
June 15, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I AM exceeding happy to inform you, that
at twelve this noon Lord L—— arrived
express from Sir H— C——, with the pleasing
news, that, on the 12th of April, Charles
Town with its dependencies capitulated to
his Majesty’s arms, with the loss of 200
men on our side: by which fortunate event,
five ships of war, besides many frigates, and
one thousand seamen, were captured; and
seven thousand military, which compose the
garrison.—You will have pleasure, I am sure,
in finding so little blood shed—and in the
hope of its accelerating the so-much-wished-for
peace. Inclosed is a list of the prisoners,
which is from Lord Lincoln’s account—at
least I am confidently told so—and more than
that, it is said the late terrible riot was on a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">[p. 357]</span>
plan concerted between the French and Americans—upon
which their whole hope of
success was founded—they expected universal
bankruptcy would be the consequence, with
despair and every sad concomitant in its
train. By God’s goodness, we have escaped.
May we deserve so great mercy!</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Prays sincerely yours,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">The Gazette will not be out in time, but
you shall have one to-morrow without fail.—As
soon as this news was announced, the
Tower and Park guns confirmed it—the
guards encamped in the Parks fired each a
grand <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">feu de joye</i>—to-night we blaze in illuminations—and
to-morrow get up as poor
and discontented as ever. I wish, dear Sir,
very much to hear Mrs. S—— is quite recovered—it
would indicate more than a common
want of feeling, were not my wife and self
anxious for the health and repose of such very
rare friends.—Indulge us, do, dear Sir,
with a single line, that we may joy in your
joy upon her amendment, or join our wishes
with yours to the God of mercy and love,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[p. 358]</span>
for her speedy recovery.—I inclose you an
evening paper—there is not much in it.
Upon consideration, I have my doubts concerning
the French and Americans being so
deep in the plan of our late riots;—there
requires, I think, a kind of supernatural
knowledge to adjust their motions so critically—but
you can judge far better than my
weak intellects;—therefore I will not pretend
to affirm any thing for truth, except
my sincere desire to approve myself most
gratefully</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your obliged servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXXVIII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="138">CXXXVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
June 16, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">AS a supplement to my last—this is to
tell you a piece of private news—which
gives ministry high hopes in the future.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[p. 359]</span>
General Washington, who was anxiously
watching Sir H. Clinton, no sooner saw
with certainty his intention, but he struck
his camp, and made the most rapid march
to New York—they expected it;—but, as
he was in superior force, they felt their
danger.—Sir H. Clinton, as soon as he
could possibly settle the garrison of Charles
Town, embarked with seven thousand men,
and got to New York in time to save it;—and
if he can possibly bring Washington
to a battle, it is thought the fate of America
will be soon decided.—Thank God!
the sky clears in that quarter—but we look
rather louring at home.—Ministry wish now
too plainly to disarm the subjects. Last
year, under dread of French invasion, the
good people were thanked for their military
favour.—Master tradesmen armed their journeymen
and apprentices—and the serjeants
of the guards absolutely made little fortunes
in teaching grown gentlemen of all descriptions
their exercise—in fancied uniforms,
and shining arms, they marched to
the right, wheeled to the left, and looked
battle-proof;—but now, it seems, they are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[p. 360]</span>
not only useless, but offensive. How the
affair will end, God only knows!—I do not
like its complexion.—Government has ordered
them to give up their arms. If they
do, where is British liberty? If they refuse,
what is Administration? Many are gentlemen
of large property—Inns of Court Members,
Lawyers, &c. dangerous people.—Time will
unveil the whole—May its lenient powers
pour the balm of healing councils on this
once glorious spot!—and make it as heretofore
the nurse of freedom—Europe’s fairest
example—the land of truth, bravery, loyalty,
and of every heart-gladdening virtue!
That you and Mrs. S—— may, surrounded
with friends, and in the enjoyment of
every good, live to see the completion
of my wishes—is the concluding prayer
of,</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Dear Sir,</p>
<p class="signoff2">Yours ever, &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">[p. 361]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXXXIX_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="139">CXXXIX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
June 19, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I AM sorry to hear by brother O—— that
Mrs. S—— yet continues but poorly—may
she be soon perfectly well—and
health attend you both! We remain pretty
quiet—the military are so judiciously placed,
that in fact the whole town (in despight
of its magnitude) is fairly overawed
and commanded by them. His M——y
went this day to the house—and gave them
the very best speech, in my opinion, of
his whole life: I have the pleasure to inclose it.—If
I err in judgement, I know
you more the true candid friend, than the
severe critic—and that you will smile at the
mistake of the head, and do justice to the
heart, of</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your ever obliged,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">[p. 362]</span></p>
<p class="ps">There is a report, that the Quebec fleet,
escorted by two frigates, are entirely captured
by a French squadron.—I hope this
will prove premature.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXL_TO_MR_J_mdash_WmdashmdashE"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="140">CXL.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. J—— W——E</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Westm. June 23, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR FRIEND,</p>
<p class="firstpara">HOW do you do? is the blessing of
health upon you? do you eat moderately?
drink temperately, and laugh heartily? sleep
soundly? converse carefully with one eye
to pleasure, the other fixed upon improvement?
The above is the hope and wish of
thy friend, friend to thy house, and respecter
of its character.—You, happy young
man, by as happy a coincidence of fortune,
are like to be the head of the W—— family:—may
riches visit you, coupled with
honour and honesty!—and then sweet peace<span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">[p. 363]</span>
of mind shall yield you a dignity—which
kings have not power to confer:—then will
you experience that the self-ennobled are
the only true noble:—then will you truly
feel those beautiful lines of Pope:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent2">“One self-approving hour whole years outweighs</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Of idle starers, or of loud huzza’s;</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards?</div>
<div class="verse indent2">“Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="noindent">
<p>Your father, I trust, will send you some
public prints, in which he will see the blessed
temper of the times:—we are (but do
not be frightened), or at least two thirds of
us, run mad—through too much religion;—our
religion has swallowed up our charity—and
the fell demon Persecution is become
the sacred idol of the once free, enlightened,
generous Britons.—You will read
with wonder and horror the sad, sad history
of eight such days as I wish from my soul
could be annihilated out of Time’s records
for ever.</p>
</div>
<p>That poor wretched young man I once
warned you of is (I find from under his
own hand) now resident at Calcutta:—’tis
not in the power of friendship to serve a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">[p. 364]</span>
man who will in no one instance care for
himself:—so I wish you not to know him—but
whatever particulars you can collaterally
glean of him, I shall esteem it a
favour if you would transmit them to</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your sincere friend,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGNATIUS SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Mrs. Sancho joins me cordially in every
wish for your good.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXLI_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="141">CXLI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
June 27, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">THERE is news this day arrived, which,
I believe, may be depended upon—that
Rodney brought the French admiral to a
second engagement about the 26th of May;
it unluckily fell calm, or the affair would
have been decisive.—The van of Rodney,
however, got up to Mons. Guichen’s fleet’s
rear, and gave it a hearty welcome.—Rodney<span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">[p. 365]</span>
still keeps the seas, and prevents the French
fleet getting into Martinique.—The account
says, the enemy had the advantage of six
ships of the line more than Rodney;—and a
report runs current, that Walsingham has
fallen-in with the Dominica fleet, consisting
of thirty merchantmen and two frigates, and
taken most of them—but this wants confirmation.—Dear
Sir, I hope Mrs. S—— is
better than mending—quite well—to whom
our most sincere respects.—Your order,
good Sir, is compleated, and, please God,
will be delivered to to-morrow’s waggon.</p>
<p>Excuse my scrawling hand—in truth my
eyes fail me; I feel myself since last winter
an old man all at once—the failure of eyes—the
loss of teeth—the thickness of hearing—are
all messengers sent in mercy and love, to
turn our thoughts to the important journey
which kings and great men seldom think
about:—it is for such as you to meditate on
time and eternity with true pleasure—looking
back, you have very much to comfort
you;—looking forward, you have all to hope.—As
I have reason to respect you in this life,
may I and mine be humble witnesses in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">[p. 366]</span>
next of the exceeding weight of bliss and
glory poured out without measure upon thee
and thine!</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXLII_TO_MR_O_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="142">CXLII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. O——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
July 1, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR BROTHER,</p>
<p class="firstpara">SHALL I rejoice or condole with you
upon this new acquaintance you have made?
How the devil it found you out, I cannot
imagine—I suppose the father of mischief
sent it to some richer neighbour at a greater
house; but as Johnny O—— was a character
better known, and much more esteemed, the
gout thought he might as well just take a
peep at F——m, liked the place, and the
man of the place—and so, nestling into your
shoe, quite forgot his real errand:—thy
guardian angel watched the whole procedure—quoth
he, “I cannot wholly avert evils—but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">[p. 367]</span>
I can turn them into blessings.—This
transitory pain shall not only refine his
blood, and cleanse him from other disorders—it
shall also lengthen his life, and purify
his heart:—the hour of affliction is the seed-time
of reflection—the good shall greatly
over-balance the evil.”——As I am unfortunately
an adept in the gout, I ought to
send you a cart-load of cautions and advice—talk
nonsense about tight shoes, &c. with
a farrago of stuff more teazing than the pain;—but
I hear the ladies visit you—and,
what’s better, friendship in the shape of
Messieurs S——k and B——n were seen to
enter the palace of F——. I supped last
night with Dr. R——, where your health
was drunk, and your gout pretty freely canvassed.</p>
<p>
God orders all for the best.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours, &c.</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">[p. 368]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXLIII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="143">CXLIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
July 5, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I RECEIVED yours this morning
from the hands of a gentleman, who would
not stay to be thanked for the invaluable
letter he brought me.—You truly say, that
cold lowness of spirits engenders melancholy
thoughts; for my part, I should be a most
ungrateful being to repine—for I have known
good health—and even now, though not
well, far from being ill, and have the friendship
of Mr. S——, and one or two more
who do honour to human nature.—But the
purpose of this scrawl is to confirm to you
a piece of good news this day arrived—which
is, that both the Carolinas, and
best part of Virginia, are all come in to their
allegiance.—The back settlers have rose, and
mustered the reluctant:—thus the three<span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">[p. 369]</span>
richest and strongest provinces are now in
the King’s peace—for which, God make us
thankful.</p>
<p>Adieu, dear Sir.—Mrs. Sancho (whose
eyes kindle with pleasure while she speaks)
begs to be joined with me in the most respectful
manner to Mrs. S—— and yourself—hope
Mrs. S—— is quite as well as you
can wish her.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
I am ever yours,</p>
<p class="signoff2">Dear Sir, to command,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXLIV_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="144">CXLIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, August 18, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR AND HON. SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">MY long silence was the effect of a dearth
of news:—I could have wrote, it’s true—but
you would have ill relished a mass of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">[p. 370]</span>
thanks upon favours received.—Minds like
yours diffuse blessings around; and, like
parent heaven, rest satisfied with the heart.—Your
goodness, dear Sir, is registered
there—and death will not expunge it.—No;
it will travel to the throne of grace, and the
Almighty will not wrong you.—I am just
risen from table with my friend R——, and
we have toasted you most cordially in conjunction
with the amiable partner of your
heart, whom I hope in some happy time to
see—I may say, hunger and thirst to see—it’s
the wish of my heart.—Providence has
indulged me with many, and I will hope for
the completion of this.—But to the point:—a
gentleman in administration (with whom I
am upon good terms) about an hour since
called upon me, to give me some fresh news
just arrived from Admiral Geary’s fleet—an
engagement between a new French frigate,
pierced for 44 guns, mounting 32, called the
Nymphe, and the Flora English frigate,
Capt. Peere Williams<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a>, of 36 guns; the
Flora was peeping into Brest harbour, when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">[p. 371]</span>
the Nymphe was coming out full of men;—they
were both in the right mind for engagement—to
it they went—the Frenchman
began the affair at two cables length distance.—Williams
reserved his fire till they were
within half-cable’s length—it lasted with the
obstinacy of two enraged lions for above
two hours.—A French cutter came up to
teaze, but was sent off soon with a belly-full:—at
last the French captain, at the
head of his men, attempted boarding—when
our English hero met him—ran him
through the body—drove back his men—put
them under hatches—struck the colours—when
she was on fire in four different
places.—This affair happened the 10th ult.
and he has gallantly brought his prize into
Plymouth.—This is the greatest affair, take
the number of guns, men &c. altogether,
that has happened this war. I am sorry to
remark, that if the French fleets in general
behave so well, it will be a service of danger
to meddle with them.</p>
<p>When Capt. Williams had conquered the
crew, they found sixty dead upon deck;—the
two ships exhibited a scene more like a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">[p. 372]</span>
slaughter-house, than any thing imaginable—These,
oh Christians! are the features of
war—and thus Most Christian Kings and
Defenders of Faith shew their zeal and love
for the dying commands of their Divine
Master.—Oh! friend, may every felicity be
thine, and those beloved by thee! may the
heartfelt sigh arise only at the tale of foreign
woes!—May that sacred tear of pity bedew
the cheek for misfortunes only such as humanity
may soften!—Mrs. Sancho joins me
in sincere and grateful respects to Mrs. S——
and self.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours truly,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">Sancho begs his respects to Mr. and Mrs.
C——; love to Sir J— O——. and all who
enquire after Blackamoors.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p>
<a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">[17]</a> Capt. Peere Williams is first cousin to Lady N——; and he will not
fare the worse for that.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">[p. 373]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXLV_TO_MRS_C_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="145">CXLV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. C——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Sept. 7, 1780.</p>
<p class="firstpara">MY greatly esteemed and honoured friend,
if my pen doth justice in any sort to my
feelings, this letter will not be a complimentary
one.—I look upon such letters as
I do upon the ladies winter nosegays, a
choice display of vivid colouring, but no
sweetness.—My friend Mr. R—— says, I
stand condemned in the opinions of two
ladies for an omittance in writing: believe
me, my sorrow for incurring the censure
is much more real than the crime; for when
the heart is overcharged with worldly care,
the mind bending also to the pressure of
afflictive visitations—add to that the snow-tipt
hairs announcing fifty odd—the fire of
fancy is quite extinguished.—Alas! alas!
such being the true state of the case—I dare
abide by the jury of your noble and equitable
hearts, to be brought in not guilty.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">[p. 374]</span>
The shew of hands was greatly in favour of
Mr. C—— F—x and Sir G—— R——y;
they will carry it all to nothing, is the opinion
of the knowing—Lord L—— met
with a coarse reception, at which he was a
little displeased.—Mr. B—g spoke like the
pupil of eloquence;—but the glorious F—x
was the father and school of oratory himself—the
Friend! the Patron! the Example!—There
now.—I attended the hustings
from ten to half past two—gave my free
vote to the Honourable C—— J—— F—x
and to Sir G—— R——y; hobbled home
full of pain and hunger.—What followed
after, you shall know in my next. At
present I have only to declare myself</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours and Miss C——’s</p>
<p class="signoff2">most obedient, faithful,</p>
<p class="signoff4">humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">[p. 375]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXLVI_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="146">CXLVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Sept. 9, 1780.</p>
<p class="firstpara">WE are all election-bewitched here—I
hope Sir C—— B—— meets with no opposition—he
is so worthy a character, that,
should he be ill supported, it would impeach
the good sense and honesty of his
constituents.—Mrs. S—— and yourself, I
pray God, may both enjoy health and every
good.—I here inclose you this evening’s
paper, by which you will see how the F—x
is like to lead Ad——n. He and Sir G——
B—— R—— had my hearty vote, and I
had the honour of his thanks personally,
and in writing also. I have to thank you
for a thousand kind things, which I wish
from my soul I could any way ever deserve.
May health and every blessing bestrew your
paths—and those of all you love!—is the
prayer and wish of</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your much obliged</p>
<p class="signoff2">humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">[p. 376]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXLVII_TO_MISS_C_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="147">CXLVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MISS C——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Saturday, Sept. 9, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR MISS,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I HAVE the honour to address you upon
a very interesting, serious, critical subject.—Do
not be alarmed! it is an affair which
I have had at heart some days past—it has
employed my meditations more than my
prayers.—Now, I protest, I feel myself in
the most aukward of situations—but it must
out—and so let it.—But how does my good,
my half-adored Mrs. C——? and how does
Miss A——? and when did you see my
worthy Mrs. R——? Are they all well,
and happy as friendship could wish them?
How is the Doctor and Beau S——, all
well?—Well, thank God—and you and
your dear self are well? Honey, and was
not Lord N—— an Irish title? true, but
the chield is Scotch born.—Pray give my
best affections to Mrs. C——, and acquaint<span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">[p. 377]</span>
her with the state of the poll for the ancient
city and liberty of Westminster, which
I inclose. I would not wish you to mention
what I so boldly advanced in the beginning
of this letter.—No; let it die away
like a miser’s hope.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your most obedient,</p>
<p class="signoff2">most humble servant,</p>
<p class="signoff3">I remain, dear Miss C——,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">The remainder in our next.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXLVIII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="148">CXLVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Sept. 23, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I RECEIVED this evening one of the
kindest letters that ever friendship dictated—for
which I rejoice that the time draws
near, when I shall have the delight to amend
my health—and see the few true good friends—such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">[p. 378]</span>
as my soul delighteth to honour.—I
inclose you an evening paper.—Thank
God! although the people have been a little
irritated, every thing appears quiet, and I
hope will remain so. The week after next,
I hope to see the good Mrs. S—— and your
worthy self, to whom Mrs. Sancho joins
me in best wishes.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
I am, dear Sir,</p>
<p class="signoff2">Your most obedient</p>
<p class="signoff3">humble servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="ps">The principal business I had to write
about had like to have escaped me, which
is your kindness in offering your house for
head-quarters; which I would embrace, had
not brother O—— the right of priority.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">[p. 379]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CXLIX_TO_DOCTOR_N_FmdashD"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="149">CXLIX.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO DOCTOR N—F—D</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Westm. Oct. 13, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">HONOURED SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">WERE I to omit my thanks—poor as
they are—for a single post—your honest and
more sensible dog would be ashamed of me.</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“A merciful man is good to his beasts.”</p>
</div>
<div class="noindent">
<p class="sp05">The friendly hand which strokes and rewards
his attentions, that same friendly hand
has prescribed for my good—and under God
has much benefited my health;—the eye of
kindness, which animates the poor animal
to deeds almost beyond instinct, hath beamed
upon me also, and given me the pleasing
assurance of new health.—I wish, dear Sir,
for just as much credit in the point of gratitude,
as you will allow to fall to the share of
any poor honest dog.—For so much, and no
more, prayeth, dear Sir,</p>
</div>
<p class="signoff1">
Your most obedient</p>
<p class="signoff2">and grateful servant,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">[p. 380]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CL_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="150">CL.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Friday, Oct 13, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I SHOULD esteem myself too happy,
were I at this moment certain that Mrs.
S—— were as much better as I find myself;—but
when I consider the professional skill, as
well as the interest Dr. N—— has in the
welfare of you and yours, I sit down satisfied,
in full hope that Mrs. S—— is at this moment
better—much better—and, as one
spirit animates you both, you are better too.
May health diffuse itself throughout thy house!
and gladden all around it! I am better, my
dear Sir.—Tell my good Mrs. S——, I
shall live to see her, and to thank her too
most cordially in my child’s name: for my
part, your liberality in constant flow has
tired me out with thank-ye’s. Adieu, dear
Sir.—I never left a place with so much regret
as you made me leave B—— with;—nor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">[p. 381]</span>
ever met with the whole family of the
Charities, but at thy house.—Mrs. Sancho
joins me in acknowledgements to self, good
Mrs. S——, and Dr. N—f—d.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
We are, dear Sir,</p>
<p class="signoff2">Yours gratefully,</p>
<p class="signature">
A. I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CLI_TO_MR_S_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="151">CLI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MR. S——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Friday, Oct. 18, 1780.</p>
<p class="firstpara">POOH, no, thou simpleton! I tell thee,
I got no cold, neither is my breath one jot
the worse.—I wish I knew that you suffered
as little from break of rest, and raw air.—I
am glad I have left you, for your sake as well
as my own, my dear Stee.—The corks flew
out of thy bottles in such rapid succession,
that prudence and pity held a council upon
it.—Generosity stepped in, followed by a
pert coxcomb, whom they called Spirit—and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">[p. 382]</span>
God knows how the affair is to end.—I intend
to write a line to the worthies of your
town, the good Mr. S— and Dr. N—f—d.
O Stee! had I thy abilities, I would say
what should credit my feelings, though it
fell far short of the merits of such friends to
mankind—and</p>
<p class="right sp1">
Your <span class="allsmcap gesperrt05">IGN. SANCHO</span>, in particular.</p>
<p class="sp2">Love and respects to thy generous scholars—the
Greens—the Browns, &c. &c. to
reverends Mess. Prettyman, and the other
gentleman with pretty wife, whose name is
deserted from the silly pate of thy true
friend Sancho.—I have not seen Mr. J——
H——; but they are all well, as Mr. Anthony
has just announced.</p>
<p>Say handsomely to the Greens—and much
as you please to the Prettymans.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">[p. 383]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CLII"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="152">CLII.</abbr></h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
October 15, 1780.
</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR BOY,
</p>
<p class="firstpara">THIS is to thank you kindly for the
affectionate mark of your remembrance of
your old friend. After a long tedious
voyage, you happily reached the haven of
your repose—found your friends well—and
rejoiced their hearts by presenting, not a
prodigal, but a duteous, worthy, and obedient
child;—theirs be the joy—but yours
will be the gain.—As sure as light follows
the rising of the sun, and darkness the setting
of it;—so sure is goodness even in this
life its own reward of course. You are in the
militia—that will do you no harm;—spirit
and true courage in defence of our country
is naturally and nobly employed.—We are in
the upper world playing the old foolish game—in
the same foolish way—and with the same
foolish set that trod the ministerial boards
when you left us. Your friend D—— tries
expedients, and gets nothing;—he is very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">[p. 384]</span>
deep in my debt; but as he has nothing,
I can expect nothing—for I never will consent
to do that to others, I would not they
should do unto me.—N—— does better,
and grows proud—I wish him joy.—My
dear youth, be proud of nothing but an
honest heart.—Let the sacred oracles be
your morn and evening counsellors—so
shall you truly enjoy life, and smile at the
approach of death.—I have been exceedingly
ill since you left us;—but, thank God! I
have got a fair fit of the gout, which will,
I hope, cleanse me from my whole budget of
complaints.—I shall live, I hope, till your
good present arrives;—and then I shall live
indeed.—Send the girls some cherry nuts,
if easy to be procured.—Mrs. S—— joins
me in love, good-will, and good wishes for
thy peace, health, and prosperity. Adieu.</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours affectionately,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_385">[p. 385]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CLIII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="153">CLIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Nov. 1, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I TRUST, in God’s good providence,
this will find Mrs. S— in perfect health;
and you so well, that it shall remain a doubt
which is heartiest.—I am in the way of
being well—the gout in both feet and legs—I
go upon all-fours—the conflict has been
sharp; I hope the end is near—I never remembered
them to have swelled so much.—I
believe my preserver, Dr. N—f—d, would
allow it to be a decent fit;—my grateful respects
attend him: the issue is deferred till
the gout subsides, and I find my breath somewhat
better; but I can find no position easy.—I
inclose you the topic of the day.—Mrs.
Sancho joins me in every wish for the felicity
of our much-loved friends, yourself, and
better self.</p>
<p class="signature">
IGN. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_386">[p. 386]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CLIV_TO_MRS_O_mdash"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="154">CLIV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO MRS. O——</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Westm. Nᵒ. 19, Nov. 5, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SISTER,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I PRAY thee accept the inclosed as a mite
of thanks and gratitude for the tender care
and true friendly obligingness, which a wife
could only equal, and which I never expected
to find from home.—I feel and acknowledge
your kindness—<em>that</em>, and the <em>uncommon</em>
goodness of some of the best of human
nature, shall be cherished in my heart
while it continues to beat.—Every body tells
me I am better—and what every one says
must be true;—for my part, I feel a very
slow amendment; my cough is pretty stubborn;
my breath very little better; body
weak as water—add to this, a smart gout in
both legs and feet.—Your sister joins me in
love and repeated thanks for all favours
to her poor, worn-out, old man,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_387">[p. 387]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CLV_TO_J_S_mdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="155">CLV.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J. S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Nov. 18, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">MY DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">IT is a week this blessed day since that I
ought, according to every rule of gratitude,
love, and zeal, to have thanked my best
friends for a plenty of some of the best wine,
which came in the best time true kindness
could have contrived it.—I should also have
congratulated the many anxious hearts upon
the happy recovery of yourself, and my thrice
good Mrs. S——. I waited from post to
post, to send a tolerable account of myself—the
gout has used me like a tyrant—and
my asthma, if possible, worse—I have swelled
gradually all over.—What a sight! Dr.
J—bb will not suffer me to make an issue
yet, as he would not wish to disturb the
gout. In truth, my best friend, I never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_388">[p. 388]</span>
truly knew illness till this bout.—Your
goodness greatly lessened my anxiety.—I find
in it the continual flow of more than parental
kindness:—as God gave the heart, he
must and alone can give the reward!—Our
joint best love, and most respectful thanks,
attend you both, from</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours gratefully,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CLVI_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="156">CLVI.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Nov. 17, 1780.</p>
<p class="firstpara">MY friend, patron, preserver! were the
mind alone sick, God never created, since
the blessed Apostles days, a better physician
than thyself—either singly, or in happy <em>partnership</em>
with the best of women—not only
so, but your blessed zeal, like the Samaritan’s,
forgetful of self-wants, poureth the
wine and oil, and binding up the wounds of
worldly sickness—then leaving with reluctance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_389">[p. 389]</span>
the happy object of thy care to the mercy
of an interested host, with money in hand
you cry—“Call help, spare no expence,
and when I return, I will repay you.”—Indulge
me, my noble friend, I have seen the
priest, and the Levite, <em>after many years knowledge</em>,
snatch a hasty look; then, with averted
face, pursue their different routes: and yet
these good folks pray, turn up their eyes to
that Heaven they daily insult, and take more
pains to preserve the appearances of virtue,
than would suffice to make them good in
earnest.—You see, my good Sir, by the galloping
of my pen, that I am much mended.—I
have been intolerably plagued with a bilious
colic, which, after three days excruciating
torments, gave way to mutton-fat-broth
clysters.—I am now (bating the swelling
of my legs and ancles) much mended—air
and exercise is all I want—but the fogs
and damps are woefully against me.—Mrs.
Sancho, who reads, weeps, and wonders,
as the various passions impel, says, she is
sure the merits of your house would save
B——, were the rest of the inhabitants ever
so bad;—she joins me in every grateful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_390">[p. 390]</span>
thought.—In good truth, I have not language
to express my feelings. Dr. R——
hurries me. Blessed couple, adieu!</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Yours,</p>
<p class="signature">
I. SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CLVII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="157">CLVII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Charles Street, Dec. 1, 1780.</p>
<p class="firstpara">WHY joy in the extreme should end
painfully, I cannot find out—but that it
does so, I will ever seriously maintain.
When I read the effusions of goodness, my
head turned;—but when I came to consider
the extensive and expensive weight and
scope of the contents, my reason reeled,
and idiotism took possession of me—till the
friendly tears, washing away the mills of
doubt, presented you to me as beings of a
purer, happier order—which God in his
mercy perhaps suffers to be scattered here
and there—thinly—that the lucky few who
know them may, at the same time, know<span class="pagenum" id="Page_391">[p. 391]</span>
what man in his original state was intended
to be.—I gave your generous request a fair
hearing—the two first proposed places would
kill me, except (and that is impossible) Mrs.
Sancho was with me.</p>
<p>Inclination strongly points to the land of
friendship—where goodness ever blossoms—and
where N—f—d heals. At present I
take nothing, but am trying for a few days
what honest Nature, unperplexed by Art,
will do for me.—I am pretty much swelled
still; but I take short airings in the near
stages, such as Greenwich, Clapham, Newington,
&c. &c. Walking kills me. The
mind—the mind, my ever dear and honoured
friends—the mind requires her lullaby;—she
must have rest ere the body can be
in a state of comfort, she must enjoy peace,
and that must be found in still repose of
family and home. Mrs. Sancho, who speaks
by her tears, says what I will not pretend
to decypher;—I believe she most fervently
recommends you to that Being who best
knows you—for he gave you your talents.
My most grateful and affectionate respects,
joined with Mrs. Sancho’s, attend the good<span class="pagenum" id="Page_392">[p. 392]</span>
Mrs. S——, thyself, and all thy connexions.
I cannot say how much we are
obliged to you; but certainly we were never
so much nor so undeservingly obliged to
any before. God keep you in all your doings—prays
thine,</p>
<p class="signature">
SANCHO.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_CLVIII_TO_J_mdash_Smdashmdash_ESQ"><span class="gesperrt2">LETTER </span><abbr title="158">CLVIII.</abbr><br /><br /><span class="toline">TO J—— S——, ESQ</span>.</h2>
</div>
<p class="dateline">
Dec. 7, 1780.</p>
<p class="salut">DEAR SIR,</p>
<p class="firstpara">I AM doubly and trebly happy, that I can
in some measure remove the anxiety of the
best couple in the universe. I set aside all
thanks—for were I to enter into the feelings
of my heart for the past and present,
I should fill the sheet: but you would not
be pleased.—In good truth, I have been exceeding
ill—my breath grew worse—and the
dropsy made large strides.—I left off medicine<span class="pagenum" id="Page_393">[p. 393]</span>
by consent for four or five days, swelled
immoderately:—the good Dr. N—f—d
eighty miles distant—and Dr. J—bb heartily
puzzled through the darkness of his patient—I
began to feel alarm—when, looking
into your letter, I found a Dr. S—th recommended
by yourself. I enquired—his
character is great—but for lungs and dropsy,
Sir John E—t, physician extraordinary and
ordinary to his Majesty, is reckoned the
first. I applied to him on Sunday morning—he
received me like Dr. N—f—d;—I
have faith in him.—My poor belly is so
distended, that I write with pain—I hope
next week to write with more ease. My
dutiful respects await Mrs. S—— and self,
to which Mrs. Sancho begs to be joined by
her loving husband, and</p>
<p class="signoff1">
Your most grateful friend,</p>
<p class="signature">I. SANCHO.</p>
<p class="sp2">Mr. Sancho died December 14.</p>
<p class="center sp4 fs125"> <span class="gesperrt3">FINIS</span>.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="tnbox">
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber's Notes</h2>
</div>
<p>The following changes have been made to the text as printed:</p>
<p>1. Footnotes have been located immediately below the letter within
which they occur, and marked numerically.</p>
<p>2. Apparent typographical errors have been changed.</p>
<p>3. The subheading for <a href="#LETTER_XCII_TO_MR_H_mdash">Letter XCII</a> (Page 242) has been corrected
from "<span class="allsmcap">TO MR. H</span>——." to "<span class="allsmcap">TO MRS. H</span>——."</p>
<p class="sp1">The following anomalies in the printed text are noted, but no change
has been made:</p>
<p>1. Variable, archaic and inconsistent spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have
been left unchanged, apart from apparent typographical errors.</p>
<p>2. Dashes vary in length. Shorter dashes have been rendered as —, and longer dashes as ——.</p>
<p>3. <a href="#LETTER_LIV_TO_MR_S_mdash">Letter LIV</a> (Page 144) contains a sequence of spaced hyphens, which
have been reproduced as printed.</p>
<p>4. There are two successive letters headed <a href="#LETTER_LXVIII_TO_MR_J_mdash_Wmdashmdash">LETTER LXVIII</a> (Pages 186 and 195), the <a href="#LETTER_LXVIII_TO_MR_R_mdash">second
letter</a> being out of date order.</p>
</div>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 66908 ***</div>
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