Transcriber's note: Italic font is indicated by _underscores_.
Small upper-case letters are indicated by +plus signs+.
LETTERS
OF THE LATE
IGNATIUS SANCHO,
AN AFRICAN.
To which are prefixed,
+MEMOIRS of his LIFE+.
THE THIRD EDITION.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY J. NICHOLS;
+And Sold by C. DILLY, in the POULTRY+.
MDCCLXXXIV.
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE 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.
THE LIFE
OF
IGNATIUS SANCHO.
“Quamvis ille niger, quamvis tu candidus esses.”
+Virgil.+
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.
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.
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.
But a patron was at hand, whom Ignatius Sancho had merit enough to
conciliate at a very early age.
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 his turn for reading with
presents of books, and strongly recommended to his mistresses the duty
of cultivating a genius of such apparent fertility.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
He turned his mind once more to service, and was retained a few months
by the 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.
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.
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
engaged private patronage, and merited public imitation.
In December, 1780, a series of complicated disorders destroyed him.
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.
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.
The late Duchesses of Queensberry and Northumberland pressed forward to
serve 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.
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 _deference_ to
his opinion.
Such was the man whose species philosophers and anatomists have
endeavoured to degrade as a deterioration of the human; and such
was the man whom Fuller, with a benevolence and quaintness of phrase
peculiarly his own, accounted
“God’s Image, though cut in Ebony.”
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.
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.
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.
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.”
LETTERS.
LETTER I.
TO MR. J-- W----E.
Charles Street, Feb. 14, 1768.
MY WORTHY AND MUCH RESPECTED FRIEND,
POPE observes,
“Men change with fortune, manners change with climes;
“Tenets with books, and principles with times.”
+Your+ 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 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 tear plainly proved that
over-joy and grief give the same livery?
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 _wise_ as
_knowing_: 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
_wrong_ 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.
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 friendly _tête-a tête_ 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 +Divine Master+’s rules, and
are a Christian.
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 of guards, which is reckoned
a very good thing.
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:
“One self-approving hour whole years outweighs
“Of idle starers, or of loud huzza’s,” &c.
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.
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 will insure the favour of God, and the love of your
friends, amongst whom pray reckon
Yours faithfully,
IGNATIUS SANCHO.
LETTER II.
TO MR. M----.
August 7, 1768.
+Lord+! 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, 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.
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 _ton_; 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 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.
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 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!”
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 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,
Yours, +I. SANCHO+.
Your cure, in four words, is
CUT--OFF--YOUR--HAIR!
LETTER III.
TO MR. M----.
Sept. 17, 1768.
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 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,
I SANCHO.
LETTER IV.
TO MR. M----.
Sept. 20, 1768.
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 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,
Your faithful friend,
I. SANCHO.
LETTER V.
TO MR. K----.
Richmond, Oct. 20, 1769.
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 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 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
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, 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,
I. SANCHO.
LETTER VI.
TO MRS. F----.
Richmond, Oct. 20, 1769.
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 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,
IGN. SANCHO.
LETTER VII.
TO EDWARD YOUNG, ESQ.
On the death of Lord ----, Son to the Duke of ----.
Richmond, April 21, 1770.
HONOURED SIR,
I +bless+ 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,
Your most obedient and grateful
humble servant to command,
I. SANCHO.
LETTER VIII.
TO MR. M----.
March 21, 1770.
“He, who cannot stem his anger’s tide,
“Doth a wild horse without a bridle ride.”
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, 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! 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
_Te Deums_, better than those gained in the fields of ambition and
blood.--Here’s letter for letter, and so farewell,
Yours--as you behave,
I. SANCHO.
LETTER IX.
TO MR. K----.
Dalkeith, July 16, 1770.
Sunday.
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 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[1]--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 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 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.
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.
Yours, &c. &c.
I. SANCHO.
[1] 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.
LETTER X.
TO MISS L----.
August, 31, 1770.
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 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 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,
IGN. SANCHO.
LETTER XI.
TO MR. S----N.
Dalkeith, Sept. 15, 1770.
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
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 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,
IGNATIUS SANCHO.
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.
LETTER XII.
TO MRS. H----.
Richmond, Dec. 22, 1771.
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 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,
I. SANCHO.
LETTER XIII.
TO MR. B----.
London, July 18, 1772.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
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 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.
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 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,
Your true friend,
IGN. SANCHO.
LETTER XIV.
TO MR. S----E.
Richmond, Oct. 11, 1772.
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 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
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.
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 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)
+Ignatius Sancho.+
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.
LETTER XV.
TO MR. M----.
Nov. 8, 1772.