Command you freely may:
Don’t licence him, the Dame replies,
Nor let him print his play.
Poor Lydia is exceedingly unwell.--They who have least sensibility
are best off 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 _honest_ friend,
IGNATIUS SANCHO.
Mrs. Sancho says little--but her moistened eye expresses--that she
feels your friendship.
[3] Dr. Dodd.
LETTER XXVIII.
TO MISS. L----.
Sept. 12, 1775.
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 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.
Yours sincerely,
I. SANCHO.
Mrs. Sancho sends her best wishes.
LETTER XXIX.
TO MISS L----.
Charles Street, Oct. 4, 1775.
Just as the twig is bent, the tree’s inclin’d,
’Tis education forms the tender mind.
So says +Pope+.
Children like tender osiers take the bow,
And as they first are fashoned, always grow.
+Dryden.+
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
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. 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.
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
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
Yours to command,
IGN. SANCHO
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.
LETTER XXX.
TO MISS L----.
Thursday Morning, Oct. 16, 1775.
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.
Yours,
I. SANCHO.
LETTER XXXI.
TO MR. R----.
Oct. 18, 1775.
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 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----.
Yours, &c.
IGN. SANCHO.
LETTER XXXII.
TO MR. L----.
Friday, Oct. 20, 1774.
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
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,
I. SANCHO.
LETTER XXXIII.
TO MISS L----.
Charles Street, Dec. 14, 1775.
THERE is something inexpressibly flattering in the notion of your
being warmer--from the idea of your much obliged friend’s caring
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 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 farewell--and believe us, in truth,
our dear Miss L----’s
obliged and grateful friends,
+ANNE+ and +I. SANCHO+.
LETTER XXXIV.
TO MR. M----.
Jan. 4, 1776.
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 lips of indigence!--But, great God!--the
inexpressible delight--the not-to-be-described rapture, in soothing,
and _convincing_ the tender virgin that “_You alone_,” &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,
IGN. SANCHO.
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,
I. SANCHO.
N. B. A very short P---- S----.
LETTER XXXV.
TO MR. R----.
June 25, 1776.
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
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,
Ever faithfully,
I. SANCHO.
LETTER XXXVI.
TO MR. STERNE.
July, 1776.
REVEREND SIR,
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 “_Negurs_.”--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
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, 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,
Reverend Sir, &c.
IGN. SANCHO.
LETTER XXXVII.
TO MR. M----.
August 12, 1776.
“We have left undone the things we should have done,” &c. &c.----
THE general confession--with a deep sense of our own frailties--joined
to penitence--and strong intentions of better doing--insures 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 _ff’s_
necessary?)--O! Lord, Sir!--very little bloodshed--pity _any_
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! 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.
IGN. SANCHO.
LETTER XXXVIII.
TO MR. K----.
August 28, 1776
MY WORTHY FRIEND,
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 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!
LETTER XXXIX.
TO MR. M----.
September 1, 1776.
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--
“Like low-born Allen, with an aukward shame,
“Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame!”