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 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 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,
Dear Madam, Yours,
and my sweet little Miss C----’s
most obedient
and obliged servant,
I. SANCHO.
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!
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.
LETTER XCIX.
TO MR. S----.
August 31, 1779.
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 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!
I. S.
LETTER C.
TO MR. I----.
Sept. 2, 1779.
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 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.
Yours to command,
I. SANCHO.
I hope Mrs. I---- is well as you would wish her.
LETTER CI.
TO MR. S----.
Charles Street, Sept. 2, 1779.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
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 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
Yours sincerely,
IGNATIUS SANCHO.
How shall I know whether you get this scrawl, except you send me word?
LETTER CII.
TO MR. M----.
Sept. 4, 1779.
THE _Lamb_[11] just now kindly delivered to the _Bear_[12] the
_Monkey’s_[13] 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 the age of fifty, as
oft as your friend, you will fully enter into any meaning.
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 _Je ne sai quoi_ (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!
I shall take no notice of the tricking fraudulent behaviour of the
driver of the stage--_as how_ he wanted to palm a bad shilling upon
us--and _as how_ they stopped us in the town, and most generously
insulted us--and _as how_ we took up a fat old man--his wife _fat_
too--and child;--and after keeping us half an hour in sweet converse
of the--of the _blasting_ 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 liberally--whilst his ---- in direct line
with poor S----n’s nose--entertained him with _sound_ 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.
Sir, the pleasures of the day made us more than amends for the nonsense
that followed.--Receipt in full.
I. SANCHO.
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.
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 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.
[11] A Mr. Lamb.
[12] Meaning himself.
[13] Mr. M----, to whom he often gave that title.
LETTER CIII.
TO MRS. W----E.
Charles Street, Sept. 5, 1779.
DEAR MADAM,
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 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 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----.
I am, dear Madam,
most sincerely yours to command,
IGNATIUS SANCHO.
Mrs. Sancho joins me in every thing but the abuse of Mr. W----e.
LETTER CIV.
TO MR. R----.
Sept. 7, 1779.
DEAR FRIEND,
WE are all in the wrong--a _little_.--Admiral Barrington is arrived
from the West 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 _comique_--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 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----.
Give me a line to know how you all do.--The post is going--only time to
say God bless you.--I remain
Yours affectionately,
I. SANCHO.
Past eleven at night.
LETTER CV.
TO MISS. L----,
Charles Street, Sept. 11, 1779.
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 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
“Thought precedes the will,”
and
“Error lives ere Reason can be born.”
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
Yours, &c. &c.
I. SANCHO.
LETTER CVI.
TO MR. I----.
October 3, 1779.
DEAR SIR,
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 plagued with the _mauvaise hondt_ (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
Your much more obliged,
I. SANCHO.
LETTER CVII.
TO MR. M----.
October 5, 1779.
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 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.
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.
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
IGNATIUS SANCHO.
How do the ladies--and Mr. M--? Mind, I care not about ----; so tell
her, and lye.--You may tell George the same story;--but I should like
to hear something about you all.
LETTER CVIII.
TO MR. M----.
October 9, 1779.
MY friend Mr. I----, who--_like_ 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 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 _he_ and _she_, 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 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.
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,
I. SANCHO.
_Is pesorpher Quidois._
Your true friend, and so forth.
Zounds, Sir! send me a good handsome epistle--such as you were wont to
do in peaceful days, before * * * had warped your 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.
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.
LETTER CIX.
TO MR. M----.
October 17, 1779.
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 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.
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 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.