LETTERCIX.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.—Youknow 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 ofthe 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.
S——n, who loves fools (he writes to me) but mum; S——n wishes to have the honour of a line from quondam friend M——: now M—— is an ill-natured fellow, but were it contrariwise—and M—— would indulge him—I would enclose it in a frank—with something clever of my own to make it more agreeable.—Sirrah! refuse if you dare—I will so expose thee—do it—’tis I command you:—S——n only intreats—you have need of such a rough chap asSancho to counterpoise the pleasures of your earthly paradise.—Pray take care of your Eve—and now, my dear M——, after all my abuse, let me conclude
Yours affectionately,
I. SANCHO.
Postscript,
The tree of knowledge has yielded you fruit in ample abundance:—may you boldly climb the tree of life—and gather the fruits of a happy immortality—in which I would fain share, and have strong hope, through the merits of a blessed Redeemer—to find room sufficient for self and all I love—which, to say what I glory in, comprehend the whole race of man—and why not Namby-Pamby M——? I cannot write to S——n till I have your letter to enclose to him—if there is any delay, the fault is not mine.