LETTERCXI.TO MR. R——.
Nov. 1, 1779.
DEAR FRIEND,
I SHOULD on Sunday night have acknowledged your kindness, but was prevented by weakness!—idleness! or some such nonsense!—Were you here, Mrs.Sancho would tell you I had quacked myself to death.—It is true, I have been unwell—from colds and from a purging!—which disorder prevails much in our righteous metropolis—and perhaps from quacking; but of this when we meet.—I was much pleased with my letter from Sir John—in which there is very little news—and less hope of doing any thing to the purpose, either in the conquering or conciliating mode, than in any letter I have been favoured with.—He makes no mention of receiving any packets from me, and I have wrote six or eight times within the last twelve months—so you see plainly the packets are either lost, or his letters stopt.—I shall give him a line by Wednesday’s post—and let it try its fortune.—I enclose you some American congress notes—for he does not say he has sent you any—though he mentions the news-papers.
We talk of sending over a vast force next spring. Why G—m—t will so madly pursue a losing game, is amongst the number of things that reason can never account for—and good sense blushes at:—it is reported in the city, that our safety this summer waspurchased of d’Orvilliers and Monsieur Sartin:—it is certain (although a vote of credit was granted for a million) that there is no money in the Exchequer—and that the civil list is 800,000l.in arrears.—This looks dark—whilst Ireland treats us rather laconic—Scotland not too friendly—America speaks but too plainly:—But what a plague is all this to you or me? I am doomed to difficulty and poverty for life—and let things go as they will, if the French leave us Newmarket—they will not ruin my friend.—I hope the good ladies are well and preparing for London.—Squire S—— and his good woman well also, he in the enjoyment of his gun—and she in the care of the sweet children.—My best respects to Mr. and Mrs. B——, and I should be a beast to neglect my worthy friend Mr. S——k. Now I have a scheme to propose to the electors of Great Britain, to take Sir C—— and Mr. S—— for their patterns—and at the general election (if they can find as many) to return 300 such—it would immortalize them in the annals of this country for their wisdom of choice—and what’s much better,it would perhaps (with God’s blessing) save Old England. We want, alas!—only a few honest men of sound principles and good plain understandings—to unite us—to animate with one mind!—one heart!—one aim!—and to direct the rouzed courage of a brave people properly—then we might hope for golden times—and the latter end of the present reign emulate the grand close of the last.
I got a very pretty young lady to chuse this inclosed ticket—meaning to baffle ill-luck; for, had I chose it myself, I am certain a blank would have been the consequence.—May it be prosperous!—Mrs. Sancho joins me in every thing—love to O——; the girls giggle their respects to Mr. R——; Billy joins in silence, but his love to Nutts is plain. How does he do?
Yours,
IGN. SANCHO.