LETTERCXXXVI.TO J. S——, ESQ.
June 13, 1780.
MY DEAR SIR,
THAT my poor endeavours have given you information or amusement, gratifies thewarm wish of my heart; for, as I know not the man to whose kindness I am so much indebted, I may safely say, I know not the man whose esteem I more ardently covet and honour.—We are exceeding sorry to hear of Mrs. S——’s indisposition; and hope, ere this reaches you, she will be well, or greatly mended.—The spring with us has been very sickly—and the summer has brought with it sick times;—sickness! cruel sickness! triumphs through every part of the constitution:—the State is sick—the Church (God preserve it!) is sick—the Law, Navy, Army, all sick—the people at large are sick with taxes—the Ministry with Opposition, and Opposition with Disappointment.—Since my last, the temerity of the mob has gradually subsided;—numbers of the unfortunate rogues have been taken:—yesterday about thirty were killed in and about Smithfield, and two soldiers were killed in the affray.—There is no certainty yet as to the number of houses burnt and gutted—for every day adds to the account—which is a proof how industrious they were in their short reign.—Few evils but are productive of some goodin the end:—the suspicious turbulence of the times united the royal brothers;—the two Dukes, dropping all past resentment, made a filial tender of their services;—his Majesty (God bless him!) as readily accepted it—and on Thursday last the brothers met;—they are now a triple cord—God grant a blessing to the union! There is a report current this day, that the mob of York city have rose, and let 3000 French prisoners out of York-castle—but it meets with very little credit.—I do not believe they have any thing like the number of French in those parts—as I am informed the prisoners are sent more to the western inland counties—but every hour has its fresh cargo of lies. The camp in St. James’s Park is daily increasing—that and Hyde Park will be continued all the summer.—The K—g is much among them—walking the lines—and examining the posts:—he looks exceeding grave. Crowns, alas! have more thorns than roses.
You see things, my dear Sir, with the faithful eye which looks, through nature, up to Nature’s God—the sacred page is your support—the word of God your shield andarmour—well may you be able so sweetly to deduce good out of evil—the Lord ordereth your goings—and gives the blessings of increase to all your wishes. For your kind anxiety about me and family, we bless and thank you.—I own, at first I felt uneasy sensations—but a little reflection brought me to myself.—Put thy trust in God, quoth I.—Mrs. Sancho, whose virtues out-number my vices (and I have enough for any one mortal), feared for me and for her children more than for herself.—She prayed too, I dare say—and her prayers were heard.
America seems to be quite lost or forgot among us;—the fleet is but a secondary affair.—Pray God send us some good news, to chear our drooping apprehensions, and to enable me to send you pleasanter accounts;—for trust me, my worthy friend, grief, sorrow, devastation, blood, and slaughter, are totally foreign to the taste and affection of
Your faithful friend
and obliged servant,
I. SANCHO.
Our joint best wishes to Mrs. S——, self, and family.