LETTERLI.TO MR. M——.
September 16, 1777.
SIR, he is the confounded’st dunderhead—sapscull—looby—clodpate, nincompoop—ninnyhammer—booby-chick—farcical—loungibuss—blunderbuss—this good day in the three kingdoms!—You would bless yourself, were it possible for you to analyze such a being—not but his heart is susceptible of a kind of friendly warmth—but then so cursed careless—ever in a hurry—ever in the wrong, at best but blundering about the right.—Why now, for example, when you sent the ——, I can make oath, if need be—that the dunce I speak of longed more for a letter than the animal. The basket was searched with hurry—not care;—no letter? well, it can’t be help’d—his head ach’d—he had not time, &c. &c.—the P—— was disengaged from the basket—the straw consigned to the chimney:—this being rather a coolish morning, a little fire was thought necessary—andin raking up the loose dirty waste stuff under the grate, there appeared a very bloody letter, which seemed unopened:—your hand-writing was discernible through the dirt and blood;—curiosity and affection ran a race to pick up and examine it—when, behold, it proved to be the companion of the P——, but so effaced with blood—that very—very little of my friend’s good sense could be made out.—Your poor letter is a type of what daily happens—merit oppressed and smothered by rubbish.—Alas, poor letter! it shared the fate the poor world, which we inhabit, will hereafter undergo:—one bright gleam of imitation of the mind that dictated it—some few sparks.—Alas! alas! my poor letter—pass but a few years—perhaps a few months—thy generous friendly compost may—thy friend whose heart glows while he writes—who feels thy worth—yea, and reveres it too.—Nonsense, why we know the very hinges of our last cradles will rust and moulder;—and that, in the course of another century, neither flesh, bone, coffin, nor nail—will be dicernible from mother earth.—Courage—while we live, let us live—to Virtue—Friendship—Religion—Charity—thendrop (at death’s call) our cumbrous (you are thin) load of flesh, and mount in spirit to our native home.—Bless us, at what a rate have I been travelling!—I am quite out of breath—Why! my friend, the business was to thank you for the pig.—Had you seen the group of heads—aye, and wise ones too—that assembled at the opening of the fardel—the exclamations—Oh! the finest—fattest—cleanest—why, Sir, it was a pig of pigs;—the pettitoes gave us a good supper last night—they were well dressed—and your pig was well eat—it dined us Sunday and Monday.—Now, to say truth, I do not love pig—merely pig—I like not—but pork corned—alias—salted—either roast or boiled—I will eat against any filthy Jew naturalized—or under the bann.—On Saturday night the newsman brought me two papers of J—— 13th and 20th;—right joyful did I receive them:—I ran to Mrs. Sancho—with, I beg you will read my friend’s sensible and spirited defence of—of, &c.—She read—though it broke in upon her work—she approved;—but chance or fortune—or ill-luck—or whatyou ever mean by accident—has played us a confounded trick;—for since Saturday they have—both papers—disappeared—without hands—or legs—or eyes—for no one has seen them;—bureau—boxes—cupboards—drawers—parlour—chamber—shop—all—all has been rummaged—pockets—port-folio—holes—corners—all been searched;—Did you see them?—did you?—where can they be?—I know not—nor I—nor I—but God does!—Omnipotence knoweth all things.—It has vexed me—fretted dame Sancho—teazed the children—but so it is;—hereafter I suppose they will be found in some obvious (though now unthought of) place, and then it will be, Good Lord, who could have thought it!
Where is theJack-assbusiness?—do not be lazy—I feel myself a party concerned—and when I see you, I have a delicious morsel of true feminine grace and generosity to shew you.—I shall not apologize for this crude epistle;—but mark and remark—I do thank you in the name of every Sancho but self—they eat, and were filled;—I have reason to thank you;—but as I do not affectpig—in a piggish sense—I hold myself excepted;—and, although I did eat—and did also commend, yet I will not thank you, that’s poss.
I. SANCHO.
The papers are found, as you will see:—here is one and a piece; it has suffered through ignorance;—but what cannot be cured, must be endured.