LETTERLIII.TO MR. M——.
September 20, 1777.
“What Reason warrants, and what Wisdom guides,“All else is tow’ring frenzy, or rank folly.”
“What Reason warrants, and what Wisdom guides,“All else is tow’ring frenzy, or rank folly.”
“What Reason warrants, and what Wisdom guides,“All else is tow’ring frenzy, or rank folly.”
“What Reason warrants, and what Wisdom guides,
“All else is tow’ring frenzy, or rank folly.”
SO says Addison——And so well knoweth my friend I. M——. Well, and what then? why it follows of course—that, instead of feeling myself delighted and gratefully thankful, for—I will and must speak out—yet if these kindnesses cost the pocket of my friend—they are not kindnesses to the Sanchos.—For innate goodness of heart—greatness of spirit—urbanity—humanity—temperance—justice—with the whole sweet list of heaven-born manly virtues—I do, without flattery, give thee (and withpride do I avouch it) credit—I respect thy person, and love thy principles;—but, my good M——, there is a prior duty—which I dare believe you will never willingly be deficient in—and yet your generosity of soul may let even such a worm as I break into it;—now, that should not be—for—take me right—I do not mean any thing derogatory to your rank in the world—or to the strength of your finances—what Sterne said of himself that think I of you—that you are as good a gentleman as the King—but not quite so rich.—I honor thy feelings—and am happy that I can honestly say, that I conceive them;—the joy of giving and making happy is almost the attribute of a God—and there is as much sweetness conveyed to the senses by doing a right well-natured deed, as our frame can consistently bear—So much for chastisement—a pretty way of thanking!—Well, I have critically examined thy song—some parts I like well—as it is a maidenhead, it should be gently treated—But why N—— Oh! Nature! A true passion is jealous even of the initials of its mistress’s name.—Well, N—— let it be—I will certainly attempt givingit a tune—such as I can—the first leisure—but it must undergo some little pruning when we meet.—I have had another little visit from the gout—and my hand yet remembers the rough salute; my spirits have been rather low.—Young’s ninth night, the Consolation, has been my last week’s study. It is almost divine;—how many times has it raised, warmed, and charmed me!—and is still new. I hope you found your mother and honest George as well as you wished—and had the full enjoyment of maternal and filial affections.—The girls are rampant-well—and Billy gains something every day.—The rogue is to excess fond of me—for which I pity him—and myself more.—My respects and kind enquiry to your old horse.—Tell him, I wish him better—and am a real friend to honest brutes—some I could almost envy.—To say I am rejoiced to hear you are better, is telling you no news—be but as well as I wish you—as rich—and as good—Sampson, Solomon, and the Duke de Penthievre, will never be comparisons more.—Adieu.
Yours, &c.
I. SANCHO.
I am as melancholy—as a tea-kettle when it sings (as the maidens calls it) over a dead fire.
Oh!—but is it N—— indeed?—now don’t you be after humming me; believe me, honey—if I never find out the truth, I shall know it for all that.