LETTERLIV.TO MR. S——.
October 24, 1777.
I DENY it. That I ought to have acknowledged your favour two weeks ago I confess—but my silence was not so long—nor broad—nor rusty—nor fusty as yours.—Blithe health—festive hours—and social mirth—be thine, my friend! Thy letter, though late, was truly welcome—it unbended the brow of care—and suspended, for some hours, disagreeable thoughts.——By St. Radagunda! quoth I—(ramming my nostrils with Hardham) he has catched the mantle.—Alas, poor Yorick! oh! that thouhadst, by divine permission, been suffered a little—little longer, amongst the moonstruck children of this namby-pamby world! Father of light and life! thy will be done;—but surely—half the wit—half the good sense—of this present age—were interred in Sterne’s grave. His broad philanthropy—like the soul-cheering rays of the blessed sun, invested his happy spirit, and soared into Heaven with it—where, in progressive rise from bliss to bliss, he drinks in large draughts of rapture, love, and knowledge, and chants the praises of redeeming love, with joy unbounded, and unceasing vigour.—Your invocation has mounted me, Merry-Andrew like, upon stilts.—I ape you as monkeys ape men, by walking upon two.—That you have recovered the true tone of your health and spirits, I rejoice—to be happy in despight of fortune, shews the Philosopher—the Hero—the Christian. I must confess, my fortitude (which is wove of very flimsy materials) too oft gives way in the rough and unfriendly jostles of life:—Madam Fortune, who by the way is a bunter (and such I love not), has been particularlycross and untoward to me since you left us. They say she is fond of fools—’tis false and scandalous—she hates me—and I have the vanity to say and believe—that if folly, sheer folly, had any charms—I should stand as fair in her esteem—as A. B. C. D. E. F.—or any of Folly’s family through the whole alphabet.—You halted at Burleigh—you did just what I wished you to do—and left it, I trust, as well in health as you entered that sweet mansion—stopp’d at Retford—and found your venerable parents well—and contributed to their happiness—increased their felicity by the many nice little attentions of filial love—which the good heart delights in—and even angels approve.—And how do the worthy souls of Hull and its environs?—Do they credit themselves by esteeming a good-enough kind of mortal?—You cannot imagine what hold little Billy gets of me—he grows—prattles—and every day learns something new—and by his good-will would be ever in the shop with me. The monkey! he clings round my legs—and if I chide him or look sour—he holds up his little mouthto kiss me;—I know I am the fool—for parent’s weakness is child’s strength:—truth orthodox—which will hold good between lover and lovee—as well as - - - - - - - - - - - - - -. Mrs. Sancho and her virgins are so, so. Mr. Sancho, the virgins, well as youth and innocence, souls void of care and consciences of offence, can be.—Dame Sancho would be better if she cared less.—I am her barometer—if a sigh escapes me, it is answered by a tear in her eye;—I oft assume a gaiety to illume her dear sensibility with a smile—which twenty years ago almost bewitched me;—andmark!—after twenty years enjoyment—constitutes my highest pleasure!—Such be your lot—with a competency—such as will make œconomy a pleasant acquaintance—temperance and exercise your chief physician—and the virtues of benevolence your daily employ—your pleasure and reward! And what more can friendship wish you?—but to glide down the stream of time—blest with a partner of congenial principles, and fine feelings—true feminine eloquence—whose very looks speaktenderness and sentiment.—Your infants growing—with the roseate bloom of health—minds cultured by their father—expanding daily in every improvement—blest little souls!—and happy—happy parents!—such be thy lot in life—in marriage;—but take a virgin—or a maiden—to thy arms;—but—be that as thy fate wills it.—Now for news.—Two hours ago (in tolerable health and cheary spirits) considering his journey not so fatigued as might be expected—followed by four superb carriages—their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Dutchess of Gloucester arrived in town. As to America, if you know any thing at Hull, you know more than is known in London.—Samuel Foote, Esq; is dead—a leg was buried some years since—and now the wholefootefollows.—I think you love a pun.—Colman is the gainer, as he covenanted to give him 1600l.per annum, for his patent;—in short, Colman is happy in the bargain—and I trust Foote is no loser.—I have seen poor Mr. de Groote but once—and then could not attend to speak with him, as I had customers in the shop.—I waited by appointment forMr. ——, to get your honor’s address—and then three weeks before I could get the franks—a fortnight since for Mr. —— writing to you—I call this a string of beggarly apologies.—I told M—— you expected a line from him—he wanted faith.—I made him read your letter—and what then? “truly he was not capable—he had no classical education—you write with elegance—ease—propriety.”——Tut, quoth I, pr’ythee give not the reins to pride—write as I do—just the effusions of a warm though foolish heart:—friendship will cast a veil of kindness over thy blunders—they will be accepted with a complacent smile—and read with the same eye of kindness which indulges now the errors of his sincere friend,
IGN. SANCHO.
A true Genius will always remember to leave a space unwritten—to come in contact with the wax or wafer—by which means the reader escapes half an hour’s puzzle to make out a sentence;—and ever while you live—never omit—no—not that—what?—what!—dates! dates!—am not I a grocer?——Pun the Second.