LETTERLXXV.TO MR. S——,
Yours just received, Thursday,Oct. 4, 1778.
“Whatever—is—is right—the world, ’tis true,“Was made for Cæsar—and for Billy too.”
“Whatever—is—is right—the world, ’tis true,“Was made for Cæsar—and for Billy too.”
“Whatever—is—is right—the world, ’tis true,“Was made for Cæsar—and for Billy too.”
“Whatever—is—is right—the world, ’tis true,
“Was made for Cæsar—and for Billy too.”
POVERTY and Genius were coupled by the wisdom of Providence, for wise and good ends no doubt—but that’s a mystery.—Ifeel for and pity you.—A pox upon pity and feelings—say I, they neither fill the belly, nor cloath the body—neither will they find lodging or procure an inside birth in a rascally stage—Thee and I too well know all this—but as I am at this present moment, thank fortune! not quite worth ten shillings, pity—cursed foolish pity—is, with as silly wishes, all I have to comfort you with.—Were I to throw out my whole thoughts upon paper, it would take a day’s writing, and thou would’st be a fool to read it—one dawn of hope I enjoy from the old saw—that “gloomy beginnings are for the most part blessed with bright endings:”—may it be so with you, my friend!—at the worst, you can only face about—and your lodgings and old friends will cordially receive you—for my part, I have use for every mite of my philosophy—my state at present is that of suspense—God’s will be done!
This letter will reach you by the hands of a friend indeed—the best and truest I ever found—a man who, if the worth of his heart were written in his face, would be esteemed by the whole race of Adam—he will greetyou kindly from the benevolence of his nature—and perhaps will not dislike you the more for the attachment which for thee is truly felt by thy sincere friend,
I. SANCHO.
Mrs. Sancho is well—Kitty mends very slow—Billy improves in sauciness—the girls are pretty good—Monsieur H—— rides uneasily—his saddle galls him—his beast is restive—I fear he will never prosecute long journies upon him—he is for smoother roads—a pacing tit—quilted saddle—snaffle bridle with silken reins—and gold stirrups.—So mounted we all should like; but I query albeit, though it might be for the ease of our bodies, whether it would be for the good of our souls! Adieu.
Should you be so lucky to see B——, the house of the worthy Baronet Sir C—— B——, mind I caution thee to guard thy heart; you will there meet with sense that will charm exclusive of beauty—and beauty enough to subdue even were sense wanting—add to this good-nature and all the charities in one fair bosom.—Guard! guard thy heart!