LETTERV.TO MR. K——.
Richmond, Oct. 20, 1769.
WHAT, my honest friend K——, I am heartily glad to see you, quoth I—long look’d for, come at last.—Well, we will have done with that;—you have made ample amends for your silence—have approved yourself, what I ever esteemed you—an honest, hearty, good lad.—As to your apologizing about your abilities for writing—’tis all a humm—you write sense;—and verily, my good friend, he that wishes to do better must be a coxcomb.—You say you was thrown from your horse but once—in my conscience, I think once full oft enough—I am glad, however, you escaped so well.—The description of your journey I return you thanks for—it pleased me much—and proved that you looked rather farther than your horse’s head.—A young man should turn travel—home—leisure—or employment—all to the one grand end of improvinghimself. From your account of Dalkeith, I now view it “in my mind’s eye” (as Hamlet says), and think it a delightful spot.—I was wrong, I find, in my notions of the Edinburghers—for I judged them the grand patterns for—cleanliness—politeness—and generosity. Your birth-day entertainments made a blaze in our papers, which said, amongst other things, that the puncheons of rum flood as thick in your park as the trees—oh; how I licked my lips, and wished the distance (400 miles) less between us.—You do not say a word about coming back again.—Poor Pat has paid his last debt—peace and bliss to his spirit! rest to his bones!—his wife and daughter (both with child) and his youngest child all came down;—what a scene had I to be spectator of!—trust me, James, I cry’d like a whipt school-boy!—But then my noble master—Great God, reward him!—Tell me not of ninety covers—splendour—and feasting—To wipe away the tears of distress, to make the heart of the widow to sing for joy—may such actions ever (as they have long been) be the characteristic of the good Dukeof M——! Dr. James, thy favourite, twice came here:—at his first visit he gave no hope—the next day he came, and poor Pat had resigned up his spirit two hours before he got here;—his Grace paid him the tribute, the rich tribute, of many tears—and ordered me to get a lodging for his widow and children:—in the evening he ordered me to go to them for him—and acquaint Mrs. W—— how very sensible he was of her great loss, as well as his own—that he would ever be a friend to her—and as to the boy—though he was perfectly well satisfied with his conduct in his place—yet, if he would like any trade better than continuing his servant—he would put him out, and support him through his apprenticeship;—and he would give him a year to consider it.—Pat has chose to stay, and his Grace promises whoever uses him ill shall be no servant here:—on the night of his interment, after all was over, the Duke wrote to the widow himself, and inclosed a twenty pound bill—and repeated his promises.—Your own heart, my dear James, will make the best comment—which is grandest—onesuch action—or ten birth-days;—though in truth the latter has his merit—it creates business, and helps the poor.—I suppose you will expect me to say something of our family. Her Grace, I am truly sorry to say it, has been but poorly for some time—and indeed is but indifferent now—God of his mercy grant her better health! and every good that can contribute to her happiness!—The good Marquiss is with us—Are not you tired? This is a deuced long letter.—Well, one word more, and then farewell. Mrs. M—— is grown generous—has left off swearing and modelling. S—— is turned Jew, and is to be circumcised next Passover. W—— is turned fine gentleman—and left off work—and I your humble friend, I am for my sins turned Methodist.—Thank God! we are all pretty hobbling as to health.—Dame Sancho will be much obliged to you for your kind mention of her—she and the brats are very well, thank Heaven! Abraham gives up the stockings—and monkey Tom his box—they both, with all the rest, join in love and best wishes to your worship.—I,for my own share, own myself obliged to you—and think myself honoured in your acknowledging yourself my pupil; were I an ambitious man, I should never forgive you,—for in truth you by far excel your master:—go on, and prosper, “Render unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar’s;”—laugh at all the tall boys in the kingdom.—I rest, dear Jemmy, thy true friend and obliged fellow-servant,
I. SANCHO.