LETTERXCIX.TO MR. S——.
August 31, 1779.
YOU have made ample amends for your stoical silence—insomuch that, like Balaam, I am constrained to bless—where, peradventure, I intended the reverse.—For hadst thou taken the wings of the morning—and searched North, East, South, and West—or dived down into the sea, exploring the treasures of old Ocean—thou could’st neither in art or nature have found aught that could have made me happier—gift-wise—than the sweet and highly finished portrait of my dear Sterne. But how you found it—caught it—or came by it—Heaven and you know best!—I do fear it is not thy own manufacturing.—Perhaps thou hast gratified thy finer feeling at an expence which friendship would blush for.—“But what have you to do with that?” True—it may appear impertinent; but could aught add to the valueof the affair—it would be—its having you—for its father;—but I must hasten to a conclusion.—I meant this—not as an epistle of cold thanks—but the warm ebullitions of African sensibility.—Your gift would add to the pride of Cæsar—were he living, and knew the merits of its original—it has half turned the head of a Sancho—as this scrawl will certify. Adieu! The hen and chicks desire to be remembered to you—as I do—to all!—all!—all!
I. S.