LETTERXXIX.TO MISS L——.
Charles Street, Oct. 4, 1775.
Just as the twig is bent, the tree’s inclin’d,’Tis education forms the tender mind.
Just as the twig is bent, the tree’s inclin’d,’Tis education forms the tender mind.
Just as the twig is bent, the tree’s inclin’d,’Tis education forms the tender mind.
Just as the twig is bent, the tree’s inclin’d,
’Tis education forms the tender mind.
So saysPope.
Children like tender osiers take the bow,And as they first are fashoned, always grow.
Children like tender osiers take the bow,And as they first are fashoned, always grow.
Children like tender osiers take the bow,And as they first are fashoned, always grow.
Children like tender osiers take the bow,
And as they first are fashoned, always grow.
Dryden.
THE sense of each is just the same, and they both prove an opinion which I have long been grounded in—that the errors of most children proceed in great part from the ill cultivation of the first years.—Self-love, my friend, bewitches parents to give too much indulgence to infantine foibles;—the constant cry is, “Poor little soul, it knows no better!”—if it swears—that’s a sign of wit and spirit;—if it fibs—it’s so cunning and comical;—if it steals—’tisonly a paw trick—and the mother exultingly cries—My Jacky is so sharp, we can keep nothing from him!—Well! but what’s all this to you?—You are no mother.—True, my sincerely esteemed friend, but you are something as good—you are perhaps better—much better and wiser I am sure than many mothers I have seen.—You, who believe in the true essence of the gospel—who visit the sick, cover the naked, and withdraw not your ear from the unfortunate:—but I did not intend to write your elogium—it requires the pen of one less interested—and perhaps less partiality and more judgement would also be requisite.—Jacky S—— is the occasion of this prefatory vast shew of learning. I do believe him a fine child spoil’d for want of proper management—he is just now in high disgrace—he is wrong enough in all conscience, I believe—but are they, who are about him, right?—We will talk about this matter when I have the pleasure of seeing you;—you shall forgive my impertinent meddling—I will ask pardon, and sin again—so we serve Heaven—so complain, if you dare.—Mrs.Sancho is yet up;—if I pray at all, it’s for the blessing of a happy moment, with little pain for her;—as to what she brings, I care not about its sex—God grant health to the mother!—and my soul and lips shall bless his holy name.—We cannot remove till after Mrs. Sancho is up.—The house will not be ready till towards Christmas, which is not the most desirable time of the year for moving—but we must do as we can, not as we would.
At Charlotte Chapel, we had last Sunday a most excellent discourse from Mr. H——n, whom I suppose you have heard preach—if not, he is well worth hearing—to please me—for to the best of my knowledge, he reads prayers better than most—Mr. B—— not excepted; there is a dignity of expression in his Psalms, which catches the whole attention—and such an animated strength of devotion in his Litany, as almost carries the heart to the gates of Heaven—he is fine in the pulpit;—but comparisons are unfair—if H—— reads prayers, and D—— preaches, at the same church—I should suppose greater perfectioncould not be found in England.—I have to thank you for the honor of your correspondence—and can laugh in my sleeve like a Dutch Jew—to think that I get sterling sense for my farrago of absurdities—but you will, I hope, soon be in town.—Mrs. Sancho joins me in every sentiment of gratitude and sincerity.—I am, as much as a poor African can be, sincerely
Yours to command,
IGN. SANCHO
We are in great hopes about poor Lydia.—An honest and ingenious motherly woman in our neighbourhood has undertaken the perfect cure of her—and we have every reason to think, with God’s blessing—she will succeed—which is a blessing we shall owe entirely to the comfort of being poor—for, had we been rich, the doctors would have had the honor of killing her a twelvemonth ago.——Adieu.