LETTERXXXIII.TO MISS L——.
Charles Street, Dec. 14, 1775.
THERE is something inexpressibly flattering in the notion of your being warmer—from the idea of your much obliged friend’s caringfor you;—in truth we could not help caring about you—our thoughts travelled with you over-night from Bond Street to the Inn.—The next day at noon—“Well, now she’s above half way—alas! no, she will not get home till Saturday night—I wonder what companions she has met with—there is a magnetism in goodnature, which will ever attract its like—so if she meets with beings the least social—but that’s as chance wills!”—Well, night arrives—“And now our friend has reached the open arms of parental love—excess of delightful endearments gives place to tranquil enjoyments—and all are happy in the pleasure they give each other!”—Were I a Saint or a Bishop, and was to pass by your door, I would stop, and say, “Peace be upon this dwelling!”—and what richer should I leave it?—for I trust, where a good man dwells, there peace makes its sweet abode.—When you have read Bossuet, you will find at the end, that it was greatly wished the learned author had brought the work down lower—but I cannot help thinking he concluded his design as far as he originally meant.—Mrs. Sancho, thank Heaven, is as well asyou left her, and your godson thrives;—he is the type of his father—fat—heavy—sleepy;—but as he is the head of the noble family, and your godson, I ought not to disparage him.——The Dutchess of K—— is so unwell, that she has petitioned for a longer day:—they say that her intellects are hurt;—though a bad woman, she is entitled to pity.—Conscience, the high chancellor of the human breast, whose small still voice speaks terror to the guilty—Conscience has pricked her;—and, with all her wealth and titles, she is an object of pity.—Health attend you and yours!—Pleasure of course will follow.—Mrs. Sancho joins me in all I say, and the girls look their assent.—I remain—God forgive me! I was going to conclude, without ever once thanking you for your goodness in letting us hear from you so early:—there is such a civil coldness in writing, a month perhaps after expectation has been snuffed out, that the very thought is enough to chill friendship;—but you—like your sister Charity, as Thomson sweetly paints her (smiling through tears)—delight in giving pleasure, and joy in doing good.—And nowfarewell—and believe us, in truth, our dear Miss L——’s
obliged and grateful friends,
ANNEandI. SANCHO.