THOU hast an honest sympathizing heart—and I am sure will feel sorrow to hear poor Mr. W—— has paid the debt to Nature:—last Sunday heaven gained a worthy soul—and the world lost an honest man!—a Christian!—a friend to merit—a father to the poor and society—a man, whose least praise was his wit—and his meanest virtue, good-humour;—he is gone to his great reward;—may you, and all I love and honor, in God’s good time, join him!—I wish to hear about you—how you all do—when you saw Johnny—and whether Mrs. O—— holds in the same mind—if so, she is on the road for London, and Johnny on the road for B——. Pray have you heard from Mr. L——? A spruce Frenchman brought me a letter from him on Thursday; he left him well and in spirits—he wishes we would enquire for a place for him—he longs to be in England;—he is an honest soul, and I should feel true pleasure in serving him;—pray remember he wants a place.—I know not what words to use in way of thanks to Mrs. C——, for the very valuable present of her picture.—I have wrote to her—but my pen is not able to express what I feel—and I think Mr. Gardner has hit off her likeness exceeding well;—my chimney-piece now—fairly imitates the times—a flashy fine outside—the only intrinsic nett worth, in my possession, is Mrs. Sancho—whom I can compare to nothing so properly as to a diamond in the dirt—but, my friend, that is Fortune’s fault, not mine—for had I power, I would case her in gold.—When heard you from our friend Mr. J—— N——? when you see or write to him—tell him we still care for him—and remember his easy good-nature and natural politeness,—I will trouble you with the inclosed without any ceremony—for I have been so often obliged to you, that I begin now to fancy I have a right to trouble you. Commend me to squire S——, and all worthy friends.—Lydia sends her love to you—she trots about amazingly—and Kitty imitates her, with this addition, that she is as mischievous as a monkey.—Mrs. Sancho, Mrs. M——, and Mrs. B——, all think well of you, as well as yours.
I. SANCHO.
LETTER XXIII.
TO MRS. C——.
Charles Street, July 31, 1775.
DEAR MADAM,
IF aught upon earth could make mortals happy—I have the best right to believe myself so.—I have lived with the great—and been favoured by beauty—I have cause to be vain—let that apologize for my boasting. I am to thank you for the best ornament of my chimney-piece—your picture, which I had the joy to receive from Mr. Gardner, and which (exclusive of the partiality I have to your resemblance) I think a very good one;—it proves, unquestionably, three things—your goodness—Mr. Gardner’s skill—and my impudence!—in wishing so pleasing a prize.—If Kitty should live to woman’s estate—she will exultingly tell folks—that’s my godmother’s picture!—and the next generation will swear the painter was a flatterer—and scarce credit there was ever a countenance so amiably sweet—in the days of George the Third—except a Hamilton or Lady Sarah.—Mrs. Sancho desires her thanks may be joined with mine—as the thanks of one flesh.—Mr. M—— is well—and hopes, in concert with the Sanchos, that you had a pleasant journey—and good health your companion.—That health and pleasure—with love and friendship in its train—may ever accompany you—is the wish, dear Madam, of your greatly obliged humble servant,
IGNATIUS SANCHO.
LETTER XXIV.
TO MISS L——.
Charles Street, August, 7, 1775.
I NEVER can excuse intolerable scrawls—and I do tell you, that for writing conversable letters you are wholly unfit—no talent—no nature—no style;—stiff—formal and unintelligible;—take that—for your apology—and learn to be honest to yourself.—The Dutchess of Kingston and Mr. Foote have joined in a spirited paper-war—(I should have said engaged)—but I fear her Grace will have the worst of it:—had she either the heart or head of our friend Miss L——, I should pity her from my soul—and should muster up gallantry enough to draw a pen (at least) in her defence; as it is—I think—in principles they are well-matched;—but as her Grace appears to me to want temper—I think the Wit will be too hard for her. I am pleased with the Tunbridgians for their respectful loyalty on his Royal Highness’s birth day;—it is too much the fashion to treat the Royal Family with disrespect.—Zeal for politics has almost annihilated good manners.—Mrs. Sancho feels the kindness of your good wishes;—but we hope you will be in town before she tumbles in the straw, when a Benjamin mess of caudle will meet your lips with many welcomes.—Mrs. Sancho is so, so—not so alert as I have known her;—but I shall be glad she holds just as well till she is down—My silly gout is not in haste to leave me—I am in my seventh week—and in truth am peevish—and sick of its company.—As to Dr. D——, the last I heard of him was, that he was in France;—he has not preached for these nine Sundays at Pimlico.—You did not tell me the name of your Suffolk preacher;—I fancy it is Dr. W—ll—ton—who is reckoned equal to D——; I am glad you have him—as I would wish you to have every thing that God can give you conducive to your love and pleasure.—Mrs. Sancho joins me in respects and thanks—good wishes, &c. &c.