I SHOULD have answered your billet as soon as received—but I wanted to know the quantum that I was to wish you joy of—as nothing has yet for certainty transpired.—I will hope your legacy from Mrs. —— is handsome:—you can easily imagine the pleasure I felt—in finding she had so amply remembered poor Mrs. M——. That one act has more true generosity in it, aye, and justice perhaps, than any thing I ever knew of her in her long life:—it has removed an anxiety from me which (in spite of self-felt poverty—and the heart-felt cares of a large family) troubled me greatly;—as to myself, she used to promise largely formerly, that she would think of me:—as I never believed—I was not disappointed.—More and more convinced of the futility of all our eagerness after worldly riches, my prayer and hope is only for bread, and to be enabled to pay what I owe. I labour up hill against many difficuties; but God’s goodness is my support, and his word my trust.—Mrs. Sancho joins me in her best wishes, and gives you joy also: the children are well—William grows, and tries his feet briskly—and Fanny goes on well in her tambour-work;—Mary must learn some business or other—if we can possibly atchieve money;—but we have somehow no friends—and, bless God!—we deserve no enemies. Trade is duller than ever I knew it—and money scarcer;—foppery runs higher—and vanity stronger;—extravagance is the adored idol of this sweet town.—You are a happy being;—free from the cares of the world in your own person—you enjoy more than your master—or his master into the bargain.—May your comforts know no diminution, but increase with your years!—and may the same happen, when it shall please God, to your sincere friend I. Sancho and his family!
LETTER XXXIX.
TO MR. M——.
September 1, 1776.
YOU have the happiest manner of obliging!—How comes it that—without the advantages of a twentieth generationship of noble blood flowing uncontaminated in your veins—without the customary three years dissipation at college—and the (nothing to be done without) four years perambulation on the Continent—without all these needful appendages—with little more than plain sense—sheer good-nature—and a right honest heart—thou canst—
“Like low-born Allen, with an aukward shame,
“Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame!”
Now, by my grandame’s beard—I will not thank you for your present—although my ears have been stunned with your goodness and kindness—the best young man!—and, good Lord! how shall we make him amends? &c. &c.—Pshaw! simpleton, quoth I, do you not plainly ken, that he himself has a satisfaction in giving pleasure to his friends, which more than repays him?—so I strove to turn off the notion of obligation—though, I must confess, my heart at the same time felt a something—sure it was not envy—no, I detest it—I fear it was pride—for I feel within myself this moment, that I could turn the tables in repaying principal with treble interest—I should feel gratified—though perhaps not satisfied.—I have a long account to balance with you—about your comments upon the transcript:—you are a pretty fellow, to dare put in your claim—to better sense—deeper thinking—and stronger reasoning than my wise self.—To tell you the truth (though at my own expence) I read your letter the first time with some little chagrin;—your reasoning, though it hurt my pride—yet almost convinced my understanding.—I read it carefully a second time—pondered—weighed—and submitted—Whenever a spark of vanity seems to be glowing at my heart—I will read your letter—and what then?—Why then, humbled by a proper sense of my inferiority, I shall still have cause for pride—triumph—and comfort—when I reflect that my valued Censor—is the true friend of his sincerely affectionate
IGN. SANCHO.
LETTER XL.
TO MR. M——.
Dec. 4, 1776.