DEAR FRIEND,

WHETHER this finds your officially parading on Newmarket turfs—or in the happier society of the good geniuses of B—— house—may it find you well—in good joyous spirits—gay, debonnair—happy at heart—happy as I have seen my meaning expressed in the countenance of my friend Mrs. C——, where humanity—humility—and goodwill—have outshone beauty—in one of the finest faces of your country—but this between ourselves;—and pray how does the aforesaid lady do?—does she ride, walk, and dance, with moderation?—and can you tell me that she continues as well as when she first went down—and still finds good from her western expedition?—And the little Syren Miss C——?—Have there no letters, sent by Cupid’s post, sticking on the arrow’s point, been picked up about your grounds, blown by western breezes across the country?—Tell her nothing can ever hurt her but Love and Time.—May Love bring her happiness, and Time honour!—As to wealth—may she have no more than she can manage with comfort and credit!—Monsieur L——’s letter is a good one—and I think it would make one laugh even in the gout.—God bless this old boy—for he is a true type of beggarly pride—cunning—narrow-hearted—vain and mean—one of Satan’s dupes—who do his dirty work for a little worldly trash—and cheat themselves at last.—I know a man who delights to make every one he can happy—that same man treated some honest girls with expences for a Vauxhall evening.—If you should happen to know him—you may tell him from me—that last night—three great girls—a boy—and a fat old fellow—were as happy and pleas’d as a fine evening—fine place—good songs—much company—and good music—could make them.—Heaven and Earth!—how happy, how delighted, were the girls!—Oh! the pleasures of novelty to youth!—We went by water—had a coach home—were gazed at—followed, &c. &c.—but not much abused.—I must break off before I have half finished—for Mr. —— is just come in—you are not the first good friend that has been neglected for a fop.

IGN. SANCHO.

LETTER L.
TO MR. M——.

September 3, 1777.

I FEEL it long since I heard from you—very long since I saw you—and three or four days back had some notion, I should never, in this paltry world, see thee again—but (thanks to the Father of Mercies!) I am better, and have a higher relish of health and ease, from contrasting the blessings with the pains I have endured.—Would to God you could say that your dizzy dismal headachs were flown to the moon, or embarked for Lapland—there to be tied up in a witch’s bag—and sold to Beelzebub with a cargo of bad winds—religious quarrels—politics—my gout—and our American grievances!—But what are you about in your last (where you dropt the candid friend and assumed the flatterer)?—You hinted as if there was a chance of seeing you in Charles Street: I wish it much.—My friend, I have had a week’s gout in my hand, which was by much too hard for my philosophy.—I am convinced, let the Stoics say what they list—that pain is an evil;—in short, I was wishing for death—and little removed from madness—but (thank Heaven)! I am much better—my spirits will be mended if I hear from you—better still to see you.—I find it painful to write much, and learn that two hands are as necessary in writing as eating.—You see I write, like a lady, from one corner of the paper to the other.—My respects—and love—and admiration—and compliments—to Mrs. ——, and Mrs. and Miss ——. Tell M——l, he kept his word in calling to see us before he left town!—I hope—confound the ink!—what a blot! Now don’t you dare suppose I was in fault—no, Sir, the pen was disabled—the paper worse—there was a concatenation of ill-sorted chances—all—all—coincided to contribute to that fatal blot—which has so disarranged my ideas—that I must perforce finish before I had half disburthened my head and heart:—but is N—— a good girl?—and how does my honest George do? Tell Mrs. H—— what you please in the handsome way of me.—Farewell, I will write no more nonsense this night—that’s flat.

IGN. SANCHO.

How do you like the print:—Mr. D—— says, and his wife says the same—that you are exceedingly clever—and they shall be happy to do any thing which is produced by the same hand which did the original—and if Mr. D—— can be of any service to you in the etching—you may command him when you please.

LETTER LI.
TO MR. M——.

September 16, 1777.