YOUR good father insists on my scribbling a sheet of absurdities, and gives a notable reason for it—that is, ‘Jack will be pleased with it.’—Now be it known to you—I have a respect both for father and son—yea, for the whole family, who are every soul (that I have the honour or pleasure to know any thing of) tinctured and leavened with all the obsolete goodness of old times—so that a man runs some hazard, in being seen in the W——e’s society, of being biassed to Christianity.—I never see your poor father—but his eyes betray his feelings—for the hopeful youth in India—a tear of joy dancing upon the lids—is a plaudit not to be equalled this side death!—See the effects of right-doing, my worthy friend; continue in the tract of rectitude—and despise poor paltry Europeans—titled Nabobs.—Read your Bible—as day follows night, God’s blessing follows virtue;—honour and riches bring up the rear—and the end is peace.—Courage, my boy—I have done preaching.—Old folks love to seem wise—and if you are silly enough to correspond with grey hairs—take the consequence.—I have had the pleasure of reading most of your letters, through the kindness of your father.—Youth is naturally prone to vanity: such is the weakness of human nature, that pride has a fortress in the best of hearts.—I know no person that possesses a better than Johnny W——;—but although flattery is poison to youth, yet truth obliges me to confess that your correspondence betrays no symptom of vanity—but teems with truths of an honest affection—which merits praise—and commands esteem.
In some of your letters which I do not recollect, you speak (with honest indignation) of the treachery and chicanery of the natives[7].—My good friend, you should remember from whom they learnt those vices:—the first Christian visitors found them a simple, harmless people—but the cursed avidity for wealth urged these first visitors (and all the succeeding ones) to such acts of deception—and even wanton cruelty—that the poor ignorant natives soon learnt to turn the knavish and diabolical arts which they soon imbibed—upon their teachers.
I am sorry to observe that the practice of your country (which as a resident I love—and for its freedom, and for the many blessings I enjoy in it, shall ever have my warmest wishes—prayers—and blessings;) I say, it is with reluctance that I must observe your country’s conduct has been uniformly wicked in the East—West Indies—and even on the coast of Guinea.—The grand object of English navigators—indeed of all Christian navigators—is money—money—money—for which I do not pretend to blame them.—Commerce was meant, by the goodness of the Deity, to diffuse the various goods of the earth into every part—to unite mankind in the blessed chains of brotherly love—society—and mutual dependence:—the enlightened Christian should diffuse the riches of the Gospel of peace—with the commodities of his respective land.—Commerce, attended with strict honesty—and with Religion for its companion—would be a blessing to every shore it touched at.—In Africa, the poor wretched natives—blessed with the most fertile and luxuriant soil—are rendered so much the more miserable for what Providence meant as a blessing:—the Christians’ abominable traffic for slaves—and the horrid cruelty and treachery of the petty Kings—encouraged by their Christian customers—who carry them strong liquors, to enflame their national madness—and powder and bad fire arms, to furnish them with the hellish means of killing and kidnapping.—But enough—it is a subject that sours my blood—and I am sure will not please the friendly bent of your social affections.—I mention these, only to guard my friend against being too hasty in condemning the knavery of a people, who, bad as they may be—possibly were made worse by their Christian visitors.—Make human nature thy study wherever thou residest—whatever the religion or the complexion, study their hearts.—Simplicity, kindness, and charity, be thy guide;—with these, even Savages will respect you—and God will bless you!
Your father—who sees every improvement of his boy with delight—observes that your hand-writing is much for the better;—in truth, I think it as well as any modest man can wish:—if my long epistles do not frighten you—and I live till the return of next spring—perhaps I shall be enabled to judge how much you are improved since your last favour.—Write me a deal about the natives—the soil and produce—the domestic and interior manners of the people—customs—prejudices—fashions—and follies.—Alas! we have plenty of the two last here—and what is worse, we have politics—and a detestable Brothers war—where the right hand is hacking and hewing the left—whilst Angels weep at our madness—and Devils rejoice at the ruinous prospect.
Mr. R—— and the ladies are well.—Johnny R—— has favourd me with a long letter; he is now grown familiar with danger—and can bear the whistling of bullets—the cries and groans of the human species—the roll of drums—clangor of trumpets—shouts of combatants—and thunder of cannon—all these he can bear with soldier-like fortitude—with now and then a secret wish for the society of his London friends—in the sweet blessed security of peace and friendship.
This, young man, is my second letter;—I have wrote till I am stupid, I perceive—I ought to have found it out two pages back.—Mrs. Sancho joins me in good wishes—I join her in the same;—in which double sense believe me,
Yours, &c. &c.
I. SANCHO.
Postscript. (Very short.)
It is with sincere pleasure I hear you have a lucrative establishment—which will enable you to appear and act with decency;—your good sense will naturally lead you to proper œconomy—as distant from frigid parsimony, as from a heedless extravagancy;—but as you may possibly have some time to spare upon your hands for necessary recreation—give me leave to obtrude my poor advice.—I have heard it more than once observed of fortunate adventurers—they have come home enriched in purse—but wretchedly barren in intellects:—the mind, my dear Jack, wants food—as well as the stomach;—why then should not one wish to increase in knowledge as well as money?—Young says—“Books are fair Virtue’s advocates and friends:”—now my advice is—to preserve about 20l. a year for two or three seasons—by which means you may gradually form a useful, elegant, little library.—Suppose now the first year you send the order and the money to your father—for the following books—which I recommend from my own superficial knowledge as useful.—A man should know a little of Geography—History, nothing more useful, or pleasant.