I AM truly sorry to address this letter to you at this season in the English Channel.—The time considered that you have left us, you ought in all good reason to have been a seasoned Creole of St. Kitt’s;—but we must have patience:—what cannot be cured, must be endured.—I dare believe, you bear the cruel delay with resignation—and make the best and truest use of your time, by steady reflection and writing.—I would wish you to note down the occurrences of every day—to which add your own observation of men and things—the more you habituate yourself to minute investigation, the stronger you will make your mind;—ever taking along with you in all your researches the word of God—and the operations of his divine providence.—Remember, young man—nothing happens by chance.—Let not the levity of frothy wit, nor the absurdity of fools, break in upon your happier principles, your dependence upon the Deity—address the Almighty with fervor, with love and simplicity—carry his laws in your heart—and command both worlds;—but I meant mere fatherly advice, and I have wrote a sermon.—Dear boy, ’tis my love preaches; N—— begged me to write a line for him, as he said you wanted news—I have none but what you know as well as myself—such as the regard and best wishes of Mrs. Sancho—the girls and myself—such as wishing a happy end to your long-protracted voyage—and a joyful meeting with your worthy and respectable family;—and in order to leave room for friend N——, I here assure you I am your affectionate friend,
I. SANCHO.
LETTER XC.
TO MR. R——.
May, 1779.
MY DEAR WORTHY R——,
YOUR letter was a real gratification to a something better principle than pride—it pleased my self-love—there are very few (believe me) whose regards or notice I care about—yourself, brother, and O——, with about three more at most—form the whole of my male connexions.—Your brother is not half so honest as I thought him—he promises like a tradesman, but performs like a lord.—On Sunday evening we expected him—the hearth was swept—the kettle boiled—the girls were in print—and the marks of the folds in Mrs. Sancho’s apron still visible—the clock past six—no Mr. R——. Now to tell the whole truth, he did add a kind of clause, that in case nothing material happened of hospital business, he would surely do himself the—&c. &c. &c.—So, upon the whole, I am not quite clear that he deserves censure—but that he disappointed us of a pleasure, I am very certain.—You don’t say you have seen Mr. P——. I beg you will, for I think he is the kind of soul congenial to your own.—Apropos, the right hand side (almost the bottom) of Gray Street, there is a Mrs. H——, an honest and very agreeable northern lady, whom I should like you to know something of—which may easily be done—if you will do me the credit just to knock at her door when you go that way—and tell her, there is a Devil that has not forgot her civilities to him—and would be glad to hear she was well and happy.—Mr. R—— called on me in the friendly style—when I say that, I mean in the R—— manner—he asked a question—bought some tea—looked happy—and left us pleased:—he has the Graces.—The gout seized me yesterday morning—the second attempt—I looked rather black all day:—tell Mrs. C——, I will lay any odds that she is either the handsomest or ugliest woman in Bath—and among the many trinkets she means to bring with her—tell her not to forget health.—May you all be enriched with that blessing—wanting which, the good things of this world are trash!—You can write tiresome letters! Alas! will you yield upon the recept of this?—if not—that palm unquestionably belongs to your friend,
I. SANCHO.
LETTER XCI.
TO J—— S——, ESQ.
Charles Street, June 16, 1779.
DEAR SIR,