Chapter CXIII: Letter CXI: To Mr. R

Nov. 1, 1779.

DEAR FRIEND,

I SHOULD on Sunday night have acknowledged your kindness, but was prevented by weakness!--idleness! or some such nonsense!--Were you here, Mrs. Sancho would tell you I had quacked myself to death.--It is true, I have been unwell--from colds and from a purging!--which disorder prevails much in our righteous metropolis--and perhaps from quacking; but of this when we meet.--I was much pleased with my letter from Sir John--in which there is very little news--and less hope of doing any thing to the purpose, either in the conquering or conciliating mode, than in any letter I have been favoured with.--He makes no mention of receiving any packets from me, and I have wrote six or eight times within the last twelve months--so you see plainly the packets are either lost, or his letters stopt.--I shall give him a line by Wednesday’s post--and let it try its fortune.--I enclose you some American congress notes--for he does not say he has sent you any--though he mentions the news-papers.

We talk of sending over a vast force next spring. Why G--m--t will so madly pursue a losing game, is amongst the number of things that reason can never account for--and good sense blushes at:--it is reported in the city, that our safety this summer was purchased of d’Orvilliers and Monsieur Sartin:--it is certain (although a vote of credit was granted for a million) that there is no money in the Exchequer--and that the civil list is 800,000_l._ in arrears.--This looks dark--whilst Ireland treats us rather laconic--Scotland not too friendly--America speaks but too plainly:--But what a plague is all this to you or me? I am doomed to difficulty and poverty for life--and let things go as they will, if the French leave us Newmarket--they will not ruin my friend.--I hope the good ladies are well and preparing for London.--Squire S---- and his good woman well also, he in the enjoyment of his gun--and she in the care of the sweet children.--My best respects to Mr. and Mrs. B----, and I should be a beast to neglect my worthy friend Mr. S----k. Now I have a scheme to propose to the electors of Great Britain, to take Sir C---- and Mr. S---- for their patterns--and at the general election (if they can find as many) to return 300 such--it would immortalize them in the annals of this country for their wisdom of choice--and what’s much better, it would perhaps (with God’s blessing) save Old England. We want, alas!--only a few honest men of sound principles and good plain understandings--to unite us--to animate with one mind!--one heart!--one aim!--and to direct the rouzed courage of a brave people properly--then we might hope for golden times--and the latter end of the present reign emulate the grand close of the last.

I got a very pretty young lady to chuse this inclosed ticket--meaning to baffle ill-luck; for, had I chose it myself, I am certain a blank would have been the consequence.--May it be prosperous!--Mrs. Sancho joins me in every thing--love to O----; the girls giggle their respects to Mr. R----; Billy joins in silence, but his love to Nutts is plain. How does he do?

Yours,

IGN. SANCHO.