Chapter XXX: Letter XXIX: To Miss L

Charles Street, Oct. 4, 1775.

Just as the twig is bent, the tree’s inclin’d,
’Tis education forms the tender mind.

So says +Pope+.

Children like tender osiers take the bow,
And as they first are fashoned, always grow.

+Dryden.+

THE sense of each is just the same, and they both prove an opinion which I have long been grounded in--that the errors of most children proceed in great part from the ill cultivation of the first years.--Self-love, my friend, bewitches parents to give too much indulgence to infantine foibles;--the constant cry is, “Poor little soul, it knows no better!”--if it swears--that’s a sign of wit and spirit;--if it fibs--it’s so cunning and comical;--if it steals--’tis only a paw trick--and the mother exultingly cries--My Jacky is so sharp, we can keep nothing from him!--Well! but what’s all this to you?--You are no mother.--True, my sincerely esteemed friend, but you are something as good--you are perhaps better--much better and wiser I am sure than many mothers I have seen.--You, who believe in the true essence of the gospel--who visit the sick, cover the naked, and withdraw not your ear from the unfortunate:--but I did not intend to write your elogium--it requires the pen of one less interested--and perhaps less partiality and more judgement would also be requisite.--Jacky S---- is the occasion of this prefatory vast shew of learning. I do believe him a fine child spoil’d for want of proper management--he is just now in high disgrace--he is wrong enough in all conscience, I believe--but are they, who are about him, right?--We will talk about this matter when I have the pleasure of seeing you;--you shall forgive my impertinent meddling--I will ask pardon, and sin again--so we serve Heaven--so complain, if you dare.--Mrs. Sancho is yet up;--if I pray at all, it’s for the blessing of a happy moment, with little pain for her;--as to what she brings, I care not about its sex--God grant health to the mother!--and my soul and lips shall bless his holy name.--We cannot remove till after Mrs. Sancho is up.--The house will not be ready till towards Christmas, which is not the most desirable time of the year for moving--but we must do as we can, not as we would.

At Charlotte Chapel, we had last Sunday a most excellent discourse from Mr. H----n, whom I suppose you have heard preach--if not, he is well worth hearing--to please me--for to the best of my knowledge, he reads prayers better than most--Mr. B---- not excepted; there is a dignity of expression in his Psalms, which catches the whole attention--and such an animated strength of devotion in his Litany, as almost carries the heart to the gates of Heaven--he is fine in the pulpit;--but comparisons are unfair--if H---- reads prayers, and D---- preaches, at the same church--I should suppose greater perfection could not be found in England.--I have to thank you for the honor of your correspondence--and can laugh in my sleeve like a Dutch Jew--to think that I get sterling sense for my farrago of absurdities--but you will, I hope, soon be in town.--Mrs. Sancho joins me in every sentiment of gratitude and sincerity.--I am, as much as a poor African can be, sincerely

Yours to command,

IGN. SANCHO

We are in great hopes about poor Lydia.--An honest and ingenious motherly woman in our neighbourhood has undertaken the perfect cure of her--and we have every reason to think, with God’s blessing--she will succeed--which is a blessing we shall owe entirely to the comfort of being poor--for, had we been rich, the doctors would have had the honor of killing her a twelvemonth ago.----Adieu.