LETTER LXXXVIII.

From the same.

Dear Sir Mordaunt,

London, July 11, 1791.

For the taciturnity of a whole month I make no apology, because I know none will be demanded. I often long to write to my friend, but successive contingencies rob me of time. I am the more solicitous to write, from the avaricious motive of hearing from thee the sooner. This urges me to take up the pen without matter, in expectation of acquiring some from thee. Of all the letters with which I have been favoured, none has given me more pleasure than thy last, of the 13th of June. I have daily perused it, and the last time with as much enjoyment as the first. That Sir Mordaunt has a heart, every line evinces. The sentiments which result from the anecdotes of the horse, the dog, and the cat, prove how much an old soldier can feel. Happy are they in whom Heaven ist pleased to inspire sentiments like these: the offspring of a heart humanized, and of intellect truly refined! Perhaps our persons may not bear similitude; but I trust, with grateful submission, that our hearts harmonize-The sheath or scabbard may be differently ornamented, but the sword is set to the same edge.

Suffer me, however, to censure, where censure is due. Why did I not know that some part of thy family were resident in my neighbourhood? Could it have been suspected that I could have known it without waiting upon the ladies? With their amiable characters I had long been acquainted at a distance: why was I not permitted to bring them nearer to me? These queries I put as charges, which should not have been applied to me had any branch of my family visited Burnham. Lately, when my gardener asked for a few days to go into Norfolk, I enjoined him to wait upon Sir Mordaunt, if he strolled within 20 miles of his seat. I mention this as a counterpart to the young ladies. However I forgive thee this once, and shall now speak of thy son, with that freedom which thy letter encourages. The character given by his master is, in my opinion, highly flattering; he is, in some measure, deficient in memory, but his apprehension is quick, and his application is great; the two last will amply compensate for the defect of the first. Many, I might say most, of the distinguished characters in medicine, have risen rather by application, than by the advantages of memory: for those who are blest with the latter faculty, are very often indolent, and thereby lose more in proportion from the want of industry. Brilliancy is not distinguished for solidity. Success in physic depends more upon judgment than quickness of memory. The first probes to the bottom, the latter skims the surface. I know, where

both are combined, the character will become more elevated; but they rarely associate; and the want of memory may be assisted by art. This defect is my lot. I believe I possess industry. I made artificial tables of my own; and, by arrangement and art, I appear to those who know no better, to pos-, sess memory. I suppose I have 40,000 notes, which I can refer to. Some years since I was desired to deliver an oration at a short notice. This I effected by my notes, and my auditory thought I possessed memory in a high degree, but, alas! it was factitious. This oration, on the History of Medicine prior to the Trojan war, I believe I sent thee, but for fear of mistake, I will now inclose the performance for thy son; and with it, for thyself, some seeds of the true Turkey Rhubarb, with a plan of a new Hospital and Infirmary, which I am endeavouring to establish at Margate, for the poor of London, whose diseases require sea-water. Last Wednesday I set out for this sea-girt town, staid two hours, and returned the same day, 144 miles in the day and night. I purchased two acres of land for the Structure, and formed a committee at Margate to correspond with one in London. What a chasm! What an epocha in my life did this seem to be! During the last 19 years, not one holiday have I taken, and this will probably be the last of my life, unless sickness compels me to seek leisure. Often do I wish for new resources to alleviate the woe, which in this metropolis abounds, and will abound. I almost envied the wealth of the

Dutchman Frehouven, whom I lately attended: what good might have been effected with his income of £17,000 a-year!

I

To return to thy son. Do not despair of physic-in lend a hand; nay, my old age I may would lend two to serve the son of Sir Mordaunt, could my services be deemed of use.

To-day I received a letter from America, mentioning some honours conferred upon me. These, however, are of little moment; but, what pleased me more, a bust of Washington is now on the Thames. I have not yet seen it, though I long for the pleasure. My library at Grove-hill is about 45 feet long. I am ornamenting it with busts, among which Washington must be conspicuous. Speaking of America, the progress of it is astonishing. Within two years, some of my friends who laid out money there, for every hundred pounds have realized one thousand. Their debt pays regularly every quarter interest. One of my tenants had, half a year ago, £30,000. He offered me some, which I did not accept. He has sold it at 15 per cent profit. My correspondent, who is an American, says, that he himself is struck with amazement at the progress of this new continent, and he is no party man. I was about to buy 10,000 acres for £800, but before I could settle the bargain at such a distance, it rose to £2000, and by this time, now a year ago, I suppose it is doubled!

Thou must remember the affair of Bunker's hill last war, when Major Pitcairn fell. A friend of

mine, lately at my house on a visit from Boston, was a particular acquaintance of the Major's, and this officer was beloved by all parties. My friend loved him as a father, although he is an American born and bred. The Major received 30 balls through his body. He was brought into Boston, and buried in the King's church, in a vault by himself in a close coffin, in his regimentals, and is at this moment in a perfect state. I informed Drs. Pitcairn, the brother and the son, of the circumstance, who requested my friend to send the Major to England, and I hope and believe he accompanies my bust of Washington. Brave officers and humane, however adverse you once were, you have (I trust) void of animosity traversed the Atlantic! As history will record you as heroes, may politic oblivion render you associates and friends, in those calm shades where refined intellect alone can enter and associate! In that state, divested of all human follies and animosities, may the glorious virtues which actuated you, survive and flourish in a clime, where virtue alone unites the Christian heroes of all nations and of all degrees!

I had something else to say, but my bed-fellow has been asleep two hours, and I must leave my friend to seek my rib, and therefore bid him

Adieu!

J. C. LETTSOM.