such a diligent reader, that he was well acquainted with the current literature of that time. He was treated with respect and attention by many intelligent and educated people. Though not so full of fun as he was in his younger days, his conversation was entertaining. The[4] letters he wrote to various persons abound with good sense, and show that he was very affectionate and devoted as a husband and father. He evidently regarded his wife as the best blessing of his life. In one of his letters to a friend he says: "The hot weather does not befriend Mrs. Sancho, but time will, I hope. If true worth could plead exemption from pain and sickness, she would, by right divine, enjoy the best of health." On another occasion he writes: "I can compare her to nothing so properly as a diamond in the dirt. But, my friend, that is Fortune's fault, not mine; for had I the power, I would case her in gold." Years later, he writes: "Dame Sancho would be better in health, if she cared less. I am her barometer. If a sigh escapes me, it is answered by a tear in her eye. I often assume gayety to illume her dear sensibility with a smile, which twenty years ago almost bewitched me, and which still constitutes my highest pleasure. May such be your lot, my friend. What more can friendship wish you than to glide down the stream of time with a partner of congenial principles and fine feelings, whose very looks speak tenderness and sentiment."

[4]

After a severe illness he wrote to a friend: "I had excruciating pains and great lack of patience. Mrs. Sancho had a week of it. Gout did not sweeten my temper. It was washing week, and she had to attend the shop. God bless her, and reward her. She is good; good in heart, good in principle, good by habit."

The children appear to have been the delight of his heart. He called them "Sanchonettas," which would be the Italian way of saying Little Sanchos. He was never tired of describing their little winning ways. At the end of a letter to one of his friends he wrote: "Lydia[5] trots about amazingly; and Kitty imitates her, with this addition, that she is as mischievous as a monkey." But little William, his youngest, was evidently his pet. To another of his friends he wrote: "You cannot imagine what hold little Billy gets of me. He grows, he prattles, every day he learns something new. The rogue is fond of me to excess. By his good-will he would be always in the shop with me. The little monkey! He clings round my legs; and if I chide him, or look sour, he holds up his little mouth to kiss me."

[5]

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