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collected of a power in the court to do what is now prayed.
Prince Adam Czartoryski to Sir W. Jones,
Sept. 20, 1788. It is but a fortnight ago fince the gentleman, to whom the most flattering proof of your kind remembrance was committed, delivered it into
hand. I received it with a joined sentiment of gratitude and of vanity. It will be an easy task for you to find out why I am grateful, and every body, but yourself, will soon hit upon the reasons, why your having thought of me makes me vain.
The letter, the idea of the man who wrote it, the place from whence it came, the language of Hafez, all that put together, set my imagination at once in a blaze, and wafted me over in a wish from the Pole to the Indies. It has awakened a train of ideas, which lay dormant for a while, and rekindled my somewhat forgotten heat for the Oriental muses, which is not however to be put on the
account of inconstancy, but to my having been crossed in my love for them, very near as much as Sir Roger de Coverly is said to have been, in his addresses to his unkind widow. The war, broke out of late, deprived me of my last resource, which was a dervish native of Samercand, who was just come to live with me in the capacity of munshi, his religious zeal would not allow him to continue out of sight of the Sangiale Sheriff, so he hastened back to his brethren.' After the reception of your letter I grieved still more in seeing myself deprived of proper and easy means to cultivate fo interesting a branch of learning, and could not forbear casting an impatient reflection on that warlike spirit, whose influence leaves nothing happy, nothing undisturbed. The acquisition of a language will always appear to me much more valuable than that of a desert. The sudden departure of my dervish has, I find, , soured my temper against conquest and conquerors. I wished it was in my power to sweeten it again by the charms of your intercourse, under the benign influence of the cli
mate you inhabit. How happy should I think myself in the enjoyment of your leisure hours, in perusing a country where every object is worth dwelling upon, in paying a visit to the Rajah of Kisnagoor, with a letter of recommendation from your hand! But, whilst, with a heated fancy, I am expatiating on those delightful subjects, I find myself in reality circling in a round of things as little suiting with my inclination, as the roughness of the heaven does with my constitution ; for, quid frigore sarmatico pejus ? which becomes still more intolerable, if you add to it the in arcto et inglorius labor, to which we are unfortunately doomed. I cannot finish this letter without repeating to you the warmest acknowledgment of your kind remembrance. I shall be certain to preserve it for ever, if the highest degree of esteem for your eminent qualities and talents, and the most sincere regard for your person, are sufficient titles to ensure it. I am invariably, &c.
Sir William Jones to Sir Joseph Banks.
Sept. 17, 1789.
DEAR SIR JOSEPH,
The season for paying my annual epistolary rents being returned with the rough gales of the autumnal equinox, I am eager to offer my tribute, where it is most due, to my best landlord, who, instead of claiming, like the India company, sixteen shillings in the pound for the neat profits of my farm (I speak correctly, though metaphorically) voluntarily offers me indulgences, even if I should run in
You have received, I trust, the pods of the finest Dacca cotton, with which the commercial resident at that station supplied me, and which I sent by different conveyances, some inclosed to yourself, some to Sir George Young, and some by private hands. But I have always found it safer to send letters and small parcels by the public packet, than by careless and inconsiderate individuals. I am not partial to the pryangu, which I now find
is its true name; but Mr. Shore found benefit from it, and procured the fresh plants from Arracan, which died unluckily in their way to Calcutta. But seriously, it deferves a longer trial before its tonic virtues, if it have any, can be ascertained. It is certainly not so fine a bitter as camomile or columbo root.
I wish politics at the devil, but hope that, when the King recovered, science revived. It gives me great pain to know, that party as it is called (I call it faction, because I hold party to be grounded on principles, and faction on self-interest, which excludes all principle) has found its way into a literary club, who meet reciprocally to impart and receive new ideas. I have deep rooted political principles, which the law taught me: but I should never think of introducing them among men of science, and if, on my return to Europe ten or twelve years hence, I should not find more science than politics in the club, my seat in it will be at the service of any politician who may wish to be one of the party.
An intimate friend of Mr. Blane has writ,