LETTERLVI.TO MR. S——.
December 20, 1777.
WITH the old story of the Season, &c. &c. most sincerely, and amen.
When Royal David—in the intoxication of success and fullness of pride—imprudently insisted upon the numbering of his people—we are told, the Prophet was sent to announce the Divine displeasure—and to give him the choice of one of the three of the Almighty’s heaviest punishments:—in his choice—he shewed both wisdom and true piety—you know the rest.—Now, my friend—thou knowest my weakness;—I sincerely believe the Sacred Writ—and of course look upon war in all its horrid arrangements as the bitterest curse that can fall upon a people; and this American one—as one of the very worst—of worst things:—that it is a just judgement, I do believe;—that the eyes of our rulers are shut, and their judgements stone-blind, I believe also.—The Gazette will give you a well-drest melancholy account—but you will see one thing in it which you will like—and that is, the humane solicitude of General Burgoyne—for the safety and good treatment indiscriminately of all his camp-artificers and attendants:—he is certainly a man of feeling—and I regard him more for the grandeur of his mind in adversity—thanI should in all the triumphal pomp of military madness.—But let me return, if possible, to my senses:—for God’s sake! what has a poor starving Negroe, with six children, to do with kings and heroes, and armies and politics?—Aye, or poets and painters!—or artists—of any sort? quoth Monsieur S——. True—indubitably true.—For your letter, thanks—It should have come sooner—better late, &c. &c.—What have I to do with your good or evil fortune—health or sickness—weal or woe?—I am resolved from henceforth to banish feelings—Misanthrope from head to foot!—Apropos—not five minutes since I was interrupted, in this same letter of letters, by a pleasant affair—to a man of no feelings.—A fellow bolted into the shop with a countenance in which grief and fear struggled for mastery.—“Did you see any body go to my cart, Sir?”—“No, friend, how should I? you see I am writing—and how should I be able to see your cart or you either in the dark?”—“Lord in heaven pity me! cries the man, what shall I do? oh! what shall I do?—I am undone!—Good God!—I did but gointo the court here—with a trunk for the lady at Captain G——’s (I had two to deliver), and somebody has stole the other;—what shall I do?—what shall I do?”—“Zounds, man!—who ever left their cart in the night with goods in it, without leaving some one to watch?”—“Alack, Sir, I left a boy, and told him I would give him something to stand by the cart, and the boy and trunk are both gone!”—Oh nature!—oh heart!—why does the voice of distress so forcibly knock at the door of hearts—but to hint to pride and avarice our common kindred—and to alarm self-love?—Mark, I do think, and will maintain it—that self-love alone, if rightly understood, would make man all that a dying Redeemer wills he should be.—But this same stolen trunk;—the ladies are just gone out of my shop—they have been here holding a council—upon law and advertisements;—God help them!—they could not have come to a worse—nor could they have found a stupider or sorrier adviser:—the trunk was seen parading between two in the Park—and I dare say the contents by this time are pretty well gutted.—Last Sunday I met, coming from church,Mr. C——; he looks well, better than when you left him.—I took occasion, as we were prating about and about your worship—to pin Mr. de Groote’s interest upon the skirts of his feelings;—he desired, when I saw him next, I would send him into Crown-street—which I religiously performed, but have not seen Mr. de Groote since;—in truth, there is (despight of his nose) so much of the remains of better times—somewhat of the gentleman and artist in ruins—something creative of reverence as well as pity—that I have wished to do more than I ought—though at the same time too little for such a being to receive without insult from the hands of a poor Negroe—(pooh, I do not care for your prancings, I can see you at this distance).—We have agreed upon one thing;—which is, I have undertaken to write to Mr. G—— for him, in the way of local relief;—I will wager a tankard of porter I succeed in some sort;—I will aim at both sides of him—his pity and his pride—which, alas!—the last I mean, finds a first-floor in the breast of every son of Adam. S—— called on me this day, and left a picture foryou at your lodgings—and a very spirited head in miniature, of your own doing, with me—which I like so well—you will find it difficult to get it from me—except you talk of giving me a copy—Self-love again!—How can you expect business in these hard times—when the utmost exertions of honest industry can scarce afford people in the middle sphere of life daily provisions?—When it shall please the Almighty that things shall take a better turn in America—when the conviction of their madness shall make them court peace—and the same conviction of our cruelty and injustice induce us to settle all points in equity—when that time arrives, my friend, America will be the grand patron of genius—trade and arts will flourish—and if it shall please God to spare us till that period—we will either go and try our fortunes there—or stay in Old England and talk about it.—While thou hast only one mouth to feed—one back to cloath—and one wicked member to indulge—thou wilt have no pity from me—excepting in the argument of health. May that cordial blessing be thine—with its sweet companion ease!—Peace follows rectitude—andwhat a plague would’st thou have more?—Write soon if thou dar’st—retort at thy peril—boy—girls—and the old Duchess, all pretty well—and so, so, is yours,
I. SANCHO.