Chapter LVII: Letter LVI: 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--than I 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 go into 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 for you 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--and what 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.