I thought all the world agreed with me at present that Buonaparte was
better than the Bourbons, or that a tyrant was better than tyranny.
In my opinion, no one of an understanding above the rank of a lady's
waiting-maid could ever have doubted this, though I alone said it ten
years ago. It might be impolicy then and now for what I know, for the
world stick to an opinion in appearance long after they have given it
up in reality. I should like to know whether the preface is thought
impolitic by some one who agrees with me in the main point, or by some
one who differs with me and makes this excuse not to have his opinion
contradicted? In Paris (_jubes regina renovare dolorem_) the preface
was thought a masterpiece, the best and only possible defence of
Buonaparte, and quite new _there_! It would be an impertinence in me
to write a Life of Buonaparte after Sir W. without some such object as
that expressed in the preface. After all, I do not care a _damn_ about
the preface. It will get me on four pages somewhere else. Shall I
retract my opinion altogether, and forswear my own book? Rayner is
right to cry out: I think I have tipped him fair and foul copy, a lean
rabbit and a fat one. The remainder of vol. ii will be ready to go on
with, but not the beginning of the third. The appendixes had better
be at the end of the second vol. Pray get them if you can: you have my
Sieyes, have you not? One of them is there. I have been nearly in the
other world. My regret was 'to die and leave the world "rough" copy'.
Otherwise I had thought of an epitaph and a good end. Hic jacent
reliquiae mortales Gulielmi Hazlitt, auctoris non intelligibilis:
natus Maidstoniae in comi [ta] tu Cantiae, Apr. 10, 1778. Obiit
Winterslowe, Dec., 1827. I think of writing an epistle to C. Lamb,
Esq., to say that I have passed near the shadowy world, and have had
new impressions of the vanity of this, with hopes of a better. Don't
you think this would be good policy? Don't mention it to the severe
author of the '_Press_', a poem, but me thinks the idea _arridet_
Hone. He would give sixpence to see me floating, upon a pair of
borrowed wings, half way between heaven and earth, and edifying
the good people at my departure, whom I shall only scandalize by
remaining. At present my study and contemplation is the leg of a
stewed fowl. I have behaved like a saint, and been obedient to orders.
_Non fit pugil_, &c., I got a violent spasm by walking fifteen miles
in the mud, and getting into a coach with an old lady who would have
the window open. Delicacy, moderation, complaisance, the _suaviter in
modo_, whisper it about, my dear Clarke, these are my faults and have
been my ruin.