It is observed, in Le Sage's Gil Bias, that an exasperated author is not
easily pacified. I have, therefore, very little hope of making my peace
with the writer of the Eight Days' Journey; indeed so little, that I
have long deliberated, whether I should not rather sit silently down,
under his displeasure, than aggravate my misfortune, by a defence, of
which my heart forbodes the ill success. Deliberation is often useless.
I am afraid, that I have, at last, made the wrong choice, and that I
might better have resigned my cause, without a struggle, to time and
fortune, since I shall run the hazard of a new oifence, by the necessity
of asking him, why he is angry.
Distress and terrour often discover to us those faults, with which we
should never have reproached ourselves in a happy state. Yet, dejected
as I am, when I review the transaction between me and this writer, I
cannot find, that I have been deficient in reverence. When his book was
first printed, he hints, that I procured a sight of it before it was
published. How the sight of it was procured, I do not now very exactly
remember; but, if my curiosity was greater than my prudence, if I laid
rash hands on the fatal volume, I have surely suffered, like him who
burst the box, from which evil rushed into the world.
I took it, however, and inspected it, as the work of an author not
higher than myself; and was confirmed in my opinion, when I found, that
these letters were _not written to be printed_. I concluded, however,
that, though not _written_ to be _printed_, they were _printed_ to be
_read_, and inserted one of them in the collection of November last. Not
many days after, I received a note, informing me, that I ought to have
waited for a more correct edition. This injunction was obeyed. The
edition appeared, and I supposed myself at liberty to tell my thoughts
upon it, as upon any other book, upon a royal manifesto, or an act of
parliament. But see the fate of ignorant temerity! I now find, but find
too late, that, instead of a writer, whose only power is in his pen, I
have irritated an important member of an important corporation; a man,
who, as he tells us in his letters, puts horses to his chariot.
It was allowed to the disputant of old to yield up the controversy, with
little resistance, to the master of forty legions. Those who know how
weakly naked truth can defend her advocates, would forgive me, if I
should pay the same respect to a governour of the foundlings. Yets the
consciousness of my own rectitude of intention incites me to ask once
again, how I have offended.
There are only three subjects upon which my unlucky pen has happened to
venture: tea; the author of the journal; and the foundling-hospital.
Of tea, what have I said? That I have drank it twenty years, without
hurt, and, therefore, believe it not to be poison; that, if it dries the
fibres, it cannot soften them; that, if it constringes, it cannot relax.
I have modestly doubted, whether it has diminished the strength of our
men, or the beauty of our women; and whether it much hinders the
progress of our woollen or iron manufactures; but I allowed it to be a
barren superfluity, neither medicinal nor nutritious, that neither
supplied strength nor cheerfulness, neither relieved weariness, nor
exhilarated sorrow: I inserted, without charge or suspicion of
falsehood, the sums exported to purchase it; and proposed a law to
prohibit it for ever.
Of the author I unfortunately said, that his injunction was somewhat too
magisterial. This I said, before I knew that he was a governour of the
foundlings; but he seems inclined to punish this failure of respect, as
the czar of Muscovy made war upon Sweden, because he was not treated
with sufficient honours, when he passed through the country in disguise.
Yet, was not this irreverence without extenuation. Something was said of
the merit of _meaning well_, and the journalist was declared to be a
man, _whose failings might well be pardoned for his virtues_. This is
the highest praise which human gratitude can confer upon human merit;
praise that would have more than satisfied Titus or Augustus, but which
I must own to be inadequate and penurious, when offered to the member of
an important corporation.
I am asked, whether I meant to satirize the man, or criticise the
writer, when I say, that "he believes, only, perhaps, because he has
inclination to believe it, that the English and Dutch consume more tea
than the vast empire of China." Between the writer and the man, I did
not, at that time, consider the distinction. The writer I found not of
more than mortal might, and I did not immediately recollect, that the
man put horses to his chariot. But I did not write wholly without
consideration. I knew but two causes of belief, evidence and
inclination. What evidence the journalist could have of the Chinese
consumption of tea, I was not able to discover. The officers of the East
India company are excluded, they best know why, from the towns and the
country of China; they are treated, as we treat gipsies and vagrants,
and obliged to retire, every night, to their own hovel. What
intelligence such travellers may bring, is of no great importance. And,
though the missionaries boast of having once penetrated further, I
think, they have never calculated the tea drunk by the Chinese. There
being thus no evidence for his opinion, to what could I ascribe it but
inclination.
I am yet charged, more heavily, for having said, that "he has no
intention to find any thing right at home." I believe every reader
restrained this imputation to the subject which produced it, and
supposed me to insinuate only, that he meant to spare no part of the
tea-table, whether essence or circumstance. But this line he has
selected, as an instance of virulence and acrimony, and confutes it by
a lofty and splendid panegyrick on himself. He asserts, that he finds
many things right at home, and that he loves his oountrv almost to
enthusiasm.
I had not the least doubt, that he found, in his country, many things to
please him; nor did I suppose, that he desired the same inversion of
every part of life, as of the use of tea. The proposal of drinking tea
sour showed, indeed, such a disposition to practical paradoxes, that
there was reason to fear, lest some succeeding letter should recommend
the dress of the Picts, or the cookery of the Eskimaux. However, I met
with no other innovations, and, therefore, was willing to hope, that he
found something right at home.
But his love of his country seemed not to rise quite to enthusiasm,
when, amidst his rage against tea, he made a smooth apology for the East
India company, as men who might not think themselves obliged to be
political arithmeticians. I hold, though no enthusiastick patriot, that
every man, who lives and trades under the protection of a community, is
obliged to consider, whether he hurts or benefits those who protect him;
and that the most which can be indulged to private interest, is a
neutral traffick, if any such can be, by which our country is not
injured, though it may not be benefited.
But he now renews his declamation against tea, notwithstanding the
greatness or power of those that have interest or inclination to support
it. I know not of what power or greatness he may dream. The importers
only have an interest in defending it. I am sure, they are not great,
and, I hope, they are not powerful. Those, whose inclination leads them
to continue this practice, are too numerous; but, I believe their power
is such, as the journalist may defy, without enthusiasm. The love of our
country, when it rises to enthusiasm, is an ambiguous and uncertain
virtue: when a man is enthusiastick, he ceases to be reasonable; and,
when he once departs from reason, what will he do, but drink sour tea?
As the journalist, though enthusiastically zealous for his country, has,
with regard to smaller things, the placid happiness of philosophical
indifference, I can give him no disturbance, by advising him to
restrain, even the love of his country, within due limits, lest it
should, sometimes, swell too high, fill the whole capacity of his soul,
and leave less room for the love of truth.
Nothing now remains, but that I review my positions concerning the
foundling hospital. What I declared last month, I declare now, once
more, that I found none of the children that appeared to have heard of
the catechism. It is inquired, how I wandered, and how I examined. There
is, doubtless, subtlety in the question; I know not well how to answer
it. Happily, I did not wander alone; I attended some ladies, with
another gentleman, who all heard and assisted the inquiry, with equal
grief and indignation. I did not conceal my observations. Notice was
given of this shameful defect soon after, at my request, to one of the
highest names of the society. This, I am now told, is incredible; but,
since it is true, and the past is out of human power, the most important
corporation cannot make it false. But, why is it incredible? Because,
in the rules of the hospital, the children are ordered to learn the
rudiments of religion. Orders are easily made, but they do not execute
themselves. They say their catechism, at stated times, under an able
master. But this able master was, I think, not elected before last
February; and my visit happened, if I mistake not, in November. The
children were shy, when interrogated by a stranger. This may be true,
but the same shiness I do not remember to have hindered them from
answering other questions; and I wonder, why children, so much
accustomed to new spectators, should be eminently shy.
My opponent, in the first paragraph, calls the inference that I made
from this negligence, a hasty conclusion: to the decency of this
expression I had nothing to object; but, as he grew hot in his career,
his enthusiasm began to sparkle; and, in the vehemence of his
postscript, he charges my assertions, and my reasons for advancing them,
with folly and malice. His argumentation, being somewhat enthusiastical,
I cannot fully comprehend, but it seems to stand thus: my insinuations
are foolish or malicious, since I know not one of the governours of the
hospital; for, he that knows not the governours of the hospital, must be
very foolish or malicious.
He has, however, so much kindness for me, that he advises me to consult
my safety, when I talk of corporations. I know not what the most
important corporation can do, becoming manhood, by which my safety is
endangered. My reputation is safe, for I can prove the fact; my quiet is
safe, for I meant well; and for any other safety, I am not used to be
very solicitous.
I am always sorry, when I see any being labouring in vain; and, in
return for the journalist's attention to my safety, I will confess some
compassion for his tumultuous resentment; since all his invectives fume
into the air, with so little effect upon me, that I still esteem him, as
one that has the _merit of meaning well_; and still believe him to be a
man, whose _failings may be justly pardoned for his virtues_ [6].