MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
TUESDAY, SEPT. 26.
Fate, I believe, in my conscience, spins threads for tragedies, on
purpose for thee to weave with.--Thy Watford uncle, poor Belton, the
fair inimitable, [exalted creature! and is she to be found in such a
list!] the accursed woman, and Tomlinson, seemed to have been all doomed
to give thee a theme for the dismal and the horrible;--and, by my soul,
that thou dost work it going, as Lord M. would phrase it.
That's the horrid thing, a man cannot begin to think, but causes for
thought crowd in upon him; the gloomy takes place, and mirth and gaiety
abandon his heard for ever!
Poor M'Donald!--I am really sorry for the fellow.--He was an useful,
faithful, solemn varlet, who could act incomparably any part given him,
and knew not what a blush was.--He really took honest pains for me in the
last affair; which has cost him and me so dearly in reflection. Often
gravelled, as we both were, yet was he never daunted.--Poor M'Donald! I
must once more say:--for carrying on a solemn piece of roguery, he had no
equal.
I was so solicitous to know if he were really as bad as thou hast a knack
of painting every body whom thou singlest out to exercise thy murdering
pen upon, that I dispatched a man and horse to Maidstone, as soon as I
had thine; and had word brought me, that he died in two hours after he
had received thy five guineas. And all thou wrotest of his concern, in
relation to the ever-dear Miss Harlowe, it seems was true.
I can't help it, Belford!--I have only to add, that it is happy that the
poor fellow lived not to be hanged; as it seems he would have been; for
who knows, as he had got into such a penitential strain, what might have
been in his dying speech?
When a man has not great good to comfort himself with, it is right to
make the best of the little that may offer. There never was any
discomfort happened to mortal man, but some little ray of consolation
would dart in, if the wretch was not so much a wretch, as to draw,
instead of undraw, the curtain, to keep it out.
And so much, at this time, and for ever, for poor Capt. Tomlinson, as I
called him.
Your solicitude to get me out of this heavy changeable climate exactly
tallies with every body's here. They all believe that travelling will
establish me. Yet I think I am quite well. Only these plaguy news and
fulls, and the equinoctals, fright me a little when I think of them; and
that is always: for the whole family are continually ringing these
changes in my ears, and are more sedulously intent, than I can well
account for, to get me out of the kingdom.
But wilt thou write often, when I am gone? Wilt thou then piece the
thread where thou brokest it off? Wilt thou give me the particulars of
their distress, who were my auxiliaries in bringing on the event that
affects me?--Nay, principals rather: Since, say what thou wilt, what did
I do worth a woman's breaking her heart for?
Faith and troth, Jack, I have had very hard usage, as I have often said:
--to have such a plaguy ill name given me, screamed out upon, run away
from, as a mad dog would be; all my own friends ready to renounce me!--
Yet I think I deserve it all; for have I not been as ready to give up
myself, as others are to condemn me?
What madness, what folly, this!--Who will take the part of a man that
condemns himself?--Who can?--He that pleads guilty to an indictment,
leaves no room for aught but the sentence. Out upon me, for an
impolitical wretch! I have not the art of the least artful of any of our
Christian princes; who every day are guilty of ten times worse breaches
of faith; and yet, issuing out a manifesto, they wipe their mouths, and
go on from infraction to infraction, from robbery to robbery; commit
devastation upon devastation; and destroy--for their glory! And are
rewarded with the names of conquerors, and are dubbed Le Grand; praised,
and even deified, by orators and poets, for their butcheries and
depredations.
While I, a poor, single, harmless prowler; at least comparatively
harmless; in order to satisfy my hunger, steal but one poor lamb; and
every mouth is opened, every hand is lifted up, against me.
Nay, as I have just now heard, I am to be manifestoed against, though
no prince: for Miss Howe threatens to have the case published to the whole
world.
I have a good mind not to oppose it; and to write an answer to it, as
soon as it comes forth, and exculpate myself, by throwing all the fault
upon the old ones. And this I have to plead, supposing all that my worst
enemies can allege against me were true,--That I am not answerable for
all the extravagant consequences that this affair has been attended with;
and which could not possibly be foreseen.
And this I will prove demonstrably by a case, which, but a few hours ago,
I put to Lord M. and the two Misses Montague. This it is:
Suppose A, a miser, had hid a parcel of gold in a secret place, in order
to keep it there, till he could lend it out at extravagant
interest.
Suppose B, in such a great want of this treasure, as to be unable to live
without it.
And suppose A, the miser, has such an opinion of B, the wanter, that he
would rather lend it to him, than to any mortal living; but yet,
though he has no other use in the world for it, insists upon very
unconscionable terms.
B would gladly pay common interest for it; but would be undone, (in his
own opinion at least, and that is every thing to him,) if he
complied with the miser's terms; since he would be sure to be soon
thrown into gaol for the debt, and made a prisoner for life.
Wherefore guessing (being an arch, penetrating fellow) where the
sweet hoard lies, he searches for it, when the miser is in a
profound sleep, finds it, and runs away with it.
[B, in this case, can only be a thief, that's plain, Jack.]
Here Miss Montague put in very smartly.--A thief, Sir, said she, that
steals what is and ought to be dearer to me than my life, deserves less
to be forgiven than he who murders me.
But what is this, cousin Charlotte, said I, that is dearer to you than
your life? Your honour, you'll say--I will not talk to a lady (I never
did) in a way she cannot answer me--But in the instance for which I put
my case, (allowing all you attribute to the phantom) what honour is lost,
where the will is not violated, and the person cannot help it? But, with
respect to the case put, how knew we, till the theft was committed, that
the miser did actually set so romantic a value upon the treasure?
Both my cousins were silent; and my Lord, because he could not answer me,
cursed me; and I proceeded.
Well then, the result is, that B can only be a thief; that's plain.--To
pursue, therefore, my case--
Suppose this same miserly A, on awaking and searching for, and finding
his treasure gone, takes it so much to heart that he starves
himself;
Who but himself is to blame for that?--Would either equity, law, or
conscience, hang B for a murder?