LETTER XXXIII.
To Henry Colden.
Philadelphia, November 17.
I have just sent you a letter, but my restless
spirit can find no relief but in writing.
I torment myself without end in imagining
what took place at your meeting with my brother.
I rely upon your equanimity, yet to
what an insupportable test will my brother's
passions subject you. In how many ways have
I been the cause of pain and humiliation to
you! Heaven, I hope, will sometime grant me
the power to compensate you for all that I have
culpably, or innocently made you suffer.—
What's this? A letter from my brother! The
superscription is his
Let me hasten, my friend, to give you a copy
of this strange epistle. It has neither date nor
signature.
“I have talked with the man whom you have
chosen to play the fool with. I find him worthy
of his mistress: a tame, coward-hearted, infatuated
blockhead.
It was silly to imagine that any arguments
would have weight with you or with him. I have
got my journey for my pains. Fain would I
have believed that you were worthy of a different
situation, but I dismiss that belief, and shall
henceforth leave you to pursue your own dirty
road, without interruption.
Had you opened your eyes to your true interest,
I think I could have made something of
you. My wealth and my influence should not
have been spared, in placing you in a station
worthy of my sister. Every one however, must
take his own way—though it lead him into a
slough or a ditch.
I intended to have virtually divided my fortune
with you: to have raised you to princely
grandeur; but no: you are enamoured of the
dirt, and may cling to it as closely as you
please.
It is but justice, however, to pay what I owe
you. I remember I borrowed several sums of
you: the whole amounted to fifteen hundred dollars.
There they are, and much good may they
do you. That sum and the remnant which I
left you may perhaps set the good man up in a
village shop: may purchase an assortment of
tapes, poringers and twelve-to-the-pound candles.
The gleanings of the year may find you in
skimmed milk and hasty pudding three times a
day, and you may enjoy between whiles the
dilectable amusements of mending your husband's
stockings at one time, and serving a
neighbour with a pennyworth of snuff at another.
Fare thee well, Jane. Farewell forever:
for it must be a stronger inducement than can
possibly happen, that shall ever bring me back
to this land. I would see you ere I go, but we
shall only scold: So, once more, farewell, simpleton.”
What think you of this letter? The inclosed
bills were most unexpected and acceptable presents.
I am now twice as rich as I was. This
visit of my brother I was disposed to regret, but
on the whole I ought, I think, to regard it with
satisfaction. By thus completely reparing the
breach made in my little patrimony, it has placed
me in as good a situation as I ever hoped
to enjoy; Besides, it has removed from my
brother's character some of the stains which used
to discolour it. Ought I not to believe him fincere
in his wishes to do me service. We cannot
agree exactly in our notion of duty or happiness,
but that difference takes not away from
him the merit of a generous intention. He
would have done me good in his way.
Methinks, I am sorry he has gone. I would
fain have parted with him as a sister ought.
A few tears and a few blessings were not unworthy
such an occasion. Most fervently should
I have poured my blessings upon him. I wish
he had indulged me with another visit; Especially
as we were to part, it seems, forever. One
more visit and a kind embrace from my only
brother would have been kept in melancholy,
sweet remembrance.
Perhaps we shall meet again. Perhaps, some
day, thou and I shall go to France. We will
visit him together, and witness, with our own
eyes, his good fortune. Time may make him
gentle; kind; confiderate; brotherly. Time
has effected greater wonders than that; for I
will always maintain that my brother has a noble
nature: stifled and obscured it may be, but
not extinguished.
