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
some time 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 worof
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
enamored 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, porringers
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 delectable
amusements of mending your husband's stockings at
at one time, and serving a neighbor with a penny-worth
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 enclosed 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 repairing 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
discolor it. Ought I not to believe him sincere 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 is 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; considerate; 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.
