LETTER CLXII.
Washington, Dec. 21, 1819.
My dear Theodore,
I wrote you a very long letter the day before yesterday,
which, at one time, I had thoughts of suppressing;
and, perhaps, had better have suppressed. My error in this
case has not been intentional. My judgment, as well as my
other faculties, has become much impaired; so much so, that
I can scarcely turn me in any direction, without a dread of
committing some wrong. My letter from Richmond has,
probably, never come to hand. I would be glad to hear something
of my affairs at home; although I left it without a desire
ever to see it again. For the first time in my life, a vague
idea of quitting it for ever floated through my mind—one
that my engagements will, probably, forbid me to execute.
I would not leave it dishonourably.
Here I find myself isolè, almost as entirely as at Roanoke—
for the quiet of which (the last paragraph to the contrary, notwithstanding,)
I have some times panted; or, rather, to escape
from the scene around me. Once the object of proscription,
I am become one of indifference to all around me; and, in this
respect, I am, in no wise, worse off than the rest—for, from
all that I can see and learn, there are no two persons here
that care a single straw for one another. My reception is
best by the old Jacobins enragès—next, by the federalists,
who have abjured their heresies, and reconciled themselves
to the true Catholic church—worst of all, by the old minority
men, white-washed into courtiers.
My harness I wish altered in the traces, so as to fit the
chair at B's. in Richmond. The bay colt, out of Brunette,
I intend for a chair horse; the gray and the chestnut mare for
the saddle.
I shall send you my letters, which you will read, except
those marked "private." You will find in the papers much
amusement, and some instruction. Adieu! That the dearest
wishes of your heart may be gratified, is my earnest prayer.
JOHN RANDOLPH.
T. B. Dudley.
P. S.—Lord Byron is indisputably the author of Don Juan.
Murray, of Albemarle street, (his publisher,) remonstrated
against printing it. His lordship wrote him, for answer,
"that, if he refused, he should never publish for him again;
that the Reviewers, &c., had set him upon the pinnacle of
fame, and that by —, they should now read, not what
they liked, but what he pleased." I see a writer in the Enquirer
denies it to be his production. The above I have from
the most authentic source.
