LETTER CLXXV.
Roanoke, July 24, 1821.
Saturday.
As my wagon goes to-day to Petersburg, I avail myself
of it to thank you for your letter of the 6th, if, indeed, this
old pen, made and mended to a stamp by yourself, will enable
me to do it.
I am well aware (and have long been so) of the character
of the people you guard me against. Odious as it is, I think
it differs somewhat to its advantage from that of the idle and
improvident, which is equally dishonest and more contemptible.
Whatever advantage these people gain over me, it is
with my eyes open; for I know that to deal with them at
all, is to suffer imposition. But I have no motive to husband
my resources. If I leave enough to pay my debts, I am satisfied.
Here I am yearning after the society of some one
who is not merely indifferent to me, and condemned, day after
day, to a solitude like Robinson Crusoe's. But each day
brings my captivity and exile nearer to their end.
Rely upon it, you are entirely mistaken in your estimate
of the world. Bad as it is, mankind are not quite so silly
as you suppose. Look around you, and see who are held in
the highest esteem. I will name but one—Mr. Chief Justice.
It is not the "rogue" who gains the good opinion of
his own sex, or of the other. It is the man, who by the exercise
of the faculties which nature and education have given
him, asserts his place among his fellows; and, whilst useful
to all around him, establishes his claim to their respect, as
an equal and independent member of society. He may
have every other good quality under heaven; but, wanting
this, a man becomes an object of pity to the good, and of
contempt to the vile. Look at Mr. Leigh, his brother William,
Mr. Wickham, Dr. B., &c. &c., and compare them
with the drones which society is impatient to shake from
its lap.
Mr. Macon and Mr. Edwards were with me four days
last week: they left me this day week. Sam waits. Farewell!
JOHN RANDOLPH, of Roanoke.
