University of Virginia Library

LETTER CLXXXII.

Your letter of the 20th, has lain several days on my table.
The difficulty of writing, produced by natural decay, is so increased
by the badness of the materials furnished by our contractors,
(who make the public pay the price of the best,) that
I dread the beginning of a letter. At this time, it requires
my nicest management to make this pen do legible execution.

So true is your remark, that I have tried to strike root
into some of the people around me—one family, in particular;
but I found the soil too stony for me to penetrate, and,
after some abortive efforts, I gave it up—nor shall I ever renew
the attempt, unless some change in the inhabitants should
take place.

The medical gentleman, whom you suppose to be actuated

by no friendly spirit towards you, made the observation in
question, to one whom he believed well disposed towards you;
and he mentioned it to another, of the same description, who
told it to me. I do not believe that the remark extended beyond
us three.

One of the best and wisest men I ever knew, has often said
to me that a decayed family could never recover its loss of
rank in the world, until the members of it left off talking and
dwelling upon its former opulence. This remark, founded in
a long and close observation of mankind, I have seen verified,
in numerous instances, in my own connexions—who, to use
the words of my oracle, "will never thrive, until they can
become `poor folks:' "—he added, "they may make some
struggles, and with apparent success, to recover lost ground;
they may, and sometimes do, get half way up again; but they
are sure to fall back—unless, reconciling themselves to circumstances,
they become in form, as well as in fact, poor
folks."

The blind pursuit of wealth, for the sake of hoarding, is a
species of insanity. There are spirits, and not the least worthy,
who, content with an humble mediocrity, leave the field
of wealth and ambition open to more active, perhaps more
guilty, competitors. Nothing can be more respectable than
the independence that grows out of self-denial. The man
who, by abridging his wants, can find time to devote to the
cultivation of his mind, or the aid of his fellow-creatures, is a
being far above the plodding sons of industry and gain. His
is a spirit of the noblest order. But what shall we say to the
drone, whom society is eager to "shake from her encumbered
lap?"—who lounges from place to place, and spends
more time in "Adonizing" his person, even in a morning,
than would serve to earn his breakfast?—who is curious in
his living, a connoisseur in wines, fastidious in his cookery;
but who never knew the luxury of earning a single meal?
Such a creature, "sponging" from house to house, and always
on the borrow, may yet be found in Virginia. One
more generation will, I trust, put an end to them; and

their posterity, if they have any, must work or steal, directly.

Men are like nations. One founds a family, the other an
empire—both destined, sooner or later, to decay. This is the
way in which ability manifests itself. They who belong to
a higher order, like Newton, and Milton, and Shakespeare,
leave an imperishable name. I have no quarrel with such
as are content with their original obscurity, vegetate on from
father to son; "whose ignoble blood has crept through clodpoles
ever since the flood"—but I cannot respect them. He
who contentedly eats the bread of idleness and dependence is
beneath contempt. I know not why I have run out at this
rate. Perhaps it arises from a passage in your letter. I cannot
but think you are greatly deceived. I do not believe the
world to be so little clear-sighted.

What the "covert insinuations" against you, on your arrival
at Richmond, were, I am at a loss to divine. I never
heard the slightest disparagement of your moral character;
and I know nobody less obnoxious to such imputations.

When you see the C's., present my best wishes and remembrance
to them all. I had hoped to hear from Richard.
He is one of the young men about Richmond, with
whom it is safe to associate. Noscitur è Sorio is older than
the days of Partridge; and he who is the companion of the
thriftless, is sure never to thrive: tavern haunters and loungers
are no friends to intellectual, moral, or literary improvement,
any more than to the accumulation of wealth.

I have seen nobody that you know but Frank K. and Gen.
S. The last asked particularly after you. That you may
prosper in this life, and reach eternal happiness in the life to
come, is my earnest prayer.