of
Waterloo, on a slice of old cow that they shot with their muskets, and
tore to pieces, without giving themselves a moment's pause to reflect
whether the Bramin's might not be the true religion. But I must not
anticipate any part of his narrative to you, and Harriet, as to
another Dido and Anna, of all he has seen, done, and suffered,
throughout which he has been, like the French poets (Grissets) famous
parrot, _quite as unfortunate_ as AEneas, and a great deal more pious.
In other respects, indeed, you'll not find him like that bird; he'll
not give you his adventures with the gratuitous loquacity of poor
Poll. In this he'd rather resemble the bullfinch; you must give out
the tune to him, and chirrup with questions to him before he will pipe
his strain to you; and when I consider the vast difficulty which the
natural taciturnity of you ladies places you under of asking
questions, I feel for your curiosity in its tight stays excessively.
On this occasion, perhaps, where the motive is so strong, you will
break through your native restraint; and, therefore, I advise you to
have your interrogatories ready by the 8th of January, 1816, when
Alfred, who means to accompany me, will be in Norwich. I am very
grateful to you for your benevolent wishes of prosperity and happiness
to me, but they fall on a heart dead to expectation. I have been so
long in obscurity, that hope has quite left off visiting me; the best
years of my life are gone; and what is my condition? Depressed
spirits, and ill health; and the way as far as I can see before me, no
better, nay worse than the lengths behind. What right have I to hope?
The ring and the lamp of the Arabian tales must cease to be fiction,
before I can have any chance of good fortune. But I do not call for
pity. If I have not learned to be skilful in parrying and eluding the
blows of Adversity, from experience, I am at heart somewhat hardened
by long subjection, and habituation to them; and, if I have not the
soothing of Hope, I am not altogether without the consolation of
Philosophy. The happy must substract from his happiness the frequent
reflection, which comes like a cloud over him, that death will snatch
him from all his blessings. The wretched finds relief in the
certainty that death will end his misery; therefore, that state is not
very enviable, nor this intolerable.