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I cannot help regretting that I did not receive these invaluable letters
while I was in Connecticut. They would have prevented abundance of anxiety
and uneasiness, and rendered the remainder of the time that I passed
there infinitely more pleasing. However unseasonable as they are, they
are highly acceptable.

What pity that a man cannot become master of his destiny
He cannot, indeed controul the course of events. It were absurd and pre=
=sumptiuous to make that an object of his wishes, but he may rea=
=sonably hope, because it is perhaps within the bounds of probabi
=lity, for power to controul the influence of these events upon his
happiness

How fascinating are the charms of glory! Of literary reputat
But these charms are, of themselves, insufficient to afford any pure
unmingled gratification, for what use, as to this pursuit, are the
most wonderful Attainments, unless we have an opportunity of
displaying them? And how rarely are these opportunities afforded
to persons in situations like ours? Beside, when notice and distincti
are the principal objects of desire, how often are we doomed to
encounter chagrin and disappointment? How often must we struggle
with malice and competition, and, in such a contest, in what im=
=minent danger are all the finer and more generous feelings
of being stifled.

Let Knowledge be sought for its own sake merely. Is it
not sufficiently desirable, upon its own account? What need is ther
of foreign and extrinsic motives to urge us forward? The dexterity of


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wit, the brilliancies of fancy, the Inchantments of a graceful
elocution, a solid judgement, retentive memory and powerful invention
with the aid of universal Knowledge, are inexpressibly delightful
both to the hearer and possessor, but to whom has frugal nature
allotted this precious portion? By whom is it attainable, and
when attained, how and where and when shall we display it.

Give me independance. Give me one or two friends whom
I can wholly love, and whom enjoy like me the conveniencies of
life and liesure, with whom I may eat drink study converse travel
and whose dispositions are congenial and affection mutual. I
shall be satisfied. I shall not pant after reputation; and yet
such will be my progress in elegant and useful Knowledge
that reputation cannot but be obtained. Reputation which
though not lamented when absent, is yet, when attained, by no
means unacceptable

What maxim can be juster than this? What ever be a mans
Knowledge or abilities, let him not be forward to display it. Policy
will teach him this, because it is the surest method of obtaining
applause, but it ought to be practiced from a better motive,
from the desire of making himself simply agreable: of indulging
the innocent ambition of others, with opportunities of being gratif
=ied.

Shall I tell you what kind of Knowledge I would wish to pursue
for its own sake? The history of Nations and of individuals of life
and manners. I hope you coincide with me in this opinion.


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It would be useful to enquire how this Knowledge is to be
obtained. Every thing that relates to man is of importance in the
study of human Nature. Every art and Science, Every scheme of
the understanding or operation of the sences wears a certain resem
=blance and possesses a sort of relationship, when considered
relatively to the faculties or powers that produced them.

In the history of man there is this great and evident
distinction. He is ether a solitary, a domestic or a political being
It is domestic history that pleases me beyond all others. . So far as
the Characters of men are influenced by political events, politi=
cal history is interesting, but it is not for me always to so
abstract my attention from the personages and fix them on
events, always to consider men, no otherwise than collectively
to employ my attention only in the consideration of general
events flowing from general causes. The personal character of
individuals, their visages their dress, their accent their languag
their habits, manners and opinions; their personal behavious
I am desirous of Knowing. Life and Manners, I must repeat,
is my favourite science. These are the materials of conversation.
These the objects of universal curiosity.

Lucullus was a noble Roman. He was born in an age
when civil and military power was the general object of Ambit
To this end was the education which he received, adapted. In due tim


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he was invested with the toga, and sent to lead armies and
govern provinces. He encountered Mithradates, vanquished his hosts
in repeated battles, obliged him to take refuge in the territories
of a Kinsman, beseigd the capital of his protector, returned after
many exploits to Rome, built houses and gardens, decorated them
with the spoils of Pontus and Armenia, and spent the rest of
his life, in literary and luxurious indolence. These incidents are
necessary to be known, but to know them only is not worth the
labour. Lucullus must be painted in more accurate and distinc
colours, describe to me his education, let me hear the precepts of
his mother and his teacher, let the plan of his camps, his
progresses, his houses his gardens be laid before. Let his maxim
of Military behaviour, and household æconomy laid before
me. Let me hear him speak and see him act. Let me hear
him speak and see him act. That is the Knowledge which only
is desirable, and the Knowledge of general and national acts
is useful only as it is instrumental in the attainment of th

Thursday
I had gotten thus far in a very learned dissertation as you
may well beleive, when Wilkins arrival interupted my progress, and
now, when an opportunity is again afforded of continuing my lucrubra
tions I do not find much inclination to finish this letter in
the strain in which I have begun it. I have, since, received yours

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I am far from thinking my friend that my abilities are adequate
to the task which you impose upon me. However I will wave all
unseasonable diffidence, and promise you to put my skill to the
test. The region of possibilities is very wide, but I am convinced
that truth has never yet ^{‸ been} exceeded by imagination. Shall I try my
hand immediately. The following story is strictly true. Only imagine
that instead of happening Seven years ago, it happened yesterday.
June March 20. 1788~

My dear friend
I know not what to write to you. A melancholy narrative
which I have just heard at the breakfast table, has affected me
so much, that I find myself unfit for any employment—unless
(I wonder I had not thought of it before) its be to repeat to you
to the gloomy tale. I am in no disposition to moralize on paper
though this story affords infinite subject of reflexion, and shall
without proceed preface or comment, proceed to the particulars.

Some five or six months ago, the house opposite, to us
it having been some time before untenanted, was taken by a man
just arrived from, Ireland. He brought into it, his wife and
four daughters, none of them below eighteen years of age. His
front room, he filled with some goods, clothes and Irish linens
An inquisitive neighbourhood, the defects of whose knowledge are


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always easily supplied by their invention, soon discovered that this man
after having wasted a large fortune in the most expensive and
pernicious amusements, had escaped from his rapacious creditors
with a few goods, the wreck of his fortune. Here he lived
subsisting on the produce of his little store for some time, nor
was the condition of his family or his character known till very
lately.

This wretch was the slave of drunkeness. He would return
late at night, seldom less than three times a week, raised by
intoxication into a fit of madness, and exercise the most brutal
cruelties on his innocent and helpless family. His wife was
a woman of good family and excellent education, and the fear
of exposing her husband was a sufficient motive with her
to abstain from all public complaints. Her fortitude and prudence
enobled her domestic wretchedness, for a long time. It was however
at last discovered.

M^r. Waring, the Gentleman [gap] who lived the next door
to us, being ingaged pretty late one evening in reading heard, at
about half after eleven OClock, a confused murmer as of one in
distress. He started and listened, and at length percived a faint
screem and an indistinct cry of murder and help. He immediately
repaired to the place whither the sound conducted him, and f[gap]d
found it to issue from Cookes house. He went up the alley
as the horrid work seemed to be doing in the back part of the


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hour and stopped for a moment to listen, when he had reached
the kitchen door. He there heard the sound of a lash. Every
stroke was accompanyed with a weak and stifled cry of
anguish from some unhappy sufferer, who, at every interval
exclaimed, in a tone of the deepest supplication “Oh, Jockey, dont
expose yourself. Have pity on me for the sake of your
own reputation. Oh Mother, Mother. Had you lived to see this
This treatment from one whom your charity saved from starving
For God sake Jockey, don't expose yourself!” These expostulations
had no other effect on the unfeeling monster, than to increase
his rage, and he replied only by horrid and unmeaning execrati
=ons and a repetition of his cruelties. M^r. Waring did not long
deliberate, but finding the door unlocked he rushed in and
beheld M^rs. Cooke kneeling before her husband, intreating his
forbearance, while he seizing her by the hair with one hand
[gap] with an horsewhip in the other inflicted the most dreadful
severities on her back and sholders from which he had torn
away almost all covering. The four daughters were standing
in different parts of the room weeping and wringing their hands

M^r. W. immediatetely interposed, at first mildly, but finding
Cooke, exasperated at what he called an insolent intrusion
was preparing to turn his vengeance from his wife upon him
he seized him by the collar, and threw him with such violence
against the door, as to hurt him not a little, and sufficiently


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disabled him from doing them any more mischief for that night
His abrupt and unexpected entrance, filled the daughters with sur=
=prise and consternation, but their fears subsided as soon as they
recognized him. The sobbing and weeping mother raised herself
with difficulty to a chair. Trembling and aghast she had scarcely
power to replace her handerkerchief and smo^‸oth her hair which
was in the wildest disorder. Her gratitude was overpowered by
her shame. And she cryed out as soon as she was able to speak
“O M^r. W___ O M^r. W___ I would rather have died than you
should see this! It was to this moment my only comfort that
my sufferings were not known, but to be sure it was your good=
=ness made me ^{‸ you [gap]} interfere; and I must thank you for it.”

By this time the noise had roused the next neighbour
whom now entered the Kitchen. This was a second shock to her
delicacy, and it was with some difficulty, that they raised her
from a state of violent grief, to some degree of Composure.

While this scene was transacting, the husband had
risen from the floor and, finding that his strength was unequal
to contend with his antagonist, he stalked, muttering curses, into
the parlour. He there soon forgot his mishap and throwing him=
=self upon a couple of chairs, a drunken slumber overtook him
The two gentlemen, carrying him up into his chamber, locked the
door upon him, and, after promising the unhappy family all
the relief and assistance in their power to afford them, left them


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to mourn in secret, over their own calamities. Their offers were received
with a sullen kind of gratitude and unwilling condescention. Nor
did she ever again apply to their compassion for succour. Some
weeks after One of the daughters, hurrying over to M^r. W___
in the dusk of evening, informed his wife that her mother was
extreemly ill. That she and her sisters would be glad if she
would visit their poor Mother, and prevail upon her to send
for a physician, and take the necessary medicines. “But I pray
Madam (added she) do not let my mother know that it was any of
us who told you her condition, and desired you to come to her, but
pretend, if you please that you called in by accident, for she has
strictly ordered us to let no one know her situation, but I could not
help disobeying her in this.”

M^rs. Waring was affraid of injuring the poor Girls feelings
by any questions, but immediately accompanied her home. M^rs. Cooke
was ^{‸ appeared to be} equally surprised and chagrined on seeing her enter the chamber
and pretended only a slight indisposition, but her efforts but poor=
=ly seconded her inclinations. There were evident marks of blows on her
cheeks and forehead. And by her stifled groans, and by putting her
hand frequently on her stomach, it was evident that she had
received a fatal blow somewhere about her body. She obstinately
resisted all my M^rs. W___ and her daughters importunities to send
for a Physician, and rejected her offers of assistance, affirming that
she was but slightly indisposed and that it would go off very soon


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She at length however left her, determined, notwithstanding her
remonstrances to send a Physician to her in the morning. The
eldest daughter followed her to the Street door, and when she
turned about to take leave, was requested to sit down for a moment
in the parlour. She instantly complied. They both sat down in
silence. The Young lady made frequent attempts to speak, but
her utterance seemed choaked and she frequently wiped away the
rising tear. M^rs. W___ by the most soothing and tender treatment
endeavoured to remove her embarrassment. She at length burst into
tears, unable any longer to restrain myself ^{‸ herself}, and sobbed out
“O dear Madam, My father My father, we do not expect
home till 11 OCclock. And then—dear Madam My mother
will want a protector. If M^r. W. ___ will be so kind—”

You may easily imagine how much M^rs. W___ was shocked
at this intelligence. She was unable for a few minutes to speak
and then hurried away to her own house to conceal her own emotion
promising however not to forget neglect her insinuated request.

M^r. W__ sat at his own door, untill he saw Cooke
returning home, who by his wild and furious demeanour, betrayed
the usual marks of intoxication, W then went over the way and
they entered the house together. When Cooke found who it was
that accompanied him, the ferocity of his looks somewhat abated
and he called in a milder tuon than might have been expected fo


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his wife and daughters. He received no answer but from M^r. W___
who told him that his wife and daughters had gone to their
repose, and (added he) in a resolute tone of voice) I advise you
to do the same.” Cooke made no reply but looked askance at
him, with a countenance full of rage and surprise. M^r. W___ found
it necessary to be more absolute, and producing an Horsewhip
from beneath his coat, told him that he not only advised him
but ordered him to go to bed, and that if he did not instantly
depart, he would whip him to within an inch of death.”
This menace had a suitable effect, and Cooke thought proper
without saying a word to walk very submissively to his chamber
M^r. W___ locked the door and wh[gap] went to quiet the fears of
the family.

The wretch, the moment he was left alone, generally fell
asleep, and left them no more to dread from for that season.
M^r. W___ finding no further occasion for his presence, left them,
promising to pay them a visit in the morning and to bring a
Physician with him, but alas! his kind offices were rendered needless
for early in the Morning Miss Ann (the name of the eldest
daughter, came over to inform them that her mother hade
died in the night. M^rs. W. immediately hastened over, and wept
with the daughters over the cold remains of their unfortunate
parent. Cooke rose about eight OClock, and coming down stairs


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enquired sullenly, why breakfast was not ready, and observing one
of his daughters in tears, called her “a damned Minx, and wonder
=ed why she was eternally snivelling.

When he heard the real state of affairs, he
shewed some signs of remorse, and till a week after the funeral
behaved with some degree of decorum and sobriety. They flattered
themselves that the untimely end of his wife, had produced
a lasting reformation in him, but Alas! their hopes were
quickly blasted. One night M^r. W___ was again summoned
to their assistance, and found the eldest daughter in the
same situation, in which he at first discovered their mother
Those friends, whom their misfortunes had made, began now to
think it time to remove them from this horrid tyranny. Their
endeavours were hastened by discovering that the four daughters
had in order to avoid the fury of Cooke, spent the whole
of a wet and cold night in November, upon the platform
of their house, with scarcely any thing to cover them being
unexpectedly driven from their bed

But let me close this ^{‸ gloomy} story, by adding that the
father has been induced to give them up, and suffer them to
procure a subsistence by their own labour. They are widely
separated some are no better than servant maids—some—
but I cannot go on. This picture of human calamity has
affected me more than I wish, and it is time to bid you

Adieu~

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What think you of this story would it not form the
groundwork of a noble tale. I will think more of it hereafter
Only tell me shall I read this imaginary letter before the Society
next Saturday~~~