I hope to God this will find you at home—I am writing in a state of mind bordering on madness. I can’t collect myself to give particulars—you will have a newspaper along with this—read that, and your hair will stand on end. Incendiarism has reached its height like the flaming thing on the top of the Monument. Our crisis is come. To my mind—political suicide—is as bad as felo de se. Oh Whigs, Whigs, Whigs—what have you brought us to! As the Britannic Guardian well says—England is gone to Italy—London is at Naples—and we are all standing on the top of Vesuvius. I have heard—and I believe it—that an attempt has been made to choke Aldgate Pump. A Waltham Abbey paper says positively that the mills were recently robbed of 513 barrels of powder, the exact number of the members for England and Wales. What a diabolical refinement—to blow up a government with its own powder! I can hardly persuade myself I am in England. God knows where it will spread to—I mean the incendiary spirit. The dry season is frightful—I suppose the springs are all dry. Keep the engine locked in the stable for fear of a cut at the pipes. I’ll send you down two more. Let all the labourers take a turn at them, by way of practice. I’m persuaded the Parliament houses were burnt on purpose. The flue story is ridiculous. Mr. Cooper’s is a great deal more to the point. I believe everything I hear. A bunch of matches was found in the Speaker’s kitchen. I saw something suspicious myself—some said treacle, but I say tar. Have your eyes about you—lock all the gates, day as well as night—and above all, watch the stacks. One Tiger is not enough—get three or four more, I should have said Cæsar, but you know I mean the house-dog. Good mastiffs,—the biggest and savagest you can get. The gentry will be attempted first—beginning with the M.P.’s. You and Barnes and Sam must sit up by turns—and let the maids sit up too—women have sharp ears and sharp tongues.—If a mouse stirs I would have them squall—danger or no danger. It’s the only way to sleep in security—and comfort. I have read that the common goose is a vigilant creature—and saved Rome. Get a score of them at the next market—don’t stand about price—but choose them with good cackles. Alarm them now and then to keep them watchful, Fire the blunderbuss off every night, and both fowling pieces and all the pistols. If all the Gentry did as much, it might keep the country quiet. If you were to ring the alarm-bell once or twice in the middle of the night, it would be as well—you would know then what help to depend upon. Search the house often from the garret to the cellar, for combustibles—if you could manage to go without candles, or any sort of light, it would be better.
THE MOVEMENT PARTY.
You’d find your way about in the dark after a little practice. Pray don’t allow any sweethearts; they may be Swings and Captain Rocks in disguise, and their pretended flames turn out real. I’ve misgivings about the maids. Tie them up and taste their liver, before they eat it themselves—I mean the house-dogs; but my agitation makes me unconnected. The scoundrels often poison them, before they attempt robbery and arson. Keep the cattle in the cowhouse for fear of their being houghed and hamstrung. Surely there were great defects somewhere. The Houses could not have been properly protected—if they had been watched as well as they were lighted—but it is too late to cast any blame on individuals. A paltry spirit of economy has been our bane. A few shillings would have purchased a watch-dog; and one or two geese in each house might have saved the capitol of the constitution! But the incendiary knew how to choose his time—an adjournment when there were none sitting.
I say incendiary, because no doubt can exist in any cool mind, that enters into the conflagration. I transcribe conclusive extracts from several papers, the editors of which I know to be upright men, and they all write on one side.
“We are confidently informed,” says the Beacon, “that a quantity of tar-barrels was purchased at No. 2, High-street, Shadwell, about ten o’clock on the morning of the fire. There was abundant time before six a.m., for removing the combustibles to Westminster. The purchaser was a short, squat, down-looking man, and the name on his cart was I. Burns.”
“Trifling circumstances,” says the Sentinel, “sometimes point to great results. Our own opinion is formed. We have made it our business to examine the Guys in preparation for the impending anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot, and we affirm that every one of the effigies bore a striking resemblance to some member or other of assemblies we need not name. These are signs of the times.”
“We should be loth,” says the Detector, “to impute the late calamity to any particular party: but we may reasonably inquire what relative stake in the country is possessed by the Whigs and the Tories. The English language may be taken as a fair standard. The first may lay claim to perri-wig, scratch-wig, tie-wig, bob-wig, in short, the whole family of the perruques, with whig-maleery. The latter, not to mention other good things, have a vested right in oratory, history, territory, and victory. Can a man of common patriotism have a doubt which side it is his interest to adhere to?”
“WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN?”