But I force myself from the subject, having lost the purpose for which I resumed my pen.

A. Howe.

LETTER LVI

Mr. Lovelace, to John Belford, Esq. 
Paris, Oct. 14.

——­ ——­ Timor & minae
Scandunt eodum quo dominus; neque
Decedit aerata triremi; &
Post equitem sedet atra cura.

In a language so expressive as the English, I hate the pedantry of tagging or prefacing what I write with Latin scraps; and ever was a censurer of the motto-mongers among our weekly and daily scribblers.  But these verses of Horace are so applicable to my case, that, whether on ship-board, whether in my post-chaise, or in my inn at night, I am not able to put them out of my head.  Dryden once I thought said very well in these bouncing lines: 

      Man makes his fate according to his mind. 
      The weak, low spirit, Fortune makes her slave: 
      But she’s a drudge, when hector’d by the brave. 
      If Fate weave common thread, I’ll change the doom,
      And with new purple weave a nobler loom.

And in these: 

      Let Fortune empty her whole quiver on me,
      I have a soul, that, like an ample shield,
      Can take in all, and verge enough for more. 
      Fate was not mine:  nor am I Fate’s——­
      Souls know no conquerors.——­

But in the first quoted lines, considering them closely, there is nothing but blustering absurdity; in the other, the poet says not truth; for conscience is the conqueror of souls; at least it is the conqueror of mine; and who ever thought it a narrow one?——­But this is occasioned partly by poring over the affecting will, and posthumous letter.  What an army of texts has she drawn up in array against me in the letter!—­But yet, Jack, do they not show me, that, two or three thousand years ago, there were as wicked fellows as myself?—­They do—­and that’s some consolation.

But the generosity of her mind displayed in both, is what stings me most.  And the more still, as it is now out of my power any way in the world to be even with her.

I ought to have written to you sooner; but I loitered two days at Calais, for an answer to a letter I wrote to engage my former travelling valet, De la Tour; an ingenious, ready fellow, as you have heard me say.  I have engaged him, and he is now with me.

I shall make no stay here; but intend for some of the Electoral Courts.  That of Bavaria, I think, will engage me longest.  Perhaps I may step out of my way (if I can be out of my way any where) to those of Dresden and Berlin; and it is not impossible that you may have one letter from me at Vienna.  And then, perhaps, I may fall down into Italy by the Tyrol; and so, taking Turin in my way, return to Paris; where I hope to see Mowbray and Tourville; nor do I despair of you.