their common offences; and then hope to mount into their places on the credit of the sobriety with which they show themselves disposed to carry on what may seem most plausible in the mischievous projects they pursue in common.  But these men are naturally despised by those who have heads to know, and hearts that are able to go through the necessary demands of bold, wicked enterprises.  They are naturally classed below the latter description, and will only be used by them as inferior instruments.  They will be only the Fairfaxes of your Cromwells.  If they mean honestly, why do they not strengthen the arms of honest men to support their ancient, legal, wise, and free government, given to them in the spring of 1788, against the inventions of craft and the theories of ignorance and folly?  If they do not, they must continue the scorn of both parties,—­sometimes the tool, sometimes the incumbrance of that whose views they approve, whose conduct they decry.  These people are only made to be the sport of tyrants.  They never can obtain or communicate freedom.

You ask me, too, whether we have a Committee of Research.  No, Sir,—­God forbid!  It is the necessary instrument of tyranny and usurpation; and therefore I do not wonder that it has had an early establishment under your present lords.  We do not want it.

Excuse my length.  I have been somewhat occupied since I was honored with your letter; and I should not have been able to answer it at all, but for the holidays, which have given me means of enjoying the leisure of the country.  I am called to duties which I am neither able nor willing to evade.  I must soon return to my old conflict with the corruptions and oppressions which have prevailed in our Eastern dominions.  I must turn myself wholly from those of France.

In England we cannot work so hard as Frenchmen.  Frequent relaxation is necessary to us.  You are naturally more intense in your application.  I did not know this part of your national character, until I went into France in 1773.  At present, this your disposition to labor is rather increased than lessened.  In your Assembly you do not allow yourselves a recess even on Sundays.  We have two days in the week, besides the festivals, and besides five or six months of the summer and autumn.  This continued, unremitted effort of the members of your Assembly I take to be one among the causes of the mischief they have done.  They who always labor can have no true judgment.  You never give yourselves time to cool.  You can never survey, from its proper point of sight, the work you have finished, before you decree its final execution.  You can never plan the future by the past.  You never go into the country, soberly and dispassionately to observe the effect of your measures on their objects.  You cannot feel distinctly how far the people are rendered better and improved, or more miserable and depraved, by what you have done.  You cannot see with your own eyes the sufferings and afflictions you cause.  You know them but at a distance, on the statements of those who always flatter the reigning power, and who, amidst their representations of the grievances, inflame your minds against those who are oppressed.  These are amongst the effects of unremitted labor, when men exhaust their attention, burn out their candles, and are left in the dark.—­Malo meorum negligentiam, quam istorum obscuram diligentiam.