to mr. roger davis, bailiff, the shrubbery, near shrewsbury.
davis,
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
[pg 82]
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,
[pg 83]
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.
