They who
make their arrangements in the first run of misadventure, and in a
temper of mind the common fruit of disappointment and dismay, put a seal
on their calamities. To their power they take a security against any
favors which they might hope from the usual inconstancy of fortune. I am
therefore, my dear friend, invariably of your opinion, (though full of
respect for those who think differently,) that neither the time chosen
for it, nor the manner of soliciting a negotiation, were properly
considered,--even though I had allowed (I hardly shall allow) that with
the horde of Regicides we could by any selection of time or use of means
obtain anything at all deserving the name of peace.
In one point we are lucky. The Regicide has received our advances with
scorn. We have an enemy to whose virtues we can owe nothing, but on this
occasion we are infinitely obliged to one of his vices. We owe more to
his insolence than to our own precaution. The haughtiness by which the
proud repel us has this of good in it,--that, in making us keep our
distance, they must keep their distance too. In the present case, the
pride of the Regicide may be our safety. He has given time for our
reason to operate, and for British dignity to recover from its surprise.
From first to last he has rejected all our advances. Far as we have
gone, he has still left a way open to our retreat.
There is always an augury to be taken of what a peace is likely to be
from the preliminary steps that are made to bring it about.
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