“Dear Sir,—I was very desirous to see you. I have called twice for that purpose. Saturday, unfortunately, you were on the point of going out: to-day you slept in the country.
“If I had seen you, I designed to ask whether you had received a letter from me, written in December [January] last. I meant to have listened, to know whether intention or simple forgetfulness had caused it to remain unanswered. It did not appear to me an ordinary letter, but one the author of which was entitled to a reply.
“This subject dismissed, I should then have mentioned your sermon of Easter Tuesday. I spoke in that letter of Mackintosh’s letters, in which that gentleman, without the manliness of mentioning me, takes occasion three times a-week to represent me to an audience of a hundred persons, as a wretch unworthy to live. Your sermon, I learn from all hands, was on the same subject, handled, I take it for granted, from what I know of your character, in a very different spirit. I am sorry for this. Since Mackintosh’s Lectures, it has become a sort of fashion with a large party to join in the cry against me. It is the part, I conceive, of original genius, to give the tone to others, rather than to join a pack, after it has already become loud and numerous.
“These subjects were better adapted for a conversation than a letter, and I much wish they had been so treated. Every difference of judgment is not the topic for a grave complaint
“If, however, both my letter and my visit would have passed unnoticed, I am entitled to conclude that you have altered your mind respecting me. In that case I should be glad you would answer to your own satisfaction, what crimes I am chargeable with now in 1800, of which I had not been guilty in 1794, when with so much kindness and zeal you sought my acquaintance.—I am, dear sir, yours, with the warmest regard,
