At last came the full outpouring of the long-treasured wrath, in a letter dated the 10th of July, as long as an ordinary pamphlet, and penned with the same neat precision as its predecessor. The reader will not expect a document so well known and easily accessible to be reprinted; and an abridgment would fail to give any notion of the rabid eloquence with which the most paltry incidents are made to assume the appearance of portentous charges; until, through vehemence of expression and multitude of powerful words, they seem for the moment to acquire substantial shape. Many of the charges contained in this "indictment" have been already alluded to. The document begins with a statement of its author's candour,[337:2] and hatred of every kind of artifice; and no one can read the charges which follow, monstrously absurd as they are, without seeing that they are made in the perfect sincerity of a mind that saw all things through its own diseased medium. The following is one of the substantive charges:-- I was informed that the son of the quack Tronchin,[338:1] my most mortal enemy, was not only the friend of Mr. Hume, and under his protection, but that they both lodged in the same house; and when Mr. Hume found that I knew this, he imparted it in confidence to me; assuring me that the son by no means resembled the father. I lodged a few nights myself, together with my governante, in the same house; and from the kind of reception with which we were honoured by the landladies, who are his friends, I judged in what manner either Mr. Hume, or that man, who, as he said, was by no means like his father, must have spoken to them both of her and me. All these facts put together, added to a certain appearance of things on the whole, insensibly gave me an uneasiness, which I rejected with horror. The description of the following scene must have been, to those who knew Hume personally, irresistibly ludicrous. The picture of the phlegmatic reserve of English manners, is made perfect by contrast. It appears from Hume's letter, that the scene arose out of the dispute about the return chaise. One evening, after supper, as we were sitting silent by the fireside, I caught his eyes intently fixed on me, as indeed happened very often; and that in a manner of which it is very difficult to give an idea. At that time he gave me a steadfast, piercing look, mingled with a sneer, which greatly disturbed me. To get rid of my embarrassment, I endeavoured to look full at him in my turn; but, in fixing my eyes upon his, I felt the most inexpressible terror, and was soon obliged to turn them away. The speech and physiognomy of the good David are those of an honest man; but where, great God! did this honest man borrow those eyes which he fixes on his friends?