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experience, would not understand it. But the clothed, they are now enabled to maintain themstrain of simple and unaffected piety in the origi- selves. Their labour was almost in vain before; nal is sweet beyond expression. She sings like an but now it answers; it earns them bread, and all angel, and for that very reason has found but few their other wants are plentifully supplied. admirers. Other things I write too, as you will I wish, that by Mr. -'s assistance, your see on the other side, but these merely for my purpose in behalf of the prisoners may be effectuamusement.
W. C. ated. A pen so formidable as his might do much
good, if properly directed. The dread of a bold censure is ten times more moving than the most
eloquent persuasion. They that can not feel for TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.
others, are the persons of all the world who feel MY DEAR WILLIAM,
Jan. 19, 1783. most sensibly for themselves. Not to retaliate, but for want of opportunity,
Yours, my dear friend, W.C. I have delayed writing. From a scene of most uninterrupted retirement, we have passed at once into a state of constant engagement; not that our TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. society is much multiplied. The addition of an individual has made all this difference. Lady MY DEAR FRIEND,
Feb. 8, 1783. Austen and we pass our days alternately at each When I contemplate the nations of the earth, other's chateau. In the morning I walk with one and their conduct towards each other, through the or other of the ladies, and the afternoon wind medium of a scriptural light, my opinions of them thread. Thus did Hercules and Samson, and thus are exactly like your own. Whether they do good do I; and were both those heroes living, I should or do evil, I see them acting under the permission not fear to challenge them to a trial of skill in that or direction of that Providence who governs the business, or doubt to beat them both. As to kill earth, whose operations are as irresistible as they ing lions, and other amusements of that kind, with are silent and unsuspected. So far we are perwhich they were so delighted, I should be their fectly agreed; and howsoever we may differ upon humble servant, and beg to be excused.
inferior parts of the subject, it is, as you say, an Having no frank, I can not send you Mr. 's affair of no great consequence. For instance, you two letters as I intended. We corresponded as
think the peace a better than we deserve, and in a long as the occasion required, and then ceased. certain sense I agree with you: as a sinful nation Charmed with his good sense, politeness, and libe- we deserve no peace at all, and have reason enough rality to the poor, I was indeed ambitious of con- to be thankful that the voice of war is at any rate tinuing a correspondence with him, and told him put to silence. so. Perhaps I had done more prudently had I
Mr. S- 's last child is dead; it lived a never proposed it. But warm hearts are not fa- little while in a world of which it knew nothing, mous for wisdom, and mine was too warm to be very
and has gone to another, in which it has already considerate on such an occasion. I have not hearů become wiser than the wisest it has left behind. from him since, and have long given up all expec- The earth is a grain of sand, but the interests of tation of it. I know he is too busy a man to have man are commensurate with the heavens. leisure for me, and ought to have recollected it
Mrs. Unwin thanks Mrs. Newton for her kind sooner. He found time to do much good, and to letter, and for executing her commissions. We employ us as his agents in doing it, and that might truly love you both, and think of you often. have satisfied me. Though laid under the strict
W.C. est injunctions of secrecy, both by him, and by you on his behalf, I consider myself as under no obligation to conceal from you the remittances he made.
TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. Only, in my turn, I beg leave to request secrecy on your part, because, intimate as you are with MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 13 and 20, 1783. him, and highly as he values you, I can not yet In writing to you I never want a subject. Self
I be sure that the communication would please him, is always at hand, and self with its concerns is alhis delicacies on this subject being as singular as ways interesting to a friend. his benevolence. He sent forty pounds, twenty You may think, perhaps, that having commenat a time. Olney has not had such a friend this ced poet by profession, I am always writing verses. many a day; nor has there been an instance at Not so-1 have written nothing, at least finished any time of a few poor families so effectually re- nothing, since I published-except a certain facelieved, or so completely encouraged to the pursuit tious history of John Gilpin, which Mr. Unwin of that honest' industry by which, their debts be- would send to the Public Advertiser. Perhaps ing paid, and the parents and children comfortably you might read it without suspecting the author.
My book procures me favours, which my mo- spectator, at the same time that by some they are desty will not permit me to specify, except one supposed to be forerunners of a general dissoluwhich, modest as I am, I can not suppress-a very tion. handsome letter from Dr. Franklin at Passy.- There are political earthquakes as well as naThese fruits it has brought me.
tural ones, the former less shocking to the eye, but I have been refreshing myself with a walk in not always less fatal in their influence than the the garden, where I find that January (who ac- latter. The image which Nebuchadnezzar saw cording to Chaucer was the husband of May) be- in his dream was made up of heterogeneous and ing dead, February has married the widow. incompatible materials, and accordingly broken.
Yours, &c. W.C. Whatever is so formed must expect a like catas
I have an etching of the late Chancellor hang
ing over the parlour chimney. I often contemTO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. plate it, and call to mind the day when I was
intimate with the original. It is very like him, Olney, Feb. 20, 1783.
but he is disguised by his hat, which, though SUSPECTING that I should not have hinted at Dr. Franklin's encomium under any other influ- of which is hardly discernible in profile; and by
fashionable, is awkward; by his great wig, the tie ence than that of vanity, I was several times on his band and gown, which give him an appearthe point of burning my letter for that very reason. But not having time to write another by and buried, yours is the only surviving one of all
ance clumsily sacerdotal. Our friendship is dead the same post, and believing that you would have with which I was once honoured. the grace to pardon a little self-complacency in an author on so trying an occasion, I let it pass. One
Adieu, W.C. sin naturally leads to another, and a greater; and thus it happens now, for I have no way to gratify your curiosity, but by transcribing the letter in question. It is addressed, by the way, not to me,
TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. but to an acquaintance of mine, who had trans
MY DEAR FRIEND, mitted the volume to him without my knowledge.
April 5, 1783. When one has a letter to write, there is nothing more useful than to make a beginning. In the
first place, because unless it be begun, there is no Sir,
Passy, May 8, 1782.
good reason to hope it will ever be ended; and seI received the letter you did me the honour of condly, because the beginning is half the business; writing to me, and am much obliged by your kind it being much more difficult to put the pen in mopresent of a book. The relish for reading of
tion at first, than to continue the progress of it,
when once moved. poetry had long since left me, but there is some
Mrs. C- -'s illness, likely to prove morthing so new in the manner, so easy, and yet so correct in the language, so clear in the expression, much compassion in my breast, and in Mrs. Un
tal, and seizing her at such a time, has excited yet concise, and so just in the sentiments, that I have read the whole with great pleasure, and win's
, both for her and her daughter
. To have some of the pieces more than once. I beg you to parted with a child she loves so much, intending accept my thankful acknowledgments, and to pre- she could set out, and at so great a distance from
soon to follow her; to find herself arrested before sent my respects to the author.
her most valued relations, her daughter's life too Your most obedient humble servant,
threatened by a disorder not often curable, are cirB. FRANKLIN.
cumstances truly affecting. She has indeed much natural fortitude, and to make her condition still
more tolerable, a good Christian hope for her supTO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.
port. But so it is, that the distresses of those who
least need, our pity excite it most; the amiableMY DEAR FRIEND,
ness of the character engages our sympathy, and Great revolutions happen in this Ant's nest of we mourn for persons for whom perhaps we might ours. One Emmet of illustrious character and more reasonably rejoice. There is still however a great abilities pushes out another; parties are possibility that she may recover; an event we must formed, they range themselves in formidable op- wish for, though for her to depart would be far position, they threaten each other's ruin, they better. Thus we would always withhold from the cross over and are mingled together, and like the skies those who alone can reach them; at least till coruscations of the Northern Aurora amuse the we are ready to bear them company.
Present our love, if you please, to Miss C-
TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. an account of a physician who has discovered a new method of treating consumptive cases, which MY DEAR FRIEND;
May 12, 1783. has succeeded wonderfully in the trial. He finds A LETTER written from such a place as this is the seat of the distemper in the stomach, and cures a creation; and creation is a work for which mere it principally by emetics. The old method of en-man is very indifferently qualified. Ex nihilo nicountering the disorder has proved so unequal to hil fit, is a maxim that applies itself in every case the task, that I should be much inclined to any where deity is not concerned. With this view of, new practice , that comes well recommended. He the matter
, I should charge myself with extreme is spoken of as a sensible and judicious man, but folly for pretending to work without materials, did his name I have forgot.
I not know, that although nothing could be the Our love to all under your roof, and in particu- result
, even that nothing will be welcome. If I lar to Miss Catlett, if she is with you. can tell you no news, I can tell you at least that I Yours, my dear friend, W.c. esteem you highly; that my friendship with you
and yours is the only balm of my life; a comfort, sufficient to reconcile me to an existence destitute
of every other. This is not the language of toTO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. day, only the effect of a transient cloud suddenly
brought over me, and suddenly to be removed, but May 5, 1783.
punctually expressive of my habitual frame of You may suppose that I did not hear Mr. — mind, such as it has been these ten years. preach, but I heard of him. How different is that In the Review of last month, I met with an acplainness of speech, which a spiritual theme re- count of a sermon preached by Mr. Paley, at the quires, from that vulgar dialect which this gentle- consecration of his friend, Bishop Law. The man has mistaken for it! Affectation of every sort is critic admires and extols the preacher, and devoutly odious, especially in a minister, and more especial-prays the lord of the harvest to send forth more such ly an affectation that betrays him into expressions labourers into his vineyard. I rather differ from fit only for the mouths of the illiterate. Truth him in opinion, not being able to conjecture in indeed needs no ornament, neither does a beauti- what respect the vineyard will be benefited by such ful person; but to clothe it therefore in rags, when a measure. He is certainly ingenious, and has a decent habit was at hand, would be esteemed stretched his ingenuity to the uttermost in order to preposterous and absurd. The best proportioned exhibit the church established, consisting of bishops, figure may be made offensive by beggary and filth; priests, and deacons, in the most favourable point and even truths, which came down from Heaven, of view. Hlay it down for a rule, that when much though they can not forego their nature, may be ingenuity is necessary to gain an argument credit, disguised and disgraced by unsuitable language. that argument is unsound at bottom. So is his, It is strange that a pupil of yours should blunder and so are all the petty devices by which he seeks thus. You may be consoled however by reflect- to enforce it. He says first, that the appointing, that he could not have erred so grossly, if he mentof various orders in the church is attended with had not totally and wilfully departed both from this good consequence, that each class of people is your instruction and example. Were I to describe supplied with a clergy of their own level and descrip your style in two words, I should call it plain and tion, with whom they may live and associate on terms neat, simplicem munditiis, and I do not know of equality. But in order to effect this good purhow I could give it juster praise, or pay it a greater pose, there ought to be at least three parsons in compliment. He that speaks to be understood by every parish, one for the gentry, one for the traders a congregation of rustics, and yet in terms that and mechanics, and one for the lowest of the vulwould not offend academical ears, has found the gar. Neither is it easy to find many parishes, happy medium. This is certainly practicable to where the laity at large have any society with their men of taste and judgment, and the practice of a minister at all. This therefore is fanciful, and a few proves it. Hactenus de Concionando. mere invention. In the next place he says it gives
We are truly glad to hear that Miss C- a dignity to the ministry itself, and the clergy share is better, and heartily wish you more promising in the respect paid to their superiors. Much good accounts from Scotland. Debemur morti nos nos- imay such participation do them! They themtraque. We all acknowledge the debt, but are selves know how little it amounts to. The dig. seldom pleased when those we love are required nity a parson derives from the lawn sleeves and to pay it. The demand will find you prepared square cap of his diocesan will never endanger his for it. Yours, my dear friend, W.C. humility.
Pope says truly
some causes of sorrow, when an amiable and
Christian friend departs ; but the Scripture, 50 Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow;
many more, and so much more important reasons The rest is all but leather or prunello.
to rejoice, that on such occasions, perhaps more Again— Rich and splendid situations in the remarkably than on any other, sorrow is turned church have been justly regarded as prizes, held into joy. The law of our land is affronted if we out to invite persons of good hopes, and ingenuous say the king dics, and insists on it that he only deattainments.' Agreed. But the prize held out mises. This, which is a fiction, where a monarch in the Scripture is of a very different kind; and only is in question, in the case of a Christian is our ecclesiastical baits are too often snapped by reality and truth. He only lays aside a body, the worthless, and persons of no attainments at which it is his privilege to be encumbered with no all. They are indeed incentives to avariceand am- longer; and instead of dying, in that moment he bition, but not to those acquirements by which begins to live. But this the world does not unonly the ministerial function can be adorned- derstand, therefore the kings of it must go on dezeal for the salvation of men, humility, and self- mising to the end of the chapter.* W.C. denial. Mr. Paley and I therefore can not agree. Yours, my dear friend, W.C.
TO THE REV: WILLIAM UNWIN. TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.
MY DEAR WILLIAM,
June 8, 1783 OUR sevērest winter,commonly called the spring,
May 26, 1783. is now over, and I find myself seated in my favourI FEEL for my uncle, and do not wonder that his ité recess, the green-house. In such a situation, loss aflicts him. A connexion that has subsisted so silent, so shady, where no human foot is heard, so many years could not be rent asunder without and where only my myrtles presume to peep in at great pain to the survivor. I hope however and the window, you may suppose I have no interrup doubt not but when he has had a little more time tion to complain of, and that my thoughts are perfor recollection, he will find that consolation in his fectly at my command. But the beauties of the own family, which is not the lot of every father to spot are themselves an interruption, my attention be blessed with. It seldom happens that married being called upon by those very myrtles, by a doupersons live together so long, or so happily; but ble row of grass pinks just beginning to blossom, this, which one feels oneself ready to suggest as and by a bed of beans already in bloom; and you matter of alleviation, is the very circumstance are to consider it, if you please, as no small proof that aggravates his distress; therefore he misses of my regard, that though you have so many powher the more, and feels that he can but ill spare erful rivals, I disengage myself from them all, and her. It is however a necessary tax which all who devote this hour entirely to you. live long must pay for their longevity, to lose many You are not acquainted with the Rev. Mr. Bull, whom they would be glad to detain (perhapsthose of Newport, perhaps it is as well for you that you in whom all their happiness is centered), and to are not. You would regret still see them step into the grave before them. In one that there are so many misul more than you do,
interposed between respect at least this is a merciful appointment: us. He spends
part of the day with us to-morwhen life has lost that to which it owed its princi- row. A dissenter, but a liberal one; a man of pal relish, we may ourselves the more cheerfully letters and of genius; master of a fine imagination, resign it. I beg you would present hím with my or rather not master of it; an imagination which, most affectionate remembrance, and tell him, if when he finds himself in the company he loves, you think fit, how much I wish that the evening and can confide in, runs away with him into such of his long day may be serene and happy.
fields of speculation, as amuse and enliven every W. C. other imagination that has the happiness to be of
the party! At other times he has a tender and delicate sort of melancholy in his disposition, not
less agreeable in its way. Nomen are better qualTO THE REV. J. NEWTON.
ified for companions in such a world as this, than
men of such a temperament. Every scene of life
May 31, 1783. We rather rejoice than mourn with you on the mind that has an equal mixture of melancholy and
has two sides, a dark and a bright one, and the occasion of Mrs. C- -'s death. In the case of believers, death has lost his sting, not only with respect to those he takes away, but with respect to “The Task appears to have been begun between the wrisurvivors also. Nature indeed will always suggest ting of this letter and that which immediately follows.
vivacity is the best of all qualified for the contem-proof till the day itself shall prove it. My own senplation of either. He can be lively without levity, timents upon the subject appear to me perfectly and pensive without dejection. Such a man is scriptural, though I have no doubt that they differ Mr. Bull. But-he smokes tobacco-nothing is totally from those of all who have ever thought perfect
about it; being however so singular, and of no imNihil est ab omni
portance to the happiness of mankind, and being Parte beatum.
moreover difficult to swallow, just in proportion as
they are peculiar, I keep them to myself. On the other side I sent you a something, a I am, and always have been, a great observer song if you please, composed last Thursday, of natural appearances, but I think not a superthe incident happened the day before.*
stitious one. The fallibility of those speculations Yours, W. C. which lead men of fanciful minds to interpret
Scripture by the contingencies of the day, is evident
from this consideration, that what the God of the TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.
Scriptures has seen fit to conceal, he will not as
the God of nature publish. He is one and the MY DEAR FRIEND,
June 13, 1783 same in both capacities, and consistent with him· I THANK you for your Dutch communications, self, and his purpose, if he designs a secret, imThe suffrage of such respectable men must have penetrable, in whatever way we attempt to open given you much pleasure, a pleasure only to be ex-it. It is impossible however for an observer of naceeded by the consciousness you had before of hav- tural phenomena not to be struck with the singuing published truth, and of having served a good larity of the present season. The fogs I mentioned master by doing so.
in my last still continue, though till yesterday the I have always regretted that your ccclesiastical earth was as dry as intense heat could make it
. history went no further; I never saw a work that The sun continues to rise and set without his rays, I thought more likely to serve the cause of truth, and hardly shines at noon, even in a cloudless sky. nor history applied to so good a purpose. The At cleven last night the moon was a dull red, she facts incontestable, the grand observations upon
was nearly at her highest elevation, and had the them all irrefragable, and the style, in my judg- colour of heated brick. She would naturally, I ment, incomparably better than that of Robertson know, have such an appearance looking through or Gibbon. I would give you my reasons for think- a misty atmosphere; but that such an atmosphere ing so, if I had not a very urgent one for declining should obtain for so long a time, and in a country it. You have no ear for such music, whoever where it has not happened in my remembrance may be the performer. What you added, but never even in the winter, is rather remarkable. We printed, is quite equal to what has appeared, have had more thunder storms than have consisted which I think might have encouraged you to pro- well with the peace of the fearful maidens in Olceed, though you missed that freedom in writing néy, though not so many as have happened in which you found before. While you were at places at no great distance, nor so violent. YesOlney this was at least possible ; in a state of re- terday morning, however, at seven o'clock, two firetirement you had leisure, without which I suppose balls burst either in the steeple or close to it. WilPaul himself could not have written his Epistles. liam Andrews saw them meet at that point, and But those days are fied, and every hope of a contin- immediately after saw such a smoke issue from the uation is fled with them.
apertures in the steeple as soon rendered it invisiThe day of judgment is spoken of not only as a ble: the noise of the explosion surpassed all the surprise, but a snare—a snare upon all the in- noises I ever heard—you would have thought that habitants of the earth. A difference indeed will a thousand sledge-hammers were battering great obtain in favour of the godly, which is, that though stones to powder, all in the same instant. The a snare, a sudden, in some sense an unexpected, weather is still as hot, and the air as full of vaand in every sense an awful event, get it will find pour, as if there had been neither rain nor thunder them prepared to meet it. But the day being thus all the summer. characterised, a wide field is consequently open to
There was once a periodical paper published, conjecture; some will look for it at one period, and called Mist's Journal: a name well adapted to the some at another; we shall most of us prove at last sheet before you. Misty however as I am, I do to have been mistaken, and if any should prove to not mean to be mystical, but to be understood, like have guessed aright, they will reap no advantage,
an almanack-maker, according to the letter. As the felicity of their conjecture being incapable of a poet, nevertheless, I claim, if any wonderful event
should follow, a right to apply all and every such
post-prognostic, to the purposes of the tragic muse. Here followed his song of the Rosc.