shilling." What a wretch in comparison with you! Mr. Scott has been ill almost ever since you left us, and last Saturday, as on many foregoing Saturdays, was obliged to clap on a blister by way of preparation for his Sunday labors. He cannot draw breath upon any other terms. If holy orders were always conferred upon such conditions, I question but even bishoprics themselves would want an occupant. But he is easy and cheerful. I beg you will mention me kindly to Mr. Bacon, and make him sensible that if I did not write the paragraph he wished for, it was not owing to any want of respect for the desire he expressed, but to mere inability. If, in a state of mind that almost disqualifies me for society, I could possibly wish to form a new connexion, I should wish to know him; but I never shall, and, things being as they are, I do not regret it. You are my old friend, therefore I do not spare you; having known you in better days, I make you pay for any pleasure I might then afford you by a communication of my present pains. But I have no claims of this sort upon Mr. Bacon. Be pleased to remember us both, with much affection, to Mrs. Newton, and to her and your Eliza: to Miss C- * likewise, if she is with you. Poor Eliza droops and languishes; but in the land to which she is going, she will hold up her head and droop no more. A sickness that leads the way to everlasting life is better than the health of an antediluvian. Accept our united love. My dear friend, sincerely yours, W. C. TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.† Olney, Sept. 23, 1783. My dear Friend,--We are glad that, having been attacked by a fever, which has often proved fatal, and almost always leaves the sufferer debilitated to the last degree, you find yourself so soon restored to health, and your strength recovered. Your health and strength are useful to others, and, in that view, important in his account who dispenses both, and by your means a more precious gift than either. For my own part, though I have not been laid up, I have never been perfectly well since you left us. A smart fever, which lasted indeed but a few hours, succeeded by lassitude and want of spirits that seemed still to indicate a feverish habit, has made for some time, and still makes me very unfit for my favorite occupations, writing and reading; so that even a letter, and even a letter to you, is not without its burden. John has had the epidemic, and has it still, but grows better. When he was first seized with it, he gave notice that he should die, but in this only instance of prophetic exertion he seems to have been mistaken: he has, however, been very near it. I should have told you that poor John has been very ready to depart, and much comforted througli his whole illness. He, you know, though a silent, has been a very steady professor. indeed fights battles and gains victories, but makes no noise. Europe is not astonished at his feats, foreign academies do not seek hi for a member, he will never discover the art of flying, or send a globe of taffeta up to heaven. But he will go thither himself. Since you went, we dined with Mr. My dear Friend,—I have been lately more dejected and more distressed than usual; more harassed by dreams in the night, and more deeply poisoned by them in the following day. I know not what is portended by an alteration for the worse after eleven years of misery; but firmly believe that it is not designed as the introduction of a change for the better. You know not what I suffered I had sent him notice of our visit a week bewhile you were here, nor was there any need fore, which, like a contemplative studious you should. Your friendship for me would man as he is, he put in his pocket and forgot. have made you in some degree a partaker of When we arrived, the parlor windows were my woes; and your share in them would shut, and the house had the appearance of behave been increased by your inability to help ing uninhabited. After waiting some time, me. Perhaps, indeed, they took a keener however, the maid opened the door, and the edge from the consideration of your presence. master presented himself. It is hardly wordha The friend of my heart, the person with while to observe so repeatedly, that his gr whom I had formerly taken sweet counsel, den seems a spot contrived only for the no longer useful to me as a minister, no lon-growth of melancholy, but being always af ger pleasant to me as a Christian, was a spec- fected by it in the same way, I cannot help it. He showed me a nook, in which he had *The young lady here alluded to is Miss Eliza Cun-placed a bench, and where he said he found ningham, a niece of Mr. Newton's. ↑ Private correspondence. it very refreshing to smoke his pipe and me ditate. Here he sits with his back against one brick wall and his nose against another, which must, you know, be very refreshing, and greatly assist meditation. He rejoices the tuore in this niche, because it is an acquisition made at some expense, and with no small labor; several loads of earth were removed in order to make it, which loads of earth, had I the management of them, I should carry thither again, and fill up a place more fit in appearance to be a repository for the dead than the living. I would on no account put any man out of conceit with his innocent enjoyments, and therefore never tell him my thoughts upon this subject; but he is not seldom low-spirited, and I cannot but suspect that his situation helps to make him so. I shall be obliged to you for Hawkesworth's Voyages when it can be sent conveniently. The long evenings are beginning, and nothing shortens them so effectually as reading aloud. off. Yours, my dear friend, TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. W. C. Olney, Sept. 29, 1783. month. One project, indeed, supplants an- I have said a great deal upon this subject, and know not what it all amounts to. I did not intend a syllable of it when I began. But, currente calamo, I stumbled upon it. My end is to amuse myself and you. The former of these two points is secured. I shall be happy if I do not miss the latter. My dear William,-We are sorry that you and your household partake so largely of the ill effects of this unhealthy season. You are happy, however, in having hitherto escaped By the way, what is your opinion of these the epidemic fever which has prevailed much air balloons! I am quite charmed with the in this part of the kingdom, and carried many discovery. Is it not possible (do you supYour mother and I are well. After pose?) to convey such a quantity of inflammore than a fortnight's indisposition, which mable air into the stomach and abdomen, that slight appellation is quite inadequate to the the philosopher, no longer gravitating to a description of all I suffered, I am at length centre, shall ascend by his own comparative restored by a grain or two of emetic tartar. levity, and never stop till he has reached the It is a tax I generally pay in autumn. By medium exactly in equilibrio with himself? this time, I hope, a purer ether than we have May he not, by the help of a pasteboard rudseen for months, and these brighter suns than der attached to his posteriors, steer himself the summer had to boast, have cheered your in that purer element with ease, and again by spirits, and made your existence more com- a slow and gradual discharge of his aerial fortable. We are rational: but we are animal contents, recover his former tendency to the too; and therefore subject to the influences earth, and descend without the smallest danof the weather. The cattle in the fields show ger or inconvenience? evident symptoms of lassitude and disgust in worth inquiry, and (I dare say) they will be an unpleasant season; and we, their lords inquired after as they deserve: the pennæ and masters, are constrained to sympathize non homini date are likely to be less regretwith them: the only difference between us is, ted than they were; and perhaps a flight of that they know not the cause of their dejec- academicians and a covey of fine ladies may tion, and we do, but, for our humiliation, are be no uncommon spectacle in the next genequally at a loss to cure it. Upon this ac-eration. A letter which appeared in the pubcount I have sometimes wished myself a philosopher. How happy, in comparison with myself, does the sagacious investigator of nature seem, whose fancy is ever employed in the invention of hypotheses, and his reason in the support of them! While he is accountmy for the origin of the winds, he has no lei-ure to attend to their influence upon himself, and, while he considers what the sun is made of, forgets that he has not shone for a These things are lic prints last week convinces me that the learned are not without hopes of some such improvement upon this discovery. The author is a sensible and ingenious man, and, under a reasonable apprehension that the ignorant may feel themselves inclined to laugh upon a subject that affects himself with the utmost seriousness, with much good manners and management bespeaks their patience, * Dr. Franklin. extreme, would exhibit a picture in some degree resembling the original of which we have been speaking. And why is not the world thus occupied at present? even because they have exchanged a zeal that was no better than madness for an indifference equally pitiable and absurd. The Holy Sepulchre has lost its importance in the eyes of nations called Christian, not because the light of true wisdom has delivered them from a superstitious suggesting many good consequences that may result from a course of experiments upon this machine, and amongst others, that it may be of use in ascertaining the shape of continents and islands, and the face of wideextended and far distant countries, an end not to be hoped for, unless by these means of extraordinary elevation, the human prospect may be immensely enlarged, and the philosopher, exalted to the skies, attain a view of the whole hemisphere at once. But whe-attachment to the spot, but because he that ther he is to ascend by the mere inflation of his person, as hinted above, or whether in a sort of band-box, supported upon balloons, is not yet apparent, nor (I suppose) even in his own idea perfectly decided. Yours, my dear William, TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. W. C. Olney, Oct. 6, 1783. My dear Friend, It is indeed a melancholy consideration, that the gospel, whose direct tendency is to promote the happiness of mankind, in the present as well as in the life to come, and which so effectually answers the design of its author, whenever it is well understood and sincerely believed, should, through the ignorance, the bigotry, the superstition of its professors, and the ambition of popes, and princes, the tools of popes, have produced incidentally so much mischief; only furnishing the world with a plausible excuse to worry each other, while they sanctified the worst cause with the specious pretext of zeal for the furtherance of the best. was buried in it is no longer regarded by them as the Savior of the world. The exercise of reason, enlightened by philosophy, has enred them indeed of the misery of an abused understanding; but, together with the delusion, they have lost the substance, and, for the sake of the lies that were grafted upon it, have quarrelled with the truth itself. Here then we see the ne plus ultra of human wisdom, at least in affairs of religion. It enlightens the mind with respect to non-essentials, but, with respect to that in which the essence of Christianity consists, leaves it perfectly in the dark. It can discover many errors that in different ages have disgraced the faith, but it is only to make way for the admission of one more fatal than them all, which represents that faith itself as a delusion. Why those evils have been permitted shall be known hereafter. One thing in the mean time is certain: that the folly and frenzy of the professed disciples of the gospel have been more dangerous to its interests than all the avowed hostilities of its adversaries, and perhaps for this cause these mischiefs might be suffered to prevail for a season, that its divine original and nature might be the more illustrated, when it should appear that it was able to stand its of all attacks, the indiscretion of its friends. The outrages that have followed this perversion of the truth have proved indeed a stum bling-block to individuals; the wise of this world, with all their wisdom, have not been able to distinguish between the blessing and abuse of it. Voltaire was cffended, and Gibbon has turned his back; but the flock of Christ is still nourished and still increases, notwithstanding the unbelief of a philosopher is able to convert bread into a stone and a fish into a serpent. Angels descend from heaven to publish peace between man and his Maker-the Prince of Peace himself comes to confirm and estab-ground for ages against that most formidable lish it, and war, hatred, and desolation, are the consequence. Thousands quarrel about the interpretation of a book which none of them understand. He that is slain dies firmly persuaded that the crown of martyrdom expects him, and he that slew him is equally convinced that he has done God service.* In reality, they are both mistaken, and equally unentitled to the honor they arrogate to themselves. If a multitude of blind men should set out for a certain city, and dispute about the right road till a battle ensued between them, the probable effect would be, that none of them would ever reach it; and such a fray, preposterous and shocking in the * The bitter dissensions of professing Christians have infidel. Voltaire parodied those well-known words, "See always afforded ground for the ridicule and scoff of the how these Christians love one another," in the following sarcastic manner,-"See how these Christians hate one another." It is related of Charles the Fifth, that, after his voluntary abdication of the throne, he amused himself by the occupation of making watches; and, finding that he never could, by any contrivance, make two watches to agree together, he exclaimed against his own folly, in having spent so large a portion of his life in endeavoring to make men agrec on the subject of religion. I am much obliged to you for the Voyages, which I received and began to read last night. My imagination is so captivated upon these occasions, that I seem to partake with the navigators in all the dangers they encoun tered. I lose my anchor; my main-sail is * Hawkesworth's. "He travels, and I too. I tread his deck, Ascend his copmast, through his peering eyes rent into shreds; I kili a shark, and by signs converse with a Patagonian, and all this without moving from the fireside. The principal fruits of these circuits that have been made round the globe seem likely to be the amusement of those that stayed at home. Discoveries have been made, but such discoveries as will hardly satisfy the expense of such undertakings. We brought away an Indian, and, having debauched him, we sent him home again to communicate the infection to his country-fine sport to be sure, but such as will not defray the cost. Nations that live upon bread-fruit, and have no mines to make them worthy of our acquaintance, will be but little visited for the future. So much the better for them; their poverty is indeed their mercy. Yours, my dear friend, TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.* W. C. Olney, Oct. 10, 1783. My dear Friend, I have nothing to say on political subjects, for two reasons; first, because I know none that at present would prove very amusing, especially to you, who love your country; and, secondly, because there are none that I have the vanity to think TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. Olney, Oct. 13, 1783. My dear Friend, I am much obliged to the obligation perhaps more sensibly, the la you for your American anecdotes, and feel bor of transcribing being in particular that to The loyalists are much to be pitied: driven which I myself have the greatest aversion. from all the comforts that depend upon, and are intimately connected with, a residence in their native land, and sent to cultivate a disabandoned too through a deplorable necestant one, without the means of doing it, sity, by the government to which they sacrificed all,* they exhibit a spectacle of distress, which one cannot view, even at this distance, without participating in what they feel. Why I could not some of our useless wastes and forests have been allotted to their support? To have built them houses indeed, and furnished them with implements of husbandry, would have put us to no small expense; but suppose the increase of population and the been felt as a national advantage, and have improvement of the soil, would soon have indemnified the state if not enriched it. We are bountiful to foreigners, and neglect those of our own household. I remember that, compassionating the miseries of the Portumyself qualified to discuss. I must beg leave, we sent them a ship-load of tools to clear guese, at the time of the Lisbon earthquake,† however, to rejoice a little at the failure of the Caisse d'Escomptes, because I think the way the rubbish with, and to assist them in French have well deserved it; and to mourn reported at the time that the court of Porturebuilding the city. I remember too it was equally that the Royal George cannot be gal accepted our wheelbarrows and spades weighed; the rather, because I wrote two with a very ill grace, and treated our bounty poemas, one Latin and one English, to encour-with contempt. An act like this in behalf of age the attempt. The former of these only having been published, which the sailors would understand but little of, may be the reason, perhaps, why they have not succeeded. Believe me, my friend, Affectionately yours, • Private correspondence. W. C. ↑ An elegant monument, erected above the grave of thirty-nine sailors, whose bodies were subsequently found. was erected in the churchyard of Portsea, to commemorate the melancholy loss of the Royal George. We aljon the interesting epitaph, which is inscribed on black marble, in gold letters. "READER, WITH SOLEMN THOUGHT ON THE UNTIMELY DEATH AND WHILST AB A MAN, & BRITON, AND A PATRIOT, THE MELANCHOLY NARRATIVE, DROP A TEAR FOR THY COUNTRY'S our brethren, carried only a little farther, might possibly have redeemed them from ruin, have resulted in emolument to ourselves, have been received with joy and repaid with gratitude. Such are my speculations upon the subject, who, not being a politician by profession, and very seldom giving my attentien for of difficulties and objections, which they of a moment to such a matter, may not be aware the cabinet can discern with half an eye. Perhaps to have taken under our protection a race of men proscribed by the Congress, might be thought dangerous to the interests we hope to have hereafter in their high and mighty regards and affections. It is ever the way of those who rule the earth, to leave out of their reckoning Him who rules the universe. They forget that the poor have a friend more powerful to avenge than they can be to oppress, and that treachery and perfidy must therefore prove bad policy in the At the bottom of the monument, in a compartment by end. The Americans themselves appear to lf, are the following lines, in allusion to the brave Adaural Kempenfelt: "Tis not this stone, regretted chief, thy name, In the terms of peace concluded with America, the loyalists, who adhered in their allegiance to Great Britain, were not sufficiently remembered, considering the sacrifices they had made, and thus had the misfortune of being persecuted by America, and neglected by England. †This event occurred in the year 1756. pleased. It occurs to me, however, that I ought to say what it is that pleases me, for a general commendation, where there are so many particular beauties, would be insipid and unjust. me to be in a situation litle less pitiable than that of the deserted loyalists. Their fears of arbitrary imposition were certainly well founded. A struggle therefore might be necessary, in order to prevent it, and this end might surely have been answered without a I think the figure of Lord Chatham singurenunciation of dependence. But the pas-larly graceful, and his countenance full of the sions of a whole people, once put in motion, are not soon quieted. Contests beget aversion, a little success inspires more ambitious hopes, and thus a slight quarrel terminates at last in a breach never to be healed, and perhaps in the ruin of both parties. It does not seem likely that a country so distinguished by the Creator with everything that can make it desirable should be given up to desolation forever; and they possibly have reason on their side, who suppose that in time it will have the pre-eminence over all others; but the day of such prosperity seems far distant -Omnipotence indeed can hasten it, and it may dawn when it is least expected. But we govern ourselves in all our reasonings by present appearances. Persons at least no better informed than myself are constrained to do so. I intended to have taken another subject when I began, and I wish I had. No man living is less qualified to settle nations than I am; but when I write to you, I talk, that is I write as fast as my pen can run, and on this occasion it ran away with me. I acknowledge myself in your debt for your last favor, but cannot pay you now, unless you will accept as payment, what I know you value more than all I can say beside, the most unfeigned assurances of my affection for you and yours. Yours, &c., TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.' W. C. Olney, Oct. 20, 1783. My dear Friend,—I have made a point of saying no fine things to Mr. Bacon,† upon an occasion that would well have justified them; deterred by a caveat he entered in his letter. Nothing can be more handsome than the present, nor more obliging than the manner in which he has made it. I take it for granted that the plate is, line for line, and stroke for stroke, an exact representation of his performance, as nearly, at least, as light and shade can exhibit, upon a flat surface, the effect of a piece of statuary. I may be allowed therefore to say that I admire it. My situation affords me no opportunity to cultivate the science of connoisseurship; neither would there be much propriety in my speaking the language of one to you, who disclaim the character. But we both know when we are character that belongs to him. It speaks not Believe me, my dear friend, I am out of your debt. TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. Olney, Oct. 20, 1783. I should not have been thus long silent, had I known with certainty where a letter of mine might find you. Your summer excursions however are now at an end, and, ad dressing a line to you in the centre of the busy scene, in which you spend your winter, I am pretty sure of my mark. I see the winter approaching without much concern, though a passionate lover of fine weather, and the pleasant scenes of summer; but the long evenings have their comforts too, and there is hardly to be found upon earth, 1 suppose, so snug a creature as an Englishman by his fire-side in the winter. I mean, however, an Englishman that lives in the country, for in London it is not very easy to avoid intrusion. I have two ladies to read to, some |