to incur a certain loss; and I can as little afford it. Notwithstanding what I have said, I write, and am even now writing for the press. I told you that I had translated several of the poems of Madame Guyon. I told you too, or I am mistaken, that Mr. Bull designed to print them. That gentleman is gone to the seaside with Mrs. Wilberforce, and will be absent six weeks. My intention is to surprise him at his return with the addition of as much more translation as I have already given him. This however is still less likely to be a popular work than my former. Men that have no religion would despise it; and men that have no religious experience would not understand it. But the strain of simple and unaffected piety in the original is sweet beyond expression. She sings like an angel, and for that very reason has found but few admirers. Other things I write too, as you will see on the other side, but these merely for my amusement'.

W. C.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

Jan. 11, 1783. ON Thursday evening Mr. Raban drank tea with us; he brought us a barrel of pickled oysters, for which we return our thanks, and the agreeable news of your welfare, in which we rejoice. He arrived brimfull of admiration at the wonderful performances of a certain soothsayer, whom I recollect you mentioned when we

1 This letter closed with the English and Latin Verses on the loss of the Royal George.

saw you at Olney. I do not, I hope, offend against the law of charity in my judgement of this man; to say truth, I account him rather an object of pity than censure; but as to the intelligence with which he is furnished, it seems to be derived merely from a spirit of divination. We know that, in old time, persons influenced by such a spirit were ready enough to bear testimony to the Apostles and their doctrine, but they refused the testimony and rebuked the spirit. His extraordinary remembrance and application of Scripture therefore do not seem to warrant his pretensions to any higher character than that of a diviner. An opinion I am the more confirmed in when I recollect that he is ambitious to be thought an intimate friend of the Angel Gabriel, and that he calls Christ his Brother and God his Father in a style of familiarity that seems to bespeak no small share of spiritual pride and vanity. Mr. Raban admired his interpretation of some scriptures relating to the day of judgement, and gave him credit for having placed them in a new light; but in our opinion that light was darkness, inasmuch as it was derogatory from the honour of the Judge, and contrary to the tenor of every passage that speaks of him in that office. But perhaps I have a heavier charge than any of these to allege against Mr. Best, or at least his oracle. A woman of most infamous character, too vile for description, had the curiosity to visit him; he examined her palm as usual, and pronounced her little less than an' angel. He was even so enamoured of her that he was with

Cætera desunt.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

MY DEAR WILLIAM,

Jan. 19, 1783. Nor to retaliate, but for want of opportunity, I have delayed writing. From a scene of the most uninterrupted retirement, we have passed at once into a state of constant engagement; not that our society is much multiplied,—the addition of an individual has made all this difference. Lady Austen and we pass our days alternately at each other's chateau. In the morning I walk with one or other of the ladies, and in the afternoon wind thread. Thus did Hercules, and thus probably did Samson, and thus do I; and were both those heroes living, I should not fear to challenge them to a trial of skill in that business, or doubt to beat them both. As to killing lions, and other amusements of that kind, with which they were so delighted, I should be their humble servant, and beg to be excused.

Having no frank, I cannot send you Mr. Smith's two letters as I intended. We corresponded as long as the occasion required, and then ceased. Charmed with his good sense, politeness, and liberality to the poor, I was indeed ambitious of continuing a correspondence with him, and told him so. Perhaps I had done more prudently had I never proposed it. But warm hearts are not famous for wisdom, and mine was too warm to be very considerate on such an occasion. I have not heard from him since, and have long given up all expectation of it. I know he is too busy a man to have leisure for me, and ought to have recollected it sooner. He found time to do much

good, and to employ us as his agents in doing it, and that might have satisfied me. Though laid under the strictest 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. Only, in my turn, I beg leave to request secrecy on your part, because, intimate as you are with him, and highly as he values you, I cannot yet be sure that the communication would please him, his delicacies on this subject being as singular as his benevolence. He sent forty pounds, twenty at a time. Olney has not had such a friend this many a day; nor has there been an instance at any time of a few poor families so effectually relieved, or so completely encouraged to the pursuit of that honest industry by which, their debts being paid, and the parents and children comfortably clothed, they are now enabled to maintain themselves. Their labour was almost in vain before; but now it answers; it earns them bread, and all their other wants are plentifully supplied.

I wish, that by Mr. Bate's assistance, your purpose in behalf of the prisoners may be effectuated. 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 cannot feel for others, are the persons of all the world who feel most sensibly for themselves.

Yours, my dear friend,

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

Feb. 2, 1783.

I GIVE you joy of the restoration of that sincere and firm friendship between the Kings of England and France, that has been so long interrupted. It is great pity, when hearts so cordially united are divided by trifles. Thirteen pitiful colonies, which the King of England chose to keep, and the King of France to obtain, if he could, have disturbed that harmony which would else, no doubt, have subsisted between those illustrious personages to this moment. If the King of France, whose greatness of mind is only equalled by that of his Queen, had regarded them, unworthy of his notice as they were, with an eye of suitable indifference; or, had he thought it a matter deserving in any degree his princely attention, that they were, in reality, the property of his good friend the King of England; or, had the latter been less obstinately determined to hold fast his interest in them; and could he, with that civility and politeness in which monarchs are expected to excel, have entreated his Majesty of France to accept a bagatelle, for which he seemed to have conceived so strong a predilection, all this mischief had been prevented. But monarchs, alas! crowned and sceptred as they are, are yet but men; they fall out, and are reconciled, just like the meanest of their subjects. I cannot, however, sufficiently admire the moderation and magnanimity of the King of England. His dear friend on the other side of the channel has not indeed taken actual possession of the colonies in question, but he has effectually wrested them out of