good account, and of coining them into hard cash, which he means to put in his pocket, But I would disappoint him, and show him that, though a Christian is not to be quarrel-ness I would always perform in good spirits, some, he is not to be crushed; and that, though he is but a worm before God, he is not such a worm as every selfish and unprincipled wretch may tread upon at his pleasure.

fying deficiencies, would shatter his romantic project into innumerable fragments in a moment. The clown, at the same time, would find the accession of so much unwieldy treasure an incumbrance quite incompatible with an hour's ease. His choice would be puzzled by variety. He would drink to excess, because he would foresee no end of his abundance; and he would eat himself sick for the same reason. He would have no idea of any other happiness than sensual gratification; would make himself a beast, and die of his good fortune. The rich gentleman had, perhaps, or might have had, if he pleased, at the shortest notice, just such a recess as this; but if he had it, he overlooked it, or, if he had it not, forgot that he might command it whenever he would. The rustic, too, was actually in possession of some blessings, which he was a fool to relinquish, but which he could neither see nor feel, because he had the daily and constant use of them; such as good

never ached, and temperance, to the practice of which he was bound by necessity, that, humanly speaking, was a pledge and security for the continuance of them all.

Thus I have sent you a schoolboy's theme. When I write to you, I do not write without thinking, but always without premeditation: the consequence is, that such thoughts as pass through my head when I am not writing make the subject of my letters to you.

Olney, Aug 16, 1781. My dear Friend,-I might date my letter from the greenhouse, which we have converted into a summer parlor. The walls hung with garden mats, and the floor covered with a carpet, the sun, too, in a great measure, excluded by an awning of mats, which forbids him to shine anywhere except upon the car-health, bodily strength, a head and a heart that pet, it affords us by far the pleasantest retreat in Olney. We eat, drink, and sleep, where we always did; but here we spend all the rest of our time, and find that the sound of the wind in the trees, and the singing of birds, are much more agreeable to our ears than the incessant barking of dogs and screaming of children. It is an observation that naturally occurs upon the occasion, and which many other occasions furnish an opportunity to make, that people long for what they have Johnson sent me lately a sort of apology not, and overlook the good in their posses- for his printer's negligence, with his promise sion. This is so true in the present instance, of greater diligence for the future. There that for years past I should have thought m was need enough of both. I have received self happy to enjoy a retirement, even less but one sheet since you left us. Still, indeed, flattering to my natural taste than this in I see that there is time enough before us; which I am now writing; and have often but I see, likewise, that no length of time looked wistfully at a snug cottage, which, on can be sufficient for the accomplishment of a account of its situation, at a distance from work that does not go forward. I know not noise and disagreeable objects, seemed to yet whether he will add "Conversation" to promise ine all I could wish or expect, so far as those poems already in his hands, nor do I happiness may be said to be local: never once care much. No man ever wrote such quanadverting to this comfortable nook, which af- tities of verse as I have written this last year fords me all that could be found in the most with so much indifference about the event, or sequestered hermitage, with the advantage of rather with so little ambition of public praise. having all those accommodations near at hand My pieces are such as may possibly be made which no hermitage could possibly afford me. useful. The more they are approved, the People imagine they should be happy in cir- more likely they are to spread, and, consecumstances which they would find insupport- quently, the more likely to attain the end of ably burthensome in less than a week. A usefulness; which, as I said once before, exman that has been clothed in fine linen, and cept my present amusement, is the only end fared sumptuously every day, envies the I propose. And, even in the pursuit of this peasant under a thatched hovel; who, in re-purpose, commendable as it is in itself, I turn, envies him as much his palace and his pleasure-ground. Could they change situations, the fine gentleman would find his ceilings were too low, and that his casements admitted too much wind; that he had no cellar for his wine, and no wine to put in his cellar. These, with a thousand other morti* Private correspondence.

have not the spur I should once have had;
my labor must go unrewarded; and, as Mr.
R- once said, I am raising a scaffold before
a house that others are to live in, and not I.
I have left myself no room for politics,
which I thought, when I began, would have
been my principal theme.
W. C.

Yours, my dear sir,

The striking and beautiful imagery, united with the depressive spirit of the following letter, will engage the attention of the discerning reader.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.*

engaging our attention, before it be entirely dropped. Lady Austen, very desirous of retirement, especially of a retirement near her sister, an admirer of Mr. Scott as a preacher, and of your two humble servants now in the greenhouse as the most agreeable creatures in the world, is at present determined to settle here. That part of our great building which is at present occupied by Dick Coleman, his wife, child, and a thousand rats, is the corner of the world she chooses above all others as the place of her future residence. Next spring twelvemonth she begins to repair and beautify, and the following winter (by which time the lease of her house in town will determine) she intends to take possession. I am highly pleased with the plan upon Mrs. Unwin's account, who, since Mrs. Newton's departure, is destitute of all female connexion, and has not, in any emergency, a woman to speak to. Mrs. Scott is indeed in the neighborhood, and an excellent person, but always engaged by a close attention to her family, and no more than ourselves a lover of visiting. But these things are all at present in the clouds. Two years must intervene, and in two years not only this project, but all the projects in Europe may be

Olney, Aug. 21, 1781. My dear Friend,-You wish you could employ your time to better purpose, yet are never idle. In all that you say or do; whether you are alone, or pay visits, or receive them; whether you think, or write, or walk, or sit still; the state of your mind is such as discovers, even to yourself, in spite of all its wanderings, that there is a principle at bottom, whose determined tendency is towards the best things. I do not at all doubt the truth of what you say, when you complain of that crowd of trifling thoughts that pester you without ceasing; but then you always have a serious thought standing at the door of your imagination, like a justice of peace with the riot-act in his hand, ready to read it and disperse the mob. Here lies the difference between you and me. My thoughts are clad in a sober livery, for the most part as grave as that of a bishop's servants. They turn, too, upon spiritual subjects, but the tall-disconcerted. est fellow, and the loudest amongst them all, is he who is continually crying, with a loud voice, Actum est de te, periisti. You wish for more attention, I for less. Dissipation itself would be welcome to me, so it were not a vicious one; but, however earnestly invited, it is coy, and keeps at a distance. Yet, with all this distressing gloom upon my mind, I experience, as you do, the slipperiness of the present hour, and the rapidity with which time escapes me. Everything around us, and everything that befalls us, constitutes a variety, which, whether agreeable or otherwise, has still a thievish propensity, and steals from us days, months, and years, with such unparalleled address, that even while we say they are here they are gone. From infancy to manhood is rather a tedious period, chiefly, I suppose, because, at that time we act under the control of others, and are not suffered to have a will of our own. But thence downward into the vale of years is such a declivity, that we have just an opportunity to reflect upon the steepness of it, and then find ourselves at the bottom.

Here is a new scene opening, which, whether it perform what it promises or not, will add fresh plumes to the wings of time: at least while it continues to be a subject of contemplation. If the project take effect, a thousand varieties will attend the change it will make in our situation at Olney. If not, it will serve, however, to speculate and converse upon, and steal away many hours, by * Private correspondence.

Cocoa-nut naught,
Fish too dear,
None must be bought
For us that are here;
No lobster on earth
That ever I saw,
To me would be worth
Sixpence a claw.

So, dear Madam, wait
Till fish can be got
At a reas'nable rate,
Whether lobster or not.

Till the French and the Dutch
Have quitted the seas,
And then send as much,
And as oft as you please.
Yours, my dear Sir,

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

W. C.

Olney, Aug. 25, 1781. My dear Friend,-We rejoice with you sincerely in the birth of another son, and in the prospect you have of Mrs. Unwin's recovery: may your three children, and the next three, when they shall make their appearance, prove so many blessings to their parents, and make you wish that you had twice the number! But what made you expect daily that you should hear from me? Letter for letter is the law of all correspondence whatsoever, and, because I wrote last, I have indulged myself for some time in expectation of a

sheet from you. Not that I govern myself entirely by the punctilio of reciprocation, but having been pretty much occupied of late, I was not sorry to find myself at liberty to exercise my discretion, and furnished with a good excuse if I chose to be silent.

variety of considerations to such a place as Olney. Since Mr. Newton went, and till this lady came, there was not in the kingdom a retirement more absolutely such than ours. We did not want company, but when it came we found it agreeable. A person that has seen much of the world and understands it well, has high spirits, a lively fancy, and great readiness of conversation, introduces a sprightli ness into such a scene as this, which, if it was peaceful before, is not the worse for being a little enlivened. In case of illness too, to which all are liable, it was rather a gloomy

to it, that there was hardly a woman in the place from whom it would have been reasonable to have expected either comfort or assistance. The present curate's wife is a valuable person, but has a family of her own, and, though a neighbor, is not a very rear one. But, if this plan is effected, we shall be in a manner one family, and I suppose never pass a day without some intercourse with each other.

I expected, as you remember, to have been published last spring, and was disappointed. The delay has afforded me an opportunity to increase the quantity of my publication by about a third; and, if my Muse has not forsaken me, which I rather suspect to be the case, may possibly yet add to it. I have a subject in hand, which promises me a great abund-prospect, if we allowed ourselves to advert ance of poetical matter, but which, for want of a something I am not able to describe, I cannot at present proceed with. The name of it is "Retirement," and my purpose, to recommend the proper improvement of it, to set forth the requisites for that end, and to enlarge upon the happiness of that state of life, when managed as it ought to be. In the course of my journey through this ample theme, I should wish to touch upon the characters, the deficiences, and the mistakes of thousands, who enter on a scene of retirement unqualified for it in every respect, and with such designs as have no tendency to promote either their own happiness or that of others. But as I have told you before, there are times when I am no more a poet than I am a mathematician, and when such a time occurs, I always think it better to give up the point than to labor it in vain. I shall yet again be obliged to trouble you for franks, the addition of three thousand lines, or near that number, having occasioned a demand which I did not always foresee, but your obliging friend and your obliging self having allowed me the liberty of application, I make it without apology.

The solitude, or rather the duality, of our condition at Olney seems drawing to a conclusion. You have not forgot perhaps that the building we inhabit consists of two mansions. And, because you have only seen the inside of that part of it which is in our occupation. I therefore inform you that the other end of it is by far the most superb, as well as the most commodious. Lady Austen has seen it, has set her heart upon it, is going to fit it up and furnish it, and, if she can get rid of the remaining two years of the lease of her London house, will probably enter upon it in a twelvemonth. You will be pleased with this intelligence, because I have already told you that she is a woman perfectly well-bred, sensible, and in every respect agreeable; and above all, because she loves your mother dearly. It has in my eyes (and I doubt not it will have the same in yours) strong marks of providential interposition. A female friend, and one who bids fair to prove herself worthy of the appellation, comes recommended by a

Your mother sends her warm affections, and welcomes into the world the new-born William.

Yours, my dear friend, W. C.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.*

I

Olney, Aug. 25, 1781. My dear Friend,-By Johnson's last note, (for I have received a packet from him since I wrote last to you.) I am ready to suspect that you have seen him, and endeavored to quicken his proceedings. His assurrance of greater expedition leads me to think so. know little of booksellers and printers, but have heard from others that they are the most dilatory of all people; otherwise, I am not in a hurry, nor would be so troublesome; but am obliged to you nevertheless for your interference, if his promised alacrity be owing to any spur that you have given him. He chooses to add "Conversation" to the rest, and says he will give me notice when he is ready for it; but I shall send it to you by the first opportune conveyance, and beg you to deliver it over to him. He wishes me not to be afraid of making the volume too large; by which expression I suppose he means, that if I had still another piece, there would be room for it. At present I have not, but am in the way to produce another, faveat modo Musa. I have already begun and proceeded a little way in a poem called "Retirement." My view in choosing that subject is to direct to the proper use of the opportunities it affords for the cultivation of a man's best interests; to censure the vices and the follies which people carry with them into their re treats, where they make no other use of their

* Private correspondence.

leisure than to gratify themselves with the
indulgence of their favorite appetites, and to
pay themselves by a life of pleasure for a
life of business. In conclusion, I would en-
large upon the happiness of that state, when
discreetly enjoyed and religiously improved.
But all this is, at present, in embryo. I gene-
rally despair of my progress when I begin;
but if, like my travelling 'squire, I should
kindle as I go, this likewise may make a part of
the volume, for I have time enough before me.
I forgot to mention that Johnson uses the
discretion my poetship has allowed him, with
much discernment. He has suggested sever-
al alterations, or rather marked several defec-
tive
passages, which I have corrected much to
the advantage of the poems. In the last sheet
he sent me, he noted three such, all which I
have reduced into better order. In the fore-
going sheet, I assented to his criticism in
some instances, and chose to abide by the
original expression in others. Thus we jog
on together comfortably enough: and perhaps
it would be as well for authors in general, if
their booksellers, when men of some taste,
were allowed, though not to tinker the work
themselves, yet to point out the flaws, and
humbly to recommend an improvement.
Yours,

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.*

W. C.

opinion concerning the lawfulness of such amusements as are to be found at Vauxhall or Ranelagh; meaning only to draw from him a sentence of disapprobation, that Miss Green might be the better reconciled to the restraint under which she was held, when she found it warranted by the judgment of so famous a divine. But she was disappointed: he accounted them innocent, and recommended them as useful. Curiosity, he said, was natural to young persons; and it was wrong to deny them a gratification which they might be indulged in with the greatest safety; because, the denial being unreasonable, the desire of it would still subsist. It was but a walk, and a walk was as harmless in one place as another; with other arguments of a similar import, which might have proceeded with more grace, at least with less offence, from the lips of a sensual layman. He seems, together with others of our acquaintance, to have suffered considerably in his spiritual character by his attachment to music. The lawfulness of it, when used with moderation and in its proper place, is unquestionable; but I believe that wine itself, though a man be guilty of habitual intoxication, does not more debauch and befool the natural understanding than music, always music, music in season and out of season, weakens and destroys the spiritual discernment. If it is not used with an unfeigned reference to the worship of God, and with a design to assist the soul in the performance of it, which cannot be the case when it is the only occupation, it degenerates into a sensual delight, and becomes a most powerful advocate for the admission of other pleasures, grosser perhaps in degree, but in their kind the same.*

Olney, Sept. 9, 1781. My dear Friend, I am not willing to let the post set off without me, though I have nothing material to put into his bag. I am writing in the greenhouse, where my myrtle, ranged before the windows, make the most agreeable blind imaginable; where I am undisturbed by noise, and where I see none but Mr. M, though a simple, honest, good pleasing objects. The situation is as favor-man-such, at least, he appears to us-is able to my purpose as I could wish; but the not likely to give general satisfaction. He state of my mind is not so, and the deficien- preaches the truth it seems, but not the cies I feel there are not to be remedied by whole truth; and a certain member of that the stillness of my retirement or the beauty church, who signed the letter of invitation, of the scene before me. I believe it is in which was conceived in terms sufficiently enpart owing to the excessive heat of the wea-couraging, is likely to prove one of his most ther that I find myself so much at a loss when I attempt either verse or prose: my animal spirits are depressed, and dulness is the consequence. That dulness, however, is all at your service; and the portion of it that is necessary to fill up the present epistle I send you without the least reluctance.

I am sorry to find that the censure I have passed upon Occiduus is even better founded than I supposed. Lady Austen has been at his sabbatical concerts, which, it seems, are composed of song-tunes and psalm-tunes indiscriminately; music without words-and I suppose one may say, consequently, without devotion. On a certain occasion, when her niece was sitting at her side, she asked his * Private correspondence.

strenuous opposers. The little man, how-
ever, has an independent fortune, and has
nothing to do but to trundle himself away
to some other place, where he may find
hearers neither no nice nor so wise as we
are at Olney.

Yours, my dear Sir,
With our united love,

TO MRS. NEWTON.†

W. C.

Olney, Sept. 16, 1781.
A noble theme demands a noble verse,
In such I thank you for your fine oysters.

*It is recorded of the Rev. Mr. Cecil, that, being pas

sionately fond of playing on the violin, and, finding that
it engrossed too much of his time and thoughts, be one
day took it into his hands and broke it to pieces.
Private correspondence.