raise a contribution for them, that they might still continue obstinate in their refusal, which the want of subsistence would otherwise render difficult, if not impossible. I am the rather inclined to believe this story, because his punishment, which else seems to have been unreasonable and unjust, is thus sufficiently accounted for certainly they would not flog and degrade him for a mere act of benevolence and compassion; but when he had abetted the mutineers, he made their cause his own, and became even more guilty than the original delinquents.

I did not see Mr. W- - when he was at Olney, or only saw him from the window. What reason he had for excepting us out of the number of those he visited, I know not; but we are not sorry that he made the exception. I wish him well, but am glad that he made no appeal or apology to me: the many to whom he made them are not satisfied, nor did even the letter he produced serve him. It professed to be a letter from his wife, but it was written by his son, and therefore had no weight.

I would always close what I write with news from Olney, did Olney furnish any worth communicating; but either it does not, or I have not heard it. The Lower Meeting has found a minister at last, and the people it seems are fond of him. His name I think is Hillyard. While he is new he will be sure to please. Mr. Scott has been ill ever since he returned from Lincolnshire; indeed, he is hardly ever well, and his distempers are of a kind that seem to make his life extremely precarious. He is better, however, within these few days.

Mrs. Unwin will be glad to know what she owes Mrs. Newton for the items mentioned in my last. We are tolerably well; but neither the season nor the wind, which is east, are favourable to our spirits: they always sink in the spring. Assure yourselves that we love you, and believe me,

My dear friend, truly yours,

WM. COWPER.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

May 5, 1783. YOUR letter to Mr. Scott being sent unsealed demands my thanks as it did my perusal. You may suppose I did not hear Mr. Mayor, but I heard of him. Mr. Scott and Mr. Chator liked him, the latter especially, who spoke of him at our house in terms of the highest commendation. I found however from the report of others that his sermon would have disgusted me. He not only dwelt upon circumstantials, which is certainly (to use a simile from Horace) as unprofitable an employment as to pluck the hairs out of a horse's tail one by one, but expressed himself with a coarseness quite unworthy of the pulpit. Sin, he said, turns a man upside down, and grace turns a man inside out, then comes sin again, and by a dexterous jerk sets him topsy-turvy. I have formerly attended the Robin Hood Society, but those orators in leathern aprons and woollen night-caps never stooped so low for their rhetorical flowers. How different is that plainness of speech, which a spiritual theme requires, from that vulgar dialect which this gentleman has

mistaken for it! Affectation of every sort is odious, especially in a minister, and more especially an affectation that betrays him into expressions fit only for the mouths of the illiterate. Truth indeed needs no ornament, neither does a beautiful person; but to clothe it therefore in rags when a decent habit was at hand, would be esteemed preposterous and absurd. The best proportioned figure may be made offensive by beggary and filth; and even truths which came down from Heaven, though they cannot forego their nature, may be disguised and disgraced by unsuitable language. It is strange that a pupil of yours should blunder thus. You may be consoled however by reflecting, that he could not have erred so grossly, if he had not totally and wilfully departed both from your instruction and example. Were I to describe your style in two words, I should call it plain and neat, simplicem munditiis, and I do not know how I could give it juster praise, or pay it a greater compliment. Certainly therefore the disciple in this particular at least, is not like his master. He that can speak to be understood by a congregation of rustics, and yet in terms that would not offend academical ears, has found the happy medium. This is certainly practicable to men of taste and judgement, and the practice of a few proves it. Hactenus de concionando.

Fanny Kitchener brought Mrs. Unwin a letter yesterday of her own writing. It was sensible and well expressed, much better than the preachment abovementioned. The purport of it was to confess the impropriety of her past conduct, and to entreat Mrs. Unwin's forgiveness of the offence it must have given

her. She spoke with many tears and much feeling, and in the judgement of common charity is truly penitent. Mr. Scott, who I believe is a surgeon that makes more use of the knife than the poultice, had told her there was but little encouragement for sinners of her complexion; but your letter to her healed all and brought her peace. She is very painfully distempered in body, and in hopes of being admitted into the Northampton hospital.

We are truly glad to hear that Miss Cunningham is better, and heartily wish you more promising accounts from Scotland. Debemur morti nos nostraque. We all acknowledge the debt, but are seldom pleased when those we love are required to pay it. The demand will find you prepared for it, but not me, though I have had long notice. I watched and longed for it some years, but within the last ten have learnt to fear it. Our love attends Mrs. Newton. You have both an undiminished share in it.

Yours, my dear friend,

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

May 12, 1783.

A LETTER written from such a place as this is a creation; and creation is a work for which mere mortal man is very indifferently qualified. Ex nihilo nihil fit, is a maxim that applies itself in every case where Deity is not concerned. With this view of the matter, I should charge myself with extreme folly for pretending to work without materials, did I not know, that

although nothing should be the result, even That nothing will be welcome. If I can tell you no news, I can tell you at least that I 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 to-day, only the effect of a transient cloud suddenly brought over me, and suddenly to be removed, but punctually expressive of my habitual frame of mind, such as it has been these ten years.

They that have found a God, and are permitted to worship him, have found a treasure, of which, highly as they may prize it, they have but very scanty and limited conceptions. Take my word for it, the word of a man singularly well qualified to give his evidence in this matter, who having enjoyed the privilege some years, has been deprived of it more, and has no hope that he shall live to recover it. These are my Sunday morning speculations; the sound of the bells suggested them, or rather, gave them such an emphasis that they forced their way into my pen, in spite of me; for though I do not often commit them to paper, they are never absent from my mind.

In the Review of last month, I met with an account of a sermon preached by Mr. Paley, at the consecration of his friend, Bishop Law. The critic admires and extols the preacher, and devoutly prays the Lord of the harvest to send forth more such labourers into his vineyard. I rather differ from him in opinion, not being able to conjecture in what respect the vineyard will be benefited by such a measure. He is certainly ingenious, and has stretched his ingenuity to the utter