reasonably suppose that the happiness of those better days would have been much improved by the use of it. We hope that you and your son are perfectly recovered. The season has been most unfavourable to animal life; and I, who am merely animal, have suffered much by it.

Though I should be glad to write, I write little or nothing. The time for such fruit is not yet come; but I expect it, and I wish for it. I want amusement; and, deprived of that, have none to supply the place of it. I send you, however, according to my promise to send you every thing, two stanzas composed at the request of Lady Austen. She wanted words to a tune she much admired, and I gave her these on Peace.

Yours,

W. C.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.

MY DEAR WILLIAM,

June 8, 1783.

OUR severest winter, commonly called the spring, is now over, and I find myself seated in my favourite recess, the greenhouse. In such a situation, so silent, so shady, where no human foot is heard, and where only my myrtles presume to peep in at the window, you may suppose I have no interruption to complain of, and that my thoughts are perfectly at my command. But the beauties of the spot are themselves an interruption; my attention is called upon by those very myrtles, by a double row of grass pinks just beginning to blossom, and by a bed of beans already in

bloom; and you are to consider it, if you please, as no small proof of my regard, that though you have so many powerful rivals, I disengage myself from them all, and devote this hour entirely to you.

You are not acquainted with the Rev. Mr. Bull, of Newport; perhaps it is as well for you that you are not. You would regret still more than you do, that there are so many miles interposed between us. He spends part of the day with us to-morrow. A dissenter, but a liberal one; a man of letters and of genius; master of a fine imagination, or rather not master of it, an imagination which, when he finds himself in the company he loves, and can confide in, runs away with him into such fields of speculation, as amuse and enliven every 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. No men are better qualified for companions in such a world as this, than men of such a temperament. Every scene of life has two sides, a dark and a bright one, and the mind that has an equal mixture of melancholy and vivacity is best of all qualified for the contemplation of either; it can be lively without levity, and pensive without dejection. Such a man is Mr. Bull. Buthe smokes tobacco. Nothing is perfect,

Nihil est ab omni

Parte beatum.

I find that your friend Mr. Fytche has lost his cause; and more mortifying still, has lost it by a sin

you_ure to consider it, if you please, as Lo pruet of my gard, that though you have so pe dertil rivals, I disengage myself from them' da vote this hour entirely to you.

Asa nim not requated with the Rev. Mr. Bell, of Terhaps it is as well for you that you are ke, sould regret stil more than you do, that

may miles interposed between us. He * the day with us to-morrow. A disa real one; a man of krs and of s of a fie imagination, or rather not

an imagination which, when he finds Hea mpany he joves, and can contide in, si ato sich fields of speculation, as endsch every other imagination that has 13-5, Le of the party. At other times he vud de hate sort of melancholy in his ess agreeable in its way. No men albed for pations in such a world as top of such a temperament. Every scene wo sets, a dark and a bright one, and the 11⁄2 an equal nature of melancholy and st of ri quefied for the contemplanon can be lively without levity, and pensive fordon. Such a man is Mr. Bull. Butbe suhes tobar 23. Nothing is perfect,

with

Mode ub omni

Pa,te beatum.

I find that

end Mr. Fytehe has lost his

cause; and meat.fying still, has lost it by a sin