regulated city, not unfurnished with a military force for its protection. But surprise and astonishment seem at first to have struck every nerve of the police with a palsy; and to have disarmed government of all its powers. I congratulate you upon the wisdom that withheld you from entering yourself a member of the Protestant association. Your friends who did so have reason enough to regret their doing it, even though they should never be called upon. Innocent as they are, and they who know them cannot doubt of their being perfectly so, it is likely to bring an odium on the profession they make, that will not soon be forgotten. Neither is it possible for a quiet, inoffensive man, to discover, on a sudden, that his zeal has carried him into such company, without being to the last degree shocked at his imprudence. Their religion was an honourable mantle, like that of Elijah; but the majority wore cloaks of Guy Fawkes's time, and meant nothing so little as what they pretended. W. C. TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN, June 18, 1780. REVEREND AND DEAR WILLIAM, THE affairs of kingdoms, and the concerns of individuals, are variegated alike with the checker-work of joy and sorrow. The news of a great acquisition in America has succeeded to terrible tumults in London; and the beams of prosperity are now playing upon the smoke of that conflagration which so lately terrified the whole land. These sudden changes, which are matter of every man's observation, and may therefore always be reasonably expected, serve to hold up the chin of despondency above water, and preserve mankind in general from the sin and misery of accounting existence a burden not to be endured-an evil we should be sure to encounter, if we were not warranted to look for a bright reverse of our most afflictive experiences. The Spaniards were sick of the war at the very commencement of it; and I hope that, by this time, the French themselves begin to find themselves a little indisposed, if not desirous of peace, which that restless and meddling temper of theirs is incapable of desiring for its own sake. But is it true, that this detestable plot was an egg laid in France, and hatched in London, under the influence of French corruption? -Nam te scire, deos quoniam propiùs contingis, oportet. The offspring has the features of such a parent; and yet, without the clearest proof of the fact, I would not willingly charge upon a civilized nation what perhaps the most barbarous would abhor the thought of. I no sooner saw the surmise however in the paper, than I immediately began to write Latin verses upon the occasion. "An odd effect," you will say, "of such a circumstance :"-but an effect, nevertheless, that whatever has, at any time, moved my passions, whether pleasantly or otherwise, has always had upon me : were I to express what I feel upon such occasions in prose, it would be verbose, inflated, and disgusting. I therefore have recourse to verse, as a suitable vehicle for the most vehement expressions my thoughts suggest to me. What I have written, I did not write so much for the comfort of the English, as for the mortification of the French. You will immediately perceive therefore that I have been labouring in vain, and that this bouncing explosion is likely to spend itself in the air. For I have no means of circulating what follows, through all the French territories; and unless that, or something like it, can be done, my indignation will be entirely fruitless. Tell me how I can convey it into Sartine's pocket, or who will lay it upon his desk for me. But read it first, and unless you think it pointed enough to sting the Gaul to the quick, burn it. In seditionem horrendam, corruptelis Gallicis, ut fertur, Perfida, crudelis, victa et lymphata furore, I have lately exercised my ingenuity in contriving an exercise for yours, and have composed a riddle, which, if it does not make you laugh before you have solved it, will probably do it afterwards. I would transcribe it now, but am really so fatigued with writing, that unless I knew you had a quinsy, and that a fit of laughter might possibly save your life, I could not prevail with myself to do it. What could you possibly mean, slender as you are, by sallying out upon your two walking-sticks at two in the morning, into the midst of such a tumult? We admire your prowess, but cannot commend your prudence. Our love attends you all, collectively and individually. Yours, W. C. TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. June 22, 1780. MY DEAR FRIEND, A WORD or two in answer to two or three questions of yours, which I have hitherto taken no notice of. I am not in a scribbling mood, and shall therefore make no excursions to amuse either myself or you. The needful will be as much as I can manage at present— the playful must wait for another opportunity. I thank you for your offer of Robertson; but I have more reading upon my hands at this present writing than I shall get rid of in a twelvemonth; and this moment recollect that I have seen it already. He is an author that I admire much; with one exception, that I think his style is too laboured. Hume, as an historian, pleases me more. I have read just enough of the Biographia Britannica, to say, that I have tasted it, and have no doubt but I shall like it. I am pretty much in the garden at this season of the year, so read but little. In summertime I am as giddy-headed as a boy, and can settle to nothing. Winter condenses me, and makes me lumpishi, and sober; and then I can read all day long. For the same reasons, I have no need of the landscapes at present; when I want them I will renew my application, and repeat the description, but it will hardly be before October. Before I arose this morning, I composed the three following stanzas; I send them because I like them pretty well myself; and if you should not, you must accept this handsome compliment as an amends for their deficiencies. You may print the lines, if you judge them worth it *. I have only time to add love, &c., and my two initials. W. C. TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. June 23, 1780. MY DEAR FRIEND, YOUR reflections upon the state of London, the sins and enormities of that great city, while you had a distant view of it from Greenwich, seem to have been prophetic of the heavy stroke that fell upon it just after. Man often prophesies without knowing it; a spirit speaks by him which is not his own, though he does not at that time suspect that he is under the influence of any other. Did he foresee what is always foreseen by him who dictates what he supposes to be his own, he would suffer by anticipation, as well as by * Verses on the burning of Lord Mansfield's library, &c. |