lume, but from the will to the power is a step too wide for me to take at present, and the season of the year brings with it so many avocations into the garden, where I am my own fac totum, that I have little or no leisure for the quill. I should do myself much wrong, were I to omit mentioning the great complacency with which I read your narrative of Mrs. Unwin's smiles and tears; persons of much sensibility are always persons of taste, and a taste for poetry depends indeed upon that very article more than upon any other. If she had Aristotle by heart, I should not esteem her judgment so highly, were she defective in point of feeling, as I do, and must esteem it, know ing her to have such feelings as Aristotle could not communicate, and as half the readers in the world are destitute of. This it is that makes me set so high a price upon your Mother's opinion. She is a critic by nature, and not by rule, and has a preception of what is good or bad in composition, that I never knew deceive her, insomuch, that when two sorts of expression have pleaded equally for the precedence, in my own esteem, and I have referred, as in such cases I always did, the decision of the point to her, I never knew her at a loss for a just one.

Whether I shall receive any answer from his

Chancellorship or not, is at present in ambiguo, and will probably continue in the same state of ambiguity much longer. He is so busy a man, and at this time, if the papers may be credited, so particularly busy that I am forced to mortify myself with the thought, that both my Book, and my Letter, may be thrown into a corner as too insignificant for a statesman's notice, and never found 'till his executor finds them. This affair, however, is neither at my libitum nor his. I have sent him the truth. He that put it into the heart of a certain eastern monarch, to amuse himself one sleepless night, with listening to the records of his kingdom, is able to give birth to such another occasion, and inspire his lordship with a curiosity to know, what he has received from a friend he once loved and valued. If an answer comes however, you shall not long be a stranger to the contents of it.

I have read your Letter to their worships, and much approve of it. May it have the desired effect it ought! If not, still you have acted an humane and becoming part, and the poor aching toes and fingers of the prisoners, will not appear in judgment against you. I have made a slight alteration in the last sentence, which perhaps you will not disapprove.

LETTER VI.

To the Revd. WILLIAM UNWIN.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

April 1, 1782.

I could not have found a better trum

volume,

peter. Your zeal to serve the interest of my together with your extensive acquaintance, qualify you perfectly for that most useful office. Methinks I see you with the long tube at your mouth, proclaiming to your numerous connexions, my poetical merits, and at proper intervals levelling it at Olney, and pouring into my ear, the welcome sound of their approbation. I need not encourage you to proceed, your breath will never fail in such a cause; and thus encouraged, I myself perhaps may proceed also, and when the versifying fit returns, produce another volume. Alas! we shall never receive such commendations from him on the woolsack, as your good friend has lavished upon us. Whence I learn, that however important I may be in my own eyes, I am very insignificant in his. To make me amends, however, for this mortification, Mr. Newton tells me, that my book is likely

to run, spread, and prosper; that the grave cannot help smiling, and the gay are struck with the truth of it and that it is likely to find its way into his Majesty's hands, being put into a proper course for that purpose. Now if the King should fall in love with my muse, and with you for her sake, such an event would make us ample amends for the Chancellor's indifference, and you might be the first divine that ever reached a mitre, from the shoulders of a poet. But (I believe) we must be content, I with my gains, if I gain any thing, and you with the pleasure of knowing, that I am a gainer.

We laughed heartily at your answer to little John's question; and yet I think you might have given him a direct answer- "There are various sorts of

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cleverness, my dear—I do not know that mine "lies in the poetical way, but I can do ten times more towards the entertainment of company in the

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way of conversation, than our friend at Olney. "He can rhyme, and I can rattle. If he had my ta

lent, or I had his, we should be too charming, and "the world would almost adore us."

Yours,

W. C.

LETTER VII.

To the Revd. WILLIAM UNWIN.

April 27, 1782.

My dear William, a part of

Lord Harrington's new-raised corps, have taken up their quarters at Olney, since you left us. They have the regimental music with them. The men have been drawn up this morning, upon the Market-hill, and a concert, such as we have not heard these many years, has been performed at no great distance from our window. Your Mother and I both thrust our heads into the coldest east-wind that ever blew in April, that we might hear them to greater advantage. The band acquitted themselves with taste and propriety, not blairing, like trumpeters at a fair, but producing gentle and elegant symphony, such as charmed our ears, and convinced us, that no length of time can wear out a taste for harmony, and that though plays, balls, and masquerades, have lost all their power to please us, and we should find them not only insipid but insupportable, yet sweet music is sure to find a corresponding faculty in the soul, a sensibility, that