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, LONDONII NUPER EXORTAM. Perfida, crudelis, victa et lymphata furore, Nequicquàm conata suâ, fœdissima sperat Posse tamen nostrâ nos superare manu, Gallia, vana struis! Precibus nunc utere ! Vinces, 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, in 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. 53. TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. ROBERTSON-HUME BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA VERSES ON THE RIOTS. 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 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 summer time I am as giddyheaded as a boy, and can settle to nothing. Winter condenses me, and makes me lumpish and sober; and then I can read all day long. * For the author's translation, see Letter 57. 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 rose 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 deficiences. You may print the lines, if you judge them worth it.* I have only time to add love, &c. ana my two initials. W. C. 54. -TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. THE RIOTS PROPHETIC SPIRIT IN MANSLANDER. Jnne 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 consequence; and wish perhaps as ardently for the happy ignorance to which he is at present so much indebted, as some have foolishly and inconsiderately done for a knowledge that would be but another name for misery. And why have I said all this? especially to you, who have hitherto said it to me? Not because I had the least desire of informing a wiser man than myself, but because the observation was naturally suggested by the recollection of your letter, and that letter, though not the last, happened to be uppermost in my mind. I can compare this mind of mine to nothing that resembles it more, than to a board that is under the carpenter's plane, (I mean while I am writing to you)-the shavings are my uppermost thoughts; after a few strokes of the tool, it acquires a new surface; this again, upon a repetition of his task, he takes off, and a new surface still succeedswhether the shavings of the present day will be worth your acceptance, I know not; I am unfortunately made neither of cedar nor of mahogany, but Truncus ficulnus, inutile lignum+ * Verses on the Burning of Lord Mansfield's Library, &c. consequently, though I should be planed till I am as thin as a wafer, it will be but rubbish to the last. It is not strange that you should be the subject of a false report; for the sword of slander, like that of war, devours one as well as another; and a blameless character is particularly delicious to its unsparing appetite. But that you should be the object of such a report, you who meddle less with the designs of government than almost any man that lives under it, this is strange indeed. It is well, however, when they who account it good sport to traduce the reputation of another, invent a story that refutes itself. I wonder they do not always endeavour to accommodate their fiction to the real character of the person; their tale would then at least have an air of probability, and it might cost a peaceable good man much more trouble to disprove it. But perhaps it would not be easy to discern what part of your conduct lies more open to such an attempt than another; or what it is that you either say or do, at any time, that presents a fair opportunity to the most ingenious slanderer to slip in a falsehood between your words or actions, that shall seem to be of a piece with either. You hate compliment, I know; but by your leave this is not one-it is a truth. worse and worse-now I have praised you indeed-well, you must thank yourself for it; it was absolutely done without the least intention on my part, and proceeded from a pen that, as far as I can remember, was never guilty of flattery since I knew how to hold it. He that slanders me, paints me blacker than I am, and he that flatters me, whiter they both daub me; and when I look in the glass of conscience, I see myself disguised by both—I had as lief my tailor should sew gingerbread nuts on my coat instead of buttons, as that any man should call my Bristol stone a diamond. The tailor's trick would not at all embellish my suit, nor the flatterer's make me at all the richer. I never make a present to my friend of what I dislike myself. Ergo, (I have reached the conclusion at last,) I did not mean to flatter you. We have sent a petition to Lord Dartmouth, by this post, praying him to interfere in parliament in behalf of the poor lace makers. I say we, because I have signed it; Mr G. drew it up, Mr did not think it grammatical, therefore would not sign it. Yet I think Priscian* himself would have * Priscian, a celebrated ancient grammarian, born at Cæsarea. He taught with great reputation in Constantinople about the commencement of the sixth century. pardoned the manner for the sake of the matter. I dare say if his lordship does not comply with the prayer of it, it will not be because he thinks it of more consequence to write grammatically, than that the poor should eat, but for some better reason. My love to all under your roof. Yours, W. C. July 2, 1780. CARISSIME, I am glad of your confidence, and have reason to hope I shall never abuse it. If you trust me with a secret, I am hermetically sealed; and if you call for the exercise of my judgment, such as it is, I am never freakish or wanton in the use of it, much less mischievous and malignant. Critics, I believe, do not often stand so clear of these vices as I do. I like your epitaph, except that I doubt the propriety of the word immaturus, which, I think, is rather applicable to fruits than flowers; and except the last pentameter, the assertion it contains being rather too obvious a thought to finish with. Not that I think an epitaph should be pointed like an epigram; but still there is a closeness of thought and expression necessary in the conclusion of all these little things, that they may leave an agreeable flavour upon the palate. Whatever is short, should be nervous, masculine, and compact. Little men are so; and little poems should be so; because, where the work is short, the author has no right to the plea of weariness; and laziness is never admitted as an available excuse in any thing. Now you know my opinion, you will very likely improve upon my improvement, and alter my alterations for the better. To touch and retouch is though some writers boast of negligence, and others would be ashamed to shew their foul copies-the secret of almost all good writing, especially in verse. I am never weary of it myself; and if you would take as much pains as I do, you would have no need to ask for my corrections. Hic sepultus est Unicus, unicè dilectus, Qui floris ritu succisus est semihiantis, 1780, Et. 10. |