to me, so I am sufficiently aware, that it is likely to prove irksome to others. A painter, who should confine himself, in the exercise of his art, to the drawing of his own picture, must be a wonderful coxcomb, if he did not soon grow sick of his occupation, and be peculiarly fortunate, if he did not make others as sick as himself. Remote as your dwelling is from the late scene of riot and confusion, I hope that though you could not but hear the report, you heard no more, and that the roarings of the mad multitude did not reach you. That was a day of terror to the innocent, and the present is a day of still greater terror to the guilty. The law was, for a few moments, like an arrow in the quiver, seemed to be of no use, and did no execution; now it is an arrow upon the string, and many, who despised it lately, are trembling, as they stand before the point of it. I have talked more already than I have formerly done in three visits-you remember my taciturnity, never to be forgotton by those who knew me; not to depart entirely from what might be, for aught I know, the most shining part of my character-I here shut my mouth, make my bow, and return to Olney. W. C. LETTER LIX. To the Revd. WILLIAM UNWIN. July 27, 1780. My dear friend, as two men sit silent, after having exhausted all their topics of conversation; one says-" It is very fine weather," -and the other says " Yes; "one blows his says—“ nose, and the other rubs his eye-brows; (by the way, this is very much in Homer's manner) such seems to be the case between you and me. After a silence of some days, I wrote you a long something, that (I suppose) was nothing to the purpose, because it has not afforded you materials for an answer. Nevertheless, as it it often happens in the case abovestated, one of the distressed parties, being deeply sensible of the aukwardness of a dumb duet, breaks silence again, and resolves to speak, though he has nothing to say, so it fares with me. I am with you again in the form of an epistle, though considering my present emptiness, I have reason to fear, that only joy upon the occasion will be, veyed to you in a frank. your that it is con When I began, I expected no interruption. But if I had expected interruptions without end, I should have been less disappointed. First came the barber; who, after having embellished the outside of my head, has left the inside just as unfurnished as he found it. Then came Olney bridge, not into the house, but into the conversation. The cause relating to it, was tried on Tuesday at Buckingham. The judge directed the jury to find a verdict favourable to Olney. The jury consisted of one knave, and eleven fools. The last-mentioned followed the aforementioned, as sheep follow a bell-wether, and decided in direct opposition to the said judge. Then a flaw was discovered in the indictment. The indictment was quashed, and an order made for a new trial. The new trial will be in the King's Bench, where said knave, and said fools, will have nothing to do with it. So the men of Olney fling up their caps, and assure themselves of a complete victory. A victory will save me, and your Mother, many shillings, perhaps some pounds, which, except that it has afforded me a subject to write upon, was the only reason, why I said so much about it. I know you take an interest in all that concerns us, and will con sequently rejoice with us, in the prospect of an event in which we are concerned so nearly. You may think perhaps that I deal more liberally with Mr. Unwin, in the way of poetical export, than I do with you, and I believe, you have reason-the truth is thisIf I walked the streets with a fiddle under my arm, I should never think of performing before the window of a privy counsellor, or a chief justice, but should rather make free with ears more likely to be open to such amusement. The trifles I produce in this way, are indeed such trifles, that I cannot think them seasonable presents for you. Mr. Unwin himself would not be offended, if I was to tell him, that there is this difference between him and Mr. Newton; that the latter is already an apostle, while he himself is only undergoing the business of incubation, with a hope that he may be hatched in time. When my Muse comes forth arrayed in sables, at least in a robe of graver cast, I make no scruple to direct her to my friend at Hoxton. This has been one reason why I have so long delayed the Riddle. But least I should seem to set a value upon it, that I do not, by making it an object of still further enquiry, here it comes. I am just two and two, I am warm, I am cold, I am often sold dear, good for nothing when bought, LETTER LXI. To the Revd. WILLIAM UNWIN. W. C. August 6, 1780. MY DEAR FRIEND, You like to hear from me This is a very good reason why I should write-but I |