think it no small proof of your partiality to me, that you will read my Letters. I am not fond of longwinded metaphors, I have always observed, that they halt at the latter-end of their progress, and so does mine. I deal much in ink indeed, but not such ink as is employed by poets, and writers of essays. Mine is a harmless fluid, and guilty of no deceptions, but such as may prevail, without the least injury, to the person imposed on. I draw mountains, valleys, woods, and streams, and ducks, and dab-chicks. I admire them myself, and Mrs. Unwin admires them, and her praise, and my praise put together, are fame enough for me. Oh! I could spend whole days, and moon-light nights, in feeding upon a lovely prospect! My eyes drink the rivers as they flow. If every human being upon earth could think for one quarter of an hour, as I have done for many years, there might, perhaps, be many miserable men among them, but not an unwakened one would be found, from the Arctic to the Antartic circle. At present, the difference between them and me, is greatly to their advantage, I delight in baubles, and know them to be so, for rested in, and viewed, without a reference to their author, what is the earth, what are the planets, what is the sun itself, but a

to say,

bauble? Better for a man never to have seen them, or to see them with the eyes of a brute, stupid and unconscious of what he beholds, than not to be able "The maker of all these wonders is my friend!" Their eyes have never been opened, to see that they are trifles, mine have been, and will be 'till they are closed for ever. They think a fine estate, a large conservatory, a hot-house, rich as a West-Indian garden, things of consequence; visit them with pleasure, and muse upon them with ten times more. I am pleased with a frame of four lights, doubtful whether the few pines it contains, will ever be worth a farthing; amuse myself with a greenhouse, which Lord Bute's gardener could take upon his back, and walk away with, and when I have paid it the accustomed visit, and watered it, and given it air, I say to myself" This is not mine, 'tis a

play-thing lent me for the present, I must leave "it soon."

W. C.

LETTER XLVI.

To JOSEPH HILL, Esqr

MY DEAR FRIEND,

Olney, May 6, 1780.

I am much obliged to you

for your speedy answer to my queries. I know less of the law than a country attorney, yet sometimes I think I have almost as much business. My former connexion with the profession has got wind, and though I earnestly profess, and protest, and proclaim it abroad, that I know nothing of the matter, they cannot be persuaded to believe, that a head once endowed with a legal perriwig, can ever be deficient in those natural endowments, it is supposed to cover. I have had the good fortune to be once or twice in the right, which added to the cheapness of a gratuitous counsel, has advanced my credit, to a degree I never expected to attain, in the capacity of a lawyer. Indeed if two of the wisest in the science of jurisprudence, may give opposite opinions, on the same point, which does not unfrequently happen, it seems to be a matter of indifference, whether a man answers by rule, or at a venture. He that stumbles upon the right side of the question, is just as useful

to his client, as he that arrives at the same end by regular approaches, and is conducted to the mark he aims at, by the greatest authorities.

*

These violent attacks of a distemper so often fatal, are very alarming, to all who esteem and respect the Chancellor, as he deserves. A life of confinement, and of anxious attention to important objects, where the habit is bilious, to such a terrible degree, threatens to be but a short one; and I wish he may not be made a text, for men of reflection, to moralize upon, affording a conspicuous instance of the transient and fading nature of all human accomplishment and attainments.

late been entirely absorbed, in the passion for land

scape drawing.

It is a most amusing art, and, like

every other art, requires much practice, and atten

tion.

Nil sine multo

Vita, labore, dedit mortalibus.

Excellence is providentially placed beyond the reach of indolence, that success may be the reward of industry, and that idleness may be punished with obscurity and digrace: So long as I am pleased with an employment, I am capable of unwearied application, because my feelings are all of the intense kind : I never received a little pleasure from any thing in my life; if I am delighted, it is in the extreme. The unhappy consequences of this temperature is, that my attachment to any occupation, seldom outlives the novelty of it. That nerve of my imagination, that feels the touch of any particular amusement, twangs under the energy of the pressure with so much vehemence, that it soon becomes sensible of weariness and fatigue. Hence I draw an unfavourable prognostic, and expect that I shall shortly be constrained to look out for something else. Then perhaps, I may string the harp again, and be able to comply with your demand.