to my health; and I could very pleasantly rove about the country for a time, had I ONE PERSON, now in London, with me- -But I must not continue this strain, though I could fill a sheet or two with such things very spontaneously: for I assure you it is not difficult to me to write LOVE-LETTERS to you; but I think, on many accounts, it is better to know such things EXIST, and offer themselves without force, than to let them run till nobody knows where they may stop.

Ah! my precious jewel, wives and husbands wont do alone. Let us rightly understand the difference between passion and substance; but substance is not HERE ! "He builds too low, who builds below the skies!""

Farewell! and believe me, notwithstanding these truths, to be

Yours most affectionately,

R. C.

LETTER II.

Bath, 1792.

I SAID, just now, to a young clergyman, who boards in the house, "Ah! Mr., I am going to enjoy a satisfaction you are sadly deprived of-I am going to write to my wife."

I preached, some time ago, a sermon, at St. John's, which I am now forced to recollect for myself-I will bring her into the wilderness. I am now clearly under a PECULIAR DISPENSATION-like what I then described the wilderness to be. So painful has my stomach been of late, that I thought it my duty to go under the care of Dr. Frazer. He has put me into the bath, and directed the hot-pump to be applied to the pit of my stomach, which is the only thing I have found of service yet.

But this is also a spiritual case, which no man can understand for me, but which I think I understand.

I am going down the valley of humiliation, where the Christian's feet are apt to stumble: but I have not LOST MY WAY. I know WHERE I AM; and I know GOD IS WITH ME. So the valley is not so dark as it might be. I could fill twenty letters with reflections like these, but I fear lest I should hurt your feelings by them; and, therefore, I will stop.

CON

I told Dr. F. my history-how I lived-studied— preached my anxieties incessant thoughtfulness, &c. In short, that he might not be deceived and thereby mislead me, I gave him the most faithful account of myself. He has, however, DEEPLY VINCED me, that I must lead another life in future: which, on every account, I find it my bounden duty to do, if it please God to recover me, for I do not expect many more warnings. Moreover, I am so sincere (at least under my burden) that I do hereby empower you to watch over me, and to keep me to my most DECIDED and DETERMINED principles: for if I recover here, I am persuaded if I do not alter many things, I shall soon be as bad, and probably worse than ever.

My dearest creature, I ought to say MANY KIND THINGS TO YOU; but my spirits are too weak and low now, to say any thing that is not very general. Be assured, however, that you are almost the only temporal subject I think of, (though I think of that very often.) Worldly matters I have thought very little of indeed: which I esteem a mercy, mixed with my difficulties. I mean to strive very much to keep them more out of my mind, on my return, than I have done and take you more into their place. The arrangements you are making, you will find difficult: : moreover, I am afraid you will hurt yourself in this affair, and then what good will my room do me? At any rate, you must not attempt it yourself. It does not signify: nothing of the sort signifies. I have no prospect of going round by on my

VOL. I.

8

return. All undertakings, to a sick man, are dreadful in contemplation. At present, my highest EARTHLY project and prospect, is, to sit quietly down with you in some little country retirement: and yet I know so much of myself, that take away my present pain and weakness, and my old spirit would return; and I should be driving after my point as usual. But NOW -it is quiet-ease-and my wife!

If I do not gain wisdom by this business, the fool has been brayed in a mortar, but it is clear, nothing will drive his foolishness from him.

While I am so poorly, and in this tender state, I shall write to you every day, because I should expect it of you, and it will be a satisfaction to you; but then I cannot undertake to write so long a letter as this is, which I began for my own satisfaction as well as yours. I set out with saying that I am in a wilderness; but it is said in the passage, I will speak comfortably to her, and give her vineyards from thence. Now you must join with me in praying that this may be my case. I cannot question your affection for me; but this will be the best way of showing it. I shall not forget you when I call upon my BEST FRIEND ; who has often heard me for you, in your trying hours. Oh, that we both might unite with one heart in that high and heavenly pursuit; and thereby soon meet the end of pain, sickness, and sorrow.

But now, if my paper did not, my feelings would put an end to this letter.

MY DEAREST LOVE,

LETTER III.

I SHOULD have written to you before, but for the accidental time of our arriving at different places after the post was gone, which made it next to impossible. Not that I have any thing to write about,

being a mere traveller, without a new idea: as it would be no new idea to say I am with very kind and pleasant friends, and that it has been fine weather, &c. The first and second night are generally a time. of melancholy with me, after I leave home and so it has been now. I am sick of the hurry; and see every thing in so futile a point of view, that I turn Indian, and think there is no wisdom but in quiet, and no place eligible but home. Nevertheless I have found prodigious advantage already from the journey.

After being so much alone in the ordinary course of my life, and in the element of REFLECTION, I can scarcely support a behaviour suited to continual society. I have been this morning so reserved at breakfast and before, that I was forced to make a declaration in my own defence, that I had not met a single unpleasant circumstance since I came out. I felt an unusual desire of solitude, and therefore behaved awkwardly silent; which, in general, is an unpleasant, and has a suspicious appearance. I mention this, that you may the better understand the nature of this part of my character, and which is certainly growing upon me, but which has in it not a single grain of dissatisfaction; but is rather the nest, which a thinking melancholy mind will naturally be forming for its repose.

We yesterday saw Battle Abbey-a wonderful scene, for situation and fine antiquity! I have not met hitherto with any thing equal to it. We climbed, last night, a vast hill, to examine the ruins of an old castle; and to-day I feel QUITE SATIsfied. I want

to see no more SEA, HILLS, FIELDS, ABBEYS, OF CASTLES! I feel VANITY pervading every thing, but ETERNITY and its concerns! and perceive these things to be suited to children very little older than my own. Before I go to, I am in full determination, so far as I perceive it to be the will of God, not to

return back thither the next Sunday. I have accordingly prevailed with my friends to leave me on Monday, that I may devote the whole day to affording spiritual assistance to such as will receive it: and then, on Tuesday, I hope to see Lady the Saturday following, your dear self.

; and, on

You remember my value and admiration of my beautiful silver pencil given me by, and this morning, according to VERY OLD EXPERIENCE, I felt the little idol thrown down. I suppose I lost it on the hills. I hope the next I have made will be a bungling job, and then I shall keep it. Let us remember

Our CHILDREN are PENCILS!

But it is time to stop. There is indeed, something very mean in the spirit's ever exhausting itself about the case which contains it: and though particulars of this sort are of interesting magnitude to a WIFE, they are insipid and unworthy to others.

I could have wished, however, to show you a few scenes which I have passed, which would have been pleasant varieties for the moment, and which, could you have seen them, would have given me double pleasure; but no matter they are VANITY.

While I remain, with an affection that is not vain,
Your's,
R. C.

LETTER IV.

Little James Street.

MY DEAREST LOVE,

I AM just come home; and, having rested a little, it somehow or other came into my head, that I would sit down and write you a letter: not about NOTHING, as you proposed; but about something, even your very great kindness to me in my late illness. I am, indeed, not very apt to express my feelings, but I HAVE them very keen, both to good and evil; and the