In all this, and in other such instances, a faithful biographer must see the traces of a good deal of mere jealousy. It is quite an exceptional instance in the life of Watts, and it must seem singular that so sweet and gentle a nature should have suffered from the misrepresentations of any, and Bradbury has perhaps, even in his grave, been the most abiding enemy to Watts’ reputation. It seems scarcely probable that the Unitarians could have so audaciously claimed our writer as their own, had not Bradbury set them a wicked example in his sermons. One of the most affecting and earnest passages in the correspondence of Watts is his remonstrance with his unjust brother against unseemly attacks upon him, and misrepresentations of his opinions. Watts, so far as we can see, was never either discourteous or unjust; but he bitterly felt it that while, by his hymns and his treatises, he was attempting to shake the ground of the Arian heresy, his name was, from the pulpit and the pen, covered with obloquy as injuring and shaking the foundations of the most exalted faith in Christ. Bradbury was not concerned to reply to arguments, but in a right-down vehement manner to denounce those from whom he differed. He was no metaphysician. Turning over the many volumes of his sermons, we find them all characterized by strong evangelical statement, a very happy arrangement of thoughts, and great lucidity and apt readiness of expression. He never passed beyond the sense or culture of an ordinary audience; it must also be said that he never put the bridle on his wit. He was a man who could never find himself in the wrong, and who must always have the last word, and that word a disagreeable one. In a most extraordinary manner he could write and say the most abusive and bitter things, and seem quite surprised that the person to whom they were addressed did not take them as expressions of kindness. He tells Watts that he is “profane, conceited, impudent, and pragmatical;” he says: “You are mistaken if you think I ever knew, and much less admired, your mangling, garbling, transforming, etc., so many of your Songs of Zion; your notions about psalmody, and your satirical flourishes in which you express them, are fitter for one who pays no regard to inspiration, than for a Gospel minister, as I may hereafter show in a more public way.” And when Watts mildly demurred to this as a personal reflection, he says, in reply: “Should any one take the liberty of burlesquing your poetry, as you have done that of the Most High God, you might call it personal reflection indeed; when I consider that most of those expressions are adopted either by the New Testament or the evangelical prophets, I tremble at your mowing them together, as you were resolved to make the Songs of Zion ridiculous.” Again he says: “Do you think that the ministers of London are to stand still while you tear in pieces eight great Articles of their faith? And must every one