You do me too much honour, dear Sir, in proposing to me to furnish you with observations on ⸺, which you are so much more capable of executing yourself. I flatter myself you do not think me vain enough to attempt it. Your own learning, and your familiarity with all the classic authors, render you more proper for the task than any man. I, on the contrary, am most unqualified. It is long since I have been conversant with classic literature—Greek I have quite forgotten; but, above all, I hold Seventy-five so debilitating an age to whatever may have been taken for parts, and have so long pitied authors of Senilia, that I am sure I will not degrade your work by mixing my dregs with it; nor, by your good nature and good breeding, lay you under the difficulty of admitting or rejecting what you probably would find unworthy of being adopted. I have great satisfaction in reading what you write; but beg to be excused from writing for you to read. Most entirely do I agree with you, Sir, on all French politics, and their consequences here—it is indeed to be forced to call assassinations and massacres, politics. It is my opinion, like yours, that homicides should be received no where, much less monsters who proclaim rewards for murderers.—What can put a stop to such horrors sooner than shutting every country upon earth against unparalleled criminals? There may be inconveniencies, no doubt, from a vast influx of the present poor refugees, but I confess I see more advantages. They will spread their own, and the calamities of their country—a necessary service, when some newspapers, paid by Jacobin, perhaps by Presbyterian, money, labour to defend, or conceal, or palliate such infernal scenes, which can only be done by men who would kindle like tragedies here. The sufferers that arrive, many being conscientious ecclesiastics, must, I should hope, be a warning to the Catholics in Ireland not to be the tools of the Dissenters there, and of another use they may certainly be: they will be the fittest and surest detectors of their diabolic countrymen, who are labouring mischief here, both openly and covertly. Of their covert transactions we have a gloomy proof in the Drawer, who, having subscribed a guinea to the defence of Poland, and redemanding it, received a guinea’s worth of Paine’s pamphlet in return. This fact evinces that the opening of that subscription was not, as it seemed to be, the most ridiculously impotent attempt that ever was made, but a deep-laid plan of political swindling. Had it produced a thousand or five thousand pounds, it would have removed Mount Athos as soon as have stopped one Russian soldier. No! under colour of pity towards the honest and to be lamented Poles, it is evident that it was a scheme for raising a new sum for