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enemy the gentlest too, the best natured of mortals, Mr. Cromwell, whom I muft in this compare once more to Auguftus; who feemed not more unlike himself in the severity of one part of his life and the clemency of the other, than you. I leave you to reflect on this, and hope that time (which mollifies rocks, and of stiff things makes limber) will turn a refolute critic to a gentle reader; and instead of this pofitive, tremendous new-fashioned Mr. Cromwell, reftore unto us our old acquaintance, the foft, beneficent, and courteous Mr. Cromwell.

I expect much, towards the civilizing of you in your critical capacity, from the innocent air and tranquillity of our Foreft, when you do me the favour to visit it. In the mean time, it would do well by way of preparative, if you would duly and conftantly every morning read over a pastoral of Theocritus or Virgil; and let the lady Isabella put your Macrobius and Aulus Gellius fomewhere out of your way, for a month or fo. Who knows but travelling and long airing in an open field, may contribute more fuccessfully to the cooling a critic's severity, than it did to the affuaging of Mr. Cheek's anger of old? In thefe fields, you will be fecure of finding no enemy, but the moft faithful and affectionate of your friends,

etc.

LETTER XIII.

May 17, 1710.

AFTER I had recovered from a dangerous illness,

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which was firft contracted in town about a fortnight after my coming hither, I troubled you with a letter and paper inclosed which you had been fo obliging as to defire a fight of when last I saw you, promifing me in return fome tranflations of yours from Ovid. Since when I have not had a syllable from your hands, fo that 'tis to be feared that though I have escaped death, I have not oblivion. I fhould at least have expected you to have finished that elegy upon me, which you told me you was upon the point of beginning when I was fick in London; if you will but do so much for me first, I will give you leave to forget me afterwards; and for my own part will die at discretion, and at my leifure. But I fear I must be forced, like many learned authors, to write my own epitaph, if I would be remembered at all. Monfieur de la Fontaine's would fit me to a hair, but it is a kind of facrilege (do you think it is not ?) to steal epitaphs. In my prefent living dead condition nothing would be properer than Oblitufque meorum, oblivifcendus et illis, but that unluckily I can't forget.

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" Verses on Silence, in imitation of the Earl of Rochester's poem on Nothing; done at fourteen years old.

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my friends, and the civilities I received from yourself, and fome others. They fay indeed 'tis one quality of generous minds to forget the obligation they have conferred, and perhaps too it may be so to forget thofe on whom they conferred 'em: then indeed I must be forgotten to all intents and purposes! I am, it must be owned, dead in a natural capacity, according to Mr. Bickerstaff; dead in a poetical capacity, as a damned author; and dead in a civil capacity, as a useless member of the Commonwealth. But reflect, dear Sir, what melancholy effects may enfue, if dead men are not civil to one another! If he who has nothing to do himself will not comfort and fupport another in his idlenefs: if those who are to die themselves, will not now and then pay the charity of visiting a tomb and a dead friend, and ftrowing a few flowers over him: in the fhades where I am, the inhabitants have a mutual compaffion for each other ; being all alike Inanes; we faunter to one another's habitations, and daily affift each other in doing nothing at all. This I mention for your edification and example, that all alive as you are, you may not fometimes difdain-defipere in loco. Though you are no Papist, and have not fo much regard to the dead as to address yourself to them, (which I plainly perceive by your filence,) yet I hope you are not one of those heterodox, who hold them to be totally infenfible of the good offices and kind wishes of their living friends, and to be in a dull ftate of fleep with

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out one dream of those they left behind them. If you are, let this letter convince you to the contrary, which affures you, I am still, though in a state of separation, Your, etc.

P. S. This letter of deaths, puts me in mind of poor Mr. Betterton's *; over whom I would have this sentence of Tully for an epitaph, which will ferve him as well in his Moral, as his Theatrical capacity.

Vitæ bene actæ jucundiffima eft recordatio.

* This excellent man, and excellent actor, hastened his death by repelling a fit of the gout, which he did to enable himself to act, for his own benefit, the part of Melantius, in the Maid's Tragedy. This was on the 25th of April 1710; and though he performed this his favourite part with great spirit, yet the diftemper feized his head, and he died on the 28th of May following. The beft paper that Steele wrote in the Tatler, No. 167, contains an account of his death, and the splendid ceremony of his interment in Westminster Abbey. Voltaire speaks in high terms of the good sense of the English in paying such honours to deceased actors; and seriously animadverts on his countrymen, for their bigotted and illiberal practice of even denying them Chriftian burial. Mr. Garrick merited, and obtained, the fame funeral honours, and was followed to Westminster Abbey by a great concourse of those friends and fpectators, whom he had fo often moved and delighted. An old frequenter of the theatre informed me, that the last time Betterton appeared on the ftage, the curiofity of the public was fo much excited, that many fpectators got into the playhouse by nine o'clock in the morning, and carried with them provifions for the day.

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LETTER XIV.

June 24, 1710.

IS

Tis very natural for a young friend, and a young lover, to think the perfons they love have nothing to do but to please them; when perhaps they, for their parts, had twenty other engagements before. This was my cafe when I wondered I did not hear from you; but I no fooner received your fhort letter, but I forgot your long filence: and fo many fine things as you faid of me could not but have wrought a cure on my own ficknefs, if it had not been of the nature of that which is deaf to the voice of the charmer. 'Twas impoffible you could have better timed your compliment on my philosophy; it was certainly propereft to commend me for it just when I most needed it, and when I could be leaft proud of ît; that is, when I was in pain. 'Tis not eafy to exprefs what an exaltation it gave to my fpirits, above all the cordials of my doctor; and 'tis no compliment to tell you, that your compliments were sweeter than the sweetest of his juleps and fyrups. But if you will not believe fo much,

Pour le moins, votre compliment
M'a foulagé dans ce moment;
Et des qu'on me l'est venu faire
J'ai chaffé mon apoticaire,
Et renvoyé mon lavement.

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