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and kissed Mrs.
E a t Mr. D 's, but, he says it will not do, and that he loves you as much as ever.
To the same. T F you ask how the waters agree with me, I must I tell you so very well, that I question how you and I should agree if we were in a room by ourë felves. Mrs. has honestly assured me, that but for some whims which he can't entirely conquer, she would go and see the world with me in man's cloaths. Even you, Madam, I fancy (if you would not partake in our adventures) would wait our coming in at the evening with some impatience, and be well enough pleas'd to hear them by the fire-side. That would be better than reading romances, unless lady M. would be our historian. What raises these desires in me, is an acquaintance I am beginning with my lady Sandwich, who has all the spirit of the last age, and all the gay experience of a pleasurable life. It were as scandalous an omission to come to the Bath and not to see my lady Sandwich, as it had formerly been to have travelled to Rome without visiting the Queen of Sweden. She is, in a word, the beit thing this country has to boast of; and as she has been all that a woman of spirit could be, so
the still continues that easy and independent creature that a fenfible woman always will be
I must tell you a truth, which is not, however, much to my credit. I never thought so much of yourself and your sister, as fince I have been fourfcore miles distance from you. In the Forest I look'd upon you as good neighbours, at London as pretty kind of women, but here as divinities, angels, goddesses, or what you will. In the same manner, I never knew at what rate I valued your life, till you were opon the point of dying. If Mrs. ---- and you will but fall very fick every season, I shall certainly die for you. Seriously I value you both so much, that I efteem others much the less for your sakes; you have robb’d me of the pleasure of esteeming a thousand pretty qualities in them, by showing me fo many finer in yourselves. There are but two things in the world which could make you indifferent to me, which, I believe, you are not ca. pable of, I mean ill-nature and malice. I have seen enough of you, not to overlook any frailty you could have, and nothing less than a vice can make me like you lefs. I expect you should discover by my conduct towards you both, that this is true, and that therefore you should pardon a thousand things in me for that one disposition. Expect nothing from me but truth and freedom, and I fall always be thought by you what I always am,
To the fame.
1714. T Return'd home as flow and as contemplative after 1 I had parted from you, as my Lord * retired from the Court and glory to his Country-feat and wife, a week ago. I found here a dismal desponding letter from the son of another great courtier who expects the same fate, and who tells me the great ones of the earth will now take it very kindly of the mean ones, if they will favour them with a visit by day-light. With what joy would they lay down all their schemes of glory, did they but know you have the generosity to drink their healths once a day, as soon as they are fallen? Thus the unhappy, by the fole merit of their misfortunes, become the care of Heaven and you. I intended to have put this last into verse, but in this age of ingratitude my best friends forfake me, I mean my rhymes.
I defire Mrs. Po to stay her stomach with these half hundred Plays, till I can procure her a Romance big enough to satisfy her great foul with adventures. As for Novels, I fear she can depend upon none: from me but that of my Life, which I am still, as I have been, contriving all possible methods to shorten, for the greater esse both of the historian and the reader. May the believe all the passion and tenderness expreís'd in these romance's to be but. a faint:
image of what I bear her, and may you (who read nothing) take the same truth upon hearing it from me. You will both injure me very much, if you don't think me a truer friend, than ever any romantic lover, or any imitator of their style could be.
The days of beauty are as the days of greatness, and so long all the world are your adorers. I am one of those unambitious people, who will love you forty years hence when your eyes begin to twinkle in a retirement, and without the vanity which every one now will take to be thought
THE more I examine my own mind, the more
1 romantic I find myself. . Methinks it is a noble spirit of contradiction to Fate and Fortune, not to give up those that are snatched from us ; but to follow them the more, the farther they are remov'd from the sense of it. Sure, Flattery never travelled so far as three thousand miles ; it is now only for Truth, which overtakes all things, to reach you at this distance. 'Tis a generous piece of Po. pery, that pursues even those who are to be eternally absent into another world ; whether you think it right or wrong, you'll own the very extravagance a sort of piety. I can't be satisfied with strowing flowers over you, and barely honouring you as a thing lost: but must consider you as a glorious tho' remote being, and be sending addresses after you. You have carried away so much of me, that what remains is daily languishing and dying over my acquaintance here, and, I believe, in three or four months more I shall think Aurat Bazar as good a a place as Covent-Garden. You may imagine this is raillery, but I am really so far gone as to take pleasure in reveries of this kind. Let them say I am ro. mantic, so is every one said to be, that either admires a fine thing or does one. On my conscience, as the world goes, 'tis hardly worth any body's while to do one for the honour of it: Glory, the only pay of generous actions, is now as ill paid as other juf debts; and neither Mrs. Macfarland for immolating her lover, nor you, for constancy to your lord, must ever hope to be compared to Lucretia or Portia.
I write this in some anger; for having, since you went, frequented those people most, who seemed most in your favour, I heard nothing that concerned you talked of so often, as that you went away in a black full-bottom'd wig; which I did but assert to be a bob, and was answered, Love is blind. I am persuaded your wig had never suffered this criticisin, bat on the score of your head, and the two eyes that are in it.
Pray when you write to me, talk of yourself; there is nothing I so much desire to hear of: talk a great deal of yourself; that she who I always