a moft honeft heart; fo honeft an one, that I wish her Mafter had none lefs honeft about him. The world after all is a little pitiful thing; not performing any one promife it makes us, for the future, and every day taking away and annulling the joys of the past. Let us comfort one another, and, if poffible, study to add as much more friendship to each other, as death has deprived us of in him. I promise you more and more of mine, which will be the way to deferve more and more of yours.

I purposely avoid faying more. The fubject is beyond writing upon, beyond cure or eafe by reafon or reflection, beyond all but one thought, that it is the will of God.

So will the death of my Mother be! which now I tremble at, now refign to, now bring close to me, now fet farther off: Every day alters, turns me about, and confufes my whole frame of mind. Her dangerous diftemper is again return'd, her fever coming onward again, tho' lefs in pain; for which last however I thank God.

I am unfeignedly tired of the world, and receive nothing to be called a pleasure in it, equivalent to countervail either the death of one I have fo long lived with, or of one I have fo long lived for. I have nothing left/ but to turn my thoughts to one comfort; the last we usually think of, tho' the only one we should in wisdom depend upon, in fuch a disappointing place as this. I fit in her room, and she is always prefent before me, but when I fleep. I wonder I am so well: I have shed many tears, but now I'weep at nothing. I would above all things fee you, and think it would comfort you to fee me fo equal-temper'd and fo quiet. But pray dine here; you may, and she know nothing of it, for the dozes much, and we tell her of no earthly thing, lest

it run in her mind, which often trifles have done. If Mr. Bethell had time, I wish he were your companion hither. Be as much as you can with each other: Be affur'd I love you both, and be farther affur'd, that friendship will increase as I live on.

LETTER XXIX.

To HUGH BETHEL, Efq;

July 12, 1723.

Affure you unfeignedly any memorial of your goodnature and friendliness is most welcome to me, who know thofe tenders of affection from you are not like the common traffic of compliments and profeffions, which most people only give that they may receive; and is at best a commerce of Vanity, if not of Falsehood. I am happy in not immediately wanting the fort of good offices you offer: but if I did want them, I should not think myself unhappy in receiving them at your hands: this really is fome compliment, for I would rather moft men did me a small injury, than a kindness. I know your humanity, and allow me to fay, I love and value you for it: "Tis a much better ground of love and value, than all the qualities I fee the world fo fond of: They generally admire in the wrong place, and generally most admire the things they don't comprehend, or the things they can never be the better for. Very few can receive pleasure or advantage from wit which they feldom tafte, or learning which they seldom understand: much lefs from the quality, high birth, or fhining circumftances of thofe to whom they profess esteem, and who will always remember how much they are their Inferiors. But humanity and fociable virtues are what every creature wants every day.

and still wants more the longer he lives, and most the very moment he dies. It is ill travelling either in a ditch or on a terras; we fhould walk in the common way, where others are continually paffing on the fame level, to make the journey of life fupportable by bearing one another company in the fame circumftances.-Let me know how I may convey over the Ody ffeys for your amusement in your journey, that you may compare your own travels with thofe of Ulyffes; I am fure yours are undertaken upon a more difinterested, and therefore a more heroic motive. Far be the omen from you, of returning, as he did, alone, without faving a friend.

There is lately printed a book * wherein all human virtue is reduced to one teft, that of Truth, and branch'd out in every inftance of our duty to God and man. If you have not feen it, you must, and I will fend it together with the Odyffey. The very women read it, and pretend to be charmed with that beauty which they generally think the leaft of. They make as much ado about truth, fince this book appear'd, as they did about health when Dr. Cheyne's came out; and will doubtless be as conftant in the pursuit of one, aa of the other. Adieu.

I

LETTER XXX.

To the fame.

Aug. 9, 1726.

Never am unmindful of thofe I think fo well of as yourself; their number is not fo great as to confound one's memory. Nor ought you to decline writing to

* Mr. Wollafton's excellent book of the Religion of Nature delineated. The Queen was fond of it, and that made the reading, and the talking of it, fashionable.

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me, upon an imagination, that I am much employed by other people. For though my houfe is like the house of a Patriarch of old, ftanding by the highway-fide and receiving all travellers, neverthelefs I feldom go to bed without the reflection, that one's chief bufinefs is to be really at home and I agree with you in your opinion of company, amufements, and all the filly things which mankind would fain make pleasures of, when in truth they are labour and forrow.

I condole with you on the death of your Relation, the E. of C. as on the fate of a mortal man: Esteem I never had for him, but concern and humanity I had: the latter was due to the infirmity of his laft period, tho' the former was not due to the triumphant and vain part of his courfe. He certainly knew himself best at last, and knew beft the little value of others, whofe neglect of him, whom they fo grofsly follow'd and flatter'd in the former fcene of his life, fhew'd him as worthless as they could imagine him to be, were he all that his worst enemies believ'd of him: For my own part, I am forry for his death, and with he had lived long enough to see so much of the faithleffness of the world, as to have been above the mad ambition of governing fuch wretches as he must have found it to be compos'd of.

Tho' you could have no great value for this Great man, yet acquaintance itfelf, the cuftom of feeing the face, or entering under the roof, of one that walks along with us in the common way of the world, is enough to create a wish at least for his being above ground, and a degree of uneafinefs at his removal. "Tis the lofs of an object familiar to us: I should hardly care to have an old poft puil'd up, that I remember'd ever fince I was a child. And add to this the reflection (in the case of such as were not the best of their Species) what their condition in another life may be, it is yet a

more important motive for our concern and compaffion. To fay the truth, either in the cafe of death or life, almost every body and every thing is a caufe or object for humanity, even prosperity itself, and health itself; fo many weak pitiful incidentals attend on them.

I am forry any relation of yours is ill, whoever it be, for you don't name the person. But I conclude it is one of those to whofe houfes, you tell me, you are going, for I know no invitation with you is fo ftrong as when any one is in distress, or in want of your affiftance: The strongest proof in the world of this, was your attendance on the late Earl.

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I have been very melancholy for the lofs of Mr.Blount. Whoever has any portion of good-nature will fuffer on thefe occafions; but a good mind rewards its own fufferings. I hope to trouble you as little as poffible, if it be my fate to go before you. I am of old Ennius's mind, Nemo me decoret lachrymis-I am but a Lodger here this is not an abiding city, I am only to stay out my leafe for what has Perpetuity and mortal man to do with each other? but I could be glad you would take up with an Inn at Twitenham, as long as I am Hoft of it if not, I would take up freely with any Inn of yours.-Adieu, dear Sir: Let us while away this life and (if we can) meet in another.

LETTER XXXI.

To the fame.

June 24, 1727.

γου are too humane and confiderate (things few

people can be charged with). Do not say you will not expect letters from me; upon my word I can no more forbear writing fometimes to you, than thinking