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LETTER XXII.

The Answer.

IT

come.

April 20, 1723. T is not possible to express what I think, and

what I feel; only this, that I have thought and felt for nothing but you, for some time past : and shall think of nothing so long for the time to

The greatest comfort I had was an intention (which I would have made practicable) to have attended you in your journey, to which I had brought that person to consent, who only could have hindered me, by a tye which, tho' it may be more tender, I do not think more strong, than that of friendship. But I fear there will be no way left me to tell you this great truth, that I remember you, that I love you, that I am grateful to you, that I entirely esteem and value you: no way but that one, which needs no open warrant to authorize it, or secret conveyance to secure it ; which no bills can preclude, and no Kings prevent; á way that can reach to any part of the world where you may be, where the very whisper or even the with of a friend must not be heard, or even fufpected : by this way, I dare tell my esteem and affection of you, to your enemies in the gates, and you, and they, and their fons, may hear of it.

You prove yourself, my Lord, to know me for the friend I am; in judging that the manner of your Defence, and your Reputation by it, is a point of the highest concern to me: and assuring me, it shall be such, that none of your friends shall blush for you. Let me further prompt you to do yourself the best and most lasting justice: the instruments of

your Fame to posterity will be in your own hands. May it not be, that providence has

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appointed you to fome great and useful work, and calls you to it this severe way? You may more eminently and more effectually serve the Publis even now, than in the stations you have fo honourably fill'a.

Think of Tully, Bacon, and Clarendon *: is it not the latter, the disgraced part of their lives, which you moft envy, and which you would choose to have liv'd ?

I am tenderly sensible of the wish you express, that no part of your misfortune may pursue me. But, God knows, I am every day less and less fond of my native country (so torn as it is by Partyrage) and begin to consider a friend in exile as a friend in death; one gone before, where I am not unwilling nor unprepared to follow after; and where (however various or uncertain the roads and voyages of another world may be) I cannot but entertain a pleasing hope that we may meet again.

I faithfully affure you, that in the mean time there is no one, living or dead, of whom I shall think oftner or better than of you. I shall look upon you as in a state between both, in which you will have from me all the passions and warm wishes that can attend the living, and all the respect and tender sense of loss, that we feel for the dead. And I shall ever depend upon your constant friendship, kind memory, and good offices, tho' I were never to see or hear the effects of them : like the trust we have in benevolent spirits, who, tho' we never fee or hear them, we think, are constantly serving us, and praying for us.

Whenever I am wishing to write to you, I shall conclude you are intentionally doing so to me.

Clarendon indeed wrote his best works in his banishment : but the best of Bacon's were written before his disgrace, and the best of Tully's after his return from exile.

And

And every time that I think of you, I will believe you are thinking of me. I never shall suffer to be forgotten (nay to be but faintly remember'd) the honour, the pleasure, the pride I must ever have, in reflecting how frequently you have delighted me, how kindly you have distinguish'd me, how cordially you have advis’d me! In conversation, in study, I shall always want you, and wish for you: In my most lively, and in my most thoughtful hours, I shall equally bear about me, the impressions of you: And perhaps it will not be in This life only, that I fhall have cause to remember and acknowledge the friendship of the Bishop of Rochester.

I am, &c.

LETTER XXIII.

To the same.

May, 1723 NCE more I write to you, as I promis'd, O , Curtain will soon be drawn between my friend and me, and nothing left but to wish you a long good-night. May you enjoy a state of repose in this life, not unlike that sleep of the soul which fome have believ'd is to succeed it, where we lye utterly forgetful of that world from which we are. gone, and ripening for that to which we are to go. If

you retain any memory of the past, let it only image to you what has pleas'd you beft'; sometimes present a dream of an absent friend, or bring you back an agreeable conversation. But upon the whole, I hope you will think less of the time past than of the future; as the former has been less kind to you

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than the latter infallibly will be. Do not envy the world your Studies; they will tend to the be fiefit of men against whom you can have no complaint, I mean of all Pofterity; and perhaps, at your time of life, nothing else is worth your care. What is every year of a wise man's life but a cenfure or critic on the past ? Those whose date is the fhortest, live long enough to laugh at one half of it : the boy despises the infant, the mari the boy, the philosopher both, and the Christian all. You may now begin to think your manhood was too much a puerility; and you'll never fuffer your age to be but a fecond infancy. The toys and baubles

your childhood are hardly now more below you, than those toys of our riper and of our declining years, the drums and rattles of Ambition, and the dirt and bubbles of Avarice. At this time, when you are cut off from a little society and made a citizen of the world at large, you fould bend your talents not to serve a Party, or a few, but all mankind. Your Genius fhould mount above that mist in which its participation and neighbourhood with earth long involv'd it;. to shine abroad and to heaven, ought to be the business and the glory of your present situation. Remember it was at such a time, that the greateft lights of antiquity dazled and blazed the most, in their retreat, in their ex. ile, or in their death : but why do I talk of dazling or blazing? it was then that they did good, that they gave light, and that they became Guides to mankind.

Those aims alone are worthy of spirits truly great, and fuch I therefore hope will be yours. Resentment indeed may remain, perhaps cannot be quite extinquished, in the noblest minds; but Revenge never will harbour there: higher principles than those of the first, and better principles than those of the latter, will infallibly influence men, VOL. VIII.

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whose

whose thoughts and whofe hearts are en larged, and *cause them to prefer the Whole to any part of •mankind, especially to so small a part as one's single self.

Believe me, my Lord, I look upon you as a fpirit entered into another life *, as one juft upon the "edge of Immortality, where the paffions and affections must be much more exalted, and where you ought to defpise all little views, and all mean retrofpects. Nothing is worth your looking back; and therefore look forward, and make (as you can) the world look after you. But take care that it be not with pity, but with esteem and admiration.

I am with the greatest fincerity, and passion for your fame as well as happiness,

Your, &c.

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LETTER XXIV.
From the Bishop of ROCHESTER.

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Paris, Nov. 23, 1731. . OU will wonder to see me in print ; but

how could I avoid it? The dead and the living, my friends and my foes, at home and abroad, call upon me to say fomething; and the reputation of an | Hiftory which I and all the world value, must have suffered, had I continued filent. I have printed it here, in hopes that fomebody may venture to reprint it in England, notwithstanding

* The Bishop of Rochester went into exile the month following, and continued in it till his death, which happend at Paris, on the fifteenth day of February in the year 1732.

P. # E. of Clarendon's.

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