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who has lost a man of a most honeft heart; so honest an one, that I wilh her Master had none less honest about him. The world, after all, is a little pitiful thing; not performing any one promise 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 possible, study to add as much more friendiship to each other, as death has deprived us of in him mise you more and more of mine, which will be the way to deserve more and more of yours.
I purposely avoid saying more. The subject is beyond writing upon, beyond cure or ease by reason 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 relign to, pow bring close to me, now set farther off: Every day alters, turns me about, and confuses my whole frame of mind. Her dangerous distemper is again return'd, her fever coming onward again, tho' less 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 so long li. ved with, or of one I have so 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 such a disappointing place as this. I sit in her room, and she is always present before me but when I sleep. I wonder I am fo
well: I have shed many tears, but now I weep at no• thing. I would above all things see you, and think it would comfort you to see me fo equal-temper'd and so quiet.
pray Jine here; you may, and she know nothing of it, for she dozes much, and we tell her of no earthly thing, lest it run in her mind, which often trifles have done. If Mr Bethel had time, I wish he were your companion hither. Be as much as you can with each other : Be assur'd I love you both, and be farther affur'd, that friendship will increase as I live on.
L E T T E R XXIX.
July 12. 17230 Assure you unfeignedly any memorial of your good
nature and friendliness is most welcome to me, who know those tenders of affection from you are not like the common traffic of compliments and professions, which most people only give, that they may receivc; and is at belt 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 myfelf unhappy in receiving them at your hands: this really is some compliment, for I would rather most men did me a small injury, than a kindness. I know your humanity, and, allow me to say, I love and value you for it: 'Tis a much better ground of love and value, than all the qualities Vol. VI.
'I see the world so 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 seldom taste, or learning which they seldom understand: much less from the quality, high birth, or shining circumstances of those to whom they profess esteem, and who will always remember how much they are their inferiors. But Humanity and sociable 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 should walk in the common way, where others are continue ally passing on the fame level, to make the journey of life supportable, by bearing one another company in the fame circumstances.—Let me know how I may convey over the Odyssey for your amusement in your journey, that you inay compare your own travels with those of Ulysses: I am sure 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 saving a friend.
"There is lately printed a book * wherein all human virtue is reduced to one test, that of Truth, and branch'd out in every instance of our duty to God and
If you have not seen it, you must, and I will * Mr Wollaston's book of the Religion of Nature delineated. The Queen was fond of it, and that made the reading, and the * talking of it, fashionable.
send it together with the Odyssey. The very women read it, and pretend to be charmed with that beauty which they generally think the least of. They make as much ado about truth, since this book appear'd, as they did about health when Dr Cheyne's came out ; and will doubtless be as constant in the pursuit of the one, as of the other. Adieu.
L E T TER XXX.
To the fame.
Aug. 9. 1726.
yourself; their number is not so great as to confound one's memory. Nor ought you to decline writing to me, upon an imagination, that I am much employed by other people. For tho'my house is like the house of a Patriarch of old, standing by the highway lide and receiving all travellers, nevertheless I leldom go to bed without the reflection, that one's chief business is to be really at home: and I agree
you in your opinion of coinpany, amusements, and all the silly things which mankind would fain make pleasures of, when in truth they are labour and sorrow.
I condole with you on the death of your Relation, the E. of C. as on the fate of a inortal man: Esteem I never had for him, but concern and humanity I had: the latter was due to the infirmity of his last period, tho' the former was not due to the triumphant and vain part of his course. He certainly knew himself
best at last, and knew best the little value of others, whose neglet of him, whom they fo grolly follow'd and Natter'd in the former scene of his life, shew'd them 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 sorry for his death, and wish he had lived long enough to see so much of the faithlessness of the world, as to have been above the inad 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 itself, the cuftom of seeing 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 uneasiness at his removal. 'Tis the loss of an object familiar to us: I should hardly care to have an old poft pull’d up, that I remember'd ever since 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 compaflion. To say the truth, either in the cafe of death or life, almoft every body and every thing is a cause 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 whose houses, you tell me, you are