me to Bermudas †, the feat of all earthly happiness, and the new Jerufalem of the righteous.

Don't talk of the decay of the year, the season is good where the people are fo: 'tis the best time in the year for a painter; there is more variety of colours in the leaves, the profpects begin to open, thro' the thinner woods, over the valleys; and thro' the high canopies of trees to the higher arch of heaven: the dews of the morning impearl every thorn, and scatter diamonds on the verdant mantle of the earth; the frofts are fresh and wholesome : what would you have? the Moon shines too, tho' not for Lovers thefe cold nights, but for Aftrono

mers.

Have ye not reflecting Telescopes t, whereby ye may innocently magnify her fpots and blemishes ? Content yourselves with them, and do not come to a place where your own eyes become reflecting Telescopes, and where thofe of all others are equally fuch upon their neighbours. Stay you at least (for what I've faid before relates only to the ladies: don't imagine I'll write about any Eyes but theirs) ftay, I fay, from that idle, bufy-looking Sanhedrim, where wifdom or no wisdom is the eternal debate, not (as it lately was in Ireland) an accidental one.

you

If, after all, you will defpife good advice, and refolve to come to London, here will find me, doing just the things I fhould not, living where I fhould not, and as worldly, as idle, in a word as much an Anti-Bermudanist as any body. Dear Sir, make the ladies know I am their servant, you know I am Yours, &c.

† About this time the Rev. Dean Berkley conceived his project of erecting a fettlement in Bermudas for the Propagation of the Chriftian faith, and introduction of Sciences into America.

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Thefe inftruments were juft then brought to per

fection.

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LETTER XVI.

Aug. 12.

I

Have been above a month ftrolling about in Buckinghamshire and Oxfordshire, from garden to garden, but ftill returning to Lord Cobham's with fresh fatisfaction. I fhould be forry to fee my Lady Scudamore's, till it has had the full advantage of Lord B* improvements; and then I will expect fomething like the waters of Rifkins, and the woods of Oakley together, which (without flattery) would be at least as good as any thing in our world: For as to the hanging gardens of Babylon, the Paradife of Cyrus, and the Sharawaggi's of China, I have little or no ideas of them, but, I dare fay, Lord B* has, because they were certainly both very great, and very wild. I hope Mrs. Mary Digby is quite tired of his Lordship's Extravagante Bergerie: and that she is just now fitting, or rather reclining on a bank, fatigued with over much dancing and finging at his unwearied request and inftigation. I know your love of eafe so well, that you might be in danger of being too quiet to enjoy quiet, and too philofophical to be a philofopher; were it not for the ferment Lord B. will put you into. One of his Lordship's maxims is, that a total abftinence from intemperance or bufinefs, is no more philofophy, than a total confopition of the fenfes is repofe; one muft feel enough of its contrary to have a relish of either. But, after all, let your temper work, and be as fedate and contemplative as you will, I'll engage you fhall be fit for any of us, when you come to town in the winter. Folly will laugh you into all the customs of the company here; nothing will be able to prevent your converfion to her, but indifpofition, which, I hope, will be far from you. I

am telling the worst that can come of you; for as to vice, you are fafe; but folly is many an honest man's, nay every good-humour'd man's lot: nay, it is the feasoning of life; and fools (in one sense) are the falt of the earth: a little is excellent, tho' indeed a whole mouthful is juftly call'd the Devil.

So much for your diverfions next winter, and for mine. I envy you much more at present, than I fhall then; for if there be on earth an image of paradife, it is fuch perfect Union and Society as you all poffefs. I would have my innocent envies and wishes of your state known to you all; which is far better than making you compliments, for it is inward approbation and esteem. My Lord Digby has in me a fincere fervant, or would have, were there any occafion for me to manifest it.

LETTER XVII.

Decemb. 28, 1724.

T is now the season to wish you a good end of

one year, and a happy beginning of another : but both these you know how to make yourself, by only continuing fuch a life as you have been long accustomed to lead. As for good works, they are things I dare not name, either to those that do them, or to those that do them not; the firft are too modeft, and the latter too felfifh, to bear the mention of what are become either too old fashion'd, or too private, to conftitute any part of the vanity or reputation of the prefent age. However, it were to be wifh'd people would now and then look upon good works as they do upon old wardrobes, merely in cafe any of them fhould by chance come into fashion again; as ancient fardingales revive in modern hoop'd petticoats, (which may be properly compared

compared to charities, as they cover a multitude of fins.)

They tell me that at Coleshill certain antiquated charities, and obfolete devotions are yet fubfifting: that a thing call'd Chriftian chearfulness (not incompatible with Christmas-pyes and plumb-broth) whereof frequent is the mention in old fermons and almanacks, is really kept alive and in practice: that feeding the hungry, and giving alms to the poor, do yet make a part of good house-keeping, in a latitude not more remote from London than fourscore miles and lastly, that prayers and roast-beef actually make fome people as happy, as a whore and a bottle. But here in town, I affure you, men, women, and children have done with these things. Charity not only begins, but ends, at home. Inftead of the four cardinal virtues, now reign four courtly ones: we have cunning for prudence, rapine for juftice, time-serving for fortitude, and luxury for temperance. Whatever you may fancy where you live in a state of ignorance, and fee nothing but quiet, religion, and good-humour, the cafe is just as I tell you where people understand the world, and know how to live with credit and glory.

I wish that Heaven would open the eyes of men, and make them fenfible which of thefe is right; whether, upon a due conviction, we are to quit faction, and gaming, and high-feeding, and all manner of luxury, and take to your country way? or you to leave prayers, and almfgiving, and reading, and exercife, and come into our measures? I wifh (I fay) that this matter were as clear to all men, as it is to

Your affectionate, &c.

I

LETTER XVIII.

DEAR SIR,

April 21, 1726. Have a great inclination to write to you, tho' I cannot by writing, any more than I could by words, exprefs what part I bear in your fufferings. Nature and Efteem in you are join'd to aggravate your affliction: the latter I have in a degree equal even to yours, and a tye of friendship approaches near to the tenderness of nature: yet, God knows, no man living is lefs fit to comfort you, as no man is more deeply sensible than myself of the greatness of the lofs. That very virtue, which fecures his present state from all the forrows incident to ours, does but aggrandize our fenfation of its being remov'd from our fight, from our affection, and from our imitation; for the friendship and fociety of good Men does not only make us happier, but it makes us better. Their death does but complete their felicity before our own, who probably are not yet arrived to that degree of perfection which merits an immediate reward. That your dear brother and my dear friend was fo, I take his very removal to be a proof; Providence would certainly lend virtuous men to a world that so much wants them, as long as in its justice to them it could spare them to us. May my foul be with those who have meant well, and have acted well to that meaning! and, I doubt not, if this prayer be granted, I shall be with him. Let us preferve his memory in the way he would beft like, by recollecting what his behaviour would have been, in every incident of our lives to come, and doing in each just as we think he would

Mr. Digby died in the year 1726, and is buried in the church of Sherburne in Dorsetshire, with an Epitaph written by the Author.

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