and fome in Horfes, but we will invocate the name of

the Lord.

T

LETTER XII.

HE weather is too fine for any one that loves the country to leave it at this feafon; when every fmile of the fun, like the fmile of a coy lady, is as dear as it is uncommon and I am so much in the taste of rural pleasures, I had rather fee the fun than any thing he can fhew me, except your felf. I defpife every fine thing in town, not excepting your new gown, till I fee you drefs'd in it (which by the way I don't like the better for the red; the leaves I think are very pretty.) I am growing fit, I hope, for a better world, of which the light of the fun is but a fhadow for I doubt not but God's works here, are what come nearest to his works there; and that a true relish of the beauties of nature is the most easy preparation and gentleft tranfition to an enjoyment of those of heaven: as on the contrary a true town-life of hurry, confufion, noife, flander, and diffenfion, is a fort of apprenticeship to hell and its furies. I'm endeavouring to put my mind into as quiet a fituation as I can, to be ready to receive that ftroke which I believe is coming upon me, and have fully refign'd my felf to yield to it. The feparation of my foul and body is what I could think of with lefs pain; for I am very fure he that made it will take care of it, and in whatever ftate he pleases it fhall be, that flate muft be right: But I cannot think without tears of being separated from my friends, when their condition is fo K 4

doubtful

doubtful, that they may want even fuch affiftance as mine. Sure it is more merciful to take from us after death all memory of what we lov'd or purfu'd here for elfe what a torment would it be to a spirit, ftill to love thofe creatures it is quite divided from ? Unless we fuppose, that in a more exalted life, all that we esteemed in this imperfect ftate will affect us no more, than what we lov'd in our infancy concerns us

now.

This is an odd way of writing to a lady, and I'm fenfible would throw me under a great deal of ridicule, were you to show this letter among your acquaintance. But perhaps you may not yourself be quite a stranger to this way of thinking. I heartily with your life may be fo long and fo happy, as never to let you think quite fo far as I am now led to do; but to think a little towards it, is what will make you the happier and the easier at all times.

There are no pleasures or amusements that I don't wish you, and therefore 'tis no small grief to me that I fhall for the future be less able to partake with you in them. But let fortune do her worft, whatever she makes us lofe, as long as fhe never makes us lofe our honefty and our independence; I defpife from my heart whoever parts with the first, and I pity from my foul whoever quits the latter.

I am griev'd at Mr. G's condition in this laft refpect of dependence. He has Merit, Goodnature, and Integrity, three qualities that I fear are too often loft upon great men; or at least are not all three a match for that one which is oppos'd to them, Flattery. I wish it may not foon or late difplace him from the favour he now poffeffes, and feems to like. I'm fure his late action deferves eternal favour and esteem: Lord Bathurst was charm'd with it, who came hither

to

to fee me before his journey. He ask'd and spoke very particularly of you. To morrow Mr. Fortescue comes to me from London about B's fuit in forma pauperis. That poor man looks ftarv'd: he tells me you have been charitable to him. Indeed 'tis wanted; the poor creature can scarce ftir or speak; and I apprehend he will die, just as he gets something to live upon. Adieu.

T

* LETTER XIII.

HIS is a day of wishes for you, and I hope you have long known, there is not one good one which I do not form in your behalf. Every year that paffes, I wifh fome things more for my friends, and fome things lefs for myself. Yet were I to tell you what I wish for you in particular, it wou'd be only to repeat in profe, what I told you laft year in rhyme; (fo fincere is my poetry:) I can only add, that as I then wifh'd you a friend, I now wish that friend were Mrs

Abfence is a fhort kind of death; and in either, one can only with, that the friends we are feparated from, may be happy with those that are left them. I am therefore very follicitous that you may pass much agreeable time together: I am forry to fay I envy you no other companion; tho' I hope you have others that you like; and I am always pleas'd in that hope, when it is not attended with any fears on your own account.

I was troubled to leave you both, juft as I fancy'd we should begin to live together in the country. 'Twas a little like dying the moment one had got all

one defir'd in this world. Yet I go away with one generous fort of fatisfaction, that what I part with, you are to inherit.

I know you wou'd both be pleas'd to hear fome certain news of a friend departed; to have the adventures of his paffage, and the new regions thro' which he travell'd, defcrib'd; and upon the whole, to know, that he is as happy where he now is, as while he liv'd among you. But indeed I (like many a poor unprepar'd foul) have feen nothing I like fo well as what I left: No fcenes of paradise, no happy bowers, equal to those on the banks of the Thames. Wherever I wander, one reflection ftrikes me: I with you were as free as I; or at least had a tye as tender, and as reasonable as mine, to a relation that as well delerved your conftant thought, and to whom you wou'd be always pull'd back (in fuch a manner as I am) by the heart-ftring. I have never been well fince I fet out; but don't tell my Mother fo; it will trouble her too much: And as probably the fame reafon may prevent her fending a true account of her health to me, I muft defire you to acquaint me. I wou'd gladly hear the country air improves your own; but don't flatter me when you are ill, that I may be the better fatisfy'd when you fay you are well: for these are things in which one may be fincerer to a reasonable friend, than to a fond and partial parent. Adieu.

Y

* LETTER XIV.

YOU can't be furpriz'd to find in a dull cor

a dull

a dull companion. And tho' I am pretty fenfible, that if I have any wit, I may as well write to fhow it, as not; yet I'll content my felf with giving you as plain a hiftory of my pilgrimage, as Purchas himself, or as John Bunyan could do of his walking through the wilderness of this world, &c.

First then I went by water to Hampton-Court, unattended by all but my own virtues; which were not of fo modeft a nature as to keep themfelves, or me, conceal'd: For I met the prince with all his ladies on horfeback, coming from hunting. Mrs. B* and Mrs. L* took me into protection (contrary to the laws against harbouring Papifts) and gave me a dinner, (with fomething I lik'd better, an opportunity of converfation with Mrs. H*. We all agreed that the life of a Maid of honour was of all things the moft miferable; and wifh'd that every woman who envy'd it, had a specimen of it. To eat Weftphalia-ham in a morning, ride over hedges and ditches on borrow'd hacks, come home in the heat of the day with a feaver, and (what is worse a hundred times) with a red mark in the forehead from an uneafy hat; all this may qualify them to make excellent wives for fox hunters, and bear abundance of ruddy-complexion'd children. As foon as they can wipe off the fweat of the day, they muft fimper an hour and catch cold, in the Princess's apartment: from thence (as Shakespear has it) to dinner, with what appetite they may-and after that, till midnight, walk, work, or think, which they please? I can easily believe, no lone house in Wales, with a mountain and a rookery, is more contemplative than this Court; and as a proof of it I need only tell you, Mrs. L* walk'd with me three or four hours by moonlight, and we met no creature of any quality but the King, who gave au

dience