great a degree as I deplored it: and had only to wish, that Heaven would reward fo much virtue as was to be taken from us, with all the felicities it could enjoy elsewhere!

I am, etc.

LETTER XXI. *

CAN never have too many of your letters. I am angry at every scrap of paper loft, and though it is but an odd compliment to compare a fine lady to a Sibyl, your leaves, methinks, like hers, are too good to be committed to the winds; though I have no other way of receiving them but by those unfaithful meffengers. I have had but three, and I reckon that fhort one from D, which was rather a dying ejaculation than a letter.

You have contrived to say in your last the two things moft pleafing to me: the firft, that whatever be the fate of your letters, you will continue to write in the discharge of your confcience. The other is, the jus

tice

you do me, in taking what I write to you, in the ferious manner it was meant; it is the point upon which I can bear no fufpicion, and in which, above all, I defire to be thought ferious. It would be vex. atious indeed, if you should pretend to take that for wit, which is no more than the natural overflowing of a heart improved by an esteem for you; but fince you tell

*To the Same.

tell me you believe me, I fancy my expreffions have not been entirely unfaithful to my thoughts.

May your faith be increased in all truths, that are as great as this; and depend upon it, to whatever degree it may extend, you never can be a bigot.

If

you could fee the heart I talk of, you would readily think it a foolish good kind of thing, with fome qualities as well-deferving to be half-laughed at, and half-esteemed, as most hearts in the world.

Its grand foible in regard to you, is the most like Reason of any foible in nature. Upon my word, this heart is not like a great warehouse, stored only with my own goods, or with empty spaces to be fupplied as fast as Interest or Ambition can fill them; but is every inch of it let out into lodgings for its friends, and shall never want a corner where your idea will always lie as warm, and as clofe, as any idea in Christendom.

If this distance (as you are fo kind as to fay) enlarges your belief of my friendship, I affure you, it has fo extended my notion of your value, that I begin to be impious upon that account, and to wish that even flaughter, ruin, and desolation may interpofe between you and the place you design for; and that you were restored to us at the expence of a whole people.

Is there no expedient to return you in peace to the bofom of your country? I hear you are come as far as: do you only look back to die twice? Is Eurydice once more fnatched to the fhades? If ever

mortal

mortal had reason to hate the King, it is I, whose particular misfortune it is, to be almost the only innocent perfon he has made to fuffer; both by his Government at home, and his Negociations abroad *.

If you must go from us, I wish at least you might pass to your banishment by the most pleasant way; that all the road might be rofes and myrtles, and a thoufand objects rife round you, agreeable enough to make England lefs defirable to you. It is not now my interest to wifh England agreeable: it is highly probable it may use me ill enough to drive me from it. Can I think that place my country, where I can. not now call a foot of paternal Earth my own †? Yet it may feem fome alleviation, that when the wisest thing I can do is to leave my country, what was most agreeable in it should first be fnatched away from it.

I could overtake you with pleasure in-t, and make that tour in your company. Every reasonable entertainment and beautiful view would be doubly engaging when you partook of it. I fhould at least attend you to the fea-coafts, and caft a last look after the fails that transported you. But perhaps I might care as little to stay behind you; and be full as uneafy to live in a country where I faw others perfecuted by the rogues of my own religion, as where I was perfecuted myfelf

* Alluding to the circumftance of her husband being fent to Conftantinople as a negociator, and the double taxes he himfelf paid as a Catholic.

His father's house was fold.

Italy.

myself by the rogues of yours. And it is not impoffible I might run into Afia in fearch of liberty; for who would not rather live a freeman among a nation of flaves, than a flave among a nation of freemen?

In good earnest, if I knew your motions, and your exact time; I verily think, I fhould be once more happy in a fight of you next fpring.

I'll conclude with a wifh, God fend you with us, or me with you.

γου

LETTER XXII.*

will find me more troublefome than ever Brutus did his evil Genius; I shall meet you in more places than one, and often refresh your memory before you arrive at your Philippi. These fhadows of me (my letters) will be haunting you from time to time, and putting you in mind of the man who has really fuffered very much from you, and whom you have robbed of the most valuable of his enjoyments, your converfation. The advantage of hearing your fentiments by discovering mine, was what I always thought a great one, and even worth the rifque I ge nerally run of manifefting my own indifcretion. You then rewarded my truft in you the moment it was given, for you pleased and informed me the minute

you

To the Same.

you answered. I must now be contented with more flow returns. However, 'tis fome pleasure, that your thoughts upon paper will be a more lafting poffeffion to me, and that I fhall no longer have cause to complain of a lofs I have fo often regretted, that of any thing you faid, which I happened to forget. In earnest, Madam, if I were to write to you as often as I think of you, it must be every day of my life. I attend you in fpirit through all your ways, I follow you through every stage in books of travels, and fear for you through whole folios; you make me fhrink at the paft dangers of dead travellers; and if I read of a delightful profpect, or agreeable place, I hope it yet fubfifts to please you. I enquire the roads, the amusements, the company, of every town and country through which you pafs, with as much diligence, as if I were to fet out next week to overtake you. In a word, no one can have you more conftantly in mind, not even your Guardian-angel (if you have one); and I am willing to indulge fo much popery as to fancy fome Being takes care of you, who knows your value better than you do yourself: I am willing to think that Heaven never gave fo much felf-neglect and refolution to a woman, to occafion her calamity; but am pious enough to believe thofe qualities must be intended to conduce to her benefit and her glory.

Your first fhort letter only ferves to fhow me you are alive it puts me in mind of the first dove that re

turned