LETTER II.

Dr. Swift to the lord treasurer Oxford.-On the death of his daughter*.

November 21, 1713.

Your lordship is the person in the world to whom every body ought to be silent upon such an occasion as this, which is only to be supported by the greatest wisdom and strength of mind; in which, the wisest and best of us, who would presume to offer our thoughts, are far your inferiors. It is true, indeed, that a great misfortune is apt to weaken the mind, and disturb the understanding. This, indeed, might be some pretence to us to administer our consolations, if we had been wholly strangers to the person gone. But, my lord, whoever had the honour to know her, must want a comforter as much as your lordship; because, though their loss is not so great, yet they have not the same firmness and prudence, to support the want of a friend, a patroness, a benefactress, as you have to support that of a daughter. My lord, both religion and reason forbid me to have the least concern for that lady's death, upon her own account; and he must be an ill Christian, or a perfect stranger to her virtues, who would not, with all submission to God Almighty's will, wish himself in her condition. But your lordship, who has lost such a daughter, and we, who have lost such a friend, and the world, which has lost such an example, have, in our several degrees, greater cause to lament, than, perhaps,

* This lady was married Nov. 15, 1712, to the marquis of Caermarthen; brought to bed of a son, (afterwards duke of Leeds,) Not. 6, 1713; and died Nov. 20, aged twenty eight.

was ever given by any private person before: for, my lord, I sat down to think of every amiable quality that could enter into the composition of a lady, and I could not single out one, which she did not possess in as high a degree, as human nature is capable of. But as to your lordship's own particular, as it is an inconceivable misfortune to have lost such a daughter, so it is a possession which few can boast of, to have had such a daughter. I have often said to your lordship, that I never knew any one by many degrees so happy in his family as you; and I affirm you are so still, though not by so many degrees: whence it is very obvious, that your lordship should reflect on what you have left, as well as on what have lost.

you

To say the truth, my lord, you began to be too happy for a mortal; much more happy than is usual with the dispensations of Providence long to continue. You had been the great instrument of preserving your country from foreign and domestic ruin: you have had the felicity of establishing your family in the greatest lustre, without any obligation to the bounty of your prince: by your courage and abilities, you have triumphed over the violence and treachery of your enemies; and by the steadiness of your temper, over the inconstancy and caprice of your friends. Perhaps, your lordship has felt too much complacency within yourself, upon this universal success: and God Almighty, who would not disappoint your endeavours for the public, thought fit to punish you with a domestic loss, where he knew your heart was most exposed; and, at the same time, has fulfilled his own wise purposes, by rewarding, in a better life, that excellent creature whom he has taken

from you.

I know not, my lord, why I write this to you, nor hardly what I am writing: I am sure, it is not from any compliance with form; it is not from supposing that I can give your lordship any ease. I think it was an impulse upon me, that I should say something: and whether I shall send you what I have written, I am yet in doubt.

I am, my lord, &c.

Jonathan Swift.

LETTER III.

Dr. Hough, bishop of Worcester, to Mrs. Knightley. On the death of her son*.

Madam,

February 2, 1731.

I should not have been altogether silent on a ubject that has sat heavy on my own mind, much more on yours, were I not sure that your better sense suggests all, and more than I am able to say.

You know very well, that the true character of a ⚫ man does not depend on the length of his days, but on the measure of his good qualities; and when that measure is complete, the Almighty, whose eye is always upon him, sees him fitly prepared for a more exalted state, and graciously admits him into it: others advance more slowly to perfection, and are suffered to have their course. As some sorts of fruit are long in ripening; others make haste to maturity: and both are gathered accordingly. It has of old been frequently observed, that the lustre of those accomplishments which, in some

* A most promising young man, fellow of All Souls, Cambridge, who died in the flower of his age.

persons, breaks out to our amazement, when we apprehended it to be only in the dawn, shows itself in this world but a little while: we gaze, and it disappears. Such people finish their part quickly; and, with full ap plause, the scene closes upon them. How infinitely valuable are they, above those who, in a long series of life, never distinguish themselves! who are no sooner out of sight than they are forgotten: but the memory of the others is precious.

We think doubtfully of some who are gone, and uncomfortably of others; but of the good and virtuous we can have only pleasing reflections: for, will it be allowed a reasonable cause of grief, that one whom I love, is promoted out of my reach, to the height of his most laudable ambition? Would it be friendly in me to keep him back, and postpone his happiness to my own inclinations? I can easily answer: No, by no means; I know he is happy, and I rejoice in it. But he is taken from me; his conversation was extremely endearing; and I lament my own loss. This will not be denied me in a moderate manner; some allowance is due to human frailty but if I carry my grief to excess, I must bear to be told, that my natural affection is too strong for my reason, much more for my faith. Reason, by a thousand undeniable arguments, is ready to prove, that what cannot be remedied, must be submitted to with the utmost equanimity and Faith, were it lively and active, would open the regions of eternal bliss, and discover those, who have been bright examples in this world, in so glorious a state there, as would animate my hope, abate my regret for their absence, and invigorate, my endeavours to follow them. Who can conceive. that transport of joy which will attend such a meeting? and

how insignificant will the former short separation then appear!

Indeed, madam, there was a time when I possessed one, who was the desire of my eyes, and the delight of my heart. I relished every thing with her, and nothing without her. We both knew the common fate of mankind, that a parting was unavoidable. It was very often the subject of our discourse. I will not say what convulsions attended it: but, I thank God! I had the hope of a Christian; and that supported me. And let you and me keep up our spirits, in this confidence, that the variable and transitory state in which we now live, will soon pass away; and then, we and our friends shall find ourselves together again, inseparable and unalterably happy for ever!

I am, madam,

Your affectionate and faithful servant,

John Worcester.

LETTER IV.

Rev. John Barker to Dr. Doddridge in his last illness.

My dear friend,

May 5, 1751.

We are too nearly interested in that precious life, which now appears in danger of being cut off in the midst of its days, to hear of its wasting and languishing, without great concern, and fervent prayer to God. How your letter affected my heart in public, your friends are witness: but what I felt for my dear brother, and for the ministers and churches of Christ, God and myself only know.

I will not now say, Why did you spend so fast? why did you not spare yourself a little sooner? I will