the opinion most may have of me, yet, I own, it would grieve me not to be thought well of by you and some few others. I will not doubt my own strength, yet I have this farther security to maintain my integrity, that I cannot part with that, without forfeiting your esteem with it.

Perpetual disorder and ill health have for some years so disguised me, that I sometimes fear I do not to my best friends enough appear what I really am. Sickness is a great oppressor; it does great injury to a zealous heart, stifling its warmth, and not suffering it to break out into action. But, I hope, I shall not make this complaint much longer. I have other hopes that please me too, though not so well grounded: these are, that you may yet make a journey westward with Lord Bathurst; but of the probability of this I do not venture to reason, because I would not part with the pleasure of that belief. It grieves me to think how far I am removed from you, and from that excellent Lord, whom I love! Indeed I remember him, as one that has made sickness easy to me, by bearing with my infirmities in the same manner that you have always done. have always done. I often too consider him in other lights that make him valuable to me. With him, I know not by what connexion, you never fail to come into my mind, as if you were inseparable. I have, as you guess, many philosophical reveries in the shades of Sir Walter Raleigh, of which you are a great part. You generally enter there with me, and like a good Genius, applaud and strengthen all my sentiments that have honour in them. This good office, which you have often done me unknow

ingly, I must acknowledge now, that my own breast may not reproach me with ingratitude, and disquiet me when I would muse again in that solemn scene. I have not room now left to ask you many questions I intended about the Odyssey. I beg I may know how far you have carried Ulysses on his journey, and how you have been entertained with him on the way? I desire I may hear of your health, of Mrs. Pope's, and of every thing else that belongs to you.

your

How thrive your garden plants? How look the trees? How spring the Brocoli and the Fenochio? Hard names to spell! How did the poppies bloom? And how is the great room approved? What parties have you had of pleasure? What in the grotto? What upon the Thames? I would know how all hours pass, all you say, and all you do; of which I should question you yet farther, but my paper is full and spares you. My brother Ned is wholly yours, so my father desires to be, and every soul here whose name is Digby. My sister will be yours in particu lar. What can I add more?

I am, etc.

LETTER XV.

October 10.

I WAS upon the point of taking a much greater journey than to Bermudas, even to that undiscover'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns!

A fever carried me on the high gallop towards it for six or seven days-But here you have me now,

and that is all I shall say of it: since which time an impertinent lameness kept me at home twice as long ; as if fate should say (after the other dangerous illness), "You shall neither go into the other world, nor any where you like in this." Else who knows but I had been at Hom-lacy?

in

I conspire in your sentiments, emulate your pleasures, wish for your company. You are all of one heart and one soul, as was said of the primitive Christians: 'tis like the kingdom of the just upon earth; not a wicked wretch to interrupt you, but a set of tried, experienced friends, and fellow-comforters, who have seen evil men and evil days, and have by a superior rectitude of heart set yourselves above them, and reap your reward. Why will you ever, of your own accord, end such a millenary year London? Transmigrate (if I may so call it) into other creatures, in that scene of folly militant, when you may reign for ever at Hom-lacy in sense and reason triumphant? I appeal to a third lady in your family, whom I take to be the most innocent, and the least warped by idle fashion and custom of you all; I appeal to her, if you are not every soul of you better people, better companions, and happier, where you are? I desire her opinion under her hand in your next letter, I mean Miss Scudamore's*. I am confident if she would or durst speak her sense, and employ that reasoning which God has given her, to infuse more thoughtfulness into you all; those arguments could not fail to put you to the blush, and keep you

• Afterward Dutchess of Beaufort, at this time very young. P. She was afterward much talked of, for a particular intrigue.

out of town, like people sensible of your own felicities. I am not without hopes, if she can detain a parliament man and a lady of quality from the world one winter, that I may come upon you with such irresistible arguments another year, as may carry you all with me to Bermudas1, the seat of all earthly happiness, and the new Jerusalem of the righteous.

Don't talk of the decay of the year, the season is good where the people are so : 'tis the best time in the year for a painter; there is more variety of colours in the leaves, the prospects begin to open, through the thinner woods, over the valleys; and through 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 frosts are fresh and wholesome: what would you have? The Moon shines too, though not for Lovers these cold nights, but for Astronomers.

Have you not reflecting Telescopes2, whereby ye may innocently magnify her spots and blemishes? Content yourselves with them, and do not come to a place where your own eyes become reflecting telescopes, and where those of all others are equally such upon their neighbours. Stay you at least (for what I've said before relates only to the ladies: don't imagine I'll write about any eyes but theirs), stay, I say, from that idle, busy-looking Sanhedrin, where wis

1

About this time the Rev. Dean Berkley conceived his project of erecting a settlement in Bermudas for the propagation of the Christian faith, and introduction of Sciences into America. P. 2 These instruments were just then brought to perfection. P.

dom or no wisdom is the eternal debate, not (as it lately was in Ireland) an accidental one.

If, after all, you will despise good advice, and resolve to come to London, here you will find me, doing just the things I should not, living where I should 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, etc.

LETTER XVI.

Aug. 12. I HAVE been above a month strolling about in Buckinghamshire and Oxfordshire, from garden to garden, but still returning to Lord Cobham with fresh satisfaction. I should be sorry to see my Lady Scudamore's, till it has had the full advantage of Lord B*'s improvements; and then I will expect something like the waters of Riskins, 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 Paradise of Cyrus, and the Sharawaggis of China3, I have little or no ideas of them; but, I dare say, Lord B* has, because they were certainly both very great and very

3

See Sir W. Temple's account of them, vol. 3, of his Essays; but above all, Sir W. Chambers's description of them, and the Heroic Epistle addressed to him.