"fome legacies mentioned in my will, and leave " them entirely to your disposal: those things are all "tied up, endorsed and locked in a cabinet, and I "have not one fervant who can properly be faid to "write or read: no mortal fhall copy them, but you shall furely have them when I am no more." I have a little repined at my being hitherto flipped by you in your Epiftles, not from any other ambition than the Title of a Friend, and in that fenfe I expect you fhall perform your promife, if your health and leifure and inclination will permit. I deny your lofing on the fide of Poetry; I could reafon against you a little from experience; you are, and will be fome years to come, at the age when invention still keeps its ground, and judgment is at full maturity; but your subjects are much more difficult when confined to Verfe. I am amazed to fee you exhaust the whole science of Morality, in fo masterly a manner. W. Temple faid, that the lofs of Friends was a Tax upon long life: it need not be very long, fince you have had so great a share, but I have not above one left and in this Country I have only a few general companions of good nature and middling understandings. How should I know Chefelden? On your fide, men of fame start up and die before we here (at least I) know any thing of the matter. I am a little comforted with what you fay of Lord B.'s Genius ftill keeping up, and preparing to appear by effects worthy

Sir

of

of the author, and useful to the world.

Common reports have made me very uneafy about your neighbour Mr. P. It is affirmed that he hath been very near death: I love him for being a Patriot in most corrupted times, and highly esteem his excellent understanding. Nothing but the perverse nature of my disorders, as I have above described them, and which are abfolute difqualifications for converfe, could hinder me from waiting on you at Twickenham, and nursing you to Paris. In fhort, my Ailments amount to a prohibition, although I am, as you describe yourself, what I must call well, yet I have not spirits left to ride out, which (excepting walking) was my only diverfion. And I muft expect to decline every month, like one who lives upon his principal fum, which muft leffen every day: and indeed I am likewife literally almost in the fame cafe, while every body owes me, and nobody pays me. Instead of a young race of Patriots on your fide, which gives me fome glimpse of joy, here we have the direct contrary, a race of young Dunces and Atheists, or old Villains and Monsters, whereof four-fifths are more wicked and stupid than Chartres. Your wants are so few, that you need not be rich to fupply them; and my wants are fo many, that a King's seven millions of guineas would not fupport me.

LETTER LXXXIII.

Auguft 17, 1736.

I FIND, though I have less experience than you, the truth of what you told me fome time ago, that increase of years makes men more talkative but lefs writative: to that degree, that I now write no letters but of plain business, or plain how-d'ye's to those few I am forced to correfpond with, either out of neceffity or love: and I grow Laconic even beyond Laconicifme; for fometimes I return only Yes, or No, to questionary or petitionary Epistles of half a yard long. You and Lord Bolingbroke are the only men to whom I write, and always in folio. You are indeed almost the only men I know, who either can write in this age, or whose writings will reach the next: others are mere mortals. Whatever failings fuch men may have, a refpect is due to them, as Luminaries whose exaltation renders their motion a little irregular, or rather caufes it to feem fo to others. I am afraid to cenfure any thing I hear of Dean Swift, because I hear it only from mortals, blind and dull: and you should be cautious of cenfuring any action or motion of Lord B. because you hear it only from shallow, envious, or malicious reporters. What you write to me about him I find to my great scandal repeated in one of yours to Whatever you might hint to

me,

me, was this for the profane? The thing, if true, fhould be concealed; but it is, I affure you, abfolutely untrue, in every circumstance. He has fixed in a very agreeable retirement near Fountainbleau, and makes it his whole bufinefs vacare literis. But tell me the truth, were you not angry at his omitting to write to you fo long? I may, for I hear from him. feldomer than from you, that is, twice or thrice a year at most. Can you poffibly think he can neglect you, or difregard you? If you catch yourself at thinking fuch nonsense, your parts are decayed: for, believe me, great Geniuses muft and do esteem one another, and I question if any others can esteem or comprehend uncommon merit. Others only guess at that merit, or fee glimmerings of their minds: a genius has the intuitive faculty: therefore, imagine what you will, you cannot be fo fure of any man's esteem as of his. If I can think that neither he nor you despise me, it is a greater honour to me by far, and will be thought fo by pofterity, than if all the Houfe of Lords writ Commendatory Verses upon me, the Commons ordered me to print my Works, the Universities gave me public thanks, and the King, Queen, and Prince crowned me with Laurel. You are a very ignorant man; you don't know the figure his name and yours will make hereafter: I do, and will preserve all the memorials I can, that I was of your intimacy; longo, fed proximus, intervallo. I will not quarrel with the present Age; it has done enough

for

friends.

for me, in making and keeping you two my Do not you be too angry at it, and let not him be too angry at it; it has done and can do neither of you any manner of harm, as long as it has not, and cannot burn your works: while thofe fubfift, you'll both appear the greatest men of the time, in spite of Princes and Ministers; and the wisest, in spite of all the little Errors you may please to commit.

Adieu. May better health attend you, than, I fear, you poffefs: may but as good health attend you always as mine is at present: tolerable, when an easy mind is joined with it.

LETTER

LXXXIV.

FROM DR. SWIFT.

December 2, 1736.

I

THINK you owe me a letter, but whether you do or not, I have not been in a condition to write. Years and Infirmities have quite broke me; I mean that odious continual disorder in my head. I neither read, nor write, nor remember, nor converfe. All I have left is to walk and ride; the firft I can do tolerably; but the latter, for want of good weather at this season, is feldom in my power; and having not an ounce of flesh about me, my skin comes off in ten miles riding, because my fkin and bone cannot agree together. But I am angry, because you

will