manners, and did fuch honour to his country and language; and yet was not difpleas'd fometimes to read what was written by his humble fervant.

LETTER XHI.

March 14, 1721-2.

I

Was difappointed (much more than those who commonly ufe that phrafe on fuch occafions) in miffing you at the Deanry, where I lay folitary two nights. Indeed I truly partake in any degree of concern that affects you, and I with every thing may fucceed as you defire in your own family, and in that which, I think, you no lefs account your own, and is no lefs your family, the whole world: for I take you to be one of the true friends of it, and to your power its protector. Tho' the noife and daily buftle for the public be now over, I dare fay a good man is ftill. tendring its welfare; as the fun in the winter, when feem-. ing to retire from the world, is preparing benedictions and warmth for a better feafon. No man withes your Lordfhip more quiet, more tranquility, than I, who know you fhould understand the value of it; but I don't with you a jot lefs concern'd or lefs active than you are, in all fincere and therefore warm defires of public good.

I beg the kindness (and 'tis for that chiefly I trouble you with this letter) to favour me with notice as foon as you return to London, that I may come and make you a proper vifit of a day or two: for hitherto I have not been your vifitor, but your lodger, and I accufe myfelf of it. I have now no earthly thing to oblige my being in town (a point of no small fatisfaction to me) but the best reafon, the feeing a friend. As long, my Lord, as you will let me call you fo (and I dare fay you will, till I forfeit, what, I think, I never fhall, my veracity and integrity) I shall efteem myself fortunate, in fpite of the South-ica, Poctry, Popery, and Poverty..

I can't tell you how forry I am, you fhould be troubled a-new by any fort of people. I heartily with, Quod Jupereft, ut tibi vivas-that you may teach me how to do the fame: who, without any real impediment to acting and living rightly, do act and live as foolishly as if I were a Great man. I am, &c.

LETTER XIV.

From the Bishop of ROCHESTER.

March 16, 1721-2.

AS a vifitant, a lodger, a friend (or under what other denomination, foever) you are always welcome to me; and will be more fo, I hope, every day that we live: for, to tell you the truth, I like you as I like myfelf, beft when we have both of us leaft bufinefs. It has been my fate to be engaged in it much and often, by the ftations in which I was placed but, God, that knows my heart, knows I never lov'd it and am ftill lefs in love with it than ever, as I find lefs temptation to act with any hope of fuccefs. If I am good for any thing, 'tis in angulo cum libello; and yet a good part of my time has been spent, and perhaps must be fpent, far otherwife. For I will never, while I have health, be wanting to my duty in my poft, or in any respect, how little foever I may like my employment, and how hopeless foever I may be in the difcharge of it.

In the mean time the judicious world is pleas'd to think that I delight in work which I am obliged to undergo, and aim at things which I from my heart defpife; let them think as they will, fo I might be at liberty to act as I will, and spend my time in fuch a manner as is moft agreeable to me. I cannot fay I do fo now, for I am here without any books, and if I had them could not use them to my fatisfaction, while my mind is taken up in a more melancholy. * manner; and how long, or how little a while it may be fo taken up, God only knows, and to his will I implicitly refign myself in every thing. I am, &c.

MY LORD, March 19, 1721-2. AM extremely fenfible of the repeated favour of your kind letters, and your thoughts of me in abfence, even among thoughts of much nearer concern to yourself on the one hand, and of much more importance to the world on the other, which cannot but engage you at this juncture, I am very certain of your good-will, and of the warmth which is in you infeparable from it.

Your remembrance of Twitenham is a fresh inftance of that partiality. I hope the advance of the fine season will fet you upon your legs, enough to enable you to get into my garden, where I will carry you up a Mount, in a point of view to fhew you the glory of my little kingdom. If you approve it, I fhall be in danger to boaft, like Nebu-

* in his Lady's last Sickness.

chadnezzar,

chadnezzar, of the things I have made, and to be turn'd to converfe, not with the beafts of the field, but with the birds of the grove, which I fhall take to be no great punnifhment. For indeed I heartily defpife the ways of the world, and most of the great ones of it.

Oh keep me innocent, make others great!

And you may judge how comfortably I am ftrengthen'd in this opinion, when fuch as your Lordfhip bear teftimony to its vanity and emptinefs. Tinnit, inane eft, with the picture of one ringing on the globe with his finger, is the best thing I have the luck to remember in that great Poet Quarles (not that I forget the Devil at bowls; which I know to be your Lordships favourite cut, as well as favourite diverfion.)

The fituation here is pleasant, and the view rural enough, to humour the moft retired, and agree with the moft contemplative. Good air, folitary groves, and fparing diet, fufficient to make you fancy yourself (what you are in temperance, tho' elevated into a greater figure by your ftation) one of the Fathers of the Defart. Here you may think (to use an author's words, whom you fo justly prefer to all his followers that you'll recieve them kindly, tho' taken from his worst work * ;)

That in Eliah's banquet you partake,

Or fit a gueft with Daniel, at his Pulfe.

I am fincerely free with you, as you defire I fhould, and approve of your not having your coach here, for if you would fee Lord C* or any body elfe, I have another chariot, befides that little one you laugh'd at when you compared me to Homer in a nut-fhell. But if you would be entirely private, no body shall know any thing of the matBelieve me (my Lord) no man is with more perfect acquiefcence, nay with more willing acquiefcence (not even any of your own Sons of the Church) Your obedient, &c.

ter.

LETTER. XVI.

From the Bishop of ROCHESTER.

April 6, 1722. UNDER all the leifure in the world, I have no leifure, no ftomach to write to you: the gradual approaches of death are before my eyes. I am convinced that it must be fo; and yet make a fhift to flatter myself fometimes with the thought, that it may poffibly be otherwife. And that very thought, tho' it is directly contrary to my reafon,

The Paradife Regain'd. I fuppofe this was in compliment to the Bishop. It could never be his own opinion.

does

does for a few moments make me eafy-however not eafy enough in good earneft to think of any thing but the melancholy object that employs them. Therefore wonder not that I do not anfwer your kind letter: I fhall answer it too foon, I fear, by accepting your friendly invitation. When I do fo, no conveniencies will be wanting: for I'll fee no body but you and your mother, and the fervants. Vifits to ftatesmen always were to me (and are now more than ever) infipid things; let the men that expect, that wifh to thrive by them, pay them that homage: I am free, When I want them, they fhall hear of me at their doors; and when they want me, I fhall be fure to hear of them at mine. But probably they will defpife me fo much, and I fhall court them fo little, that we shall both of us keep our distance.

When I come to you, 'tis in order to be with you only ;. a prefident of the council, or a ftar and garter will make no more impreffion upon my mind, at fuch a time, than the hearing of a bagpipe, or the fight of a puppet-fhew, I have faid to greatness fome time ago-Tuas tibi res habeto, Egomet curabo meas. The time is not far off when we fhall all be upon the level: and I am refolv'd, for my part, to anticipate that time, and be upon the level with them now; for he is fo, that neither feeks nor wants them. Let them have more virtue and lefs pride, and then I'll court them as much as any body: but till they refolve to diftinguish themselves fome way elfe than by their outward trappings, I am determined (and, I think, I have a right) to be as proud as they are: tho' I truft in God, my pride is neither of fo odious a nature as theirs, nor of fo mifchievous a confequence.

know not how I have fallen into this train of thinking -When I fat down to write I intended only to excufe myfelf for not writing, and to tell you that the time drew rearer and nearer, when I muft diflodge; I am preparing for it; for I am at this moment building a vault in the Abbey for me and mine. 'Twas to be in the Abbey, becaufe of my relation to the place; but 'tis at the weft door of it: as far from Kings and Cæfars as the space would

admit of.

I know not but I may ftep to town to-morrow, to fee how the work goes forward; but, if I do, I fhall return hither in the evening. I would not have given you the trouble of this letter but that they tell me it will cost you nothing, and that our privilege of Franking (one of the most valuable we have left) is again allow'd us.

Your, &c.

LET

I

LETTER XVII.

From the Bishop of ROCHESTER.

Bromley, May 25, 1722. Had much ado to get hither laft night, the water being fo rough that the ferrymen were unwilling to venture. The firft thing I faw this morning after my eyes were open, was your letter, for the freedom and kindnefs of which I thank you. Let all compliments be laid aside between us for the future; and depend upon me as your faithful friend in all things within my power, as one that truly values you, and wishes you all manner of happiness. I thank you and Mrs. Pope for my kind reception, which has left a pleafing impreffion upon me that will not foon be effaced.

Lord has prefs'd me terribly to fee him at *, and told me in a manner betwixt kindness and refentment, that it is but a few miles beyond Twitenham..

I have but a little time left, and a great deal to do in it; and muft expect that ill health will render a good share of it useless and therefore what is likely to be left at the foot of the account, ought by me to be cherish'd, and not thrown away in compliments. You know the motto of my fun dial, Vivite, ait, fugio. I will, as far as I am able, follow its advice, and cut off all unneceffary avocations and amufements. There are thofe that intend to employ me this winter in a way I do not like: If they perfift in their intentions, I muft apply myself to the work they cut out for me, as well as I can. But withal, that shall not hinder me from employing myself alfo in a way which they do not like. The givers of trouble one way fhall have their share of it another; that at laft they may be induced to let me be quiet, and live to myself, with the few (the very few) friends I like; for that is the point, the fingle point I now aim at; tho' I know the generality of the world who are unacquainted with my intentions and views, think the very reverfe of this character belongs to me. F don't know how I have rambled into this account of myself; when I fat down to write, I had no thought of making that any part of my letter.

You might have been fure without my telling you, that my right hand is at ease; else I fhould not have overflow'd at this rate. And yet I have not done, for there is a kind intima tion in the end of yours, which I understood, because it seems to tend towards employing me in fomething that is agreeable to you. Pray explain yourself, and be

lieve