At Twickenham the world goes otherwife. There are certain old people who take up all my time, and will hardly allow me to keep any other company. They were introduced here by a man of their own fort, who has made me perfectly rude to all contemporaries, and won't fo much as fuffer me to look upon them. The perfon I complain of is the Bishop of Rochester. Yet he allows me (from fomething he has heard of your character, and that of your family, as if you were of the old fect of moralists) to write three or four fides of paper to you, and to tell you (what these sort of people never tell but with truth and religious fincerity) that I am, and ever will be

TH

LETTER XIII.

Your, &c.

HE fame reason that hinder'd your writing, hinder'd mine, the pleasing expectation to see you in town. Indeed fince the willing confinement I have lain under here with my mother (whom it is natural and reasonable I should rejoice with, as well as grieve) I could the better bear your abfence from London, for I could hardly have feen you there; and it would not have been quite reasonable to have drawn you to a fick-room hither from the first embraces of your friends. My mother is now (I thank God) wonderfully recovered, though not fo inuch as yet to venture out of her chamber, but enough to enjoy a few particular friends, when they have the good nature to look upon her. I may recommend to you the room we fit in, upon onę (and that a favourite) account, that it is the very warm

eft in the houfe; we and our fires will equally fmile upon your face. There is a Perfian proverb that says (I think very prettily) "The converfation of a friend "brightens the eyes." This I take to be a splendor ftill more agreeable than the fires you to delightfully defcribe.

That you may long enjoy your own fire-fide in the metaphorical sense, that is, all those of your family who make it pleafing to fit and spend whole wintry months together, (a far more rational delight, and better felt by an honeft heart, than all the glaring entertainments, numerous lights, and falfe fplendors, of an Affembly of empty heads, aking hearts, and falfe faces.) This is my fincere wish to you and yours.

You say you propose much pleasure in seeing fome few faces about town of my acquaintance. I guess you mean Mrs Howard's and Mrs Blount's. And I affure you, you ought to take as much pleasure in their hearts, if they are what they fometimes exprefs with regard to you.

Believe me, dear Sir, to you all, a very fervant.

faithful

LETTER XIV.

From Mr DIG BY.

I

Sherburne, Aug. 14. 1723.

Can't return from fo agreeable an entertainment as yours in the country, without acknowledging it. I thank you heartily for the new agreeable idea of life you there gave me; it will remain long with me, for it is very strongly impreffed upon my imagination.

I repeat the memory of it often, and shall value that faculty of the inind now more than ever, for the power it gives me, of being entertained in your villa, when abfent from it. As you are poffeffed of all the pleasures of the country, and, as I think, of a right mind, what can I wish you but health to enjoy them? This I fo heartily do, that I fhould be even glad to hear your good old mother might lose all her present pleasures in her unwearied care of you, by your better health convincing them it is unnecessary.

I am troubled, and fhall be so, till I hear you have receiv'd this letter: for you gave me the greatest pleafure imaginable in yours, and I am impatient to acknowledge it. If I any ways deferve that friendly warmth and affection with which you write, it is, that I have a heart full of love and esteem for you: fo truly, that I should lofe the greatest pleasure of my life if I loft your good opinion. It rejoices me very much, to be reckoned by you in the class of honeft men; for tho' I am not troubled over-much about the opinion most may have of me, yet, I own, it would grieve me not to be thought well of, by you and fome few others. I will not doubt my own ftrength, yet I have this further fecurity to maintain my integrity, that I cannot part with that, without forfeiting your esteem with it.

Perpetual diforder and ill health have for fome years fo disguised me, that, I fometimes fear I do not to my best friends enough appear what I really am. Sickness is a great oppreffor; it does great injury to a zealous heart, ftifling its warmth, and not fuffering it to break out in action. But, I hope, I shall not make this complaint much longer. I have other hopes that please

me too, tho' not fo well grounded; these are, that you may yet make a journey weftward with Lord Bathurft; but of the probability of this I do not venture to reafon, 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 ficknefs eafy to me, by bearing with my infirmities, in the fame manner that you have always done. I often too confider him in other lights that make him valuable to me. With him, I know not by what connection, you never fail to come into my mind, as if you were infeparable. I have, as you guess, many philofophical reveries in the fhades of Sir Walter Raleigh, of which you are a great part. You generally enter there with me, and like a good Genius, applaud and ftrengthen all my fentiments that have honour in them. This good office which you have often done me unknowingly, I must acknowledge now, that my own breast may not reproach me with ingratitude, and difquiet me when I would mufe again in that folemn fcene. I have not room now, left to afk you many questions I intended about the Odyffey. I beg I may know how far you have carried Ulyffes on his journey, and how you have been entertained with him on the way? I defire I may hear of your health, of Mrs Pope's, and of every thing else that belongs to you.

How thrive your garden plants? how look the trees how spring the Brocoli and the Fenochio ? hard names to fpell! how did the poppies bloom? and how is the great-room approv'd? what parties have you had of pleafure? what in the grotto? what

upon the Thames? I would know how all your hours pafs, all you fay, and all you do; of which I fhould question you yet farther, but my paper is full and' fpares you. My brother Ned is wholly yours, and fo my father defires to be, and every foul here whofe name is Digby. My fifter will be yours in particular.

What can I add more ?

I am, &c.

LETTER

XV.

October 10.

I

Was upon the point of taking a much greate journey than to Bermudas, even to that undiscoser'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns! A fever carried me on the high gallop towards it for fix or seven days- But here you have me now, and that is all I fhall fay of it: fince which time an impertinent lameness kept me at home twice as long; as is fate fhould fay (after the other dangerous illness) "You shall neither go into the other world, nor any "where you like in this." Elfe who knows but I had been at Hom-lacy?

I confpire in your fentiments, emulate your pleasures, wish for your company. You are all of one heart and one foul, as was faid of the primitive Chriftians: 'tis like the kingdom of the juft upon earth; not a wicked wretch to interrupt you, but a set of try'd, experienced friends, and fellow-comforters, who have feen evil men and evil days; and have by a fuperior rectitude of heart fet yourselves above them, and reap your reward, Why will you ever, of your own accord, end fuch a millennary year in London? tranfinigrate (if I may