Letters of Mr. Pope, and several eminent persons, from the year 1705, to 1711: [pt.2]

LETTERS To the Honourable ROBERT DIGBY, From Mr. POPE.

LETTERS To the Honourable ROBERT DIGBY, From Mr. POPE.

To the Honourable Robert Digby.

Chiswick, Jan. 2, 1717.

Dear Sir,

I Had pleas'd myself sooner in writing to you, but that I have been your Suc|cessor in a Fit of Sickness, and am not yet so much recovered, but that I have thoughts of using your * 1.1 Physicians. They are as grave Persons as any of the Faculty, and (like the Antients) carry their own Medi|caments about with them. But indeed the Moderns are such lovers of Raillery, that nothing is grave enough to escape them. Let 'em laugh, but People will sill have their Opinions: As they think our Doctors Asses to them, we'll think them Asses to our Doctors.

I am glad you are so much in a better state of Health, as to allow me to jest about it. My concern, when I heard of your Danger, was so very serious, that I almost take it ill Dr. Evans should tell you of it, or you mention it. I tell you fairly, if you and a few more such people were to leave the World, I would not give six-pence to stay in it.

I am not so much concern'd as to the point, whether you are to live fat or lean: Most Men of Wit or Honesty are usually decreed to live very lean; so I am inclined to the opinion that 'tis decreed you shall: However be comforted, and reflect that you'll make the better Busto for it.

'Tis something particular in you, not to be satisfied with sending me your own Books, but to make your Acquaintance continue the frolick. Mr. Wharton forc'd me to take Gorboduc, which has since done me great credit with several people, as it has done Dryden and Oldham some dis|kindness, in shewing there is as much diffe|rence between their Gorbuduc, and this, as between Queen Anne, and King George. It is truly a scandal, that Men should write with contempt of a Piece which they never once saw, as those two Poets did, who were ignorant even of the Sex, as well as Sense, of Gorboduc.

Adieu! I am going to forget you: this minute you took up all my mind, the next I shall think of nothing but the Terms of Agamemnon, and the Recovery of Bri|seis. I shall be Achilles's humble Servant these two months (with the good leave of all my Friends.) I have no Ambition so strong at present, as that noble one of Sir Salathiel Lovel, Recorder of London, To furnish out a decent and plentiful Execution, of Greeks and Trojans—It is not to be exprest how heartily I wish the Death of all Homer's Heroes, one after another. The Lord preserve me in the Day of Battle, which is just approaching! Dear Sir, join in your prayers for me, and know me to be always (whether I live, die, or am damn'd as a Poet)

Yours most faithfully.

To the same.

London, March 31, 1718.

Dear Sir,

TO convince you how little pain I give myself, in corresponding with Men of good Nature, and good Understand|ing, you see I omit to answer your Letters till a time, when another man would be ashamed to own he had received them. If

therefore you are ever moved on my ac|count by that Spirit; which I take to be as samiliar to you as a Quotidian Ague, I mean the Spirit of Goodness, pray never stint it, in any fear of obliging me to a Ci|vility beyond my natural Inclination: I dare trust you, Sir, not only with my Folly when I write, but with my Negligence when I do not; and expect equally your pardon for either.

If I knew how to entertain you thro' the rest of this Paper, it should be spotted and diversified with Conceits all over; you should be put out of breath with Laughter at each Sentence, and pause at each Period, to look back over how much Wit you had pass'd. But I have found by experience, that people now a-days regard Writing as little as they do Preaching: The most we can hope is to be heard, just with Decency and Patience, once a week, by Folks in the Country: Here in Town we hum over a piece of fine Writing, and we whistle at a Sermon. The Stage is the only place we seem alive at; there indeed we stare, and roar, and clap hands for K. George and the Government. As for all other Virtues but this Loyalty, they are an obsolete Train, so ill-dress'd, that Men, Women, and Chil|dren hiss 'em out of all good Company. Humility knocks so sneakingly at the door,

that every Footman out-raps it, and makes it give way to the free Entrance of Pride, Prodigality, and Vain-glory.

My Lady Scudamore, from having rusti|cated in your Company too long, really behaves herself scandalously amongst us: She pretends to open her eyes for the sake of seeing the Sun, and to sleep because it is Night; drinks Tea at nine in the Morn|ing, and is thought to have said her Prayers before; talks without any manner of shame of good Books, and has not seen Cibber's Play of the Non-juror. I rejoyced the other day to see a Libel on her Toilette, which gives me some hope that you have at least a Taste of Scandal left you, in defect of all other Vices.

Upon the whole matter, I heartily wish you well; but as I cannot entirely desire the ruin of all the Joys of this City, so all that remains is to wish you wou'd keep your Happiness to yourselves, that the happiest here may not die with Envy at a Bliss which they cannot attain to.

I am, &c.

To the same.

May 1, 1720.

Dear Sir,

YOU'LL think me very full of my self, when after a long Silence (which

however to say truth has rather been em|ploy'd to contemplate of you, than to for|get you) I begin to talk of my own Works. I find it is in the Finishing a Book, as in concluding a Session of Parliament, one al|was thinks it will be very soon, and finds it very late. There are many unlook'd-for Incidents to retard the Clearing any publick Account, and so I see it is in mine. I have plagued my self, like great Ministers, with undertaking too much for one Man, and with a Desire of doing more than was expect|ed from me, have done less than I ought.

For having design'd Four very laborious and uncommon sorts of Indexes to Homer, I'm forced, for want of time, to publish two only; the design of which you will own to be pretty, tho' far from being fully exe|cuted. I've also been oblig'd to leave un|finish'd in my desk the Heads of two Essays, one on the Theology and Morality of Homer, and another on the Oratory of Homer and Virgil. So they must wait for future Edi|tions, or perish; and (one way or other, no great matter which) dabit Deus his quoque finem.

I think of you every day, I assire you, even without such good Memorials of you as your Sisters, with whom I sometimes talk of you, and find it one of the most agree|able of all Subjects to them. My Lord

Digby must be perpetually remember'd by all who ever knew him, or knew his Chil|dren. There needs no more than an ac|quaintance with your Family, to make all Elder Sons wish they had Fathers to their lives end.

I can't touch upon the subject of filial Love, without putting you in mind of an old Woman, who has a sincere, hearty, old|fashion'd respect for you, and constantly blames her Son for not having writ to you oftner, to tell you so.

I very much wish (but what signifies my wishing? my Lady Scudamore wishes, your Sisters wish) that you were with us, to com|pare the beautiful Contraste this Season affords us, of the Town and the Country. No Ideas you could form in the Winter can make you imagine what Twickenham is (and what your Friend Mr. Johnson of Twickenham is) in this warmer Season. Our River glitters beneath an unclouded Sun, at the same time that its Banks retain the Verdure of Showers: Our Gardens are offering their first Nosegays; our Trees, like new Acquaintance brought happily together, are stretching their Arms to meet each other, and growing nearer and nearer every hour: The Birds are paying their thanksgiving Songs for the new Ha|bitations I have made 'em: My Building rises high enough to attract the eye and

curiosity of the Passenger from the River, where, upon beholding a mixture of Beauty and Ruin, he enquires what house is falling, or what Church is rising? So little taste have our common Tritons of Vitruvius; whatever delight the true, unseen, poetical Gods of the River may take, in reflecting on their Streams my Tuscan Porticos, or Ionic Pilasters.

But (to descend from all this Pomp of Style) the best account I can give of what I am building, is, that it will afford me a few pleasant Rooms for such a Friend as yourself, or a cool situation for an hour or two for Lady Scudamore, when she will do me the honour (at this Publick House on the Road) to drink her own Cyder.

The moment I am writing this, I am surprized with the account of the Death of a Friend of mine; which makes all I have here been talking of a meer Jest! Build|ings, Gardens, Writings, Pleasures, Works, of whatever stuff Man can raise! none of them (God knows) capable of advantaging a Creature that is Mortal, or of satisfying a Soul that is Immortal! Dear Sir, I am

Your most faithful Servant.

To the same.

July 20, 1720.

YOUR kind desire to know the state of my Health had not been unsatisfied so long, had not that ill state been the impe|diment. Nor should I have seem'd an un|concern'd party in the Joys of your family, which I heard of from Lady Scudamore, whose short Escbantillon of a Letter (of a quarter of a page) I value as the short Glimpse of a Vision afforded to some de|vout Hermit; for it includes (as those Re|velations do) a promise of a better Life in the Elysian Groves of Cirencester, whither, I could almost say in the style of a Sermon, the Lord bring us all, &c. Thi|ther may we tend, by various ways to one blisful Bower: Thither may Health, Peace, and good Humour, wait upon us as Associ|ates: Thither may whole Cargoes of Nec|tar (Liquor of Life 'and Longaevity!) by mortals call'd Spaw-water, be convey'd, and there (as Milton has it) may we, like the Deities,

On flow'rs reposd, and with fresh garlands crown'd, Quaff Immortality and Joy—

When I speak of Garlands, I should not forget the green Vestments and Scarfs which your Sisters promis'd to make for this purpose: I expect you too in Green with a hunting-horn by your Side and a green Hat, the Model of which you may take from Osborne's Description of King James the First.

What Words, what Numbers, what Ora|tory or what Poetry, can suffice, to express how infinitely I esteem, value, love and de|sire you all, above all the Great ones, the rich ones, and the vain ones of this part of the World! above all the Jews, Jobbers, Bubblers, Subscribers, Projectors, Directors, Governors, Treasurers, &c. &c. &c. &c. in saecula saeculorum!

Turn your Eyes and Attention from this miserable mercenary Period; and turn yourself, in a just Contempt of these Sons of Mammon, to the Contemplation of Books, Gardens, and Marriage. In which I now leave you, and return (Wretch that I am!) to Water-gruel and Palladio.

I am, &c.

To the same.

Twickenham, Sept. 1.

Dear Sir,

YOUR Doctor is going to the Bath, and stays a Fortnight or more: Per|haps you would be comforted to have a Sight of him, whether you need him or not. I think him as good a Doctor as any for one that is ill, and a better Doctor than any one for one that is well. He would do admirably for Mrs. Mary Digby: She needed only to follow his Hints, to be in eternal business and amusement of mind, and even as active as she could desire. But indeed I fear she would out-walk him: For (as Dean Swift observ'd to me the very first time I saw the Doctor) He is a Man that can do every thing, but walk. His Brother, who is lately come into England, goes also to the Bath; and is a more extraordinary Man than he, worth your going thither on purpose to know him. The Spirit of Philanthropy, so long dead to our World, is reviv'd in him: He is a Philosopher all of fire; so warmly, nay so wildly in the right, that he forces all others about him to be so too, and draws them into his own Vortex. He is a Star that

looks as if it were all Fire, but is all Benig|nity, all gentle and beneficial Influence. If there be other men in the world that would serve a Friend, yet He is the only one I believe that could make even an Enemy serve a Friend.

As all human Life is chequer'd and mixed with Acquisitions and Losses (tho' the latter are more certain and irremediable, than the former lasting or satisfactory) so at the time I have gain'd the acquaintance of one wor|thy Man I have lost another, a very easy, humane, and gentlemanly Neighbour, Mr. Stonor. It's certain the Loss of one of this Character puts us naturally upon setting a greater Value on the few that are left, tho' the degree of our Esteem may be different. Nothing, says Seneca, is so melancholy a circumstance in human life, or so soon re|conciles us to the thought of our own death, as the reflection and prospect of one Friend after another dropping round us! Who would stand alone, the sole remaining Ruin, the last tottering Column of all the Fabrick of Friendship; once so large, seemingly so strong, and yet so suddenly sunk and buried?

I am, &c.

To the same.

Saturday Night.

Dear Sir,

I Have belief enough in the goodness of your whole family, to think you will all be pleas'd that I am arriv'd in safety at Twickenham; tho' 'tis a sort of Earnest, that you will be troubled again with me at Sher|borne, or Coleshill; for however I may like One of your places, it may be in that as in liking One of your family; when one sees the rest, one likes them all. Pray make my services acceptable to them; I wish them all the happiness they may want, and the con|tinuance of all the happiness they have; and I take the latter to comprize a great deal more than the former. I must separate Lady Scudamore from you, as I fear she will do herself, before this letter reaches you: So I wish her a good journey, and I hope one day to try if she lives as well as You do; tho' I much question if she can live as quiet|ly: I suspect the Bells will be ringing at her arrival, and on her own and Miss Scudamore's birthdays, and that all the Clergy in the County come to pay respects; both the Cler|gy and their Bells expecting from her, and

from the young Lady, further business, and further employment. Besides all this, there dwells on the one side of her the Lord Co|ningsby, and on the other Mr. W_…_… Yet I shall, when the Days and the Years come about, adventure upon all this for her sake.

I beg my Lord Digby to think me a better Man than to content myself with thanking him in the common way. I am in as sincere a sense of the word, His Servant, as you are his Son, or he your Father.

I must in my turn insist upon hearing how my last fellow-travellers got home from Cla|rendon, and desire Mr. Philips to remember me in his Cyder, and to tell Mr. W_…_… that I am dead and buried.

I wish the young Ladies, who I almost robb'd of their Good name, a better Name in return (even that very name to each of them, which they like best for the sake of the Man that bears it.)

Your ever faithful and affectionate Servant.

To the same.

1722.

YOUR making a sort of Apology for your not writing, is a very genteel reproof to me. I know I was to blame, but I know I did not intend to be so, and (what is the happiest Knowledge in the World) I know you will forgive me: For sure nothing is more satisfactory than to be certain of such a Friend as will overlook one's failings, since every such instance is a Conviction of his Kindness.

If I am all my life to dwell in In|tentions, and never rise to Actions, I have but too much need of that gentle disposi|tion which I experience in you. But I hope better things of myself, and fully purpose to make you a visit this Summer at Sher|bourn. I'm told you are all upon removal very speedily, and that Mrs. Mary Digby talks in a Letter to Lady Scudamore, of seeing my Lord Bathurst's Wood in her way. How much I wish to be her Guide thro' that enchanted Forest, is not to be exprest: I look upon myself as the Magi|cian appropriated to the place, without whom no mortal can penetrate into the Recesses of those sacred Shades. I could pass whole Days, in only describing to

her the future, and as yet visionary Beau|ties, that are to rise in those Scenes: The Palace that is to be built, the Pa|villions that are to glitter, the Colonnades that are to adorn them: Nay more, the meeting of the Thames and the Severn, which (when the noble Owner has finer Dreams than ordinary) are to be led into each others Embraces thro' secret Caverns of not above twelve or fifteen Miles, till they rise and openly celebrate their Mar|riage in the midst of an immense Amphi|theatre, which is to be the Admiration of Posterity a hundred Years hence. But till the destin'd time shall arrive that is to manifest these Wonders, Mrs. Digby must content herself with seeing what is at present no more than the finest Wood in England.

The Objects that attract this part of the world, are of a quite different Na|ture. Women of Quality are all turn'd Followers of the Camp in Hyde-Park this Year, whither all the Town resort to magnificent Entertainments given by the Officers, &c. The Scythian Ladies that dwelt in the Waggons of War, were not more closely attached to the Luggage. The Matrons, like those of Sparta, attend their Sons to the Field, to be the Witnesses of their glorious Deeds; and the Maidens

with all their Charms display'd, provoke the Spirit of the Soldiers: Tea and Coffee sup|ply the place of Lacedemonian black Broth. This Camp seems crowned with perpetual Victory, for every Sun that rises in the Thunder of Cannon, sets in the Musick of Violins. Nothing is yet wanting but the constant presence of the Princess, to represent the Mater Exercitûs.

At Twickenham the World goes other|wise. There are certain old People who take up all my time, and will hardly al|low me to keep any other Company. They were introduced here by a Man of their own sort, who has made me perfectly rude to all my Contemporaries, and won't so much as suffer me to look upon 'em. The Person I complain of is the Bishop of Rochester. Yet he allows me (from some|thing he has heard of your Character and that of your Family, as if you were of the old Sect of Moralists) to write three or four sides of Paper to you, and to tell you (what these sort of People never tell but with Truth, and religious Sincerity) that I am, and ever will be,

Dear SIR,

Yours, &c.

To the same.

THE same reason that hinder'd your writing, hinder'd mine, the pleasing Expectation to see you in Town. Indeed since 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 Absence from London, for I could hardly have seen you there; and it would not have been quite reasonable to have drawn you to a sick Room hither from the first Embraces of your Friends. My Mother is now (I thank God) wonderfully recovered, tho' not so much as yet to venture out of her Chamber, yet enough to enjoy a few particular Friends, when they have the good Nature to look upon her. I may recom|mend to you the Room we sit in, upon one (and that a favourite) Account, that it is the very warmest in the House: We and our Fire will equally smile upon your Face. There is a Persian Proverb that says, I think very prettily, The Conversation of a Friend brightens the Eyes. This I take to be a

Splendor still more agreeable than the Fires you so delightfully describe.

That you may long enjoy your own Fire|side, in the metaphorical Sense, that is, all those of your Family who make it pleasing to fit and spend whole wintry Months to|gether, (a far more rational Delight, and better felt by an honest Heart, than all the glaring Entertainments, numerous Lights, and false Splendors, of an Assembly of empty Heads, aking Hears, and false Faces) This is my sincere Wish to you and yours.

You say you propose much Pleasure in seeing some few Faces about Town of my Acquaintance, I guess you mean Mrs. How|ard's and Mrs. Blount's. And I assure you, you ought to take as much Pleasure in their Hearts, if they are what they sometimes ex|press with regard to you.

Believe me, dear Sir, to you all, a very faithful Servant.

To the same.

Octob. 10.

Dear Sir,

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 carry'd me on the high Gallop towards it for six or seven days—But here you have me now, and that's 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 danger|ous 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?

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 try'd, experienc'd Friends, and fel|low Comforters, who have seen Evil Men and Evil Days, and have by a superior Rec|titude of Heart set yourselves above them,

and reap your Reward. Why will you ever, of your own accord, end such a Millenary Year in 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 Tri|umphant? I appeal to a Third Lady in your Family, whom I take to be the most Inno|cent, and the least warp'd by idle Fashion and Custom, of you all; I appeal to Her, if you are not every Soul of you better Peo|ple, better Companions, and happier, where you are? I desire her Opinion under her Hand in your next Letter, I mean Miss Scudamore's†† 1.2—I'm confident if she would, or durst speak her Sense, and em|ploy 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 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 irresistable Argu|ments another Year, as may carry you all

with me to Bermudas, † 1.3 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 of the Year for a Painter; there is more Variety of Colours in the Leaves, the Prospects begin to open, thro' the thinner Woods, over the Vallies; and thro' 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 wou'd ye have? The Moon shines too, tho' not for Lovers these cold Nights, but for Astronomers.

Have ye not Reflecting Telescopes* 1.4 where|by 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 Wisdom 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 world|ly, as idle, in a Word as much an Anti-Ber|mudanist as any body. Dear Sir, make the Ladies know I am their Servant, You know I am

Yours, &c.

To the same.

Aug. 12.

I Have been above a Month strolling abour in Buckinghamshire and Oxfordshire, from Garden to Garden, but still returning to Lord Cobham's with fresh Satisfation. I should be sorry to see my Lady Scudamore's, till it has had the full Advantage of Lord Bathurst's Improvements; and then I will expect some|thing 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 Sharawaggi's of China, I have little or no Ideas of'em, but I dare say Lord B_…_…t has, because they were certainly both very Great, and very Wild. I hope Mrs. Mary Digby is quite tired of his Lordship's Extra|vagante Bergerie; and that she is just now sitting, or rather reclining, on a Bank, fa|tigu'd with over much Dancing and Sing|ing at his unwearied Request and Instigation. I know your love of Ease so well, that you might be in danger of being too Quiet to enjoy Quiet, and too Philosophical to be a Philosopher; were it not for the Ferment Lord B. will put you into. One of his Lord|ship's Maxims is, that a total Abstinence from Intemperance or Business, is no more Philosophy, than a total Consopition of the Senses is Repose; one must Feel enough of its Contrary to have a Relish of either. But after all, let your Temper work, and be as sedate and contemplative as you will, I'll engage you shall be fit for his Lordship when you come to Town in the Winter. Folly will laugh you into all the Customs of the Company here; nothing will be able to prevent your Conversion to her, but In|disposition, which I hope will be far from you. I am telling the worst that can come of you; for as to Vice, you are safe, but Folly is many an honest Man's, nay every

good-humour'd Man's Lot: Nay, it is the Seasoning of Life; and Fools (in one Sense) are the Salt of the Earth; a little is excellent, tho' indeed a whole Mouthful is justly call'd the Devil.

So much for your Diversions next Winter, and for mine. I envy you much more at present, than I shall then; for if there be on Earth an Image of Paradise, it is in such perfect Union and Society as you all possess. I wou'd have my innocent Envies and Wishes of your State known to you all; which is far better than making you Com|pliments, for it is inward Approbation and Esteem. My Lord Digby has in me a sin|cere Servant, or would have, were there any occasion for me to manifest it.

To the same.

Sept. 10, 1724.

Dear Sir,

I AM glad your Travels delighted you, improve you I am sure they could not; you are not so much a Youth as that, tho' you run about with a King of Sixteen, and

(what makes him still more a Child) a King of Frenchmen. My own Time has been more melancholy, spent in an Attendance upon Death, which has seized one of our Family, my poor old Nurse. My Mother is something better, though at her advanc'd Age every Day is a Climacterick. There was join'd to this an Indisposition of my own, which I ought to look upon as a slight one, compar'd with my Mother's, (because my Life is not of half the Consequence to any Body, that hers is to me.) All these Inci|dents have hinder'd my more speedy Reply to your obliging Letter.

The Article you enquire of, is of as little Concern to me as you desire it shou'd; namely the Railing Papers about the Odyssey. If the Book has Merit, (and since you like it, it must) it will extinguish all such nasty Scan|dal, as the Sun puts an end to stinks, meerly by coming out.

I wish I had nothing to trouble me more; an honest Mind is not in the power of any dishonest one: To break its Peace, there must be some Guilt or Consciousness, which is inconsistent with its own Principles. Not but Malice and Injustice have their Day, like some poor short-liv'd Vermine, that die of shooting their own Stings. Falshood is Folly (says Homer) and Liers and Calumni|ators at last hurt none but themselves, even

in this World: In the next, 'tis Charity to say, God have Mercy on them! They were the Devil's Vice-gerents upon Earth, who is the Father of Lies, and I fear has a Right to dispose of his Children.

I've had an Occasion to make these Re|flections of late, more justly than from any thing that concerns my Writings, for it is one that concerns my Morals, and (which I ought to be as tender of as my own) the good Character of another very innocent Person, who I'm sure shares your Friendship no less than I do. **** No Creature has better natural Dispositions, or would act more rightly, or reasonably, in every Duty, did she act by herself, or from herself: But you know 'tis the Misfortune of that Fa|mily to be govern'd like a Ship, I mean the Head guided by the Tail, and that by every Wind that blows in it.

To the same.

Decemb. 28. 1724.

Dear Sir,

IT is now the Season to wish you a good End of one Year, and a happy Beginning of another: but both these you know how to make yourself, by only continuing such

a Life as you have been long accustomed to lead. As for Good Works, they are things I dare not name, either to those that do them, or to those that do them not; the first are too modest, and the latter too selfish, to bear the mention of what are become either too old-fashion'd, or too private, to consti|tute any Part of the Vanity or Reputation of the present Age. However, it were to be wish'd People would now and then look upon Good Works as they do upon old Wardrobes, meerly in case any of'em should by chance come into Fashion again; as an|cient Fardingales revive in modern Hoop'd Petticoats, (which may be properly compar'd to Charities, as they cover a multitude of Sins.)

They tell me that at—certain anti|quated Charities, and obsolete Devotions are yet subsisting: That a thing called Christian Chearfulness, (not incompatible with Christ|mas Pyes and Plum-broth) whereof frequent is the mention in old Sermons and Alma|nacks, is really kept alive and in Practise: That feeding the Hungry, and giving Alms to the Poor, do yet make a Part of good House-keeping, in a Latitude not more re|mote from London than fourscore Miles: And lastly, that Prayers and Roast-beef actually make some People as happy, as a Whore and a Bottle. But here in Town

I assure you, Men, Women, and Children have done with these things. Charity not only begins, but ends, at home. Instead of the four Cardinal Virtues, now reign four Princely ones: We have Cunning for Pru|dence, Rapine for Justice, Time-serving for Fortitude, and Luxury for Temperance. Whatever you may fancy where you live in a State of Ignorance, and see nothing but Quiet, Religion and Good Humour, the Case is just as I tell you where People under|stand the World, and know how to live with Credit and Glory.

I wish that Heaven would open the Eyes of Men, and make 'em sensible which of these is right: Whether upon a due Conviction, we are to quit Faction, and Gaming, and High-feeding and Whoring, and take to your Country Way? or you to leave Prayers, and Almsgiving, and Read|ing and Exercise, and come into our Mea|sures? I wish (I say) that this Matter were as clear to all Men, as it is to

Your Affectionate, &c.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Asses.
• †† 1.2

  Afterwards Duchess of Beaufort, at this time about twelve Years old.
• † 1.3

  About this time the Rev. Dean Berkly conceiv'd his Pro|ject of erecting a Settlement in Bermuda for the Propagation of the Christian Faith, and of Sciences in America.
• * 1.4

  These Instruments were just then brought to perfection.