an expired felicity may deno∣minate a man still happy. What e∣ver joy your letter sprang in me, yet (being a marke of your absence) it doth but advertise me, that I am six-score leagues distant from the Au∣thor of my wellfare, and that there∣fore I can receive but imaginary painted satisfaction, and enjoy but forraine pleasures. You cannot re∣presente unto me the happy houers that I have spent in the closet of Messieurs de Puy, and the fine things that I have heard there, with∣out tacitely upbraiding me with the pensive howers of my solitude, and the gibbrish of my Neighbour∣hood. In truth Sir, if you know it not, J must tell you, that Balzac is the frontier of Barbary. But one daies journey from hence, (Monsi∣eur des Cordes can tell you) the ho∣nest 0