write (as well as print) in folio. You'll think, (I know you will, for you have all the candor of a good underftanding), that the thing which men of our age feel the moft, is the friendship of our equals; and that therefore whatever affects those who are stept a few years before us, cannot but fenfibly affect us who are to follow. It troubles me to hear you complain of your memory; and, if I am in any part of my conftitution younger than you, it will be in my remembering every thing that has pleafed me in you, longer than perhaps you will. The two fummers we paffed together dwell always on my mind, like a vision which gave me a glimpse of a better life and better company, than this world otherwife afforded. I am now an individual, upon whom no other depends; and may go where I will, if the wretched carcafe I am annexed to did not hinder ine. I rambled, by very eafy journeys, this year, to Lord Bathurst and Lord Peterborow, who, upon every occafion, commemorate, love, and wish for you. I now pafs my days between Dawley, London, and this place; not ftudious, nor idle, rather polishing old works than hewing out new. I redeem now and then a paper that hath been abandoned feveral years; and of this fort you'll foon fee one, which I infcribe to our old friend Arbuthnot. Thus far I had written; and thinking to finish my letter the fame evening, was prevented by company; and the next morning found myself in a fever, highly difordered, and fo continued in bed for five days; and in my chamber till now; but fo well recovered as to hope to go abroad to-morrow, even by the advice of Dr Arbuthnot. He himself, poor man, is much broke, though not worse than for these two laft months he has been. He took extremely kind your letter. I wish to God we could once meet again, before that feparation, which yet, I would be glad to believe, fhall reunite us. But he who made us, not for ours, but his purposes, knows only whether it be for the better or the worse, that the affections of this life fhould, or fhould not continue into the other and doubtlefs it is as it fhould be. Yet I am fure, that while I am here, and the thing that I am, I shall be imperfect without the communication of fuch friends as you. You are to me like a limb lost, VOL. VIII. Р and and buried in another country. Though we feem quite divided,, every accident makes me feel you were once a part of me. I always confider you fo much as a friend, that I forget you are an author, perhaps too much; but it is as much as I would defire you would do to me. However, if I could infpirit you to bestow correction upon those three treatifes, which you say are so near completed, I fhould think it a better work than any I can pretend to of my own. I am almost at the end of any morals, as I have been long ago of my wit. My fyftem is a fhort one, and my circle narrow. Imagination has no limits; and that is a fphere in which you may move on to eternity: but where one is confined to truth, (or, to speak more like a human creature, to the appearances of truth), we foon find the shortness of our tether. Indeed, by the help of a metaphysical chain of ideas, one may extend the circulation, go round and round for ever, without making any progrefs beyond the point to which Providence has pinned us. But this does not fatisfy me; who would rather fay a little to no purpose, than a great deal. Lord B. is voluminous, but he is voluminous only to destroy volumes. I shall not live, I fear, to fee that work printed. He is fo taken up ftill (in fpite of the monitory hint given in the first line of my effay) with particular men, that he neglects mankind, and is ftill a creature of this world, not of the universe; this world, which is a name we give to Europe, to England, to Ireland, to London, to Dublin, to the court, to the castle, and fo diminishing, till it comes to our own affairs, and to our own perfons. When you write either to him or to me, (for we accept it all as one), rebuke him for it; as a divine, if you like åt; or as a badineur, if you think that more effectual. What I write will fhew that my head is yet weak. I had written to you by that gentleman from the Bath, but I did not know him; and every body that comes from Ireland, pretends to be a friend of the Dean's. am always glad to fee any that are truly fo; and therefore do not niftake any thing I faid, fo as to difcourage your fending any fuch to me. Adieu. I LET Your From Dr SWIFT. May 12. 1735. Our letter was fent me yesterday by Mr Stopford, who landed the fame day, but I have not yet feen him. As to my filence, God knows it is my great miffortune. My little domeftic affairs are in great confufion, by the villany of agents, and the miferies of this kingdom, where there is no money to be had. Nor am I unconcerned, to fee all things tending towards abfolute power in both nations*, (it is here in perfection already), although I fhall not live to fee it established. This condition of things, both public, and perfonal to myfelf, hath given me fuch a kind of defpondency, that I am almost unqualified for any company, diverfion, or amusement. The death of Mr Gay and the Doctor † hath been terrible wounds near my heart. Their living would have been a great comfort to me, although I fhould never have seen them; like a fum of money in a bank, from which I should receive at leaft annual intereft, as I do from you, and have done from my Lord Bolingbroke. To fhew in how much ignorance I live, it is hardly a fortnight fince I heard of the death of my Lady Masham, my conftant friend in all changes of times. God forbid that I fhould expect you to make a voyage that would in the least affect your health. But in the mean time how unhappy am I, that my best friend fhould have perhaps the only kind of disorder for which a fea-voyage is not in fome degree a remedy? The old Duke of Ormond faid, he would not change his dead fon (Offory) for the best living fon in Europe. Neither would I change you, my absent friend, for the best prefent friend round the globe. I have lately read a book imputed to Lord B. called * The Dean was frequently troubled, he tells us, with a giddinefs in his head. Warb. † Arbuthnot. He died Feb. 27. 1734-5. A differtation upon parties. I think it very masterly written. Pray God reward you for your kind prayers. I believe your prayers will do me more good than thofe of all the prelates in both kingdoms, or any prelates in Europe, except the Bishop of Marseilles *. And God preferve you for contributing more to mend the world, than the whole pack of (modern) parfons in a lump. I am ever entirely yours. T Sept. 3. 1735. His letter will be delivered to you by Faulkner the printer, who goes over on his private affairs. This is an anfwer to yours of two months ago, which complains of that profligate fellow Curl. I heartily wish you were what they call difaffected, as I am. I may fay as David did, I have finned greatly, but what have these sheep done? You have given no offence to the ministry, nor to the Lords, nor Commons, nor Queen, nor the next in power. For you are a man of virtue, and therefore must abhor vice and all corruption, although your discretion holds the reins. "You need not fear any confequence in the commerce that hath fo "long paffed between us, although I never destroyed "one of your letters. But my executors are men of "honour and virtue, who have strict orders in my will "to burn every letter left behind me." Neither did our letters contain any turns of wit, or fancy, or politics, or fatire, but mere innocent friendship. Yet I am loath, that any letters from you, and a very few other friends, should die before me. I believe we neither of us ever leaned our head upon our left hand, to study. what we should write next; yet we have held a con * Who continued there with his flock all the time a dreadful pestilence defolated that city, in 1720. He fold all his plate, &c. for the relief of the poor. ftant ftant intercourse from your youth and my middle age, and from your middle age it must be continued till my death, which my bad state of health makes me expect every month. I have the ambition, and it is very earneft as well as in hafte, to have one epiftle infcribed to me while I am alive, and you just in the time when wit and wisdom are in the height. I must once more repeat Cicero's defire to a friend, Orna me, A month ago were fent me over by a friend of mine, the works of John Hughes, Efq; They are in verfe and profe. I never heard of the man in my life; yet I find your name as a fubfcriber too. He is too grave a poet for me; and, I think, among the mediocribus in profe as well as verfe. I have the honour to know Dr Rundle *. He is indeed worth all the reft you ever fent us; but that is faying nothing, for he answers your character. I have dined thrice in his company. He brought over a worthy cler gyman of this kingdom as his chaplain; which was a very wife and popular action. His only fault is, that he drinks no wine, and I drink nothing else. This kingdom is now abfolutely ftarving, by the means of every oppreffion that can be inflicted on mankind. Shall I not vifit for these things? faith the Lord. You advife me right, not to trouble myfelf about the world. But oppreffion tortures me; and I cannot live without meat and drink, nor get either without money ; and money is not to be had, except they will make me a bishop, or a judge, or a colonel, or a commiffioner of the revenues. Adieu. T LETTER LXXVII. O answer your question as to Mr Hughes, what he wanted as to genius, he made up as an honeft man: but he was of the clafs you think him. I am glad you think of Dr Rundle as I do. He will be an honour to the bishops, and a difgrace to one bifhop; two things you will like: but what you will like more particularly, he will be a friend and benefactor Bishop of Derry. P 3 even |