to bring them to a right temper, to bear the loss of a father, who loves them, and whom they love, is really a most sensible affliction to me. I am afraid, my dear friend, we shall never see one another more in this world. I shall, to the last moment, preserve my love and esteem for you, being well assured you will never leave the paths of virtue and honour; for all that is in this world is not worth the least deviation from that way. It will be great pleasure to me to hear from you sometimes; for none can be with more sincerity than I am, my dear friend, your most faithful friend, and humble servant.* LETTER CXLV. DR. SWIFT TO MR. POPE. Nov. 1, 1734. I HAVE yours with my Lord B's postscript of September 15: it was long on its way, and for some weeks after the date I was very ill with my two inveterate disorders, giddiness and deafness.† * This truly characteristic, pious, and affectionate letter, is the best eulogy on the memory of its excellent author. ↑ I know not whether it has been observed, but the real cause of Swift's giddiness and deafness appears, from every symptom, to have been what is called Hydrocephalus. Bowles. Whatever his disorder was, it seems extraordinary that he did not resort to medical aid, from which he might probably have obtained relief. There can be little doubt that his mode of living, particularly in the use of wine, tended to increase his complaint. The latter is pretty well off; but the other makes me totter towards evenings, and much dispirits But I continue to ride and walk, both of which, although they be no cures, are at least amusements. I did never imagine you to be either inconstant, or to want right notions of friendship; but I apprehend your want of health; and it hath been a frequent wonder to me how you have been able to entertain the world so long, so frequently, so happily, under so many bodily disorders. My Lord B. says, you have been three months rambling, which is the best thing you can possibly do in a summer season; and when the winter recals you, we will, for our own interests, leave you to your speculations. God be thanked I have done with every thing, and of every kind that requires writing, except now and then a letter, or like a true old man, scribbling trifles only fit for children or school-boys of the lowest class at best, which three or four of us read and laugh at to-day, and burn to-morrow. Yet, what is singular, I never am without some great work in view, enough to take up forty years of the most vigorous healthy man: although I am convinced that I shall never be able to finish three treatises that have lain by me several years, and want nothing but correction. My Lord B. said in his Postscript that you would go to Bath in three days: we since heard that you were dangerously ill there, and that the newsmongers gave you over. But a gentleman of this kingdom, on his return from Bath, assured me he left you well, and so did some others, whom I have forgot. I am sorry at my heart that you are pestered with people who come in my name, and I profess to you, it is without my knowledge. I am confident I shall hardly ever have occasion again to recommend, for my friends here are very few, and fixed to the freehold, from whence nothing but death will remove them. Surely I never doubted about your Essay on Man; and I would lay any odds, that I would never fail to discover you in six lines, unless you had a mind to write below or beside yourself on purpose. I confess I did never imagine you were so deep in morals, or that so many new and excellent rules could be produced so advantageously and agreeably in that science, from any one head. I confess in some places I was forced to read twice. I believe I told you before what the Duke of Dorset said to me on that occasion, how a judge here, who knows you, told him that on the first reading those Essays, he was much pleased, but found some lines a little dark; on the second, most of them cleared up, and his pleasure increased; on the third, he had no doubt remaining, and then he admired the whole. My Lord B- -'s attempt of reducing metaphysics to intelligible sense and usefulness, will be a glorious undertaking, and as I never knew him fail in any thing he attempted, if he had the sole management, so I am confident he will succeed in this. I desire you will allow that I write to you both at present, and so I shall while I live: it saves your money and my time; and he being your genius, no matter to which it is addressed. I am happy that what you write is printed in large letters; otherwise, between the weakness of my eyes, and the thickness of my hearing, I should lose the greatest pleasure that is left me. Pray command my Lord B-to follow that example, if I live to read his metaphysics. Pray God bless you both. I had a melancholy account from the Doctor* of his health. I will answer his letter as soon as I can. I am ever entirely yours. LETTER CXLVI. MR. POPE TO DR. SWIFT. Twickenham, Dec. 19, 1734. I AM truly sorry for any complaint you have, and it is in regard to the weakness of your eyes that I write (as well as print) in folio. You will think (I know you will, for you have all the candour of a good understanding) that the thing which men of our age feel the most, is the friendship of our equals; and that therefore whatever affects those who are stept a few years before us, cannot but sensibly 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 constitution younger than you, it will be in my remembering every thing that has pleased me in you, longer than perhaps you * Arbuthnot. will. The two summers* we passed together dwells always on my mind, like a vision which gave me a glimpse of a better life, and better company than this world otherwise afforded. I am now an individual, upon whom no other depends; and may go where I will, if the wretched carcase I am annexed to did not hinder me. I rambled by very easy journeys this year to Lord Bathurst and Lord Peterborough, who upon every occasion commemorate, love, and wish for you. I now pass my days between Dawley, London, and this place, not studious, nor idle, rather polishing old works than hewing out new. I redeem now and then a paper that hath been abandoned several years; and of this sort you will soon see one, which I inscribe to our old friend Arbuthnot.† Thus far I had written, and thinking to finish my letter the same evening, was prevented by company, and the next morning found myself in a fever highly disordered, and so continued in bed for five days; and in my chamber till now; but so 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 last months he has been. He took extremely kind your letter. I wish to God we could once meet again, before that separation, which yet, I would be glad to believe, shall reunite us but he who made us, not for ours but 1726-27, when the Dean was at Twickenham. + The Prologue to the Satires. Bowles. |