pany. You may be assured, I would studied his character even maliciousnot hinder her the first time; and Ily, to find where his weakness lies; made a conscience not to do it the but have studied in vain. When I second for it was a new acquaint- know it, the world shall know it too, ance she was going to make; a mat- for the consolation of the envious; ter perhaps as useful to her amuse- especially as I suspect it will prove ment, while she staid at Bath, as to be only a partiality he has enterthe other for her health. tained for me. In a word, I firmly Thus you see, my good friend, we believe him to have been sent by Prohave all something to make us think vidence into the world, to teach men less complacently of the world. Re- what blessings they might expect ligion will do great things. It will from heaven, would they study to always make the bitter waters of Ma- deserve them. rah wholesome and palatable. But I received your agreeable present we must not think it will usually of your pupil's Sermons,* with your turn water to wine, because it once Life of him, which my nephew has did so. Nor is it fit it should, un- read with great pleasure, and you less this were our place of rest, where have both our most hearty thanks for we were to expect the bridegroom. it. He is now of Jesus College in I do the best I can, and should, I Cambridge. But I take what care I think, do the same, if I were a mere can myself of his education. He is pagan, to make life passable. To very promising, and I hope will prove be always lamenting the miseries of it, a comfort to an excellent though unor always seeking after the pleasures fortunate mother. of it, equally takes us off from the Dr. Taylor has just now shown work of our salvation. And though me the first part of your excellent I be extremely cautious what sect I Answer to Christianity not founded follow in religion, yet any in philo- on Argument; which he highly essophy will serve my turn, and honest teems, and we wait impatiently for Sancho Panza's is as good as any; the second. who, on his return from an important Will you forgive my concluding commission, when asked by his mas- without overlooking this sad scribble, ter, whether they should mark the which I should be even afraid to do, day with a black or a white stone, had I time. But now I have not a replied, 'Faith, sir, if you will be moment more than to conclude, with ruled by me, with neither, but with my best respects to Mrs. Doddridge, good brown ochre. What this philo- dear sir, your most affectionate and sopher thought of his commission, I faithful friend and brother. think of human life in general, good brown ochre is the complexion of it. I got home a little before Christmas, after a charming philosophical retirement in a palace with Mr. Pope and Mr. Allen for two or three LETTER CXVIII. (The first part.) months. The gentleman I mention- Bishop Hoadly to Lady Sundon. ed last is, I verily believe, the greatest private character that ever appeared in any age of the world. You see his munificence to the Bath Madam, Sept. 4, 1716. You oblige your friends in the Hospital. This is but a small part most agreeable manner in the world. of his charities, and charity but a You take a part in what is of consmall part of his virtues. I have *By the Rev. Mr. Thomas Steffe. cern to their interest, in such a man- -public) from the influences of such ner, and with such a grace, as can a combination of good qualities as never be forgotten. One doth not never, I believe, met at court, till know which to value most, the head you carried them thither; if unceror the heart; but this is the satis-tain life, uncertain health, and unfaction, that they are inseparable, certain favour, will give leave. But and both together invaluable. I take why should we doubt of favour, where this first minute I can, to thank you there is so much reason and real profor the quickness, the beauty, the fit in the continuance of it, and so warmth, and partiality, of your last. much good sense to discern that reaIf I am proud in the latter part of my son and advantage? I wish we could life, yourself and another* must chiefly be as sure of the other two. But I answer for it. Now I have mention- go to other subjects. ed warmth, you must give me leave to mention one uncommon, and hardly ever to be met with, mixture in the character of the lady I spake of LETTER CXIX. in my first letter. And that is the Bishop Hoadly to Lady Sundon. passion which is often seen to accompany sincerity, inseparably joinJan. 3, 1727-8. ed with the prudence which is very -Ir is a long time since I had seldom, in any tolerable degree, found the pleasure of a conversation, which with it. Without that warmth, which I cannot part with without some strugI have ventured to call passion, the gles. I consider, indeed, that the best-meaning person in the world hours, in which I used to enjoy it, hath but little heart to press forward, are those which are now generally even in what he knows to be right; better and more usefully employed, and without this prudence, that on your part, in another manner: and, warmth becomes passion in the com- I think, you cannot be too often at mon sense of the word; and pusheth court, because no harm can, but a him on to ruin his own designs. great deal of good, I am confident, You must have seen many instances will come from it. I am willing of this in life, in which a natural therefore to suffer some mortification, boldness and an imprudent warmth but not a perpetual one. I am a lithave been equally pernicious to the tle too selfish to give up all and best designs. The happy peculiarity hope I may still have some part in a is, I sincerely think, in her I have gratification which I pursued, you mentioned, the warmth of an honest know, long before the present situaheart, uncapable of any but good tion of affairs; and which, give me and noble views, under the conduct leave to say, I still pursue for the of such a prudence and knowledge sake of your merit; the merit, I mean, of the world as guards it safely from of virtue and good sense. I like you overturning them. I protest to you, not one thought the better for your I am not sensible in this, or any power at court; though, I own, I like thing else I have said, of any partiali- the court itself the better for it. Nor ty; unless that can be called partiali- do I court your friendship at all the ty, which is a judgment founded upon more for that. I cannot but flatter observation and experience. I con- myself, I have still some little claim fess, I often promise to myself great to it, from my own constant and unithings (I mean great things for the form regard to you, ever since I * The Princess of Wales, Caroline knew you, which I would call merit lin myself, could I have acted other wise. But I have a greater claim to the subject of a prebend of Salisbuit. I have your own promise, given ry, which, it seems, he expected me many years ago: and I can ne- from me. I never saw such an inver give up this claim, unless I ap- stance of pious tittle-tattle from one pear to have done any thing to for- end to the other; nor so much of feit it. I have letters written from the spirit of censure, and religious Bath in 1716, which have just now pride, and immoral zeal. What I given me a fresh pleasure in reading see in them both confirms me in them and I keep them as the writ- what I have used to observe, that ings of my estate in you, which very pious, devout, and (as they are callmuch confirm my title to your friend-ed) godly, and (I will own) wellship. LETTER CXX. Salisbury, Aug. 3, 1730. meaning men, often do the very same things which wicked men do, and which are in them allowed to be wicked and inexcusable. How they should be excusable or praise-worthy in others; or why Mr. Whiston should think it pardonable in himself to vent (nay, in truth, to inMadam, vent,) what it would be unpardonable It would be a very great pleasure to in a less pious man to say of me; I me to hear you are well, in whatever am at a loss to know. I leave him part of the world you now are. I to one who knows better than we do left you at Windsor, where I sent to what allowances to make for such inquire after your health, but could fury of religion, and desire to be not possibly stay to wait on you my-guarded myself from it for ever. self. I had the pleasure just to see I began, so I end. I entreat you, you going into the chapel. If you let me hear from you, if it be but in saw me there, you saw me tired to two lines, where you are, and how death with a ceremony more insigni- your health is; and believe me, ficantly troublesome, and more ridi- wherever I am, to be, with the truest culous, than even I expected. I fled honour and highest esteem, madam, from the last part of it in the hall, your most faithful friend and servant. and went a good way towards Salisbury that evening, regretting nothing but that I could not first have a little of your conversation. LETTER CXXI. Madam, As Salisbury, Aug. 14, 1731. I believe, madam, when you with Bishop Hoadly to Lady Sundon. so much warmth pressed me to write an account of Dr. Clarke, you little thought that would be made the occasion of so much reproach and bit- Ir was a very sensible satisfaction terness, as Mr. Whiston has vented to me to have it under your own against me; and much less that Mr. hand, that your health was the better Jackson, so much obliged as he was for the ease and quiet of Sundon; to that great man, could, so soon af- and that it would not be disagreeater his death, make use of his name ble to you to be interrupted, now and to hurt me; by sending to Mr. Whis- then, with a line or two from hence. ton, in order to be published, an I ought, indeed, to have made this acidle, imperfect, partial, and false acknowledgment much sooner; and count of what, he was told, passed have little to say for myself, but that, between Dr. Clarke and me, upon for some time, I have every day ex Salisbury, Aug. 17, 1731. THUS far I had writ last post-day, pected to see or hear from Dr. Clarke, to me the manner of conversation (according to his promise when he with your friends, made agreeable by set out for Sundon,) and to have an a quickness (not to say, eagerness) answer from him to twenty questions of spirit, guarded by the goodness of I had to ask about you, and your the understanding. The rememhealth, and the place, and I know brance of what I myself have been not what. A poor excuse, I own: witness to, makes the idea of this but such as it is, joining itself with very strong. Sundon can add even the very hot weather, (which made to this the circumstance of more my head unfit for a letter to you, quiet, and less interruption from those and my hand itself unable to do as rappings at the gate, which I have it used to do,) it prevailed until I saw often been angry at, at London; a him. He is but just gone, after a circumstance, I own, to me, of a stay of only a day and a half: and most disagreeable sort. he has left me full of pleasing thoughts about Sundon, and the Lady of Sundon; and full of wishes to see her in her country-retirement, which, I and was going on to follow you know, she adorns. And if wish to the cottages and wants of your and imagination can bring it about, poor neighbours, and to partake I am now there with you. Let me with you in the pleasure of beindulge the imagination: it will neficence, by seeing the satisfaction please me, and not hurt you. Me- and joy of a good mind, in being thinks, I very plainly see you re- able to take any thing from the pains ceiving your friends, with a coun- and miseries of the distressed part tenance as free from a cloud, as of mankind: but I was interrupted your heart is from a spot, (much the by something, (not worth mentionmore to be valued by those whom ing,) which made it absolutely imposyou think worthy of it, because in sible to add a line or two for a conyou it is so very different from what clusion before the post went away; I call the countenance of common at least I was dispirited enough to civility, due to the undistinguished think so. I know no higher joy rabble of acquaintance:) I mean a than that of doing good; nor can I countenance that shows the friendship frame to myself any more agreeable of the heart; not indeed to be de- image, when I am thinking of Sunscribed, nor so much as perceived don, than that of one, who knows by any, but the few that feel within the art of living herself, and has the themselves something which tells goodness to help all around her to enthem what it means in another. joy life, as far as her ability can reach. From this image, which I can hard- I can add nothing greater than this; ly part with, I go on to others. The and therefore with this I will end the neatness of the house; the clean- scene I was unwilling to dress out ness of the little circle of ground for myself; to make Sundon as pleaabout it; the elegance of your enter-sant to me as I could, at this distance, tainments-I see them with pleasure, and to entertain myself with what I because they are not alone, but are might enjoy, if I were there. It is the garniture of much greater things; the only revenge we can take of aband in you show a mind capable of sence to feign an imaginary presence. descending, with the utmost proprie- It is some amends, though a little ty, to the lower parts of life, without uneasy, when we awake and find it ever losing sight of the highest. The was a dream. Be it so I am sure imagery now goes on, and represents there is a foundation for it all; from what I myself have seen, and heard, taken my painful head instead of and experienced; and that no part of it. My hand (with a pen in it) is as the picture flatters the original. weak as either of them, as you may But now I bid Sundon adieu; and see. Why am I so different from wish I had any thing to add, that what others are, and from what, percould be entertaining to you. I de- haps, I ought to be myself? I know sire but two lines, (I mean, if you that I am going, but for a very little have not time for more,) to know while, and upon no uncommon occawhere you are, and how you are; nor sion. And yet, because I am partdo I design to stay for them before ing from every thing that is particuI write again. The cool weather larly dear to me within my own famihas restored a little life to me. In ly, and without it, though but for a the very hot, which we lately had, I while, I feel it to that excess of sinkfelt to myself like a man dragging ing, that I care not to attempt to life like a chain after him; not en-express it, for fear you should think joying it, but toiling for it. The more meanly of me, than even my worse for me, because I am not here foolish conversation on Monday made in a retirement, to dispose of myself you. Believe me sincere, and hearty as I please; but open to all business, in that sense; open; free, where and to all comers every day equally. freedom is safe, and where virtue It is my duty to be so; and I submit makes it so— o-Believe me this-and to it with some satisfaction, because think me in other respects as of a it seems agreeable to all, and useful weak man, if you please. If I can to some, about Salisbury. My wife think myself qualified for the best is as much your humble servant friendship, I shall have great ease and Mr. Clayton's, as it is pos- even in a dejected condition. Desible to be: and so am I. Preserve jected as it is, I cannot forbear tellyour health, and believe me to be, ing you, that I had a thorough, spiwith the most particular regard, ma- rituous, satirical, and resenting condam, your most faithful friend and versation with Mr. W. yesterday— servant. LETTER CXXII. Bishop Hoadly to Lady Sundon. all ending with great thanks for my freedom, and great professions.-I am interrupted in my poor scrawl. May the dearest friend I have in the world be preserved in health, and every thing that she is capable of wishing and may I (selfish you see at last) see her.once more in such a I CANNOT forbear bidding you fare- state! Forgive my hasty and uneawell, before I leave the town. You sy scribbling, and do not forget, mawill pardon me. You can hardly dam, your most faithful friend and imagine how foolish, or how sick, or servant. Madam, how weak, I have been to-day, even with the thoughts of to-morrow. You used to ask, how much of my head LETTER CXXIII. I would part with for a stronger heart. If you had been to feel what Bishop Hoadly to Lady Sundon. my head has been to-day, you would April 17, 1732. My dearest friend, And yet, if you Ir this finds you once more eshas been with caped well from the fatigue and diswould have order of a court waiting, it will be a |