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 thofe who are ftept 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 pleased me in you, longer than perhaps you will. The two fummers we paffed together dwell always on my mind, like a vifion which gave me a glimpse of a better life and better company, than this world otherwise afforded. 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 me. I rambled, by very easy journeys, this year, to Lord Bathurst and Lord Peterborow, who, upon every occafion, commemorate, love, and wish for you. I now país 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.

I

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 disordered, 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, tho' 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 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 should not continue into the other and doubtless it is as it should be. Yet I am fure, that while I am here, and the thing that I am, I fhall be imperfect without the communication of fuch friends as you. You are to me like a limb loft, VOL. IV. P

and

and buried in another country. Tho' 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 beftow correction upon those three treatifes, which you fay are fo near completed, I fhould think it a better work than any I can pretend to of my own. I am almoft at the end of my morals, as I have been long ago of my wit. My fyftem is a short one, and my circle narrow. Imagination has no limits; and that is a sphere 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 fhortness of our tether. Indeed, by the help of a metaphyfical 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 purpofe, than a great deal. Lord B. is voluminous, but he is voluminous only to deftroy volumes. I fhall not live, I fear, to fee that work printed. He is fo taken up still (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 univerfe ; 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 it; 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. I am always glad to fee any that are truly fo; and therefore do not mistake any thing I faid, fo as to discourage your fending any fuch to me.

Adieu.

LET

Yo

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 misfortune. 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), altho' I fhall not live to fee it established. This condition of things, both public, and perfonal to myself, bath given me fuch a kind of defpondency, that I am almoft unqualified for any company, diverfion, or amufement. 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, altho' I should': never have seen them; like a fum of money in a bank, from which I fhould receive at least annual interest, 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 Mafham, my conftant find 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 should have · perhaps the only kind of diforder 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 abfent 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 writ

ten.

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.

LETTER LXXVI.

From Dr SwIFT.

Sept. 3. 1735.

His letter will be delivered to you by Faulkner

TH 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 with you were what they call difaffected, as I am. I may fay as David did, I have finned greatly, but what have thefe 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, altho' your difcretion holds the reins. "You need not fear any con"fequence in the commerce that hath fo long paffed "between us, altho' I never deftroyed 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 loth, that any letters from you, and a very few other friends, should die before me. I believe we neither of us ever leared our head upon our left hand, to study what we should write next; yet we have held a conftant, intercourse from

* Who continued there with his flock all the time a dreadful peftilence defolated that city, in 1720. He fold all his plate, &c. for the relief of the poor.

from your youth and my middle age, and from your middle age it must be continued till my death, which my bad ftate of health makes me expect every month. I have the ambition, and it is very earnest 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 wifdom 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 subscriber too. He is too grave a poet for me; and, I think, among the mediocritus 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 clergyman 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 advise me right, not to trouble myself 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..

LETTER LXXVII.

O anfwer 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 bi fhop; 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