for a minute's memory? Yet he comforts himself, to reflect that he shall be remembered when people have forgot what colours.you wore, and when those at whom you dress shall be dust! This is the pride of a poet: let me see if you dare own what is the pride of a woman; perhaps one article of it may be, to despise those who think themselves of some value, and to shew your friends you can live without thinking of them at all. Do keep your own secrets, that such fellows as I may laugh at ye in the valley of Jehoshaphat, where cunning will be the foolishest thing in nature. But I forget myself. I am talking as to women things that walk in the country, when possibly by this time you are got to London, and are goddesses. For how should ye be less when you are in your heaven? If so, most adorable deities! most celestial beauties! hear the often-repeated invocation of a poet expecting immortality! So may no complaints of unhappy mortals ever more disturb your eternal diversions! Maintain your dignity, blessed saints! and scorn to reveal yourselves to fools (though it be but fair play, for they reveal themselves to every body). Goddesses must be allsufficient; they can neither want a friend, nor a correspondent. How arrogant a wretch am I then, who resolve to be one of these (if not both) to you, as long as I have a day to live!

LETTER XXIII.

TO MRS. MARTHA BLOUNT.

October 30.

You must needs know, dearest Madam, how kindly, how very kindly I take your letter. I am sure there is scarce an hour in which I am not thinking of you, and of every thing relating to you; and therefore every least notice given me of you, is to me the most important news in the world. I am truly concerned for your head-ach, and for your finding the town disagreeable: but I hope both of these uneasinesses will be transitory, and that you will soon (even the very next day after your complaint) find both yourself and the town mighty well again. I do sincerely, and from my soul, wish you every pleasure and contentment the world can give; and do assure you at the same time, the greatest I can receive will always be in hearing of yours, and in finding, by your communicating it to me, that you know how much I partake of it. This will satisfy my conscience better, than if I continued to trouble you daily; though there is really no day of my life that I do not long to see you.

As to my health, I am in a very odd course for the pain in my side: I mean a course of brickbats and tiles, which they apply to me piping hot, morning and night; and sure it is very satisfactory to one who loves architecture at his heart, to

be built round in his very bed. My body may properly at this time be called a human structure. My mother too is fallen ill of her rheumatism, but was not the worse, but better, for your stay the other night. You left her in high humour with you. Pray give hers and my faithful services to your mother and sister.

Shall I congratulate or condole with you on my Lady Kildare's account? I heartily wish her very happy with any able Divine, whenever you have no mind to her company. I thank you for your kind admonition to consult the doctor, and faithfully promise to take care of myself at your desire, whenever you will take the least care of yourself at mine. You may be confident the master-builder will come to survey your house the first day he is able: if he does not soon recover, I will send to another, whom I believe I can find at Kensington.

Pray, have you heard farther of Bertie? I have not. I writ yesterday to Cleveland-Court, to deliver you what letters came from the lottery-office. God give you good fortune (the best thing he can give in this world to those who can be happy). You know I have no palate to taste it, and therefore am in no concern or haste to hear whether I gain or lose. But I will not release you from your engagement of sending me word of the tickets, because every word of word of yours is unfeignedly a great satisfaction to Yours, &c.

If I am not able to come soon to London, I will epistolize your sister speedily.

LETTER XXIV.

TO MRS. MARTHA BLOUNT.

London, Tuesday.

I

AM very glad I did not defer seeing Mr. Bethel. I found him last night so bad, and panting for breath, that I can scarce imagine he ever will recover. Yet this morning he is quite another man, and so much mended, that it is scarce conceivable he is the same person. So it seems it is with him, but much worse in town than on the road. It was impossible to get him to Twitnam: he stays but one day more, and sets out on Thursday morning. I wish to God you could borrow Lady A's chariot to-morrow, just to look at him in the morning, and return to her to dinner. He lodges next door to Lord Shelburne's. He does not expect this; but I think it would be a satisfaction to your own mind, and perhaps we shall never see him more. God's will must be obeyed; but I am excessively wounded by it. Adieu.

MADAM,

LETTER XXV.

TO MRS. TERESA BLOUNT.

I WONDER you should imagine I thought you had done any thing amiss; when the letter I sent you last so fully explained my meaning. I think that shews you it is unreasonable I should trouble you so frequently; and I cannot think you so much a woman, as to expect I should continue to act unreasonably, only because I have done so too long already.

I will wait upon you before noon; and am very truly and honestly what I profess myself, Madam, Your most faithful friend,

and sincere humble servant.

LETTER XXVI.

TO TERESA AND MARTHA BLOUNT.

You cannot be surprized to find him a dull correspondent whom you have known so long for a dull companion. And though I am pretty sensible, that if I have any wit, I may as well write to show it, as not; yet I will content myself with giving you as plain a history of my pilgrimage, as Purchas himself, or as John Bunyan could do of his walking through the wilderness of this world, &c.

First then I went by water to Hampton-Court,