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évery thing but walk. His Brother, who is lately , come into England, goes also to the Bath; and is a more extraordinary Man than he, worth your going thither on purpose to know him. The Spirit of , Philanthropy, so long dead to our World, is reviv'd in him. He is a Philosopher all of Fire ; fo To warmly, nay so wildly, in the Right, that he forces all others about him to be so too, and draws them into his own Vortex. He is a Star that looks as if it were all Fire, but is all Benignity, all gentle and beneficial Influence. If there be other Men in the World that would serve a Friend, yet he is the only one I believe that could make even an Enemy serve à Friend.
As all human Life is chequer'd and mix'd with Acquisitions and Losses (though the latter are more certain and irremediable, than the former lasting or fatisfactory) so at the time I have gain’d the acquaintance of one worthy Man, I have lost another; a very easy, human, and gentlemanly Neighbour, Mr Stonor. 'Tis certain the Loss of one of this Character, puts us naturally upon setting a -greater Value on the few that are left, though the Degree of our Esteem may be different. Nothing, fays Seneca, is so melancholy a Circumstance in human Life, or fo foon reconciles us to the Thought of our own Death, , as the Reflexion' and Prospect of one Friend after another 'dropping round us. Who would stand alone, the fole remaining Ruin, the last tottering Column of all the Fabric of Friend fhip; once fo large, seemingly fo ftiong, and yet fo suddenly funk and buried?
I am, &c.
To the same.
Saturday Night. Dear Sir, I Have Belief enough in the Goodness of your whole
Family, to think you will all be pleas'd that I am arriv'd in Safety at Twickenham; though 'tis a fort of Earnest, that you will be troubled again with me at Sherborne, or Colefill : For however I may like one of your places, it may be in that as in liking one of your Family ; when one sees the rest, one likes them all. Pray make my Services acceptable to them: I wish them all the Happiness they may want, and the Continuance of all the Happiness they have; and I take the latter to comprize a great deal more than the former. I must separate Lady Scudamore from you, as I fear she will do herself, before this Letter reaches you : So I wish her a good Journey, and I hope one Day to try if she lives as well as you do; though I much question if she can live as quietly. I fufpect the Bells will be ringing at her Arrival, and on her own and Miss Scudamore's Birthdays; and that all the Clergy in the Country come to pay Respects; both the Clergy and their Bells expecting from her; and from the young Lady, further Business, and further Employment. Besides all this, there dwells. on the one side of her the Lord Coningsby, and on the other Mr W. Yet I shall, when the Days and Years come about, adventure upon all this for her fake,
I beg my Lord Digby to think me a better Man, than to content myself with thanking him in the common Way. I am in as fincere a Sense of the Word, His Servant, as you are his Son, or he
I must in my turn insist upon hearing how my last Fellow-travellers got home from Clarendon, and desire Mr Philips to remember me in his Cyder, and to tell Mr W that I am dead and buried.
I with the young Ladies, whom I almost robb'd of their good Name, a better Name in return (even that very Name to each of them, which they like best for the sake of the Man that bears
Your ever faithful
and affectionate Servant.
To the fame.
1722. YOUR making a fort of Apology for your not
writing, is a very genteel Reproof to me. I know I was to blame, but I know I did not intend to be fo, and what is the happiest Knowledge in the World) I know you will forgive me : For fure nothing is more satisfactory than to be certain of such a Friend as will overlook one's Failings, fince every such Instance is a Conviction of his Kindness.
If I am all my Life to dwell in Intentions, and never to rise to Actions, I have but too much need of that gentle Disposition which I experience in you. But I hope better things of myself, and fully purpose to make you a Visit this Summer at Sherbourne. I'm told you are all upon Removal very speedily, and that Mrs Mary Digby talks in a Letter to Lady Scudamore, of seeing my Lord Batburst's Wood in her Way. How much I wish to be her Guide thro' that inchanted Forest, is not to be expreft. I look upon myself as 'the Magician appropriated to the Place, without whom no Mortal can penetrate into the Recesses of those fan cred Shades. I could pass whole Days in only defcribing to her the future, and as yet. visionary Beauties, that are to rise in those. Scenes: the PaJaçe that is to be built, the Pavillions that are to glitter, the Colonnades that are to adorn them : Nay more, the meeting of the Thames, and the Severn, which (when the noble Owner has finer Dreams than ordinary) are to be led into each other's Embraces thro' fecret Caverns of
not above twelve or fifteen Miles, till they rise and openly celebrate their Marriage in the midst of an immense Amphitheatre, which is to be the Admiration of Pofterity a hundred Years hence. But till the destin'd time shall arrive that is to manifest these Wonders, Mrs Digby must content herself with feeing what is at present no more than the finest Wood in England.
The objects that attract this part of the World, are of a quite different Nature. Women of Quality are all turned followers of the Camp in HydeÞark. this Year, : whither all the Town resort to magnificent Entertainments given by the Officers, &c. The Scythian Ladies that dwelt in the Waggons of War, were not more closely attached to the Luggage. The Matrons, like those of Sparta, attend their Sons to the Field, to be the Witnesses of their glorious deeds, and the Maidens with all their Charms display'd, provoke the Spirit of the Soldiers. Tea and Coffee fupply the place of Lacedes monian black Broth. This Camp seems crowded with perpetual Victory, for every Sun that rises in the Thunder of Cannon, fets in the Mufick of Violins. Nothing is yet wanting but the constant presence of the Princess, to represent the Mater Exercitas..
At Twickenbam the World goes otherwise. There are certain old People who take up all my time, and will hardly allow me to keep any other Company. They were introduced here by a Man of their own fort, who has made me perfectly rude to all my Cotemporaries, and won't so much as sufferer me to look upon 'em. The Person I complain of is the Bishop of Rochester. Yet he allows me (from fomething he has heard of your character and that of your Family, as if you were of the old Sect of Moralists) to write three or four sides of