and it is my greatest pleasure that I do so, I conti nue here in this blind corner, when otherwise I should have been long ago making my fortune in the great world. But, as Tully says of Ulysses, "I prefer my old woman to immortality." Judge then of the obligations I have to you for preserving to me the only happiness of my life. But, alas! Fate urges on, and the time will come, when her natal Heaven will claim her, and then, if I live to see it, I foresee all the misery that will attend it. But I am plunging myself insensibly into dismal reflections, when I should be giving you consolation. But But you know your duty so well, and have a fortitude of mind so great, that I know I have nothing to do but to applaud your generous purpose, of holding the memory of so good a woman sacred, and manifesting your affection by the care of those pretty little ones she has left behind. When I came to that part of your Letter, where you talk of taking a journey somewhere for a week, I was in good hopes you would have turned your eyes Northward. You would certainly have found at Broughton all the consolation that a faithful friend could have given you. And though I take the liberty of friendship sometimes to make real business an excuse for denying myself the happiness of a party of pleasure with you, yet I would have you do me the justice to think that I should esteem the attending you on such an occasion my most indispensable that gentleman's mother at the age of 88: "I do not know whether I ought to condole with you, or congratulate you upon the release of that excellent woman, full of years and virtues. I rejoice when I find a similarity of our fortunes, in the gentler parts of humanity. My mother, somewhat less indebted to years, though not to the infirmities of them, at length fell asleep and departed, in all the tranquillity and ease your mother did. The last leave she took of all human concerns, as she winged her way into the bosom of our common God and Father, was an anxious enquiry concerning my welfare; which being assured of, she immediately closed her eyes for ever." business business. But I find, by what follows, of our meeting at the Visitation, that you have chosen another route. I shall certainly meet you, if God give me health; and should be glad if you would let me shew you the way to Broughton from thence; being, dearest Sir, Your most affectionate friend, W. WARBURTON, LETTER XXVIII. Our To the Rev. Dr. STUKELEY, at Stamford. MY DEAR FRIEND, June 19, 1738. I beg your acceptance of the inclosed. friend the Doctor told me he had the pleasure of seeing you. He told me, you rejected the lines he shewed you as impostures. I do not wonder at it. You know best whether the thing be possible. But the family is so far above all suspicion of fraud, or having any ends to serve by it, that nothing but an absolute impossibility could make me disbelieve it. I hope you are easier in your domestics than you was; that you have got servants that are honest, careful, and with a few brains. I very much wish to see you, and hope you will do me that pleasure at Broughton some time next month. However, do me the favour to let me know, that I may be at home; for this summer time I have some short excursion or other that I am every post making, but none half so interesting to me as the seeing you. I hope the young ones are all well, and that Miss Fanny is grown woman enough now to make your coffee; a happiness, some years ago, you used to flatter yourself with the hopes of living to see. You see the burthen of my song is hope, hope, hope; and how much I am obliged to live upon it. But, that this may never fool you or me too long, I * Dr. Robert Taylor. E VOL. II. will will tell you a story. Sir Francis Bacon was walk- I am, dear friend, yours most affectionately, LETTER XXIX. To the Rev. Dr. STUKELEY, at Stamford. October 6, 1738. DEAR DOCTOR, I hope you received my last. This is to desire the following favour of you. I was lately with Sir Robert Sutton, who is much excruciated with the gout. I advised him to Dr. Rogers's oils, which he had always an inclination for; but, having like to have been killed by some that Garnier the apothecary applied to him two or three years ago, he has abstained from them. them. I told him, I believed those had not the best repelling quality, and acquainted him fairly with their effects, as you have described them to me. On this he is greatly disposed to use them; but he' wants to know whether it would not be proper first to use them in the intervals of a fit, or after a fit, to strengthen the joint; whether any gentle aperient is to be taken at the time of the application; but, above all, your real opinion and direction on the whole. As he knows of our intimacy, he desired I would inform myself of you, as from myself, and let him know. I should be much obliged to you, therefore, for a letter concerning the particulars, wrote in such a manner as I may send it to him. You need not decline taking notice that I tell you who the advice is for, for he did not desire that should be a secret. Shaw advised him against the oils, and pretended they had had ill or fatal effects. But he grounds more on your opinion. I am, dearest Sir, yours most affectionately, LETTER XXX. To the Rev. Dr. STUKELEY, at Samuel Gale's, Esq. Bedford-row, Holborn. DEAR DOCTOR, 26 June, 1739. I was extremely glad to hear from you, but am sorry the noisy Bar should call you from your Hermitage. As unfit as I am for Heaven, I had rather hear the last trumpet than a citation from the Court of Chancery. If ever you have seen Michael Angelo's Last Judgment, you have these in the figure of the Devil, who is pulling and lugging at a poor sinner, the true representation of a Chancery Lawyer who has catched hold of your purse. E 2 When When I got home from you in my return from my Cambridge journey, I found my affairs in strange disorder; my single favourite cow, which you used to reverence under the name of Iris, was desperately ill in the hands of a doctor. A robbery was sworn to be committed in this Hundred, and I am to bear my share of the loss; and letters from Oxford acquainted me that Mr. William Romaine, of Christ Church, had called out aloud upon the secular arm to make an example of me*. Thus trebly distressed, I found my only cow in the hands of a quack, my money at the mercy of an attorney, and my reputation worried by the vilest of all Theologasters. You are in the right: this is the scoundrel I wrote to from your house. But the poor Devil has done his own business. His talents shew him by nature designed for a blunderbuss in Church Controversy; but his attack upon me being a proof-charge, and heavy loaded, he burst in the going off; and what will become of him let those who made use of him consider. I beg you would be so kind to buy me one ticket in the Bridge Lottery. I suppose the blanks will sell as usual; and when you send me word of it, I shall send the money by Newbal's waggon to you to Stamford. I am, my dear friend, yours most affectionately, W. WARBURTON. LETTER XXXI. To the Rev. Dr. STUKELEY, at Stamford. MOST DEAR SIR, January 1, 1739-40. I received the favour of yours with a great deal of pleasure; and, as deeply as I am immerged in Moses, your company would be a very agreeable interruption. But what you tell of Mr. Allen frights me in good * Of this circumstance see more hereafter. earnest ; |