end? But who can praise his goodness more than wretched I, that he has not cut me off in anger, who have taken his chastisements so heavily, not weighing his mercies in the midst of judgments! The stroke was of the fiercest kind surely: but had I not then a reasonable ground to hope, that he whom I loved as I did my own soul, was raised from a prison to a throne? Was I not enabled to shut up my own sorrows, that I increased not his sufferings by seeing mine? How were my sinking spirits supported by the compassion of excellent and wise Christians, who, without ceasing, admonished me of my duty, instructed, reproved, and comforted me! You know, doctor, I was not destitute; and I must acknowledge that many, like yourself, with devout zeal and great charity, contributed to the gathering together of my scattered spirits, and to the subjecting of them to such a submission as I could obtain under so astonishing a calamity. And further, God has spared me hitherto the children of so excellent a friend, given them hopeful understandings, and very tractable and sweet dispositions; has spared my life, in useful. ness, I trust, to them; and, as I am to linger in a world I can no more delight in, has given me a freedom from bodily pain to a degree I scarcely ever knew. This calls for praises, in which my dead heart is not exercised; but I bewail my infirmity. He who took our nature, and felt our infirmities, knows my weakness, and the sharpness of my sorrows.

I know not if you have heard that some unlooked-for accidents in my family have hurried me into new trouble. A young lady, whom my uncle Ruvigny brought with him, falling ill of the smallpox, I removed my children to Bedford-house, then

followed myself, for the quieting of my good uncle's mind, who would have it so: thence I brought my little tribe down to Woborne; and when I heard how fatal the young lady's distemper was, I returned to Bedford-house, to take my last leave of as kind a relation, and as zealous and tender a friend, as ever any body had. To my uncle and aunt, the death of their niece was an inexpressible loss, but to herself it was the contrary: she died, as she had lived, a pattern to all who knew her. As her body grew weak, her faith and hope grew strong she comforted her comforters; edified all about her; and magnified the goodness of God, that she died in a country, where she could, in peace, give up her soul to HIM who made it. What a glorious thing, doctor, it is to live and die as she did! I heard my uncle and aunt say, that in the seven years she had been with them, they never could tax her with a failure in piety or worldly prudence; yet she had been roughly attacked, as the French Gazettes will tell you, if you have leisure to look them over. I keep them together; and I will send them to you.

I am,

Your much obliged servant,

RACHEL RUSSEL.

Lady Russel to Dr. Fitzwilliam.

Woborne Abbey, Nov. 27, 1785.

As you profess, good doctor, to take pleasure in your writings to me, from a desire to promote my welfare, so do I in receiving them as testimonies of your regard for me, both in my worldly and my spiritual concerns; and I need not waste my time

nor yours to tell you they are very valuable to me. You say things sometimes, by which I should think you seasoned, or rather tainted, with being so much where compliment or praise is best learned: but I conclude, that what one heartily wishes to be in a friend, one is apt to believe is so; and I endeavour to have a true not a false title to the least virtue which you are disposed to attribute to me.

If I could contemplate the conduct of Providence in the manner you do, it would give me ease indeed, and no disastrous events would much affect me. The new scenes of each day make me often conclude myself very void of temper and reason, that I still shed tears of sorrow and not of joy, that so good a man is landed safe on the happy shore of a blessed eternity. Doubtless he is at rest; though I find none without him, for he was a true partner in my joys and griefs. I trust the Almighty will pass by this my infirmity. I was too rich in possessions, whilst I possessed my dear lord. From the enticing delights of the world I can now be better weaned. All relish for them is gone: I bless God for it: and I pray that I may more and more turn the stream of my affections upwards, and set my heart upon the ever-satisfy. ing perfections of God; not starting at his darkest providences, but remembering continually that either his glory, justice, or power, is advanced by every one of them, and that mercy is over all his works, as we shall one day behold with ravishing delight. In the mean time, I endeavour to suppress all the wild imaginations which a melan. choly fancy is apt to let in; and to say with the man in the Gospel, 'I believe; help thou my unbelief!'

I expect it will be near Christmas before my

lord Bedford removes for the winter; but I have not yet discoursed with him about it, nor how long he desires our company. So that whether I shall come before him, or with him, I know not. He shall please himself: for I have no will in these matters; nor can I like one thing or way better than another, if the convenience and advantage are alike to the young creatures, in whose service, and for whose good, I shall use all the diligence that is in my power.

I am, sir,

Your obliged friend,

RACHEL RUSSEL.

Mr. Pope to Mr. Wycherley.

April 30, 1705.

I CANNOT contend with you: therefore, give me leave at once to waive all your compliments, and to collect only this in general from them, that your design is to encourage me. But I separate from all the rest that paragraph or two in which you make me so warm an offer of your friendship. Were I possessed of that, it would put an end to all those speeches with which you now make me blush; and change them to wholesome advices and free sentiments, which might make me wiser and happier. I know it is the general opinion, that friendship is best contracted betwixt persons of equal age; but I have so much interest to be of another mind, that you must pardon me if I cannot forbear telling you a few notions of mine, in opposition to that opinion.

In the first place, it is observable, that the love we bear to our friends, is generally caused by our

finding the same dispositions in them, which we feel in ourselves. This is only self-love at the bottom: but the affection betwixt people of different ages cannot well be so, the inclinations of such being commonly various. The friendship of two young men is often occasioned by love of pleasure, each being desirous for his own sake of one to assist or encourage him in the course he pursues; as that of two old men is frequently on the score of some profit, lucre, or design upon others. Now, as a young man, who is less acquainted with the ways of the world, has in all probability less of interest; and an old man, who may be weary of himself, has, or should have, less of self-love: so the friendship between them is the more likely to be true, and unmixed with too much self-regard. One may add to this, that such a friendship is of greater use and advantage to both: for the old man will probably become agreeable to please the young one, and the young man more discreet and prudent by the help of the old one; so it may prove a cure of those epidemical diseases of age and youth, sourness and madness. I hope you will not need many arguments to convince you of the possibility of this: one alone abundantly satisfies me, and convinces to the heart; which is, that young as I am, and old as you are, I am

Your entirely affectionate, &c.
ALEXANDER POPE.

Mr. Pope to Mr. (afterwards Sir Richard) Steel.

DEAR SIR,

July 15, 1712.

You formerly observed to me, that nothing makes a more ridiculous figure in a man's life,