Madam, if I were to write to you as often as I think of you, it must be every day of my life. I attend you in spirit thro' all your ways, I follow you thro' every stage in books of travels, and fear for you thro' whole folio's; you make me shrink at the past dangers of dead travellers ; and if I read of a delightful profpect, or agreeable place, I hope it yet fubfifts to please you. I enquire the roads, the amusements, the company, of every town and country thro' which you pass, with as much diligence, as if I were to set out next week to overtake you. In a word, no one can have you more constantly in mind, not even your Guardian-angel (if you have one) and I am willing to indulge fo much popery as to fancy fome Being takes care of you, who knows your value better than you do yourself: I am willing to think that Heaven never gave fo much felf-neglect and resolution to a woman, to occafion her calamity; but am pious enough to believe those qualities must be intended to conduce to her benefit and her glory.

Your first short letter only ferves to show me you are alive: it puts me in mind of the first dove that return'd to Noah, and just made him know it had found no rest abroad.

There is nothing in it that pleases me, but when you tell me you had no fea-fickness. I

beg

beg your next may give me all the pleasure it can, that is, tell me any that you receive. You can make no difcoveries that will be half fo valuable to me as thofe of your own mind. Nothing that regards the states or kingdoms you pass thro', will engage so much of my curiosity or concern, as what relates to yourself: Your welfare, to fay truth, is more at my heart than that of Chriftendom.

I am fure I may defend the truth, tho' perhaps not the virtue, of this declaration. One is ignorant, or doubtful at beft, of the merits of differing religions and governments: but private virtues one can be fure of. I therefore know what particular Person has desert enough to merit being happier than others, but not what Nation deserves to conquer or oppress another. You will fay I am not public-fpirited; let it be fo, I may have too many tenderneffes, particular regards, or narrow views; but at the fame time I am certain that whoever wants these, can never have a public spirit; for (as a friend of mine fays) how is it poffible for that man to love twenty thousand people, who never loved one?

I communicated your letter to Mr. C-, he thinks of you and talks of you as he ought, I mean as I do, and one always thinks that to be just as it ought. His health and mine are

now

now so good, that we wish with all our souls you were a witness of it. We never meet but we lament over you: we pay a kind of weekly rites to your memory, where we ftrow flowers of rhetoric, and offer fuch libations to your name as it would be profane to call Toafting. The Duke of B-m is fometimes the High Priest of your praises; and upon the whole, I believe there are as few men that are not forry at your departure, as women that are; for, you know, most of your fex want good fenfe, and therefore muft want generofity: You have fo much of both, that, I am fure, you pardon them; for one cannot but forgive whatever one defpifes. For my part I hate a great many women for your fake, and undervalue all the rest. "Tis you are to blame, and may God revenge it upon you, with all those bleffings and earthly profperities, which, the Divines tell us, are the cause of our perdition; for if he makes you happy in this world, I dare truft your own virtue to do it in the other. I am

Your, &c.

LET

LETTER XXIII.

To Mrs. ARABELLA FERMOR.

On her Marriage.

OU are by this time fatisfied how much how it is th the tenderness of one man of merit is to be preferred to the addresses of a thousand. And by this time the gentleman you have made choice of is fenfible, how great is the joy of having all those charms and good qualities which have pleased fo many, now applied to please one only. It was but juft, that the fame Virtues which gave you reputation, should give you happiness; and I can wish you no greater, than that you may receive it in as high a degree yourself, as so much good humour must infallibly give it to your husband.

You are this time fatian

It may be expected, perhaps, that one who has the title of poet fhould fay fomething more polite on this occafion: But I am really more a well-wisher to your felicity, than a celebrater of your beauty. Besides, you are now a married woman, and in a way to be a great many better things than a fine lady; fuch as an excellent wife, a faithful friend, a tender parent, and at laft, as the consequence of them all, a faint in heaven. You ought now to hear nothing but

that

that, which was all you ever defired to hear (whatever others may have spoken to you) I mean Truth: and it is with the utmoft that I

affure you,

you, no friend you have can more rejoice in any good that befals you, is more fincerely delighted with the profpect of your future happiness, or more unfeignedly defires a long continuance of it.

I hope you will think it but juft, that a man who will certainly be spoken of as your admirer, after he is dead, may have the happiness to be esteemed, while he is living,

Your, &c,

LET.