go

of thinking seriously, that I begin never to think otherwise) I cannot but think these things very idle; as idle as if a beast of burden fhould on gingling his bells, without bearing any thing valuable about him, or ever ferving his master. Life's vain Amusements, amidst which we dwell; Not weigh'd, or understood, by the grim God of Hell!

said a heathen poet; as he is tranflated by a christian Bishop, who has, firft by his exhortations, and fince by his example, taught me to think as becomes a reasonable creature

he is gone!

but

I remember I promis'd to write to you, as foon as I fhould hear you were got home. You must look on this as the first day I've been myfelf, and pafs over the mad interval un-imputed How punctual a correspondent I shall hence-forward be able or not able to be, God knows but he knows, I fhall ever be a punctual and grateful friend, and all the good wishes of fuch an one will ever attend you.

to me.

You

LETTER XIV.

Twick'nam, June 2, 1725.

OU fhew yourself a just man and a friend in those gueffes and fuppofitions you make at the poffible reafons of my filence; every one of which is a true one. As to forgetfulness of you or yours, I affure you, the promiscuous converfations of the town ferve only to put me in mind of better, and more quiet, to be had in a corner of the world (undisturb'd, innocent, ferene, and fenfible) with such as you. Let no accefs of any distrust make you think of me differently in a cloudy day from what you do in the most sunshiny weather. Let the young ladies be affured I make nothing new in my gardens without wishing to see the print of their fairy steps in every part of them. I have put the laft hand to my works of this kind, in happily finishing the fubterraneous way and grotto: I there found a fpring of the clearest water, which falls in a perpetual rill, that echoes thro❞ the cavern day and night. From the river

Thames, you fee thro' my arch up a walk of

the wilderness, to a kind of open Temple, wholly compos'd of fhells in the rustic manner; and from that distance under the temple you look down thro' a floping arcade of trees,

and

and fee the fails on the river paffing suddenly and vanishing, as thro' a perspective glass. When you fhut the doors of this grotto, it becomes on the inftant, from a luminous room, a Camera obfcura; on the walls of which all the objects of the river, hills, woods, and boats, are forming a moving picture in their visible radia

tions

and when you have a mind to light it

up, it affords you a very different fcene; it is finished with fhells interfperfed with pieces of looking-glafs in angular forms; and in the cieling is a star of the fame material, at which when a lamp (of an orbicular figure of thin alabafter) is hung in the middle, a thousand pointed rays glitter, and are reflected over the place. There are connected to this grotto by a narrower paffage two porches, one towards the river of smooth stones full of light, and open; the other toward the Garden fhadow'd with trees, rough with fhells, flints, and iron-ore. The bottom is paved with fimple pebble, as is also the adjoining walk up the wilderness to the temple, in the natural taste, agreeing not ill with the little dripping murmur, and the aquatic idea of the whole place. It wants nothing to complete it but a good ftatue with an inscription, like that beautiful antique one which you know I am so fond of,

Hujus Nympha loci, facri cuftodia fontis, Dormio, dum blandæ fentio murmur aquæ. Parce meum, quifquis tangis cava marmora, fomnum

Rumpere; fi bibas, five lavere, tace.

Nymph of the grot, thefe facred fprings I keep, And to the murmur of thefe waters fleep; Ah spare my flumbers, gently tread the cave! And drink in filence, or in filence lave!

You'll think I have been very poetical in this description, but it is pretty near the truth. I wifh you were here to bear teftimony how little it owes to Art, either the place itself, or the image I give of it. I am, &c.

LETTER XV.

Sept. 13, 1725.

Should be afham'd to own the receipt of a very kind of letter from you, two whole months from the date of this; if I were not

a

He had greatly inlarged and improved this Grotto not long before his death: and, by incrufting it about with a vast number of ores and minerals of the richeft and rareft kinds, had made

it one of the most elegant and romantic retirements that was any where to be feen. He has made it the fubject of a very pretty poem of a fingular caft and compofition.

more

more ashamed to tell a lye, or to make an excufe, which is worse than a lye (for being built upon fome probable circumftance, it makes ufe of a degree of truth to falfify with, and is a lye guarded.) Your letter has been in my pocket in conftant wearing, till that, and the pocket, and the fuit, are worn out; by which means I have read it forty times, and I find by fo doing that I have not enough confidered and reflected upon many others you have obliged me with; for true friendship, as they say of good writing, will bear reviewing a thousand times, and ftill discover new beauties.

I have had a fever, a fhort one, but a violent: I am now well; fo it fhall take up no more of this paper.

I begin now to expect you in town to make the winter to come more tolerable to us both. The fummer is a kind of heaven, when we wander in a paradifaical scene among groves and gardens; but at this season, we are, like our poor first parents, turn'd out of that agreeable though folitary life, and forced to look about for more people to help to bear our labours, to get into warmer houses, and live together in cities.

I hope you are long fince perfectly restor'd, and rifen from your gout, happy in the delights of a contented family, fmiling at ftorms, laugh