strangers to the person gone. But, my lord, whoever had the honour to know her, must want a comforter as much as your lordship; because, though their loss is not so great, yet they have not the same firmness and prudence, to support the want of a friend, a patroness, a benefactress, as you have to support that of a daughter. My lord, both religion and reason forbid me to have the least concern for that lady's death, upon her own account; and he must be an ill Christain, or a perfect stranger to her virtues, who would not, with all submission to God Almighty's will, wish himself in her condition. But your lordship, who has lost such a daughter, and we, who have lost such a friend, and the world, which has lost such an example, have, in our several degrees, greater cause to lament, than, perhaps, was ever given by any private person before; for, my lord, I sat down to think of every amiable quality that could enter into the composition of a lady, and I could not single out one, which she did not possess in as high a degree as human nature is capable of. But as to your lordship's own particular, as it is an inconceivable misfortune to have lost such a daughter, so it is a possession which few can boast of, to have such a daughter. I have often said to your lordship, that I never knew any one by many degrees so happy in his family as you; and I affirm you are so still, though not by so many degrees: whence it is very obvious, that your lordship should reflect on what you have left, as well as what you have lost. To say the truth, my lord, you began to be too happy for a mortal; much more happy than is usual with the dispensations of Providence long to continue. You had been the great instrument of pre serving your country from foreign and domestic ruin you have had the felicity of establishing your family in the greatest lustre, without any obligation to the bounty of your prince: by your courage and abilities, you have triumphed over the violence and treachery of your enemics; and by the steadiness of your temper, over the inconstancy and caprice of your friends. Perhaps, your lordship has felt too much complacency with in yourself, upon this universal success; and God Almighty, who would not disappoint your endeavours for the public, thought fit to punish you with a domestic loss, where he knew your heart was most exposed; and, at the same time, has fulfilled his own wise purposes, by rewarding, in a better life, that excellent creature whom he has taken from you. I know not, my lord, why I write this to you, nor hardly what I am writing: I am sure, it is not from any compliance with form; it is not from supposing that I can give your lordship any ease; I think it was an impulse upon me, that I should say something: and whether I shall send you what I have written, I am yet in doubt. I am, my lord, &c, JONATHAN SWIFT. Dr. Hough, bishop of Worcester, to Mrs. Knightley. On the death of her son. MADAM, February 2, 1713. I SHOULD not have been altogether silent on a subject that has set heavy on my own mind, much more on yours, were I not sure that your better sense will suggest all, and more than I am able to say. As You know very well, that the true character of a man does not depend on the length of his days, but on the measure of his good qualities; and when that measure is complete, the Almighty, whose eye is always upon him, sees him fitly prepared for a more exalted state, and graciously admits him into it; while others advance more slowly to perfection, and are suffered to have their course. some sorts of fruits are long in ripening; others make haste to maturity: and both are gathered accordingly. It has of old been frequently observed that the lustre of those accomplishments which, in some persons, breaks out to our amazement, when we apprehended it to be only in the dawn, shows itself in this world but a little while; we gaze, and it disappears. Such people finish their part quickly; and, with full applause, the scene closes upon them. How infinitely valuable are they, above those who, in a long series of life, never distinguish them. selves! who are no sooner out of sight than they are forgotten: but the memory of the others is precious, We think doubtfully of some who are gone, and uncomfortably of others; but of the good and vir tuous we can have only pleasing reflections; for, will it be allowed a reasonable cause of grief, that one whom I love is promoted out of my reach, to the height of his most laudable ambition? Would it be friendly in me to keep him back, and postpone his happiness to my own inclinations? I can easily answer: No, by no means; I know he is happy, and I rejoice in it. But he is taken from me; his conversation was extremely endearing; and I lament my own loss, This will not be denied me in a moderate manner; some allowance is due to human frailty; but if I carry my grief to excess, I must bear to be told, that my natural affection is too strong for my reason, much more for my faith. Reason, by a thousand undeniable arguments, is ready to prove, that what cannot be remedied, must be submitted to with the utmost equanimity: and Faith, were it lively and active, would open the regions of eternal bliss, and discover those, who have been bright examples in this world, in so glo. rious a state there, as would animate my hope, abate my regret for their absence, and invigorate my endeavours to follow them. Who can conceive that transport of joy which will attend such a meeting? and how insignificant will the former short separation then appear! Indeed, madam, there was a time when I possessed one, who was the desire of my eyes, and the delight of my heart. I relished everything with her, and nothing without her. We both knew the common fate of mankind, that a parting was unavoidable. It was very often the subject of our discourse. I will not say what convulsions attended it; but, I thank God! I had the hope of a Christian; and that supported me. And let you and me keep up our spirits, in this confidence, that the variable and transitory state in which we now live, will soon pass away; and then, we and our friends shall find ourselves together again, inseparably and unalterably happy for ever! I am, madam, Your affectionate and JOHN WORCESTER MISCELLANEOUS LETTERS. Dr. Johnson to the Right Honourable the Earl of Ches MY LORD, terfield. February, 1755. I HAVE been lately informed by the proprietor of the World, that two papers, in which my Dictionary is recommended to the public, were written by your lordship. To be so distinguished is an honour which, being very little accustomed to favours from the great, I know not well how to receive, or in what terms to acknowledge. When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your address; and could not forbear to wish that I might boast myself le vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre; -that I might obtain that regard for which I saw the world contending; but I found my attendance so little encouraged, that neither pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue it. When I had once addressed your lordship in public, I had exhausted all the art of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly scholar can possess. I had done all that I could and no man is well pleased to have his all neglected, be it ever so little. Seven years, my lord, have now past, since I waited in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which time I have been pushing on my work through difficulties, of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last to the very verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one |