you

and my aunt to the divine protection and grace, and beg a remembrance in your prayers, being with great sincerity,

Dear Sir,

Your affectionate Nephew and humble Servant,

PHILIP DODDRIDGE.

TO MR. MASON.

May 25, 1725.

MOST PREGNANT, MOST METHODICAL, AND MOST

AGREEABLE SIR!

I RECEIVED the product of your lively imagination with some melancholy apprehensions of such keen expostulations as my guilt taught me to fear, and my wit would never enable me to answer. But I own I was charmed to observe the gaiety and good humour with which you reprehend the gross indecency which I committed in so long delaying an answer to your former letter, which was dated so early in the last year. Such an offence I think nothing could excuse but the distractions of a lover, joined with the hurries of a preacher, and the amusements of a scholar, which at some certain times may easily lead a man to forget every thing but his mistress, his pulpit, and his books; though at other intervals his friends come in for a share, and have often too great a share in his regard.

I have now several other letters before me which must necessarily employ me the greatest part of the day; and therefore confine myself to this little piece of paper on purpose that I may not out-run my time,

I generally do when I am writing to so dear a friend. I have so many things to say that I am afraid I shall after all say nothing, but that my time and my paper are short.

However I will first of all vindicate myself from an unworthy insinuation which you prefix to that sentence with which you begin your letter. Something there is, about the profane use of paper, common among those who are occasional smokers of tobacco, to which you imagine your letter may be applied. My friend, this is a scurrilous lampoon upon your humble servant, for it infers a degree of stupidity which he has not the penetration to discover in himself.

I own to you that I sometimes make use of paper to light my pipe; but were I to employ that sheet of wit, which I had not the courage to answer, to such an unworthy purpose, I should expect to be choked with the smoke, as a just punishment for so gross an indignity offered to a son of Apollo and a favourite of the Muses. I might, perhaps, have torn Parnel or Addison, but I could never violate the works of Mr. Mason! The diffuseness of my former style will oblige me to be very laconick in what remains, or I shall be left in the lurch.

Know then, most worthy sir, that my Rose has

recovered all its primeval beauty and fragrancy, but that the gardener is inclosing it round with a hedge of thorns, which will make the approach difficult, though I hope not absolutely impracticable. The Lily still flourishes, but for ought I know, if you do not quickly put in your claim, it may be transplanted

to a foreign soil.

Mr. Dawson is fixed to go to Hinckley at Midsummer. I am to be ordained at Kibworth in a few months. Mrs. Jennings, and all other friends at Harborough are well. I desire you would send me what news you have, with your judgment on any celebrated books, and your advice for the most proper method of managing my studies.

It was not till last Wednesday, May the twenty-sixth, that I received your letter which was dated March the twelfth. I must indeed say that I hardly ever read a letter with more concern and affliction. know, and at this moment feel the force of love, and the inexpressible anguish which is occasioned

I

only by the distant fear of losing the idol of one's soul, and which we too justly lose when we permit it to assume that guilty name. My own character and temper give me so little ground for hope, and the natural inconsistency of your tender sex so much foundation for fear, that it is impossible for me to avoid such melancholy apprehensions. But that there can be at once so much stupidity and so much inhumanity in any man upon earth, as to give the charming Clio reason to complain of a faithless wanderer, is to me as surprising as it is afflicting. The calamity of which you, madam, complain, is, I own, one of the greatest which human nature is capable of enduring; and, as you admirably observe, is so much the more overwhelming, as it is attended with a severe reflection upon ourselves as being, in some measure, accessary to our own torment, by putting it into the power of any of our fellow-creatures to render us unhappy by their separation from us. But we know by experience, that, in every circumstance of life, the consolations of God are not small, and that such reviving cordials are within our reach. Is it not, then, a criminal weakness to give way to a sinking dejection, rather than to exert our thoughts to apprehend, and to open our hearts to admit consolitary reflections?

It were an easy matter for me to illustrate and confirm what I now say, and to enlarge upon many considerations which reason would be constrained to condemn, though it might not be sufficient to silence the clamours of passion. But perhaps, madam,

it may now be unnecessary. The dear wanderer may be returned to your feet, or perhaps marriage may have given a licence to the fondest endearments, and he may this moment be clasped in your arms. Or, on the other hand, reason and religion may have made so entire a conquest, in a heart where pride and disdain can find no reception, that you hear his name, or recall his idea, without the least emotion either of hope, anger, or of love. Such a revolution may have been produced in less than ten weeks. But if you still remain under this tormenting anxiety, which you so pathetically express in your last, then, madam, I will undertake a task out of respect to you, which I have long been proposing to myself, and send you an essay on the evil and remedy of ungoverned love; and in the mean time, it may be, a letter containing some consolatory reflections, which I apprehend to be peculiarly adapted to your case. But how vainly do I talk of suggesting new considerations to a lady who, at one view comprehends the important points of every subject which can be presented, in all their strength and beauty, and with whose sentiments and expressions I should be proud to enrich and embellish my discourses.

As for the turnovers, which you have been so good as to send me, I will not say they are the most beautiful in the world, because I really thought the same of the first which you wrought, and which yet I find to be surpassed by these; and you, madam, might perhaps be able to exceed them, for who can set bounds to your skill. This only I can venture to