Mr.

entreat to think me her most faithful servant. Blount may esteem me so too, if he knows I cannot heartily wish him married. What to wish for Mrs.

Teresa and you I know not, but that I wish as sincerely as I do for myself, and that I am in love with you both, as I am with myself, and find myself most so with all three when I least suspect it.

I am, Madam, etc.

LETTER XVII.

TO THE SAME.

MADAM, Tuesday, Aug. 25, 1735. I FOUND my Lord Peterborough on his couch, where he gave me an account of the excessive sufferings he had passed through, with a weak voice, but spirited. He talked of nothing but the great amendment of his condition, and of finishing the buildings and gardens for his best friend to enjoy after him; that he had one care more, when he went into France, which was, to give a true account to posterity of some parts of history in Queen Anne's reign, which Burnet had scandalously represented; and of some others, to justify her against the imputation of intending to bring in the Pretender,. which (to his knowledge) neither her ministers, Oxford and Bolingbroke, nor she, had any design to do. He next told me, he had ended his domestic affairs, through such difficulties from the law, that gave him as much torment of mind, as his distemper had done of body, to do right to the person to whom he had obligations beyond expression: that he had found it necessary not only to declare his marriage to all his relations, but (since the person who had married them was dead) to re-marry her in the church at Bristol, before witnesses. The warmth with which he spoke on these subjects, made me think

him much recovered, as well as his talking of his present state as a heaven to what was past. I lay in the next room to him, where I found he was awake, and called for help most hours of the night, sometimes crying out for pain. In the morning he got up at nine, and was carried into his garden in a chair: he fainted away twice there. He fell, about twelve, into a violent pang, which made his limbs all shake, and his teeth chatter; and for some time he lay cold as death. His wound was dressed (which is done constantly four times a day), and he grew gay, and sat at dinner with ten people. After this he was again in torment for a quarter of an hour; and as soon as the pang was over, was carried again into the garden to the workmen, talked again of his history, and declaimed with great spirit against the meanness of the present great men and ministers, and the decay of public spirit and honour. It is impossible to conceive how much his heart is above his condition: he is dying every other hour, and obstinate to do whatever he has a mind to. He has concerted no measures beforehand for his journey, but to get a yacht in which he will set sail, but no place fixed on to reside at, nor has determined what place to land at, or provided any accommodation for his going on land. He talks of getting towards Lyons, but undoubtedly he can never travel but to the sea-shore. I pity the poor woman who is to share in all he suffers, and who can in no one thing persuade him to spare himself. I think he must be lost in this attempt, and attempt it

he will.

He has with him, day after day, not only all his relations, but every creature of the town of Southampton that pleases. He lies on his couch, and receives them, though he says little. When his pains come, he desires them to walk out, but invites them to stay and dine or sup, etc. Sir Wilfred Lawson and his Lady, Mrs. Mordaunt and Colonel Mor

daunt, are here: to-morrow come Mr. Poyntz, etc. for two days only, and they all go away together. He says he will go at the month's end, if he is alive. I believe I shall get home on Wednesday night. I hope Lady Suffolk will not go sooner for Stowe, and, if not, I'll go with her willingly. Nothing can be more affecting and melancholy to me than what I see here: yet he takes my visit so kindly, that I should have lost one great pleasure, had I not come.

I have nothing more to say, as I have nothing in my mind but this present object, which indeed is extraordinary. This man was never born to die like other men, any more than to live like them.

I am ever yours, etc.

LETTER XVIII.

TO THE SAME.

Stowe, July 4.

THE post after I writ to you, I received, with great pleasure, one from you; and it increased that plea sure to hope you would be in a little time in the country, which you love so well, and when the wea ther is so good. I hope it will not be your fate, though it commonly proves that of others, to be deserted by all your friends at court. I direct to your own house, supposing this will be sent after you, and having no surer way. For the same reason, I have directed a haunch of venison to be sent Mrs. Dryden, in case you are out of town. It will arrive next Monday early at Lord Cobham's in Hanover-square; but if you are in town, and would have it otherwise disposed of, you may prevent it, by sending thither over night a new direction to the porter. I will send you another from Hagley, if you appoint beforehand where it shall be left. Your next direction is to Sir Thomas Lyttleton, at Hagley, near Stowerbridge,

Worcestershire, where I hope to be on the tenth, or sooner, if Mr. Lyttleton come. Mr. Grenville was here, and told me, he expected him in two or three days; so I think we may travel on the eighth or ninth. Though I never saw this place in half the beauty and perfection it now has, I want to leave it, to hasten my return towards you; or otherwise I could pass three months in agreeable rambles and slow journies. I dread that to Worcester and back; for every one tells me it is perpetual rock, and the worst of rugged roads which really not only hurt me at present, but leave consequences very uneasy to me. The Duke of Argyle was here yesterday, and assures me what Mr. Lyttleton talks of as one day's journey must be two, or an intolerable fatigue. He is the happiest man he ever was in his life. This garden is beyond all description in the new part of it: I am every hour in it, but dinner and night, and every hour envying myself the delight of it, because not partaken by you, who would see it better, and consequently enjoy it more. Lady Cobham and Mrs. Speed, who (except two days) have been the sole inhabitants, wish you were here, as much at least as they wished for their gowns, which are not yet all recovered, and therefore I fear yours is not. You might be more at your own disposal than usually; for every one takes a different way, and wanders about, till we meet at noon. the mornings we breakfast and dispute; after dinner, and at night, music and harmony; in the garden, fishing; no politics and no cards, nor much reading. This agrees exactly with me; for the want of cards sends us early to bed. I have no complaints, but that I wish for you and cannot have you. I will say no more-but that I think of and for you, as I ever did and ever shall, present or absent. I can really forget every thing besides.

All

I don't see that any thing can be done as to Mr. Russel, except having the lease carried to Mr. Arbuth

not, and the alterations added. He will correct the draft; and if it be ready for signing, so much the better for else I fear the lawyers will be all out of town before she returns.

I desire you will write a post-letter to my man John, at what time you would have the pine-apples to send Lady Gerard, and whither he is to send them in town? I have had none yet; but I bade him send you the very first that ripened,-I mean, for yourself. But if you are out of town, pray tell him, to whom he shall send it? I have also ordered him, as soon as several of them ripen, to inquire of you where and when you I would have any, which I need not say are wholly at your service.

The post comes in crossly here, and after I have written for the most part: but I keep this to the last, in case I have any letter to-night, that I may add to it, as I sincerely shall, my thanks, whenever you oblige me by writing, but still more by thinking me, and all I say, sincere; as you safely may, and always may.— Wednesday, 12 o'clock.

Adieu. I am going to the Elysian fields, where I shall meet your idea.

The post is come in without any letters which I need answer; which is a pleasure to me, except with regard to yours. I did not expect another from you, but as you said in your first that you might send one; and I thank you for the intention. I hope the more, that you are out of town for it, and shall rejoice the more when I have one. Pray take care of yourself. Mr. Bethel is got well home.

Adieu, once more.
Nine at night.

I am going to dream of you.

9 John Searle, of whom in his will.