bello. per. decem. annos. exercuerunt. divom. julium. idem opponat.

centum. annorum. immobilem. fidem. obsequiumque. multis. tripidis.

rebus. nostris plusquam. expertum. illi. patri. meo. Druso.

Germaniam. subigenti. tutam. quiete. sua secaramque. a tergo pacem.

praest.i.terunt. et. quidem. c.u.m. ad. census. novo. tum. opere. et. in.

adsueto. Galliis. ad. bellum. avocatus. esset. quod. opus. quam.

arduum. sit. n.o.bis. nunc. c.u.m. maxime. quamvis. nihil. ultra. quam.

ut. publice. notae. sint. facultates. nostrae. exquiratur. nimis.

magne. experimento. cognoscimus.

I WAS also shewed without the gate of St Justinus, some remains of a Roman aqueduct; and behind the monastery of St Mary, there are the ruins of the imperial palace, where the emperor Claudius was born, and where Severus lived. The great cathedral of St John is a good Gothic building, and its clock much admired by the Germans. In one of the most conspicuous parts of the town, is the late king's statue set up, trampling upon mankind. I cannot forbear saying one word here, of the French statues (for I never intend to mention any more of them) with their gilded full-bottomed wigs. If their king had intended to express, in one image, _ignorance, ill taste_, and _vanity_, his sculptors could have made no other figure, so proper for that purpose, as this statue, which represents the odd mixture of an old beau, who had a mind to be a hero, with a bushel of curled hair on his head, and a gilt truncheon in his hand.--The French have been so voluminous on the history of this town, I need say nothing of it. The houses are tolerably well built, and the Belle Cour well planted, from whence is seen the celebrated joining of the Soane and Rhone.

_"Ubi Rhoda.n.u.s ingens amne praerapido fluit "Ararque dubitans quo suos fluctus agat."_

I have had time to see every thing with great leisure, having been confined several days to this town by a swelling in my throat, the remains of a fever, occasioned by a cold I got in the damps of the Alps. The doctors here threaten me with all sorts of distempers, if I dare to leave them; but I, that know the obstinacy of it, think it just as possible to continue my way to Paris, with it, as to go about the streets of Lyons; and am determined to pursue my journey to-morrow, in spite of doctors, apothecaries, and sore throats.

WHEN you see Lady R----, tell her I have received her letter, and will answer it from Paris, believing that the place that she would most willingly hear of. I am, &c. &c:

LET. XLIX.

TO THE LADY R----.

_Paris, Oct_. 10. O. S. 1718.

I CANNOT give my dear Lady R---- a better proof of the pleasure I have in writing to her, than chusing to do it in this seat of various amus.e.m.e.nts, where I am _accableed_ with visits, and those so full of vivacity and compliments, that 'tis full employment enough to hearken, whether one answers or not. The French amba.s.sadress at Constantinople has a very considerable and numerous family here, who all come to see me, and are never weary of making inquiries. The air of Paris has already had a good effect on me; for I was never in better health, though I have been extremely ill all the road from Lyons to this place. You may judge how agreeable the journey has been to me; which did not want that addition to make me dislike it.

I think nothing so terrible as objects of misery, except one had the G.o.d-like attribute of being capable to redress them; and all the country villages of France shew nothing else. While the post horses are changed, the whole town comes out to beg, with such miserable starved faces, and thin tattered cloths, they need no other eloquence, to persuade one of the wretchedness of their condition.

This is all the French magnificence, till you come to Fountainbleau, when you are shewed one thousand five hundred rooms in the king's hunting palace. The apartments of the royal family are very large, and richly gilt; but I saw nothing in the architecture or painting worth remembering. The long gallery, built by Henry IV. has prospects of all the king's houses. Its walls are designed after the taste of those times, but appear now very mean. The park is, indeed, finely wooded and watered, the trees well grown and planted, and in the fish-ponds are kept tame carp, said to be, some of them, eighty years of age. The late king pa.s.sed some months every year at this seat; and all the rocks round it, by the pious sentences inscribed on them, shew the devotion in fashion at his court, which I believe died with him; at least, I see no exterior marks of it at Paris, where all peoples thoughts seem to be on present diversion.

THE fair of St Lawrence is now in season. You may be sure I have been carried thither, and think it much better disposed than ours of Bartholomew. The shops being all set in rows so regularly and well lighted, they made up a very agreeable spectacle. But I was not at all satisfied with the _grossierte_ of their harlequin, no more than with their music at the opera, which was abominably grating, after being used to that of Italy. Their house is a booth, compared to that of the Hay-market, and the play-house not so neat as that of Lincoln's-Inn-fields; but then it must be owned, to their praise, their tragedians are much beyond any of ours. I should hardly allow Mrs O----d a better place than to be confidante to La ----. I have seen the tragedy of Bajazet so well represented, that I think our best actors can be only said to speak, but these to feel; and 'tis certainly infinitely more moving to see a man appear unhappy, than to hear him say that he is so, with a jolly face, and a stupid smirk in his countenance.--_A propos_ of countenances, I must tell you something of the French ladies; I have seen all the beauties, and such--(I can't help making use of the coa.r.s.e word) nauseous creatures! so fantastically absurd in their dress! so monstrously unnatural in their paints! their hair cut short, and curled round their faces, and so loaded with powder, that it makes it look like white wool! and on their cheeks to their chins, unmercifully laid on a shining red j.a.pan, that glistens in a most flaming manner, so that they seem to have no resemblance to human faces. I am apt to believe, that they took the first hint of their dress from a fair sheep newly ruddled. 'Tis with pleasure I recollect my dear pretty country-women: and if I was writing to any body else, I should say, that these grotesque daubers give me still a higher esteem of the natural charms of dear Lady R----'s auburne (sic) hair, and the lively colours of her unsullied complexion. I am, &c. &c.

_P. S._ I have met the Abbe here, who desires me to make his compliments to you.

LET. L.

TO MR T----.

_Paris, Oct_. 16. O. S. 1718.

YOU see I'm just to my word, in writing to you from Paris, where I was very much surprised to meet my sister; I need not add, very much pleased. She as little expected to see me as I her (having not received my late letters); and this meeting would shine under the hand of de Seuderie; but I shall not imitate his style so far, as to tell you how often we embraced, how she inquired, by what odd chance I returned from Constantinople? And I answered her by asking, what adventure brought her to Paris? To shorten the story, all questions, and answers, and exclamations, and compliments being over, we agreed upon running about together, and have seen Versailles, Trianon, Marli, and St Cloud. We had an order for the water to play for our diversion, and I was followed thither by all the English at Paris. I own, Versailles appeared to me rather vast than beautiful; and after having seen the exact proportions of the Italian buildings, I thought the irregularity of it shocking.

THE king's cabinet of antiques and medals, is, indeed, very richly furnished. Amongst that collection, none pleased so well, as the apotheosis of Germanicus, on a large agate, which is one of the most delicate pieces of the kind that I remember to have seen. I observed some ancient statues of great value. But the nauseous flattery, and tawdry pencil of Le Brun, are equally disgusting in the gallery. I will not pretend to describe to you the great apartment, the vast variety of fountains, the theatre, the grove of Esop's (sic) fables, &c. all which you may read very amply particularized in some of the French authors, that have been paid for these descriptions.

Trianon, in its littleness, pleased me better than Versailles; Marli, better than either of them; and St Cloud best of all; having the advantage of the Seine running at the bottom of the gardens, the great cascade, &c. You may find information in the aforesaid books, if you have any curiosity to know the exact number of the statues, and how many feet they cast up the water.

WE saw the king's pictures in the magnificent house of the duke D'Antin, who has the care of preserving them till his majesty is of age. There are not many but of the best hands. I looked, with great pleasure on the arch-angel of Raphael, where the sentiments of superior beings are as well expressed as in Milton. You won't forgive me, if I say nothing of the Thuilleries (sic), much finer than our Mall; and the Cour, more agreeable than our Hyde-park, the high trees giving shade in the hottest season. At the Louvre, I had the opportunity of seeing the king, accompanied by the Duke regent. He is tall, and well shaped but has not the air of holding the crown so many years as his grandfather. And now I am speaking of the Court, I must say, I saw nothing in France that delighted me so much, as to see an Englishman (at least a Briton) absolute at Paris, I mean Mr Law, who treats their dukes and peers extremely _de haut en bas_, and is treated by them with the utmost submission and respect.--Poor souls!--This reflection on their abject slavery, puts me in mind of the _place des victoires_; but I will not take up your time, and my own, with such descriptions, which are too numerous.

IN general, I think Paris has the advantage of London, in the neat pavement of the streets, and the regular lighting of them at nights, in the proportion of the streets, the houses being all built of stone, and most of those belonging to people of quality being beautified by gardens. But we certainly may boast of a town very near twice as large; and when I have said that, I know nothing else we surpa.s.s it in. I shall not continue here long; if you have any thing to command me during my short stay, write soon, and I shall take pleasure in obeying you. I am, &c. &c.

LET. LI.

TO THE ABBOT ----.

_Dover, Oct_. 31. O. S. 1718.

I AM willing to take your word for it, that I shall really oblige you, by letting you know, as soon as possible, my safe pa.s.sage over the water. I arrived this morning at Dover, after being tossed a whole night in the packet-boat, in so violent a manner, that the master, considering the weakness of his vessel, thought it proper to remove the mail, and give us notice of the danger. We called a little fishing boat, which could hardly make up to us; while all the people on board us were crying to Heaven. 'Tis hard to imagine one's self in a scene of greater horror than on such an occasion: and yet, shall I own it to you? though I was not at all willingly to be drowned, I could not forbear being entertained at the double distress of a fellow-pa.s.senger. She was an English lady that I had met at Calais, who desired me to let her go over with me in my cabin. She had bought a fine point-head, which she was contriving to conceal from the custom-house officers. When the wind grew high, and our little vessel cracked, she fell very heartily to her prayers, and thought wholly of her soul. When it seemed to abate, she returned to the worldly care of her head-dress, and addressed herself to me--_"Dear madam, will you take care of this point? if it should be "lost!--Ah, Lord, we shall all be lost!--Lord have mercy on my "soul!--Pray, madam, take care of this head-dress."_ This easy transition from her soul to her head-dress, and the alternate agonies that both gave her, made it hard to determine which she thought of greatest value. But, however, the scene was not so diverting, but I was glad to get rid of it, and be thrown into the little boat, though with some hazard of breaking my neck. It brought me safe hither; and I cannot help looking with partial eyes on my native land. That partiality was certainly given us by nature, to prevent rambling, the effect of an ambitious thirst after knowledge, which we are not formed to enjoy. All we get by it, is a fruitless desire of mixing the different pleasures and conveniencies which are given to the different parts of the world, and cannot meet in any one of them.

After having read all that is to be found in the languages I am mistress of, and having decayed my sight by midnight studies, I envy the easy peace of mind of a ruddy milk-maid, who, undisturbed by doubt, hears the sermon, with humility, every Sunday, not having confounded the sentiments of natural duty in her head by the vain-inquiries of the schools, who may be more learned, yet, after all, must remain as ignorant. And, after having seen part of Asia and Africa, and almost made the tour of Europe, I think the honest English squire more happy, who verily believes the Greek wines less delicious than March beer; that the African fruits have not so fine a flavour as golden pippins; that the Beca figuas of Italy are not so well tasted as a rump of beef; and that, in short, there is no perfect enjoyment of this life out of Old England. I pray G.o.d I may think so for the rest of my life; and, since I must be contented with our scanty allowance of day-light, that I may forget the enlivening sun of Constantinople. I am, &c. &c.

LET. LII.

TO MR P----.

_Dover, Nov_. 1. O. S. 1718.

I Have this minute received a letter of yours, sent me from Paris. I believe and hope I shall very soon see both you and Mr Congreve; but as I am here in an inn, where we stay to regulate our march to London, bag and baggage, I shall employ some of my leisure time, in answering that part of yours, that seems to require an answer.

I MUST applaud your good nature, in supposing, that your pastoral lovers (vulgarly called hay-makers) would have lived in everlasting joy and harmony, if the lightning had not interrupted their scheme of happiness. I see no reason to imagine, that John Hughes and Sarah Drew, were either wiser or more virtuous than their neighbours. That a well-set man of twenty-five should have a fancy to marry a brown woman of eighteen, is nothing marvellous; and I cannot help thinking, that had they married, their lives would have pa.s.sed in the common track with their fellow parishioners. His endeavouring to shield her from a storm, was a natural action, and what he would have certainly done for his horse, if he had been in the same situation. Neither am I of opinion, that their sudden death was a reward of their mutual virtue. You know the Jews were reproved for thinking a village destroyed by fire, more wicked than those that had escaped the thunder. Time and chance happen to all men. Since you desire me to try my skill in an epitaph, I think the following lines perhaps more just, tho' not so poetical as yours.

_Here lies John Hughes and Sarah Drew; Perhaps you'll say, What's that to you?

Believe me, friend, much may be said On that poor couple that are dead.

On Sunday next they should have married; But see how oddly things are carried!

On Thursday last it rain'd and lighten'd, These tender lovers sadly frighten'd, Shelter'd beneath the c.o.c.king hay, In hopes to pa.s.s the time away, But the_ BOLD THUNDER _found them out, (Commission'd for that end no doubt) And seizing on their trembling breath, Consign'd them to the shades of death.

Who knows if 'twas not kindly done?

For had they seen the next year's fun, A beaten wife and c.o.c.kold swain Had jointly curs'd the marriage chain: Now they are happy in their doom_, FOR POPE HAS WROTE UPON THEIR TOMB.

I CONFESS, these sentiments are not altogether so heroic as yours; but I hope you will forgive them in favour of the two last lines.

You see how much I esteem the honour you have done them; though I am not very impatient to have the same, and had rather continue to be your stupid _living_ humble servant, than be _celebrated_ by all the pens in Europe.

I WOULD write to Mr C----; but suppose you will read this to him, if he inquires after me.

LET. LIII.

[Footnote: This and the following letters are now first published.]

TO LADY ----.

_January_ 13. 1715-16.

I FIND, after all, by your letter of yesterday, that Mrs D---- is resolved to marry the old greasy curate. She was always high-church in an excessive degree; and, you know, she used to speak of Sacheveral as an apostolic saint, who was worthy to sit in the same place with St Paul, if not a step above him. It is a matter, however, very doubtful to me, whether it is not still more the _man_ than the _apostle_ that Mrs D---- looks to in the present alliance.

Though at the age of forty, she is, I a.s.sure you, very far from being cold and insensible; her fire may be covered with ashes, but it is not extinguished.--Don't be deceived, my dear, by that prudish and sanctified air.--Warm devotions is no equivocal mark of warm pa.s.sions; besides, I know it is a fact, (of which I have proofs in hand, which I will tell you by word of mouth) that our learned and holy prude is exceedingly disposed to use the _means_, supposed in the primitive command, let what will come of the end. The curate indeed is very filthy.--Such a red, spungy (sic), warty nose! Such a squint!--In short, he is ugly beyond expression; and, what ought naturally to render him peculiarly displeasing to one of Mrs D----'s const.i.tution and propensities, he is stricken in years. Nor do I really know how they will live. He has but forty-five pounds a-year--she but a trifling sum; so that they are likely to feast upon love and ecclesiastical history which will be very empty food, without a proper mixture of beef and pudding. I have however, engaged our friend, who is the curate's landlord, to give them a good lease; and if Mrs D----, instead of spending whole days in reading Collier, Hicks, and vile translations of Plato and Epictetus; will but form the resolution of taking care of her house, and minding her dairy, things may go tolerably. It is not likely that their _tender loves_ will give them many _sweet babes_ to provide for.

I MET the lover yesterday, going to the ale-house in his dirty nightgown, with a book under his arm, to entertain the club; and, as Mrs D---- was with me at the time, I pointed out to her the charming creature: she blushed, and looked prim; but quoted a pa.s.sage out of Herodotus, in which it is said that the Persians wore long night-gowns. There is really no more accounting for the taste in marriage of many of our s.e.x, than there is for the appet.i.te of your Miss S----y, who makes such waste of chalk and charcoal, when they fall in her way.

AS marriage produces children, so children produce care and disputes; and wrangling, as is said (at least by old batchelors (sic) and old maids) is one of the _sweets_ of the conjugal state. You tell me that our friend Mrs ---- is, at length, blessed with a son, and that her husband, who is a great philosopher, (if his own testimony is to be depended upon) insists on her suckling it herself. You ask my advice on this matter; and, to give it you frankly, I really think that Mr ----'s demand is unreasonable, as his wife's const.i.tution is tender, and her temper fretful. A true philosopher would consider these circ.u.mstances; but a pedant is always throwing his system in your face, and applies it equally to all things, times and places, just like a taylor who would make a coat out of his own head, without any regard to the bulk or figure of the person that must wear it.

All those fine-spun arguments that he has drawn from nature, to stop your mouths, weigh, I must own to you, but very little with me. This same _Nature_ is, indeed, a specious word, nay there is a great deal in it, if it is properly understood and applied; but I cannot bear to hear people using it, to justify what common sense must disavow. Is not nature modified by art in many things? Was it not designed to be so? And is it not happy for human society, that it is so? Would you like to see your husband let his beard grow, until he would be obliged to put the end of it in his pocket, because this beard is the gift of nature? The instincts of nature point out neither taylors, nor weavers, nor mantua-makers, nor sempsters, nor milliners; and yet I am very glad that we do not run naked like the Hottentots. But not to wander from the subject--I grant, that nature has furnished the mother with milk to nourish her child; but I maintain, at the same time, that if she can find better milk elsewhere, she ought to prefer it without hesitation. I don't see why she should have more scruple to do this, than her husband has to leave the clear fountain which nature gave him, to quench his thirst, for stout october, port, or claret. Indeed, if Mrs ---- was a buxom, st.u.r.dy woman, who lived on plain food, took regular exercise, enjoyed proper returns of rest, and was free from violent pa.s.sions (which you and I know is not the case) she might be a good nurse for her child; but, as matters stand, I do verily think, that the milk of a good comely cow, who feeds quietly in her meadow, never devours ragouts, nor drinks ratifia, nor frets at quadrille, nor sits up till three in the morning, elated with gain, or dejected with loss; I do think, that the milk of such a cow, or of a nurse that came as near it as possible, would be likely to nourish the young squire much better than hers. If it be true that the child sucks in the mother's pa.s.sions with her milk, this is a strong argument in favour of the cow, unless you may be afraid that the young squire may become a calf; but how many calves are there both in state and church, who have been brought up with their mother's milk.

I PROMISE faithfully, to communicate to no mortal the letter you wrote me last.--What you say of two of the rebel lords, I believe to be true; but I can do nothing in the matter.--If my projects don't fail in the execution, I shall see you before a month pa.s.ses. Give my service to Dr Blackbeard.--He is a good man, but I never saw in my life, such a persecuting face cover a humane and tender heart. I imagine (within myself) that the Smithfield priests, who burned the protestants in the time of Queen Mary, had just such faces as the doctor's. If we were papists, I should like him very much for my confessor; his seeming austerity would give you and I a great reputation for sanct.i.ty; and his good, indulgent heart, would be the very thing that would suit us, in the affair of penance and ghostly direction. Farewell, my dear lady, &c. &c.

LET. LIV.

TO THE ABBOT ----.