Dear sir,

LETTER II.

To Dr. Doddridge.

Hagley, Oct. 5, 1751.

My concern was so great on the account I received from the bishop of Worcester of the ill state of your health, that in the midst of my grief for the death of my father, when I had scarcely performed my last duties to him, I wrote to you at Bristol; which letter, I find, you never received. Indeed, my dear friend, there are few losses I should more sensibly feel than yours, if it should please God to take you from us. But, I trust, he will be so gracious to your family and your friends, as to prolong your life, and defer your reward for some time longer. And I am persuaded, no human means can be found better than that which has been prescribed to you of removing to Lisbon, and passing the winter in that mild climate: only let me entreat you to lay by all studies while you are there; for too much application (and a very little in your state is too much) would frustrate the benefit which we may hope from the change of air. The complying with this injunction, will be the best recompense you can make Mrs. Doddridge for all the obligations you have to her; and if I have any authority with you, as I flatter myself I have, I would employ it all to enforce this upon you, for I do indeed think your life will depend upon it. You have, I believe, brought on your illness by continual study and labour; and an entire remission of mind is absolutely necessary for your recovery.

My father met death with a noble firmness, and an assured hope of a blessed immortality; so that our thoughts are raised above our grief, and fixed much

more on the example he has left us, than on the loss we have sustained. It is also a comfort to us, that, upon his body being opened, as he ordered it should be, we find the cause of his violent pains was of such a nature as death alone could remove or relieve.

Let me know by every mail how you do ; and depend upon it, that if Providence shall call you away to the crown prepared for you, nothing in my power shall be wanting, as long as I live, to show the affection I had for you, in my regard to your widow and family; but, I hope, your life will be preserved to be an ornament to the Christian church, and a support of religion in these bad times. May God Almighty grant it; and may we meet again, with the pleasure which friends restored to each other, feel after so alarming a parting! But if that be denied, may we meet in the next world to part no more, through His power, who will, I trust, blot out my offences, and make me worthy to be a partaker with you of his heavenly kingdom!

sir,

I am, with the tenderest regard and affection, dear

Your most faithful friend and servant,

George Lyttelton.

CHAPTER VI.

LETTERS OF THE DUTCHESS OF SOMERSET.

Dear madam,

LETTER I.

To lady Luxborough.

Piercy Lodge, Dec. 31, 1751.

Apologies between friends are unnecessary; so that if you have still the inclination which you have formerly shown, to look upon me in that light, you will never again treat me with the ceremony of a formal acquaintance. When you write to me, you give me pleasure; when you do not, I love my own peace too well, to fancy you are angry with me, while I am not conscious of my deserving to have you so. You see I do not regulate my correspondence as poor lady did her visits; which she never was to return sooner than her former ones had been repaid.

I am not in the least surprised that you were pleased to return to the venerable seat of your ancestors, and the abode of your first and happiest days: and I find nothing trivial or childish in the satisfaction you felt, in seeing old faces full of gratitude for obligations long since past, and by you, perhaps, forgotten; or in recalling some lively little incidents in the earliest hours of youth. As for the wise and witty of the present age, I know not what they would say; and I do not design to hear it. They will scarcely visit my hermitage; and I shall not leave it to visit them. I hope to dispose of my house in Downing-street; which I would not do, if I ever intended to pass six weeks in London, for I like the situa

tion. But I find myself happiest in the retreat of which my dear lord's unmerited beneficence has made me mistress. He has fixed my home upon the spot of earth I would have chosen for myself. Every thing both within and without the house, reminds me of my obligations to him; and I cannot turn my eyes upon any object, which is not an object of his goodness to me. The satisfaction I take in adding either beauty or convenience to my habitation, is greatly enhanced by the reflection, that, while I am adorning it, I show my value for the gift, and my gratitude to the lamented giver.

I have a regular, and, I hope, a religious family. My woman, though she has not lived with me quite three years, had before lived twenty three betwixt lord Grantham's and lady Cowper's; my housekeeper has been a servant as long; the person who takes in my accounts, pays the bills, and overlooks the men within. doors, has been in the family nineteen years; and the other, who has the care of the stables, and of every thing without, has lived with us ten years. I rise at severi, but I do not go down till nine, when the bell rings, and my whole family meet me at chapel. After prayers, we go to breakfast: any friend who happens to be with me, my chaplain, and myself, have ours in the little library; the rest in their respective eating rooms. About eleven, if the weather permits, we go and walk in the park, or take the air in the coach; but if it is too bad for either, we return to our various occupations. At three we dine; sit perhaps an hour afterwards, and then separate. We meet at eight for prayers; after which we adjourn again to the library, where somebody usually reads aloud, till half an hour past nine, when we sup; and we always part before eleven. This to the gay world, would seem a melancholy, monastic life. I cannot be

supposed to have chosen it from ignorance of the splendour and gaiety of a court, but from a thorough experience that they can give no solid happiness; and I find myself more calmly pleased in my present way of living, and more contented, than I ever was in the bloom and pomp of my youth. I am no longer dubious what point to pursue. There is but one proper for the decline of life; and indeed the only one worth the anxiety of a rational creature at any age: but how do the fire of youth, and the flattery of the world, blind our eyes, and mislead our fancies after a thousand imaginary pleasures, which are sure to disappoint us in the end!

I condole with you on the loss of Mr. Price; for a faithful servant is always a valuable possession.

I dare say, lady Northumberland did not know how near she was to you, or she would not have passed by, without inquiring after you. Her little boy is called Algernon, after his grand-papa: and he is, though less handsome, the counterpart of his uncle, lord Beauchamp; his innocence, his temper, and his voice, are just the same, and every motion of his body; judge if I am fond of him. I have hardly room to subscribe myself, dear madam, ever faithfully yours,

Frances Somerset.

LETTER H.

To lady Luxborough,

Piercy Lodge. Nov. 23, 1753.

I did, indeed, dear madam, begin to despair

of having the honour, and (what I felt more sensibly) the pleasure, of hearing from you again. I am so subject to fall into errors, that I was afraid some unguarded expression in my last letter had given you offence; and