I entertain some thoughts of going for a few days to that now desolate Stratton, where I must expect new and sorrowful reflections at the first, it being a place where I have lived in sweet and full content; considered the condition of others, and thought none deserved my envy: but I must pass no more such days on earth. However, places are indeed nothing: where can I dwell that his figure is not present to me? Nor would I have it otherwise: so I resolve that shall be no bar to the acquitting of any obligation upon me. The immediate one, is the settling, and indeed the giving up of the trust which my dear lord had from my sister. Fain would I see that performed, as I know he would have done it had he lived. If I find I can do as I desire, I will, by God's permission, infallibly go; but not to stay more than two or three weeks: my children will remain here, who shall ever have my diligent attendance; therefore I shall hasten back to them.

I take, if I do go, my sister Margaret; and I believe lady Shaftsbury will meet me at Stratton. This I choose, as thinking that persons being there, to whom I must observe some rules, I shall be induced to restrain myself, and to keep in better bounds my wild and sad thoughts.-Blessed be the good prayers of others for me; they will, I hope, help me forward towards the great end of our creation.

I am most cordially, good doctor,

Your ever mournful,

But ever faithful friend,

RACHEL RUSSEL.

LETTER III.

To Dr. Fitzwilliam.

Woborne Abbey, Oct. 11, 1685.

Now I know where to find you, good doctor,

(which I do by your letter written at my cousin Spen

cer's) you will be sure to hear from me, who am not ashamed to be on the receiving hand with you. What am I that I should say, Why is it not otherwise? No, I do not; nor do I grudge or envy you the pious and ingenuous pleasure you have in it. My part in this world is of another nature. I thank you, sir, (God must give you the recompense,) you instruct me admirably how to overcome, and to make the application from Rev. iii. 12. The great thing is to acquiesce with all one's heart in the good pleasure of God, who will prove us by the ways and dispensations which he sees best. Who can tell his works from the beginning to the end? But who can praise his goodness more than wretched I, that he has not cut me off in anger, who have taken his chastisements so heavily, not weighing his mercies in the midst of judgments! The stroke was of the fiercest kind surely but had I not then a reasonable ground to hope, that he whom I loved as I did my own soul, was raised from a prison to a throne? Was I not enabled to shut up my own sorrows, that I increased not his sufferings by seeing mine? How were my sinking spirits supported by the compassion of excellent and wise Christians, who, without ceasing, admonished me of my duty, instructed, reproved, and comforted me! You know, doctor, I was not destitute; and I must acknowledge that many, like yourself, with devout zeal and great charity, contributed to the gathering together of my scattered spirits, and to the subjecting of them to such a submission as I could obtain under so astonishing a calamity. And further, God has spared me hitherto the children of so excellent a friend, given them hopeful understandings, and very tractable and sweet dispositions; has spared my life, in usefulness, I trust, to them; and, as I am to linger in a world I can no more delight in, has given me a freedom from bodily pain to a degree I scarcely ever knew. This calls for praises, in which my dead heart is not exercised; but

I bewail my infirmity. He who took our nature, and felt our infirmities, knows my weakness, and the sharpness of my sorrows.

I know not if you have heard that some unlooked-for accidents in my family have hurried me into new trouble. A young lady, whom my uncle Ruvigny brought with him, falling ill of the small-pox, I removed my children to Bedford-house, then followed myself, for the quieting of my good uncle's mind, who would have it so thence I brought my little tribe down to Woborne; and when I heard how fatal the young lady's distemper was, I returned to Bedford-house, to take my last leave of as kind a relation, and as zealous and tender a friend, as ever any body had. To my uncle and aunt, the death of their niece was an inexpressible loss, but to herself it was the contrary: she died, as she had lived, a pattern to all who knew her. As her body grew weak, her faith and hope grew strong: she comforted her comforters; edified all. about her; and magnified the goodness of God, that she died in a country, where she could in peace, give up her soul to HIM who made it. What a glorious thing, doctor, it is to live and die as she did! I heard my uncle and aunt say, that in the seven years she had been with them, they never could tax her with a failure in piety or worldly prudence; yet she had been roughly attacked, as the French Gazettes will tell you, if you have leisure to look them over. I keep them together; and I will send them to you.

I am,

Your much obliged servant,

RACHEL RUSSEL.

LETTER IV.

To Dr. Fitzwilliam.

Woborne Abbey, Nov. 27, 1685.

As you profess, good doctor, to take pleasure in your writings to me, from a desire to promote my welfare, so do I in receiving them as testimonies of your regard for me, both in my worldly and my spiritual concerns; and I need not waste my time nor yours to tell you they are very valuable to me. You say things sometimes, by which I should think you seasoned, or rather tainted, with being so much where compliment or praise is best learned: but I conclude, that what one heartily wishes to be in a friend, one is apt to believe is so; and I endeavour to have a true not a false title to the least virtue which you are disposed to attribute to me.

If I could contemplate the conduct of Providence in the manner you do, it would give me ease indeed, and no disastrous events would much affect me. The new scenes of each day make me often conclude myself very void of temper and reason, that I still shed tears of sorrow and not of joy, that so good a man is landed safe on the happy shore of a blessed eternity. Doubtless, he is at rest; though I find none without him, for he was a true partner in all my joys and griefs. I trust the Almighty will pass by this my infirmity. I was too rich in possessions, whilst I possessed my dear lord. From the enticing delights of the world I can now be better weaned. All relish for them is gone: I bless God for it and I pray that I may more and more turn the stream of my affections upwards, and set my heart upon the ever-satisfying perfections of God; not starting at his darkest providences, but remembering continually that either his glory, justice, or power, is advanced by every one of them, and that mercy is over all his works, as we shall one day be

hold with ravishing delight. In the mean time, I eudeavour to suppress all the wild imaginations which a melancholy fancy is apt to let in; and to say with the man in the Gospel," I believe; help thou my unbelief!"

I expect it will be near Christmas before my lord Bedford removes for the winter; but I have not yet discoursed with him about it, nor how long he desires our company. So that whether I shall come before him, or with him, I know not. He shall please himself: for I have no will in these matters; nor can I like one thing or way better than another, if the convenience and advantage are alike to the young creatures, in whose service, and for whose good, I shall use all the diligence that is in my power.

I am, sir,

Your obliged friend,

RACHEL RUSSEL.

CHAPTER II.

LETTERS TO AND FROM MR. POPE

LETTER I.

Mr. Pope to Mr. Wycherley.

April 30, 1705.

I cannot contend with you: therefore, give me leave at once to wave all your compliments, and to collect only this in general from them, that your design is to encourage me. But I separate from all the rest that paragraph or two in which you make me so warm an offer of your friendship. Were I possessed of that, it would put an end to all those speeches with which you now make me blush; and change them to wholesome