present you with a new year's gift. I now wish to mend my manners in this respect; and as we are both of us a little past our prime, it would not suit either of us to wait very long for any thing. I will, therefore, enter upon a new course (as all penitents ought to do) without delay; and I will, in one respect at least, begin the year well, by desiring you to accept, as a new year's gift, the living of Thorley, in Hertfordshire, for your nephew Mr. Pennington.

In offering you this benefice, I have more than one source of gratification. I have the satisfaction, in the first place, of giving competence and comfort to a worthy young man, whose exemplary conduct, and attention to his parochial duties, are highly spoken of by his parishioners. And I have also the great pleasure of testifying my regard for a most excellent lady, whom I have long known and reverenced; whose talents, learning, and piety, are an honour to her sex, and to the age in which she lives; and who is the oldest and most intimate surviving friend of my revered patron and bene factor, archbishop Secker. Were he now living, he would not, I think, be displeased with this mark of my attention to one whom I know he highly esteemed and loved.

I am, madam, &c.

Beilby London.

CHAPTER VI.

LETTERS OF CONDOLENCE AND CONSOLATION.

LETTER I.

Dr. Tillotson (afterwards archbishop of Canterbury) to Mr. Nicholas Hunt, when he was near the close of life.

Sir,

I am sorry to understand by Mr. Janeway's letter to my son, that your distemper grows upon you, and that you seem to decline so fast. I am very sensible how much easier it is to give advice, in the case of another, than to take it in our own. I have been exercised, of late, with a very severe trial, in the loss of my dear and only child; in which I do perfectly submit to God's good pleasure, firmly believing that he always does what is best. And yet, though reason is satisfied, passion is not so soon appeased; and when nature has received a wound, time must be allowed for the healing of it. Since that, God has thought fit to give me a nearer summons, and a closer warning of my mortality, in the danger of an apoplexy: which yet, I thank God, has occasioned no very melancholy reflections; but this perhaps, is more owing to natural disposition, than to philosophy and wise consideration. Your case, I know, is very different: you are of a temper naturally melancholy, and under a distemper apt to increase it *; for both which great allowances are to be made.

* Mr Hunt was afflicted with a cancer, of which he died in 1687.

And yet, I think, that the following considerations, which both reason and religion offer us, are of such solidity and strength, as may very well support our spirits, under all the frailties aud infirmities of the flesh. God is perfect love and goodness. We are not only his creatures, but his children; and we are as dear to him as to ourselves. He does not willingly grieve us. All the afflictions which befall us, are intended for the cure and prevention of greater evils, of sin and punishment: therefore, we ought not only to submit to them with patience, as being deserved by us; but to receive them with thankfulness, as being designed to do us that good, and to bring us to that sense of Him and ourselves, which perhaps nothing else would have done. The sufferings of this present life are but short and slight, compared with that extreme and endless misery, which we have deserved; and with that exceeding and eternal weight of glory, which we hope for in the other world. If we are careful to make the best preparation we can for death and eternity, whatever brings us nearer to our end, brings us nearer to our happiness; and how rugged soever the way may be, our comfort is, that it leads us to our father's house, where we shall want nothing that we can wish. When we labour under a dangerous distemper that threatens our life, what would we not be content to bear, in order to a perfect recovery, could we be assured of it? And should we not be willing to endure much more, in order to obtain happiness, and that eternal life, which God, who cannot lie, has promised? Nature, I know, is fond of life, and apt to be still lingering after a longer continuance here. And yet a long life, with its usual burthens and infirmities, is seldom desirable: it is but the same thing over again, or worse; so many more days and nights, summers and winters; a

1

repetition of the same pleasures, but with less relish; a return of the same, or greater, pains and trouble, but with less strength to bear them.

These, and the like considerations, I entertain myself with, not only with contentment, but comfort; though with great inequality of temper, and with much mixture of human frailty, which will always adhere to us whilst we are in this world. However, by these thoughts, death becomes more familiar to us; and we shall be able, by degrees, to bring our minds close to it, without startling. The greatest tenderness I find in myself, is with regard to some near relations, especially the dear and constant companion of my life; which, I must confess, does very sensibly touch me. But I consider, and so I hope will they also, that this separation will be only for a little while; and that I shall leave them, though in a bad world, yet under the care and protection of a good God, who can be more and better to them than all other relations, and who will certainly be so to them who love him, and hope in his mercy.

I need not advise you what to do, and what use to make of your visitation. I have reason to believe, that you have been careful, in the time of health, to prepare for the day, which is now fast approaching; that you have been conversant in those books, which give the best directions for this purpose; and that you have not, as so many do, put off the great work of life to the end of it. Therefore, you have nothing now to do, but, as well as you can under your present weakness and pains, to renew your repentance for all the errors and miscarriages of your life, and earnestly to beg God's forgiveness of them, for His sake who is the propitiation for our sins; to comfort yourself in the goodness and promises of God, and in the hopes of that happiness you are ready to enter

into; and, in the mean time, to exercise faith and tience, and be of good courage.

pa

I am not accustomed to write so long a letter: but I heartily compassionate your case; and I should be glad if I could suggest any thing that might help to mitigate your trouble, and make the sharp and rugged way, through which you are to pass into a better world, a little more smooth and easy. I pray to God to fit us both for that great change, which we must once undergo; and, if we are in good measure fit for it, sooner or later makes no great difference. I commend you to the Father of Mercies, and the God of all consolation; beseeching him to increase your faith and patience, and to stand by you in your last and great conflict; that, when you "walk through the valley of the shadow of death," you may fear no evil; and when your heart fails, and your strength fails, you may find him "the strength of your heart, and your portion for ever."

Farewell, my good friend! Whilst we are here, let us pray for one another, that we may have a joyful meeting in another world.

I remain,

Your truly affectionate friend and servant,

LETTER II.

John Tillotson.

Dr. Swift to the lord treasurer Oxford.-On the death of his daughter *.

November 21, 1713.

Your lordship is the person in the world to

whom every body ought to be silent upon such an occasion as this, which is only to be supported by the greatest

* This lady was married Nov. 15, 1712, to the marquis of Caermarthen; brought to bed of a son, (afterwards duke of Leeds,) Nov. 6, 1713; and died Nov. 20, aged twenty eight.