ing. She lived twenty hours afterwards: which time was not lost on either side, but passed in such a manner as gave great satisfaction to both; and such as, on her part, every way became her circumstances and character. She had her senses to the very last gasp; and she exerted them to give me, in those few hours, greater marks of duty and love than she had done in all her life-time, though she had never been wanting in either. The last words she said to me, were the kindest of all; a reflection on the goodness of God, which had allowed us in this manner to meet once more. Not many minutes after that, she laid herself on her pillow, in a sleeping posture,

"placidaque ibi demum morte quievit."

Judge, sir, what I felt, and still feel, on this occasion; and spare me the trouble of describing it. At my age, under my infirmities, among utter strangers, how shall I find out proper reliefs and supports? I can have none but those with which Reason and Religion furnish me ; and on those I lay hold, and grasp as fast as I can. And I hope that Hɛ who laid the burthen upon me, (for wise and good purposes, no doubt,) will enable me to bear it, in like manner as I have borne others, with some degree of fortitude and firmness.

You see how ready I am to relapse into an argument which I had quitted once before in this letter. I shall probably again commit the same fault, if I continue to write; and therefore I stop short here, and, with all sincerity, affection, and esteem, bid you adieu, till we meet, either in this world, if God pleases, or else in another!

LETTER XI.

Dr. Arbuthnot to Mr. Pope.

Hampstead, July 17, 173.

I little doubt your kind concern for me, nor that of the lady whom you mention. I have nothing but prayers and good wishes to repay my friends with at present. I have the satisfaction to find that I am as officiously served by them, as he that has thousands to leave in legacies; besides the assurance of their sincerity. God Almighty has made my bodily distress as easy as a thing of that nature can be. I have found some relief, at least occasionally, from the air of this place. My nights are bad but many poor creatures have worse.

As for you, my good friend, I think, since our first acquaintance, there have not been any of those little suspicions or jealousies that often affect the sincerest friendships; I am sure, not on my side. I must be so candid as to own, that though I could not help valuing you for those talents which the world prizes, yet they were not the foundations of my friendship: which were quite of another sort; nor shall I at present offend you by enumerating them. And I make it my last request, that you will continue that noble disdain and abhorrence of vice, which you seem naturally endued with; but still with a due regard to your own safety and that you will study more to reform than to chastise, though the one cannot be effected without the other.

Lord Bathurst I have always honoured, for every good quality that a person of his rank ought to have. Pray, give my respects and kindest wishes to the family. My venison stomach is gone; but I have those about me, and often with me, who will be very glad of his present. If it is left at my house, it will be transmitted safe to me.

N

A recovery in my case, and at my age, is impossi~ ble; the kindest wish of my friends is Euthanasia!* Living or dying, I shall always be

Your, &c.

JOHN ARBUTHNOT.

CHAPTER III.

LETTERS OF MRS. ROWE.†

LETTER I.

To the countess of Hertford, afterwards dutchess

Madam,

Somerset.

of

This is the last letter you will ever receive from me; the last assurance I shall give you, on earth, of a sincere and steadfast friendship. But, when we meet again, I hope it will be in the heights of immortal love and ecstacy. Mine, perhaps, may be the first glad spirit to congratulate your safe arrival on the happy shores. Heaven can witness the sincerity of my concern for your happiness. Thither I have sent my ardent wishes, that you may be secured from the flattering delusions of the world; and that, after your pious example has been long a blessing to mankind, you may calmly resign your breath, and enter the confines of unmolested joy!

* A gentle, easy death.

† After the death of Mrs. Rowe, these letters were found in her cabinet; she had directed them to be delivered, immediately after her decease, to the persons to whom they were addressed.

I am now taking my farewell of you here it is a short adieu; for I die with full persuasions that we shall meet again! but O, in what elevation of happiness! in what enlargement of mind, and perfection of every faculty! What transporting reflections shall we make on the advantages of which we shall feel ourselves eternally possessed!

To Him who loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood, we shall ascribe immortal glory, dominion, and praises for ever. This is all my salvation, and all my hope. That name in whom the Gentiles trust, in whom all the families on earth are blessed, is now my glorious, my unfailing confidence: in His merits alone I expect to stand justified before infinite Purity and Justice. How poor were my hopes, if I depended on those works, which my own vanity, or the partiality of men, has called good; and which, if examined by Divine Purity, would prove, perhaps, but specious sins! The best actions of my life would be found defective, if brought to the test of that unblemished holiness in whose sight the Heavens are not clean. Where were my hopes, but for a Redeemer's merits and atonement! how desperate, how undone, my condition! With the utmost advantages I can boast, I should start back, and tremble, at the thoughts of appearing before the unblemished Majesty.

What a dream is mortal life! What shadows are the objects of sense! All the glories of mortality, my beloved friend, will be nothing in your view, at the awful hour of death, when you must be separated from the whole creation, and enter on the borders of the immaterial world. May that Divine protection, whose care I implore, keep you steadfast in the faith of Christianity, and guide your steps in the strictest paths of virtue !

Adieu, my most dear friend, till we meet in the paradise of God!

ELIZABETH ROWE,

My lord,

LETTER II.

To the earl of Orrery.

There seems to be something presaging in the message that you desired me to deliver to your charming Henrietta,* when I should meet her gentle spirit in the blissful regions; which I believe will be very soon. I am now acting the last part of life; and composing myself to meet the universal Terror, with a fortitude becoming the principles of Christianity. It is only through the great Redeemer's merits and atonements, that I hope to pass undaunted through the fatal darkness.

Before him death, the grisly tyrant, flees;

He wipes the tears for ever from her eyes.

All human greatness makes no figure in my present apprehension; every distinction vanishes, but that of virtue and real merit. It is this which gives a peculiar regard for such a character as yours; and makes me hope your example will not fall short of that of your illustrious ancestors. The approaches of death set the world in a true light; its brightest advantages appear no more than a dream, in that solemn period. The immortal mind, perhaps, will quit a cottage with less regret than it would leave the splendour of a palace; and the breathless dust sleep as quietly beneath the grassy turf, as under the parade of a costly monument. These are insignificant circumstances to a spirit doomed to an endless duration of misery or of bliss. It is this important concern, my lord, that has induced me to spend my time in a peaceful retirement, rather than to waste it in a train of thoughtless amusements. My mind is grown familiar with the solemnity of dying; and

The countess of Orrery..