times more precious to me as the pledge of your dear and invaluable friendship; which I have kissed with almost as much transport as if it had been the lovely creature who wrought it ;—that dear charming Turnover is now almost covered with ink. The murky streams have overspread its virgin whiteness, nor could even the fringe nor the embroidery escape. They have alike imbibed the melancholy tincture, and neither lemon juice, nor briny tears, are able to recover them. Thus, after all the glory, in which it has so frequently appeared in the most exalted station of numerous assemblies, as a banner in the front of a battle, it is now folded up in a solitary bandbox, lost to me and a sympathizing world, and left in helpless and abandoned wretchedness, to mourn in sable tears its beauty lost.

This, madam, is the misfortune which I lament; and, to render me still more completely inconsolable, I am forced to acknowledge, with inexpressible remorse, that it was the work of my own folly; and that this guilty hand-which I cannot behold without terror, distraction, and horror-poured out the fatal dye; and had not even the instinctive apprehension so much as to tremble at the approach of this appalling crime!

And thus, dear madam, I have given you a plain and artless description of this calamitous event. And though I know the subject to be great and important, and a noble theme for the sublimest eloquence, yet have not studied to adorn it with the pomp of words,

but have left it to plead for itself in naked simplicity. Whatever is amiss your own natural candour will teach you to pardon, and indeed the sorrow of my heart may be considered as too sufficient an excuse. I only add that I conjure you, by all the gentleness of a Woman, by all the charity of a Christian, and by all the tenderness of a Friend, that if you have any remedy for an evil that seems to be irretrievable, or any consolation that may support the mind under the load of so overwhelming a calamity, you would immediately transmit it to your mourning disconsolate Nephew,

P. DODDRIDGE.

Burton, July 18, 1724.

You perceive, madam, by the date of this doleful ditty that is was written several weeks ago; since that time the state of affairs is something altered, and I hope the Turnover is in a way of recovery. It has been abroad to take the air in the country several times, but I am afraid it will never entirely regain its purity of complexion, so as to be fit to appear with advantage in London.

I hope to have the pleasure of waiting upon my dear Clio about the middle of the next month. Mr. Massey has sent me such repeated invitations to make his house my home while I stay in London, that I know not how to refuse him. I congratulate you on your deliverance from so troublesome a guest, who has often been the occasion of much inconvenience.

You ought indeed to give Mr. Massey a great many thanks for his importunity; for I will assure you I fully intended to have inquired after a lodging in Trinity Lane; and am very much afraid that, as it is, you will be pestered with a great deal of my company, unless something very extraordinary happen to prevent it. If your nuptials are celebrated while I am in London, I shall be ready to grace the solemnity with a sermon on Eccles. iv. 11, or whatever other text you shall please to appoint. My humble service to Mrs. Clark when write. I hope you received my last, because it was about an affair of considerable importance.

you

DEAR MADAM,

TO MRS. JENNINGS.

Burton, July 25, 1724.

IF you will allow me to begin with quoting the Bellman, it is "past seven o'clock" on Saturday morning. And I must confess with shame and contrition that I have four letters to write, and a sermon to finish and transcribe, besides a great deal of other important business, both above and below stairs, which must all be dispatched before night, and therefore, as we say in the pulpit, "my Time will not allow me to enlarge."

Perhaps in so great a hurry it may appear needless to tell you that I most heartily thank you and Mrs. Wingate for your good company, and that I very

much regret its loss. Indeed I assure you, however incredible it may seem, that it was a considerable time before even my mistress herself could be considered a full equivalent.

I continue my resolution of setting out for London next Tuesday, and as I have inserted all your business in my pocket-book, I hope none of it will be forgotten. When I come home I shall fully expect a letter from you, in which you must particularly inform me how you all do, and whether our poor friends at Hinckley have recovered the exercise of their reason*. If they have not I would humbly propose that Mrs. Wingate, who I know has a very tender affection for them, should make each of them a present of a paper of Helebore, which has always been as much approved as a remedy for madness as for the tooth-ache; a fact I could easily prove by an ample collection of testimonies from Hippocrates, Galen, Paracelsus, and Aretæus, and indeed from all the most celebrated physicians who have appeared in the world from the universal deluge; but I could not pretend to trace it higher, because I happen to be no great critic in the antediluvian language. If after such a liberal distribution, that charitable lady has a few grains remaining of that noble cephalic, I earnestly beg that she would transmit them to me, for it seems highly probable that I shall equally need it.

The congregation at Hinckley were then suffering from a hot intestine war! a poor majority having chosen a Pastor in opposition to a rich minority.

My dear tyrant and I are at present upon pretty amicable terms. But I am much afraid that a month of absence will produce some dreadful revolution. I heartily wish I could have persuaded her to spend some of the time at Hinckley; for as she would have been very much in the way of improving herself in other respects, so I question not but that Mr. Richards, Mrs. Wingate, and yourself would have joined together in ardent intercession for me; and I am sure she would have laid a great deal of stress upon your advice. But my time is gone, and so I must conclude; indeed it is almost a needless mispence of it to add any thing more, since I have already told you again and again that I am always

Your most affectionate Friend and humble Servant,

PHILIP DODDRIDGE.

TO MR. MITCHEL.

MY GOOD FRIEND,

Finsbury, Aug. 6, 1724.

As you were so kind as to desire you might hear from me, I readily comply with your request. And as I know not when I can have a better opportunity of sending a letter, I write something sooner than I otherwise intended. I bless God I got well to St. Albans the day after I saw you, and to London last Monday, and find the generality of my friends both