burton is as unfortunate in this particular as myself; for he has a relation from Oakham with him, which will not admit of his coming over to Newark this evening. He desires his best respects to you; and, if he must not see you at Broughton this journey, he promises himself that pleasure when you come to the Visitation. I beg you will be pleased to maké my excuses to Dr. Rogers*: and believe me, Sir, your obliged friend and servant, R. TAYLOR. LETTER XX. For the Rev. Dr. STUKELEY, at Mr. Sisson's. MY DEAR FRIend, B. Broughton, March 31, 1735. I want words to express to you the pleasure your kind Letter, which I received this afternoon, gave me, after a long impatience to hear of your health and content. You divert me much with your account of Miller's Farces. Your reflection on that matter is admirably just; and I cannot but compare myself to a starving chemist, who despises wealth got the ordinary way, so intent is he on his imaginary elixir; while he sees under his nose an honest retailer of muddy porter, who, with only the art of making the tap run plentifully, grows sleek and wealthy, and vies with his barrels in froth and turbulence. But we have all our weaknesses. I own, I would do something that may remain a proof of studies not misapplied "Nec me animi fallit quàm sint obscura, sed acri * Then a Physician of eminence at Stamford; Lucret. i. 921, iv. 3. see p. 25. But But of all the dabblers in the blind creeks of the Ocean of Immortality, commend me to Clarissimus [Peck], who launches out Folio after Folio, and makes every year a good trading voyage, though he takes in nothing but ballast; yet this, as if it was the gravel of Pactolus, is poured out upon the necessitous world under the name of riches. These he calls his pops; which a spring warmth so periodically ferments, that I can scarce forbear comparing our illustrious friend to bouncing huffey small-beer, that will not be persuaded to stay in the bottle, and yet has not one dram of force or spirit when it is out. You must not expect much news from Newarke. I know nothing out of the way of nature, but a child that was born there without a head. And yet my good townfolks have so generally, for this last age, come into the world without brains, that this happened, and nobody was surprised at the matter. Mat Bradford has at length followed my Lord Howe* into the New World. Indeed, last summer he sang most musically, like the departing swan, on the banks of the Trent, in a dismal Elegy on the Duchess of Rutland's death: but I find his fate is to die in Barbadoes-waters. This Poem was addressed to his Grace where, by an extraordinary flight of fancy, he compares him to Alexander, crying for new worlds. I did not take the conceit. So I asked a friend, whom I imagined might be in the secret, what relation there was between the Duke's loss and Alexander's tears! He told me, he was equally at a stand, unless the Poet had a mind to insinuate that, as Alexander cried because he had no more worlds to conquer, so the Duke cried because he had no more wives to bury. So profound are our Provincial Poets! But, if you will allow me, after all this trash, to enquire after affairs of Learning, I would ask what *Emanuel Scrope, the second Lord Viscount Howe, and M. P. for the county of Nottingham, was appointed Governor of Barbadoes in May 1732; and died there March 29, 1735. new new work of importance is come out, or on the anvil? What are the Bishops and Court Chaplains doing, in their profession? Sure, in this age of reason, we may expect some master-pieces against Popery from them. What are you upon? and are we to have the pleasure of seeing any thing of yours from the press this spring? Mr. Whiston has sent me his Proposals for his Josephus; and I shall make it my business to promote his subscription all I can. Pray give my humble service to him, when you see him; and my duty to my good Lord Tyrconnel, if you see him again before you leave town. Dr. Taylor is your very humble servant; but, since his late shipwreck near the Gulph of Matrimony, he has no great curiosity to explore "the secrets of the hoary deep," as Milton calls them. But we have an adventurer amongst us who fears no colours, as they say, your friend Jack Herring; who, from an advantageous station, a butt of right Port, is a-going to souse, over head and ears, in wedlock. Grævius is already gone back to the Bookseller, to buy a green bed; on the sage conclusion, that it was better to sleep in him, than over him. What force and vigour Grævius, under this new form, may give our Hero, I do not know. But, if the Dutchman inspires but at his past rate, his young wife will have no more cause to dread his violence, than the good old Dame Antiquity had, who has passed through his hands untouched, though he charged at her with seventeen Folios in front. The truth is, he has found himself of late more disposed to fabricate new, than to revive old decayed intelligence. His old cares too begin to share the general fate of the new; only, with a due regard to precedency, they go first: for I am told that a new triumvirate, of Cæsar, Adrian, and Constantine the Great, have clubbed to buy his mistress a diamondring; and that Julia and Faustina have presented her with a laced smock. How true this is, I will not not pretend to say. But this is certain his family grew very uneasy lest this hopeful youth should prove to have too much brains for the Saracen's head; but are now quite at rest on his undertaking a business that will probably serve him his life, and may be done without book." I long to see you; and should have been glad, had my convenience suffered me, to enjoy that pleasure in London. I hope you will be down by the Visitation. I heartily wish you all success in your affair. I see, by the Stamford Mercury, our good friend Mr. Denshire has made the sorry rascals who abused him and his son give him full reparation, which it was a pleasure to me to see. I desire my humble service, and hearty respects to him; and am, dearest Sir, your most affectionate, and most faithful friend, W. WARBURton. LETTER XXI. To the Rev. Dr. STUKELEY, at Stamford. DEAR SIR, [So dated] 1735. I received the favour of yours, in which you acquainted me you could not meet me at Peck's, as you had thoughts to do. The reason was a very good one; and, as I had no other intention in that Journey than the meeting you, I went not. You had been too civil, and had too long courted one you should have despised. Mrs. Stukeley found him out to be what he is, long before you did; but enough of one whom I desire you and I may never have occasion to mention again but to laugh at. I have received the Richardsons*, father and son, whom you was so kind as to send me, and shall take care of them, and return them safe to you. Such a heap of wretched senseless impertinence, and more senseless * The two Painters, Jonathan Richardson, father and son. vanity, vanity, I never before saw together, to be matched by nothing but "Tom Coryat's Crudities." I have long had a quarrel with you, for being so niggardly of your Letters. You will just pay your debts to your friends; but you will give them no credit, and balance your correspondence as exactly as if you was writing from a counting-house. Be assured, I have never a greater pleasure, than in a good long Letter from you. But for one who writes with so much ease as you do, you have no excuse for being so thrifty. I want to know whether your Work be gone to the press. The Pamphlet I told you of, in defence of the Established Church against the abolishing of a Test, is almost printed off. So I fancy I have got the start of you; and so I had need; for the slowest runners ought to have some advantage. It is a ticklish subject; and, res antiquæ laudis et artis Ingredior; sanctos ausus recludere fontes." The title is, "The Alliance between the Church and State; or, the Equity and Necessity of an Established Religion and a Test Law demonstrated, from the Essence and End of Civil Society, upon the Fundamental Principles of the Law of Nature and Nations. In three Parts. The First, treating of a Civil and Religious Society. The Second, of an Established Church. And the Third, of a TestLaw." Pray do you go on with the Dialogue, "The Hexameron?" I wish we could see one another soon. Our friend Edmund Weaver has been with me with an Almanack. The poor man a few weeks ago ran quite distracted, and was forced to be held or chained in bed. It was generally attributed to the illhumours of his wife; for not one friendly star twinkled on this last disastrous marriage. However, it is with much pleasure I tell you, he seems to be got quite well, considering the premises, and his VOL. 11. D great |