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 sepa. ration 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 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 patience, and be of good courage.

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."

Whilst we are

Farewell, my good friend! 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,

JOHN TILLOTSON.

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

November 21, 1713.

YOUR lordship is the person in the world to whom everybody ought to be silent upon such an occasion as this, which is only to be supported by the greatest wisdom and strength of mind; in which, the wisest and best of us, who would presume to offer our thoughts, are far your inferiors. It is true, indeed, that a misfortune is apt to weaken the mind, and disturb the understanding. This, indeed, might be some pretence to us to adminis ter our consolations, if we have been wholly

strangers to the person gone. But, my lord, whoever had the honour to know her, must want a comforter as much as your lordship; because, though their loss is not so great, yet they have not the same firmness and prudence, to support the want of a friend, a patroness, a benefactress, as you have to support that of a daughter. My lord, both religion and reason forbid me to have the least concern for that lady's death, upon her own account; and he must be an ill Christain, or a perfect stranger to her virtues, who would not, with all submission to God Almighty's will, wish himself in her condition. But your lordship, who has lost such a daughter, and we, who have lost such a friend, and the world, which has lost such an example, have, in our several degrees, greater cause to lament, than, perhaps, was ever given by any private person before; for, my lord, I sat down to think of every amiable quality that could enter into the composition of a lady, and I could not single out one, which she did not possess in as high a degree as human nature is capable of. But as to your lordship's own particular, as it is an inconceivable misfortune to have lost such a daughter, so it is a possession which few can boast of, to have such a daughter. I have often said to your lordship, that I never knew any one by many degrees so happy in his family as you; and I affirm you are so still, though not by so many degrees: whence it is very obvious, that your lordship should reflect on what you have left, as well as what you have lost.

To say the truth, my lord, you began to be too happy for a mortal; much more happy than is usual with the dispensations of Providence long to continue. You had been the great instrument of pre

serving your country from foreign and domestic ruin : : you have had the felicity of establishing your family in the greatest lustre, without any obligation to the bounty of your prince: by your courage and abilities, you have triumphed over the violence and treachery of your enemies; and by the steadiness of your temper, over the inconstancy and caprice of your friends. Perhaps, your lordship has felt too much complacency within yourself, upon this universal success; and God Almighty, who would not disappoint your endeavours for the public, thought fit to punish you with a domestic loss, where he knew your heart was most exposed; and, at the same time, has fulfilled his own wise purposes, by rewarding, in a better life, that excellent creature whom he has taken from you.

I know not, my lord, why I write this to you, nor hardly what I am writing: I am sure, it is not from any compliance with form; it is not from supposing that I can give your lordship any ease; I think it was an impulse upon me, that I should say something: and whether I shall send you what I have written, I am yet in doubt. I am, my lord, &c.

JONATHAN SWIFT.

Dr. Hough, bishop of Worcester, to Mrs. Knightley. On the death of her son.

MADAM,

February 2, 1713.

I SHOULD not have been altogether silent on a subject that has set heavy on my own mind, much more on yours, were I not sure that your better

sense will suggest all, and more than I am able to say.

You know very well, that the true character of a man does not depend on the length of his days, but on the measure of his good qualities; and when that measure is complete, the Almighty, whose eye is always upon him, sees him fitly prepared for a more exalted state, and graciously admits him into it; while others advance more slowly to perfection, and are suffered to have their course. As some sorts of fruits are long in ripening; others make haste to maturity: and both are gathered accordingly. It has of old been frequently observed that the lustre of those accomplishments which, in some persons, breaks out to our amazement, when we apprehended it to be only in the dawn, shows itself in this world but a little while: we gaze, and it disappears. Such people finish their part quickly; and, with full applause, the scene closes upon them. How infinitely valuable are they, above those who, in a long series of life, never distinguish themselves! who are no sooner out of sight than they are forgotten: but the memory of the others is precious.

We think doubtfully of some who are gone, and uncomfortably of others; but of the good and virtuous we can have only pleasing reflections: for, will it be allowed a reasonable cause of grief, that one whom I love is promoted out of my reach, to the height of his most laudable ambition? Would it be friendly in me to keep him back, and postpone his happiness to my own inclinations? I can easily answer: No, by no means; I know he is happy, and I rejoice in it. But he is taken from me; his conversation was extremely endearing; and I lament my own loss. This will not be denied