MY DEAREST,

TO MRS. DODDRIDGE.

London, July 27, 1749.

I FOUND Mr. West as hospitable as I could wish. He came to meet me at Croydon on Monday, carried me to Wickham in his chariot, and sent me to London in it today. We spent almost the whole intermediate time in religious and philosophical discourse, chiefly in one or another of the elegant retreats in his garden, and the result is, that our hearts are very much twisted together, and we were truly sorry to part. I was the more so, as the Bishop of Rochester, who intends to spend a part of every summer in Northamptonshire, sent his chaplain last night with a very obliging message, to desire my company to dine with him to-day; but I was engaged to Mr. Roffey, and I kept my engagement the rather, as I have another with Dr. Scott for to-morrow morning, which must also have been sacrificed if I had failed in the former. I should be very much inclined, if my time would permit, to give you a description of Mr. West's gardens, which are extremely pretty, but that I must defer till I have the much wished for pleasure of seeing you.*

I have met with a pamphlet called " A Familiar Epistle to the Most Impudent Man Living," which is really addressed by my Lord Bolingbroke to Mr. Warburton, on occasion of his vindicating poor Pope, and is the most spiteful thing I ever saw. It led me to reflect on the great advantages of candour and moderation, if it be but to preserve one from much outrage, under which severe people

*Dr. Johnson alludes to these gardens in the following passage. “He (i. e. West) was often visited by Lyttelton and Pitt, who, when they were weary of faction and debates, used at Wickham to find books and quiet, a decent table, and literary conversation. There is at Wickham a walk made by Pitt; and, what is of more importance, at Wickham Lyttelton received that conviction which produced his Dissertation on St. Paul.

are ready to fall unpitied, even when, as here, they are really injured.

Poor Mrs. Roffey looked dreadfully, in consequence of the abominable manner of dressing the head, which some evil demon has introduced to destroy the works of God. The foremost plait of the fly cap is nearer the back of the head than the forehead; the hair on the forehead and sides of the face is all combed up straight, and that behind is tucked up under the cap; and the wings of the fly are pinned back, and stand up, that it may seem as if the wind had blown the cap off, or at least turned it quite back; and poor Miss Roffey was in the same monkey form. May you, my dear, and my sweet girls, be preserved from the detestable fashion, though all the rest of your sex should be corrupted with it. I most heartily thank you for your prayers, and I thank God for that protection he was pleased to give me in answer to them. You judge very rightly, that Lady Hardwicke's letter grieved me not a little. Poor Mrs. Dicey! her mother will kill her, and then go distracted. I am also much concerned to think that I shall not be able to see Doctor Oliver: I beg that when he comes you would make much of him and his lady, and make my best compliments to him, and assure him how deeply I regret an absence which it is out of my power to prevent.

I am,

My Dearest, yours, beyond all forms of salutation,

P. DODDRIDGE.

TO MRS. DODDRIDGE.

London, July 30, 1749.-Lord's Day morning.

MY DEAREST LOVE,

I BEGIN a few lines to you this morning, before I enter on my public work, to let you know that by the divine goodness I am very well, having had a refreshing night, and being greatly comforted by the good account I have re

ceived from Bristol and Northampton concerning persons so dear to me, as those who at both those places have been, under the afflicting hand of God. In how many instances does a gracious God hear our prayers, and what an encouragement is it to us to continue our correspondence with him-because he hath heard the voice of our supplications -to call upon him as long as we live. And what an unutterable delight is it to think of our interest in him as our God and Father, and as a friend of whom no evil accident can deprive us, but who will live and stand by us, and comfort us, whoever may droop and die, and when we are dying ourselves. It comforts us greatly ;-I feel it even now at my heart, that God should raise up, as it were from the dead, dear Doctor Stonhouse, or the Countess of Huntingdon: but, oh! what is this cause of rejoicing when compared with that which makes our Christian sabbaths so illustrious?-the resurrection of Christ from the dead. What a revival was there! and how should our hearts rejoice in it! and how should we remember the day! I perceive, my dear, you had, though not very apt to remember days, noted the 25th of July, on which I was exposed to, and delivered from, so much danger under Westminster Bridge; how then should either of us have noted and remembered that in which the other had been raised from the dead, if we had lived in the great age of miracles, and God had by one of his prophets, or by his Son, granted such an astonishing favour, in compassion to the tears and sorrows of the survivor. And yet how much greater, beyond all possible comparison, was the blessing of this day, the resurrection of our Saviour. Then, indeed, were we both raised, and with us our dead, and our living children, so soon to be joined with them and us in death, and all our friends who are, or ever have been, dear to us in the bonds of the Lord, which are such tender and strong bonds, that his love will make them immortal. I hope, therefore, we shall learn to begin all our Lord's days with joy; and as the daily burnt

offering was on the sabbath day to be doubled, or trebled, in the temple, that so we shall double and treble those grateful acknowledgments which we owe to God every day. But have we not with them reason to increase our humiliations proportionably, to think how easily our thoughts are dissipated amidst the hurries of the world, and the course of good affections diverted from the channel in which they ought to flow. You, my dear, are better than I, and you feel not so much of it, but truly I have great reason to lament it; and though I am not just now quite so much in a hurry as I often am in London, yet the multitude of visits to be made and received, and of letters to be wrote, and the want of some good opportunities which my pastoral work at Northampton brings, and, indeed, enforces upon me, almost whether I will or not, make these reflections much more seasonable than I could wish. I am now going out to my public work with a heart too little prepared, according to the preparation of the sanctuary, yet I hope with a sincere heart that aims at the great ends intended by the institution of that sanctuary; and it is a great encouragement to me, that I have the prayers of so many friends here, and especially at Northampton, which I hope God will remember, and fortify me with strength, both of body and mind. At least, I am sure this will be a comfortable and improving day to you, and the divine presence will be with my dear Northampton friends, if my prayers may be remembered. But I will break off here.—I am, with all services as due,

My Dearest,

Most affectionately and invariably yours,

P. DODDRIDGE.

TO MISS DODDRIDGE.

MY LOVELY GIRL,

Monday night, Walthamstow, July 31, 1749.

YOUR dear mama, for being related to whom, both you and I shall have reason to bless God as long as we live, will, I am sure, have the goodness to excuse me that I fail writing to her this post, that I may pay my respects to you and relieve her from the trouble of answering this, which will naturally fall to your share. As I have but little time, it happens very well that I have not much to say, more than to assure you of my tenderest love and great joy that you are, through the divine goodness, so well recovered. Indeed, you are so dear to me that every thing that looks like danger to you afflicts me sensibly in its most distant approach. It has pleased God so to form my heart that I question whether any man living feels more exquisitely on such occasions; the life of either of my children, and of such a child, is more to me than the treasures of a kingdom; and there is hardly any thing in which your excellent mama is not immediately concerned, which I so much desire as that you may all live to bless the world many years after I have left it. Now, when I feel this tender affection so warm in my heart, it is a great pleasure to me (as it should be to you) to reflect that as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.” My dear child, you live by the divine compassion, to you, and to me; indeed I may say to both your parents, for you are exceedingly dear to us both. Let me earnestly entreat you to bear the sense of it upon your heart, and to consider that every instance in which God is pleased to afflict you, or to remove the stroke of his hand, calls for serious recollection as well as grateful acknowledgment. It calls for a solemn inquiry into the reasons of the divine conduct, wherefore it is that God contends with us, and what