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Every good wish attends your kind fellow.' traveller and chum, nor will he be forgot in our flowing bowl to-day.


If more could be said expressive of feelings, my dearest dear boy, I would add a letter to this epistle, but as it is composed, I will only sign to its expressive contents, your fond and loving mother,



Burton Pynsent, Oct. 30th, 1773. WITH what ease of mind and joy of heart I write to my loved William, since Mr. Wilson's comfortable letter of Monday. I do not mean to address you as a sick man, I trust in Heaven that convalescent is the only title I am to give you in the ailing tribe, and that you are now enjoying the happy advantage of Dr. Glynn's acquaintance, as one of the cheerful and witty sons of Apollo, in his poetic, not his medical, attribute. But, though I indulge with inexpressible delight the thought of your returning health, I cannot help being a little in pain, lest you should make more haste than good speed to be well. Your mamma has been before me in suggesting that most useful proverb, reculer pour

mieux sauter, useful to all, but to the ardent, necessary. You may, indeed, my sweet boy, better than any one, practice this sage dictum, without any risk of being thrown out (as little James would say) in the chase of learning. All you want at present is quiet, with this, if your ardour agloTEVELY can be kept in, till you are stronger, you will make noise enough. How happy the task, my noble, amiable boy, to caution you only against pursuing too much all those liberal and praiseworthy things, to which less happy natures are perpetually to be spurred and driven; I will not tease you with too long a lecture in favour of inaction, and a competent stupidity, your two best tutors and companions at present. You have time to spare ; consider there is but the Encyclopædia ; and when you have mastered all that, what will remain ? You will want, like Alexander, another world to conquer. Your mamma joins me in every word ; and we know how much your affectionate mind can sacrifice to our earnest and tender wishes. Brothers and sisters are well, all feel about you, think and talk of you, as they ought. My affectionate remembrances go in great abundance to Mr. Wil.

Vive, vale, is the unceasing prayer of your truly loving father,




Hayes, Sunday, July 17, 1774. NEED I tell my dear William that his letter, received this morning, diffused general joy here? To know that he is well and happy, and to be happy ourselves, is one and the same thing. I am glad that chambers, hall, and tufted robe, continue to please, and make no doubt that all the Nine, in their several departments of charming, will sue for your love with all their powers of enchantment. I know too well the danger of a new amour, or of a reviving passion, not to have some fears for your discretion. Give any of these alluring ladies the meeting by daylight, and in their turns; not becoming the slave of any one of them; nor be drawn into late hours by the temptation of their sweet converse. I rejoice that college is not yet evacuated of its learned garrison; and I hope the governor of this fortress of science, the master, or his admirable aides-decamp, the tutors, will not soon repair to their respective excursions. Dr. Brown, to whom I desire to present my best compliments, is very obliging in accommodating you with a stable. I hope with this aid Mr. Wilson's computation may not be out above one half, to bring it all near the mark. I conclude a horse's allowance at Cambridge is upon the scale of a sizer's commons. However it prove, I am glad to think you and he will find more convenience for riding at every spare hour that offers. Stucky will carry Mr. Wilson safely, and, I trust, not un



pleasantly. The brothers of the turf may hold the solid contents of his shoulders and forehead somewhat cheap; but by Dan's leave, he is no uncreditable clerical steed. No news yet from Pitt. James is here the flower of school-boys. Your loving father,



Hayes, Sept. 2, 1774. I WRITE, my dearest William, the post just going out, only to thank you for your most welcome letter, and for the affectionate anxiety you express for my situation, left behind in the hospital, when our flying camp removed to Stowe.

Gout has for the present subsided, and seems to intend deferring his favours till winter, if autumn will do its duty, and bless us with a course of steady weather; those days which Madame de Sevigné so beautifully paints, des jours filés d'or et de soie.

I have the pleasure to tell you, your mother and sisters returned perfectly well from Bucks, warm in praises of magnificent and princely Stowe, and full of due sentiments of the agree. able and kind reception they found there. No less than two dancings in the short time they passed there. One escape from a wasp's nest, which proved only an adventure to talk of, by the incomparable skill and presence of mind of Mr. Cotton, driving our girls in his carriage, with four very fine horses, and no postilion. They fell into an ambuscade of wasps, more fierce than Pondours, who beset these coursers of spirit not inferior to Xanthus and Podarges, and stung them to madness; when, disdaining the master's hand, he turned them short into a hedge, threw some of them, as he meant to do; and leaping down, seized the bridles of the leaders, which afforded time for your sisters to get out safe and sound, their honour, in point of courage, intact, as well as their bones ; for they are celebrated not a little on their composure in this alarming situation. I rejoice that your time passes to your mind in the evacuated seat of the Muses. However, knowing that those heavenly ladies (unlike the London fair) delight most, and spread their choicest charms and treasures, in sweet retired solitude, I won't wonder that their true votary is happy to be alone with them. Mr. Pretyman will by no means spoil company, and I wish you joy of his return. How many commons have you lost of late ? What fences have you broken? and in what lord of the manor's pond have any strays of science been found, since the famous adventure of catching the horses with such admirable address and alacrity? I beg my affectionate compliments to Mr. Wilson, and hope you will both beware of an enclosed country for the future, Little James is still with us, doing penance for the high living so well described to you in Mrs. Pain's excellent epistle. All loves follow my sweet boy in more abundance than I have time or ability to express,

I desire my best compliments to the kind and obliging master, who loves Cicero and you.

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