1924.] 
of takeing a just reproofe, otherwise than 
a real obligation. You have gained my 
esteem a thousand ways, but in nothing 
more, than so freely telling me what is 
ill in me. I acknowledge all your advice 
to be good, and to be delivered in the 
kindest manner; yet, you reduce it to 
two heads useless to me :—To gain the 
esteem of the worid—I despise the 
world; the whole esteem, nay, admira- 
tion of it, would not give mea minute’s 
-satisfaction ;—My future happinesse—I 
have none, nor I expect none; my de- 
spair only urges me to avoid thinking, 
to run upon every thing can give diver- 
sion to my pain, without a design, or 
endeavouring at one. Iam one wretched 
beyond a hope; lost happinesse, and not 
to be cured. Sometimes, when I reflect 
-on the wild things I have done, I am in 
amanner sorry ; but when I fall into my 
melancholy again, I would exchange it 
for any other pain, and fly to any thing 
‘ean put it out of my head, That de- 
sire of trifles you condemn, I use all my 
arts to encrease : I would foment every 
passion could fill my mind and leave me 
no room for reflection. I find myselfe 
but too insensible, The pain of loseing 
your esteem is something, I own, touches 
me; but without desireing it I consider, 
I was born to be wretched, and have 
nothing to expect but misfortunes. I 
know what I deserve, and am not sur- 
prised you think as ill of me, as I do of 
myselfe, ady Margaret, if you love 
me, I have that real friendship for you, 
to beg you to forsake it. Why will you 
fix your affection on the most. un- 
worthy, most unhappy creature, of your 
acquaintance ?, 1 was going to say, how 
can you? but you have said you do, 
and { have an implicit faith; it is not 
my fault. Iam sometimes long in an- 
swering your letters; we live tar from 
the post-town, and often have not our 
letters tifl a post or two after they come. 
This is the real truth; I never fail to 
write the minute I receive yours. 
— 
LETTER III. 
In several of your opinions I cannot 
agree with you, but will not dispute it, 
since we agree in the main: you believe 
religion can be demonstrated by reason, 
and I think faith would then be lost in 
certainty; and 
The throne is darkness in th’abysse of light, 
A blaze of glory that forbids the sight; 
But, let me still believe Him, tho’ conceal’d, 
And search no farther than himselfe reveal’ d. 
Remains of eminent Persons. 
141 
I take this submission of reason to be 
a duty more becomeing a Christian, than 
a curious definition of what cannot be 
made plain to humanity; tho’ I don’t 
see why we should dispute whether 
it can or cannot, since we both agree in 
the chiefe point—that a life governed by 
religion, is both our duty and true in- 
terest. I could say several unanswer- 
able things to make good my first po- 
sition, but I will not have you think 
farther than my opinion is, and am not 
solicitous to bring you over to an opi- 
nion that is neither (in itselfe) good or 
bad. As to the last thing, you say that 
a great manny people live a lewd life with 
a firm faith. “I can never believe it: 
there are some incapable of governing 
their lives by reason; I think ’tis possi- 
ble for their actions to contradict their 
beleife, because tis possible for them to 
do unreasonable ridiculous things: bu‘, 
when I see a man in right sense passe 
a whole life in doing a series of unjusti- 
fiable actions, I generally conclude that 
man has read Hobbs, and believes no- 
thing of the matter. Most commonly 
men are doubtful, and that makes so 
manny people’s lives not of a piece} at 
‘some times they believe and tremble, 
nothing can be more devout and abste- 
mious; then infidelity gets the ascend- 
ant, and they fly off to their first de- 
baucheries, and argue “ why should { 
debar myselfe of a sure pleasure for an 
uncertain prospect.” Women have most 
of them too little reason for reflections, 
and I am perswaded manny of them 
heartily believe all that is told ’em, 
and would do if ’twas ten times more, 
and yet divide their time between their 
toilet and basset-table, &c.. But ’tis a 
want of good sense; nobody can think 
and act at that rate. ’Tis possible a sen- 
sible and pious man may be transported 
by a sudden passion, that gives him no 
time to reflect, to the murder of another : 
tho’ his conscience knows the unlaw- 
fulnesse of it, his passion is his excuse in 
this world and, the next; but a sen- 
sible Christiail ¢annot live in a settled 
course of murder and robbery—will 
neither be of the banditti or highway- 
men. When I hear a minister make an 
eloquent and learned oration against 
drunkennesse, and know he concludes 
that very evening with his pipe and his 
pot, and is led to bed between his two 
maids, I conclude that man a downright 
atheist. Either ‘drunkennesse is a sin, 
or it is not: if not, he is guilty of im- 
poseing on the people more than Heaven 
commands ; 
