To Ann Granville Date: LINCOLN COLLEGE, September 27 1730. What can Selima think of my long silence Will it admit of any honorable interpretation Can you believe that any business is of such importance as to excuse it in the least degree That I might not seem utterly inexcusable, I have been several times for throwing everything by; and should have done it had I not been persuaded that you would not condemn me unheard. Every day since my return hither I have been engaged in business of far greater concern than life or death; and business which, as it could not be delayed, so no one else could do it for me. Had it not been for this, I should long before now have returned my sincerest thanks to Selima, which are due to her on so many accounts that I know not where to begin. Happy indeed should I have been, had it been my lot to meet you once more in that delightful vale! What we could, we did. The places where she was, we visited more than once. And though Selima herself was not there, yet there we could find the remembrance of her. The more I think of you, the more convinced I am that here at least I am not guilty of flattery when I mention the vast advantage you have over me in gratitude as well as humility. The least desire of being serviceable to you is received by you as a real service, and acknowledged in so obliging a manner that at the same time I am quite ashamed of doing so little to deserve it. You give me an inexpressible pleasure. How differently turned is my mind! how little moved with the most valuable benefits! In this, too, give me of your spirit, Selima: let me imitate as well as admire.

I would fain imitate, too, that generous ardor which, in spite of all the hindrances that surround you, so strongly inspires you to burst through all and redeem time to the noblest purposes. I am afraid of nothing more than of growing old too soon, of having my body worn out before my soul is past childhood. Would it not be terrible to have the wheels of life stand still, when we had scarce started for the goal; before the work of the day was half done, to have the night come, wherein no one can work I shiver at the thought of losing my strength before I have found it; to have my senses fail ere I have a stock of rational pleasures, my blood cold ere my heart is warmed with virtue! Strange, to look back on a train of years that have passed, ' as an arrow through the air,' without leaving any mark behind them, without our being able to trace them in our improvement! How glad am I that this can't be the case of Selima! The hours you have already given to that best of studies, divinity, forbid that, as sufficiently appears by your resolution to pursue it still. That, among the multitude of books writ on this subject, you prefer those that are clear and elegant, is surely right; 'tis doubly prudent to choose those writers before others who excel in speaking as well as thinking.

Yet, as nobly useful divinity is, 'tis perhaps not advisable to confine yourself wholly to it: not only for fear it should tire one who has been used to variety of subjects, but chiefly for fear it should make you less useful to those who have the happiness of your acquaintance; for whose sake therefore, as well as your own, I should fancy you would like to intermix some history and poetry with it. 'Tis incredible what a progress you might make in all these in a year or two's time, could you have a fixed hour for each part of your work See letter of June 17, 1731. Indeed, a great part of most days (I sigh while I speak it) is torn from you by your barbarously civil neighbors. But are not the mornings your own If they are, why should you not enlarge and improve them as much as possible O Selima, would it but suit your health, as wall as it would your inclinations, to rise at six and to give the first hour of the day to your private and part of the next to your public addresses to God, God is not unrighteous that He should forget that labor of love. He would repay it in prospering all your following employments. You would then never repent either giving what time remained of the morning to some lively writer in speculative divinity, or your calling in from the afternoon or evening (your usual place) an elegant poet or judicious historian. For were it possible for you to pursue this course, it would soon be as agreeable as useful.

Your knowledge would swiftly (though insensibly) improve, not so swiftly as your happiness. You would then find less pain from every accident; even from the absence of Aspasia. A treasure doubtless she is, the value of which nothing can teach so well as experience; every additional degree of intimacy with her may questionless enhance her value. Nor would it be human to be unconcerned at a separation from such a friend. Yet the time may come when that concern, though equally tender, shall not be equally painful to you: when you shall be as much pleased as ever with her presence, and yet not so much displeased at her absence. For there is a way (though it is a way which the world knows not) of dividing friendship from pain. It is called charity, or the love of God. The more acquainted we are with rids, the less anxiety shall we receive from the sharpest trial that can befall us. This, while it enlivens every virtuous affection of our souls, adds calmness to their strength; at the same time that it swells their stream, this makes it flow smooth and even. Soft peace she breathes wherever she arrives, She builds our quiet as she forms our lives, Leaves the rough paths of nature even, And opens in each breast a little heaven. Prior's Charity, where it is brings,' not ' breathes,' in line I; 'heart,' in line 4; line 3, 'Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even.' O Selima, never complain that it is not in your power to repay your friends much more than by receiving from them at least; don't complain with regard to me: any one of those! obliging things you have said is vastly more than a return for all the little service that is in my power to do you. I am amazed more and more, each time I reflect on those strange instances of your condescension, and feel how much I am overpaid, in (what I can never think of with due esteem and gratitude) the regard you show for Selima's Ever obliged friend and faithful servant, CYRUS. Araspes joins me in wishing he could make any return to Mrs. Granville's and Selima's goodness. I beg you to correct what you see wrong in the enclosed, and to send it when you write. Adieu. Mrs. Pendarves replies 4 GLOUCESTER, October 12, 1730.

SIR, I am almost afraid to own my having had both your letters, lest I should forfeit that good opinion that I extremely desire Cyrus should always have of Aspasia. I must farther confess that, had I not received the second letter, I should not have had courage to have wrote. I am but too sensible how unequal I am to the task. Could I, like our inimitable dear Varanese, express my sentiments, with what pleasure should I agree to the obliging request you make! But why should I be afraid of your superior understanding when I know at the same time the delight you take in not only entertaining but improving all those you converse with Then take me into your protection. Look on me as one surrounded with infirmities and imperfections, who flies to you for assistance against the assaults of vanity and passion. If you are desirous I should think you my friend, let this be the trial of it, not to leave any of my follies unreproved. I shall not scruple to discover to you those many defects which on a longer acquaintance with me your own observation must have pointed out to you; and it is no small argument of the great desire I have of improvement that I will run so great a hazard, for certainly you will value me less when you know how weak I am. You have no reason to make an apology for recommending the book you mention (which I suppose was the Bishop of Cork's). I have not yet read it; but I shall wait with impatience for the Abstract See previous letter and that of Feb. 13, 1731. you promise me, which I am sure will very well deserve the time I shall bestow in reading of it. My stay in Gloucester is uncertain; but when we go to town we shall call at Oxford, where we shall not fail of inquiring after Cyrus and Araspes. Selima adds: Aspasia is called away before she has finished her letter, and has not said one word for Selima, who thinks of Cyrus and Araspes with that esteem their merit justly claims, desires always to be thought their friend, and wishes Selima was worthy of it. When we go to Oxford, we don't know at what college to inquire after our agreeable friends. Mrs. Pendarves writes: GLOUCASTETR, October 26 1730.

SIR, We have determined to leave this place on Monday the 9th of November, and hope to see you on Tuesday at Oxford. Perhaps the weather and your inclinations may be so favorable to us that we may meet sooner (of hiring a coach This and a similar phrase in the reply evidently refer to some arrangement by which the brothers joined their friends at Burford and rode with them to Oxford. See letter of Nov. 19.). You are very just to those friends you have lately obliged with your company, when you seem assured of their good wishes. The success that attended your journey was certainly owing to yours and Araspes's merit. Your guardian angels would not forsake a charge so worthy of their care. Happy should we be, could our intercession secure you from accidents. The pleasure you gave us in your conversation we think of daily with thankfulness, and hope nothing will happen to prevent your making the visit you have promised us in January. My mother charges me with her particular compliments to you and your brother. Selima says she will not be contented with my making a bare compliment for her. If time would permit, I would gladly say more for her as well as for myself; but I have been in a hurry all this day. When shall I be worthy to subscribe myself, what I very sincerely desire to be, Cyrus's Friend and most faithful servant, ASPASIA.