formity in their reverses: there being nothing to be seen, from one end of the series to the other, but the Attic Owl, or the Roman Goose. You shall have a sight of our friend Dr. Taylor's * young Faustina in gold, that is, in red hair, which he is now cheapening for his Cabinet. She is at present a Goddess, and Diva Faustina, as usual, wrote round her margin: but, by a kind of anti-apotheosis, she is going to be made a mortal of; and you know she is not the first of her name that has proved inconstant to a Philosopher. My best respects to good Mrs. Stukeley concludes me, dear Sir, your most affectionate friend, W. WARBURTON. * Dr. Robert Taylor was a native of Newark; where his father, John Taylor, esq. was many years an Alderman, twice Mayor, and died in 1739 at an advanced age, just as he was elected to serve that office for the third time.-The son was of Trinity College, Cambridge, where he took the degree of M. B. 1732; and M. D. 1737. Soon after the death of Dr. Mordecai Hunton (not Hunter, as misprinted in p. 5.) Dr. Taylor succeeded to his practice at Newark. He was a member of the Brazen Noze Society, founded in 1745 by Dr. Stukeley at Stamford; and was afterwards Physician Extraordinary to King George II. The engagement on which his friend Warburton is so jocular appears to have been broken off; but the Doctor afterwards married Anne, youngest daughter of John Heron, esq. This lady died in 1757, in her 68th year; and her merits are recorded on a tomb in Newark church, near the handsome monument of her father, who died in 1727, aged 63.-Dr. Taylor was a second time married. - Dr. Warburton, in a Letter to Mr. Hurd, Nov. 2, 1759, says, “I could not but smile, when Taylor read me your Letter, to see how little he understood the First Dialogue. He set out yesterday for Lincoln, to marry a young lady of that place, between 30 and 40, a Miss Mainwairing, of a reasonable fortune."-" Nov. 9, 1759, Dr. Taylor, Physician to the King, was married to Miss Mainwaring, of Lincolnshire, with 10,000l. Gent. Mag. vol. XXIX. p. 550. LETTER LETTER XXVIII. To the Rev. Dr. STUKELEY, at Stamford. MY DEAREST FRIEND, Sept. 7, 1737 I never thought a Letter from you could have given me the concern I feel at the melancholy contents of yours. This loss has revived in me all that tenderness I so lately felt for a very deserving Sister and the tears I am now shedding, which have a little interrupted me, is an equal tribute to the memory of two good women. You know I have not the best opinion of the sex, which always made my esteem for a woman of worth, where she was found, proportionably greater than that the generality of men have. And it is now with the greatest concern I say it, as I have frequently before done it with the greatest pleasure, that Mrs. Stukeley, for all those good qualities that make a woman of sense admired, was the first in my esteem. In a word, I am wrung with the sincerest grief you can imagine; and if I thought, as is but reasonable, that your Friends sharing your grief with you would alleviate yours, I could indulge it to the full. You have more than a right to such a poor assistance, to whose art I owe the life of her for whom only I desire to live. For her sake, *This admirable Letter was written on the death of Dr. Stukeley's first wife, Frances, daughter of Robert Wilkinson, of Allington, near Grantham, gent. a lady of good family and fortune; by whom the Doctor had three daughters. One died young; the other two were married; one, to Richard Fleming, esq. an eminent Solicitor; the other to the Rev. Thomas Fairchild, Rector of Pitsey, Essex.-Dr. Stukeley married, secondly, Elizabeth Gale, sister to the celebrated Antiquaries Roger and Samuel Gale; but by her had no issue. †This relates to his excellent mother; of whom he thus speaks in a Letter to Mr. Hurd, March 13, 1773, on the death of that and it is my greatest pleasure that I do so, I contí nue here in this blind corner, when otherwise I should have been long ago making my fortune in the great world. But, as Tully says of Ulysses, "I prefer my old woman to immortality." Judge then of the obligations I have to you for preserving to me the only happiness of my life. But, alas! Fate urges on, and the time will come, when her natal Heaven will claim her, and then, if I live to see it, I foresee all the misery that will attend it. But I am plunging myself insensibly into dismal reflections, when I should be giving you consolation. But you know your duty so well, and have a fortitude of mind so great, that I know I have nothing to do but to applaud your generous purpose, of holding the memory of so good a woman sacred, and manifesting your affection by the care of those pretty little ones she has left behind. When I came to that part of your Letter, where you talk of taking a journey somewhere for a week, was in good hopes you would have turned your eyes Northward. You would certainly have found at Broughton all the consolation that a faithful friend could have given you. And though I take the liberty of friendship sometimes to make real business an excuse for denying myself the happiness of a party of pleasure with you, yet I would have you do me the justice to think that I should esteem the attending you on such an occasion my most indispensable that gentleman's mother at the age of 88: "I do not know whether I ought to condole with you, or congratulate you upon the release of that excellent woman, full of years and virtues. I rejoice when I find a similarity of our fortunes, in the gentler parts of humanity. My mother, somewhat less indebted to years, though not to the infirmities of them, at length fell asleep and departed, in all the tranquillity and ease your mother did. The last leave she took of all human concerns, as she winged her way into the bosom of our common God and Father, was an anxious enquiry concerning my welfare; which being assured of, she immediately closed her eyes for ever." business business. But I find, by what follows, of our meeting at the Visitation, that you have chosen another route. I shall certainly meet you, if God give me health; and should be glad if you would let me shew you the way to Broughton from thence; being, dearest Sir, Your most affectionate friend, W. WARBURTON. LETTER XXVIII. To the Rev. Dr. STUKELEY, at Stamford. MY DEAR FRIEND, Our June 19, 1738. I beg your acceptance of the inclosed. friend the Doctor * told me he had the pleasure of seeing you. He told me, you rejected the lines he shewed you as impostures. I do not wonder at it. You know best whether the thing be possible. But the family is so far above all suspicion of fraud, or having any ends to serve by it, that nothing but an absolute impossibility could make me disbelieve it. your I hope you are easier in domestics than you was; that you have got servants that are honest, careful, and with a few brains. I very much wish to see you, and hope you will do me that pleasure at Broughton some time next month. However, do me the favour to let me know, that I may be at home; for this summer time I have some short excursion or other that I am every post making, but none half so interesting to me as the seeing you. I hope the young ones are all well, and that Miss Fanny is grown woman enough now to make your coffee; a happiness, some years ago, you used to flatter yourself with the hopes of living to see. You see the burthen of my song is hope, hope, hope; and how much I am obliged to live upon it. But, that this may never fool you or me too long, I * Dr. Robert Taylor. E VOL. II. will will tell you a story. Sir Francis Bacon was walking out one evening near the Thames, where he saw some fishermen ready to cast in their nets: he asked them what they would have for their draught; they said, ten shillings; he bade them five; so, not agreeing, the fishermen threw in upon their own fortune, and took nothing. On this, Bacon seeing them look very blank, asked them why they were such blockheads as not to take his money? They answered, they had been toiling all day, and had taken nothing, and they were in hopes that their last cast would have made amends for all on which he told them, they were unlucky dogs; but that he would give them something to carry home with them; and it was this maxim, which they should be sure never to forget, That hope is a good breakfast, but a very bad supper. So far my story. But I do not know how it is; but I should make but a bad meal of it, either at breakfast or supper. I should like it well enough for a kind of second course, as cheese to digest a good substantial dinner. And so the happy use it; while the unhappy, like the poor, are forced to make an eternal meal upon it. I am, dear friend, yours most affectionately, LETTER XXIX. To the Rev. Dr. STUKELEY, at Stamford. DEAR DOCTOR, October 6, 1738. I hope you received my last. This is to desire the following favour of you. I was lately with Sir Robert Sutton, who is much excruciated with the gout. I advised him to Dr. Rogers's oils, which he had always an inclination for; but, having like to have been killed by some that Garnier the apothecary applied to him two or three years ago, he has abstained from them. |