There never was a better application than your's, of the story of Pierochole. Things are come to that pass, the storks will never come, and they must be porters all their lives. They are something worse; for I had rather be a porter than a tool: I would sooner lend out my back to hire, than my name. They are at this time the instruments of a saucy gardener, who has got a gold cross on his stomach, and a red cap on his head.
A poor gentleman, who puts me often in mind of one of Scandal's pictures in Congreve's play of Love for Love, where a soldier is represented with his heart where his head should be, and no head at all, is the conductor of this doughty enterprise; which will end in making their cause a little more desperate than it is. Again, adieu.
Let me hear from you by the same conveyance, that brings you this. I am in pain about your health. From the 6th of January to the 16th of February is a long course of illness.
TO LORD BOLINGBROKE.
I FORGET whether I formerly mentioned to you what I have observed in Cicero; that in some of his letters, while he was in exile, there is a sort of melancholy pleasure, which is wonderfully affecting. I believe the reason must be, that in those circumstances of life, there is more leisure for friendship to operate, without any mixture of envy, interest, or
