adding to your expense. But I cannot imagine what you can plead in your excuse, for your neglect of writing to me, who am desirous to continue a constant correspondence: I shall be glad to hear you justify yourself.
Yesterday I saw a letter of yours to Mr. Faulkner, and on so distressful a subject, that I very sensibly shared in your affliction[1]. I am naturally apt to pity the woes of my fellow creatures, but the wounds of my friend are my own. Here my office ought to be to administer comfort to you in so great a calamity; but, I know, how much easier it is to preach patience and resignation than to practise either. The strongest reason acts but feebly upon the heart that is loaded with grief, nor is the highest eloquence powerful enough to heal a wounded spirit; time, and a firm trust in a Divine Providence, which undoubtedly orders all things for the best, are the only ministers of comfort in our misfortunes; and I hope your own virtue will enable you to bear this affliction with the resolution of a christian, though joined with all the tenderness of a friend, and the fondest esteem for the memory of that relation you have lost.
I desired Mr. Faulkner, about six weeks ago, to return you my thanks for your kindness in procuring me the books from Mr. Giles's, which I received safe, and also the box of those writings of mine. And I am extremely grieved to find that Faulkner neglected mentioning either. I had not known it only for your postscript, wherein you desire to know whether I received them. I would have wrote to you before this, if I had not believed that your
- ↑ The death of Mrs. Bowyer, which happened Oct. 17, 1731.
