The following Letters bear a pleasing Image of the Joys and
Satisfactions of private Life. The first is from a Gentleman to a
Friend, for whom he has a very great Respect, and to whom he
communicates the Satisfaction he takes in Retirement; the other is a
Letter to me, occasioned by an Ode written by my Lapland Lover; this
Correspondent is so kind as to translate another of Scheffer's Songs [1]
in a very agreeable Manner. I publish them together, that the Young and
Old may find something in the same Paper which may be suitable to their
respective Taste in Solitude; for I know no Fault in the Description of
ardent Desires, provided they are honourable.

Dear Sir,

You have obliged me with a very kind Letter; by which I find you shift
the Scene of your Life from the Town to the Country, and enjoy that
mixt State which wise Men both delight in, and are qualified for.
Methinks most of the Philosophers and Moralists have run too much into
Extreams, in praising entirely either Solitude or publick Life; in the
former Men generally grow useless by too much Rest, and in the latter
are destroyed by too much Precipitation: As Waters lying still,
putrifie and are good for nothing; and running violently on, do but
the more Mischief in their Passage to others, and are swallowed up and
lost the sooner themselves. Those who, like you, can make themselves
useful to all States, should be like gentle Streams, that not only
glide through lonely Vales and Forests amidst the Flocks and
Shepherds, but visit populous Towns in their Course, and are at once
of Ornament and Service to them. But there is another sort of People
who seem designed for Solitude, those I mean who have more to hide
than to shew: As for my own Part, I am one of those of whom Seneca
says, Tum Umbratiles sunt, ut putent in turbido esse quicquid in luce
est. Some Men, like Pictures, are fitter for a Corner than a full
Light; and I believe such as have a natural Bent to Solitude, are like
Waters which may be forced into Fountains, and exalted to a great
Height, may make a much nobler Figure, and a much louder Noise, but
after all run more smoothly, equally and plentifully, in their own
natural Course upon the Ground. The Consideration of this would make
me very well contented with the Possession only of that Quiet which
Cowley calls the Companion of Obscurity; but whoever has the Muses too
for his Companions, can n