leman (who has some estate in this country) had been treating
with my brother, and it yet goes on fair and softly. I do not know him
so much as to give you much of his character: 'tis a modest, melancholy,
reserved man, whose head is so taken up with little philosophic studies,
that I admire how I found a room there. 'Twas sure by chance; and unless
he is pleased with that part of my humour which other people think the
worst, 'tis very possible the next new experiment may crowd me out
again. Thus you have all my late adventures, and almost as much as this
paper will hold. The rest shall be employed in telling you how sorry I
am you have got such a cold. I am the more sensible of your trouble by
my own, for I have newly got one myself. But I will send you that which
was to cure me. 'Tis like the rest of my medicines: if it do no good,
'twill be sure to do no harm, and 'twill be no great trouble to take a
little on't now and then; for the taste on't, as it is not excellent, so
'tis not very ill. One thing more I must tell you, which is that you are
not to take it ill that I mistook your age by my computation of your
journey through this country; for I was persuaded t'other day that I
could not be less than thirty years old by one that believed it himself,
because he was sure it was a great while since he had heard of such a
one as

Your humble servant.

_Letter 2._--This letter, which is dated, comes, I think, at some
distance of time from the first letter. Dorothy may have dated her
letters to ordinary folk; but as she writes to her servant once a week
at least, she seems to have considered dates to be superfluous. When
Temple is in Ireland, her letters are generally dated with the day of
the month. Temple had probably returned from a journey into
Yorkshire,--his travels in Holland were over some time ago,--and passing
through Bedford within ten miles of Chicksands, he neglected to pay his
respects to Dorothy, for which he is duly called to account in Letter 3.

_December 24, 1652._

Sir,--You may please to let my old servant (as you call him) know that I
confess I owe much to his merits and the many obligations his kindness
and civilities has laid upon me; but for the ten pound he claims, it is
not yet due, and I think you may do well to persuade him (as a friend)
to put it in the number of his desperate debts, for 'tis a very
uncertain one. In all things else, pray say I am his servant. And now,
sir, let me tel