to the south of France, where after a union of a few
hours, she died in her father's arms, is full of the most touching
details, and may be read in Atterbury's correspondence. 'She is gone,'
the bishop wrote, 'and I must follow her. When I do, may my latter end
be like hers! It was my business to have taught her to die; instead of
it, she has taught me.' Like Fielding's account of his _Voyage to
Lisbon_, the letters give a picture of the time, and of travelling
discomforts and difficulties of which we, in these more fortunate days,
know nothing. The bishop, who did not long survive his daughter, died in
1732, but before the end came he defended himself admirably from the
accusation of Oldmixon, a libeller who stands in the pillory of the
_Dunciad_, that he had helped to garble Clarendon's _History_. The body
was carried to England and privately buried by the side of his daughter
in Westminster Abbey. The eloquence of Atterbury's sermons--there are
four volumes of them in print--has not secured to them a lasting place
in literature, but they are distinguished by purity of style, and have
enough of _unction_ to make them highly effective as pulpit discourses.
In book form, too, they were for a long time popular, and reached an
eighth edition about thirty years after the bishop's death. The eloquent
sermon on the death of Lady Cutts endows the lady with such an array of
virtues, that one is inclined to wonder how so many rare qualities could
have been exhibited in so brief a life:

'She excelled in all the characters that belonged to her, and
was in a great measure equal to all the obligations that she lay
under. She was devout without superstition; strict, without ill
humour; good-natured, without weakness; cheerful, without
levity; regular, without affectation. She was to her husband the
best of wives, the most agreeable of companions, and most
faithful of friends; to her servants the best of mistresses; to
her relations extremely respectful; to her inferiors very
obliging; and by all that knew her, either nearly or at a
distance, she was reckoned and confessed to be one of the best
of women. And yet all this goodness and all this excellence was
bounded within the compass of eighteen years and as many days;
for no longer was she allowed to live among us. She was snatched
out of the world as soon almost as she had made her appearance
in it, like a jewel of high p