as always happens in love, soothe my grief by a certain
vain imagination of your presence, it is, in truth, my fear, as soon as I
meditate sending you a letter, that it should suddenly come into my mind
by what an interval of earth you are distant from me, and so the grief of
your absence, already nearly lulled, should grow fresh and break up my
sweet dream. The Hebrew Bible, your truly most acceptable gift, I have
already received. These lines I have written in London, in the midst of
town distractions, not, as usual, surrounded by books; if, therefore,
anything in this epistle should please you less than might be, and
disappoint your expectations, it will be made up for by another more
elaborate one as soon as I have returned to the haunts of the Muses.'

When the above letter was written, Milton had become a Cambridge student,
where he was to experience a new kind of tutor. Milton could not get on
with Chappell as he did with Young. The tie between the Stowmarket Vicar
and the poet was of a much more cordial character.

Again the poet appears to have forwarded the following letter to the
Stowmarket Vicarage. It is to be feared that few such precious epistles
find their way there now. Milton writes to the Doctor: 'On looking at
your letter, most excellent preceptor, this alone struck me as
superfluous, that you excused your slowness in writing; for though
nothing could come to me more desirable than your letters, how could I or
ought I to hope that you should have so much leisure from serious and
more sacred affairs, especially as that is a matter entirely of kindness,
and not at all of duty? That, however, I should suspect that you had
forgotten me, your so many recent kindnesses to me would by no means
allow. I do not see how you could dismiss out of your memory one laden
with so great benefits by you. Having been invited by you to your part
of the country, as soon as spring has a little advanced I will gladly
come to enjoy the delights of the year, and not less of your
conversation, and will then withdraw myself from the din of town to your
Stoa of the Iceni, as to that most celebrated porch of Zeno or the
Tusculan Villa of Cicero, where you with moderate means, but regal
spirit, like some Serranus or Curius, placidly reign in your little farm,
and contemning fortune, hold as it were a triumph over riches, ambition,
pomp, luxury, and whatever the herd of man admire and are amazed by. But
as you have depr