that interim put me not off (Dear madam) with those chimeras, but tell me plainly what inconvenience is it to come?  If it be one in earnest, I will submit, but otherwise, I am so much my own friend, and my friend’s friend, as not to be satisfied with your Ladyship’s taking measure of your actions by others’ opinion, when I know too that the severest could find nothing in this journey that they could condemn, but your excess of charity to me, and that censure you have already supported with patience, and (notwithstanding my own consciousness of no ways deserving your sufferance upon that score) I cannot beg you to recover the reputation of your judgement in that particular, since it must be my ruin.  I should now say very much for your most obliging commands to me, to write, and should beg frequent letters from your Ladyship with all possible importunity, and should by command from my Lucasia excuse her last rudeness (as she calls it) in giving you account of her honour for you under her own hand, but I must beg your pardon now, and out-believing all, I can say upon every one of these accounts, for really, madam, you cannot tell how to imagine any person more to any one, than I am,

Madam, Your Ladyship’s most faithful servant, and passionate friend, ORINDA

JOHN LOCKE

1632-1704

TO WILLIAM MOLYNEUX

A philosopher’s confidences

Oates, 26 April, 1695.

SIR,

You look with the eyes, and speak the language of friendship, when you make my life of much more concern to the world than your own.  I take it, as it is, for an effect of your kindness, and so shall not accuse you of compliment; the mistakes and over-valuings of good-will being always sincere, even when they exceed what common truth allows.  This on my side I must beg you to believe, that my life would be much more pleasant and useful to me, if you were within my reach, that I might sometimes enjoy your conversation, and, upon twenty occasions, lay my thoughts before you, and have the advantage of your judgement.  I cannot complain that I have not my share of friends of all ranks, and such, whose interest, assistance, affection, and opinions too, in fit cases, I can rely on.  But methinks, for all this, there is one place vacant, that I know nobody that would so well fill as yourself; I want one near me to talk freely with, de quolibet ente; to propose to the extravagancies that rise in my mind; one with whom I would debate several doubts and questions, to see what was in them.  Meditating by one’s self, is like digging in the mine; it often, perhaps, brings up maiden earth, which never came near the light before; but whether it contains any metal in it, is never so well tried as in conversation with a knowing judicious friend who carries about with him the true touchstone, which