cities.  One of them, shewing me the figure of a Pallas, with a victory in her hand on a reverse, assured me, it was the Virgin, holding a crucifix.  The same man offered me the head of a Socrates, on a sardonyx; and, to enhance the value, gave him the title of saint Augustine.  I have bespoke a mummy, which I hope will come safe to my hands, notwithstanding the misfortune that befel (sic) a very fine one, designed for the king of Sweden.  He gave a great price for it, and the Turks took it into their heads, that he must have some considerable project depending upon it.  They fancied it the body of, God knows who; and that the state of their empire mystically depended on the conversation of it.  Some old prophecies were remembered upon this occasion, and the mummy committed prisoner to the Seven Towers, where it has remained under close confinement ever since, I dare not try my interest in so considerable a point, as the release of it; but I hope mine will pass without examination.  I can tell you nothing more at present of this famous city.  When I have looked a little about me, you shall hear from me again.  I am, Sir, Your’s, &c. &c.

LET.  XXXVI.

TO MR POPE.

Belgrade Village, June 17.  O. S.

I HOPE, before this time, you have received two or three of my letters.  I had yours but yesterday, though dated the third of February, in which you suppose me to be dead and buried.  I have already let you know, that I am still alive; but to say truth, I look upon my present circumstances to be exactly the same with those of departed spirits.  The heats of Constantinople have driven me to this place, which perfectly answers the description of the Elysian fields.  I am in the middle of a wood, consisting chiefly of fruit-trees, watered by a vast number of fountains, famous for the excellency of their water, and divided into many shady walks, upon short grass, that seems to me artificial, but, I am assured, is the pure work of nature—­within view of the Black sea, from whence we perpetually enjoy the refreshment of cool breezes, that make us insensible of the heat of the summer.  The village is only inhabited by the richest amongst the Christians, who meet every night at a fountain, forty paces from my house, to sing and dance.  The beauty and dress of the women exactly resemble the ideas of the ancient nymphs, as they are given us by the representations of the poets and painters.  But what persuades me more fully of my decease, is the situation of my own mind, the profound ignorance I am in, of what passes among the living (which only comes to me by chance) and the great calmness with which I receive it.  Yet I have still a hankering after my friends and acquaintances left in the world, according to the authority of that admirable author,

That spirits departed are wondrous kind
To friends and relations left behind: 
Which nobody can deny.

Of which solemn truth, I am a dead instance.  I think Virgil is of the same opinion, that in human souls there will still be some remains of human passions: