our brains with some scheme of politics, or studying some science to which we can never attain; or, if we do, cannot persuade other people to set that value upon it we do ourselves.  ’Tis certain, what we feel and see is properly (if any thing is properly) our own; but the good of fame, the folly of praise, are hardly purchased, and, when obtained, a poor recompence (sic) for loss of time and health.  We die or grow old before we can reap the fruit of our labours.  Considering what short-liv’d, weak animals men are, is there any study so beneficial as the study of present pleasure?  I dare not pursue this theme; perhaps I have already said too much, but I depend upon the true knowledge you have of my heart.  I don’t expect from you the insipid railleries I should suffer from another in answer to this letter.  You know how to divide the idea of pleasure from that of vice, and they are only mingled in the heads of fools.—­But I allow you to laugh at me for the sensual declaration in saying, that I had rather be a rich effendi, with all his ignorance, than Sir Isaac Newton with all his knowledge. 
                                                   I am, Sir, &c. &c.

LET.  XLIV.

TO THE ABBOT OF ——.

Tunis, July 31.  O. S. 1718

I LEFT Constantinople the sixth of the last month, and this is the first post from whence I could send a letter, though I have often wished for the opportunity, that I might impart some of the pleasure I found in this voyage, through the most agreeable part of the world, where every scene presents me some poetical idea,

         Warm’d with poetic transport I survey
          Th’ immortal islands, and the well known sea. 
          For here so oft the muse her harp has strung,
          That not a mountain rears its head unsung.

I BEG your pardon for this sally, and will, if I can, continue the rest of my account in plain prose.  The second day after we set sail, we passed Gallipolis, a fair city, situated in the bay of Chersonesus, and much respected by the Turks, being the first town they took in Europe.  At five the next morning, we anchored in the Hellespont, between the castles of Sestos and Abydos, now called the Dardanelli.  These are now two little ancient castles, but of no strength, being commanded by a rising ground behind them, which, I confess, I should never have taken notice of, if I had not heard it observed by our captain and officers, my imagination being wholly employed by the tragic story, that you are well acquainted with: 

         The swimming lover, and the nightly bride,
          How HERO lov’d, and how LEANDER died.