There is this day to be acted a new tragedy, made by Mr Hopkins,[165] and, as I believe, in rhime. He has formerly written a play in verse, call’d “Boadicea,” which you fair ladyes lik’d; and is a poet who writes good verses without knowing how or why; I mean, he writes naturally well, without art, or learning, or good sence. Congreve is ill of the gout at Barnet Wells. I have had the honour of a visite from the Earl of Dorsett, and din’d with him.--Matters in Scotland are in a high ferment,[166] and next door to a breach betwixt the two nations; but they say from court, that France and we are hand and glove. ’Tis thought, the king will endeavour to keep up a standing army, and make the stirr in Scotland his pretence for it; my cousin Driden,[167] and the country party, I suppose, will be against it; for when a spirit is rais’d, ’tis hard conjuring him down again.--You see I am dull by my writeing news; but it may be my cousin Creed[168] may be glad to hear what I believe is true, though not very pleasing. I hope he recovers health in the country, by his staying so long in it. My service to my cousin Stuart, and all at Oundle. I am, faire Cousine, Your most obedient servant, JOHN DRYDEN. _For Mrs Stuart, Att_ _Cotterstock, near Oundle,_ _In Northamptonshyre,_ _These._ _To be left at the Posthouse in Oundle._ LETTER XLI TO MRS ELIZABETH THOMAS, JUN.[169] MADAM, Nov. 12, 1699. The letter you were pleas’d to direct for me, to be left at the coffee-house last summer, was a great honour; and your verses[170] were, I thought, too good to be a woman’s; some of my friends, to whom I read them, were of the same opinion. ’Tis not over-gallant, I must confess, to say this of the fair sex; but most certain it is, that they generally write with more softness than strength. On the contrary, you want neither vigour in your thoughts, nor force in your expressions, nor harmony in your numbers; and methinks I find much of Orinda[171] in your manner; to whom I had the honour to be related, and also to be known. But I continued not a day in the ignorance of the person to whom I was oblig’d; for, if you remember, you brought the verses to a bookseller’s shop, and enquir’d there, how they might be sent to me. There happen’d to be in the same shop a gentleman, who heareing you speak of me, and seeing a paper in your hand, imagin’d it was a libel against me, and had you watch’d by his servant, till he knew both your name, and where you liv’d, of which he sent me word immediately. Though I have lost his letter, yet I remember you live some where about St Giles’s,[172] and are an only daughter. You must have pass’d your time in reading much better books than mine; or otherwise you cou’d not have arriv’d to so much knowledge as I find you have. But whether Sylph or Nymph, I know not: those fine creatures, as your author, Count Gabalis,