ness of the world, as to have been above the mad ambition of governing such wretches as he must have found it to be composed of.

Though you could have no great value for this great man, yet acquaintance itself, the custom of seeing the face, or entering under the roof, of one that walks along with us in the common way of the world, is enough to create a wish at least for his being above ground, and a degree of uneasiness at his removal. It is the loss of an object familiar to us: I should hardly care to have an old post pulled up, that I remembered ever since I was a child. And add to this the reflection (in the case of such as were not the best of their species), what their condition in another life may be, it is yet a more important motive for our concern and compassion. To say the truth, either in the case of death or life, almost every body and every thing is a cause or object for humanity, even prosperity itself, and health itself; so many weak pitiful incidentals attend on them.

I am sorry any relation of yours is ill, whoever it be, for you do not name the person. But I conclude it is one of those to whose houses you tell me you are going, for I know no invitation with you is so strong as when any one is in distress, or in want of your assistance: the strongest proof in the world of this, was your attendance on the late earl.

I have been very melancholy for the loss of Mr. Blount. Whoever has any portion of good-nature will suffer on these occasions; but a good mind rewards its own suffering. I hope to trouble you as little as possible, if it be my fate to go before you. I

am of old Ennius's mind, Nemo me decoret lachrymis -I am but a lodger here: this is not an abiding city; I am only to stay out my lease: for what has perpetuity and mortal man to do with each other? but I could be glad you would take up with an inn at Twitenham, as long as I am host of it: if not, I would take up freely with any inn of yours.— Adieu, dear sir: let us while away this life; and (if we can) meet in another.

LETTER XXXII,

MR. POPE TO HUGH BETHEL, ESQ.

June 17, 1728.

AFTER the publishing of my boyish letters to Mr. Cromwell, you will not wonder if I should forswear writing a letter again while I live; since I do not correspond with a friend upon the terms of any other free subject of this kingdom. But to you I can never be silent, nor reserved; and, I am sure, my opinion of your heart is such, that I could open mine to you in no manner which I could fear the whole world should know. I could publish my own heart too, I will venture to say, for any mischief or malice there is in it: but a little too much folly or weakness might (I fear) appear to make such a spectacle either instructive or agreeable to others.

I am reduced to beg of all my acquaintance to secure me from the like usage for the future, by returning me any letters of mine which they may

have preserved; that I may not be hurt, after my death, by that which was the happiness of my life, their partiality and affection to me.

I have nothing of myself to tell you, only that I have had but indifferent health. I have not made a visit to London: curiosity and the love of dissipation die apace in me. I am not glad nor sorry for it; but am very sorry for those who have nothing else to live on.

I have

I have read much, but writ no more. small hopes of doing good, no vanity in writing, and little ambition to please a world not very candid or deserving. If I can preserve the good opinion of a few friends, it is all I can expect, considering how little good I can do even to them to merit it. Few people have your candour, or are so willing to think well of another from whom they receive no benefit, and gratify no vanity. But of all the soft sensations, the greatest pleasure is to give and receive mutual trust. It is my belief and firm hope, that men are made happy in this life, as well as in the other. My confidence in your good opinion, and dependence upon that of one or two more, is the chief cordial drop I taste, amidst the insipid, the disagreeable, the cloying, or the deadsweet, which are the common draughts of life. Some pleasures are too pert, as well as others too flat, to be relished long and vivacity in some cases is worse than dulness. Therefore, indeed for many years, I have not chosen my companions for any of the qualities in fashion, but almost entirely for that which is the most out of fashion-sincerity. Before I am aware of it, I am making your panegyric, and perhaps my own too; for next to

:

possessing the best qualities, is the esteeming and distinguishing those who possess them. I truly love and value you; and so I stop short.

LETTER XXXIII.

MR. POPE TO MR. RICHARDSON.

Twickenham, June 10, 1733.

As I know you and I mutually desire to see one another, I hoped that this day our wishes would have met, and brought you hither. And this for the very reason which possibly might hinder your coming, that my poor mother is dead*. I thank God, her death was as easy as her life was innocent and as it cost her not a groan, nor even a sigh, there is yet upon her countenance such an expression of tranquillity, nay, almost of pleasure, that it is even amiable to behold it. It would afford the finest image of a saint expired that ever painting drew; and it would be the greatest obligation which even that obliging art could ever bestow on a friend, if you would come and sketch it for me. I am sure if there be no very prevalent obstacle, you will leave any common business to do this; and I hope to see you this evening as late as you will, or to morrow-morning as early, before this winter-flower is faded. I will defer her interment till to-morrow night. I know you love

* Mrs. Pope died the 7th of June, 1733, aged 93 years.

me, or I could not have written this-1 could not (at this time) have written at all.-Adieu! May you die as happily! Your, &c.

LETTER XXXIV.

MR. POPE TO MR. BETHEL.

Aug. 9, 1733.

You might well think me negligent or forgetful of you, if true friendship and sincere esteem were to be measured by common forms and compliments. The truth is, I could not write then, without saying something of my own condition, and of my loss of so old and so deserving a parent, which really would have troubled you; or I must have kept a silence upon that head, which would not have suited that freedom and sincere opening of the heart which is due to you from me. I am now pretty well; but my home is uneasy to me still, and I am therefore wandering about all this summer. I was but four days at Twickenham since the occasion that made it so melancholy. I have been a fortnight in Essex, and am now at Dawley (whose master is your servant) and going to Cirencester to Lord Bathurst. I shall also see Southampton with Lord Peterborow. The court and Twit'nam I shall forsake together. Iwish I did not leave our friend*, who deserves more quiet, and more health and happiness, than can be found in such a family.

* Mrs. B.