Believe me, dear Sir, with all good wishes for yourself and your family (the happiness of which ties I know by experience, and have learned to value from the late danger of losing the best of mine),

Your, etc.

LETTER XLIV.

TO THE SAME.

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 dead3. I thank God, her death was as easy, as her life was innocent; and as it cost her not a groan, or 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

Mrs. Pope died the seventh of June, 1783, aged 93. W. 4 One of the best of Richardson's portraits is that of our Author, of which an engraving is prefixed to this edition; now in the possession of Mr. Way, and formerly in Dr. Mead's Collection; who wrote under it the two following indifferent, harsh lines:

Popius, ingenio, doctrina et carminis arte,

Non habet, invidia hoc nec neget ipsa, parem.

The only piece of our Author's own painting, is the Head of Betterton, in the possession of the Earl of Mansfield.

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 me, or I could not have written thisI could not (at this time) have written at all-Adieu ! May you die as happily!

Your, etc.

LETTER XLV.

TO THE SAME.

It is hardly possible to tell you the joy your pencil gave me, in giving me another friend, so much the same! and which (alas, for mortality!) will out-last the other. Posterity will, through your means, see the man whom it will for ages honour3, vindicate, and applaud, when envy is no more, and when (as I have already said in the essay to which you are so partial)

The sons shall blush the fathers were his foes.

That essay has many faults, but the poem you sent me has but one, and that I can easily forgive. Yet I would not have it printed for the world, and yet I

5 Lord Bolingbroke. W.

would not have it kept unprinted neither—but all in good time. I'm glad you publish your Milton®. B-ly will be angry at you, and at me too shortly for what I could not help, a Satirical Poem on Verbal Criticism by Mr. Mallet, which he has inscribed to me; but the Poem itself is good' (another cause of anger to any Critic). As for myself, I resolve to go on in my quiet, calm, moral course, taking no sort of notice of man's anger, or women's scandal, with Virtue in my eyes, and Truth upon my tongue. Adieu3.

In which are many judicious and curious remarks, though adulterated with some that are trifling enough.

' The Poem was a very fulsome piece of flattery to Pope, and a pretty exact imitation of his manner, and contained much contemptible and illiberal abuse of many useful and illustrious critics, with whom Mallet was little acquainted. Mallet never forgave, and did some ill offices, especially with Lord Melcombe, to the Author of the Essay on the Genius of Pope, who unluckily cited his Amyntor and Theodora, as containing some examples of false writing and unnatural images. Mallet's Life of Lord Bacon was too highly commended by Chesterfield, and his friends. He once intended to write the History of the Exclusion Bill.

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* Mr. Richardson, sen. the Painter, says, "that one day Mr. Pope asked him, how he liked that kind of writing in which prose and verse were mixed together, as in the works of St. Evremond and others?" "I told him," adds he, "that I liked it well for off-hand occasional productions." "Why," replied he, "I have thoughts of turning out some sketches I have by me, of various accidents and reflections, in this manner." In one of his letters he gives an account of an excursion he made to Bristol from Bath, "the idlest and the busiest cities in England." He mentioned the Cartoon of Raphael that is at Badminton, but does not seem to have attended to the Guido's that are there, nor to the curious satirical Picture of Salvator Rosa, for which he was obliged to quit Rome. Neither does he mention the very fine Cartoon of Raphael representing the Massacre of the Innocents, that was in the possession of the late ingenious Mr. Hoare of Bath.

LETTER XLVI.

TO THE SAME.

DEAR SIR,

November 21.

your kind let

EVERY thing was welcome to me in ter, except the occasion of it, the confinement you are under. I am glad you count the days when I do not see you: but it was but half an one that I was in town upon business with Dr. Mead, and returned to render an account of it.

I shall in the course of the winter probably be an evening visitant to you, if you sit at home, though I hope it will not be by compulsion or lameness. We may take a cup of sack together, and chatter like two parrots, which are at least more reputable and manlike animals than the grasshoppers, to which Homer likens old men.

I am glad you sleep better. I sleep in company, and wake at night, which is vexatious: if you did so, you at your age would make verses. As to my health, it will never mend; but I will complain less of it, when I find it incorrigible.

But for the news of my quitting Twit'nam for Bath, enquire into my years, if they are past the bounds of dotage? Ask my eyes if they can see, and my nostrils if they can smell? To prefer rocks and dirt to flowery meads and silver Thames, and brimstone and fogs to roses and sun-shine. When I arrive at these sensations, I may settle at Bath, of which I never yet dreamt, further than to live just out of the sulphurous

pit, and at the edge of the fogs at Mr. Allen's, for a month or so. I like the place so little, that health itself should not draw me thither, though friendship has twice or thrice.

Having answered your questions, I desire to hear if you have any commands. If the first be to come to you, it's probably I shall, before you can send 'em so round about as to Twit'nam, for I have lived of late at Battersea.

Adieu !

LETTER XLVII.

TO MR. BETHEL'.

Yours, etc.

August 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 them, 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

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Hugh Bethel, Esq. was a gentleman of family and fortune in Yorkshire, who is celebrated in two fine lines in the Essay on Man, b. iv. 1. 125. on account of the asthma with which he was afflicted. The late Alderman was of the same family; and the estate was lately held by Capt. C. Codrington, a brother of Sir William, who took the name of Bethel.