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of this paper, you may fancy that our words (according to a Scripture expreffion) are as a two-edged fword, whereof Lady M. is the fhining blade, and I only the handle. But I can't proceed without fo far mortifying Sir Robert as to tell him,' that she writes this purely in obedience to me, and that it is but one of those honours a husband receives for the fake of his wife.

It is making court but ill to one fine woman to fhew her the regard we have for another; and yet I must own there is not a period of this epiftle but fquints towards another over-against it. It will be in vain to diffemble: your penetrating eyes cannot but discover, how all the letters that compose these words lean forward after Lady M.'s letters, which feem to bend as much from mine, and fly from them as faft as they are able. Ungrateful letters that they are! which give themselves to another man, in the very prefence of him who will yield to no mortal, in knowing how to value them.

You will think I forgot myself, and am not writing to you; but, let me tell you, 'tis you forget yourfelf in that thought, for you are almost the only woman to whom one can fafely addrefs the praises of another. Befides, can you imagine a man of my importance fo stupid, as to fay fine things to you before your hufband? Let us fee how far Lady M. herself dares do any think like it, with all the wit and address fhe is mistress of. If Sir Robert can be fo ignorant (now

he

he is left to himself in the country) to imagine any fuch matter, let him know from me, that here in town every thing that lady fays, is taken for fatire. For my part, every body knows it is my constant practice to speak truth, and I never do it more than when I call myself Your, etc.

You

LETTER IV.

All

ou have put me into fo much gaiety of temper; that there will not be a ferious word in this day's letter. No more, you will fay, there would, if I told you the whole serious bufinefs of the town. last night I continued with you, though your unreafonable regularity drove me out of your doors at three o'clock. I dreamed all over the evening's converfation', and faw the little bed in fpite of you. In the morning I waked, very angry at your phantom for leaving me fo abruptly.I I know you delight in my mortification. I dined with an old Beauty; fhe appeared at the table like a Death's head enamelled. The Egyptians, you know, had fuch things at their entertainments; but do you think they painted and patched them? However, the last of these objections was foon removed; for the lady had fo violent an appetite for a falmon, that she quickly eat all the patches off her face. She divided the fifh into three parts;

not

not equal, God knows; for the helped Gay to the head, me to the middle, and making the reft much the largest part, took it herself, and cried very naively, I'll be content with my own tail.

My fupper was as fingular as my dinner. It was with a great Poet and Ode-maker (that is, a great poet out of his wits, or out of his way). He came to me very hungry; not for want of a dinner (for that I should make no jeft of) but having forgot to dine. He fell most furiously on the broiled relics of a shoulder of mutton, commonly called a blade-bone : he profeffed he never tasted so exquifite a thing! begged me to tell him what joint it was; wondered he had never heard the name of this joint, or feen it at other tables; and defired to know how he might direct his butcher to cut out the fame for the future. And yet this man, fo ignorant in modern butchery, has cut up half an hundred heroes, and quartered five or fix miferable lovers in every tragedy he has written. I have nothing more to tell you to-day.

*It is faid he meant Dr. Young; and that he laughed at his frequent abfence of mind: to which, but not with affectation, he was fubject.

WARTON.

LETTER V.

THE ANSWER.

You should have my day too, Sir, but indeed I flept it out, and fo I'll give you all that was left, my last Night's entertainment. You know the company. I went in late, in order to be better received; but unluckily came in, as Deuce-ace was flinging (Lord H. would fay I came in the Nick). The lady coloured, and the men took the name of the Lord in vain: nobody spoke to me, and I fat down difappointed; then affecting a careless air, gaped, and cried feven or eight times, D'ye win or lofe? I could fafely fay at that moment I had no temptation to any one of the feven lively fins; and, in the innocent way I was, happy had it been for me, if I had died! Moralizing fat I by the hazard-table; I looked upon the uncertainty of riches, the decay of beauty, and the crash of worlds, with as much contempt as ever Plato did. But ah! the frailty of human nature! fome ridiculous thought came into my head, wakened my paffions, which burft forth into a violent laughter: I rofe from my feat, and not confidering the just resentments of the lofing gamesters, hurled a ball

of paper cross the table, which stopped the dice, and turned up feven inftead of five. Curfed on all fides, and not knowing where to fly, I threw myself into a

VOL. VII.

N

chair,

chair, which I demolished, and never fpoke a word after. We went to fupper, and a lady faid, Mifs G. looks prodigiously like a Tree. Every body agreed to it, and I had not curiofity to afk the meaning of that sprightly fancy: find it out, and let me know. Adieu, 'tis time to drefs, and begin the business of the day.

LETTER VI.

IN THE STYLE OF A LADY *.

PRAY what is your opinion of Fate? For I must

confefs I am one of thofe that believe in Fate and

Predestination.—No, I can't go fo far as that, but I own I am of opinion one's stars may incline, though not compel one; and that is a fort of free-will; for we may be able to resist inclination, but not compulfion.

Don't you think they have got into the most prepofterous fashion this winter that ever was, of flouncing the petticoat fo very deep, that it looks like an entire coat of lutestring?

It

In the ftyle of a Lady? read Lady M. Montagu's Letters, and confefs how little this nonfenfe is like.

We cannot now tell to whom these idle effufions of Pope's early days were written. The next Letter is evidently to Teresa Blount; Pope certainly wished to mislead, when he says, in his own edition, all these Letters, as far as the eleventh, were written to the fame Lady.

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