Reason, who is measuring syllables and coupling rhymes, when he should be mending his own soul, and securing his own immortality. If I had not this opinion, I should be unworthy even of those small and limited parts which God has given me; and unworthy of the friendship of such a man as you.

I am your &c.

Alexander Pope.

LETTER IV.

Mr. Pope to Mr. Jervus.

August 16, 1714.

I thank you for your good offices, which are numberless.-I fancy no friendship is so likely to prove lasting as ours, because, I am pretty sure, there never was a friendship of a more easy nature. We neither of us demand any mighty things from each other: what vanity we have, expects its gratification from other people. It is not I who am to tell you what an artist you are, nor is it you who are to tell me what a poet I am! but it is from the world abroad we hope to hear these things. At home we follow our business, when we have any; and think and talk most of each other when we have none. Our friendship is not unlike that of a staid man and his wife, who are seldom so fond as to hinder the business of the house from going on all day, or so indolent as not to find consolation in each other every evening. Thus, well-meaning couples hold in amity to the last, by not expecting too much from human nature; while romantic friendships, like violent loves, begin with disquiets, proceed to jealousies, and conclude in animosities. I have lived to see the fierce advancement, the sudden turn, and the abrupt period, of three or four of these enormous friendships: and I am perfectly con

vinced of the truth of our maxim, that nothing hinders the constant agreement of people who live together, so much as vanity; a secret insisting upon what they think their dignity of merit ; and an inward expectation of such an over-measure of deference and regard, as answers to their own extravagant false scale; and which nobody can pay, because none but themselves can tell exactly to what pitch it amounts.

I am, &c.

Alexander Pope.

LETTER V.

Mr. Pope to the hon. Robert Digby.

Dear sir,

The same reason that hindered your writing, hindered mine; the pleasing expectation of seeing you in town. Indeed, since the willing confinement I have lain under here with my mother, (with whom it is natural and reasonable I should rejoice, as well as grieve,) I could the better bear your absence from London, for I could hardly have seen you there; and it would not have been quite reasonable to have drawn you to a sick room, from the first embraces of your friends. My mother is now, I thank God, wonderfully recovered ; though not so much as yet to venture out of her chamber, but enough to enjoy a few particular friends, when they have the good-nature to look upon her. I may recommend to you the room we sit in, on one (and that a favourite) account, that it is the very warmest in the house. We and our fires will equally smile upon your face. There is a Persian proverb that says, I think, very prettily; "The conversation of a friend brightens the eyes." This I take to be a splendour still more agreeable than the fires which you so delightfully describe.

May you long enjoy your own fire-side in the metaphorical sense, that is, all those of your family who make it pleasing to sit and spend whole wintry months together; a far more rational delight, and better felt by an honest heart, than all the glaring entertainments, numerous lights, and false splendours, of an assembly of empty heads, aching hearts, and false faces! This is my sincere wish for you and yours.

You say you propose much pleasure in seeing some new faces about town of my acquaintance. I guess you mean Mrs. Howard's, and Mrs. Blount's. And I assure you, you ought to take as much pleasure in their hearts, if they are what they sometimes express with regard to you.

Believe me, dear sir, to you all a very faithful servant, Alexander Pope.

LETTER VI.

Dr. Atterbury, bishop of Rochester, to Mr. Pope.

Bromley, May 25, 1722.

I had much ado to get hither last night, the water being so rough that the ferrymen were unwilling

to venture.

The first thing I saw this morning, after my eyes were open, was your letter; for the freedom and kindness of which I thank you. Let all compliments be laid aside between us for the future; and depend upon me as your faithful friend in all things within my power, as one who truly values you, and wishes you manner of happiness. I thank you and your mother for my kind reception; which has left a pleasing impression upon me, that will not soon be effaced.

Lord

all

has pressed me to see him at -; and told me, in a manner betwixt kindness and resentment, that it is but a few miles beyond Twickenham.

I have but a little time left, and a great deal to do in it: and I must expect that ill health will render a good share of it useless; and, therefore, what is likely to be left at the foot of the account, ought by me to be cherished, and not thrown away in compliment. You know the motto of my sun-dial; "Vivite, ait, fugio." I will, as far as I am able, follow its advice, and cut off all unnecessary avocations and amusements. There are those who intend to employ me this winter in a way I do not like: if they persist in their intentions, I must apply myself, as well as I can, to the work which they cut out for me. But that shall not hinder me from em. ploying myself also in a way which they do not like; that at last they may be induced to let me be quiet, and live to myself, with the few (the very few) friends I like: for this is the point, the single point, I now aim af; though I know, the generality of the world, who are unacquainted with my intentions and views, think the very reverse of this character belongs to me. I do not know how I have rambled into this account of myself: when I sat down to write, I had no thought of making that any part of my letter.

You might have been sure, without my telling you, that my right hand is at ease, else I should not have overflowed at this rate: and yet I have not done; for there is a kind intimation in the end of yours, which I understood, because it seems to tend towards employing me in something that is agreeable to you. Pray explain yourself, and believe that you have not an acquaintance in the world that would be more in earnest on such an occasion than I; for I love you, as well as esteem you.

All the while I have been writing, pain, and a fine thrush, have been severally endeavouring to call off my attention; but both in vain, nor should I yet part with

you, only that the turning over a new leaf frights me a little, and makes me resolve to break through a new temptation, before it has taken too fast hold on me. I am, &c.

Dear sir,

LETTER VII.

Dr. Atterbury to Mr. Pope.

The Tower, April 10, 1723.

I thank you for all the instances of your friendship, both before and since my misfortunes. A little time will complete them, and separate you and me. But in what part of the world soever I am, I will live mindful of your sincere kindness to me; and I will please myself with the thought, that. I still live in your esteem and affection as much as ever I did, and that no accident of life, no distance of time or place, will alter you in that respect. It never can alter me; who have loved and valued you ever since I knew you: and I shall not fail to do it when I am not allowed to tell you so; as the case will soon be.

Give my faithful services to Dr. Arbuthnot, and my thanks for what he sent me, which was much to the purpose, if any thing can be said to be to the purpose, in a case that is already determined. Let him know my defence will be such, that neither my friends need blush for me, nor will my enemies have great occasion of triumph, though they are sure of the victory. I shall want his advice before I go abroad, in many things: but I question whether I shall be permitted to see him, or any body, but such as are absolutely necessary towards the despatch of my private affairs. If so, God bless you both! and may no part of the ill fortune that attends me, ever pursue either of you!

G