[] LETTERS FROM Several ingenious GENTLEMEN To the Late AARON HILL, Eſq

LETTER I. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

THE little Thing which you take ſo kindly, is but a very ſmall Part of what I owe you; and whatever my Studies, or (to uſe a properer Word) Idleneſs, are capable of producing, ought to be re⯑turned you in mere Gratitude for the Pleaſure I have received from your own Writings: In which give me Leave to ſay, your good Will to me in particular, is as diſtinguiſhable, as the Obligation you lay on the Publick in general. I am very happy in the Envy and ſilly Attacks of ſuch People, as have awakened the Generoſity of ſo powerful a Defender. Nor am I aſhamed of thoſe Weakneſſes of mine, which they have expoſed in Print (the greateſt of which was my thinking too candidly of them, to whom I wrote my [2] Letters with ſo much unguarded Friendlineſs, and Freedom), ſince you have found a Way to turn thoſe Weakneſſes into Virtue, by your partial Regard of them. The Eye of Candour, like the Sun, makes all the Beauties which it ſees; it gives Colour and Brightneſs to the meaneſt Objects purely by looking on them. I agree with you, that there is a Pleaſure in ſeeing the Nature and Temper of Men in the plaineſt Undreſs; but few Men are of Conſequence enough to deſerve, or reward, that Curioſity. I ſhall indeed (and ſo will all Mankind) be highly pleaſed to ſee the Great Czar of Muſcovy in this Light, drawn by himſelf, like an antient Maſter, in rough Strokes, without heightening, or ſhadowing: What a Satisfaction to behold that perfect Likeneſs, with⯑out Art, Affectation, or even the Gloſs of Colour⯑ing, with a noble Neglect of all that Finiſhing and Smoothing, which any other Hand would have been obliged to beſtow on ſo principal a Figure? I write this to a Man whoſe Judgment I am certain of, and therefore am as certain you will give the World this great Depoſitum, juſt as you have received it: There will be no Danger of your dreſſing this Mars too finely, whoſe Armour is not Gold, but Adamant, and whoſe Stile in all Probability is much more ſtrong, than it is poliſh'd. I congratulate you, that this great Treaſure is fallen into your Hands; and I congratu⯑late all Europe, that it is to be delivered to them. through the Hands of one, who will think it Sacrilege to touch upon, much leſs to alter, any great Lines of ſuch an Original.

I can make you no better Return for your great Compliment upon me (which it would be Arro⯑gance in me to ſhew to any other, and dangerous even to remember myſelf) but by telling you, that it is Honour enough to reward all my Studies, to find my Character and Reputation is Part of the Care of that Perſon, to whom the Fame and Glory of Peter Alexiowitz was committed.

[3] SIR,

I am forced to make uſe of another Hand than my own in this Letter, having received a Wound croſs all the Veins of my right Hand, by which the Ten⯑dons of two Fingers are ſeparated; however, it was a Fine paid for my Life, which has been very nar⯑rowly ſaved, and which may now continue me ſome Years longer,

LETTER II. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I WAS unwilling to anſwer your too obliging Let⯑ter (which puts much too great a Streſs upon my Opinion) till I had read your Play with the Attention it deſerves; I mean, not once, but ſeveral times over. In a Word, to comply with my Judgment will coſt you no Trouble, except to your Modeſty; which is, to act it as ſoon as poſſible. Nothing but Trifles have I to object, and which were ſuch as did not once ſtop me at the firſt Reading; the Spirit, Deſign, and Characters, carrying me on, without Stop, Check, or even Intermiſſion. You certainly are Maſter of the Art of the Stage, in the manner of forming and conducting the Deſign, which I think impoſſible to be mended; of that Great Part, and of the other, the raiſing the Paſſions, I will ſay nothing to you, who know them ſo much better than my⯑ſelf. I would only point out a few Particularities in Thought or Expreſſion, as material as excepting to a Button on your Coat, or a looſe Hair. Two or three Lines I have with great Timorouſneſs written on one of your blank Leaves, in Black Lead, half afraid to [4] be legible, and not without ſome Hope that before you ſee them, they may be vaniſhed: So may per⯑haps my Objections, every one of them. Shall I ſee you ſoon, to tell you theſe Nothings? Whenever I ſhall ſee you, I hope to find, we can employ the Time better, than I, in telling, or you, in hearing them. Or muſt I return you the Play now? Your Orders will be obey'd as ſoon as you give them.—I really rejoice at your Lady's Recovery: I would have her and you think, the Air of Richmond is particularly good to re-eſtabliſh her. Pray let Miſs Hill know, I am ready to believe all the good Things her own Father can ſee in her: I can ſafely truſt both his Judgments, and his Affections. I am, truly,

LETTER III. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I MADE a ſtrong Eſſay to have told you in Per⯑ſon how very kindly I took your two laſt Letters. The only Hours I had in my Power from a neceſſary Care that brought me back immediately, I would have impoſed on you. It will pleaſe you to know the poor Woman is rather better, tho' it may be but like the Improvement of a Light on the End of a dying Taper, which brightens a little before it ex⯑pires.—Your Hint about my Title Of falſe Taſte, you'll ſee, is made uſe of in the Second Edition. Your Opinion alſo of my giving ſome publick Diſ⯑ſent or Proteſt againſt the ſilly malicious Miſcon⯑ſtruction of the Town, I agree to; but I think no one Step ſhould be taken in it, but in Concert with the Duke whom they injure. It will be a Pleaſure [5] felt by you, to tell you, his Grace has written to me the ſtrongeſt Aſſurance imaginable of the Rectitude of his Opinion, and of his Reſentment of that Re⯑port, which to Him is an Impertinence, to me a Vil⯑lainy.

I am afraid of tiring you, and (what is your beſt Security) I have not Time to do it. I'll only juſt tell you, that many Circumſtances you have heard, as Reſemblances to the Picture of Timon, are utterly Inventions of Lyars; the Number of Servants never was an Hundred, the Paintings not of Venio or La Guerre, but Bellucci and Zaman; no ſuch Buffet, Manner of Reception at the Study, Terras, &c. all which, and many more, they have not ſcrupled to forge, to gain ſome Credit to the Application: And (which is worſe) belyed Teſtimonies of Noblemen, and of my particular Friends, to condemn me. In a word, the Malice is as great as the Dulneſs, of my Calumniators: The one I forgive, the other I pity, and I deſpiſe both. Adieu; the firſt Day I am near you I will find you out, and ſhew you ſomething you will like. My beſt good Wiſhes are yours, and Miſs Urania's

LETTER IV. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

SINCE I am fully ſatisfy'd we are each of us ſincerely and affectionately Servants to the other, I deſire we may be no further miſ-led by the Warmth of writing on this Subject. If you think I have ſhewn too much Weakneſs, or if I think you have ſhewn too much Warmth, let us forgive one another's Temper. I told you I thought my Letter a filly one; but the more I thought ſo, the more in ſending it I [6] ſhew'd my Truſt in your good Diſpoſition toward me. I am ſorry you took it to have an Air of Neglect, or Superiority: Becauſe I know in my Heart, I had not the leaſt Thought of being any way ſuperior to Mr. Hill; and, far from the leaſt Deſign to ſhew Neglect to a Gentleman who was ſhewing me Civility, I meant in Return to ſhew him a better Thing, Sincerity; which I'm ſorry ſhould be ſo ill expreſs'd as to ſeem Rudeneſs. I meant but to complain as frankly as you, that all Complaints on both Sides might be out, and at a Period for ever: I meant by this to have laid a ſurer Foundation for your Opinion of me for the future, that it might no more be ſhaken by Miſtakes or Whiſpers.

I am ſure, Sir, you have a higher Opinion of my Poetry than I myſelf. But I am ſo deſirous you ſhould have a juſt one of me every way, that I wiſh you underſtood both my Temper in general, and my Juſtice to you in particular, better than I find my Letter repreſented them. I wiſh it the more, ſince you tell me how ill a Picture my Enemies take upon 'em to give, of the Mind of a Man they are utter Strangers to. However, you will obſerve, that much Spleen and Emotion are a little inconſiſtent with Ne⯑glect, and an Opinion of Superiority. Towards Them, God knows, I never felt any Emotions, but what bad Writers raiſe in all Men, thoſe gentle ones of Laughter or Pity: That I was ſo open, concern'd, and ſerious, with reſpect to you only, is ſure a Proof of Regard, not Neglect. For in Truth, nothing ever vex'd me, till I ſaw your Epigram againſt Dr. S. and me come out in their Papers: And this, indeed, did vex me, to ſee One Swan among the Geeſe.

That the Letters A. H. were apply'd to you in the Papers, I did not know (for I ſeldom read them); I heard it only from Mr. Savage, as from yourſelf, and ſeat my Aſſurances to the contrary. But I don't ſee how the Annotator on the D. could have rectify'd [7] that Miſtake, publickly, without particularizing your Name, in a Book where I thought it too good to be inſerted. No doubt he has apply'd that Paſſage in the D. to you, by the Story he tells; but his Mention of Bombaſt, only in ſome of your Juvenile Pieces, I think, was meant to ſhew, that Paſſage hinted only at that allegorical Muddineſs, and not at any worſe ſort of Dirt, with which ſome other Writers were charged. I hate to ſay what will not be believ'd: Yet when I told you, ‘"Many aſk'd me to whom that Oblique Praiſe was meant?"’ I did not tell you I anſwer'd, it was you. Has it eſcap'd your Obſervation, that the Name is a Syllable too long? Or (if you will have it a Chriſtian Name) is there any other in the whole Book? Is there no Author of two Syllables whom it will better fit, not only as getting out of the allego⯑rical Muddineſs, but as having been dipt in the Dirt of Party-writing, and recovering from it betimes? I know ſuch a Man, who would take it for a Compli⯑ment, and ſo would his Patrons too—But I aſk you not to believe this, except you are vaſtly inclin'd to it. I will come cloſer to the Point: Would you have the Note left out? It ſhall. Would you have it expreſly ſaid, you were not meant? It ſhall, if I have any In⯑fluence on the Editors.

I believe the Note was meant only as a gentle Re⯑buke, and friendlily: I underſtood very well the Ca⯑veat on your Part to be the ſame; and complain'd (you ſee) of nothing but two or three Lines reflecting on my Behaviour and Temper to other Writers; be⯑cauſe I knew they were not true, and you could not know they were.

You cannot in your cool Judgment think it fair to fix a Man's Character on a Point, of which you do not give one Inſtance? Name but the Man, or Men, to whom I have unjuſtly omitted Approbation or En⯑couragement, and I'll be ready to do them Juſtice. I [8] think I have publickly prais'd all the beſt Writers of my Time, except yourſelf, and ſuch as I have had no fair Opportunity to praiſe. As to the Great and Popular, I've prais'd but few, and thoſe at the Times when they were leaſt popular. Many of thoſe Writers have done nothing elſe but flatter'd the Great and Popular, or been worſe employ'd by 'em in Party-ſtuff. I do indeed think it no great Pride in me, to ſpeak about them with ſome Air of Superiority; and this, Sir, muſt be the Cauſe (and no other) that made me addreſs that Declaration of my Temper towards them, to you, who had accus'd me of the contrary; not, I aſſure you, from the leaſt Imagination of any Reſemblance be⯑tween you and them, either in Merit or Circum⯑ſtances.

I nam'd Mr. Dennis, becauſe you diſtinguiſh him from the reſt: So do I. But, moreover, he was up⯑permoſt in my Thoughts, from having endeavour'd (before your Admonition) to promote his Affair, with Lord Wilmington, Lord Lanſdown, Lord Blandford, and Mr. Pulteney, &c. who promis'd me to favour it. But it would be unjuſt to meaſure my Good-will by the Effects of it on the Great, many of whom are the laſt Men in the World who will pay Tributes of this ſort, from their own un-giving Nature; and many of whom laugh at me when I ſeriouſly petition for Mr. Dennis. After this, I muſt not name the many whom I have fruitleſly ſollicited: I hope yet to be more ſucceſsful. But, Sir, you ſeem too iniquitous in your Conceptions of me, when you fanſy I call'd ſuch Things Services. I call'd 'em but humane Of⯑fices: Services I ſaid I would render him, if I could. I would aſk a Place for Life for him; and I have; but that is not in my Power: If it was, it would be a Service, and I wiſh it.

I mention'd the Poſſibility of Mr. D.'s abuſing me for forgiving him, becauſe he actually did, in [9] Print, lately repreſent my poor, undeſigning, Sub⯑ſcriptions to him, to be the Effect of Fear and Deſire, to ſtop his Critiques upon me. I wiſh Mr. Hill would (for once) think ſo candidly of me, as to believe me ſincere in one Declaration, that ‘"I deſire no Man to belye his own Judgment in my Favour."’ Therefore, tho' I acknowledge your generous Offer to give Examples of Imperfections rather out of your own Works than mine, in your intended Book; I conſent, with all my Heart, to your confining them to mine; for two Reaſons: The one, that I fear your Senſibility that way is greater than my own (by ob⯑ſerving you ſeem too concern'd at that Hint given by the Notes on the D. of a little Fault in the Works of your Youth only): The other is a better, namely, that I intend to amend by your Remarks, and correct the Faults you find, if they are ſuch as I expect from Mr. Hill's cool Judgment.

I am very ſenſible, that my Poetical Talent is all that may (I ſay not, will) make me remember'd: But it is my Morality only that muſt make me Beloved, or Happy: And if it be any Deviation from Greatneſs of Mind, to prefer Friendſhips to Fame, or the honeſt Enjoyments of Life to noiſy Praiſes; I fairly confeſs that Meanneſs. Therefore it is, Sir, that I much more reſent any Attempt againſt my moral Character (which I know to be unjuſt) than any to leſſen my poetical one (which, for all I know, may be very juſt).

Pray then, Sir, excuſe my weak Letter, as I do your warm one. I end as I begun. You gueſs'd right, that I was ſick when I wrote it: Yours are very well written, but I have neither Health nor Time to make mine ſo. I have writ a whole Book of Retractations of my Writings (which would greatly improve your Cri⯑ticiſms on my Errors), but of my Life and Manners I do not yet repent one Jott, eſpecially when I find in my Heart I continue to be, without the leaſt Acri⯑mony [10] (even as little as I deſire you ſhould bear to myſelf), ſincerely, Sir,

If I did not acknowledge as I ought, both the Fa⯑ther's agreeable Preſent, and the Daughter's pretty one, which you ſent me, I very ill ex⯑preſs'd myſelf. If Miſs Urania Hill has not my 4to Edition of the Odyſſey, I beg your Leave to ſend it her. You had ſooner heard from me, but I ſaw yours, here, but three Days ago. I return Home To-morrow.

LETTER V. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

EVER ſince I return'd Home, I have been in almoſt roaring Pain, with a violent Rheumatiſm in my Shoulder, ſo that all I am able to do is to re⯑turn you Thanks for yours. The Satisfaction it gave me is proportion'd to the Regard I have for you. I will not praiſe your Poem further than to ſay, the Ge⯑neroſity of its Sentiments muſt charm every Man: Its other Merit you know well. You'll pardon the few Doubts I ſtart in the Interlinings; they are ſuch as you can efface as eaſily as they may deſerve. I wiſh to tell my Lord Peterborough (who has ſo long ho⯑nour'd me with ſo particular and familiar an Ac⯑quaintance) the Honour done him.

I am very deſirous to leave out that Note, if you like ſo. The two Lords, and one Gentleman, who really took and printed that Edition, I can (I doubt not) bring eaſily to it.

The chief Objection I have to what you ſay of myſelf in this Poem, is, that the Praiſe is too ſtrong. I may well compound for the reſt.

[11] Suffer me to ſend the young Lady the Odyſſey, full of Faults as I know it to be, before ſhe grows old enough to know how mean a Preſent it is. I am, with great Truth,

LETTER VI. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I AM extremely pleas'd with the Favour you have done me in ſending me your Poem, and the more, as it gives me the Opportunity of aſſuring you I never did, or meant you, the leaſt Injury; in which I ſhould have fully ſatisfy'd you long ſince, had you aſk'd me the Queſtion. I remember, Mr. Lintot ſhew'd me a Piece of yours, of which (he ſaid) you deſir'd my Opinion: I was juſt then in a great Hurry, going a Journey out of Town upon Buſineſs for a few Days; and therefore told him I would call for it in a Day or two, to read carefully: However, I caſt my Eye on ſome Parts of it, which I lik'd, and told him ſo. This was all, to the beſt of my Memory, that paſs'd between us; and you may imagine it was ſome Surprize to me when I ſaw your Preface a very ſhort time after. I think it incumbent on any well-mean⯑ing Man, to acquit himſelf of an ill-grounded Suſpi⯑cion in another, who perhaps means equally well, and is only too credulous. I am ſincerely ſo far from re⯑ſenting this Miſtake, that I am more diſpleas'd, at your thinking it neceſſary to treat me ſo much in a Style of Compliment as you do in your Letter. I will ſay nothing of the Poem you favour me with, for fear of being in the wrong; but I am ſure, the Per⯑ſon [12] who is capable of writing it, can need no Man to judge it. I am, with all Reſpect,

I receiv'd yours but four Days ſince, it being di⯑rected to Chiſwick, where I have not liv'd this Twelvemonth.

LETTER VII. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I AM not more happy, nor feel a greater Eaſe in compariſon of my former Pain, in the Recovery from my Rheumatiſm, than in that from your Diſ⯑pleaſure. Be aſſur'd, no little Offenders ever ſhall be diſtinguiſh'd more by me. Your Dedication pleaſes me almoſt equally with the Poem; our Hearts beat juſt together, in regard to Men of Power and Quality: But a Series of Infirmities (for my whole Life has been but one long Diſeaſe) has hinder'd me from following your Advices. I this Day have writ to Lord Peterborough a Letter with your Poem. The Familiarity in which we have liv'd ſome Years, makes it not unuſual, in either him or me, to tell each other any thing that pleaſes us: Otherwiſe you might think it arrogant in me, to pretend to put ſo good a Thing into his Hands, in which I have no Merit. Your Mention of our Friend Mr. Mallet I thank you for, and ſhould be glad he would give me an Opportunity of thanking you in Perſon, who am, with Sincerity,

LETTER VIII. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

IT is a ſerious Pleaſure to me to find you con⯑cern'd, that I ſhould do your good Senſe and Diſ⯑cernment the Juſtice it deſerves. It is impoſſible for me not to think juſt what you would have me on this Head; the whole Spirit and Meaning of your Poem ſhews all little Thoughts to be Strangers to your Soul. I happen to know many Particulars relating to the Earl of Peterborough's Conduct, and juſt Glory, in that Scene you draw ſo well: But no Man ought (I think) to attempt what you hint at, or can pretend to do him more Honour than what you yourſelf here have done, except himſelf: I have long preſs'd him to put together many Papers lying by him, to that End. On this late Occaſion he told me you had for⯑merly endeavour'd the ſame, and it comes into my Mind, that, on many of thoſe Papers, I've ſeen an En⯑dorſement A. H. which I fanſy might be thoſe you overlook'd. My Lord ſpoke of you with great Re⯑gard, and told me how narrowly you both miſs'd of going together on an adventurous Expedition^*. The real Reaſon I carry'd him your Poem was, that I imagin'd you would never ſend it him, of all Man⯑kind; and that I was truly pleas'd with it.

I am troubled to reflect, how unequal a Corre⯑ſpondent I am to you, partly thro' want of Health (for I have ſince had a Fever), partly thro' want of Spirits, and want of Solitude; for the laſt Thing we Poets care to own, is the other Want; that of Abilities.

But I am ſenſibly pleas'd with your Letter, not only with that which ſeem'd to prompt it, but with the Things ſaid in it: And I thank you for both—Believe me deſirous to ſee you: When, and where, [14] you ſhall determine; tho' I wiſh it were here: You'll ſee a Place ſeeming more fit for me than it is; looking Poetical, yet too much in the World; Ro⯑mantic, and not Retir'd: However, I can lock up all Avenues to it ſometimes, and I know no better Reaſon for doing ſo, or for ſhutting out the World, than to enjoy ſuch an one as yourſelf.

I am, Sir, with Eſteem and Sincerity,

LETTER IX. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

THE very Moment I receive yours, I diſpatch this, to tell you with Sincerity both my Gueſt's and my own Concern to have no Hopes of ſeeing you; as well as, what is unfeignedly a yet greater Concern, our Sorrow at what you expreſs to be the Occaſion of it. He wiſhes, now, for Power, for no other Reaſon, than to be able to elevate Merit above that Fortune it commonly finds, from Power. And I can truly add, for my own Part, who never taſted Power, that I never felt any Uneaſineſs in a low Fortune, but that which it cauſes when I find it cannot prove the Regard and Love I bear to true Worth in any afflictive Circumſtance.

Excuſe my pretending to ſay a Word on that Sub⯑ject; all I meant to ſay (but the Overflowings of my Heart vented thus much) was, to beg you to think too favourably of us both, to imagine we ſhould not be unhappy as much as diſſatisfy'd, if we did not read once or twice more your Tragedy, after what you tell us of your having alter'd it on our Suggeſtions. We have a conſcientious Fear, that you may have comply'd too implicitly with thoſe Marks, rather of [15] our ſcrupulous Sincerity, than of any certain Judg⯑ment; and have quench'd ſometimes a Flame we admire, tho' we may fear; or ſometimes heighten'd what may be natural, tho' we might think it low. Pray eaſe us, by favouring us with a ſecond View of it.

And whenever you ſend me that Eſſay, you may be aſſur'd of my ſincere Anſwer; tho' upon that Head I could rather wiſh it were given you perſonally. I hope a little Time will bring us together. Know me, moſt affectionately, dear Sir,

LETTER X. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I COULD not perſuade myſelf to write to you ſince your great Loſs, till I hop'd you had re⯑ceiv'd ſome Alleviation to it, from the only Hand which can give any, that of Time. Not to have mention'd it, however faſhionable it may be, I think unnatural, and in ſome Senſe inhuman; and I fear the contrary Cuſtom is too much an Excuſe, in reality, for that Indifference we too uſually have for the Concern of another: In truth, that was not my Caſe: I know the Reaſon of one Man is of little Effect toward the Reſignation of another; and when I compar'd the Forces of yours and mine, I doubted not which had the Advantage, even tho' in your own Concern. 'Tis hard, that in theſe tender Afflictions the Greatneſs of the Mind and the Goodneſs are op⯑poſite to each other; and that while Reaſon, and the Conſideration upon what Conditions we receive all the Goods of this Life, operate towards our Quiet; even the beſt of our Paſſions (which are the ſame Things with the ſofteſt of our Virtues) refuſe us that [16] Comfort. But I'll ſay no more on this melancholy Subject. The whole Intent of this Letter is to tell you how much I wiſh you capable of Conſolation, and how much I wiſh to know when you find yourſelf ſo. I would hope you begin to ſeek it, to amuſe your Mind with thoſe Studies of which Tully ſays, Adverſis perfugium & ſolatium praebent, and to tran⯑ſcribe (if I may ſo expreſs it) your own Softneſſes and generous Paſſions into the Hearts of others who more want them. I do not flatter you in ſaying, I think your Tragedy will do this effectually (to which I had Occaſion, the other Day, to do Juſtice to Mr. Wilks), or whatever elſe you chuſe to divert your own Paſſion with, and to raiſe that of your Readers.—I wiſh the Change of Place, or the Views of Nature in the Country, made a Part of your Scheme.—You once thought of Richmond—I wiſh you were there, or nearer. I have thrice miſs'd of you in Town, the only Times I have been there: My laſt Month was paſs'd at my Lord Cobham's, and in a Journey thro' Oxfordſhire: I wiſh you as ſuſceptible, at this Time, of theſe Pleaſures as I am. I have been truly con⯑cern'd for you, and for your Daughter, who I believe is a true Part of you. I will trouble you no farther, but with the Aſſurance that I am not unmindfully,

LETTER XI. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I HAVE been, and yet am, totally confin'd by my Mother's Relapſe, if that can be call'd ſo, which is rather a conſtant and regular Decay. She is now on her laſt Bed, in all Probability, from whence [17] ſhe has not riſen in ſome Weeks, yet in no direct Pain, but a perpetual Languor. I ſuffer for her, for myſelf, and for you, in the Reflection of what you have felt at the Side of a ſick Bed which I now feel, and of what I probably ſoon ſhall ſuffer which you now ſuffer, in the Loſs of one's beſt Friend. I have wiſh'd (ever ſince I ſaw your Letter) to aſk you, ſince you find your own Houſe a Scene of Sorrows, to paſs ſome Days in mine; which I begin to think I ſhall ſoon have the ſame melancholy Reaſon to ſhun. In the mean time, I make a ſort of Amuſement of this melancholy Situation itſelf, and try to derive a Com⯑fort in imagining I give ſome to her. I am ſeldom prompted to Poetry in theſe Circumſtances; yet I'll ſend you a few Lines I ſent t' other Day from her Bed-ſide to a particular Friend. Indeed I want Spi⯑rits and Matter, to ſend you any thing elſe, or on any other Subject. Theſe too are ſpirit-leſs, and incorrect.

Excuſe this, in a Man who is weak and wounded, but not by his Enemies, but for his Friends. I wiſh you the Continuance of all that is yet dear to you in Life, and am truly

LETTER XII. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

THE Hurry I was in to ſend to you, made it a Meſſage inſtead of a Letter, which I aſk your Excuſe for by this. If now you have Thoughts of the Country, pray think no further than my own Houſe: I am wholly at your Service. The Weather is yet inviting: I could wiſh (if Miſs Hill, under a Father's Authority, might venture), ſhe ſaw me be⯑fore I am quite decay'd (I mean all of me that is yet half flouriſhing, my Garden). You'll very much ob⯑lige me, and give Countenance to my Judgment, in letting your Tragedy paſs thro' my Hands to any Per⯑ſons to whom you care I ſhould ſhew it. Believe me with great Truth (and a real Concern for what muſt ſo much afflict a good Mind),

LETTER XIII. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I Return you the Inclos'd the Day after I receiv'd it, leſt it ſhould retard your finiſhing the Copy, now the Year draws toward Winter: And tho' I am in a great Hurry, which allows me to ſay little, only to tell you, in my Lord's Name and my own, that we think you ſhew even more Friendſhip and Con⯑fidence in us, than we have hitherto been juſtly in⯑titled to, from any Uſe our Opinion could be of, to a Judgment ſo good as your own. We are fully ſatiſ⯑fy'd; and 'tis but at a Word or two, that I can carp, [19] with the utmoſt and moſt extended Severity of a Friend. It will be with infinitely greater Promp⯑titude, and Pleaſure, that I ſhall ſpeak (every-where) my real Approbation and Eſteem of the Perform⯑ance, in which I ſhall do no more than diſcharge my Conſcience. I wiſh ſincerely, I could as well ſerve you in promoting its Succeſs, as I can teſtify it de⯑ſerves all Succeſs. You will, I am ſure, be ſo candid, and ſo reaſonable, as to conclude, I would not decline writing your Epilogue on any but a juſt Reaſon, and indeed (to me) an invariable Maxim, which I have held theſe Twenty Years. Every poetical Friend I have, has had my Word, I never would; and my Leave to take the ſame Refuſals I made him, ill, if ever I wrote one for another: And this very Winter, Mr. Thomſon and Mr. Mallet excuſe me, whoſe Tra⯑gedies either are to appear this Seaſon, or the next. I fanſy the latter, as I have ſeen or heard of no more but a firſt Act, yet, of each.

I have lately had an Addreſs of another Kind from a Man of Letters, which gives me more Embarraſs, and in the Conduct whereof I could wiſh I had your Advice, tho' I hardly know how to aſk it. I hope ſoon to ſee the Critical Work you promis'd me, in which I hope to have ſome further Occaſion of prov⯑ing to you the real Deference I have to your Senti⯑ments, and Eſteem for your Perſon. I am, dear Sir,

LETTER XIV. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

IT was my Hope you had Thoughts of paſſing a few Days hereabouts, that made me impertinent enough to wiſh, you would make uſe of this Place, [18] [...] [19] [...] [20] which is as much at your Service as its Maſter. It is otherwiſe too great a Trouble to you, no leſs than too great a Diſtinction ſhewn to me, to have you come purpoſely; much leſs to give the young Lady the Fatigue of an Afternoon's Viſit to what ſo little merits it. My Wiſh was, that you could have taken a Bed here, as long as you could allow yourſelf to be in the Country; and have done me the Pleaſure to ſee the Perſon you, now, love beſt in the World, with you; either as giving you to me, or receiving you from me, on the Day that you came, or that you went. Be aſſur'd I always am with Truth,

If Miſs Hill does not dine with us, I ſhall think all the Rites of Hoſpitality violated.

LETTER XV. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I SEE the Seaſon will not allow me the Pleaſure of ſeeing you, nor of ſhewing my faded Garden this Year to Miſs Urania. I aſſure you I would will⯑ingly make a Trip to London on purpoſe to ſee you and her, but my Conſtitution, of late, has been faſter in Decline than the Year. I have been as ill, as when I writ you that peeviſh Image of my Soul, a Letter, ſome Time ſince, which had the good Effect of making us know one another.

This is the firſt Day I have been able to ſee Lady S. who ſhew'd me a very polite Letter of yours that put her out of Countenance. The Truth is, ſhe makes no Pretenſion to judge of Poetry. But the Tragedy will be ſhewn, as I told you, to One, or ra⯑ther [21] (I think) to Both will be better. I wiſh you was not ſo ſoon to bring it on, by what Mr. Savage tells me of Mr. Booth and Mrs. Porter. I think it will be a Loſs both to the Play, and to them, if they do not make one another ſhine: I hope, in a Week, to wait on you in London, and tell you with what plain Truth I am, dear Sir,

My Book I have no manner of Thought of pub⯑liſhing: It is of ſo various a Nature, that I know not under what Denomination, yet, to rank the many Parts of it; and ſhall write, juſt as I live, without knowing the End of my Works, or Days: The Whole will proceed, as my Life proceeds; and probably die, as I die.

LETTER XVI. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

THERE is an ill Fate hangs upon me in re⯑lation to the Pleaſure I've often (from the very firſt Time I ſaw you at Dr. Young's) propos'd in our Acquaintance. I really ſtay'd that Night in Town, upon Bowry's Notice, which he left in Writing, that you ſhould be at Home all Wedneſday, and had dedi⯑cated three Hours to you, or, more properly, to my⯑ſelf with you. I aſk'd, particularly, for Miſs Urania; but thought myſelf, tho' old enough, not familiar enough, to aſk to ſee her. I deſire your firſt Notice, if you come this Way; or, rather, I wiſh you would take up your Lodging with me. In the mean time, pray ſend the Tragedy of Athelwold (for ſo I would call it), under Cover, to the Counteſs of Suffolk, be⯑fore Monday, at her Lodgings in St. James's. I pro⯑mis'd it her again; and if you think it of any Con⯑ſequence [22] that the K. ſhould ſee it in Manuſcript, I think nothing more eaſy. In Truth, all this is doing it no Credit; 'tis only doing ſome to thoſe who may commend it. I could not imagine in what Parts it needed Addition; ſure every Incident is well pre⯑par'd: But no Man can ſee ſo far into his own Work as the Author, if a good one; ſo little, if a bad or indifferent one.—I am with Truth,

LETTER XVII. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I Troubled you with a haſty Scrawl at Lord Tyr⯑connel's, in which I mention'd Gilliver's Deſire to be the Publiſher of your Tragedy: Since, he re⯑queſts my Letter to recommend him. I find Mr. Savage has rais'd his Hope, by ſaying you had kept yourſelf unengag'd, in Expectation that I would plead for him, and that you wonder'd I did not ſooner. If this be not one of thoſe Things in which Mr. S. ſpeaks upon Imagination, I am more oblig'd to you than ever I intended. For I aſſure you, I had no Thought of impoſing, nay, not even of propoſing a Bookſeller, for fear your great Complacency toward me, ſhould lead you, more, than your own Inclina⯑tion, to another Bookſeller. But if you have no ſuch Byafs, this Man I really think honeſt, and capable in his Buſineſs. I hope in a few Days to meet you in Town, and am ſincerely yours, and the young Lady's,

I juſt now receive your very kind Letter, but can anſwer it no otherwiſe than by going about what you propoſe. I'll write firſt, and then ſee every body I can in Town on Tueſday, &c.

LETTER XVIII. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I SHALL have the Pleaſure (ſick or well) to be at the firſt Repreſentation of your Play To⯑morrow, with Lord Burlington and Lord Bathurſt, and one or two more. Another noble Lord, who underſtands you beſt, muſt be contented to read the two laſt Acts in his Study: But Sir Will. Wyndham, with Mr. Gay, and ſome others, will be there alſo, in another Place, in his ſtead.—I write this that I may not take up a Minute of your Time in calling on me To-morrow; but if you will ſend to the Office To⯑night for Places for four People, we will order a Man or two to go to keep 'em for us: Lord Burlington comes on purpoſe to Town. I am, with great Truth,

I've yet heard no Account from Court.

LETTER XIX. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I Cannot leave London without thanking you for the Pleaſure you gave me laſt Night, by which I ſee you can as well make Actors, as Plays: Yet I own I receive more Pleaſure from reading, than ſeeing your [24] Athelwold. I thought the beſt Part of the Audience very attentive, and was told, ſeveral Ladies were mov'd to Tears. It is Pity Mrs. Cibber's Voice and Perſon were not a little higher; ſhe ſpeaks extremely juſtly, and ſeems to be Miſtreſs of her Part. I could not come ſoon enough for the Prologue, but the Epi⯑logue is a very humorous one. I am aſham'd to trouble you; but being gone out of Town, and fearing the Miſtakes of Servants, I beg a Box may be had for Monday, the third Night (if there be any empty), for Mrs. Blount, a particular Friend of mine. I yeſterday ſaw Lady Suffolk, and found, tho' their Majeſties had not had Time to read, yet they were poſſeſs'd with a good Opinion of the Play; and ſhe would not part with the Copy, expecting it would be call'd for every Day. I muſt once more acknow⯑ledge the very obliging Manner in which you favour'd the Bookſeller, as well as the particular Generoſity to him. I can add no more, but an Aſſurance of the Sincerity with which I am,

I am haſten'd away, on hearing my Mother is not well: As ſoon as I return, I hope we may paſs more Time together.

LETTER XX. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I Thank you for your Tragedy, which I have now read over a ſixth Time, and of which I not only preſerve, but increaſe, my Eſteem. You have been kind to this Age, in not telling the next, in your Pre⯑face, the ill Taſte of the Town, of which the Re⯑ception [25] you deſcribe it to have given of your Play (worſe, indeed, than I had heard, or could have ima⯑gin'd), is a more flagrant Inſtance than any of thoſe Trifles mention'd in my Epiſtle; which yet, I hear, the ſore Vanity of our Pretenders to Taſte flinches at extremely—The Title you mention had been a pro⯑perer to that Epiſtle—I have heard no Criticiſms about it, nor do I liſten after 'em; Nos haec novimus eſſe nihil (I mean, I think the Verſes to be ſo): But as you are a Man of tender Sentiments of Honour, I know it will grieve you to hear another undeſervedly charg'd with a Crime his Heart is free from: For, if there be Truth in the World, I declare to you, I never imagin'd the leaſt Application of what I ſaid of Timon could be made to the D. of Ch [...]s, than whom there is ſcarce a more blameleſs, worthy and gene⯑rous, beneficent Character, among all our Nobility: And if I have not loſt my Senſes, the Town has loſt 'em, by what I heard ſo late, as but two Days ago, of the Uproar on this Head. I am certain, if you calmly read every Particular of that Deſcription, you'll find almoſt all of 'em point-blank the Reverſe of that Perſon's Villa. It's an aukward Thing for a Man to print, in Defence of his own Work, againſt a Chimaera: You know not who, or what, you fight againſt: The Objections ſtart up in a new Shape, like the Armies and Phantoms of Magicians, and no Weapon can cut a Miſt, or a Shadow. Yet it would have been a Pleaſure to me, to have found ſome Friend ſaying a Word in my Juſtification, againſt a moſt malicious Falſhood. I ſpeak of ſuch, as have known by their own Experience, theſe twenty Years, that I always took up their Defence, when any Stream of Calumny ran upon 'em. If it gives the Duke one Moment's Uneaſineſs, I ſhould think my⯑ſelf ill paid, if the whole Earth admir'd the Poetry; and believe me, would rather never have written a Verſe in my Life, than that any one of 'em ſhould [26] trouble a truly good Man. It was once my Caſe be⯑fore, but happily reconcil'd; and among generous Minds nothing ſo endears Friends, as the having of⯑fended one another.

I lament the Malice of the Age, that ſtudies to ſee its own Likeneſs in every thing; I lament the Dulneſs of it, that cannot ſee an Excellence: The firſt is my Unhappineſs, the ſecond yours. I look upon the Fate of your Piece, like that of a great Treaſure, which is bury'd as ſoon as brought to Light; but it is ſure to be dug up the next Age, and enrich Poſterity.

I have been very ſenſible, on theſe two Occaſions, to feel them (as I have done) at a Time, when I daily fear'd the Loſs of (what is, and ought to be dearer to me than any Reputation, but that of a Friend, or than any thing of my own, except my Morals) the Loſs of a moſt tender Parent—She is alive, and that is all! I have perceiv'd my Heart in this, and you may believe me ſincerely,

LETTER XXI. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I Writ to you a very haſty Letter, being warm'd in the Cauſe of an old Acquaintance, in which I was ſure you would concur, I mean John Dennis, whoſe Circumſtances were deſcrib'd to me in the moſt moving Manner. I went next Day with the Lord to whom you directed your Letter and Play, which, at my Return home, I receiv'd but Yeſterday. I thank you for your agreeable Preſent to my Grotto, for your more agreeable Letter, and your moſt excellent Tranſlation of Voltaire, to whom you have preſerv'd [27] all the Beauty he had, and added the Nerves he wanted. This ſhort Acknowledgment is all I can make juſt now; I am juſt taken up by Mr. Thomſon; in the Peruſal of a new Poem he has brought me: I wiſh you were with us. The firſt Day I ſee London; I will wait on you, on many Accounts, but on none more than my being affectionately, and with true Eſteem, dear Sir,

I deſire Miſs Urania will know me for her Servant.

LETTER XXII. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

YOUR very kind Letter came hither in my Abſence, which occaſion'd my Delay till now in acknowledging it. Your Partiality to me, both as a Poet, and as a Man, is great; the former I de⯑ſerve not, but the latter I will never forfeit. It would be wronging your Modeſty to ſay much of the Verſes you incloſe, but it would be wronging Senſe and Poetry, not to ſay they are fine ones, and ſuch as I could not forget, having once ſeen them.

I have almoſt forgot what I told you of the Patent; but at the Time I told it, I could not well be miſ⯑taken, having juſt then had the Account from Mr. Davenant the Envoy: Indeed I fanſy it was only of his Anceſtors Patent that he ſpoke (unleſs Sir William Davenant bought up Killigrew's); I know no Way of coming to the Knowledge of this Affair, Mr. Davenant being now abroad, and I know not where. But if you would have me write about it, I will learn his Direction.

I am at all Times glad to hear of you, on any Occaſion. I would willingly wait on you in the [28] Park, if I knew your Times: I have call'd twice or thrice there in vain, without being heard. I gueſs'd you were in the Country. My ſincere good Wiſhes attend you; and your agreeable Family, as far as I have ſeen of it, I cannot but wiſh well to. I am,

LETTER XXIII. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I SENT you as honeſt an Anſwer as I could, to the Letter you favour'd me with; and am ſorry you imagine any civil Reproach, or latent Meaning, where I meant to expreſs myſelf with the utmoſt Openneſs. I would aſſure you, if you pleaſe, by my Oath, as well as my Word, that I am in no De⯑gree diſpleas'd at any Freedom you can take with me in a private Letter, or with my Writings in publick. I again inſiſt, that you alter or ſoften no one Criticiſm of yours in my Favour; nor deprive yourſelf of the Liberty, nor the World of the Profit, of your freeſt Remarks on my Errors.

In what I ſaid, I gave you a true Picture of my own Heart, as far as I know it myſelf. It is true, I have ſhewn a Scorn of ſome Writers; but it proceeded from an Experience that they were bad Men, or bad Friends, or vile Hirelings; in which Caſe, their being Authors did not make them, to me, either more re⯑ſpectable, or more formidable. As for any other Pique, my Mind is not ſo ſuſceptible of it as you have ſeem'd, on each Occaſion, too much inclin'd (I think) to believe. What may have ſometimes ſeem'd a Neglect of others, was rather a Lazineſs to cultivate or contract new Friends, when I was ſatiſ⯑fied [29] with thoſe I had; or when I apprehended their Demands were too high for me to anſwer.

I thank you for the Confidence you ſhew you have in me, in telling me what you judge amiſs in my Nature. If it be (as you too partially ſay) my only Fault, I might ſoon be a perfect Character: For I would endeavour to correct this Fault in myſelf, and intreat you to correct all thoſe in my Writings; I ſee, by the Specimen you generouſly gave me in your late Letter, you are able to do it; and I would rather owe (and own I owe) that Correction to your Friend⯑ſhip, than to my own Induſtry.

For the laſt Paragraph of yours, I ſhall be ex⯑tremely ready to convey what you promiſe to ſend me, to my Lord B. I am in Hopes very ſpeedily to ſee him myſelf, and will, in that Caſe, be the Bearer; if not, I ſhall ſend it, by the firſt ſafe Hand, to him. I am truly glad of any Occaſion of proving myſelf, with all the Reſpect that is conſiſtent with Sincerity,

LETTER XXIV. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

THE Favour of yours of May the 11th, had not been unacknowledged ſo long, but it reached me not till my Return from a Journey, which had carried me from Scene to Scene, where Gods might wander with Delight. I am ſorry yours was attended with any Thoughts leſs pleaſing, either from the Conduct towards you of the World in general, or of any one elſe, in particular. As to the Subject-matter of the Letter, I found what I have often done in receiving Letters from thoſe I moſt eſteemed, and [30] moſt wiſhed to be eſteemed by; a great Pleaſure in reading it, and a great Inability to anſwer it. I can only ſay, you oblige me, in ſeeming ſo well to know me again; as one extremely willing that the free Exerciſe of Criticiſm ſhould extend over my own Writings, as well as thoſe of others, whenever the Public may receive the leaſt Benefit from it; as I queſtion not they will a great deal, when exerted by you. I am ſenſible of the Honour you do me, in propoſing to ſend me your Work before it appears: If you do, I muſt inſiſt, that no Uſe in my Favour be made of that Diſtinction, by the Alteration or ſoftening of any Cenſure of yours on any Line of mine.

What you have obſerved in your Letter I think juſt; only I would acquit myſelf in one Point: I could not have the leaſt Pique to Mr. Th. in what is cited in the Treatiſe of the Bathos from the Play which I never ſuppoſed to be his: He gave it as Shakeſpear's, and I take it to be of that Age: And indeed the Collection of thoſe, and many more of the Thoughts cenſured there, was not made by me, but Dr. Arbuthnot.—I have had two or three Occa⯑ſions to lament, that you ſeem to know me much better as a Poet, than as a Man. You can hardly conceive how little either Pique or Contempt I bear to any Creature, unleſs for immoral or dirty Actions: Any Mortal is at full Liberty, unanſwer'd, to write and print of me as a Poet, to praiſe me one Year, and blame me another; only I deſire him to ſpare my Character as an honeſt Man, over which he can have no private, much leſs any public, Right, without ſome perſonal Knowledge of my Heart, or the Motives of my Conduct: Nor is it a ſufficient Excuſe, to alledge he was ſo or ſo informed, which was the Caſe with thoſe Men.

I am ſincere in all I ſay to you, and have no Va⯑nity in ſaying it. You really over-value me greatly [31] in my Poetical Capacity; and I am ſure your Work would do me infinitely too much Honour, even if it blamed me oftener than it commended: For the firſt you will do with Lenity, the laſt with Exceſs. But I could be glad to part with ſome Share of any good Man's Admiration, for ſome of his Affection, and his Belief that I am not wholly undeſerving to be thought, what I am to you,

LETTER XXV. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I NEED not aſſure you in many Words, that I join my Suffrage intirely with Lord B.'s in general, after a fourth reading your Tragedy of Caeſar. I think no Characters were ever more nobly ſuſtained than thoſe of Caeſar and Brutus in particular: You excel throughout in the Greatneſs of Sentiment; and I add, that I never met with more ſtriking Sen⯑tences, or lively ſhort Reprizes. There is almoſt every-where ſuch a Dignity in the Scenes, that in⯑ſtead of pointing out any one Scene, I can ſcarce point out any that wants it, in any Degree (except you would a little raiſe that of the Plebeians in the laſt Act). That Dignity is admirably reconciled with Softneſs, in the Scenes between Caeſar and Calpur⯑nia: And all thoſe between Caeſar and Brutus are a noble Strife between Greatneſs and Humanity. The Management of the Whole is as artful as it is noble. Whatever particular Remarks we have made further, will be rather the Subject of Converſation than a Let⯑ter, of which we ſhall both be glad of an Opportu⯑nity, either here at Twickenham, or in Town, as ſhall beſt ſuit your Conveniency. Pray, Sir, let [32] this confirm you in the Opinion you kindly, and in⯑deed juſtly, entertain of the Wiſh I feel (and ever felt, notwithſtanding Miſtakes) to be, and to be thought,

LETTER XXVI. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I AM forced to ſay but little to you, tho' my Spirit has been warm'd by the kind (and let me add, the juſt) Manner, in which you took our laſt Letter. My Lord (who has not only reſolved to make him⯑ſelf my Gueſt, but an Inhabitant of this Place during all his Stay in this Kingdom) is at this Time fixed to this Place too cloſely, by a Fever, which has con⯑fined him to his Bed and Chamber ſome Days. I am but juſt now ſatisfied that he is out of Danger; and I am as ſure, as that he lives, that he will be glad to ſee you here. And I think it certain (if you can get thoſe Affairs over which you mention, as ſoon as I wiſh you at Eaſe), that you may find him here this Fortnight: That I ſhall take a warm Part in bringing you together, my own Heart knows: And let me tell you, when you know that Heart as well, as I hope Fortune will not long hinder you from doing (tho' many unlucky Strokes of her Influence have been too ſtrong upon us both, who muſt elſe have na⯑turally united, as we mutually love and hate the ſame Things), I believe, truſt, and pray, we ſhall per⯑fectly underſtand one another. Believe me till then, upon my bare Aſſurance, very faithfully, without ſuperfluous Words, in one Word,

LETTER XXVII. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I HAVE now little to ſay of your Tragedy, which I return with my Thanks for your Indulgence to my Opinion, which I ſee ſo abſolutely defer'd to, that I wiſh I had croſs'd leſs frequently. I cannot find another Thing I think a Fault in you.

But my Lord thinks, three Things may yet be re⯑conſider'd. Brutus, on Sight of the Warrant ſign'd for his Death, takes at once the Reſolution of mur⯑dering Caeſar, as none of his Father. Quere, Whe⯑ther in the Scene that follows between him and Caeſar, all Tenderneſs on the Side of Brutus, and all beyond the Point of Honour that Friendſhip exacted, ſhould not rather be avoided than heightened?

Another Quere is, Whether it would not beget more Indignation in the Audience againſt Caſſius, and more Compaſſion for Caeſar, to ſhew that Caſſius ſu⯑ſpected Brutus to be Caeſar's Son, and therefore ex⯑acted from Brutus the Oath of ſparing neither Father; Relation, &c.

The third Thing is, Whether the Efforts made by Caeſar to prevent the Civil War, not only by the equal Offer he made, while the Matter was under Debate in the Senate (and which the Conſuls Len⯑tulus and Marcellus refuſed to report to the Senate), but by the Meſſage he ſent to Pompey, when he was at Brunduſium, to deſire a Meeting, to ſettle the Matter, and avoid the Civil War.—Vid. Caeſ. Comm. de bell, Civili, lib. 1. The Mention of theſe ſomewhere in the Play might help to remove the Prepoſſeſſion againſt Caeſar.

After our little Cavils (for ſo we will rather call minute and verbal Points of Criticiſm) we owe you the Juſtice to extol highly, what we highly approve, [34] and you need not deſire us to ſpeak as we think: 'Tis what we have (in different Ways) done all our Lives, where it was to our Prejudice, and cannot but do here, where it is to our Honour. I only wiſh you a Stage, Actors, and an Audience worthy of you, and It.—I have often wiſhed to live to ſee the Day when Prologues and Epilogues ſhould be no more. I wiſh a great Genius would break thro' the ſilly, uſeleſs, Formality. But at leaſt I would have one try, to leave the Audience full of the Effects of a good Tragedy, without an Epilogue. Let me add another Hint, concerning the Apparatus and Circum⯑ſtantials of your Play (ſince I have nothing left more to wiſh in the Play itſelf); that you would intitle it barely, The Tragedy of Caeſar, and give no Intima⯑tion of his being a Patriot; for I fear, inſtead of preparing the Audience, it might revolt them, and put all the little Criticks upon carping previouſly at the very Deſign and Character; which would appear by Degrees, and with the proper Preparations, in the Piece on the Stage. Another thing was a Thought of my Lord's, that it ſhould be printed before acting, a Day or two; for the Sentiments are ſo thick-ſown, and the Senſe ſo deep ſometimes, that they require more Attention and Thought than the Hearer may be apt to give on the firſt Repreſentation. I am not poſitive, either as to his, or my Thought, but ſub⯑mit them to your Conſideration.

I have nothing to add, but to lament our Unhappi⯑neſs, that we cannot ſee you perſonally to confirm what theſe Letters tell you, of our real Opinion of your Work, Eſteem of its Author, and Wiſhes for your Succeſs, in this, and every thing. I am,

LETTER XXVIII. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

THIS is quite a Letter of Buſineſs, and therefore excuſe it; I will not mix in it a Word of Af⯑fection, which I have not a Moment's time to ex⯑preſs, and will not prejudice the ſacred Idea of Friendſhip.

It is near a Month ago that I try'd to ſee Mr. Thomſon, to know the Time of his Tragedy: He was not within my Reach; and therefore at laſt I wrote to him, and alſo to Mr. M [...], to let them both know the Deference you paid them, and the heroic (I will not call it leſs) Diſintereſtedneſs you expreſs'd in regard to them. I have not yet been able to hear where they are, or any way to have an Anſwer fur⯑ther, than I have learn'd it will be impoſſible for ei⯑ther of them to bring on their Plays early (a Friend of theirs telling me they are in no Forwardneſs) till the Middle or End of the Winter; therefore you may have room. I wiſh from my Soul you may get yours firſt, as well acted as it deſerves. A better, that may eclipſe it, or even worthily follow it, I hardly expect to ſee.—But upon this Notice, I believe you may ſafely advance it, the ſooner the better.

My Lord B. is yet with me, more properly I yet belong to him, Body as well as Mind (for my Mind is every-where his). I would to God you had any Opportunity of ſeeing us before we part; my Houſe ſhould be yours, as much of it as is not his. I be⯑lieve I ſhall ſoon go with him on a little Journey be⯑fore he quits England. You'll forgive the abrupt Concluſion of this; yet it may tell you all the longeſt [36] and beſt-written Letter could tell you, that I am very ſincerely,

LETTER XXIX. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I HAVE been confirmed by Mr. Thomſon as to the Retardment of his Play, of which he has written but two Acts. I have ſince ſeen Mr. M [...], who has finiſhed his, but is very willing yours ſhould be firſt brought on, in January as you propoſe, or after his in February, whichſoever may be moſt agreeable to you. He farther offers any Aſſiſtance he can give you, in caſe of your own Abſence, as to treating with Mr. F [...] (with whom he thinks you can⯑not be too careful or explicit), or attending the Re⯑hearſals for you, which he promiſes to undertake with all Diligence, if you are not provided with another Friend in that Caſe. He has heard of ſome Imperti⯑nence, which may be apprehended from one Perſon's Refuſal or Unwillingneſs to act, and believes he can employ ſome proper Influence to bring him to a right Behaviour. Theſe, with any other Services in which you may pleaſe to employ him, he bids me aſſure you, it will be a high Satisfaction to him to engage in.

I muſt expreſs, on my own Part, a real Regret to be ſo little uſeful to you. I can do no more than join with Lord B. in paying due Praiſes to ſo merito⯑rious a Work; our Suffrage is an airy Tribute, from whence no ſolid Good redounds to you; and I find myſelf ſtill more inclined to the Man, than the Au⯑thor, if I could be any way inſtrumental to the Hap⯑pineſs [37] or Eaſe of ſo generous an one. I could almoſt wiſh myſelf a Miniſter to patronize ſuch a Genius, and I could almoſt wiſh my Lord one again, for no other Reaſon; even tho' his Country wants ſuch an one, as well as his Friends.

I have never once been able to ſee Mr. Thomſon in Perſon; when I do (and it ſhall be ſoon) he ſhall know how much he is obliged to you for that Plan of an Alteration of his Tragedy, which is too good for me, with any Honeſty, to put upon him as my own. Believe me, Sir, with great Truth, and the warmeſt Diſpoſition to do you Juſtice (before Men and Angels),

LETTER XXX. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I HAVE felt an Uneaſineſs of Mind (occaſioned by a conſcious Senſe, how unequally I have expreſs'd my Anger and Contempt, at the Treatment of your Caeſar by the Man of the Stage) ever ſince I laſt wrote to you; and a hundred Interruptions from Day to Day (for I have lived in the World, and a buſy and idle World both, it is) have ever ſince hindered me from enjoying one Hour of collected Thought. Yet I am the leſs concerned, ſince, by my Delay, I can now tell you I have laſt Night ſeen Mr. Mallet's Play, the fifth Act of which I had not before read, thro' thoſe Interruptions I have mention'd. It ſuc⯑ceeded (hitherto at leaſt; for Yeſterday was the firſt Day) as well as I could expect: But ſo vilely acted in the Womens Parts and the Mens (except two) that I wonder it could ſucceed. Mr. Thomſon, after many ſhameful Tricks from the Manager, is determined to act his Play at the other Theatre, where the Ad⯑vantage [38] lies as to the Women, and the Succeſs of his will depend upon them (I heartily wiſh you would follow his Example, that we might not be deprived of Caeſar). I have yet ſeen but three Acts of Mr. Thomſon's, but I am told, and believe by what I have ſeen, that it excels in the Pathetic. The Dignity of Sentiment, and Grandeur of Character, will ſtill be Caeſar's, as in his Hiſtory, ſo in your Poetry, ſupe⯑rior to any.

The Perſon to whom you intended ſo great a Com⯑pliment as to addreſs that Piece to his Name, is very ſenſible of your delicate Manner of Thinking: He bids me aſſure you, his own Knowledge of your In⯑tention is ſufficient Pleaſure to him, and deſires you would not think of doing him either Favour or Juſtice, till the World knows better how to do itſelf the for⯑mer, in doing you the latter. He is ſtill detained here by the Perverſeneſs of his Affairs; and wiſhes, as I moſt heartily do alſo, that Fortune did not treat you ſo much alike. The Stage is as ungrateful to you, as his Country to him: You are both ſure of Poſterity, and may ſay in the mean time with Scipio, Ingrata Patria, ne oſſa quidem habeas! Believe me moſt truly,

LETTER XXXI. From Mr. POPE, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I AM oblig'd to you for your Compliment, and can truly ſay, I never gave you juſt Cauſe of Complaint. You once miſtook on a Bookſeller's idle Report, and publickly expreſs'd your Miſtake; yet you miſtook a ſecond time, that two initial Let⯑ters, only, were meant of you, tho' every Letter in [39] the Alphabet was put in the ſame manner: And, in Truth (except ſome few), thoſe Letters were ſet at Random to occaſion what they did occaſion, the Su⯑ſpicion of bad and jealous Writers, of which Num⯑ber I could never reckon Mr. Hill. and moſt of whoſe Names I did not know.

Upon this Miſtake you were too ready to attack me, in a Paper of very pretty Verſes, in ſome publick Journal.—I ſhould imagine the Dunciad meant you a real Compliment, and ſo it has been thought by many, who have aſk'd, to whom that Paſſage made that oblique Panegyrick? As to the Notes, I am weary of telling a great Truth, which is, that I am not Author of 'em; tho' I love Truth ſo well, as fairly to tell you, Sir, I think even that Note a Com⯑mendation, and ſhould think myſelf not ill us'd to have the ſame Words ſaid of me: Therefore, believe me, I never was other than friendly to you, in my own Mind.

Have I not much more Reaſon to complain of The Caveat? Where give me Leave, Sir, to tell you, with the ſame Love of Truth, and with the Frank⯑neſs it inſpir'd (which, I hope, you will ſee, thro' this whole Letter), I am falſly abus'd, in being repre⯑ſented ‘"ſneakingly to approve, and want the Worth to cheriſh, or befriend Men of Merit."’ It is, indeed, Sir, a very great Error: I am ſorry the Author of that Reflection knew me no better, and happen'd to be unknown to thoſe who could have better inform'd him: For I have the Charity to think, he was miſled only by his Ignorance of me, and the Benevolence to forgive the worſt Thing that ever (in my Opinion) was ſaid of me, on that Suppoſition.

I do faithfully aſſure you, I never was angry at any Criticiſm, made on my Poetry, by whomſoever: If I could do Mr. Dennis any humane Office, I would, tho' I were ſure he would abuſe me perſonally To⯑morrow; therefore it is no great Merit in me, to [40] find, at my Heart, I am your Servant. I am very ſorry you ever was of another Opinion.—I ſee, by many Marks, you diſtinguiſh'd me from my cotem⯑porary Writers: Had we known one another, you had diſtinguiſh'd me from others, as a Man, and no ill, or ill-natur'd one. I only wiſh you knew, as well as I do, how much I prefer Qualities of the Heart to thoſe of the Head: I vow to God, I never thought any great Matters of my poetical Capacity; I only thought it a little better, comparatively, than that of ſome very mean Writers, who are too proud.—But, I do know certainly, my moral Life is ſuperior to that of moſt of the Wits of theſe Days. This is a ſilly Letter, but it will ſhew you my Mind honeſtly, and, I hope, convince you, I can be, and am,

LETTER XXXII. From Mr. HILL, To Mr. POPE.

YOUR Anſwer, regarding no Part of mine, but the Concluſion, you muſt pardon my Compli⯑ment to the Cloſe of yours, in return; if I agree with you, that your Letter is weaker, than one would have expected.

You aſſure me, that I did not know you ſo well, as I might, had I happened to be known to others, who could have inſtructed my Ignorance; and I begin to find, indeed, that I was leſs acquainted with you, than I imagined: But your laſt Letter has enlighten'd me, and I can never be in Danger of miſtaking you, for the future.

Your Enemies have often told me, that your Spleen was, at leaſt, as diſtinguiſhable, as your Genius: And it will be kinder, I think, to believe them, than impute to Rudeneſs, or ill Manners, the Return you were pleaſed to make, for the Civility, with which I addreſſed you.

I will, therefore, ſuppoſe you to have been peeviſh, or in Pain, while you were writing me this Letter: And, upon that Suppoſition, ſhall endeavour to un⯑deceive you.—If I did not love you, as a good Man, while I eſteem you, as a good Writer, I ſhould read you without Reflection: And it were doing too much Honour to your Friends, and too little to my own Diſcernment, to go to them for a Character of your Mind, which I was able enough to extract from your Writings.

But, to imitate your Love of Truth, with the Frankneſs you have taught me, I wiſh the Great Qualities of your Heart were as ſtrong in you as the Good ones: You would then have been above that Emotion and Bitterneſs, wherewith you remember [42] Things which want Weight to deſerve your An⯑guiſh.

Since you were not the Writer of the Notes to the Dunciad, it would be impertinent to trouble you with the Complaint I intended:—I will only obſerve, that the Author was in the Right, to believe me ca⯑pable of a ſecond Repentance; but, I hope, I was incapable of that ſecond Sin, which ſhould have been previous to his Suppoſition.—If the initial Let⯑ters A. H. were not meant to ſtand for my Name, yet, they were, every-where, read ſo, as you might have ſeen in Miſt's Journal, and other publick Pa⯑pers; and I had ſhewn Mr. Pope an Example, how reaſonable I thought it to clear a Miſtake, publickly, which had been publickly propagated.—One Note, among ſo many, would have done me this Juſtice: And the Generoſity of ſuch a Proceeding could have left no Room, for that offenſive Sneakingly, which, though, perhaps, too harſh a Word, was the pro⯑pereſt a Man could chuſe, who was ſatirizing an Approbation, that he had never obſerved warm enough to declare itſelf to the World, but in De⯑fence of the Great, or the Popular.

Again, if the Author of the Notes knew, that A. H. related not to me, what Reaſon had he to al⯑lude to that Character, as mine, by obſerving, that I had publiſhed Pieces bordering upon Bombaſt—A Circumſtance ſo independent on any other Purpoſe of the Note, that I ſhould forget to whom I am writing, if I thought it wanted Explanation.

As to your oblique Panegyrick, I am not under ſo blind an Attachment to the Goddeſs I was devoted to in the Dunciad, but that I knew it was a Com⯑mendation; tho' a dirtier one than I wiſhed for; who am, neither fond of ſome of the Company, in which I was liſted—the noble Reward, for which I was to become a Diver;—the allegoric Muddineſs, in which I was to try my Skill;—nor the Inſtitutor [43] of the Games, you were ſo kind to allow me a Share in.

Since, however, you could ſee, ſo clearly, that I ought to be ſatisfied with the Praiſe, and forgive the Dirt it was mixed with, I am ſorry, it ſeemed not as reaſonable, that you ſhould pardon me for return⯑ing your Compliment, with more, and opener, Praiſe, mixed with leſs of that Dirtineſs, which we have, both, the good Taſte to complain of.

The Caveat, Sir, was mine.—It would have been ridiculous to ſuppoſe you ignorant of it: I cannot think, you need be told, that it meant you no Harm;—and it had ſcorn'd to appear under the bor⯑row'd Name, it carries, but that the whimſical Turn of the Preface, would have made my own a Contra⯑diction.—I promiſe you, however, that, for the fu⯑ture, I will publiſh nothing, without my Name, that concerns you, or your Writings. I have, now, almoſt finiſhed, An Eſſay on Propriety, and Impro⯑priety, in Deſign, Thought, and Expreſſion, illuſtrated, by Examples, in both Kinds, from the Writings of Mr. Pope; and, to convince you how much more Pleaſure it gives me, to diſtinguiſh your Lights, than your Shades;—and that I am as willing as I ought to be, to ſee, and acknowledge my Faults; I am ready, with all my Heart, to let it run thus, if it would, otherwiſe, create the leaſt Pain in you:—An Eſſay on Propriety, and Impropriety, &c. illuſtrated by Ex⯑amples, of the firſt, from the Writings of Mr. Pope, and of the laſt, from thoſe of the Author.

I am ſorry to hear you ſay, you never thought any great Matters of your Poetry.—It is, in my Opinion, the Characteriſtic you are to hope your Diſtinction from: To be Honeſt is the Duty of every plain Man! Nor, ſince the Soul of Poetry is Sentiment, can a Great Poet want Morality. But your Honeſty you poſſeſs in common with a Million, who will never be [44] remembered; whereas your Poetry is a Peculiar, that will make it impoſſible, you ſhould be forgotten.

If you had not been in the Spleen, when you wrote me this Letter, I perſuade myſelf, you would not, immediately after cenſuring the Pride of Writers, have aſſerted, that you, certainly, know your moral Life, above that of moſt of the Wits of theſe Days: At any other Time, you would have remembered, that Humility is a moral Virtue. It was a bold De⯑claration; and the Certainty with which you know it, ſtands in need of a better Acquaintance than you ſeem to have had with the Tribe; ſince you tell me, in the ſame Letter, that many of their Names were unknown to you.

Neither would it appear, to your own Reaſon, at a cooler Juncture, over-conſiſtent with the Morality you are ſo ſure of, to ſcatter the Letters of the whole Alphabet, annexed, at Random, to Characters of a light and ridiculous Caſt, confuſedly, with Intent to provoke jealous Writers, into Reſentment, that you might take Occaſion, from that Reſentment, to ex⯑poſe and depreciate their Characters.

The Services, you tell me, you would do Mr. Dennis, even tho' he ſhould abuſe you, in Return, will, I hope, give him ſome Title to expect an Exertion of your recommendatory Influence in his Behalf: A Man, ſo popular, as you, might ſecure him a great Subſcription: This would merit to be called a Service; and, the more the World ſhould find you abuſed in the Works you had recommended, ſo much the more glorious Proof would they ſee, that your Morals were, in Truth, as ſuperior, as you repreſent them, to thoſe of your Cotempora⯑ries. Tho' you will pardon me the Pride of won⯑dering, a little, how this Declaration came to be made to me, whoſe Condition not ſtanding in need of ſuch Services, it was not, I think, ſo neceſſary, [45] you ſhould have taken the Trouble to talk of them.

Upon the Whole, Sir, I find, I am ſo ſincerely your Friend, that it is not, in your own Power, to make me your Enemy: Elſe, that unneceſſary Air, of Neglect, and Superiority, which is ſo remarkable, in the Turn of your Letter, would have nettled me to the Quick; and I muſt triumph, in my Turn, at the Strength of my own Heart, who can, after it, ſtill find, and profeſs myſelf, moſt affectionately and ſincerely,

LETTER XXXIII. From Mr. HILL, To Mr. POPE.

I AM oblig'd to you for your Letter from Parſons Green, and come heartily into the Propoſal, it begins with: A mutual Reſolution to forget in each other, the Appearance of every Thing, that has been diſtaſteful to either, agrees, I am ſure, with the Af⯑fection, I feel for you, at my Heart, where it is founded on a natural Strength, both of Reaſon, and Inclination.

The Caveat began, originally, with the Viſion: I added not, till after it was finiſh'd, thoſe Lines, among which are the unlucky Ones, that diſpleas'd you. I was ſcarful, leſt, without ſomething of that kind, by way of Introduction, the Reader might think himſelf puſh'd, too abruptly, into the Alle⯑gory: But, I confeſs, it was unreaſonable in me to cover your Praiſe, which I delighted in, under the Veil of an Allegory; and explain my Cenſure, too openly, in which I could take no Pleaſure.

The Truth is, I lov'd you ſo well, and thought of you ſo often, that it was not eaſy for me, in any [46] Humour, to write Verſe, and not dwell upon you.—Have you never been jealous of a favourite Miſtreſs?—Have you never, under a Pique, at her ſuppos'd Neglect, ſaid, what ſhe could no more deſerve, than you could think ſhe did, upon cooler Reflection?—And have you not found, after all, that you was never the leſs her Lover?

Your Offer is very kind, to prevail on the Editor of the Dunciad, to leave out the Note, or declare, that I was not meant in it; But I am ſatisfied:—It is over;—and deſerves no more of your Appli⯑cation.

I agree with you, It is Morality makes us belov'd: I know it, from the Effect of your Writings; where I but admire the Harmony, and the Elegance, while I love the Generoſity, and the Candor of the Senti⯑ments. I prefer too, as you do, Friendſhips, and the honeſt Enjoyments of Life, to Fame, and noiſy Praiſes; but I am glad you are happier, than you wiſh to be, who enjoy both Benefits, together.

Yet, if there was nothing deſirable in Fame, there could be nothing deteſtable in Slander; and your honeſt Uneaſineſs, at being thought worſe than you are, would, in that Caſe, be in Danger of paſſing for a Weakneſs.

I know, however, that you conſider Praiſe in a nobler Light than Vanity.—There is, in Fame, the Promulgation of a good Man's Example, which his natural Life being too ſhort to extend ſo far as he wiſhes, That Defect is ſupplied by the ſecond Life, he receives, from his Memory.

I have ſeen, and been aſham'd of that low Turn, which Mr. Dennis gave, to your Good-nature.—Where a Man's Paſſions are too ſtrong for his Vir⯑tues, his Suſpicion will be too hard for his Prudence: He has often been weak enough to treat you in a Manner that moves too much Indignation againſt Himſelf, not to leave it unneceſſary for you, alſo, to [47] puniſh him.—Neither of us would chuſe him for a Friend; but none of the Frailties of his Temper, any more than the heavy Formalities of his Style, can pre⯑vent your acknowledging, there is often Weight, in his Arguments; and Matter, that deſerves Encourage⯑ment, to be met with, in his Writings.

I will ſoon, Sir, convince you, that my Senſibility is not ſo tender, as you ſuppoſe it to be: I am ſo far from an Inclination to defend ſome Pieces, which I was too much a Boy, when I publiſh'd, that I em⯑brace all Occaſions of expoſing 'em, myſelf, to the Contempt they have merited.

I am already too much oblig'd, not to bluſh at your Mention of the Odyſſey, with a View of ſending it to my Daughter; and She is too inquifitive a Lover of what gives her Inſtruction with Delight, to have been ſatisfied without finding, in her Cloſet, whatever ſhe had heard you had publiſh'd.

As a Proof, how determin'd I am, to throw no⯑thing upon the World, that may give you Cauſe of Complaint, I will ſend you, in Manuſcript, the Eſſay on Propriety, as ſoon as it is finiſh'd: I do the ſame, now, by a ſmaller Piece, I am about to publiſh, be⯑cauſe you will find yourſelf concern'd in ſome Part of it.—I am, Sir, with great Truth,

LETTER XXXIV. From Mr. HILL, To Mr. POPE.

THE Pleaſure, I was ſure to receive with your Letter, brought an unexpected Chagrin in its Company, from a Vein of civil Reproach, that runs thro' it; which I can better diſcern, than account for; ſince I muſt not ſuſpect, without wronging my [48] Ideas of your Equity, that you could be diſpleas'd at the Freedom I took in my Sentiments. If I believ'd they had given you the ſmalleſt Offence, I would ra⯑ther commit my Eſſay, in its preſent rough State, to the Flames, than tranſcribe it, either for yourſelf, or the Publick.

Indeed it was with a kind of foreboding Reluctance that I cenſur'd any Paſſage of yours; and to confeſs the Truth, frankly, I had only one Reaſon for doing it. After I had convinc'd myſelf, thoroughly, that Propriety, in ſome of the Lights I was conſidering it under, had been univerſally neglected, in Poetry, I foreſaw, it would be impoſſible to eſtabliſh the Belief of a Fact ſo unlikely, without citing the ſtrongeſt Examples:—To do this, from the Works of our dead Authors only, carry'd the Face of a Meanneſs, I could not tell how to ſubmit to.—To draw formal Citations from any Pieces that had appear'd of my own (tho' full enough, God knows, of Abſurdities, to have furniſh'd more Proofs than I wanted), would have look'd too aſſuming, and ſilly:—To borrow ſuch Inſtances out of other, leſs faulty, Cotemporaries, not however reputed among the ſparkling great Lumi⯑naries of Wit, would have induc'd a miſtaken Con⯑cluſion, that, in the Works of more maſterly Writers, there were no ſuch Examples to be met with.—And now,—Is there a good Judge in England (except one) who will not ſee, and acknowledge, the Neceſſity that threw me, unavoidably, upon your Writings?

However, I am glad, at my Heart, it was Dr. A [...]t who made that Collection you mention; for I am almoſt unwilling to be found in the Right, when I diſapprove what your Name has been ſtamp'd on; yet your own honeſt Argument (that it is not enough to excuſe a Reporter of Falſhoods, that he was told, and believ'd, what he publiſh'd) muſt defend me againſt its Advancer: For neither is it a ſufficient Excuſe, that a Writer, whoſe Name, in the Front of [49] a Book, has given Weight to the Cenſures it propa⯑gates, was not Author of ſome of thoſe Cenſures; ſince whatever a Man ſets his Hand to, he ought, firſt, to examine the Truth of.

I am charm'd, while I hear you diſclaim that Pro⯑penſity to Pique and Contempt, which, to ſpeak with the Soul of a Friend, ſeems, to me, the only Spot on your Character.—We are, All of us, in ſome Lights, or other, the Dupes of our natural Frailties: And when Mr. Pope, with the Warmth that becomes a great Mind, tells me how far he is from deſpiſing De⯑fects in Men's Genius,—never feeling any Contempt but for the Dirt of their Actions; I am ſure he ſays nothing but what he firmly believes to be true. And yet there are Pieces, well known to be his, many Paſſages whereof no Man, leſs appris'd than himſelf of his Heart's ſecret Views and Intentions, can read, without being ſtrongly convinc'd of a Scorn, that re⯑gards Genius only: Tho', if he loves you but half ſo ſincerely as I do, you have no ſooner diſavow'd the Deſign, than he concludes, the Imputation was groundleſs.

In the mean Time, 'tis Pity that a Thinker, ſo humane and benevolent, ſhould indulge an Ambi⯑guity, in the Turn of his Expreſſion, that ſcatters Gall, which his Heart never licens'd; ſince I believe it a general Truth, that Men, of the openeſt and ho⯑neſteſt Natures, ſooner catch Fire at Contempt, than Oppreſſion.—And, as to any Dirtineſs in Actions which take Birth from Effect of ſuch Influence, we may conclude, from thoſe irreſiſtible little Sallies of Fury, whereby, even among undeſigning and innocent Infants, we ſee Brother precipitated into Outrage againſt Brother, immediately upon any cold Provo⯑cation of Scorn, that there is nothing immoral in what may be done, or declar'd, too offenſively, under Impreſſions ſo violent, ſo involuntary, and natural.

[50] After all this grave Face of Apology, I am an ab⯑ſolute Stranger to the Grounds upon which thoſe Men, you refer to, proceeded.—Nay, I am ſo, for the moſt part, even to the Meaſures by which they provok'd you: All the Reaſon, indeed, that I have for giving you any of my Thoughts on the Subject, is deriv'd from your own ſtarting into it (a little di⯑greſſively) immediately after hinting ſome Occaſions you had to lament, that I knew you leſs juſtly, as a Man, than a Poet.—I will appeal to impartial Poſte⯑rity, whether I do not know you much better, in both Lights, than ten thouſand of thoſe pretending Eſteemers, of whoſe Affection you think yourſelf ſurer. It will never be in my Will, nor my Power, to tranſmit ſuch a Picture, as yours, without its beſt, and moſt beautiful Likeneſs: I ſhall leave to duller Dutch Painters in Criticiſm, their unenvied Delight, to draw Monſters. And know very well, for my own Part, that I ſhould but diſgrace the deſir'd Reputation of my Pencil, if I miſs'd the Reſemblance, too widely, in a Piece which muſt expect to be compar'd with Originals of the ſame, by many different Maſters.

Tho' I acquit you of any further Alluſion to me, than by that retroſpect Glance, en paſſant, I have, affectionately, caught the Occaſion of pointing out, to one of the leaſt intentionally guilty among Men, a ſeeming Tartneſs of Spirit in himſelf, which he will eaſily find, when he looks for; and which, whenever he does find, and guard againſt, by ſubmitting his Wit to his Philoſophy, he will become the moſt un⯑natural good Man in the World; for he will leave himſelf not a Fault, to be blam'd for!

As to myſelf, who was born to mix Sin with Re⯑pentance, I plead guilty to all ſuch Indictments as you, in that Place, preſent to my Memory.—I was always too perceptibly quick, in my Apprehenſion of Contempts, or Indignities:—A Temper, which would have been as unpardonable, as I confeſs it to be weak, [51] and ſelf-mortifying; but that the Fault, tho' of too ſwelling a Nature, leaves no Voids for Admiſſion of Malice.—It is an offenſive, indeed, but reconcileable Imbecillity of Mind: Shakeſpear felt, and underſtood it, very finely.

Yet I will endeavour to redreſs this wrong Bent in my Temper, and make Way for the Rectification you are ſo good as to ſhew me my WANT OF.—And thus, in the Commerce of Friendſhip, as in Traffick, leſs generous, there is offer'd a mutual Exchange of Advantages:—Something, always, to give and to gain: And this makes both Sides more rich, and more ſatisfy'd.—What a Loſs, then, have unſocial and vain Diſpoſitions, which, by a ſullen Secluſion from theſe Rights of Reproof, and Plain-dealing, cut off all the kind Uſe of Correction!—Human Nature, let it be as ſuſceptible of Grace as it can, never yet wanted Pride enough to make Mortifications, of this Kind, a Requiſite. Far from hating our Friends for a little faithful, tho' unwelcome, Aſperity, let us think him, of all Men, unhappieſt, who has never been bleſs'd with an Enemy.

And now, let me aſk you (with a Tranſition very faſhionably abrupt and uncritical)—How is your good and great Friend, Lord B [...], to be reach'd?—You will ſcarce think I mean,—to be emulated! Ours is an Age that expoſes ſuch an old-faſhion'd Po⯑litician, as HE is, to any Fear, ſooner than that of a Rival. I have a Packet to ſend him, a little too large for the Poſt. It is a manuſcript Piece, which I purpoſe to dedicate to him, when publiſh'd. But it would be Prudence, and Decency, as Affairs ſtand at preſent, to wait his Permiſſion, after reading it: Not that there is any thing nice, or exceptionable, in the [52] Subject; and, I am ſure, I have no need to add, tho' I ſpeak of a Dedication, that mine has no Views like a modern one. If you will be ſo kind as to think how it may reach my Lord's Hands, I ſhall, in a few Days, ſend it open, to yours; begging you, firſt, to peruſe, and then give it a Seal, and a Forwarding. If you will have the Goodneſs to authorize ſuch a Trouble, pleaſe to do it under a Direction, like your laſt, to

LETTER XXXV. From Mr. HILL, To Mr. POPE.

IT is Time to relieve you from Subjects, and Lengths, like my laſt; yet you will hardly ſuſpect ſuch a Blindneſs, in my bad Underſtanding, as to think, I diſtinguiſh not the true Caſt of ſome Colours which you need not have held quite ſo near me.—Notwithſtanding all which, if I had not more Cauſe to diſtruſt it, on your Side, than my own, I ſhould flatter myſelf, we were born to be Lovers; we are ſo often, and ſo unaccountably, miſtaking one another into Re⯑ſerves, and Reſentments! Yet I am ſorry, whenever this happens, becauſe the moſt loſt Time, in Mens Lives, is that which they waſte in Expoſtulation. They, who are Friends, find it ſelfiſh, and diffident—and between Enemies 'tis inflaming, and fruitleſs.

Indeed there would be no End of ſuch—what muſt I call 'em?—Eclairciſſements is an affected French Word, and I am heartily ſorry I want it.—In plain Truth, and Engliſh, I always did, and I ſtill do, moſt affectionately eſteem you, both as Man, and as Poet: And if now-and-then, for a Start, I have been put [53] out of Humour with either, I would fain have you think, it was no leſs your own Fault, than mine: At leaſt, I am ſure, I believ'd ſo. And if, whenever you ſuppos'd me to have acted inconſiſtently with my⯑ſelf, on that Principle, you had only been ſo kind, as to have declar'd why you thought ſo, I would openly, and immediately, either have demonſtrated the Miſ⯑take to be yours, or confeſs'd, and abhorr'd, my own Error.—I will always ſtand bound to give, if not a rational, yet a moral, Account of my Actions: Not alone, as they regard Mr. Pope, but Men, in the re⯑moteſt Situation below him: And whoever (let him be accus'd, either by Miſapprehenſion or Calumny) would decline ſuch a Teſt of his Conduct in Life, is ſo far from being worthy your Friendſhip, that he is a Stranger to both Spirit and Honeſty.

Here, then, let us reſt this Debate; and either re⯑ſolve to let fall an unconfiding, and cold Correſpond⯑ence, or much rather agree (if you pleaſe) to under⯑ſtand one another better, for the future.—As to my own Part, I never will—I never did—diſoblige you, unprovok'd. And if, how unkindly ſoever impell'd, I write or do any thing unbecoming the Occaſion—Think of me, as I would of your Enemies.

In the mean time, let even the little Trouble, you have ſo kindly allow'd me to give you, in the In⯑clos'd, be receiv'd as ſome Proof that I know, and reſpect, at my Heart, your double Claim, both in Morals and Genius. For you know me, I am ſure, much leſs juſtly, if you can imagine me capable of correſponding, with an Air of Good-will, where I wanted a perſonal Attachment; or of begging, as I now very earneſtly do (upon any Inducement, but the high Senſe I have of your Skill), your frank and friendly Inſpection of the Tragedy. It would charm me, to have the Benefit of your Hand, or your Hints, before it appears on the Theatre.

[54] As to my Eſſay on Propriety, you have obligingly convinc'd me, I may lay it before you, without Pain: Indeed, if I had made it unfit for your Eye, the World would have been ſtill leſs likely to ſee it: I ſhall punctually obey your Command, neither to omit, nor to ſoften, in the Tranſcript: It is an Injunction I may ſafely comply with, ſince, if I have any thing to value myſelf upon in this Tract, it is from the Proofs, you will find it abound in, that ſome of your moſt re⯑tir'd, and moſt delicate Touches, have been, chiefly, the Search and the Subject of,

LETTER XXXVI. From Mr. THOMSON, To AARON HILL, Eſq

HAVING ſeen a Letter you wrote to my Friend Mr. Mallet, on Saturday laſt, tho' I cannot boaſt the Honour and Happineſs of your Ac⯑quaintance, and ought with the utmoſt Deference and Veneration to approach ſo ſupreme a Genius; yet my full Heart is not to be repreſs'd by Forma⯑lities; and you muſt allow me the Pleaſure of pour⯑ing forth my beſt Acknowledgments.

I will not affect a moderate Joy at your Appro⯑bation, your Praiſe: It pleaſes, it delights, it raviſhes me! Forgive me for the Lowneſs of the Truth, when I vow, I'd rather have it than the Acclama⯑tions of Thouſands: 'Tis ſo ſincere, ſo delicate, ſo diſtinguiſhing, ſo glowing, and, what peculiarly marks and endears it, ſo beautifully generous.

That great Mind, and tranſcendent Humanity, that appear in the Teſtimony you have been pleas'd to give my firſt Attempt, would have utterly con⯑founded me, if I had not been prepar'd for ſuch an Entertainment, by your well-known Character; which the Voice of Fame, and your own maſterly Writings, loudly proclaim.

It would both be diſingenuous, and rudely unjuſt, in me, after what you have obſerv'd, to diſſemble my Satisfaction at ſeveral Paſſages in the Poem: This let me ſay, that your Reflections have enter'd into the very Soul of my Purpoſe, and, even to myſelf, caſt a Light over the Whole.

How rare, how happy, is it to find a Judge whoſe diſcerning Goodneſs overlooks the Faults of what is [56] well meant, at the ſame Time that his fine enthuſi⯑aſtic Taſte improves the Beauties!

To you, alone, it belongs, to write ſo inimitably, and to read ſo indulgently.

If I wrote all that my Admiration of your Per⯑fections, and my Gratitude, dictate, I ſhould never have done; but, left I tire you, I'll for the preſent rather put a Violence on myſelf: Only let me che⯑riſh one Hope further—of being, ſome time or other, admitted into the moſt inſtructive and entertaining Company in the World. I am, with the greateſt Devotion,

LETTER XXXVII. From Mr. THOMSON, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I Receiv'd yours with a Soul awaken'd all to Joy, Gratitude, and Ambition. There is ſuch a noble Excellence of Mind, ſo much uncommon Goodneſs, and Generoſity of Heart, in every thing you ſay, as at once charms and aſtoniſhes me.

As you think, imagine, and write, with a diviner Warmth, ſuperior to the reſt of Mankind; ſo the very Praiſes, you beſtow, bear the Stamp of Emi⯑nence, and reflect ſtronger on yourſelf.

While I meditate your encouraging Lines, for a while, I forget the Selfiſhneſs, Degeneracy, and Cruelty of Men, and ſeem to be aſſociated with better and more exalted Beings.

The Social Love, of which you are ſo bright an Example, tho' it be the diſtinguiſhing Ornament of Humanity, yet there are ſome ill-natur'd enough to [57] degrade it into a Modification of Self-love, according to them, its Original.

Thoſe Gentlemen, I am afraid, mingle their Tempers too much with their Speculations.

Self-love is, indeed, indiſpenſably neceſſary for the Well-being of every Individual, but carries not along with it an Idea of moral Beauty and Perfection; whereas Social Love is of quite another Nature; the juſt and free Exerciſe of which, in a particular man⯑ner, renders one amiable, and divine. The accom⯑pliſh'd Man I admire, the honeſt Man I truſt; but 'tis only the truly-generous Man I intirely love. Hu⯑manity is the very Smile and Conſummation of Vir⯑tue; 'tis the Image of that fair Perfection, in the Su⯑preme Being, which, while he was infinitely happy in himſelf, mov'd him to create a World of Beings to make them ſo.

The Excellent ones of the Earth, in the Exerciſe of Social Love, feel it as much to be an original Im⯑pulſe, as the low World that blind Affection, they bear themſelves; nor are they, in the leaſt, conſcious of that forc'd, cold Reaſoning, by which it is deduc'd from ſo mean an Original.

How many deathleſs Heroes, Patriots, and Mar⯑tyrs, have been ſo gloriouſly concern'd for the Good of Mankind, and ſo ſtrongly actuated by Social Love, as frequently to act in direct Contradiction to that of Self?

A great many more Arguments might be adduced to prove, that Social Love is a nobler, independent Principle, by itſelf, were not the ſecret Senſe, that every good Man has of the Matter, inſtead of a thouſand.

Your Writings, while they glow with innumerable Inſtances of ſtrong Thinking, and ſublime Imagina⯑tion, are peculiarly mark'd with this beautiful Bene⯑volence of Mind; and 'tis that which, at this time, has awaken'd, in me, theſe Reflections.

[58] I am raviſh'd with the Hope, you give me, of your nearer Acquaintance; and that it ſhould ever prove unprofitable, is as impoſſible, as that it ſhould not be, in the higheſt Degree, delightful to,

LETTER XXXVIII. From Mr. THOMSON, To AARON HILL, Eſq

WHEN I reflect how truly happy I was, Yeſterday, in your Company, it is impoſ⯑ſible for me to reſtrain my Senſe of it, from breaking out into this Acknowledgment.

There is, in your Converſation, ſuch a Beauty, Truth, Force, and Elegance of Thought, and Ex⯑preſſion; ſuch animated, fine Senſe, and chaſtis'd Fancy; ſo much Dignity and Condeſcenſion, Subli⯑mity and Sweetneſs; in a Word, ſuch a Variety of Entertainment and Inſtruction, as is beyond all Ad⯑miration.

Your Smiles have all the encouraging Power of Humanity in them: What one ſays, is receiv'd with great Taſte, and Indulgence; and to liſten to you, gives one a ſecret, and more raviſhing Pleaſure, than to be Author of the beſt Things in other Company.

There is downright Inſpiration in your Society: It enlarges and exalts all the Powers of the Soul, chaſes every low Thought, throws the Paſſions into the moſt agreeable Agitations, and gives the Heart the moſt affecting Sentiments—'Tis moral Harmony!

It gives me an additional Pleaſure, to reflect how juſtly pleas'd, too, Mr. Savage was.

[59] Nothing is, to me, a ſtronger Inſtance of the un⯑improvable Nature of that unhappy Creature of whom you ſpeak ſo compaſſionately, notwithſtanding of the barbarous Provocation he has given you, than his re⯑maining bleak, and wither'd, under the Influences of your Converſation—a certain Sign of a Field that the Lord has curs'd.

There is none that renders human Nature more amiable than you; and, at the ſame time, none that renders the greateſt Part of it more contemptible: And to deſcend from your Company, and mingle with the Herd of Mankind, is like Nebuchadnezzar's deſcending from a Throne, to graze with the Beaſts of the Field.

Now I feaſt on Reflection—and am like a poor Man, that has brought as much from a rich Enter⯑tainment with him, as muſt ſuſtain him for many Days afterwards.

What charms and amuſes me, in a particular Manner, is, the Account you gave us of that little Seraph, the young Urania! Her elegant Turn of Mind; her Innocence, and Goodneſs, in the Choice of her Subjects; her Fancy, Judgment, and Ambi⯑tion, above her Years; and the beautiful Struggle of the laſt ('tis unfair to call it Vanity), occaſion'd by the rude Stupidity of the School-Boy, are moſt agree⯑ably ſurpriſing.

What you, obligingly, obſerv'd of good Com⯑pany's being Arioſto's Fountain of Thirſt, is remark⯑ably true of yours—I ſhall long impatiently for the farther Refreſhment of it, and am, with the moſt intire Regard,

LETTER XXXIX. From Mr. THOMSON, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I HOPE that your uncommon Goodneſs will forgive me, what I ſcarcely can forgive myſelf, my not having, hitherto, anſwer'd the laſt encou⯑raging Letter, and Copy of Verſes, you honour'd me with.

The Approbation which, out of the Fulneſs of a beneficent Heart, you are pleas'd to give me, I am fond and ambitious of, next to that of Heaven: 'Tis my beſt Reward for what I have done, and a noble Incitement to go on. When you approve, my whole Soul is awak'd, and charm'd.

Pleaſing is your Praiſe, but ſevere is your Satire: 'Tis particularly mark'd with exalted Sentiment, and generous Contempt. There is a Force in it, that ſtrikes thro' the Heart; and a Majeſty, not to be ex⯑preſs'd. In a Word, it is the unaffected Reſentment of a great Mind.

It is impoſſible for me, in the Compaſs of this Let⯑ter, to ſay how much I admire every particular Line; yet 'tis as impoſſible for me to reſtrain myſelf from dwelling on ſome.

I feel the firſt Line, too ſenſibly; and the laſt finely inſinuates the Abſurdity of vulgar and hereditary Greatneſs.

Your ſinking of the Lord's unlaſting Name in the Depth of Time, is pleaſingly and nobly juſt: Sir John Falſtaff ſunk not with greater Alacrity, in a literal Senſe, than they and all their Fopperies do in a meta⯑phorical.

[61] I never read any thing more glorious, than the four following Lines.

They are the moſt divine Triumph of Merit, and Virtue, that was ever writ. The beſt way of diſ⯑playing all their Beauties is, to read them a thouſand and a thouſand Times over.

Your Deſcription of the Court-haunting, Wink⯑obſerving Bard, is ſo natural, that, if I am not miſ⯑taken, it may be found a Picture of ſome living Ori⯑ginals.

The laſt Paragraph is very ſtrongly and delicately wrought off; but ſo favourable to me, as obliges me to ſuppreſs all Sentiments, ſave ſuch as flow from Gratitude; with which my Heart is as full, as yours is with Goodneſs and Perfection.

You have given me Fame; and what have I to return you, but the Acknowledgment of a grateful Soul?

How powerfully was I charm'd with the four Acts of Elfrid, you were ſo condeſcendingly good as to read us! There is in them ſuch a rich Aſſemblage of all the Excellencies of the beſt Poetry, as is not any⯑where to be found. I never met, before, with ſuch a Force, and Dignity of Paſſion. My Heart trembles, yet, when I reflect. But I will not cramp my Ad⯑miration into the ſmall Space this Letter allows.

Mr. Mallet is now gone into the Country, where he juſtly expects to be vaſtly entertain'd, and in⯑ſtructed, by your Correſpondence. I have been ſome⯑what melancholy ſince his Departure, touch'd with [62] theſe penſive Emotions, parting with ſuch a Friend gives.

I go, on Saturday next, to reſide at Mr. Watts's Academy in Little Tower-ſtreet, in Quality of Tutor to a young Gentleman there.

Since you have been pleas'd to raiſe me, in ſome meaſure, to the new Life of your Favour, let me never fall from it, but frequently be allow'd the Ho⯑nour of ſubſcribing myſelf, dear Sir,

LETTER XL. From Mr. THOMSON, To AARON HILL, Eſq

MR. Bowman, and I, are at Long's Coffee houſe, in Queen's Square, Weſtminſter; and, if it be conſiſtent with your Conveniency, would be glad to attend the Honour, and Happineſs, of your Company, as you ſhall be pleas'd to direct. Mr. Mallet left with me, what they call a Spaniſh Cheeſe, which he begs you to accept of. At laſt, I have been with the Speaker, this Morning; but would rather give you an Account of my Reception by Word of Mouth. We beg Pardon for this Freedom, which the delight⯑ful Proſpect of your Company irreſiſtibly tempts us to. I am, Sir, with the deepeſt Reſpect,

LETTER XLI. From Mr. THOMSON, To AARON HILL, Eſq

ENcourag'd by that moſt divine of all Virtues, your charming Goodneſs, I frequently, you ſee, take the Liberty to addreſs you.

On Saturday laſt I wrote to you, from a Coffee-houſe in Weſtminſter, but had the Misfortune to hear you were gone out, only Half an Hour, before the Letter was ſent.

Flattering myſelf, then, with ſome Hopes of your Company, I did not mention a Copy of Verſes I re⯑ceiv'd, on Friday laſt, from Mr. Mallet, to be pre⯑fix'd to the Second Edition of Winter; and which I ſend you inclos'd. That you ſhould read them, was his particular Deſire, in the following Terms:—‘"Offer my Verſes to Mr. Hill's Peruſal, and tell him, that I will not determine their Fate, till I firſt learn his Opinion of them: For I know him too nobly ſincere, to indulge my Vanity, at the Expence of your Credit. Say, likewiſe, that I will ſhortly venture to make uſe of that Permiſſion he ſo ge⯑nerouſly granted me, of writing to him, as often as my Fear of becoming troubleſome will let me."—’ All that I ſhall obſerve concerning them, to ſuch a finiſh'd Judge as you are, is, that their only glo⯑rious Fault, if they have any, is, an Exceſs of that beautiful Benevolence of Mind, which, among a thouſand other Things, make you and him ſo greatly amiable.

I hinted to you in my laſt, that, on Saturday Morning, I was with Sir Spencer Compton. A certain Gentleman, without my Deſire, ſpoke to him con⯑cerning me; his Anſwer was, that I had never come near him: Then the Gentleman put the Queſtion, if he deſir'd that I ſhould wait on him; he return'd, he [64] did: On this, the Gentleman gave me an introductory Letter to him. He receiv'd me in what they com⯑monly call a civil Manner, aſk'd me ſome Common⯑place Queſtions, and made me a Preſent of Twenty Guineas. I am very ready to own, that the Preſent was larger than my Performance deſerv'd; and ſhall aſcribe it to his Generoſity, or any other Cauſe, ra⯑ther than the Merit of the Addreſs.

As the Caſe now is, one of your infinite Delicacy will be the beſt Judge, whether it will be proper to print theſe two inimitable Copies of Verſes I have from you, and Mr. Mallet, without ſuch little Alter⯑ations as ſhall clear Sir Spencer of that beſt Satire I ever read. I ſhall ſay no more on that Head; for if there be any Reaſons for ſuch Alterations, you will, of Neceſſity, at one Glance, ſee them in the ſtrongeſt and fineſt Light. Only this let me add, ſhould you find that the Caſe requir'd ſome ſmall Alterations, and yet not indulge me with them, I ſhall reckon what my Patron gave me, a fatal Preſent.—'Tis a Thought too ſhocking to be born—to loſe the Ap⯑plauſe of the great Genius of the Age, my Charter of Fame! for—I will not name it!—But you are too good to plague me ſo ſeverely.—I expect this Favour from Mr. Mallet, next Poſt.

When you honour me with an Anſwer, for which I ſhall be anxious, pleaſe to direct for me at Mr. Watts's Academy, in Little Tower-ſtreet. I am, dear Sir, with the moſt hearty Reſpect,

LETTER XLII. From Mr. THOMSON, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I HAVE been, for ſome Days laſt paſt, in the Country, elſe the inclos'd Sheets, to which you yourſelf have given the greateſt Sanction and Value, ſhould have waited on you ere now.

It was your Approbation that gave me, formerly, an equally juſt and noble Satisfaction; and the Con⯑tinuance of it is my inviolable Ambition.

Since I put you to the Trouble of altering your Verſes, I ought to give you an Account why Mr. Mallet's were not alter'd, likewiſe.—The Truth is, he promis'd me to alter them, as I wrote to you; but, in a following Letter, told me, that, after ſe⯑veral Attempts, he found it abſolutely out of his Power; and, rather than loſe them, I reſolv'd to print them, as they at firſt were. To this Reſolution your laſt favourable Letter, in a great meaſure, rais'd me: And who, that has a Soul in him, could forbear to follow the Advice you give me, in thoſe generous Lines?

I wiſh, that the Declaration, from my Heart, with regard to you, in the Preface, may not be diſagreeable. Theſe Sentiments I could not ſuppreſs; and they are but a faint Expreſſion of the full Eſteem and Admi⯑ration, I ſhall ever bear you.

May I hope that one of the inclos'd Copies of my Poem can be acceptable to a Lady of Mrs. Hill's fine Taſte, and the young Darling of the Muſes, Urania, [66] who, in ſuch a tender Age, has encounter'd with all the Horrors of ſo rough a Deſcription?

Shall I languiſh out a whole Summer, in the ſame City with you, and not once be re-inſpir'd with your Company? Such a Happineſs would much brighten my Deſcription of that Seaſon; from which, to fill out this Letter, I venture to tranſcribe the following Lines.

In your laſt you were pleas'd to threaten me, as you term it, with a long Letter. I beg you would be as exact, in the Execution of your Threatenings, as you always are, in the Performance of your Pro⯑miſes; which ſhall be ſubmitted to, with the moſt chearful Reſignation, by him who is, dear Sir, with the utmoſt Devotion,

LETTER XLIII. From Mr. THOMSON, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I HAD the inclos'd for you, from Mr. Mallet, this Day, which emboldens me to give you the preſent Trouble.

[67] He is ſo good as to promiſe me another Copy of Verſes, next Poſt, which gives me a very great Plea⯑ſure: But my Satisfaction is far from being complete, ſo long as I am uncertain of the like Favour from you. Perhaps my Forwardneſs, if not Vanity, pre⯑ſumes too much on your Goodneſs; but your already wondrous Generoſity, in this Regard, has rais'd in me an Expectation and Ambition you ought, in all poetical Juſtice, to ſatisfy. If you knew the Glad⯑neſs it would inſpire into my Heart, you would, cer⯑tainly, ſteal a kind Hour from your more important Affairs, to ſmile upon my, I will not ſcruple to ſay, reaſonable Fondneſs.—But by being importunate, I ſhall offer an Injury to your ever-ready Humanity.

All that I ſhall further add is, that on Monday next the Poem will be printed off. I am, Sir, with the utmoſt Gratitude and Regard,

P. S. The Preſs, if you pleaſe, ſhall wait your Leiſure.

LETTER XLIV. From Mr. THOMSON, To AARON HILL, Eſq

MR. Savage was ſo kind as to ſhew me a Letter you lately favour'd him with, by which I had the true Pleaſure of learning your ſafe Arrival at Ber⯑wick, intended Tour, and Halt at Inverneſs.

It is with a Mixture of Joy, Pride, and Confuſion, I read the favourable. Mention you were pleas'd to make of me: What unuſual good Fortune has thus intitled me to your kind Regard? 'Tis nothing, ſure, but your own generous Goodneſs, which, with your other many matchleſs Perfections, ſhall ever be my [68] Love, and Wonder, while Truth and Harmony are the Objects of theſe Paſſions.

Every Muſe, every Virtue, here, languiſhes for your Return: To me your Abſence would be much ſeverer, if my partial Sympathy in the Happineſs of my native Country did not alleviate the Misfortune. I congratulate her on the Preſence of ſuch a kind In⯑ſpirer, and candid Obſerver: There, you may chance to find, in that neglected Corner of the World, de⯑preſs'd Merit, uninform'd Beauty, and good Senſe cloath'd in the Rags of Language.

Nothing has appear'd in Print here, ſince your De⯑parture, unleſs it be ſome muſhroomiſh Pamphlets, Beings of a Summer's Night! whoſe only Merit is the violent Propenſion with which they tend into Ob⯑livion. Memory abhors them, and their Eſſence is, to die. I beg Mr. Pope's Pardon, ſome of whoſe Letters, to Mr. Cromwell, were ſurreptitiouſly printed by Curll; and yet, tho' writ careleſs, and uncorrected, full of Wit and Gaiety.

We have got, O rare! a Roſtrum, and an Orator, ſince you left us; an Orator! whoſe pretended great Deſign is to reſtore primitive Chriſtianity; and his hopeful Candidates are all the Beaus, and pretty powder'd Fellows about Town.

You were, a Week or two ago, traduc'd by the Praiſes of one of our Journaliſts, who can no more underſtand the Beauties of your Writings, than you write to his Underſtanding.

A new Torrent of Italian Farces is lately pour'd in upon us. The Advertiſement, which juſt now lies before me, and begins thus—‘"By his Majeſty's Command, at the King's Theatre in the Hay-market, To-morrow, being Friday the 21ſt of October, will be acted, by the Company of Italian Comedians newly arriv'd, a Comedy call'd The In⯑chanted Iſland of Arcadia, or Arlequin King of the Foreſts, &c."’ is ſuch a Maze of incredible Imper⯑tinence, [69] and promiſes ſo much Folly, that it is to be preſum'd the Houſe will be very full, and that, too, with Perſons of the firſt Quality.

May you ſoon return to Town, reſume the Plain-dealer, and, if we are not devoted to Deſtruction, reſtore the great dramatic Taſte by that Tragedy, Part of which I had the Honour and ſublime Pleaſure of hearing read, by the fineſt Reader, as well as the fineſt Author, in England.

If your Buſineſs will allow me one Line, pleaſe to direct for me at the Academy in Little Tower-ſtreet. I am,

LETTER XLV. From Mr. THOMSON, To AARON HILL, Eſq

THE News of your ſafe Arrival in Town gave me a Joy, I have not felt, ſince the Receipt of your moſt agreeable Letter from the North of Scot⯑land. But while I have not the Honour of ſeeing you, Weſtminſter is at a more gloomy Diſtance, than Skor-urran's ſnowy Top.

Mr. Mallet and I, wiſh, with the fondeſt Impa⯑tience, the Happineſs of your Company; which, if we may hope this Afternoon, we'll wait upon you, as you ſhall pleaſe to appoint, by a ſhort Line with the Bearer. I will not make any Apology for this Freedom to one of your unbounded Goodneſs. I am, with the moſt inviolable Regard,

LETTER XLVI. From Mr. THOMSON, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I HAVE been almoſt intirely in the Country, ſince I had the Honour of yours, and of the inclos'd Papers, you were ſo good, as to ſend me. The two or three Days ſince my Return to Town have been ra⯑ther hurry'd than employ'd in ſolliciting for the Be⯑nefit of old Dennis. Your well-known and for⯑merly-experienc'd Goodneſs will, I hope, forgive me for having been ſo ſelfiſh as to keep your Papers ſo long. Tho' I would have had ſome Objections to your undertaking the Tranſlation of Zaire; now that it is ſo affectingly done, I ſhould be very un⯑grateful, for the great Pleaſure it has given me, to think of them any more. In reading of Zara, I forget what it was that I objected to Zaire. You have heighten'd it with mere Imagination, but ſuch a chaſtis'd one, as accords perfectly well with the nobler Fervency of the Heart. The Sentiments and Re⯑flections, too, riſe in the Tranſlation, and glow ſtronger, as well as the Touches of the poetical Pen⯑cil. Allow me to ſay, that, in theſe Reſpects, I deeply feel the Difference betwixt Mr. Voltaire and Mr. Hill. The more generous Warmth of your Heart more animates the Scene, raiſes the dear Tu⯑mult in the Breaſt, and moves me much more. I obſerv'd nothing that I wiſh'd alter'd but a Word here and there, which are mere Trifles, and not worth Regard. One, however, I will take the Li⯑berty to mention: It is in a Speech of the firſt Scene, which marks the Civility and Gallantry of France—‘"Where Men adore their Wives"’—The two laſt Words I would change into—the Fair.—I imagine you ſmiling at my important Criticiſm, and ready to reply—that tho' the preſent French are not famous [71] for adoring their Wives, yet thoſe in the good old unrefin'd Days of St. Lewis might. If they do not now adore their Wives, they perhaps do better, they make them eaſy.

I ſhall long to renew the Pleaſure your Play has given me at its Repreſentation. What Attention I can contribute to the promoting of that, will greatly be its own Reward. Mr. Dodington is expected, in a few Days, from Ireland: He, I dare ſay, will warmly favour it, from a double Cauſe—both the Love of the fine Arts, and his own Pleaſure. Had you but Players equal to thoſe Voltaire had, I would not doubt, in this Inſtance, the Taſte of our Countrymen—Almighty Nature is every-where the ſame.

Soon I propoſe to fix in Town for the Winter, during which time I hope to paſs ſeveral happy Even⯑ings in your Company: Mr. Pope earneſtly wiſhes the ſame. Believe me to be, moſt affectionately and ſincerely,

LETTER XLVII. From Mr. THOMSON, To AARON HILL, Eſq

UPON my Return to Town, from Mr. Do⯑dington's Seat in Dorſetſhire, where I had for ſome time been, I found your Letter, about a Month after its Date: Had it been ſent me in the Country, I could not have neglected, till now, acknowledging the Pleaſure it, and the Packet of Prompters you ſent along with it, gave me. Tho' very happy in the Company where I then was, yet cannot I help ſin⯑cerely regretting the Loſs of that Entertainment to which you was ſo good as to give me an Invitation. With the greateſt Pleaſure would I have beheld, and [72] with the greateſt Zeal would I have countenanc'd, to the utmoſt of my little Power, the Revival of Action, which ſeems on all our Theatres to be now both dead and rotten. A Friend of mine, who was there, did not, by what he told me, ſoften my Loſs.

I was very much enlighten'd and warm'd by the Prompters upon Action: They preſent no leſs a ſtrong and beautiful Idea of what Actors ought to be, than a mortifying one of what they are. As the Stage is a powerful School of humane polite Morality, ſo nothing can contribute more to barbarize the Age than the preſent Condition of ours. There, human Nature is repreſented in as aukward, falſe, and mon⯑ſtrous a Manner, as the human Form was in antient Gothic Sculpture and Painting. If that were all, it might be laugh'd at, and contemn'd: But ſince it tends, at the ſame time, to confound the Head, and corrupt the Heart; ſince Crouds grow ſtupid, or barbarous, as they gaze; who can conſider it in that View, without feeling an honeſt Indignation? And what crowns the Misfortune is, that there is no Hope of its ever being otherwiſe: The Root of the Evil lies too deep to be pluck'd up. Was there ever an equal Abſurdity heard of, among a civiliz'd People? That ſuch an important public Diverſion, the School which forms the Manners of the Age, ſhould be made the Property of private Perſons; who, did they hap⯑pen in the firſt Inſtance, by an infinite Chance, to be Judges of the Matter, yet may transfer that Property to the moſt profligate, taſteleſs, and ignorant of Man⯑kind! But this, alas! is only one of the Pillars of that vaſt Temple of Corruption, under which this Ge⯑neration, more than any other that ever boaſted Freedom, worſhips the dirty, low-minded, inſa⯑tiable Idol of Self-intereſt. Even to this Idol is every public Work, which we have the Soul to at⯑tempt, made an immediate Sacrifice.—You ſee how much your Prompters have inflam'd me; and the [73] melancholy Concluſion I draw from all is, that I never hope to ſee Gentlemen of equal Genius, Taſte, Judgment, and Generoſity of Heart, to the Author of theſe Prompters, at the Head of our Theatres. I may, however, very well live to ſee all Poetry re⯑duced to Magazine-Miſcellanies, all Plays to Mum⯑mery Entertainments, and, in ſhort, all Learning abſorb'd into the Sink of hireling ſcurrilous News-Papers. Pardon this Suppoſition in a Letter to one, who, while he I ves, will never ſuffer it wholly to take Place: In the mean time, go on to ſtem the Torrent of Barbariſm. I wiſh you could find an Aſſiſtant, tho' never ſo weak a one, in,

LETTER XLVIII. From Mr. THOMSON, To AARON HILL, Eſq

IT is far from being the want of a due Senſe of the Honour, your two laſt Letters did me, that has prevented my thanking you for them before now: The Truth is, they plung'd me ſo deep into your Debt, that I was diſpirited, thro' mere Deſpair, of clearing it. But now I am rather willing to declare myſelf an irrecoverable Bankrupt, than any longer neglect to acknowledge the refin'd Pleaſure, which your generous Approbation of my late Performance gives me—I call it generous, that Epithet having a peculiar Relation to whatever you do; beſides, I can⯑not help being afraid that it muſt, in a great meaſure, proceed from ſo humane a Cauſe. In the mean time, however that be, I will avow, that I am juſtly proud of, charm'd with, and moſt agreeably rewarded by, your good Opinion of my Poem. Allow me here, [74] by the bye, to remark, that tho' Poets have been long us'd to this truly-ſpiritual and almoſt only Emo⯑lument ariſing from their Works; yet I doubt much, if Bookſellers have any manner of Reliſh for it: I think, therefore (notwithſtanding that the Ghoſts of many Authors walk unreveng'd), of annulling the Bargain I made with mine, who would elſe be a con⯑ſiderable Loſer, by the Paper, Printing, and Publi⯑cation, of Liberty. As I ſhall, in this Caſe, be poſ⯑ſeſs'd of the intire Property of it again, I propoſe, in a Year or two hence, to give a new Edition of it; and beg that you would, ere then, enrich me with ſome Criticiſms, which I hope I ſhall have the Grace to reliſh as well as Praiſes.

Your Obſervation, with regard to political Cor⯑ruption, like natural, when come to a Criſis, pro⯑ducing more exalted Scenes of Animation, is fine, and pleaſes by the future Proſpect it opens; but it awakens, at the ſame time, a Sentiment no leſs mor⯑tifying, ſhould we find our Lot caſt in the Times of Putrefaction; ſhould we find ourſelves devoted, in an anti-heroic Manner, for the Good of Poſterity. I wiſh, heartily, that I could refute what you likewiſe obſerve with regard to the Cauſe of this Corruption. Certainly the kind Exchanger of the Super-abundance for the Sweets and Elegancies of Life, is itſelf cor⯑rupted, and its Gifts abus'd, from the want of Taſte: For whence is it, ſave the Want of Taſte, that the continual Tides of Riches, pour'd in upon this Na⯑tion by Commerce, have been loſt again in a Gulph of ungraceful, inelegant, inglorious Luxury? But whence, you will ſay, this want of Taſte? Whence this ſordid Turn to cautious Time-ſerving, Money-making, ſneaking Prudence, inſtead of regardleſs, unfetter'd Virtue? To private Jobs, inſtead of public Works? To profitable, inſtead of fine Arts? To Gain, inſtead of Glory? In a Word, to the whole venal Syſtem of modern Adminiſtration? And to [75] thoſe groſs periſhing Luxuries, that reconcile, at once, Avarice and Profuſion, centering all in Self, and even in the meaneſt, the material Part of Self. This Diſquiſition, I am afraid, would very near lead me back again to your Obſervation. It muſt be own'd, however, that the better Genius of this Nation has often nobly exerted itſelf, and will ſtruggle hard be⯑fore it expire. With regard to Arts and Learning, one may venture to ſay, that they might yet ſtand their Ground, were they but merely protected. In lieu of all Patrons that have been, are, or will be, in England, I wiſh we had one good Act of Parliament for ſecuring to Authors the Property of their own Works; and that the Stage were put upon the Foot⯑ing of common Senſe and Humanity. And can it be, that thoſe who impreſs Paper with what conſti⯑tutes the beſt and everlaſting Riches of all civiliz'd Nations, and of all Ages, ſhould have leſs Property in the Paper, ſo enrich'd, than thoſe who deal in the Rags, which make that Paper? Can it be, that the great, the delightful School of Manners, ſhould be abandon'd to common Sale, and become the Pro⯑perty of any one, who can purchaſe it, to be, per⯑haps, the School of Folly, and Corruption?—A Si⯑mony this, in Virtue; which, if not ſo wicked, yet is as pernicious as that in Religion. What would Athenians have ſaid to this! what Laughter, what Contempt, what Indignation, would it have rais'd among them!

Now that I mention the Stage, I muſt ſtill inſiſt upon my Copy of that only humane new Entertain⯑ment I have ſeen upon it of late. I know not what Gothic Devil poſſeſs'd the Maid at my Lodgings, but my few Books muſt not be ſo robb'd of the Honour of boaſting Zara among them from its Author. Having been tantaliz'd lately by ſeeing you at a Di⯑ſtance, I wiſh you would be ſo good as to make me Amends ſome Evening, and let me know of it a few [76] Days before. Mr. Pope was the other Day inquiting kindly after you: I ſhould be glad we could, at the ſame time, engage him. Poor Mr. Savage would be happy to paſs an Evening with you; his Heart burns towards you with the eternal Fire of Gratitude: But how to find him, requires more Intelligence than is allotted to Mortals. Life is too ſhort to loſe Years without the Converſation of thoſe one moſt loves, and eſteems; one of which Number you muſt ever be to, dear Sir,

P. S. Pleaſe to direct to me in Kew-Lane, Rich⯑mond, Surrey; and order your Letter to be put into the General Poſt.

LETTER XLIX. From Mr. THOMSON, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I AM ſorry that my preſent Hurry cannot allow me Time to anſwer your kind and excellent Let⯑ter, in the Manner it deſerves. The Freedom of your Criticiſm I love, and am more proud of your Approbation than it becomes me to ſay: In one the Taſte of Fame is not more delicious, than that of Friendſhip in the other.

You, in the laſt Paragraph of your Letter, pre⯑ſcribe me a glorious Taſk; to perform which, would demand the ſame elegant and powerful Pen, that pre⯑ſcrib'd it. Only to attempt it is my Ambition.

Pleaſe to accept of the Second Part of my Poem, and believe me to be, with the moſt affectionate Eſteem, dear Sir,

LETTER L. From Mr. BOOTH, To AARON HILL, Eſq

'TIS plain, that Affairs of much greater Con⯑ſequence have prevented your Inquiry about York Stock: I find now how much better you have employ'd your ſpare Hours—You have been at⯑tempting to make Mankind what they ought to be: The Advice you have lately given to ſuch, who de⯑ſerve the Names of Poet and Patron, is a ſufficient Proof of that public Spirit, which ever did and ever will appear in all your Actions.—Give me Leave to thank you for the vaſt Delight I receiv'd in the Peruſal of that daring Flight from the warm Indig⯑nation of your Mind—What an everlaſting Reproach have you juſtly thrown upon thoſe Great ones, whom Fortune has plac'd high above their Fellow-creatures, and, in ſome Senſe, even above their Superiors!—A Panegyric would be a vain Attempt; the Poem itſelf can beſt ſpeak its Praiſe.—I confeſs, I could not poſ⯑ſibly reſiſt the natural Impulſe of expreſſing my Tranſ⯑port upon this great Occaſion.—You force me to write to you, tho' Writing by no means agrees with my Diſtemper.—Your Time is precious.—Think, no Man living has a warmer Regard for the un⯑common Qualities, that are peculiar to Mr. Hill, than,

LETTER LI. From Mr. BOOTH, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I HAVE with infinite Pleaſure finiſh'd the read⯑ing of your Tragedy: I don't wonder Mr. Pope ſhould ſay, upon the Peruſal of it, that no Play had ever more warm'd him. I wiſh we had a Set of Actors capable of doing it the Juſtice it deſerves.

You were pleas'd to tell me, that you had Thoughts of my Wife for Elfrid; I was appre⯑henſive, not having read it, that the Part might re⯑quire great Force, and be too powerful for her Voice: But I find, 'tis neither long, nor violent; and, as our Company ſtands, I think, ſhe might undertake it.

When I told her, you had been pleas'd to name her for it, ſhe blam'd me for not letting her know it, that ſhe might have thank'd you for your good Opi⯑nion of her. She now deſires me to tell you, ſhe is highly oblig'd to you, and if you ſtill continue in that Opinion, ſhe will do you all the Juſtice that lies in her Power.

Next time your Affairs bring you into Covent-Garden, I ſhould be proud to kiſs your Hands. I am,

LETTER LII. From Mr. BOOTH, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I HAD anſwer'd yours laſt Night, but it came to my Hands as I was dreſſing, about Half an Hour before the Play began.

[79] I confeſs I am under ſome Difficulty, how to ac⯑count for the Failure of ſo good a Play. But not⯑withſtanding its preſent Reception, I am poſitively, and abſolutely of Opinion, that after it has ſlept ſome time, it will appear again upon the Stage, with a much better Grace, and continue in the Stock in the firſt Form of Tragedy for ever. My Reaſons for this are, as follow:

If you pleaſe to remember, I hinted to you, that (as the Town has been lately led, and manag'd) there was a kind of Neceſſity to form and prepare a ſtrong Body to ſupport even its real Merit in the firſt Run of it; and I have often thought the beſt Tragedy not ſupported by this neceſſary, ſcandalous Artifice, would naturally ſink in five or ſix Days, at moſt: The Fate of K. H. has ſufficiently confirm'd that Opinion.

However, tho' there is a good deal in what is above-mention'd, I take the main Cauſe of its Fail⯑ure to proceed from what follows.

I find by ſome few Perſons, who are highly pleas'd with that noble Simplicity, and Decency, that runs quite through the Play, that the Multitude in general look on it, not as a new Play, but as a Play alter'd from Shakeſpear: The many Beauties you have im⯑prov'd from him, and ſome noted Speeches, you have made uſe of with no very material Alterations (which was certainly well judg'd), have poſſeſs'd the groſs Imaginations of the Audience, that moſt of the fine Paſſages of your own, are his too; the two Speeches of Juſtice, and Mercy, at the Council-Table, and Harry's Reflection, when he firſt hears of the Trea⯑ſon, are univerſally miſtaken for Shakeſpear: This I have found from ſome, whoſe Education, Under⯑ſtanding, and Acquaintance with Shakeſpear, I ima⯑gin'd, might have taught 'em better: And yet their knowing his Manner of Writing ſo well, perhaps, might the ſooner lead 'em into the Miſtake.

[80] Add to this, that ſome Underſtrappers of Parnaſſus, and the Partizans of t'other Houſe, have improv'd this Notion of its being a Play of Shakeſpear's not very much alter'd. Now, Sir, allowing what I have obſerv'd above to be certainly the Game play'd upon K. H. I can no longer wonder, that his Succeſs is little more, than what a good reviv'd Play commonly meets with.

Far be it from me to profane K. H. with odious Compariſons; but give me Leave to obſerve to you, that C [...]r once brought the Double Gallant upon the Stage, which was made up of Hints ſtolen from a Play of Burnaby's, and another of Centlivre's, both heartily damn'd the firſt Night, many Years be⯑fore; as ſoon as the good-natur'd Town found him out, they reſented his calling it a new Play, and hounded it in the moſt outrageous Manner. Two Years after we reviv'd it, it met with moſt extra⯑vagant Succeſs, and it has continu'd in the Stock ever ſince, and never fails of a great Audience.

The Kind Impoſtor, tho' taken (I mean the Hints only) from a Tranſlation of a Spaniſh Play acted about Thirty Years ago, was damn'd, at its firſt Ap⯑pearance, only becauſe it was call'd a new Play; but was reviv'd ſome time after, and met with univerſal Approbation, like the former, and is generally acted twice every Year.

King Lear, and Timon of Athens, met with the ſame Fate, from the ſame Reaſons, at their firſt Ap⯑pearance; but have both prov'd excellent Stock-Plays upon their being reviv'd.

Thus, if it can be artfully inſinuated to the Town, that the Managers, or an Author, would paſs an alter'd Play upon 'em for a new one, That alone would make 'em outrageous after three or four Days, and give the Multitude an Opportunity (which they never let ſlip) of exerting their proper Qualities. Audiences [81] are never guided by Reaſon, but always by Prepoſ⯑ſeſſion.

I believe, when you fairly conſider what I have ſaid to you, the preſent Diſappointment will give you leſs Surprize. I aſſure you, the Play was more applauded the ſecond Night, than the firſt; becauſe it was infi⯑nitely better acted. As to my own Part, the Con⯑cern I was under for the Succeſs of it, the firſt Night, threw me into the utmoſt Confuſion. I ſhould be extremely pleas'd, if you would give yourſelf the Trouble of ſeeing it acted To-morrow Night. Come but behind the Scenes, and we will place you in ſome Corner, where you ſhall be inviſible to the Audience. Dear Sir, let me prevail upon you to come. I like your Preface; there is a very decent Scorn, and a mettled Contempt of the Town, in it. You have hinder'd me from going to Church this Morning, and I have tir'd your Patience, to be reveng'd of you. I am, Sir, with the utmoſt Regard and Sincerity,

Richard the Third had the ſame Fate with the other alter'd Plays.

LETTER LIII. From Mr. BOOTH, To AARON HILL, Eſq

WERE I not well aſſur'd, that Mr. Hill is the beſt-natur'd Gentleman living, I ſhould not expect a favourable Anſwer to the Requeſt I now make to him in behalf of Mr. V [...]r.

I know you have ſufficient Reaſon not to be pleas'd with the Taſte of the Town, which is, as it always was, and as it ever will be.—Mr. Betterton obſerv'd to me many Years ago, that Don Carlos ſucceeded much better than either Venice Preſerv'd or the Or⯑phan, and was infinitely more applauded and follow'd for many Years.—We know what Reception Pa⯑radiſe Loſt met with in the Author's Life-time.—In ſhort, Rome and Athens were full as partial, or rather heedleſs, in obſerving the Merit of living Authors, as London.—In the former City, Fannius had more Hearers than Horace.—In the latter City, Euripides, ſo juſtly admir'd by all Poſterity, could not ſtand the Ridicule of Ariſtophanes, but choſe to die in volun⯑tary Baniſhment, to avoid the Flouts of the People; and we may conclude, that Sophocles himſelf eſcap'd the Burleſque of that Buffoon Comic (for ſuch he was, notwithſtanding his Merit in other Reſpects), only becauſe he was a Man of Quality and Fortune.—So that, upon the Whole, I may venture to affirm, that Poſterity only will do Juſtice to Mr. Hill, who was ever above the low Artifice of forming Cabals to ſupport his Reputation.—Mr. Addiſon was ſo ſenſible of this Truth, that he took whole Years to beſpeak and court Friends, in order to ſecure the Succeſs of Cato.—And is it not thus with Preferments in ge⯑neral, both civil and eccleſiaſtical? Do not the Me⯑ritorious fail, while the induſtrious Levée-Haunter runs away with the Prize?

[83] I take the Liberty of ſaying thus much to you upon this Subject, becauſe I have been told, you are determin'd to write no more for the Stage: I con⯑feſs, I would a little ſoften that Reſolution, if I could, in regard to Mr. V [...]r, and hope to prevail upon you to touch up his Tragedy, and make it fit for the Stage: And when I aſſure you, that your Aſſiſtance in this Affair may be a Means to make him eaſy, and happy in his Circumſtances, I flatter myſelf, that your generous Diſpoſition will need no other Motive to engage you in ſo good an Office—I am, dear Sir, with much Reſpect and Sincerity,

LETTER LIV. From Mr. BOOTH, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I AM every way oblig'd to you, and ſhall ever acknowledge your Favours.

As to the Affairs of the Playhouſe, Half a Dozen ſuch Farces, as The Devil in the Wine-Cellar, and one Pantomime, would reſtore Drury-Lane—But where ſhall we find them? I long to talk with you on this Subject, and upon another of much greater Conſequence to me, I mean my Health. I have not forgot the Drops you brought me, but I durſt not take them at that Time, becauſe I dreaded the Colic, which has now left me.—You are ſenſible, Sir, to what little Purpoſe it is to talk of Jaundices, over⯑heated Blood, Obſtructions, &c. unleſs it be with the Unhappy, who have felt thoſe Diſtempers.—Till I was ſick myſelf, I had as confus'd a Notion of the Diſorders occaſion'd by a Fever, as the Deaf have of Sounds, or the Blind of Colours.

[84] I know Mr. V [...]r fancies, I could act, I pleas'd; but he is miſtaken—at leaſt he thinks, I could ſpeak a Prologue; but he is miſtaken in that too.—I have often told him, I am not able—and that I am ſo un⯑happy, at this Time, is a double Affliction to me; be⯑cauſe Mr. Hill ſeems to wiſh I would do it, in ſo en⯑gaging a Manner, that all Excuſes, but that of Inca⯑pacity, would be unpardonable.

I had anſwer'd yours ſooner, had I not been pre⯑vented from writing by this open, warm Weather, which is too apt to diſcompoſe me. A hard Froſt agrees beſt with me.

I have a thouſand Things to ſay to you. You will pardon me, if I flatter myſelf with the Hopes of ſeeing you ſhortly. I am, Sir, with utmoſt Reſpect and Sincerity,

P. S. I could be laviſh in the Praiſes of your Tragedy.—If it meet not with deſerv'd Succeſs, we muſt hereafter regale our Audiences, as the Ghoſt in the Libertine does Don John, and his Companions, with the Liquor they moſt de⯑light in.

LETTER LV. From Mr. WILKS, To AARON HILL, Eſq

FROM the Obſervations you have been pleas'd to make of the Conduct, Sentiments, and Diction, of Eurydice; permit me to ſay, that, with⯑out Exception, I think you the beſt Judge of Dra⯑matic Performance, in all its Branches, I have ever known. It were to be wiſh'd, that every Spectator had your Penetration, and could ſo juſtly diſtinguiſh the different Paſſions, and the Manner of working 'em.—No Actor, then, could hope for a favourable Reception, but from his Endeavours, upon all Occa⯑ſions, to copy Nature: But, alas! the Taſte, in ge⯑neral, is ſo deprav'd, that there is little or no Ap⯑plauſe to be gain'd, in Tragedy, but at the Expence of Lungs. I am, therefore, the leſs concern'd, that (by the Courſe of Years) I have Reaſon to think my⯑ſelf ſo near my Exit. I ſhould be proud, however, of an Opportunity to tell you how much I am,

LETTER LVI. From Mr. WILKS, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I HAVE read your Play with vaſt Pleaſure, and Mr. Cibber highly approves of it; but, if Athel⯑wold be the Part you deſign for me, I have too much Reaſon to fear, that 'tis next to impoſſible, at my Time of Day, to do it common Juſtice; and if I decline it, from a thorough Conviction of my own [86] Inſufficiency (which is truly the Caſe), I am ſure, I may depend upon your Juſtice, and Good-nature, to excuſe me.

I ſhould be very ſorry, after ſome little Succeſs in my Buſineſs, to run the Hazard of falling under your Cenſure, by a very weak Performance of ſo capital a Part, which requires not only more Youth and Vigour, than I am Maſter of; but all the Requiſites, that are neceſſary to form a complete Actor.

If you will be pleas'd to let me know, in what Manner you deſign to caſt it, I will order the Parts to be writ out immediately, that it may be ready for acting, about the Time you mention. I am,

LETTER LVII. From Mr. WILKS, To AARON HILL, Eſq

IF I ſaid any thing about the Part of Athelwold, that amounted to a Promiſe, it was from the ſtrong Deſire which I had to appear in a Play, ſo highly, and ſo deſervedly recommended; but, to my greater Mortification, I find, that the Affair of Tra⯑gedy (at leaſt for any Continuance) is over with me: I may, perhaps, rub thro' my Parts in Comedy; but daily Experience teaches me, that it is abſolutely out of my Power to ſupport the Weight of ſuch a Cha⯑racter as Athelwold, during the Run of a new Play, that, I am perſuaded, muſt make its Way, in ſpite of Prejudice.

If any-body ſhould make me the Compliment of aſking, why I did not appear in the Part of Athelwold, I ſhall deal frankly with him, as I have done with [87] you, and tell him the true Reaſon; and my Senti⯑ments of the Play will be better juſtify'd, by the Manner in which I ſpeak of it every where.

You are ſo obliging to aſk me (in caſe the Play were to come on without me), Who elſe will be ca⯑pable of ſupporting the Character of Athelwold?—Mr. Mills, with your Inſtructions, I am ſure, will do it well; and he muſt be a wretched Actor, indeed, who is not qualify'd to enter into the Beauties of the moſt difficult Part, by the Aſſiſtance, which you are able to give him: And whoever has the Pleaſure of converſing with Mr. Hill, will be fully convinc'd of this Truth. I am,

P. S. I am far from having chang'd my Opinion, as to the Merits of the Play; and I heartily wiſh, it were as much in my Power, as it is in my Inclination, to act conformably to your Sen⯑timents, in every thing.

LETTER LVIII. From Dr. BLINMAN, To AARON HILL, Eſq

I Should be glad of the Honour of renewing our Acquaintance, having a very great Eſteem for you: I brought you once a Gold ^* Medal, from the late great Empreſs of Ruſſia. So if you pleaſe to appoint any Place, and direct to Doctor Blinman, at Mr. Williams's, over-againſt White's Chocolate-houſe, St. James's, I ſhall be ready to meet you; who am with all Reſpect,