THE following Letters were published by Dodsley in 1769, who had the originals in his possession. Who the Lady was to whom they were addressed, it is perhaps in vain now to inquire. It appears she was inclined to poetry, and was in habits of friendship with Mrs. Howard. She could not have been Lady M. Montagu, for she is constantly called Mrs. and at this time his acquaintance with Lady M. was on the decline. He alludes to this in the pleasing Verses on the Lady's Picture: "Tho' sprightly Sappho force our love and praise, A softer wonder my pleas'd soul surveys, The mild Erinna, blushing in her bays." It appears, from circumstances, the Letters were written between the years 1722 and 1723.-Bowles. Some observations on this correspondence will be found in the Life of Pope, prefixed to this edition, chap. v. LETTERS TO A LADY. LETTER I. MADAM, Twitenham, Oct. 18. WE are indebted to heaven for all things, and, above all, for our sense and genius (in whatever degree we have it); but to fancy yourself indebted to any thing else, moves my anger at your modesty. The regard I must bear you, seriously proceeds from myself alone; and I will not suffer even one I like so much as Mrs. H., to have a share in causing it. I challenge a kind of relation to you on the soul's side, which I take to be better than either on a father's or mother's; and if you can overlook an ugly body (that stands much in the way of any friendship, when it is between different sexes), I shall hope to find you a true and constant kinswoman in Apollo. Not that I would place all my pretensions upon that poetical foot, much less confine them to it; I am far more desirous to be admitted as yours, on the more meritorious title of friendship. I have ever believed this as a sacred maxim, that the most ingenious natures were the most sincere; and the most knowing and sensible minds made the best friends. Of all those that I have thought it the felicity of my life to know, I have ever found the most distinguished in capacity, the most distinguished in morality; and those the most to be depended on, whom one esteemed so much as to desire they should be so. I beg you to make me no more compliments. I could make you a great many, but I know you neither need them, nor can like them: be so good as to think I do not. In one word, your writings are very good, and very entertaining; but not so good, nor so entertaining, as your life and conversation. One is but the effect and emanation of the other. It will always be a greater pleasure to me to know you are well, than that you write well, though every time you tell me the one, I must know the other. I am willing to spare your modesty; and therefore, as to your writing, may perhaps never say more (directly to yourself) than the few verses I send here; which (as a proof of my own modesty too) I made so long ago as the day you sate for you picture, and yet never till now durst confess to you. Tho' sprightly Sappho force our love and praise, A softer wonder my pleas'd soul surveys, The mild Erinna, blushing in her bays. So, while the sun's broad beam yet strikes the sight, Serene, in virgin majesty, she shines ; And, unobserved, the glaring sun declines. The brightest wit in the world, without the better qualities of the heart, must meet with this fate; and tends only to endear such a character as I take yours to be. In the better discovery, and fuller conviction of which, I have a strong opinion I shall grow more and more happy the longer I live your acquaintance, and (if you will indulge me in so much pleasure) Your faithful friend, and most obliged servant, MADAM, LETTER II. A. POPE. Twitenham, Nov. 5. THOUGH I am extremely obliged by your agreeable letter, I will avoid all mention of the pleasure you give me, that we may have no more words about compliments; which I have often observed people talk themselves into, while they endeavour to talk themselves out of. It is no more the diet of friendship and esteem, than a few thin wafers and marmalade were of so hearty a stomach as Sancho's. In a word, I am very proud of my new relation, and like Parnassus much the better, since I found I had so good a neighbour there. Mrs. H., who lives at court, shall teach two countryfolks sincerity; and when I am so happy as to meet you, she shall settle the proportions of that regard or good-nature, which she can allow you to spare me, from a heart which is so much her own as yours is. That lady is the most trusty of friends, if the imitation of Shakespear be yours; for she made me give my opinion of it with assurance it was none of Mrs. ***. I honestly liked and praised it, whosesoever it was; there is in it a sensible melancholy, and too true a picture of human life: so true a one, that I can scarce wish the verses yours at the expense of your thinking that way, so early. I rather wish you may love the town (which the author of those lines cannot immoderately do) these many years. It is time enough to like, or affect to like, the country, when one is out of love with all but oneself, and therefore studies to become agreeable or easy to oneself. Retiring into oneself is generally the pis-aller of mankind. Would Would you have me describe my solitude and grotto to you? What if, after a long and painted description of them in verse (which the writer I have just been speaking of could better make, if I can guess by that line, No noise but water, ever friend to thought), what if it ended thus ? What are the falling rills, the pendant shades, [There There hid in shades, and wasting day by day, If these lines want poetry, they do not want sense. God Almighty long preserve you from a feeling of them! The book you mention, Bruyere's Characters, will make any one know the world; and I believe at the same time despise it, which is a sign it will make one know it thoroughly. It is certainly the proof of a master-hand, that can give such striking likenesses, in such slight sketches, and in so few strokes on each subject. In answer to your question about Shakespear, the book is a quarter printed, and the number of emendations very great. I have never indulged my own conjectures, but kept merely to such amendments as are authorized by old editions, in the author's life-time: but I think it will be a year at least before the whole work can be finished. In reply to your very handsome (I wish it were a very true) compliment upon this head, I only desire you to observe, by what natural gentle degrees I have sunk to the humble thing I now am: first, from a pretending poet to a critic; then, to a low translator; lastly, to a mere publisher. I am apprehensive I shall be nothing that is of any value long, except, Madam, Your most obliged, and most faithful humble servant, I long for your return to town; a place I am unfit for, but shall not be long out of, as soon as I know I may be permitted to wait on you there. |