avarice of mercenary Bookfellers, or the filly curiofity of people in general; you'll confefs I have small reason to indulge correspondencies: in which too I want materials, as I live altogether out of town, and have abstracted my mind (I hope) to better things than common news. I wish my friends would fend me back those forfeitures of my difcretion, commit to my justice what I trusted only to their indulgence, and return me at the year's end those trifling letters, which can be to them but a day's amusement, but to me may prove a difcredit as lafting and extenfive, as the aforefaid weak admirers, mean enemies, mercenary fcriblers, or curious fimpletons, can make it.

I come now to a particular you complain of, my not answering your question about fome Party-papers, and their authors. This indeed I could not tell you, because I never was, or will be privy to such papers: And if by accident, thro' my acquaintance with any of the writers, I had known a thing they conceal'd; I should certainly never be the Reporter of it.

For my waiting on you at your countryhoufe, I have often wifh'd it; it was my compliance to a fuperior duty that hinder'd me, and one which you are too good a Christian to

wish I should have broken, having never ventur'd to leave my mother (at her great age) for more than a week, which is too little for fuch a journey.

Upon the whole, I muft acquit myself of any act or thought, in prejudice to the regard I owe you, as fo long and obliging an acquaintance and correfpondent. I am fure I have all the good wishes for yourself and your family, that become a friend: There is no accident that can happen to your advantage, and no action that can redound to your credit, which I should not be ready to extol, or to rejoice in. And therefore I beg you to be affured, I am in difpofition and will, tho' not so much as I would be in testimonies or writing,

Yours, &c.

I

LETTER XLII.

To Mr. RICHARDSON.

Jan. 13, 1732.

Have at last got my Mother fo well, as to

allow myself to be absent from her for three days. As funday is one of them, I do not know whether I may propose to you to em

ploy it in the manner you mentioned to me once. Sir Godfrey call'd imploying the pencil, the prayer of a painter, and affirmed it to be his proper way of ferving God, by the talent he gave him. I am fure, in this inftance, it is ferving your friend; and, you know, we are allowed to do that (nay even to help a neighbour's ox or afs) on the fabbath: which tho' it may seem a general precept, yet in one sense particularly applies to you, who have help'd many a human ox, and many a human ass, to the likeness of man, not to fay of God.

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

Your, &c.

A

LETTER XLIII.

To the fame.

Twickenham, June 10, 1733.

S I know, you and I mutually defire to see one another, I hoped that this day our wishes would have met, and brought you hither, And this for the very reafon which poffibly might

hinder your coming, that my poor Mother is dead. I thank God, her death was as easy, as her life was innocent; and as it coft her not a groan, or even a figh, there is yet upon her countenance fuch an expreffion of Tranquillity, nay, almost of Pleasure, that it is even amiable to behold it. It would afford the finest Image of a Saint expir'd, that ever Painting drew; and it would be the greatest obligation which even That obliging Art could ever beftow on a friend, if you could come and sketch it for me. I am fure, if there be no very prevalent obstacle, you will leave any common business to do this: and I hope to fee you this evening as late as you will, or to morrow morning as early, before this winter-flower is faded. I will defer her interment till to morrow night. I know you love me, or I could not have written this-I could not (at this time) have written at all-Adieu! May you die as happily! Your, &c.

Mrs. Pope died the feventh of June, 1733, aged 93.

IT

LETTER XLIV.

To the fame.

is hardly poffible to tell you the joy your pencil gave me, in giving me another friend, so much the same! and which (alas for mortality!) will out-laft the other. Pofterity will, thro' your means, fee the man whom it will for ages honour, vindicate, and applaud, when envy is no more, and when (as I have already faid in the Effay to which you are fo partial)

The fons fhall blush their fathers were his foes.

That Effay has many faults, but the poem you sent me has but one, and that I can easily forgive. Yet I would not have it printed for the world, and yet I would not have it kept unprinted neither-but all in good time. I'm glad you publish your Milton. B-ly will be angry at you, and at me too shortly for what

• Lord Bolingbroke.

I could