I SIR, LETTER CCCCIII. To Mr. PoPE. June 1, 1712. AM at a folitude*, an houfe between Hampftead and London, wherein Sir Charles Sedley died. This circumftance fet me a thinking and ruminating upon the employments in which men of wit exercise themselves. It was faid of Sir Charles, who breathed his laft in this room, "Sedley has that prevailing gentle art, "Which can with a refiftlefs charm impart "Till the poor vanquish'd maid diffolves away, } This was an happy talent to a man of the town; but, I dare say, without prefuming to make uncharitable conjectures on the author's prefent condition, he would rather have had it faid of him that he prayed, "Oh thou my voice inspire, "Who touch'd Ifaiah's hallow'd lips with fire!" I have turned to every verfe and chapter, and think you have preserved the fublime heavenly *It is to be feared there were too many pecuniary reafons for this temporary folitude. † About eight or nine years before the date of this letter. 4 fpirit fpirit throughout the whole, especially at"Hark a glad voice”-and-" The lamb with "wolves fhall graze."-There is but one line which I think below the original : "He wipes the tears for ever from our eyes.” You have expreffed it with a good and pious, but not fo exalted and poetical a spirit as the prophet, "The Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces." If you agree with me in this, alter it by way of paraphrase or otherwise, that, when it comes into a volume, it may be amended. Your poem is already better than the Pollio. I am your, &c. RICH. STEEle. LETTER CCCCIV. From Mr. PORE. June 18, 1712. Yout of YOU have obliged me with a very kind letter, by which I find you shift the scene your life from the town to the country, and enjoy that mixed ftate which wife men both delight in and are qualified for. Methinks the moralifts and philofophers have generally run too much into extremes, in commending entirely either folitude, or public life. In the former, men for the most part grow useless by too much reft; and in the latter, are deftroyed by too much much precipitation; as waters, lying ftill, pu, trify, and are good for nothing, and running violently on do but the more mischief in their paffage to others, and are fwallowed up and loft the fooner themselves. Thofe indeed, who can be useful to all ftates, fhould be like gentle ftreams, that not only glide through lonely vallies and forefts amidst the flocks and the fhepherds, but vifit populous towns in their course, and are at once of ornament and service to them. But there are another fort of people who feem defigned for folitude; fuch, I mean, as have more to hide than to fhew. As for my own part, I am one of thofe of whom Seneca fays, "tam umbratiles funt, ut putent in turbido effe "quicquid in luce eft." Some men, like fome pictures, are fitter for a corner than a full light; and, I believe, fuch as have a natural bent to folitude (to carry on the former fimilitude) are like waters, which may be forced into fountains, and, exalted into a great height, may make a poble figure, and a louder noife; but, after all, they would run more fmoothly, quietly, and plentifully, in their own natural course upon the ground. The confideration of this would *The foregoing fimilitudes Mr. Pope had put into verfe fome years before, and inserted into Mr. Wycherley's poem on "Mixed Life." We find them in the verfification very diftin&t from the reft of that poem. See his Pofthumous Works, 8vo. PP. 3 and 4. make me very well contented with the poffeffior only of that quiet which Cowley calls the companion of obscurity. But whoever has the Muses too for his companions, can never be idle enough to be uneafy. Thus, Sir, you fee I would flatter myself into a good opinion of my own way of living. Plutarch.juft now told me, that it is in human life as in a game at tables, where a man may wifh for the highest cast, but, if his chance be otherwife, he is e'en to play it as well as he can, and to make the best of it. I am your, &c. A. POPE, LETTER CCCCV. From Mr. POPE. July 15, 1712. OU formerly obferved to me, that no thing made a more ridiculous figure in a man's life, than the difparity we often find in him fick and well: thus one of an unfortunate conftitution is perpetually exhibiting a miferable example of the weakness of his mind, and of his body, in their turns. I have had frequent opportunities of late to confider myfelf in these different views, and, I hope, have received some advantage by it, if what Waller fays be true, that "The foul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, "Lets in new light thro' chinks that time has made." Then Then furely fickness, contributing no less than old age to the fhaking down this fcaffolding of the body, may difcover the inward ftructure more plainly. Sickness is a fort of early old age it teaches us a diffidence in our earthly ftate, and infpires us with the thoughts of a future, better than a thousand volumes of philofophers and divines. It gives fo warning a concuffion to thofe props of our vanity, our ftrength and youth, that we think of fortifying ourselves within, when there is fo little dependance upon our outworks. Youth, at the very beft, is but a betrayer of human life in a gentler and smoother manner than age: it is like a ftream that nourishes a plant upon a bank, and caufes it to flourish and bloffom to the fight, but at the fame time is undermining it at the root in fecret. My youth has dealt more fairly and openly with me: it has afforded feveral profpects of my danger, and given me an advantage not very common to young men, that the attractions of the world have not dazzled me very much; and I begin, where moft people end, with a full conviction of the emptiness of all forts of ambition, and the unfatisfactory nature of all human pleasures. When a finart fit of fickness tells me this fcurvy tenement of my body will fall in a little time, I am e'en as unconcerned as was that honeft Hibernian, who, being in bed in the great ftorm fome years ago, and told the house |