I am a parson. Suffer little children to come to me: and, Despise not one of these little ones.

No, Madam, despise great bears, such as Gay; who now goes by the dreadful name of, The Beast of Blois, where Mr. Pulteney and he are settled, and where he shows tricks gratis, to all the beasts of his own country (for strangers do not yet understand the voice of the beast). I have heard from him but once, Lord Warwick twice, Mrs. Lepell thrice: if there be any that has heard from him four times, I suppose it is you.

I beg Mr. Blondel may know, Dr. Logg has received ordination, and enters upon his function this winter at Mrs. Blount's. They have chosen this innocent man for their confessor; and I believe most Roman Catholic ladies, that have any sins, will follow their example. This good priest will be of the order of Melchisedec, a priest for ever, and serve a family from generation to generation. He will stand in a corner as quietly as a clock, and being wound up once a week, strike up a loud alarum to sin on a Sunday morning. Nay, if the Christian Religion should be abolished (as indeed there is great reason to expect it from the wisdom of the legislature), he might at worst make an excellent bonfire, which is all that (upon a change of religion) can be desired from a heretic. I do not hope your Grace should be converted, but however I wish you would call at Mrs. B.'s out of curiosity. To meet people one likes, is thought by some the best reason for going to church, and I dare promise you will like one another. They are extremely your servants, or else I should not think them my friends.

I ought to keep up the custom, and ask you to send me something. Therefore pray, Madam, send me yourself, that is, a letter; and pray make haste to bring up yourself, that is all I value, to town. I am, with the

truest respect, the least ceremony, and the most zeal,

Madam,

Your Grace's most obedient, faithful,

and most humble servant,

I THINK myself obliged by your Grace's many condescensions of goodness to me, in particular your informing me by a line of Dr. Ch-'s state of health. I am really impatient to hear further of him.

5

The morning I left the town, I went with Mr. Jervas to Belluchi's, but parting in haste, I had not his opinion at large; only he assures me, he thinks the figures will not be too small, considering that those which are nearest the eye, are, at least, as large as the life. I cannot but be of opinion that my Lord Duke's and your Grace's ought to be made portraits, and as like as

4 The Duke married to his third wife Catherine, natural daughter of King James II. (by Catherine Sidley, daughter of Sir Charles Sidley, whom he created Countess of Dorchester, and who, upon his abdicating the throne, married the Earl of Portmore): he dignified her with the name of the Lady Catherine Darnley, gave her the place of a duke's daughter, and permitted her to bear his arms. She was, very young, left a widow by James, Earl of Anglesey, from whom she was divorced by the King and both Houses of Parliament, for the earl's ill-usage of her.Bowles.

5 Chamberlen's.-Bowles.

6 An Italian painter, who composed the Duke's monument, to which this alludes; whereon are represented the portraiture of his Grace, habited like a Roman general; and at his feet, that of her Grace weeping. On the top of the basis of the column, is seen, in relievo, Time bearing away the four deceased Children of the Duchess, whose effigies are represented in profile-bustos, supported by Cupids lamenting.—Bowles.

possible; of which they have yet no resemblance. There being no picture (as I believe) of the Duke in profile, it might be well, I fancy, if Belluchi copied the side-face from that busto that stands in the saloon.

I beg your Grace's pardon for the freedom with which I write to you: and I ought to ask it, (now I think on it,) on another occasion, in which I have used too much freedom: having a great esteem for the famous Bononcini, not only from his great fame, but from a personal knowledge of his character; and this being increased by the ill treatment he has met with here, I ventured among other persons of the first distinction, who subscribed to me for his composures, newly engraved, to set down the name of your Grace. When I did this, your Grace was at Bath, and I forgot ever since to tell you of it, until now, when the book's' coming out, put me in mind of it.

If you can excuse this fault, I sincerely think I shall not err this way again, until such another great man as Bononcini arises (for whenever that happens, I doubt not the English will use him as scurvily,) but that your Grace needs not apprehend, during our lives. with the sincerest respect, Madam,

Your Grace's most obliged,

most obedient servant,

I am,

A. POPE.

LETTER VII.

MR. POPE TO THE HONOURABLE MRS. HOWARDS.

June 20 (1726).

WE cannot omit taking this occasion to congratulate you upon the increase of your family, for your cow is

7 His Cantatas.-Bowles.

8 Afterwards Lady Suffolk. In Lord Orford's Reminiscences, before quoted, is an interesting account of this lady, with whom his Lordship, on

this morning very happily delivered of the better sort, I mean a female calf; she is as like her mother as she can stare. All knights errants' palfreys were distinguished by lofty names; we see no reason why a pastoral lady's sheep and calves should want names of the softer sounds: we have therefore given her the name of Casar's wife, Calfurnia: imagining, that as Romulus and Remus were suckled by a wolf, this Roman lady was suckled by a cow, from whence she took that name. In order to celebrate this birth-day, we had a cold dinner at Marble-hill. Mrs. Susan offered us wine upon the occasion, and upon such an occasion we could not refuse it. Our entertainment consisted of flesh and fish, and the lettuce of a Greek island called Cos. We have some thoughts of dining there to-morrow, to celebrate the day after the birth-day, and on Friday to celebrate the day after that, where we intend to entertain Dean Swift; because we think your hall the most delightful room in the world, except that where you are. If it was not for you, we would forswear all courts; and really it is the most mortifying thing in nature, that we can neither get into the Court to live with you, nor you get into the country to live with us; so we will take up with what we can get that belongs to you, and make ourselves as happy as we can in your house.

I hope we shall be brought into no worse company when you all come to Richmond: for whatever our friend Gay may wish as to getting into Court, I disclaim it, and desire to see nothing of the Court but yourself, being wholly and solely

Your, &c.

his residing at Strawberry-Hill, enjoyed a long intimacy. Marble-Hill, afterwards mentioned, was a present from the king to Mr. H., who had very little else. C.-Bowles.

9 Mrs. Howard's house.-Warburton.

LETTER VIII.

TO MRS. ARABELLA FERMOR, ON HER MARRIAGE.

(1714.)

You are by this time satisfied how much the tenderness of one man of merit is to be preferred to the addresses of a thousand. And by this time the gentleman you have made choice of is sensible how great is the joy of having all those charms and good qualities, which have pleased so many, now applied to please one only. It was but just, that the same virtues which gave you reputation, should give you happiness; and I can wish you no greater, than that you may receive it in as high a degree yourself, as so much good humour must infallibly give it to your husband.

It may be expected, perhaps, that one who has the title of poet should say something more polite on this occasion: but I am really more a well-wisher to your felicity than a celebrater of your beauty. Besides, you are now a married woman, and in a way to be a great many better things than a fine lady; such as an excellent wife, a faithful friend, a tender parent, and at last, as the consequence of them all, a saint in heaven. You ought now to hear nothing but that, which was all you ever desired to hear, (whatever others may have spoken to you,) I mean truth: and it is with the utmost that I assure you, no friend you have can more rejoice in any good that befals you, is more sincerely delighted with the prospect of your future happiness, or more unfeignedly desires a long continuance of it.

I hope you will think it but just, that a man who will certainly be spoken of as your admirer, after he is dead, may have the happiness to be esteemed, while he is living,

Your, &c.