tion that qualifies us for the one, if extended farther, makes us partakers of the other. The utmost point of my desires in my present state terminates in the society and good-will of worthy men, which I look upon as no ill earnest and foretaste of the society and alliance of happy souls hereafter.

The continuance of your favours to me is what not only makes me happy, but causes me to set some value upon myself as a part of your care. The instances I daily meet with of these agreeable awakenings of friendship are of too pleasing a nature not to be acknowledged whenever I think of you. I am Your, etc.

LETTER V.

April 30, 1713.

I HAVE been almost every day employed in following your advice, and amusing myself in painting, in which I am most particularly obliged to Mr. Jervas, who gives me daily instructions and examples. As to poetical affairs, I am content at present to be a bare looker-on, and from a practitioner turn an admirer, which is (as the world goes) not very usual. Cato was not so much the wonder of Rome in his days,

2

2 These praises of Addison seem to be very sincere, and to have come from the heart, before any coldness and disgust had taken place betwixt them. Irritated with the success of this Tragedy, Dennis wrote a severe criticism on its plan and fable; and, as Dr. Johnson says, "found and shewed many faults: he found them with anger, but he found them with acuteness, such

as he is of Britain in ours; and though all the foolish industry possible has been used to make it thought a party-play, yet what the author once said of another may the most properly in the world be applied to him, on this occasion;

Envy itself is dumb, in wonder lost,

And Factions strive, who shall applaud him most.

The numerous and violent claps of the Whig-party on the one side of the theatre, were echoed back by the Tories on the other; while the author sweated behind the scenes with concern to find their applause proceeding more from the hand than the head. This was the case too of the prologue writer3, who was clapped into a stanch Whig, at almost every two lines. I believe you have heard, that after all the applauses of the opposite faction, my Lord Bolingbroke sent

as ought to rescue his criticism from oblivion." He accordingly thought it worth republishing in his Life of Addison. "Pope," says Johnson," had now an opportunity of courting the friendship of Addison, by villifying his old enemy, and could give resentment its full play, without appearing to revenge himself." He therefore published a "Narrative of the Madness of John Dennis;" a performance which left the objections to the play in their full force, and therefore discovered more desire of vexing the critic than of defending the poet. Addison, who was no stranger to the world, probably saw the selfishness of Pope's friendship; and resolving that he should have the consequences of his officiousness to himself, informed Dennis, by Steele, that " he was sorry for the insult, and that whenever he should think fit to answer his remarks, he would do it in a manner to which nothing could be objected."

The Life of Dennis is given in the fifth volume of the Biographia Britannica, by Dr. Kippis, with much candour and impartiality.

3 Himself.

for Booth, who played Cato, into the Box, between one of the acts, and presented him with fifty guineas; in acknowledgment (as he expressed it) for defending the cause of liberty so well against a Perpetual Dictator. The Whigs are unwilling to be distanced this way, and therefore design a present to the same Cato very speedily; in the mean time they are getting ready as good a sentence as the former on their side so betwixt them, 'tis probable that Cato (as Dr. Garth expressed it) may have something to live upon, he dies. I am

after

Your, etc.

LETTER VI.

FROM SIR WILLIAM TRUMBULL.

Easthamstead, Feb. 22, 1714-15.

I AM sensibly obliged, dear Sir, by your kind present of the Temple of Fame, into which you are already entered, and I dare prophecy for once (though I am not much given to it) that you will continue there, with those,

Who ever new, not subject to decays,

Spread and grow brighter with the length of days.

There was nothing wanting to complete your obliging remembrance of me, but your accompanying it with

4

Bolingbroke evidently glanced at the power of the Duke of Marlborough. Quin exactly imitated, but did not equal Booth in playing this character.

your poem; your long absence being much the severest part of the winter. I am truly sorry that your time, which you can employ so much better, should be spent in the drudgery of correcting the printers; for as to what you have done yourself, there will nothing of that nature be necessary. I wish you could find a few minutes leisure to let me hear from you sometimes, and to acquaint me how your Homer draws on towards a publication, and all things relating thereunto.

I intreat you to return my humble service to Mr. Jervas. I still flatter myself that he will take an opportunity, in a proper season, to see us, and review his picture, and then to alter some things so as to please himself; which I know will not be, till every thing in it is perfect; no more than I can be, till you believe me to be with that sincerity and esteem, that I am, and will ever continue, your most faithful friend.

LETTER VII.

December 16, 1715.

It was one of the Enigmas of Pythagoras, "When the Winds rise, worship the Echo." A modern writer explains this to signify, "When popular tumults begin, retire to solitudes, or such places where Echos are commonly found, rocks, woods, etc." I am rather of opinion it should be interpreted, "When rumours increase, and when there is abundance of

noise and clamour, believe the second report:" this I think agrees more exactly with the echo, and is the more natural application of the symbol. However it be, either of these precepts is extremely proper to be followed at this season; and I cannot but applaud your resolution of continuing in what you call your cave in the forest, this winter; and preferring the noise of breaking ice to that of breaking statesmen, the rage of storms to that of parties, the fury and ravage of floods and tempests, to the precipitancy of some, and the ruin of others, which, I fear, will be our daily prospects in London.

I sincerely wish myself with you, to contemplate the wonders of God in the firmament, rather than the madness of man on the earth. But I never had so much cause as now to complain of my poetical star, that fixes me, at this tumultuous time, to attend the gingling of rhymes and the measuring of syllables: to be almost the only trifler in the nation; and as ridiculous as the poet in Petronius, who, while all the rest in the ship were either labouring or praying for life, was scratching his head in a little room, to write a fine description of the tempest.

You tell me, you like the sound of no arms but those of Achilles: for my part I like them as little as any other arms. I listed myself in the battles of Homer, and I am no sooner in war, but, like most other folks, I wish myself out again.

I heartily join with you in wishing Quiet to our native country: Quiet in the state, which, like Charity in religion, is too much the perfection and happiness of either, to be broken or violated, on any