ings in the converfation of fuch as I think can most improve my mind, of whatever denomination they are. I ever muft fet the highest value upon men of truly great, that is, honeft principles, with equal capacities. The best way I know of overcoming calumny and mifconftruction, is, by a vigorous perfeverance in every thing we know to be right, and a total neglect of all that can enfue from it. It is partly from this maxim that I depend apon your friendship, because I believe it would do juftice to my intention in every thing; and give me leave to tell you, that (as the world goes) this is no fmall affurance I repofe in you. I am your, &c. I LETTER LXI. From the fame to the fame. Dec. 14, 1713. HAVE been lying in wait for my own imagination, this week and more, and watching what thoughts came up in the whirl of the fancy, that were worth communicating to you in a letter. But I am at length convinced that my rambling head can produce nothing of that fort; fo I muft e'en be contented with telling you the old ftory, that I love you heartily. I have often found by experience, that nature and truth, though never fo low or vulgar, are yet pleafing when openly and artlessly reprefented: it would be diverting to me to read the very letters of an infant, could it write its innocent inconfiftencies and tautologies just as it thought them. This makes me hope a letter from me will not be unwelcome to you, when I am confcious I write with more unreservedness than ever man wrote, or perhaps talked to another. I traft your good nature with the whole range of my follies, and really love you fo well, that I would rather you should pardon me than esteem me; fince one is an act of goodness and benevolence, the other a kind of constrained deference. You cannot wonder my thoughts are scarce confistent, when I tell you how they are difracted. Every hour of my life my mind is ftrangely divided; this minute perhaps I am above the ftars, with thousand fyftems round about me, looking forward into a vast abyís, and lofing my whole comprehenfion in the boundlefs fpace of creation, in dialogues with Whifton and the aftronomers; the next moment I am below all trifles groveling with T-in the very centre of nonfenfe: now I am recreated with the briik fallies and quick turns of wit, which Mr. Steele, in his livelieft and freeft humours, darts about him; and now levelling my application to the infignificant obfervations and quirks of grammar of C- and D-. Good God! what an incongruous animal is man! how unfettled in his best part, his foul; and how changing and variable in his frame of body! the confancy of the one fhook by every notion, the temperament of the other affected by every blaft of wind! What is he altogether but one mighty inconfiftency; ficknefs and pain is the lot of one half of him, doubt and fear the portion of the other! What a bustle we make about paffing our time, when all our space is but a point! what aims and ambitions are crowded into this little inftant of our life, which (as Shakefpear finely words it) is rounded with a fleep! Our whole extent of being is no more, in the eye of him who gave it, than a scarce perceptible moment of duration. Thofe animals, whofe circle of living is limited to three or four hours, as the naturalists tell us, are yet as long-lived, and poffefs as wide a fcene of action as man, if we confider him with a view to all space and all eternity. Who knows what plots, what atchievements a mite may perform in his kingdom of a grain of duft, within his life of fome minutes; and of how much lefs confideration than even this, is the life of man in the fight of God, who is from ever, and for ever? Who that thinks in this train, but muft fee the world, and its contemptible grandeurs, leifen before him at every thought? It is enough to make one remain ftupified in a poize of inaction, void of all defires, of all defigns, of all friendfhips. But we must return (through our very condition of being) to our narrow felves, and thofe things that affect ourselves: our paffions, our interefts flow in upon us, and unphilofophize us into mere mortals. For my part, I never return so much into myfelf, as when I think of you, whofe friendship is one of the best comforts I have for the infignificancy of myself. I am your, &c. LETTER LXII. Mr. Pope to Mr. Addifon. Jan. 30, 1713-14. OUR letter found me very bufy in my grand undertaking, to which I muit wholly give up myfelf for fome time, unlefs when I fnatch an hour to please myfelf with a diftant converfation with you and a few others by writing. It is no comfortable profpect to be reflecting, that fo long a fiege as that of Troy lies upon my hands, and the campaign above half over, before I have made any progrefs. Indeed the Greek fortification, upon a nearer approach, does not appear fo formidable as it did, and I am almoft apt to flatter myself, that Homer fecretly feems inclined to a correfpondence with me, in letting me into a good part of his intentions. There are indeed a fort of underling auxiliars to the difficulty of a work, called commentators and critics, who would frighten many people by their number and bulk, and perplex our progrefs under pretence of fortifying their author. Thefe lie very low in the trenches and ditches they themfelves have digged, encompaffed with dirt of their own heaping up; but, I think, there may be found a method of coming at the main works by a more speedy and gallant way than by mining under ground, that is, by ufing the poetical engines, wings, and lying over their heads. upon While I am engaged in the fight, I find you are concerned how I fhall be paid, and are folicitous that I may not have the ill fate of many difcarded generals, to be first envied and maligned, then perhaps praifed, and laftly neglected. The former (the conftant attendant all great and laudable enterprises) I have already experienced. Some have faid I am not a mafter in the Greek, who either are fo themselves, or are not: if they are not, they cannot tell; and if they are, they cannot without having catechized me. But if they can read (for I know fome critics can, and others cannot), there are fairly lying before them fome fpecimens of my tranflation from this author in the Mifcellanies, which they are heartily welcome to. I have met with as much malignity another way, fome calling me a tory, because the heads of that party have been diftinguifhingly favourable to me; some a whig, because I have been favoured with yours, Mr. Congreve's, and Mr. Craggs's friendship, and of late with my Lord Hallifax's patronage. How much more natural a conclufion might be formed, by any good-natured man, that a perfon who has been well used by all fides, has been offenfive to none! This miferable age is fo funk between animofities of party and those of religion, that I begin to fear, moft men have politics enough to make (through violence) the beft fcheme of government a bad one: and belief enough to hinder their own falvation. I hope for my own part never to have more of either than is confiftent with common justice and charity, and always as much as becomes a Chriftian and honeft man. Though I find it an unfortunate thing to be bred a Papist here, where one is obnoxious to four parts in five as being fo too much or too little; I fhall yet be eafy under both their mistakes, and be what I more than feemed to be, for I fuffer for it. God is my witnes that I no more envy you Proteftants your places and poffeflions, than I do car priefts their charity or learning. I am ambitious of nothing but the good opinion of good men, on both fides; for I know that one virtue of a free fpirit is worth more than all the virtues put together of all the narrow-fouled people in the world. I am your, &c. I LETTER LXIIF 08. 10, 1714HAVE been acquainted by one of my friends, who omits no opportunities of gratifying me, that you have lately been pleafed to speak of me in a manner which nothing but the real respect I have for you can deferve. May I hope that fome late malevolencies have loft their effect? Indeed it is neither for me nor my enemies, to pretend to tell you whether I am your friend or not; but if you would judge by probabilities, I beg to know which of your poetical acquaintance has fo little intereft in pretending to be fo? Methinks no man fhould question the real friendship of one who defires no real fervice. I aim only to get as much from the whigs as I tice. I will not value myfelf upon having ever guarded all the degrees of refpect for you; for (to fay the truth) all the world fpeaks well of you, and I fhould be under a neceffity of doing the fame, whether I cared for you or not. I As to what you have faid of me, fhall never believe that the author of Cato can speak one thing and think another. As a proof that I account you fincere, I beg a favour of you: it is, that you would look over the two firft books of my tranflation of Homer, which are in the hands of my Lord Hallifax. I am fenfible how much the reputation of any poetical work will depend upon the character you give it: it is therefore fome evidence of the truft I repofe in your good-will, when I give you this opportunity of fpeaking ill of me with juftice; and yet expect you will tell me your trueft thoughts, at the fame time that you tell others your moft favourable ones. I have a farther request, which I muft prefs with earneftnefs. My bookfeller is reprinting the Effay on Criticifm, to which you have done too much honour in your Spectator of No. 253. The period in that paper, where you fay, "I have "admitted fome ftrokes of ill-nature "into that Effay," is the only one I could wish omitted of all you have written; but I would not defire it fhould be fo, unless I had the merit of removing your objection. I beg you but to point out thofe ftrokes to me, and you may be affared they fhall be treated without mercy. Since we are upon proofs of fincerity (which I am pretty confident will turn to the advantage of us both in each other's opinion), give me leave to name another Fafiage in the fame Spectator, which I with you would alter. It is where you mention an obfervation upon Homer's verfes of Sifyphus's Stone, as never having been made before by any of the critics: I happened to find the fame in Dionyfius of Halicarnaffus's treatise, curbicius iropatws, who treats very largely upon thefe verfes. I know you will think fit to foften your expreffion when you LETTER LXIV. June 8, 1714. HE queftion you ask in relation to Mr. T Mr. extremely extremely your fervant, and would have complied with your kind invitation, but that he is just now appointed fecretary to my Lord Clarendon, in his embassy to Hanover. I am fenfible of the zeal and friendship with which, I am fure, you will always defend your friend in his abfence, from all thofe little tales and calumnies which a man of any genius or merit is born to. I fhall never complain, while I am happy in fuch noble defenders and in fuch contemptible opponents. May their envy and ill-nature ever increafe, to the glory and pleasure of those they would injure; may they reprefent me what they will, as long as you think me, what I am, your, You mention the account I gave you attain the top of your defires that way, The fame thing that makes old men willing to leave this world, makes me willing to leave poetry, long habit and wearinefs of the fame track. Homer will work a cure upon me; fifteen thou fand verfes are equivalent to fourfcore years, to make one old in rhyme: and I should be forry and afhamed to go on jingling to the laft ftep, like a waggoner's horfe, in the fame road, and fo leave my bells to the next filly animal that will be proud of them. That man makes a mean figure in the eyes of res fon, who is meafuring fyllables and coupling rhymes, when he should be mending his own foul, and fecuring his own immortality. If I had not this opi nion, I fhould be unworthy even of thofe fmall and limited parts which God has given me; and unworthy of the friendship of fuch a man as you. I am your, &c.. I LETTER LXVI. From the fame to the fame. tian, and be prepared to fuffer all fort of public perfecution. It is certainly to be lamented, that if any man does but endeavour to distinguish himself or gratify others by his ftudies, he is immediately July 25, 1714. treated as a common enemy, inftead of HAVE no better excufe to offer you, being looked upon as a common friend; that I have omitted a task naturally and affaulted as generally as if his whole fo pleafing to me as converfing upon pa- defign were to prejudice the state or ruin per with you, but that my time and eyes the public. I will venture to fay, no man have been wholly employed upon Homer, ever rofe to any degree of perfection in whom, I almoft fear, I fhall find but one writing, but through obftinacy, and an inway of imitating, which is, in his blind- veterate refolution against the stream of nefs. I am perpetually afflicted with mankind: fo that if the world has rehead-achs that very much affect my fight, ceived any benefit from the labours of and indeed fince my coming hither I the learned, it was in its own defpite. have scarce paffed an hour agreeably, ex- For when first they effay their parts, all cept that in which I read your letter. I people in general are prejudiced against would feriously have you think, you have new beginners; and when they have got no man who more truly knows to place a a little above contempt, then fome parright value on your friendship, than he ticular perfons, who were before unforwho leaft deserves it on all other accounts tunate in their own attempts, are sworn than his due fenfe of it. But, let me tell foes to them, only because they fucceed. you, you can hardly guess what a tafk-Upon the whole, one may fay of the you undertake, when you profess yourself my friend; there are fome tories who will take you for a whig, fome whigs who will take you for a tory, fome proteftants who will efteem you a rank papist, and fome papifts who will account you a heretic. I find, by dear experience, we live in an age, where it is criminal to be moderate; and where no one man can be allowed to be just to all men. The notions of right and wrong are fo far ftrained, that perhaps to be in the right fo very violent ly, may be of worfe confequence than to be easily and quietly in the wrong. I really with all men fo well, that, I am fatisfied, but few can wish me fo; but if those few are fuch as tell me they do, I am content, for they are the best people I know. While you believe me what I profefs as to religion, I can bear any thing the bigoted may fay; while Mr. Congreve likes my poetry, I can endure Dennis and a thousand more like him; while the most honeft and moral of each party think me no ill man, I can eafily bear that the most violent and mad of all parties rife up to throw dirt at me, I must expect an hundred attacks upon the publication of my Homer. Whoever in our times would be a profeffor of learning above his fellows, ought at the very first to enter the world with the conftancy and refolution of a primitive chrif beft writers, that they pay a fevere fine for their fame, which it is always in the power of the most worthless part of mankind to levy upon them when they please. I am, &c. copy you in another. Thus I fhould begin my epistle to you, if it were a dedicatory one. But as it is a friendly letter, you are to find nothing mentioned in your own praife but what one only in the world is witnefs to, your particular good-natured offices to me. I am cut out from any thing but common acknowledgments, or common difcourfe: the firft you would take ill, though I told but half what I ought; fo in fhort the last only remains. And as for the laft, what can you expect from a man who has not talked thefe Iiz five |