a pleasure it would be to me just to see it, and to see you at ease; and then I could contentedly leave you to the providence of God in this life, and resign myself to it in the other! I have little to say to you when we meet, but I love you upon unalterable principles, which makes me feel my heart the same to you as if I saw you every hour. Adieu.

Easter day.

Pray give my services to Lady Gerard; and pray get me some answer to Dr. King, or else it will cost me a letter of excuse to have delayed it so long.

I do not understand by your note, nor by Mrs. Arbuthnot's, whether you think of coming hither to-morrow, or when. Mr. Murray's depends on his recovery, which is uncertain; and Lord Bolingbroke, the end of the week.

LETTER LXI.

TO MRS. MARTHA BLOUNT9.

(1742.)

So strange a disappointment as I met with, the extreme sensibility which I know is in your nature, of such monstrous treatment, and the bitter reflection that I was wholly the unhappy cause of it, did really so distract me, while with you, that I could neither speak, nor move, nor act, nor think. I was like a man stunned or stabbed, where he expected an embrace: and I was dejected to death, seeing I could do or say nothing to comfort, but every thing rather to hurt you. But for

interestedness of Pope's attachment to Miss Blount, and his anxiety to see her permanently and comfortably established.

9 This letter is addressed to Miss Blount, who remained on her visit to Mr. Allen's, after Pope had left Prior Park, and seems intended to persuade her to follow his example and quit the house.

God's sake, know that I understood it was goodness and generosity you showed me, under the appearance of anger itself. When you bid me first go to Lord B.'s from them, and then hasten thither, I was sensible it was in resentment of their conduct to me, and to remove me from such treatment, though you stayed alone to suffer it yourself. But I depended you would not have been a day longer in the house after I left you last; and of all I have endured, nothing gave me so much pain of heart, as to find by your letters you were still under their roof. I dread their provoking you to any expression unworthy of you. Even laughter would be taking too much notice; but I more dread your spirits, and falling under such a dejection as renders you incapable of resolving on the means of getting out of all this. You frighten yourself more than, were you in any other house, you would be sensible you need do. If you would go directly to London, you may, without the least danger, go in a coach and six of King's horses (with a servant on horseback as far as Marlborough, writing to John to meet you there), for 61. or 71. as safe, no doubt, as in any nobleman or gentleman's coach. If you would stay a few days at Lady Cox's, you might, as many do, be carried in a chair to Lincomb, and be all day among people who either love you, or have civility and humanity. Or if you cared to pass that time at Holt, where Lady Cox and Lady Bp. are; and as soon as the Duchess of Qu (eensberry) comes, you may depend upon it, if you write, she will send her coach for you thither. Lady Archibald (I cannot doubt) would lend you her coach to go, if they have not sent back their horses, which I do not suppose from your letter. Another easy way of going to Amesbury is to Sandy Lane, in a morning, to which place the Duchess can easily send, and you will be there before night. Or, lastly, Mr. Arbuthnot and

I will come in a very good coach from hence any day you name, take you up at Lincomb, or Lady Cox's, by nine in the morning, and carry you and your maid safe, either to London or Amesbury. He has a friend who lives by Salisbury, with whom he and I would gladly pass a day or two, Sir Edward Deboovery; and then carry you on to London from Amesbury, which is within six miles of him.

All I beg is, that you will not stay a moment at the only place in England (I am satisfied) where you can be so used; and where, for your sake and for my own too, I never will set foot more. However well I might wish the man, the woman is a minx, and an impertinent one, and he will do what she would have him. I do not wonder they do not speak a word of me; (but) some words I have spoken to him. I shall not write till (I) get home, if then; but show my resentment without lessening myself. For God's sake do the same. Leave them without a word, and send for your things.

But I hope you have, I am sure you have, surely you must have done this already. In any other house you will breathe, and recover yourself. The Bethels are good. The ladies are well-bred, and you will be in a state both of body and mind not to intimidate your poor soul to death, but consult on the easiest means either to stay or go. All I insist upon is, that you do not directly go to London, without a servant who may come back to give an account how you got that part of the way, and that John may be with you the rest, unless (which I think best, if you do not except to it) you write to him to come quite to you. I have drawn up an order, which you may fill up as you like for either purpose, and date and fix the day and place.

Pray make me easy, with the news that you have

VOL. VI.

Ee

left their house. I fully hoped it when I writ to you last post (for your letter I did not receive till night, by the postmaster's great care, who, instead of letting it be at the post-house where we ordered our letters to be left, had found out our lodgings, and sent them while we were abroad thither). I hope you had a little box, with some wine; and Lord Chest (erfield) did as he promised me, as to franks. Sir John Swinburn and his lady, and Mr. Southwell, asked much of you. I have not been at the Long Room or Wells, and seen no company more; so I cannot say any thing about the venison; but I doubt not they had it, or will have the other. I think it best still to enclose to Mr. Edwyn. I should not wonder if listeners at doors should open letters. W. is a sneaking parson', and I told

As I am not the first, nor, I fear, the last person, who has occasionally neglected their best friend for the sake of a glut of racketing passengers, I shall be less ashamed to own to you I might have answered yours sooner; and I wish this unnatural delay would provoke you to come directly hither, to ask why I am so tardy; whereas no answer is worth receiving unless it comes glibly, and I find mine does not occur currently, and, besides, (is) very much clogged with Buts.

2

Dear Mrs. Blunt has formerly honoured little

1 Can this be Warburton ? Warburton, whom he constituted his perpetual editor, and in whose hands he left his fame? C.-Bowles.

2 So spelt by her Grace, and by other correspondents. C.-Bowles.

Petersham, which fitted her as a glove; but now comes my But: but how can I accommodate her sister? for my own apartment must remain empty absolutely, though the king himself were to borrow our little habitation at Petersham; and the number of residers are considerably increased since Mrs. Blunt was last there under the care of Kaites and Price Lambert.

I wish you and I were sitting téte-à-tête, for that would be every way best of all; and I think, supposing I could not prevail on you to continue with me, I could in talk better than by writing, mumble over that I have no mind to make a compliment to a lady I have never been acquainted with; and yet am very sorry to differ from any proposal made to me by an acquaintance I really love and honour sincerely, and very sincerely invited to do herself good in our nut-shell, which she herself is still heartily welcome to. Though she inquires after all our health, without saying one word of her own, which we all wish good, with all our hearts; we are extremely well, and much obliged to dear Mrs. Blunt for her kind remembrance. I am really and truly, very faithfully and affectionately,

Your, &c. &c.

CATHERINE, QUEENSBERRY and DOVER.

I have no gilt paper at hand: pray excuse this unadorned letter. Pray let the bearer know when you intend being at Petersham, because he will write to the family there to get your bed well aired.