bottle of wine, and bread. Speak freely, and send me word. But Mrs. Ridgeway shall take all the care upon her. If you do like this proposal, send word. I would dine a little after two.

FROM MR. POPE.

Sept. 1, 1733.

I HAVE every day wished to write to you, to say a thousand things; and yet I think I should not have writ to you now, if I was not sick of writing anything, sick of myself, and (what is worse) sick of my friends too. The world is become too busy for me; everybody is so concerned for the public, that all private enjoyments are lost, or disrelished. I write more to shew you I am tired of this life, than to tell you anything relating to it. I live as I did, I think as I did, I love you as I did: but all these are to no purpose: the world will not live, think, or love, as I do. I am troubled for, and vexed at, all my friends by turns. Here are some whom you love, and who love you; yet they receive no proofs of that affection from you, and they give none of it to you. There is a great gulf between. In earnest, I would go a thousand miles by land to see you, but the sea I dread. My ailments are such, that

Dean had formerly appointed sexton of his cathedral, in which office he had acquired some wealth,) who persuaded her, in 1748, to join him in demanding £144 for eight years' interest due on the said bond, which was paid along with the principal by the executors: but she generously remitted a small part, by way of benefaction to the Dean's hospital.

I really believe a sea-sickness (considering the oppression of colical pains, and the great weakness of my breast) would kill me: and if I did not die of that, I must of the excessive eating and drinking of your hospitable town, and the excessive flattery of your most poetical country. I hate to be crammed either way. Let your hungry poets and your rhyming peers digest it, I cannot. I like much better to be abused and half-starved, than to be so overpraised and overfed. Drown Ireland! for having caught you, and for having kept you: I only reserve a little charity for her knowing your value, and esteeming you: you are the only patriot I know, who is not hated for serving his country. The man who drew your character, and printed it here, was not much in the wrong in many things he said of you yet he was a very impertinent fellow, for saying them in words quite different from those you had yourself employed before on the same subject for surely to alter your words is to prejudice them and I have been told, that a man himself can hardly say the same thing twice over with equal happiness nature is so much a better thing than artifice.

I have written nothing this year: it is no affectation to tell you, my mother's loss has turned my frame of thinking. The habit of a whole life is a stronger thing than all the reason in the world. I know I ought to be easy, and to be free; but I am dejected, I am confined: my whole amusement is in reviewing my past life, not in laying plans for my future. I wish you cared as little for popular applause as I :* as little for any nation in contradis

"The rest of his life," says Johnson, was spent in Ireland, in a country to which not even power almost despotic, nor flattery almost idolatrous, could reconcile him."

tinction to others, as I; and then I fancy, you that are not afraid of the sea, you that are a stronger man at sixty than ever I was at twenty, would come and see several people who are (at last) like the primitive Christians, of one soul and of one mind. The day is come, which I have often wished, but never thought to see; when every mortal that I esteem is of the same sentiment in politics and in religion.

Adieu. All you love are yours, but all are busy, except (dear Sir) your sincere friend.

FROM MRS. DONELLAN.

London, Sept. 22, 1733.

SIR, KNOWING your great esteem and tenderness for Miss Kelly, and that there is no one whom she has so high an opinion of, or whose advice would sway so much with her, I cannot forbear letting you know my thoughts about her at this time; that I think she wants the assistance and counsel of her best and wisest friend. As she has been so good to distinguish me among her female acquaintance, and to shew more confidence than in any other, I think I can better tell her mind: but, as she has a natural closeness, I judged chiefly by hints; for I believe she does not open herself entirely to any one. health I think in a much worse way than when she came to London: she has still a slow fever, a violent cough, great and almost continual sickness in her stomach,* and added to all these, a very great de

Her

* Miss Kelly died the last week in October, 1733. See a letter from Mr. Ford, on 6th November.

jection of spirit; which last, I cannot but think, proceeds in a good measure from discontent and uneasiness of mind; and the physicians are of the same opinion. I have endeavoured by all the means I could think of, to find out the cause, hoping, that if it were known, it might by the assistance of friends, be remedied. I know when a young person shews any discontent, people are apt to imagine there can be no cause for it but a disappointment in love: I really think that is not Miss Kelly's case: I have tried her to the uttermost on that subject, and I cannot find she has any attachment to any particular person, but that the whole world, except a few friends, is indifferent to her but what I take her present uneasiness to proceed from, is the unkindness in general of her parents, and the fear of not being supported by her father in the way she likes, and as her present bad state of health indeed requires. She has a high spirit, and cannot bear to be obliged to her friends, and she has not been much used to management. She is here in a very expensive way, with her sickness, her servants, and horses; and I believe she would be greatly mortified, after appearing in this manner, to be obliged to fall below it; and at the same time she has reason to fear, from her father's behaviour, that he thinks little of her, and will not support her in it : she has not heard from him these two months; and the letters she had from him at Bristol, were warning her not to marry without his consent, enjoining her not to go to public places, and, above all, to spend little money; very odd subjects to one in her condition. Now, what I would beg of you, sir, is to endeavour to find out what are his resolutions in relation to her, and if there be any that has an influence over him, to get them to convince him, that his child's life is in the greatest

danger; and then, perhaps, he may not think his time and money ill employed to save it. If at the same time, sir, you would join your good advice to her, I believe it might be of great use, either to make her bear, with less uneasiness, the ills of this life, or, if it please God to take her from us, to prepare her for another, and a better. Her humour is much changed; her spirits are low; and upon every little disappointment, her passions rise high: you know, sir, how best to apply to these. She is at Hampstead quite alone; and although her physicians desire much she should come to town, she cannot be prevailed on to think of it; she desires to be alone; even Mrs. Rooke and I, whom she calls her best friends, are troublesome to her. I believe I need not tell you, sir, that I desire this letter may be a secret and especially to the person concerned. If you have anything to tell me, that can be of use on this subject, and will honour me with your commands, direct, if you please, for me, under cover, To Mrs. Anne Shuttleworth, at Mr. Jourdain's, in Conduit Street. I should beg pardon, sir, for troubling you with this long letter: but I hope my friendship to Miss Kelly will be my excuse. I am sorry to write on so melancholy a subject, and which I am sure must give you uneasiness: but pleased with any opportunity of assuring you that I am, Sir, your very great admirer, and most obedient humble

servant,

ANNE DONEllan.