It is some proof of my sincerity towards
you, that I write when I am prepared by
to speak truth; and sure a letter after
twelve at night must abound with that noble
ingredient. That heart must have abundance of
flames, which is at once warmed by wine and
you: wine awakens and refreshes the lurking
passions of the mind, as does the colours
diat are sunk in a picture, and brings them
out in all their natural glowings. My good
qualities have been so frozen and locked
up in a dull constitution at all my former
sober hours, that it is very astonishing to
me, now I am drunk, to find so much virtue in
In these overflowings of my heart I pay
you my thanks for those two obliging letters
you favoured me with of the 18th and 24th
instant. That which begins with "My charming
Mr. Pope !" was a delight to me beyond all
expression: you have at last entirely gained
the conquest over your fair sister.
It is true you are not handsome, for you
woman, and think you are not: but this
good-humour and tenderness for me has a charm
that cannot be resisted. That face must needs
be irresistible, which was adorned with
smiles even when it could not see the
coronation. I do suppose you will not show
this epistle out of vanity, as I doubt not
your sister does all I write to her. Indeed,
to correspond with Mr. Pope, may make any one
proud who lives under a dejection of heart
in the country.
Every one values Mr. Pope, but every one
for a different reason: one for his adherence
to the Catholic faith; another for his
neglect of Popish superstition; one for his
grave behaviour, another for his
whimsicalness; Mr. Titcomb, for his pretty
atheistical jests; Mr. Caryll, for his moral
and Christian sentences; Mrs. Teresa, for his
reflections on Mrs. Patty; and Mrs. Patty,
for his reflections on Mrs. Teresa.
It was but the other day I heard of Mrs.
Fermor's being actually and directly married.
I wonder how the couple at _____ look, stare,
and simper, since that grand secret came out,
which they so well concealed before. They
concealed it as well as the barber does his
utensils, when he goes to trim upon a
Sunday, and his towels hang out all the way.
You know your Doctor is gone the way of all
his patients, and was hard put to it how to
dispose of an estate miserably unwieldy and
splendidly unuseful to him. Dr. Shadwell
lately told a lady, he wondered she could be
alive after him: she made answer, she
wondered at it too, both because Dr.
Radcliffe was dead, and because Dr. Shadwell
was alive. I am Your most faithful admirer,
friend, servant, any thing, &c.
I send you Gay's poem on the princess. She
very fat. God help her husband.