last Wednesday, if you are not as dear to me as my hopes of waking in health to-morrow morning. Your charms lead me, my inclinations prompt me, and my reason confirms me.

Your faithful and humble servant,

FARQUHAR.

The Same to the Same.

WHY should I write to my dearest Penelope when I only trouble her with reading what she won't believe? I have told my passion, my eyes have spoke it, my tongue pronounced it, and my pen declared it; I have sighed it, swore it, and subscribed it. Now my heart is full of you, my head raves of you, and my hand writes to you ; but all in vain.

If you think me a dissembler, use me generously like a villain, and discard me forever; but if you will be so just to my passion as to believe it sincere, tell me so and make me happy: 'tis but justice, Madam, to do one or t' other.

Your indisposition last night, when I left you, put me into such disorder that, not finding a coach, I missed my way and never minded where I wandered till I found myself close by Tyburn. When blind Love guides, who can forbear going astray? Instead of laughing at myself, I fell to pity

ing poor Mr. Farquhar, who whilst he roved abroad among your whole sex was never out of his way; and now by a single She was led to the gallows. From the thought of hanging I was led to that of matrimony. I considered how many gentlemen have taken a handsome swing to avoid some inward disquiets; then why should not I hazard the noose to ease me of my torment? Then I considered whether I should send for the ordinary of Newgate, or the parson of St. Anne's; but, considering myself better prepared for dying in a fair lady's arms than on the three-legged tree, I was the most inclined to a parish priest. Besides, if I died in a fair lady's arms, I should be sure of Christian burial at last, and should have the most beautiful tomb in the universe.

You may imagine, Madam, that these thoughts of mortality were very melancholy, but who could avoid the thought of his own death, when you were sick? And if your health be not dearer to me than my own, may the next news I hear be your death, which would be as great a hell as your life and welfare is a heaven to the most devoted of his sex,

FARQUHAR.

P. S. Pray let me know in a line whether you are better or worse, whether I am honest or a knave, and whether I shall live or die.

Farquhar's Last Letter to Penelope (Mrs. Oldfield?).

MADAM, 'Tis a sad misfortune to begin a letter with an adieu; but when my love is crossed, 't is no wonder that my writing should be reversed. I would beg your pardon for the other offences of this nature which I have committed, but that I have so little reason to judge favourably of your mercy; though I can assure you, Madam, that I shall never excuse myself my own share of the trouble, no more than I can pardon myself the vanity of attempting your charms, so much above the reach of my pretensions, and which are reserved for some more worthy admirer. If there be that man upon earth that can merit your esteem, I pity him, for an obligation too great for a return must, to any generous soul, be very uneasy, though I still envy his misery.

May you be as happy, Madam, in the enjoyment of your desires as I am miserable in the disappointment of mine; and, as the greatest blessing of your life, may the person you most admire love you as sincerely and as passionately as he whom you scorn.

FARQUHAR.

Alexander Pope to the Misses Blount.

ALEXANDER POPE's friendship for the two sisters, Teresa and Martha Blount, was as famous in its day as the friendship of Walpole for the two Misses Berry, half a century later. Poor, sickly, deformed little Pope was not framed by nature to excite a deeper feeling in his feminine contemporaries than pity, although he seems to have had an ambition to play his part in the gallant love-making of the age. He was so good and devoted a son, that it is sad he could not have had the opportunity to show the same virtues as a husband; and, as one of his latest biographers feelingly says, "The best prescription Pope's spiritual physician could have given, was the love of a good and sensible woman. The nearest approach to such an affection in his life was that between himself and Martha Blount, the younger of these two sisters.

The Blounts were bright, vivacious young women whom Pope had known from boyhood, and who, in 1714, came to live near Pope's villa at Twickenham. At first he seems to have shared his regard about equally between the two, and, as he writes to Teresa, "Even from my infancy I have been in love with one after the other of you." There was, however, on his part, a growing partiality for Martha, and after some jealousy on the part of Teresa, a falling off in his regard for her, which ended in quarrel and estrange ment. For the last fifteen years of his life, Martha became his almost constant companion, and at his death he left her the bulk of his fortune. In his last years he was pitifully dependent on her for care and sympathy; and he clung to her affection with most touching helplessness.

He seems to have been desirous that she should separate herself from her family, and lead a more independent life; and the last letter quoted below is one in which he remonstrates with her on her want of independence and resolution in her dealings with her family, who, he elsewhere plainly intimates, were unkind and tyrannical. In his later years he spent the greater part of the time with her, and he speaks of her in a letter to one of his friends, as "a friend - a woman friend! - with whom I have spent three or four hours a day for these last fifteen years."

Pope to Martha Blount.

MAY 25, 1712.

MADAM,At last I do myself the honour to send you the " Rape of the Lock;" which has been so long coming out that the lady's charms might have been half decayed while the poet was celebrating them and the printer publishing them. But yourself and your fair sister must needs have been surfeited already with this trifle, and therefore you have no hopes of entertainment but from the rest of this book; wherein (they tell me) are some things that may be dangerous to be looked upon: however, I think you may venture, though you should blush for it; since blushing becomes you the best of any lady in England, and then the most dangerous thing to be looked upon is yourself. Indeed, Madam, not to flatter you, our virtue will be sooner over