ing, that is so bad with the waters; and, then you might write without any manner of prejudice, if you write like our brother poets of these days.

The Duchess, Lord Warwick, Lord Stanhope, Mrs. Bellenden, Mrs. Lepell, and I cannot tell who else, had your letters. Dr. Arbuthnot and I expect to be treated like friends. I would send my services to Mr. Pultney, but that he is out of favour at court; and make some compliment to Mrs. Pultney, if she were not a Whig. My Lord Burlington tells me she has as much out-shined all the French ladies, as she did the English before: I am sorry for it, because it will be detrimental to our holy religion, if heretical women should eclipse those nuns and orthodox beauties, in whose eyes alone lie all the hopes we can have, of gaining such fine gentlemen as you to our church. Your, &c.

I wish you joy of the birth of the young prince, because he is the only prince we have, from whom you have had no expectations and no disappoint

ments.

LETTER XXXI.

MR. GAY TO MR. FORTESCUE."

Stanton-Harcourt, Aug. 9, 1718. THE HE only news that you can expect to have from me here, is news from heaven; for I am quite out of the world, and there is scarce any thing that can reach me except the noise of thunder, which undoubtedly you have heard too. We have read in old authors of high towers levelled by it to the ground, while the humble valleys have escaped. The only thing that is proof against it is the laurel, which, however, I take to be no great security to the brains of modern authors. But to let you see that the contrary to this often happens, I must acquaint you, that the highest and most extravagant heap of towers in the universe, which is in this neighbourhood, stand still undefaced, while a cock of barley in our next field has been consumed to ashes. Would to God that this heap of barley had been all that had perished! for unhappily beneath this little shelter sat two much more constant lovers than ever were found in romance under the shade of a beech-tree. John Hewet was a well-set man of about five-and-twenty; Sarah Drew might be rather called comely than beautiful, and was about the same age. They had passed through the various labours of the year

* Gay was now on a visit to Lord Harcourt, who, with his other friends, sought, by kindness and change of scene, to dissipate his chagrin.

Bowles.

together, with the greatest satisfaction;* if she milked, it was his morning and evening care to bring the cows to her hand; it was but last fair that he bought her a present of green silk for her straw hat, and the posie on her silver ring was of his chusing. Their love was the talk of the whole neighbourhood; for scandal never affirmed, that they had any other views than the lawful possession of each other in marriage. It was that very morning that he had obtained the consent of her parents, and it was but till the next week that they were to wait to be happy. Perhaps in the intervals of their work they were now talking of the wedding clothes, and John was suiting several sorts of poppies and field-flowers to her complexion, to chuse her a knot for the wedding-day. While they were thus busied, (it was on the last of July, between two and three in the afternoon,) the clouds grew black, and such a storm of lightning and thunder ensued, that all the labourers made the best of their way to what shelter the trees and hedges afforded. Sarah was frightened, and fell down in a swoon on a heap of barley. John, who never separated from her, sat down by her side, having raked together two or three heaps, the better to secure her from the storm. Immediately there was heard so loud a crack, as if heaven had split asunder; every one was now solicitous for the safety of his neighbour, and called to

* The fate of these unfortunate lovers is made the subject of a pathetic Episode in Thomson's Summer, line 1170. Warton.

one another throughout the field. No answer being returned to those who called to our lovers, they stepped to the place where they lay; they perceived the barley all in a smoke, and then spied this faithful pair: John with one arm about Sarah's neck, and the other held over her, as to screen her from the lightning. They were struck dead, and stiffened in this tender posture. Sarah's left eye-brow was singed, and there appeared a black spot on her breast: her lover was all over black, but not the least signs of life were found in either. Attended by their melancholy companions, they were conveyed to the town, and the next day were interred in Stanton-Harcourt church-yard. My Lord Harcourt, at Mr. Pope's and my request, has caused a stone to be placed over them, upon condition that we furnished the epitaph, which is as follows:

When eastern lovers feed the funeral fire,
On the same pile the faithful Fair expire:
Here pitying Heaven that virtue mutual found,
And blasted both, that it might neither wound.
Hearts so sincere th' Almighty saw well pleas'd,
Sent his own lightning, and the victims seiz❜d.

But my lord is apprehensive the country people
will not understand this, and Mr. Pope says he
will make one with something of Scripture in it,
and with as little of poetry as Hopkins and Stern-
hold.*
Your, &c.

* The epitaph was this:

Near this place lie the bodies of
JOHN HEWET and SARAH Drew,

an industrious young Man
and virtuous Maiden of this Parish;

who being at Harvest-Work
(with several others)

were in one instant killed by Lightning,
the last day of July, 1718.

Think not, by rigorous Judgment seiz'd,
A pair so faithful could expire;
Victims so pure Heaven saw well pleas'd,
And snatch'd them in celestial fire.

Live well, and fear no sudden fate;
When God calls Virtue to the grave,
Alike 'tis justice soon or late,

Mercy alike to kill or save.

Virtue unmov'd can hear the call,

And face the flash that melts the ball. Warburton.

Ir frequently appears, by a comparison of Mr. Pope's printed with his original letters (many of which are now before me), that, in preparing them for the press, he employed a degree of management, by corrections and alterations, which, whether arising from prudence, or cunning, is sometimes altogether unaccountable. The affecting letter which the reader has just perused, is a more singular instance of capricious preparation, than perhaps any we can produce. In every edition of Pope's Works, this letter has been given to Mr. Gay, and is said to have been addressed to Mr. Fortescue, and is printed here according to that custom, for obvious reasons. But the fact is, this celebrated letter was written by Mr. Pope to Miss Blount; and the following exact copy of the original will decidedly prove this, as well as afford a curious instance of the manner in which he altered and corrected his letters, when he chose to give them to the public.

"The only news you can expect to have from us here, must be news from heaven; for we are separated from the earth, and there is scarce any thing can reach us except the noise of thunder which you have heard too, for nobody in Christendom has a quicker ear for thunder than yourself. We have read in old books, how thunder levels high towers, which the humble valley