“I hope and trust that Elliston won’t be permitted to act the drama.  Surely he might have the grace to wait for Kean’s return before he attempted it; though, even then, I should be as much against the attempt as ever.

“I have got a small packet of books, but neither Waldegrave, Oxford, nor Scott’s novels among them.  Why don’t you republish Hodgson’s Childe Harold’s Monitor and Latino-mastix?  They are excellent.  Think of this—­they are all for Pope.

     “Yours,” &c.

* * * * *

The controversy, in which Lord Byron, with so much grace and good-humour, thus allowed himself to be disarmed by the courtesy of his antagonist, it is not my intention to run the risk of reviving by any enquiry into its origin or merits.  In all such discussions on matters of mere taste and opinion, where, on one side, it is the aim of the disputants to elevate the object of the contest, and on the other, to depreciate it, Truth will usually be found, like Shakspeare’s gatherer of samphire on the cliff, “halfway down.”  Whatever judgment, however, may be formed respecting the controversy itself, of the urbanity and gentle feeling on both sides, which (notwithstanding some slight trials of this good understanding afterwards) led ultimately to the result anticipated in the foregoing letter, there can be but one opinion; and it is only to be wished that such honourable forbearance were as sure of imitators as it is, deservedly, of eulogists.  In the lively pages thus suppressed, when ready fledged for flight, with a power of self-command rarely exercised by wit, there are some passages, of a general nature, too curious to be lost, which I shall accordingly proceed to extract for the reader.

* * * * *

“Pope himself ‘sleeps well—­nothing can touch him further;’ but those who love the honour of their country, the perfection of her literature, the glory of her language, are not to be expected to permit an atom of his dust to be stirred in his tomb, or a leaf to be stripped from the laurel which grows over it. * * *

“To me it appears of no very great consequence whether Martha Blount was or was not Pope’s mistress, though I could have wished him a better.  She appears to have been a cold-hearted, interested, ignorant, disagreeable woman, upon whom the tenderness of Pope’s heart in the desolation of his latter days was cast away, not knowing whither to turn, as he drew towards his premature old age, childless and lonely,—­like the needle which, approaching within a certain distance of the pole, becomes helpless and useless, and ceasing to tremble, rusts.  She seems to have been so totally unworthy of tenderness, that it is an additional proof of the kindness of Pope’s heart to have been able to love such a being.  But we must love something.  I agree with Mr. B. that she ’could at no time