offended Mr. Pope, he took an opportunity to write
to him upon that subject. He informed him, that he had been an admirer
of his writings; that he declined all connexion with those men, who
combined to reduce his reputation, and that when no offence was given,
no resentment should be discovered. Mr. Pope, upon receiving this
letter from Mitchel, protesting his innocence as to any calumny
published against him, was so equitable as to strike him out of his
Dunciad, in which, by misrepresentation he had assigned him a place.

* * * * *

Mr. Mitchel lived in good correspondence with many of the most eminent
wits of the time, and was particularly honoured with the friendship of
Aaron Hill, esq; a gentleman of so amiable a disposition, that whoever
cultivated an intimacy with him, was sure to be a gainer. Once,
when Mr. Mitchel was in distress, Mr. Hill, who could not perhaps
conveniently relieve him by pecuniary assistance, gave him a higher
instance of friendship, than could be shewn by money. He wrote a
beautiful dramatic piece in two acts, called The Fatal Extravagant, in
which he exposed the hideous vice of gaming. This little dramatic
work is planned with such exquisite art, wrought up with so much
tenderness, and the scenes are so natural, interesting and moving,
that I know not if Mr. Hill has any where touched the passions with
so great a mastery. This play met the success it deserved, and
contributed to relieve Mr. Mitchel's necessities, who had honour
enough, however, to undeceive the world, and acknowledge his
obligations to Mr. Hill, by making mankind acquainted with the real
author of The Fatal Extravagant. As this was a favour never to be
forgotten, so we find Mr. Mitchel taking every proper occasion to
express his gratitude, and celebrate his patron. Amongst the first of
his poems, is An Ode, addressed to Mr. Hill, which is one of the best
of his compositions. The two last stanza's are as follow,

Heedless of custom, and the vulgar breath,
I toil for glory in a path untrod,
Or where but few have dared to combat death,
And few unstaggering carry virtue's load.
Thy muse, O Hill, of living names,
My first respect, and chief attendance claims.
Sublimely fir'd, thou look'st disdainful down
On trifling subjects, and a vile renown.
In ev'ry verse, in ev'ry thought of thine,
There's heav'nly rapture and design.
Who can thy god-like Gideon view[A],