He should have been
prepared also to answer an obvious question. Every one would naturally
inquire how Curll had procured the letters, which by Pope's own account
were safely deposited in Lord Oxford's library. Without, as it would
seem, properly weighing the difficulty of meeting this demand, Pope
called out loudly for vengeance. When the Dunciad appeared, he had
applied (as I have said) for an injunction in Chancery, and had at the
same time secured the failure of his application. The same device was
tried in a still more imposing fashion. The House of Lords had recently
decided that it was a breach of privilege to publish a peer's letters
without his consent. Pope availed himself of this rule to fire the most
sounding of blank shots across the path of the piratical Curll. He was
as anxious to allow the publication, as to demand its suppression in the
most emphatic manner. Accordingly he got his friend, Lord Ilay, to call
the attention of the peers to Curll's advertisement, which was so worded
as to imply that there were in the book letters from, as well as to,
peers. Pope himself attended the house "to stimulate the resentment of
his friends." The book was at once seized by a messenger, and Curll
ordered to attend the next day. But on examination it immediately turned
out that it contained no letters from peers, and the whole farce would
have ended at once but for a further trick. Lord Ilay said that a
certain letter to Jervas contained a reflection upon Lord Burlington.
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