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POPE'S MONUMENT.

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cherished a high regard for those who, under Providence, had given him birth, and had taken no ordinary care of him up to his full growth of manhood. He himself was of a remarkably delicate frame, and without a constant vigilance exercised over him in his carly years, the lamp of life must have been extinguished.

Upon the above tablet is this inscription, drawn up by the poet, it is elegant Latin, and the sentiment highly respectful to the memory of both his parents :

D.O.M.
Alexander Pope viro innocuo, probo, pio

Qui vixit annos 75, Ob. 1717 ;
Et Edithæ conjugi inculpabili, pientissimæ

Quæ vixit annos 93, Ob. 1733 ;
Parentibus bene merentibus

Filius fecit:
Et Sibi-Obiit An. 1744, Ætatis 56.

Agreeably to his will, this lust line was added immediately after Pope's decease. Warburton, the learned Bishop of Gloucester, who was greatly indebted to Pope for his friendship as well as a handsome legacy, erected an elegant monument to his memory with a medallion of his head and this inscription :

Alexandro Pope,

H. M.
Gulielmus, Episcopus Glocestriensis,

Amicitiæ causa,

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MONUMENT OF POPE'S NURSE.

Then follow these lines :

POETA LOQUITUR.
For one who would not be buried in Westminster Abbey.

Heroes and kings your distance keep,
In peace let one poor Poet sleep,
Who never flatter'd folks like you,

Let Horace blush and Virgil too ! Nor would I omit noticing a stone raised by POPE himself to the memory of his purse; it is to be found on the outside of the church and evinces the obligations he felt for the care taken of him in his infancy. His numerous bodily infirmities, already noticed, rendered such care essentially necessary; and it is pleasing to observe that this great man retained so grateful a sense of it:

To the Memory of Mary Beach,
Who died November 5, 1725, aged 78;
Alex. Pope, whom she nursed in his infancy
And constantly attended for thirty-eight years,
In gratitude to a faithful servant

Erected this Stone. A faithful servant is an honourable character, however unnoticed and forgotten by the world. Entrusted with talents for improvement, we must All render up our account at the tribunal of Heaven. And the obedient disciple is thus honourably designated by the Saviour of the World, in the presence of an assembled universe: " Well done, good and FAITHFUL SERVANT, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord .!

Pope's WEAK CONSTITUTION.

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It is worthy of remark, that the peculiar make and conformation of Pope rendered a faithful servant of inestimable value. For Johnson assures us, that “ he was so weak as stand in perpetual need of female attendance, and was so extremely sensible of cold, that he wore a kind of fur doublet under a shirt of very coarse warm linen with fine sleeves. When he rose he was invested in boddice made of stiff canvass, being scarce able to hold himself erect till they were laced, and he then put on a flannel waistcoat.

One side was contracted. His legs were so slender that he enlarged their bulk with three pair of stockings, which were drawn on and off by the maid, for he was not able to dress or undress himself, and neither went to bed or rose without help. His weakness made it very difficult for him to be clean. His hair had fallen almost all away, and he used to dine sometimes with Lord Oxford, privately, in a velvet cap. His dress of ceremony was black, with a tye wig and a little sword. The indulgence and accommodation which his sickness required had taught him all the unpleasing and unsocial qualities of a valetudinary man.

He expected that every thing should give way to his ease or humour, as a child, whose parents will not hear its cry, has an unresisted dominion in the nursery.

C'est que l'enfant toujours est homme
C'est que l'homme est toujours enfant!

When he wanted to sleep he nodded in company, and

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once slumbered at his own table while the Prince of Wales was talking of poetry.”

I have transcribed the whole of this curious, paragraph, because I have it in my power to confirm the accuracy of its representation so far as it relates to the person of Pope. I lately met with a woman upwards of eighty years of age, living in the lodge belonging to Prior Park, near Bath. She had, when very young, lived with the celebrated Ralph Allen, whom the poet often visited. She remembered him well ; mentioned his singularly delicate and peculiarly constructed form; his fondness of being alone in the garden, musing and talking to himself! The old lady described the amiable Allen and the stately Warburton with similar fidelity.

But I would proceed to a description of an object which attracts the attention of the visitors to Twickenham; and some have come hither for its inspection from distant parts. I mean the house of Pope, purchased by him in 1715, and in which, together with the gardens, he took great delight. It is said that the original mansion was humble and confined. Veneration for his memory enlarged its dimensions. Upon his decease, Sir William Stanhope purchased it and added the two wings, which was a very considerable improvement. And over an arched way in the back grounds is a bust of Pope, in white marble, with these lines from the pen of Earl Nugent :

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The humble roof, the garden's scanty line,
III suit the genius of the Bard divine;
But Fancy now displays a fairer scope,
And Stanhope's plans unfold the soul of Pope.

Not only was the house thus improved, but the lawn was enlarged, and on the margin of the river Thames stood two WEEPING Willows, planted by Pope himself! Slips of this vegetable curiosity were annually transferred to other climes; and, so late as the year 1789, the celebrated Empress of Russia had some planted in her garden at Petersburgh. Thus this precious relic, like the fame of the Poet, may be said to be diffused to the remotest regions of the

globe!

Here are, also, two busts, in Italian marble, of Sir William Stanhope and the Earl of Chesterfield, with a Roman urn of exquisite workmanship. Masses of stone are scattered around the garden, in imitation of rocks, whilst plants and forest trees impart a sylvan rydeness to the scene. You are led to a small Obelisk, which the filial piety of the Poet raised to his Mother, with this pathetic inscription :

Ah! Editha,
Matrum optima,
Mulierum amantissima,

Vale!

But you will expect, my dear young Friend, some account of the far-famed Grotto. Much cannot be said in favour of its present appearance; therefore you will be more gratified with the Poet's own description. He

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