74 BEN JONSON TO SHAKSPERE. 66 TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MR. WILLIAM SHAKSPERE AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US. "To draw no envy, Shakspere, on thy name, It has been said that Jonson was envious of the fame of Shakspere while living; but after death had thrown its sacredness over his memory, he wrote those touching lines, which he could scarcely have written had he not loved the man. Ben Jonson's mother married a bricklayer, who took Ben from Westminster school to lay brick; and the story is told, that at the building of Lincoln's Inn, he worked with his trowel in one hand, and Horace in the other. The generous Sir Walter Raleigh, thinking Ben would be of quite as much service to the world in some other occupation, took him from his brick and mortar, and sent him to the Continent with his son. Many thanks to Sir Walter for that, as well as for other things. MILTON-DRYDEN-CHAUCER. 75 115 A XX. ND there is the monument of the great Milton, who died. poor, leaving three daughters unprovided for, to the chari ties of Englishmen, to whom he bequeathed a legacy worth more to them than all their foreign possessions. But rest thee peacefully, Milton! Thou art above the need of mortal pity now; for although the Paternoster publishers have grown rich from thy "Paradise Lost," they cannot rob thee of thy "Paradise Regained;" nor can they buy it of thee for £5, paid in three instalments. Under Milton, is an elegant monument, lately erected to the memory of Gray, who has made every scholar weep as much for what he did not write, as over what he did. The Lyric Muse, in alto-relievo, is holding a medallion of the poet, and pointing to the bust of Milton, directly over it, with the inscription : “No more the Grecian Muse unrivall'd reigns, Here is Dryden's plain, majestic monument. Sheffield showed much taste in the inscription: "J. Dryden, born 1632, died May 1, 1700. John Sheffield, duke of Buckingham, erected this monument, 1720." Nothing more was necessary. And here, too, are Cowley's monument and grave. The chaplet of laurel which begirds his urn, and the fire issuing from its mouth, are expressive emblems of the glory he has acquired by the spirit of his writings. There sleeps Chaucer, the "Father of English poetry," who died 450 years ago. It was once a beautiful Gothic monument, but time has hardly spared the inscription. Near it is the tomb of Butler, the learned author of Hudibras, another of the great writers of England so neglected by his age that he often suffered severely from hunger. "The English are a wonderful people," says a certain English author. Yes, they are a very 76 BUTLER-SPENSER-THOMSON. wonderful people. They have erected palaces of gold for their oppressors, and left their illustrious authors to starve! This is, indeed, wonderful! John Barber, once Lord Mayor of London, a man distinguished for humanity, erected Butler's tombstone, "That he who was destitute of all things when alive, might not want a monument when dead." Here we have the glory and the shame of England, side by side. XXI. ENEATH Butler's monument is the dust of Spenser. The inscription is striking and appropriate. "Here lies (expecting the second coming of our Saviour Christ Jesus) the body of Edmund Spenser, the Prince of Poets in his time, whose divine spirit needs no other witness than the works which he has left behind him. He was born in London in 1553, and died in 1599." Not far from Spenser is the grave of one of those choice spirits that from time to time come to us on earth, and over whose ashes the tears of all good men fall—Granville Sharp. His record is in the hearts of all who love humanity. In letting my eye wander back to Shakspere's tablet, I saw near it the monument of the author of the "Seasons," "James Thomson, Etatis 48, obit. 27th August, 1748. Tutored by thee, sweet poetry exalts her voice to ages, and informs the page with music, image, sentiment, and thought, never to die." The figure of Thomson leans its left arm upon a pedestal, holding a book in one hand, and a cap of Liberty in the other. On John Gay's monument is an epitaph written by himself, which is no less shocking to good taste than to religion : "Life is a jest, and all things show it; I thought so once, and now I know it." John Gay was considered a sensible man; but he has probably had occasion to change his opinion on this point. There, are the ashes of one of those brilliant stars which have GOLDSMITH-ADDISON-HANDEL-BARROW. 77 risen in Ireland, to shed honor upon the English name-Oliver Goldsmith; and who does not love his name, Boswell notwithstanding? Said that little, obsequious, but, after all, very useful slave of Johnson, one evening to Goldsmith, as he seemed to be attracting the attention of the company from the mighty lexicographer, "Oh, Goldy! you must not try to shine in the presence of Hercules." Goldsmith did shine, however, in the presence of Johnson, and every other man he met, when he condescended to. XXII. LITTLE further on is a fine statue in relief, on a monument with a Latin inscription, calling upon the stranger, whoever he may be, to "Venerate the memory of Joseph Addison." Thou dost not need my praise, Addison; but my heart responds to the call: I do venerate thee. : Near this is the last monument Roubiliac lived to finish it is Handel's. The left arm of the statue is resting on a group of musical instruments, and the attitude is expressive of fixed attention to the melody of an angel, playing on a harp in the clouds above. Before him lies the celebrated "Messiah," opened at the sublime air, "I know that my Redeemer liveth;" beneath only this inscription: "George Frederic Handel, Esq., born Feb. 23, 1684; died April 14, 1769." I feel a great reverence for Isaac Barrow, who has a fine monument here: the last man we should expect Charles II. would have chosen for his chaplain. There is a curious story told of Barrow. When he was a boy, as has often been observed of others who afterward became illustrious, he used to indulge in fancies and day-dreams of young ambition. Isaac's parents felt no great admiration for such things; and, besides, he would not work like his brothers; and as his sire could perceive no value in a boy who would not work, the good man used to pray, that if it ever pleased the Lord to take away from 78 GARRICK-ANDRE'S MONUMENT. him any one of his children, it might be Isaac! It is a good thing that even good men's prayers are not always answered. "To the memory of David Garrick, who, died in the year 1779, at the age of 63." When one is passing for the first time around the solemn walls of Westminster Abbey, it is difficult to feel much reverence for an actor, even though he were the greatest actor the world ever saw. Garrick was great and generous; but it is to be feared there was a part he never acted; a part, too, it were wise in every man to play, before the last fall of the curtain. I XXIII. COULD not but stop a few moments before the splendid monument of Major André. This monument is of statuary marble, and the figures were cut by Van Gelder. On a moulded, panelled base and plinth, stands a sarcophagus, on the panel of which is inscribed: "Sacred to the memory of Major André, who, raised by his merit, at an early period of life, to the rank of Adjutant-General of the British forces in America, and employed in an important but hazardous enterprise, fell a victim to his zeal for his king and country, the 2d October, 1780, aged twenty-nine, universally beloved and esteemed by the army in which he served, and lamented even by his foes. His gracious sovereign, King George III., has caused this monument to be erected;" and on the plinth, ." The remains of the said Major André were deposited, on the 28th November, 1821, in a grave near this monument." The sarcophagus has projecting figures; one of them (with a flag of truce) presenting to Washington a letter André had addressed to his Excellency the night previous to his execution, and worded thus: "Sir, buoyed above the terror of death by the consciousness of a life devoted to honorable purposes, and stained with no action which can give me remorse, I trust that the request which I make to your Excellency at this serious period, and which is to soften my last moments, will not be re |