Prior was not a right good man. He used to bury himself, for whole days and nights together, with a poor mean creature (his Chloe); and often drank hard. He turned from a strong Whig (which he had been when most with Lord Halifax) to a violent Tory and did not care to converse with any Whigs after, any more than Rowe did with Tories.-P.

Sir John Suckling was an immoral man, as well as debauched. The story of the French cards + was told me by the late Duke of Buckingham: and he had it from old Lady Dorset herself. That lady took a very odd pride in boasting of her familiarities with Sir John Suckling. She is the Mistress and Goddess in his poems: and several of those picces were given by herself to the printer. This the Duke of Buckingham used to give as one instance of the fondness she had to let the world know how well they were acquainted.-P.'

"Sir John Suckling was a man of great vivacity and spirit. He died about the beginning of the Civil War; and his death was occasioned by a very uncommon accident. He entered warmly into the King's interests; and was sent over to the Continent by him, with some letters of great consequence, to the Queen. He arrived late at Calais and in the night his servant ran away with his portmanteau, in which was his money and papers. When he was told of this in the morning, he immediately inquired which way his servant had taken, ordered his horses to be got ready instantly, and in pulling on his boots, found one of them extremely uneasy to him: but as the horses were at the door, he leaped into the saddle, and forgot his pain. He pursued his servant so eagerly, that he overtook him two or three posts off; recovered his portmanteau; and soon after complained of a vast pain in one of his feet, and fainted away with it. When they came to pull off his boots to fling him into bed, they found one of them full of blood. It seems his servant (who knew his master's temper well, and was sure he would pursue him as soon as his villany should be discovered) had driven a nail up into one of his boots, in hopes of disabling him from pursuing him. Sir John's impetuosity made him regard the pain only just at first and his pursuit turned him from the thoughts of it for some time after. However, the wound was so bad and so much inflamed, that it flung him into a violent fever, which ended his life in a very few days. This incident, strange as it may seem, might be proved from some original letters in Lord Oxford's collection.-P.

:

It was a general opinion, that Ben Jonson and Shakespear lived in enmity against one another. Betterton has assured me often, that there was nothing in it: and that such a supposition was founded only on the two parties, which in their lifetime listed under one, and endeavoured to lessen the character of the other mutually.-Dryden used to think that the verses Jonson made on Shakespear's death,

+His getting certain marks, known only to himself, affixed to all the cards that came from the great makers in France.'

had something of satire at the bottom: for my part, I can't discover any thing like it in them.-P.‘

'Lord Rochester was of a very bad turn of mind, as well as de bauched. From the Duke of Buckingham and others that knew him.-P.

The reader will here find, in the course of the first five pages, a pretty good specimen of what he may expect-the literary tittle-tattle of the age, and the traditional gossipping of the preceding half-century. The spirit of the remarks and anecdotes, it must be confessed, is rather censorious, and the mention that is made of a number of well known names not the most favourable to them. But a good deal of it is hearsay-and, like other scandals, probably not very accurate. It is rather remarkable, that we have three instances together of poets who were Roman Catholics at this period-Garth, Wycherley, and Pope himself. The reason assigned for Garth's predilection for this faith, viz. the greater efficacy which it gives to the sacraments,' does not appear to be very obvious or satisfactory. Popery is, in its essence, and by its very constitution, a religion of outward form and ceremony, full of sound and show, recommending itself by the charm of music, the solemnity of pictures, the pomp of dress, the magnificence of buildings, by the dread of power, and the allurements of pleasure. It strikes upon the senses studiously, and in every way; it appeals to the imagination; it enthrals the passions; it infects by sympathy; has age, has authority, has numbers on its side; and exacts implicit faith in its inscrutable mysteries and its gaudy symbols:-it is, in a word, the religion of fancy, as Protestantism is the religion of philosophy, and of faith chastised by a more sober reason. It is not astonishing, therefore, that at a period when the nation. and the government had been so lately distracted by the contest between the old and the new religion, poets were found to waver between the two, or were often led away by that which flattered their love of the marvellous and the splendid. Any of these reasons, we think, is more likely, than the greater efficacy given to the sacraments' in that communion, to explain why so many poets, without much religion, as Garth, Wycherley, Pope, Dryden, Crashaw, should be fascinated by the glittering bait of Popery, and lull their more serious feelings asleep in the torpor of its harlot-embraces.-A minute, but voluminous critic of our time, has laboured hard to show, that to this list should be added the name of Massinger. But the proofs adduced in support of this conjecture are extremely inconclusive. Among others, the writer insists on the profusion of crucifixes, glories, angelic visions, garlands of roses, and clouds of incense

scattered through the Virgin-Martyr' as evidence of the theological sentiments meant to be inculcated by this play; when the least reflection might have taught him, that they proved nothing but his author's poetical conception of the character and costume of his subject: A writer might, with the same sinister shrewdness, be suspected of Heathenism for talking of Flora and Ceres, in a poem on the Seasons; and what are produced as the exclusive badges of Catholic bigotry, are nothing but the adventitious ornaments and external emblems,-the gross and sensible language, in a word, the poetry of Christianity in general. What indeed shows the frivolousness of the whole infer ence, is, that Deckar, who is asserted by our critic to have contributed some of the most passionate and fantastic of these devotional scenes, is not even accused of a leaning to Popery.

To return to our Anecdotes.-The next that occur are of three narrow escapes which Pope had for his life; the first, when he was a child, from a mad cow; and the two others, after he was grown up, once from a stupid coachman, and the second time from six run-away horses. What immediately follows is of more importance; and the latter part of it is highly creditable to the feelings of Pope. Indeed, the whole volume leaves a very favourable impression in this respect. Besides these, his perpetual application (after he set to study of himself) reduced him in four years' time to so bad a state of health, that after trying physicians for a good while in vain, he resolved to give way to his distemper; and sat down calmly, in full expectation of death in a short time. Under this thought, he wrote letters to take a last farewell of some of his more particular friends; and, among the rest, one to the Abbé Southcote. The Abbé was extremely concerned, both for his very ill state of health, and the resolution he said he had taken. He thought there might yet be hopes; and went immediately to Dr Radcliffe, with whom he was well acquainted; told him Mr Pope's case; got full directions from him, and carried them down to Mr Pope in Windsor Forest. The chief thing the Doctor ordered him, was to apply less, and to ride every day: the following his advice soon restored him to his health. * -It was about twenty years after this, that Mr Pope heard of an abbey's being like to be vacant in the most delightful part of France, near Avignon; and what some common friend was saying, would be the most desirable establishment in the world for Father Southcote. Mr Pope took no farther notice of the matter on the spot; but sent a letter the next morning to Sir Robert Walpole (with whom he had then some degree of friendship), and begged him to write to Cardinal Fleury to get the abbey for SouthThe affair met with some delay (on account of our Court hav

cote.

*This was when Mr Pope was about seventeen, and consequently about the year 1705.'

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ing just then settled a pension on Father Courayer), but succeeded at last; and Southcote was made abbot.-P.'

This story is given from Pope himself, and little doubt can be entertained of the authenticity of the particulars; and it shows the scrupulous gratitude with which benefits and kindnesses dwelt upon his memory, till the obligation was discharged in the most delicate and effectual manner. Yet this is the man whose name has been familiarly coupled with every sort of vituperative epithet, and who has been often and successfully represented as a compound of spleen, envy, meanness, and ingratitude. Is it our self-love, our envy, or our cowardice, that is so prone to take the scandalous side in such questions? In spite of the admiration we feel for his talents,-in spite of the affection which his friends may have testified for his virtues, we are still strangely inclined to take our idea of an author's private character from the abuse of those who were entire strangers, or professed enemies to him, who envied him for his reputation, and dreaded him for his wit, as if dulness, malice, and ignorance, were the only competent witnesses to merit. Pope was a man whose general conduct through life was amiable, inoffensive, and generous. What then? The heroes of the Dunciad discovered that the initials and final letter of his name composed the syllable A. P. E.; and Lady Wortley Montague, who despised his person, would persuade us that his mind was answerable to it!

The following passages, though the substance of them has been already made public, throw some new light on the history of his early life and studies.

'Mr Pope said, that he was seven years unlearning what he had got (from about twenty to twenty-seven.) He should have travelled, had it not been for his ill health, (and on every occasion that offered had a desire to travel, to the very end of his life.) His first education was at the seminary at Twiford, near Winchester.-P.'

'I wrote things-I'm ashamed to say how soon. Part of an epic poem, when about twelve. (Deucalion was the hero of it.) The scene of it lay at Rhodes, and some of the neighbouring islands; and the poem opened under water, with a description of the Court of Neptune. That couplet on the circulation of the blood in the Dunciad was originally in this poem, word for word, as it is now. *-P.' 'I was acquainted with Betterton from a boy.--P.'

Wycherley was Mr Pope's first poet-friend, and Walsh his next. Mannick.'

'Mr Pope was but a little while under his master at Twiford. He

*As man's meanders to the vital spring

Roll all their tides, then back their circles bring.'
Dunciad, b. iii. v. 56,

wrote extremely young; and, among other things, a satire on that gentleman, for some faults he had discovered in him.-M.',

He set out to learn Latin and Greek by himself about twelve: and, when he was fifteen, he resolved that he would go up to London and learn French and Italian. We in the family looked upon it as a wildish sort of resolution: † for as his health would not let him travel, we could not see any reason for it. He stuck to it; went thither; and mastered both those languages with a surprising despatch. Almost every thing of this kind was of his own acquiring. He had had masters indeed, but they were very indifferent ones; and what he got was almost wholly owing to his own unassisted industry.-M.

He was a child of a particularly sweet temper, and had a great deal of sweetness in his look when he was a boy. This is very evident in the picture drawn for him when about ten years old; in which his face is round, plump, pretty, and of a fresh complexion. I have often heard Mrs Pope say, that he was then exactly like that picture. I have often been told, that it was the perpetual application he fell into, about two years afterwards, that changed his form and ruined his constitution. The laurel branch in that picture was not inserted originally; but was added long after, by Jervas.-M.'

It would be curious if this were correctly true; and would vary, in some respects, our usual idea of Pope, which implies that he owed some of the fineness of his mind to the original tenderness of his constitution; whereas it would appear, that he was worn down and twisted into that wrinkled, feeble form, by his too eager pursuit, and early love of learning.

My brother was whipped and ill-used at Twiford school for his satire on his master, and taken from thence on that account. I never saw him laugh very heartily in all my life.-Mrs Racket, speaking of Mr Pope.' Spence himself adds, that he seldom went beyond a particular easy smile.

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We will throw together in this connexion a few more particulars of nearly the same date, which are scattered about the original work, without any attempt at order.

Mr Pope's first education was under a priest, and I think his name was Banister. He set out with the design of teaching him Greek and Latin together. "I was then, says Pope, "about eight years old, had learnt to read of an old aunt, and to write by copying printed books. After having been under that priest about a a year, I was sent to the seminary at Twiford, and then to a school by Hyde-Park Corner: and with the two latter masters lost what I

6

What his sister, Mrs Racket, said- For you know, to speak plain with you, my brother has a maddish way with him. Little people mistook the excess of his genius for madness. Egad, that young fellow will either be a madman, or make a very great poet.'Rag Smith, after being in Mr Pope's company when about fourteen.