with Lady Montague; their fierce encounters of wit; their friendship, correspondence, and mutual enmity. These and similar scenes of literary animosity, were brightened by friendly intercourse with Gay, Swift, and Bolingbroke and relieved by long periods of study and composition, visits to noblemen, short journeys, and domestic duties. And thus the weak and diminutive poet managed to rise above the dull existence his organization seemed to ensure, and to find abundance of interest in the excitement of critical warfare and the pursuit of poetical renown. It is a wonderful evidence of the power of mind, that this blighted germ of humanity-who was braced in canvass in order to hold himself upright-put to bed and undressed all his life like a child-often unable to digest the luxuries he could not deny himself, or to keep his eyes open at the honorable tables to which his talents alone gave him access-should yet be the terror of his foes, the envy of his rivals, and the admiration of his friends. He could not manage the sword he so ostentatiously displayed in society, but he wielded a pen whose caustic satire was amply adequate to minister either to his self-defence or revenge. He was sent into this breathing world but half made up,' and calls his existence ‘a long disease; but nature atoned for the unkindness, by endowing him with a judgment marvellous for its refined correctness. He could not enjoy with his neighbors the healthful exercises of the chase; but while they were pursuing a poor hare, with whose death ended the sport, his mind was borne along in a race of rhyme destined to carry his name with honor to posterity. He never laughed

heartily; but while weaving his heroics, forgot pain, weariness and the world. In the street, he was an object of pity-at his desk, a king. His head was early deprived of hair, and ached severely almost every day of his life; but his eyes were singularly expressive, and his voice uncommonly melodious. In youth he suffered the decrepitude of age, but at the same time gave evidence of mental precocity and superior sense. He was unequal to a personal rencontre with those who ridiculed his works; but he has bestowed upon them an immortal vengeance in the Dunciad. His unfortunate person shut him out from the triumphs of gallantry, but his talents and reputation long secured him the society and professed friendship of the most brilliant woman of the day; and obtained for him, during most of his life, the faithful care and companionship of Martha Blount. He never knew the buoyancy of spirit which good health induces, but was very fa miliar with that keen delight that springs from successful mental enterprize. He could not command the consideration attached to noble birth; but, on the strength of his intellectual endowments, he was always privileged to tax the patience of his titled acquaintance for his own convenience and pleasure.

Men of letters have been called a race of creatures of a nature between the two sexes. Pope is a remarkable exemplification of the idea. There is a tone of decided manliness in the strong sense which characterizes his productions, and a truly masculine vigor in the patient application with which he opposed physical debility. His disposition on the other hand was morbidly vain. He

was weak enough to indulge an ambition for distinguished acquaintance, and a most effeminate caprice swayed his attachments and enmities. Another prominent trait increased his resemblance to the female sex. I allude to a quality which the phrenologists call secretiveness. In its healthy exercise its operation is invaluable. To its influence is ascribed much of that address and tact, in which women are so superior to men. The latter, in ordinary affairs, generally adopt a very direct course. They confide in strength rather than policy. They overlook lesser means in the contemplation of larger ends. This, indeed, is partly owing to their position. Nature always gives additional resources where the relation is that of the pursued rather than the pursuer. Hence, the insight into character, the talent for observation, the skill in tracing motives and anticipating results, which belong to wo men. It is the abuse, however, of this trait that is obvious in Pope. There seems little question that he was an artful man. He made use of the most unnecessary stratagems to compass a simple favor. His cunning, indeed, was chiefly directed to the acquisition of fame; but nothing subtracts more from our sense of reputation, than a conviction that it is an exclusive end to its possessor. Truly great men never trouble themselves about their fame. They press bravely on in the path of honor and leave their renown to take care of itself. It succeeds as certainly as any law of nature. All elevated spirits have

a calm confidence in this truth.

Washington felt it in

the darkest hour of the revolution, and Shakespeare unconsciously realized it, when he concluded his last play,

and went quietly down to finish his days in the country. Pope was a gifted mortal, but he was not of this calibre. He thought a great deal about his reputation. He was not satisfied merely to labor for it, and leave the result. He disputed its possession inch by inch with the critics, and resorted to a thousand petty tricks to secure its enjoyment. The management he displayed in order to publish his letters, is an instance in point. No one can read them without feeling they were written for more eyes than those of his correspondents. There is a labored smartness, a constant exhibition of fine sentiment, which is strained and unnatural. His repeated deprecation of motives of aggrandizement, argues, a thinking too precisely' on the very subject; and no man, whose chief ambition was to gain a few dear friends, would so habitually proclaim it. These tender and delicate aspirations live in the secret places of the heart. They are breathed in lonely prayers, and uttered chiefly in quiet sighs. Scarcely do they obtain natural expression amid the details of a literary correspondence. True sentiment is modest. It may tinge the conversation and give a feeling tone to the epistle, but it makes not a confessional of every sentrybox, or gallery. The letters of Pope leave upon the mind an impression of affectation. Doubtless they contain much that is sincere in sentiment and candid in opinion, but the general effect lacks the freedom and heartiness of genuine letter-writing. Many of the bard's foibles should be ascribed to his bodily ailments, and the indulgence which he always commanded. Nor should we forget that he proved himself above literary servility—

着

and was, in many instances, a most faithful friend, and always an exemplary son. Pope was the poet of wit and fancy, rather than of enthusiasm and imagination. His invention is often brilliant, but never grand. He rarely excites any sentiment of sublimity, but often one of pleasure. There is little in his poetry that seems the off. spring of emotion. He never appears to have written from overpowering impulse. His finest verses have an air of premeditation. We are not swept away by a torrent of individual passion as in Byron, nor melted by a natural sentiment as in Burns, nor exalted by a grandeur of imagery as in Milton. We read Pope with a regular pulse. He often provokes a smile, but never calls forth a tear. His rationality approves itself to our understand. ing, his fancifulness excites our applause; but the citadel of the soul is uninvaded. We perceive, unawares perhaps, that books have quickened the bard's conception far more than experience. It may be fairly doubted whether Pope possessed, in any great degree, the true poetical sensibility to nature. He thought more of his own domains

than becomes a true son of the muse, and had a most unpoetical regard for money, as well as contempt for poverty. His favorite objects of contemplation were Alexander Pope and Twickenham. We cannot wonder that he failed as an editor of Shakspeare. Few objects or scenes of the outward world awoke feelings in his bosom "too deep for tears." He never claimed such fellowship with the elements as to fancy himself a portion of the tempest.' It is true he describes well; but where the materials of his pictures are not borrowed, they resemble