than the black Lord Edward Herbert, conspicuously a Welshman as enemies let him know, a vain bold man, independent in thought and action, chiefly remembered now for his own account of his horsemanship, unconquerable skill as a duellist, and personal charm. Pope was the only child of his mother, who was forty-six years old, like her husband, at his birth in 1688. She lived until 1733 an entirely fond mother, and he responded to her with an affection stronger than he ever had for any one else and quite untroubled. He allowed her to copy portions of his translation of Homer for the press in spite of her unorthodoxy in spelling. His words upon her death are the only sweet words he ever wrote except when he mentioned her in life: I thank God her death was as easy as her life was innocent; and as it cost her not a groan, nor even a sigh, there is yet upon her countenance such an expression of tranquillity, nay, almost of pleasure, that it is even enviable to behold it. It would afford the finest image of a saint expired that ever painter drew, and it would be the greatest obligation which ever that obliging art could ever bestow upon a friend, if you would come and sketch it for me. I am sure if there be no very prevalent obstacle, you will leave any common business to do this, and I shall hope to see you this evening as late as you will, or to-morrow morning as early, before this winter flower is faded. |