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I lean day after day over the little gate of my garden, and the lane is my Sister Anne; I keep asking it, "Is any body coming ?" and I only get the same answer as the unfortunate heroine in Blue Beard,
"Tis the sun that shines bright, and the grass that grows green."
I would sell my house, but no one will buy it; and besides, there is such a thing as shame in the world: I wish I had not said so much about my happiness on leaving London. People ought to be grateful: I have done a great deal for the poets; is there not one among them to do something for me? I entreat them to recollect that I have read them, which is a great deal; I have bought them, which is still more; and I have reduced their theory to practice, which is most of all. They owe me a recompense, and I have a plan in my head. I want one of them to come and commit suicide in my garden, and leave a paper behind requesting to be interred in that very spot. He might assign any reason his imagination suggested, and I would take care that religious attention should be paid to his last wish; indeed, it is for that I desire his death. He shall be buried under my fine old apple-tree: think how beautiful the pink and white blossoms will strew his grave in spring! and I will plant over it my finest double violets, with a succession of polyanthuses and pinks; besides going to the expense of a handsome tablet in white marble; or I would not even grudge an urn, with a veiled figure, like that on the lid of a black teapot, weeping over it. My house would then be put down in the guide-books, and all travellers informed "that it would be very desirable for them to go a little out of their way, to see the beautiful monument erected to the memory of the well-known and unfortunate Mr.——, so celebrated for his genius, his misfortunes, and his death." I might then hope to see a little company. I would keep a book in the summer-house for them to write their names and reminiscences, also some of Bramah’s patent pens, and an inkstand. Moreover, if the worshippers of talent should bring their provisions with them, (pic-nics, I am told, are common among the ruins of Rome,) they should be welcome to the use of the grass-plot; and I would lend them glasses, and knives and forks, articles which, being indispensable, are always forgotten on such occasions: however, when it rains, which it usually does on all parties of pleasure, they should be indulged in the use of my two parlours, and the passage between them.
Nota bene, Visitors are at liberty to take what flowers they might want to strew over the grave.
