friends and furious detractors to his temple of Fame, his old mother writes from the country, "My deare," says she, "my deare, there's Mi. Blount, of Mapel Durom, dead the same day that Myr. Inglefield died. Your sister is well; but your brother is sick. My service to Mrs. Blount, and all that ask of me. I hope to hear from you, and that you are well, which is my daily prayer; and this with my blessing." The triumph marches by, and the ear of the young conqueror, the hero of a hundred brilliant victories—the fond mother sits in the quiet cottage at home, and says, "I send you my daily prayers, and I bless you, my deare."
In our estimate of Pope's character, let us always take into account that constant tenderness and fidelity of affection, which pervaded and sanctified his life, and never forget that maternal benediction.[1] It accompanied him always: his life seems purified by those artless and heartfelt prayers. And he seems to have received and deserved the fond attachment of the other members of his family. It is not a little touching to read in Spence of the enthusiastic admiration with
- ↑ Swift's mention of him as one,is well known. And a sneer of Walpole's may be put to a better use than he ever intended it for, apropos of this subject.—He charitably sneers, in one of his letters, at Spence's "fondling an old mother—in imitation of Pope!""——— whose filial piety excells,
Whatever Grecian story tells,"
