ing whose administration, in the reigns of
George II. and George III.
Divine Providence
Exalted Great Britain
To a height of Prosperity and Glory
Unknown in any former age.

Of poetical epitaphs in the Abbey some of the most important are by Pope.
Like everything else from his pen, they are carefully written, but viewed
as monumental inscriptions, not distinguished for any striking excellence.
Among the best of them is that on the Honourable James Craggs, a secretary
of state, rather discreditably mixed up with the South Sea Bubble:--

Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,
In action faithful, yet in honour clear!
Who broke no promise, served no private end,
Who gained no title, and who lost no friend;
Ennobled by Himself, by all approved,
Praised, wept, and honored by the Muse he loved.

The one on Gay is interesting as a tribute of friendship, and as a
faithful portrait of that pleasing and amiable poet, the simplicity of
whose character is admirably delineated in the first couplet:--

Of manners gentle, and affections mild,
_In wit a man, simplicity a child_.

Altogether it is a beautiful and appropriate composition, and we cannot
but regret that the monument on which it appears should be disfigured by
the doggerel, said to have been written by Gay himself, and inscribed on
the ledge just above Pope's epitaph;

Life is a jest, and all things show it;
I thought so once, but now I know it.

That of Nicholas Rowe, the dramatist (also by Pope), has been admired for
the pathos of the concluding lines, the beauty of which, however, it is a
matter of notoriety, was considerably marred by a prosaic circumstance,
which proves the danger of assuming facts even in poetical compositions.
The monument is commemorative of the poet and of his only daughter, the
wife of Henry Fane. His widow survived him, and her inconsolable
affliction was beautifully depicted:-

To these so mourned in death, so loved in life,
The childless parent and the widowed wife,
With tears inscribes this monumental stone,
That holds their ashes, _and expects her own_.

Almost, however, before "the monumental stone" was finished, the
disconsolate widow dried her eyes, and married a gallant colonel of
dragoons, without considering that she was spoiling the beauty of her
husband's epitaph.

Among the most flagrant instances of false taste, we must specify that on
the tomb of David Garrick. The tom