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of the school of Garrick, of which Mrs. Pope had not long before been made an honorary member, attended. Over the grave was placed the following epitaph :
“ In memory of
MRS. ELIZABETH POPE,
who departed this life
aged 52 years.
“ The Orphan
" vived at Covent Garden to introduce Mrs. Spencer, from the Dublin Theatre, in Monimia.
This lady's maiden name was Campion. She was born at Waterford, in Ireland, in 1777. She had scarcely entered her teens, when, by the death of her father, her mother was left with herself and a younger sister destitute. Miss Campion resolved on making the stage a profession to support her mother and sister, and offered herself to Hitchcock, the Dublin prompter, as a candidate for the stage; the result was, that she appeared on the Dublin stage, on the 17th of February, 1792, in Monimia. When the time arrived, her fears overcame her; before the curtain rose she went into hysterics in the greenroom, and, when wanted for the stage, was incapable of proceeding. The audience were clamorous, she could not be persuaded to face them. At last Hitchcock persuaded her to walk towards the wing and take a glance at the house, and, when he got her there, he actually pushed her on the stage. The applause that accompanied her entrance so overcame her that she fainted, and Hitchcock ran on the stage in time only to save her from falling; when she recovered, she went through the part to the general satisfaction of every one, and very soon became the heroine of the Dublin stage. She had never seen but one ill-acted play at Waterford, and another in Dublin; and scarcely had got footing in Dublin before the London papers announced that she was engaged at Covent Garden.
She was next engaged by Jones for the private theatre, Fish-shamble Street, and then went to York, where, for some good reason, she assumed the name of Mrs. Spencer, and returned again to Dublin. In 1795 she started for America, with a Mrs. Robinson, but, passing through England on her way, she altered her mind, and again returned to Dublin.
Mrs. Spencer had not been long in town before she became the wife of Mr. Pope,-on the 24th of January, 1798, they were married at St. George's, Hanover Square. By this marriage Mr. Pope added to his income 2001. a-year, which had been settled on Mrs. Spencer during her residence in Ireland.
In April, 1799, Pope produced for his benefit at Covent Garden a new play, called “ The Count of Burgundy," in four acts, from Kotzebue, and adapted to the stage by himself, which is the only specimen he gave of his authorship. The play was not repeated. In June Mrs. Pope was confined, but the child, a boy, died shortly after.
In February, 1800, Pope was one of Moody's glorious eight, or, according to Captain Barlow's account, one of the Covent Garden mutineers—the particulars of which may be seen in Fawcett's Memoirs in “ The Manager's Note-Book, No. VII.”-and, at the end of the following season, June, 1801, both Pope and his wife were discharged from Covent Garden, but they were engaged at Drury Lane, and appeared there in January, 1802.
On the 10th of June, 1803, Mrs. Pope was taken ill during the performance, and another lady finished the character of Desdemona. On the 18th, when she had apparently recovered, she fell down in a fit of apoplexy, and expired before any medical aid could be procured, in her twenty-sixth year. In the previous March, her mother, Mrs. Campion, had died in Dublin.
Her figure was slender, but finely proportioned, and her face had a character of peculiar sweetness and interest; her eye was uncommonly expressive ; to a retentive memory she added the justest conception; her voice was clear and distinct. In private life she was mild, lively, and good-humoured ; but her mildness was without tameness, and her liveliness without levity : it was impossible for any one to possess more engaging manners. Her remains were deposited in the grave with the first Mrs. Pope on the 25th of June. She left a daughter to deplore the loss of a kind and affectionate parent.
În 1804 Pope's son, a midshipman on board the Doris frigate, died; this young man escaped from the Invulnerable when she was lost in 1801.
At the close of the season 1804-5 Pope received a formal dismissal from Drury Lane Theatre, when he determined on giving up the stage entirely, and devoting his whole time to his profession of an artist; nevertheless, he returned to the stage in February 1806, and appeared at Covent Garden in “ Othello."
On the 25th of June, 1807, he was married to Mrs. Wheatley, relict of Francis Wheatley, Esq. R.A. This lady, independently of her amiable qualities in private life, is an excellent flower painter, and for many years bore off the palm at the Royal Academy.
In September of the same year, besides being robbed of more than 1001. from his trunks in his dressing-rooms at Cork, he was nearly shipwrecked on his way home, and, after knocking about at sea for a considerable time, was obliged to put in at Milford Haven.
At his benefit at Covent Garden, May 1808, he played Sir Callaghan O'Brallaghan, in “Love à-la-Mode;" his first appearance in an Irish character, and, as he did not repeat it, it may be concluded that it was a failure. -Pope was again discharged in June, 1809, from Covent Garden Theatre.
In April, 1811, the Opera House was opened for Pope's benefit. The gratuitous assistance promised by Mrs. Siddons, Mr. Braham, Mr. Elliston, Mr. Incledon, Mr. Mathews, Mr. Liston, and other eminent members of the profession, enabled him to announce an entertainment worthy of the support and approbation of the public. The performances were “ The Earl of Warwick,” not acted for twenty-four years, in which Mrs. Siddons played Margaret of Anjou for the first time; songs, and “ The Waterman.”
The receipt on this occasion exceeded 7001., and the actors who volunteered their services for their dramatically excommunicated brother were received with the greatest applause.
Pope, though he had been out of an engagement for two years, refused to engage at the Haymarket, unless insured 2001. for two months.
He obtained an engagement at Drury Lane for three years from September 1812, at 121. a-week, and made his appearance in Lord Townley.
At the end of four years he again quitted Drury Lane, and in May, 1817, took a benefit at the Haymarket Theatre : the actors of Covent Garden and Drury Lane gave their assistance. The play and farce were excellently acted, and produced a full house.
Pope was discharged from Drury Lane in consequence of the committee having found a bargain in the person of Mr. Bengough of Bath, at one-half the salary of Pope. This gentleman did not turn out the bargain they expected. Pope was re-engaged, and appeared on the 22nd of September, 1817, in Mr. Strickland.
In the previous March, having given up all hope of further engagements, he applied to the Covent Garden Fund, but his application was rejected, he having a profession as an artist. He remonstrated, but in vain ; he said it was very hard that he should be restricted at his time of life, when he never exceeded his bottle a-day.
On Elliston's taking Drury Lane Theatre, Pope wrote to him; among other things he said
“My excellent friend G. Robins, through whose active friendship and exertions I am principally indebted for the adjustment of my affairs and relief from my difficulties, has authorised the present application. It is my wish to be reinstated at Drury Lane, from which I have been driven by the cruellest persecution ; should you deem my services acceptable for an engagement for three years, I dare affirm you shall have no cause to complain of a lack of zeal, or a want of every exertion on my part to promote the honour and interest of the property. Yours, &c.
“ ALEXANDER Pope.” Elliston engaged him for one season, and upon further application a second, but did not retain him for the third, upon which Pope addressed a letter to his friend G. Robins :
“I know you will not blame me for trespassing on your hours of business when the vital interest of a more unfortunate man than (I hope) he deserves to be is at stake. What Mrs. Pope anticipated from the late extraordinary conduct in the theatre has just taken place, and under circumstances, I must say, of the most ungracious description. It has hitherto been the invariable practice of the theatre previously to the close of a season to place in the Green-room something like the following placard :- Those ladies and gentlemen not in articles are requested to take notice, that, unless re-engaged, they are not to consider themselves as belonging to the establishment.' No such notice having this year (I believe) been given, it was natural to suppose the company as it stood was to be retained. Mr. Thompson's name is put in for my part in 'Therese.' Thus the bill of this very day is the only intimation given to me of a rejection, at once undeserved, humiliating, and cruel. I am too much wounded and broken in spirit to avail myself of your permission of going to Mr. Elliston and remonstrating in your name. It is an object of the utmost consequence to me to be engaged for the ensuing season, as I shall then, and not before, become entitled to the Covent Garden Fund, to which I have been a subscriber for seven-and-thirty years,” &c. &c.
Pope, in his early theatrical life, paid largely for the praises which were daily showered upon him: there was one person entirely in his
pay, he had the direction of one popular journal, and great influence with many others; so that, whether he played well or ill, daily paragraphs appeared in his favour. When he gave up his house and good dinners in Half-moon Street he lost his newspaper friends and their praises, and their tone was now altered. Good eating, good drinking, and a good number of friends, had lessened, indeed exhausted, his property. In 1811 he fell into involvements from which he never recovered, so that, even at the age of sixty-two, he was unable to retire from the stage.
In 1828, however, he could procure no engagement, and claimed the Covent Garden Fund, to which he had contributed four-and-forty years, and received from it 801. a-year; but the prosperity of the institution enabled them, two years after, to increase it to 1001.
By the regulations of the fund an annuitant may possess a sum equal to his annuity either in property or employment. Mathews had just then become proprietor of one-half of the Adelphi Theatre : Mathews, who was one of the kindest-hearted of men, did not forget his old friend Pope; he gave him a berth in his establishment, and apportioned him the greatest sum he was allowed to receive, 801. a-year, as superintendent; his duty was to read pieces, and attend to the stage every evening ; and he accordingly took his nightly station at the second wing, and retained it for two seasons; under some new arrangement he, however, was not engaged for a third.
Pope was a great gourmand; he carried his inclination that way so far as occasionally to make himself unpopular even to the extent of losing several worthy friends.
Kean, Pope, and Catalani were one day invited to dine with Jones, the Dublin manager, at his house a mile or two from Dublin, with some of the first people ; it was not long after dinner when Pope asked Kean what time he had ordered the carriage ? he replied at eleven : at Pope's request it was sent for directly, and they departed. As they were returning, Kean asked Pope why he was in such a hurry to come away ?—“ Why, did you not observe what occurred at dinner ?”–
—“No? Why, did not you see what that monster, Catalani, did ?”—“Not I,” said Kean.—“Why, Sir," replied Pope, “she cut a fricandeau with a knife!"-"Yes,” said Kean, “ I did see that; but what of it?”—“ What of it!” exclaimed Pope; why, she ought to have used a spoon--and I will never again sit down with the woman till she has learned how to help a fricandeau.”
For two seasons that Kean was in Dublin, Pope was also there, and each time he played for his benefit, and put at least 2001. into Pope's pocket : the third summer Kean went again to Dublin, but at a different period. Pope asked him to come to Plymouth to act for him. Kean said, “Why don't you come to Dublin? you are sure of a great benefit there?”_"My dear friend,” said Pope, “ I must be at Plymouth at that time--I cannot be away-it is exactly the season for mullet.”
He had for a long time been throwing himself in the way of an invitation to one of Dr. Kitchener's Saturday dinner parties, at which theDoctor had written up in the dinner-room, “ Come at seven, go at eleven :" in which direction Colman once inserted the word il, so that it read, “ Come at seven, go it at eleven;" and where Colman was, there was no great chance of going at eleven.
The Doctor and Pope met one morning at Kelly's; he was introduced, and invited for the next Saturday.
The Doctor lived in Warren
Street, and Pope in Store Street, and it so happened they both dealt with the same fishmonger in Tottenham Court Road; this Pope knew,
and accordingly went to the shop in the morning and inquired what fish had been ordered by the Doctor. “ Salmon," answered the fishmonger, showing him a very fine piece of fish. “That won't do, Sir,” said Pope; “that's common salmon-it must be Colvert salmon.” “That's very dear to-day, Sir,” said the man ; “ seven shillings a-pound.” “Never mind,” said Pope, and gave the order; and Colvert salmon was accordingly sent to Warren Street. Pope, when at dinner, abused everything at table but the fish, which being praised, and Kitchener having been told by the servant that Mr. Pope had sent it, he publicly thanked his liberal friend for his very excellent present. When the Doctor came to pay his weekly bills on the Monday, he found—“To six pounds of Colvert salmon, by order of Mr. Pope, 21. 2s.” Pope was never again invited.
Another friend of Kelly's had a cottage at Earl's Court, in which he had an excellent collection of pictures. Pope was not only a good judge of pictures, but a liberal-minded man in everything but gastronomy; he was invited to dine and see the collection. Pope, it being his first visit, was placed on the right-hand of the host, and, on the covers being removed, a fine turbot made its appearance before him. Pope could not restrain himself, and, rising from his chair with his knife in his hand, said, “ D -n your cook, Sir, she ought to be discharged; she has spoiled a fine Torbay turbot by smothering it with horseraddish:” and proceeded forthwith to scrape the whole of it off with the knife. This, like Dr. Kitchener’s, was his first and last invitation.
Jack Johnstone once invited Bannister, Dowton, Pope, and two others, to an early beef dinner at half-past four, as they all had to play that night in the “Rivals," upon which occasions they always dined early, and limited themselves to one joint only. Pope, for a wonder, approved of his dinner, and, at the conclusion, declared that he had made a most sumptuous meal, and that, were all the delicacies of the world now laid before him, he could not swallow another mouthful.
That's rather unlucky,” said Johnstone, " for here's a haunch of venison coming:" and at that moment Rooney put it on the table. Pope's countenance underwent a sudden change.
“ What !” said Pope, "a haunch of venison ! the object of my idolatry! and I not smell it as I entered the house! and have I been suffered to disgrace myself with boiled beef ?-It is cruel, barbarous, and never to be forgiven!” He actually cried for vexation, and immediately left the house.
In the last scene of “ The Rivals” they were all on the stage together. Acres (Bannister) should have said, “ Ods capers, I'll order the fiddles to the new rooms," &c.: but he took Falkland (Pope) to the front of the stage, and said, “ Odds, turtle and venison, I'll order a good dinner; what do you say to a glorious haunch of venison ? but my friend, Sir Lucius here (Johnstone), says you prefer boiled beef.” All the actors, naturally enough, laughed, but the audience of course saw no joke in it.
Mr. Pope died at his house in Store Street, Bedford Square, the former residence of Tom King, on Thursday the 22nd of March, 1835, in his seventy-third year.
About a month previous to his decease he walked to the end of Store Street, the last time he left his house; on his return he complained of his ancles swelling; they continued to swell, but not alarmingly : his