MRS. CLIVE-MRS. WOFFINGTON. 189 "fairly opening the book of nature, and pointing out every valuable passage." Churchill says of her, "In spite of outward blemishes she shone, For humour famed, and humour all her own. Nor sought the critic's praise, nor fear'd his rod." With her sweet looks and silver tones, "Kitty" was one of Garrick's incessant persecutors, constantly importuning him to patronise some poor actor, or otherwise disturbing the great player's equanimity. From Twickenham we pass to the adjacent village of TEDDINGTON, where we find, in the churchyard, a tablet raised to MRS. WOFFINGTON. An Irish girl of great beauty, she was born in Dublin in 1718, and early in life appeared upon the stage to aid a widowed mother. From the theatre of her native city she was transferred to the boards of Covent Garden in November, 1740, one year before Garrick blazed forth to the public at Goodman's Fields. Mrs. Woffington possessed superior beauty and grace, and the industry with which she cultivated her profession, by observing the instructions of Cibber, and paying great attention to Garrick, soon established her as a popular favourite, to which her natural vivacity and elegant form greatly contributed. Mrs. Woffington was suddenly taken ill whilst playing Rosalind; she tottered, and became speechless, and her gay career was ended. She survived some months. The tablet to her memory bears the following inscription: Near this monument lies the body of Margaret Woffington, spinster, born October 18th, 1718, who departed this life March 28th, 1760, aged forty-two years." Hogarth's picture of this celebrated actress is at Bowood, in the collection of the Marquis of Lansdowne. Near to the remains of "captivating Peg" are those of PAUL WHITEHEAD, who was born in Holborn in 1710, and was apprenticed to a mercer in the City. As a poet he exhibited more judgment than genius: he wrote strong partisan satires, gained wealthy patrons, and rose to become poet-laureate. Whitehead died in December, 1774, in Henriettastreet, Covent Garden. Teddington received his remains, with the exception of his heart, which he requested in his will might be taken from his body and inclosed in an urn, to be deposited in a mausoleum at High Wycombe, on the grounds of his patron, the Lord Le Despencer. The urn bears this inscription :— "Unhallow'd hands, this urn forbear; No gems, nor orient spoil, Lie here conceal'd; but, what's more rare, A HEART that knows no guile." Many poets have dedicated the effusions of their brains to their patrons, but few, like Paul, have bequeathed their hearts. He left £50 to defray the expenses of this ceremony. HIGHCATE. This village is supposed to owe its origin to the erection of a toll-gate here by a bishop of London some five centuries since. A view of London is gained from this eminence, to which we give a passing glance, and then seek the grave of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. To Devonshire was this poet indebted for his birth, on the 21st of October, 1772, at St. Mary Ottery, of which parish his father was vicar. The earlier portion of his education was received at Christ's Hospital, from whence he removed to Cambridge. Prior, however, to the completion of his studies, he had fallen in love, and had been rejected, when, in a fit of despondency, he suddenly hastened to London, and enlisted as a common soldier in the 15th Elliott's Light Dragoons. "Do you think," said the general of the district to him, when inspecting the recruits, “you can run a Frenchman through the body?" "I do not know," replied Coleridge, "as I never tried; but I'll let a Frenchman run me through the body before I 'll run away." This was deemed satisfactory, and our future poet was turned into the ranks. He soon discovered, however, that he had mistaken the bent of his genius, and that he was not destined to become a military hero. He was compelled, for instance, to secure the aid of a comrade in order that his horse might be rubbed down with credit, in return for which service he favoured his friend with love stanzas to present to his mistress. Coleridge, it is said, was more over an indifferent horseman, and in mounting on one side of his charger he would occasionally fall over on the other. This state of affairs continued from December, 1793, to April, 1794, when the classical acquirements of the young recruit were accidentally discovered. Explanation followed, and he was removed from the army by his friends. Coleridge now entered the republic of letters, and among his many speculations he started a periodical entitled The Watchman. His want of order and punctuality, however, with his philosophical theories, soon tired out his readers, and the work was discontinued after the ninth number. Coleridge himself relates an amusing illustration of the unsaleable nature of the publication. Happening to rise one morning at an earlier hour than usual, he observed his servant girl putting an extravagant quantity of paper into the grate in order to light the fire, and mildly checked her for her wastefulness. "La, sir!" was the reply of Nanny; "why it's only Watchmen.” Coleridge was an invaluable friend and companion, and his conversation was an intellectual treat. He possessed a powerful imagination and a marvellous spirit, though his genius was somewhat erratic. Indulging in metaphysical speculation, some of his prose works are rendered obscure by the introduction of abstruse discussion. His poetical compositions display a great command of language, and the poet consequently stands out in bolder relief than the philosopher. We may here appropriately introduce a specimen of Coleridge's fine poetic talents in the following lines, written on the occasion of a visit being paid him in the country by Charles Lamb and his sister. Prevented by followed them in thought : "Yes, they wander on Ye purple heath flowers! Richlier beam, ye clouds! As veil the Almighty Spirit when yet he makes Coleridge died on the 25th of July, 1834, having previously written for himself the following epitaph, which is striking for its simplicity and humility : 'Stop, Christian passer-by! Stop, child of God! Beneath this sod Oh, lift a thought in prayer for S. T. C.! That he who many a year, with toil of breath, Mercy for praise-to be forgiven for fame, He ask'd and hoped through Christ-do thou the same." Our next visit is to the grave of one of Coleridge's schoolfellows at |