Yet the building is not merely ornamental, for the back serves as a
cow-house!

Pope's love of grotto-building has made it a poetical amusement. Who
does not remember his grotto at Twickenham--

The EGERIAN GROT,
Where, nobly pensive, ST. JOHN sat and thought;
Where British sighs from dying _Wyndham_ stole,
And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont's soul.
Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor,
Who dare to love their COUNTRY, and be poor.

--The Grotto, has, however, crumbled to the dilapidations of time, and
the pious thefts of visiters; but, proud are we to reflect that the
poetry of the great genius who dictated its erection--LIVES; and his
fame is untarnished by the canting reproach of the critics of our time.
True it is that the best, or ripest fruit, is always most pecked at.

* * * * *


FAIRY SONG.

(_For the Mirror._)


Slowly o'er the mountain's brow
Rosy light is dawning;
See! the stars are fading now