a Bible in her life, which was received with so mach interest and satisfaction, or one, which she thinks more likely to do good. It is remarkable, that this

importance of the alterations which had been effected, immediately adopted the whole plan as a part of the system of Newgate; empowered the ladies to punish the refractory by short confinement, un-girl, from her conduct in her preceding prison, and dertook part of the expense of the matron, and in court, came to Newgate with the worst of charloaded the ladies with thanks and benedictions." acters."-p. 134. pp. 130, 131.

We can add nothing to this touching and elevating statement. The story of a glorious victory gives us a less powerful or proud emotion-and thanks and benedictions appear to us never to have been so richly deserved.

"A year, says Mr. Buxton, has now elapsed since the operations in Newgate began; and those most competent to judge, the late Lord Mayor and the present, the late Sheriffs and the present, the late Governor and the present, various Grand Juries, the Chairman of the Police Committee, the Ordinary, and the officers of the prison, have all declared their satisfaction, mixed with astonishment, at the alteration which has taken place in the conduct of the females.

We have nothing more to say; and would not willingly weaken the effect of this impressive statement by any observations of ours. Let us hear no more of the difficulty of. regulating provincial prisons, when the prostitute felons of London have been thus easily reformed and converted. Let us never again be told of the impossibility of repressing drunkenness and profligacy, or introducing habits of industry in small establishments. when this great crater of vice and corruption has been thus stilled and purified. And, above all, let there be an end of the pitiful apology of the want of funds, or means, or agents, to

nounce it.

At the close of a Session, many of the re-effect those easier improvements, when woformed prisoners were dismissed, and many men from the middle ranks of life-when new ones were received-and, under their quiet unassuming matrons, unaccustomed to auspices, card-playing was again introduced. business, or to any but domestic exertions, One of the ladies, however, went among them have, without funds, without agents, without alone, and earnestly and affectionately ex- aid or encouragement of any description plained to them the pernicious consequences trusted themselves within the very centre of of this practice; and represented to them infection and despair; and, by opening their how much she would be gratified, if, even hearts only, and not their purses, have effectfrom regard to her, they would agree to re-ed, by the mere force of kindness, gentleness, and compassion, a labour, the like to which has smoothed the way and insured success does not remain to be performed, and which to all similar labours. We cannot. Envy the happiness which Mrs. Fry must enjoy from the consciousness of her own great achieve ments;-but there is no happiness or honour of which we should be so proud to be par takers: And we seem to relieve our own hearts of their share of national gratitude, in thus placing on her simple and modest brow, that truly Civic Crown, which far outshines the laurels of conquest, or the coronals of power-and can only be outshone itself, by those wreaths of imperishable glory which await the champions of Faith and Charity in a higher state of existence.

"It is true, and the Ladies' Committee are anxious that it should not be concealed, that some of the rules have been occasionally broken. Spirits, they fear, have more than once been introduced; and it was discovered at one period, when many of the ladies were absent, that card-playing had been resumed. But, though truth compels them to acknowledge these deviations, they have been of a very limited extent. I could find but one lady who heard an oath, and there had not been above half dozen instances of intoxication; and the ladies feel justified in stating, that the rules have generally been observed. The ladies themselves have been treated with uniform respect and gratitude.' pp. 132, 133.



The change, indeed, pervaded every de partment of the female division. Those who were marched off for transportation, instead of breaking the windows and furniture, and going off, according to immemorial usage, with drunken songs and intolerable disorder, took a serious and tender leave of their compan ions, and expressed the utmost gratitude to their benefactors, from whom they parted with tears. Stealing has also been entirely suppressed; and, while upwards of twenty thousand articles of dress have been mantfactured, not one has been lost or purloined within the precincts of the prison!

"Soon after she retired to the ladies' room, one of the prisoners came to her, and expressed, in a manner which indicated real feeling, her sorrow for having broken the rules of so kind a friend, and gave her a pack of cards: four others did the same. Having burnt the carde in their presence, she felt bound to remunerate them for their value, and to mark her sense of their ready obedience by some small present. A few days afterwards, she called the first to her, and telling her intention, produced a neat muslin handkerchief. To her surprise, the girl looked disappointed; and, on being asked the reason, confessed she had hoped that Mrs. would have given her a Bible with her own name written in it! which she should value beyond any thing else, and always keep and read. Such a request, made in such a manner, could not be refused; and the lady assures me that she never gave

(April, 1806.)

Memoirs of Richard Cumberland: written by himself. Containing an Account of his Life and Writings, interspersed with Anecdotes and Characters of the most distinguished Persons of his Time with whom he had Intercourse or Connection. 4to. pp. 533. London: 1806.*

WE certainly have no wish for the death however, to let authors tell their own story, of Mr. Cumberland; on the contrary, we hope as an apology for telling that of all their ache will live long enough to make a large sup-quaintances; and can easily forgive them for plement to these memoirs: But he has em- grouping and assorting their anecdotes of their barrassed us a little by publishing this volume contemporaries, according to the chronology, in his lifetime. We are extremely unwilling and incidents of their own lives. This is but to say any thing that may hurt the feelings indulging the painter of a great gallery of of a man of distinguished talents, who is draw- worthies with a panel for his own portrait; ing to the end of his career, and imagines that and though it will probably be the least like he has hitherto been ill used by the world: of the whole collection, it would be hard to but he has shown, in this publication, such an grudge him this little gratification. appetite for praise, and such a jealousy of censure, that we are afraid we cannot do our duty conscientiously, without giving him of fence. The truth is, that the book has rather disappointed us. We expected it to be extremely amusing; and it is not. There is too much of the first part of the title in it, and too little of the last. Of the life and writings of Richard Cumberland, we hear more than enough; but of the distinguished persons with whom he lived, we have many fewer characters and anecdotes than we could have wished. We are the more inclined to regret this, both because the general style of Mr. Cumberland's compositions has convinced us, that no one could have exhibited characters and anecdotes in a more engaging manner, and because, from what he has put into this book, we actually see that he had excellent opportunities for collecting, and still better talents for relating them. The anecdotes and characters which we have, are given in a very pleasing and animated manner, and form the chief merit of the publication: But they do not occupy one tenth part of it; and the rest is filled with details that do not often interest, and observations that do not always amuse.

Life has often been compared to a journey; and the simile seems to hold better in nothing than in the identity of the rules by which those who write their travels, and those who write their lives, should be governed. When a man returns from visiting any celebrated region, we expect to hear much more of the remarkable things and persons he has seen, than of his own personal transactions; and are naturally disappointed if, after saying that he lived much with illustrious statesmen or heroes, he chooses rather to tell us of his own travelling equipage, or of his cookery and servants, than to give us any account of the character and conversation of those distinguished persons. In the same manner, when at the close of a long life, spent in circles of literary and political celebrity, an author sits down to give the world an account of his retrospections, it is reasonable to stipulate that he should talk less of himself than of his associates; and natural to complain, if he tells long stories of his schoolmasters and grandmothers, while he passes over some of the most illustrious of his companions with a bare mention of their names.



Mr. Cumberland has offended a little in this way. He has also composed these memoirs, we think, in too diffuse, rambling, and careless a style. There is evidently no selection or method in his narrative and unweighed remarks, and fatiguing apologies and protestations, are tediously interwoven with it, in the genuine style of good-natured but irrepressible loquacity. The whole composition, indeed, has not only too much the air of conversation: It has sometimes an unfortunate resemblance to the conversation of a professed talker; and we meet with many passages in which the author appears to work himself up to an artificial vivacity, and to give a certain air of smartness to his expression, by the introduction of cant phrases, odd metaphors, and a sort of practised and theatrical originality. The work, however, is well worth looking over, and contains many more amusing passages than we can afford to extract on the present occasion.

Mr. Cumberland was born in 1732; and he has a very natural pride in relating that his

Authors, we think, should not, generally, be encouraged to write their own lives. The genius of Rousseau, his enthusiasm, and the novelty of his plan, have rendered the Confessions, in some respects, the most interesting of books. But a writer, who is in full possession of his senses, who has lived in the world like the men and women who compose it, and whose vanity aims only at the praise of great talents and accomplishments, must not hope to write a book like the Confessions: and is scarcely to be trusted with the delineation of his own character or the narrative of his own adventures. We have no objection,

I reprint part of this paper-for the sake chiefly of the anecdotes of Bentley, Bubb Dodington, Soame Jenyns, and a few others, which I think remarkable and very much, also, for the lively and graphic account of the impression of Garrick's new style of acting, as compared with that of Quin and the old schools-which is as good and as curious as Colley Cibber's admirable sketches of Betterton and Booth.

paternal great-grandfather was the learned and most exemplary Bishop Cumberland, author of the treatise De Legibus Natura; and that his maternal grandfather was the celebrated Dr. Richard Bentley. Of the last of these distinguished persons he has given, from the distinct recollection of his childhood, a much more amiable and engaging representation than has hitherto been made public. Instead of the haughty and morose critic and controversialist, we here learn, with pleasure, that he was as remarkable for mildness and kind affections in private life, as for profound erudition and sagacity as an author. Mr. Cumberland has collected a number of little anecdotes that seem to be quite conclusive upon this head; but we rather insert the following general testimony:

"I had a sister somewhat older than myself. Had there been any of that sternness in my grandfather, which is so falsely imputed to him, it may well be supposed we should have been awed into silence in his presence, to which we were admitted every day. Nothing can be further from the truth; he was the unwearied patron and promoter of all our childish sports and sallies; at all times ready to detach himself from any topic of conversation to take an interest and bear his part in our amusements. The eager curiosity natural to our age, and the questions it gave birth to, so teasing to many parents, he, on the contrary, attended to and encouraged, as the claims of infant reason, never to be evaded or abused; strongly recommending, that to all such inquiries answers should be given according to the strictest truth, and information dealt to us in the clearest terms, as a sacred duty never to be departed from. I have broken in upon him many a time in his hours of study, when he would put his book aside, ring his hand-bell for his servant, and be led to his shelves to take down a picture-book for my amusement! I do not say that his good-nature always gained its object, as the pictures which his books generally supplied me with were anatomical drawings of dissected bodies, very little calculated to communicate delight; but he had nothing better to produce; and surely such an effort on his part, however unsuccessful, was no feature of a cynic; a cynic should be made of sterner stuff.'

"Once, and only once, I recollect his giving me a gentle rebuke for making a most outrageous noise in the room over his library, and disturbing him in his studies: I had no apprehension of anger from him, and confidently answered that I could not help it, as I had been at battledore and shuttlecock with Master Gooch, the Bishop of Ely's son. 'And I have been at this sport with his father,' he replied; But thine has been the more amusing game; so there's no harm done,'


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amptonshire at the birth of his son. He went to school, first at Bury St. Edmunds, and afterwards at Westminster. But the most valuable part of his early education was that for which he was indebted to the taste and intelligence of his mother. We insert with pleasure the following amiable paragraph:—

"It was in these intervals from school that my mother began to form both my taste and my ear for poetry, by employing me every evening to read to her, of which art she was a very able mistress. Our readings were, with very few exceptions, conshe both admired and understood in the true spirit fined to the chosen plays of Shakespeare, whom and sense of the author. With all her father's critical acumen, she could trace, and teach me to unravel, all the meanders of his metaphor, and point out where it illuminated, or where it only loaded and obscured the meaning. These were happy hours and interesting lectures to me; whilst my beloved father, ever placid and complacent, sate beside us, and took part in our amusement; his voice was never heard but in the tone of appro bation; his countenance never marked but with the natural traces of his indelible and hereditary benevolence."

The effect of these readings was, that the young author, at twelve years of age, produced a sort of drama, called " "Shakespeare in the Shades," composed almost entirely of passages from that great writer, strung together and assorted with no despicable ingenuity. But it is more to the purpose to observe that, at this early period of his life, he first saw Garrick, in the character of Lothario; and has left this animated account of the impression which the scene made upon his



I have the spectacle even now, as it were, before my eyes. Quin presented himself, upon the rising of the curtain, in a green velvet coat, embroidered down the seams, an enormous full-bottomed periwig, rolled stockings, and high heeled square-toed shoes: With very little variation of cadence, and in deep full tone, accompanied by a than of the stage in it, he rolled out his heroics sawing kind of action, which had more of the senate disdain the plaudits that were bestowed upon him. with an air of dignified indifference, that seemed to Mrs. Cibber, in a key high pitched, but sweet withal, sung, or rather recitatived, Rowe's harmonious strains, something in the manner of the Improvi satori: It was so extremely wanting in contrast, that, though it did not wound the ear, it wearied it ; could anticipate the manner of every succeeding when she had once recited two or three speeches. I one. It was like a long old legendary ballad of innumerable stanzas, every one of which is sung to the same tune, eternally chiming in the ear without variation or relief. Mrs. Pritchard was an actress of a different cast, had more nature, and of course more change of tone, and variety both of action and expression. In my opinion, the comparison was decidedly in her favour. But when, after long and eager expectation, I first beheld little Garrick, then young and light, and alive in every muscle and in every feature, come bounding on the stage, and pointing at the wittol Altamont and heavypaced Horatio-heavens, what a transition !—it seemed as if a whole century had been stepped over in the transition of a single scene! Old things were done away; and a new order at once brought forward, bright and luminous, and clearly destined to dispel the barbarisms and bigotry of a tasteless

age, too long attached to the prejudices of custom, and superstitiously devoted to the illusions of imposing declamation. This heaven-born actor was

then struggling to emancipate his audience from the slavery they were resigned to; and though at times he succeeded in throwing in some gleams of new, born light upon them, yet in general they seemed to love darkness better than light; and in the dialogue of altercation between Horatio and Lothario, bestowed far the greater show of hands upon the master of the old school than upon the founder of the new. I thank my stars, my feelings in those moments led me right; they were those of nature, and therefore could


Some years after this, Mr. Cumberland's father exchanged his living of Stanwick for that of Fulham, in order that his son might have the benefit of his society, while obliged to reside in the vicinity of the metropolis. The celebrated Bubb Ďodington resided at this time in the neighbouring parish of Hammersmith; and Mr. Cumberland, who soon became a frequent guest at his table, has presented his readers with the following spirited full length portrait of that very remarkable and preposterous personage.


son of the wearer, that I remember when he made his first speech in the House of Peers as Lord Melcombe, all the flashes of his wit, all the studied phrases and well-turned periods of his rhetoric lost their effect, simply because the orator had laid aside his magisterial tie, and put on a modern bag-wig, which was as much out of costume upon the broad expanse of his shoulders, as a cue would have been upon the robes of the Lord ChiefJustice."

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sions of his hero's absurdity, rather surpassed The following, with all our former impresour expectations.

"Of pictures he seemed to take his estimate only by their cost; in fact, he was not possessed of any. But I recollect his saving to me one day in his great saloon at Eastbury, that if he had half a score pic. decorate his walls with them; in place of which I tures of a thousand pounds a-piece, he would gladly am sorry to say he had stuck up immense patches of gilt leather, shaped into bugle horns, upon hangings of rich crimson velvet! and round his state bed he displayed a carpeting of gold and silver embroidery. which too glaringly betrayed its derivation from coat, waistcoat, and breeches, by the testimony of pockets, buttonholes, and loops, with other equally incontrovertible witnesses, subpoenaed from the tailor's shopboard! When he paid his court at St. James' to the present queen upon her nuptials, he approached to kiss her hand, decked in an embroidered suit of silk, with lilac waistcoat, and breeches, the latter of which, in the act of kneeling down, forgot their duty and broke loose from their moorings in a very indecorous and uncourtly manner."


Our splendid host was excelled by no man in doing the honours of his house and table; to the ladies he had all the courtly and profound devotion of a Spaniard, with the ease and gaiety of a French. man towards the men. His mansion was magnificent; massy, and stretching out to a great extent of front, with an enormous portico of Doric columns, ascended by a stately flight of steps. There were turrets, and wings too, that went I know not whither, though now levelled with the ground, or gone to more ignoble uses: Vanbrugh, who constructed this superb edifice, seemed to have had the plan of Blenheim in his thoughts, and the interior was as proud and splendid as the exterior was bold and imposing. All this was exactly in unison with the taste of its magnificent owner; who had gilt and furnished the apartments with a profusion of finery, that kept no terms with simplicity, and not always with elegance or harmony of style. Whatever Mr. Dodington's revenue then was, he had the happy art of managing it with such economy, that I believe he made more display at less cost than any man in the kingdom but himself could have done. His town-house in Pall-Mall, and this villa at Hammersmith, were such establishments as few nobles in the nation were possessed of. In either of these he was not to be approached but through a suit of apartments, and rarely seated but under painted ceilings and gilt entablatures. In his villa you were conducted through two rows of antique marble statues, ranged in a gallery floored with the rarest marbles, and enriched with columns of granite and lapis lazuli; his saloon was hung with the finest Gobelin tapestry, and he slept in a bed encanopied with peacock's feathers in the style of Mrs. Mon- He wrote small poems with great pains, and fague. When he passed from Pall-Mall to La elaborate letters with much terseness of style, and Trappe it was always in a coach, which I could not some quaintness of expression: I have seen him but suspect had been his ambassadorial equipage at refer to a volume of his own verses in manuscript, Madrid, drawn by six fat unwieldy black horses, but he was very shy, and I never had the perusal short-docked, and of colossal dignity. Neither was of it. I was rather better acquainted with his Diary. he less characteristic in apparel than in equipage; which since his death has been published; and I he had a wardrobe loaded with rich and flaring suits, well remember the temporary disgust he seemed each in itself a load to the wearer, and of these I to take, when upon his asking what I would do have no doubt but many were coeval with his em- with it should he bequeath it to my discretion, I bassy above mentioned, and every birth-day had instantly replied, that I would destroy it. There added to the stock. In doing this he so contrived was a third, which I more coveted a sight of than as never to put his old dresses out of countenance, of either of the above, as it contained a miscellaby any variations in the fashion of the new; in the neous collection of anecdotes, repartees, good saymean time, his bulk and corpulency gave full dis-ings, and humorous incidents, of which he was part play to a vast expanse and profusion of brocade and author and part compiler, and out of which he was embroidery, and this, when set off with an enor-in the habit of refreshing his memory, when he mous tie-periwig and deep-laced ruffles, gave the prepared himself to expect certain men of wit and picture of an ancient courtier in his gala habit, or pleasantry, either at his own house or elsewhere. Quin in his stage dress. Nevertheless, it must be Upon this practice, which he did not affect to conconfessed this style, though out of date, was not out ceal, he observed to me one day, that it was a com. of character, but harmonised so well with the per-pliment he paid to society, when he submitted to

During my stay at Eastbury, we were visited by the late Mr. Henry Fox and Mr. Alderman Beckford; the solid good sense of the former, and the dashing loquacity of the latter, formed a striking contrast between the characters of these gentlemen. To Mr. Fox our host paid all that courtly homage, which he so well knew how to time, and where to apply; to Beckford he did not observe the same attentions, but in the happiest flow of his raillery and wit combated this intrepid talker with admirable effect. It was an interlude truly comic and amusing.-Beckford loud, voluble, self-sufficient, and galled by hits which he could not parry, and probably did not expect, laid himself more and more open in the vehemence of his argument; Dodington lolling in his chair in perfect apathy and self-command, dozing, and even snoring at intervals, in his lethargic way, broke out every now and then into such gleams and flashes of wit and irony, as by the contrast of his phlegm with the other's impetuosity, made his humour irresistible, and set the table in a roar. He was here upon his very strongest ground."


steal weapons out of his own armoury for their entertainment."

"I had taken leave of Lord Melcombe the day preceding the coronation, and found him before a looking-glass in his new robes, practising attitudes, and debating within himself upon the most graceful mode of carrying his coronet in the procession. He was in high glee with his fresh and blooming honours; and I left him in the act of dictating a billet to Lady Hervey, apprising her that a young lord was coming to throw himself at her feet."-p. 159.

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He spoke well, but not often, in the Irish House of Commons. He had a striking countenance, a graceful carriage, great self-possession and personal courage: He was not easily put out of his way by any of those unaccommodating repugnances that men of weaker nerves, or more tender consciences, might have stumbled at, or been checked by: he could mask the passions that were natural to him, and assume those that did not belong to him he was indefatigable, meditative, mysterious: his opinions were the result of long labour and much reflection, but he had the art of setting them forth as if they were the starts of ready genius and a quick perception: He had as much seeming steadiness as a partisan could stand in need of, and all the real flexibility that could suit his purpose, or advance his interest. He would fain have retained his connection with Edmund Burke, and associated him to his politics, for he well knew the value of his talents; but in that object he was soon disappointed the genius of Burke was of too high a caste to endure debasement."—pp. 169, 170.

In Dublin Mr. Cumberland was introduced to a new and a more miscellaneous society than he had hitherto been used to, and has presented his readers with striking sketches of Dr. Pococke and Primate Stone. We are more amused, however, with the following picture of George Faulkner.


Description must fall short in the attempt to convey any sketch of that eccentric being to those who have not read him in the notes of Jephson, or seen him in the mimickry of Foote, who, in his portraits of Faulkner, found the only sitter whom his extravagant pencil could not caricature; for he had a solemn intrepidity of egotism, and a daring contempt of absurdity, that fairly outfaced imitation, and, like Garrick's Ode on Shakespeare, which Johnson said "defied criticism," so did George, in the original spirit of his own perfect buffoonery, defy caricature. He never deigned to join in the laugh he had raised, nor seemed to have a feeling of the ridicule he had provoked. At the same time that he was preeminently, and by preference, the butt and buffoon of the company, he could find openings and opportunities for hits of retaliation, which were such left-handed thrusts as few could parry nobody could foresee where they would fall; nobody, of course, was fore-armed and as there was, in his calculation, but one supereminent character in the kingdom of Ireland, and he the printer of the Dublin Journal, rank was no shield against George's arrows, which flew where he listed, and hit or missed as chance directed,-he cared not about consequences. He gave good meat and excellent claret in abundance. I sat at his table once from dinner till two in the morning, whilst George swallowed immense potations, with one solitary sodden strawberry at the bottom of the glass, which he said was recommended to him by his doctor for its cooling properties! He never lost


his recollection or equilibrium the whole time, and was in excellent foolery. It was a singular coinci dence, that there was a person in company who had received his reprieve at the gallows, and the very judge who had passed sentence of death upon him: But this did not in the least disturb the harmony of the society, nor embarrass any human creature present."-pp. 174, 175.

At this period of his story he introduces several sketches and characters of his literary friends; which are executed, for the most part, with great force and vivacity. Of Garrick he says—


Nature had done so much for him, that he could not help being an actor; she gave him a frame of so manageable a proportion, and from its flexibility so perfectly under command, that, by its aptitude and elasticity, he could draw it out to fit any sizes of character that tragedy could offer to him, and contract it to any scale of ridiculous diminution, that his Abel Drugger, Scrubb, or Fribble, could require of him to sink it to. His eye, in his brow so movable, and all his features so plasthe meantime, was so penetrating, so speaking; tic, and so accommodating, that wherever his mind impelled them, they would go; and before his tongue could give the text, his countenance would express the spirit and the passion of the part he was encharged with."-pp. 245, 246.

The following picture of Soame Jenyns is excellent.

'He was the man who bore his part in all societies with the most even temper and undisturbed hilarity of all the good companions whom I ever knew. He came into your house at the very moment you had put upon your card; he dressed himself to do your party honour in all the colours of the jay; his lace indeed had long since lost its lustre, but his coat had faithfully retained its cut velvets with short sleeves, boot cuffs, and buckram since the days when gentlemen embroidered figured shirts. As nature had cast him in the exact mould of an ill made pair of stiff stays, he followed her so close in the fashion of his coat, that it was doubted if he did not wear them. Because he had a protuberant wen just under his poll, he wore a wig that did not cover above half his head. His eyes were protruded like the eyes of the lobster, who wears them at the end of his feelers, and yet there was room between one of these and his nose for another wen, that added nothing to his beauty; yet I heard this good man very innocently remark, when Gibbon published his history, that he wondered any body so ugly could write a book.

"Such was the exterior of a man, who was the charm of the circle, and gave a zest to every company he came into: His pleasantry was of a sort peculiar to himself; it harmonised with everything; it was like the bread to your dinner; you did not perhaps make it the whole, or principal part of your meal, but it was an admirable and wholesome auxiliary to your other viands. Soame Jenyns told you no long stories, engrossed not much of your attention, and was not angry with those that did. His thoughts were original, and were apt to have a very whimsical affinity to paradox in them: He wrote verses upon dancing, and prose upon the origin of evil; yet he was a very indifferent metaphysician, and a worse dancer: ill-nature and personality, with the single exception of his lines upon Johnson, I never heard fall from his lips: Those lines I have forgotten, though I believe I was the first person to whom he recited them; they were very bad, but he had been told that Johnson ridi. culed his metaphysics, and some of us had just then been making extemporary epitaphs upon each other. Though his wit was harmless, yet the general cast of it was ironical; there was a terseness in

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