we all forgot what had passed till somebody inquired at dinner where Mr. Ralph was. "Lord, Sir! Mr. Ralph is very ill, very ill indeed." The gardener took a cart to fetch him, and he flung himself in such a passion, Dick thought he would have died. . . . How Garrick smoothed him up again I know not, but he came to Hampton as usual after that.

(James Horsdale, vol. xi. p. 118.) He was a sad fellow, but very comical as a buffoon. He was the original Lady Pentweazle, and was employed as pimp and parasite, and everything, by Thrale and Murphy in their merry hours. His taking off the old Duchess of Marlborough, Sarah Jennings, was particularly hu

mourous.

(Vol. xi. p. 119.)- Mr. Rowe's [Letters] are read by women very much.

(Vol. xi. p. 122.) As my brother-in-law, Alderman Plumbe, who married Mr. Thrale's sister, read Shaftesbury's "Characteristics" on a Sunday, "it is" (says he) "all about virtue so, all uncommanded virtue and the librarian of Brera placed Tillotson and Shaftesbury together, I remember; for, tho' he was himself an infidel, he had the bitterness and bigotry of the religion he profess'd.

(Vol. xi. p. 127.)- This Johnson learn'd of Abbé Hook when we were in France together; yet I have my doubts. The Papists are all eager to save their poet from imputation of infidelity, and Johnson was very willing to see so great a poet saved.

(Vol. xi. p. 127.) — The estate (devised to Warburton

by Allen) is all gone now, I believe. Warburton left no children, and his widow married Mr. Stafford Smyth, who since her death married some mean woman and sold Prior Park. 1802.

(Mr. Southcot, vol. xi. p. 128.)- From whom descends either lineally, as a natural child, or collaterally, the now famous prophetess, Johanna Southcote. 1808.

The taste of a Ferme ornée descends likewise from Mr. Southcote. He was the first to enclose a field with a twisted walk and shrubbery ornamented with beautiful flowers. Mr. Southcote was Lady Vane's favourite S., mentioned in "Peregrine Pickle."

(Vol. xi. p. 132.) And I recollect but very little vice in it (the "Characters of Women") though much caprice. But perhaps I still retain my old and odd curiosity; for when I saw Quin act Sir John Brute, and heard him call for a song that should be full (said he) of sin and impiety, I felt disappointed when the player sung a "Bumper, Squire Jones," in which I could discover no sin or impiety at all.

(Vol. xi. p. 145.) — Malherbe was, like him, (Pope) unwilling to call the priest; he was contented to receive him when he came "for," said he, "other people do send for a confessor; and I suppose God Almighty won't make a Paradise on purpose for poor Malherbe; so you may shew Monsieur L'Abbé in, if you please."

(Vol. xi. p. 153.) — Costar, the French wit, says of such a character, that the pleasantest moments he ever

passed were not with men of the most fertile minds; and that the pleasantest walks he ever took were not in those countries which most excel in fruitfulness.

"Pope's revenue amounted only to about 800l. a year." (Vol. xi. p. 154.) A very good income in the year 1730, quite equal to 1500l. o' year now, in 1802, and less than that would enable a man to give his friends more than a pint of wine, surely, altho' it is not to be had this day for less than four shillings and sixpence the bottle.

"It would be hard to find a man so well entitled (as Pope) to notice by his wit, that ever delighted so much in talking of his money." (Vol. xi. p. 155.)— A man, never; a woman, yes,—it was Mrs. Montagu.

(Vol. xi. p. 161.) - An odd contempt for every study but that of poetry and metaphysics does certainly seem to run through all their (Swift's and Pope's) notions. Natural history is their perpetual scorn. . . . I guess not why. To wander thro' a wilderness of moss has at least this claim to preference, that something certain may be learned, however trifling. . . . Those who confound their readers with talking about time, and space, and matter, and motion, identity and infinity, spend time, and breath, and paper all in vain. They neither teach nor learn.--1802.

(Vol. xi. p. 169.) — This parallel (the famous one between Pope and Dryden) is imitated from the famous French one between Corneille and Racine; and that from an old classical comparison between the merits of

Thucydides and Herodotus... Oh imitatores! Servum pecus.

"I cannot forbear to observe that the comparison of a student's progress in the sciences with the journey of a traveller in the Alps, is perhaps the best that English poetry can shew." (Vol. xi. p. 177.)- Perhaps so it is. But they say now that the original thought came from Silius Italicus, book 3rd, and Drummond certainly recollected that when he wrote these lines:

"And as a pilgrim who the Alps doth pass,
Or Atlas' temple crown'd with Winter's glass,
When he some heapes of hills hath overwent
Beginnes to think on rest, his journey spent,
Now mounting some tall mountain, he dothe find
More heights before him than he left behind.”

"The meanest passage is the satire upon Sporus." (Vol. xi. p. 193). Certainly not; but Dr. Johnson loved a Hervey.

"Godsaid let Newton be! and all was light!" (Vol. xi. p. 217.)- There is something like this said of Aristotle, but I forget by whom: "Now Nature lay in obscurity till he appeared, &c. ;" but it was really little less than profane in Mr. Pope to put his imitation, thus heightened by words so awful, on a Christian's sepulchre, and in a Christian church.

(Vol. xi. p. 237.) — The lady was no good judge, I suppose. A Capt". Ker told me a strange thing of him once, and I feel since that it was true somehow. At a friend's house in Scotland where Thompson was visiting, came on a visit likewise a young lady with whom

the poet fancied himself much in love; and having an idea (says Capt. Ker) that it would be a heavenly sight to see her strip for bed, he bor❜d a hole thro' his own floor who lay over her chamber, and meant to peep successfully in at the crevice; but having drank hard and the girl not going to rest as soon as he expected, he dropt asleep and snor'd so loud she heard him; and climbing on the chairs, set her candle to the place, and burn'd his nose and cur'd him of his passion.

"The thought of the Last Day makes every man more poetical." (Vol. xi. p. 342.) It makes some people less than poetical. I went once with a lady to see some fireworks, when an animated harlequin ran up a pole, lighting a ring of lamps at top. "This," says my companion, "is truly awful, and puts me in mind of the Last Day!"

(Vol. xi. p. 345.)-- The parallel (Young's) of Quicksilver and Pleasure is most undoubtedly original so far superior to Pope's passage of the Alps in his "Essay on Criticism.”

(Vol. xi. p. 350.)-I remember seeing Mrs. Cibber once play Eurydice for her benefit; or was it Elvira? but my father said Mallet wrote the play. He visited Mallet, and told us once how Mrs. Mallet kiss'd her husband's hand, and said, "I kiss the dear hand that confers immortality." My mother thought it very ridiculous, I remember.

(Vol. xi. p. 353.) — I recollect my family joining in Mallet's opinion, that Byng was a sad fellow; and they called an old Mrs. Osborne, who put her house in