cessful comedies, and very powerfully supported by the performers of them in every part throughout. I was fortunate in the plot of the first; for there is dignity of mind in the forgiveness of injuries, which elevates the character of Penruddock, and Mr. Kemble's just personification of it added to a lucky fiction all the force and interest of a reality. When so much belongs to the actor, the author must be careful how he arrogates too much to himself.

Of First Love' I shall only say, that when two such exquisite actresses conspired to support me, I will not be so vain as to presume I could have stood without their help.

I think, as I am now so near the conclusion of these Memoirs, I may as well wind up my dealings with the theatres before Í proceed any further. I am beholden to Covent Garden for accepting my dramas of 'The Days of Yore' and 'False Impressions.' To Drury Lane for 'The Last of the Family," "The Word for Nature,' 'The Dependent,' 'The Eccentric Lover,' and for 'The Sailor's Daughter. My life has been a long one, and my health of late years uninterrupted; I am very rarely called off by avocations of an undomestic kind, and the man who gives so very small a portion of his time to absolute idleness as I have done, will do a vast deal in the course of time, especially if his body does not stand in need of exercise, and his mind, which never knows remission of activity, incessantly demands to be employed.

I was in the practice of interchanging an annual visit with Mrs. Bludworth, of Holt, near Winchester, the dearest friend of my wife. When I was upon those visits, I used to amuse myself with trifles that required no application to my books. A few from amongst many of these fugitive compositions appear to me not totally unworthy of being arrested and brought to the bar as petty-larceny pilferers of the sonnet-writing style, of which some elegant sisters of the Muses have published such ingenious originals, as ought to have secured them against interlopers, who have nothing better to produce than some such awkward imitations as the following:

WIT.

No. 1.

'How shall I paint thee, many-color'd Wit?
Where are the pallet's brilliant tints to vie
With the bright flash of thine electric eye?
Nor can I catch the glance; nor wilt thou sit
Till my slow copying art can trace
One feature of thy varying face.

Soul of the social board, thy quick retort
Can cut the disputatious quibbler short,
Stop the dull pedant's circumstantial saw,
And silence ev'n the loud-tongu'd man of law.

The solemn ass, who dully great

Mistakes stupidity for state,

Unbends his marble jaws, and brays
Involuntary, painful praise.

Thou, Wit, in philosophic eyes

Can'st make the laughing waters rise;
Proud Science vails with bended knee

His academic cap to thee,

And though thy sallies fly the test

Of truth, she titters at the jest.

Thrice happy talent, could'st thou understand
Virtue to spare and buffet vice alone,

Would'st thou but take discretion by the hand,
The world, O Wit, the world would be thine own.'

AFFECTATION.

No. 2.

"Why, Affectation, why this mock grimace?
Go, silly thing, and hide that simpering face;
Thy lisping prattle and thy mincing gait,

All thy false mimic fooleries I hate;

For thou art Folly's counterfeit, and she,
Who is right foolish, hath the better plea;
Nature's true idiot I prefer to thee.

Why that soft languish? Why that drawling tone? Art sick, art sleepy? Get thee hence, begone!

I laugh at all those pretty baby tears,

Those flutterings, faintings, and unreal fears.

Can they deceive us? Can such mumm'ries move, Touch us with pity, or inspire with love?

No, Affectation, vain is all thine art,

Those eyes may wander over every part;

They'll never find their passage to the heart.'

VANITY.
No. 3.

'Go, Vanity, spread forth the painted wing;
I'll harm thee not, gay flutterer, not I;
Poor innocent, thou hast no sting,
Pass on unhurt! I war not with a fly.
But if the Muse in sportive style

Banters thy silly freaks awhile,

Fear not she'll lash thee only with a smile.
If thou art heard too loud of tongue,

And thy small tap of wit runs out
Too fast, and bubbles all about,

'Twere charity, methinks, to stop the bung.
If when thou should'st be staid and sage,
Thou'lt take no warning from old age,
But still run riot, and spread sail
In all the colors of the peacock's tail:
If, with too hollow cheeks bedaub'd with red,
The ostrich plume nods on thy palsied head,

FUGITIVE PIECES.

And with soft glances from lack-lustre eyes
Thou aim'st to make our hearts thy beauty's prize,
Then, then, Dame Vanity beware;

Look to thyself-beshrew me if I spare.'

AVARICE

No. 4

'A little more, and yet a little more

Oh, for the multiplying art

To heap the still increasing store,
Till it make Ossa like a wart!

Oh Avarice, thou rage accurst,
Insatiate dropsy of the soul,

Will nothing quench thy sordid thirst?
Were the sea gold, would'st drink the whole ?

Lo! pity pleads-What then? There's none.
The widow kneels for bread. Begone-
Hark, in thine ears the orphan's cry;
They die of famine-let them die.

Oh scene of wo; heart-rending sight;
Can'st thou turn from them? Yes, behold:
From all those heaps of hoarded gold

Not one, one piece to save them? Not a mite.
Pitiless wretch, such shall thy sentence be
At the last day, when Mercy turns from thee.'

PRUDERY.

No. 5.

'What is that stiff and stately thing I see?
Of flesh and blood like you and me,
Or is it chisel'd out of stone,

Some statue from its pedestal stept down?

'Tis one and both-a very prude

Of marble flesh and icy blood;

Dead and alive at once-behold,

It breathes and lives; touch it, 'tis dead and cold.
Look how it throws the scowling eye

On Pleasure, as she dances by ;

Quick flies the sylph, for long she cannot bear
The damping rigor of its atmosphere,

Chill as the eastern fog that blights
Each blossom upon which it lights.

Say, ye that know what virtue is, declare,
Is this the form her votaries must wear?
Tell me in time; if such it needs must be,
Virtue and I shall never more agree.'

ENVY.
No. 6.

(See 'The Observer,' vol. iv. No. 94.)

343

PRIDE.

No. 7.

'Curst in thyself, O Pride, thou canst not be

More competently curst by me.

Hence, sullen, self-tormenting, stupid sot,

Thy dullness damps our joys; we want thee not.
Round the gay table side by side

Social we sit; there is no room for Pride;
We cannot bear thy melancholy face;
The company is full; thou hast no place.

Man, man, thou little grovelling elf,
Turn thine eyes inward-view thyself;
Draw out thy balance, hang it forth,
Weigh every atom thou art worth,
Thy peerage, pedigree, estate,

(The pains that fortune took to make thee great),
Toss them all in-stars, garters, strings,

Heap up the mass of tawdry things,

The whole regalia of kings.

Now watch the beam, and fairly say

How much does all this trumpery weigh?

Give in the total; let the scale be just,

And own, proud mortal, own thou art but dust.'

HUMILITY.
No. 8.

'Oh sweet Humility, can words impart

How much I love thee, how divine thou art?
Nurse us not only in our infant age,

Conduct us still through each successive stage
Of varying life, lead us from youth's gay prime
To the last step of man's appointed time.

Wit, Genius, Learning-What are these?
The painter's colors or the poet's lays,
If without thee they cannot please,
If without thee we cannot praise?

Why do I call my lov'd Eliza fair?
Why do I dote upon her faded face?

Nor rosy health, nor blooming youth is there;
Humility bestows the angel grace.

Where should a frail and trembling sinner lie,
How should a Christian live, how should he die,
But in thine arms, conscious Humility?

"Twas in thy form the world's Redeemer came,
And condescended to his human birth,

With thee he met revilings, death and shame, Though angels hail'd him Lord of heav'n and earth.'

MILITARY PREPARATIONS.

345

CHAPTER XII.

Military preparations-Major commandant-Drills-Presented with a sword— The volunteer system-His family-Lines to the Princess Amelia-Conclusion.

WHEN the consequences resulting from the French revolution had involved us in a war, our country called upon its patriotic volunteers to turn out and assemble in its defence. I was still resident at Tunbridge Wells, and, though not proprietor of a single foot of land in the county of Kent, yet I found myself in the hearts of my affectionate friends and fellow subjects; they immediately volunteered to mount and form themselves under my command as a troop of yeomen cavalry; I was diffident of my fitness to head them in that capacity, and, declining their kind offer, recommended to them a neighboring gentleman, who had served in the line, and held the rank of field officer upon. half pay. Men of their principles and spirit could not fail to be respectable, and they are now serving with credit to their captain and themselves under the command of the Lord Viscount Boyne, who resides at Tunbridge Wells, and together with the duties attendant on his commission, as commander of this respectable corps, executes the office of a magistrate for the county, not less amiable and honorable in his private character, than useful and patriotic in his public one.

Some time after this, when certain leading gentlemen of the county began to make their tenders to government for raising corps of volunteer infantry, I no longer hesitated to obey the wishes of the loyal and spirited young men, who offered to enrol themselves under my command, and finding them amount upon the muster to two full companies, properly officered, I reported them to our excellent Lord Lieutenant of the county, the Earl of Romney, and received his Majesty's commission to command them with the rank of Major Commandant. I had instant proof that the zeal they had shown in turning out in their king and country's cause did not evaporate in mere professions, for to their assiduity and aptitude, to their exemplary and correct observance of discipline, and strict obedience to their officers, the warmest testimony that I could give would only do them