Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

poor ignorant boy! It was a habit he had acquired. He wished to please every body; and having little to give, he gave expectations. He was otherwise an ingenious, sensible man, a pretty good writer, and a good Governor for the people; though not for his constituents the proprietaries, whose instructions he sometimes disregarded. Several of our best laws were of his planning, and passed during his administration.

Ralph and I were inseparable companions. We took lodgings together in Little Britain at 3s. 6d. per week; as much as we could then afford. He found some relations, but they were poor, and unable to assist him. He now let me know his intentions of remaining in London, and that he never meant to return to Philadelphia. He had brought no money with him; the whole he could muster having been expended in paying his passage. I had fifteen pistoles: so he borrowed occasionally of me to subsist, while he was looking out for business. He first endeavoured to get into the playhouse, believing himself qualified for an actor; but Wilkes,' to whom he applied, advised him candidly not to think of that employment, as it was impossible he should succeed in it. Then he proposed to Roberts, a publisher in Pater-NosterRow, to write for him a weekly paper like the Spectator, on certain conditions; which Roberts

A comedian of eminence.

did not approve. Then he endeavored to get employment as a hackney writer, to copy for the stationers and lawyers about the Temple; but could not find a vacancy.

For myself, I immediately got into work at Palmer's, a famous printing-house in Bartholomew Close, where I continued near a year. I was pretty diligent, but I spent with Ralph a good deal of my earnings, at plays and public amusements: we had nearly consumed all my pistoles, and now just rubbed on from hand to mouth. He seemed quite to have forgotten his wife and child; and I by degrees my engagements with Miss Read, to whom I never wrote more than one letter, and that was to let her know I was not likely soon to return. This was another of the great errata of my life which I could wish to correct, if I were to live it over again. In fact, by our expences I was constantly kept unable to pay my passage.

At Palmer's I was employed in composing for the second edition of Wollaston's Religion of Nature. Some of his reasonings not appearing to me well founded, I wrote a little metaphysical piece in which I made remarks on them. It was intitled "A Dissertation on Liberty and Necessity, Pleasure and Pain." I inscribed it to my friend Ralph; I printed a small number. It occasioned my being more considered by Mr. Palmer, as a young man of some ingenuity, though he seriously expostulated with me upon the principles of my pamphlet, which

to him appeared abominable. My printing this pamphlet was another erratum. While I lodged in Little Britain, I made an acquaintance with one Wilcox, a bookseller, whose shop was next door. He had an immense collection of second-hand books. Circulating libraries were not then in use; but we agreed that on certain reasonable terms, (which I have now forgotten,) I might take, read, and return any of his books: this I esteemed a great advantage, and I made as much use of it as I could.

My pamphlet by some means falling into the hands of one Lyons, a surgeon, author of a book intitled, "The Infallibility of Human Judgment;" it occasioned an acquaintance between us: he took great notice of me, called on me often to converse on those subjects, carried me to the Horns, a pale ale house in Lane, Cheapside, and introduced me to Doctor Mandeville, author of the Fable of the Bees, who had a club there, of which he was the soul; being a most facetious, entertaining companion. Lyons too introduced me to Doctor Pemberton,' at Batson's coffee-house, who promised to give me an opportunity, some time or other, of seeing Sir Isaac Newton, of which I was extremely desirous; but this never happened.

I had brought over a few curiosities, among

F. R. S. Author of "A View of Sir Isaac Newton's Philosophy," and of a "Treatise on Chemistry;" died in 1771.

which the principal was a purse made of the asbestos, which purifies by fire. Sir Hans Sloane heard of it, came to see me, and invited me to his house in Bloomsbury Square, showed me all his curiosities, and persuaded me to add that to the number; for which he paid me handsomely.

In our house lodged a young woman, a milliner, who, I think, had a shop in the cloisters: she had been genteelly bred, was sensible, lively, and of a most pleasing conversation. Ralph read plays to her in the evenings, they grew intimate, she took another lodging, and he followed her. They lived together some time; but he being still out of business, and her income not sufficient to maintain them with her child, he took a resolution of going from London, to try for a country school, which he thought himself well qualified to undertake, as he wrote an excellent hand, and was a master of arithmetic and accounts. This however he deemed a business below him, and confident of future better fortune, when he should be unwilling to have it known that he once was so meanly employed, he changed his name, and did me the honor to assume mine: for I soon after had a letter from him, acquainting me that he was settled in a small village (in Berkshire, I think it was, where he taught reading and writing to ten or a dozen boys at 6d. each per week), recommending Mrs. T *** to my care, and desiring me to write to him, directing for Mr. Franklin, schoolmaster, at such a

VOL. I.

E

place. He continued to write to me frequently, sending me large specimens of an epic poem, which he was then composing, and desiring my remarks and corrections. These I gave him from time to time, but endeavored rather to discourage his proceeding. One of Young's satires was then just published: I copied and sent him a great part of it, which set in a strong light the folly of pursuing the Muses.' All was in vain: sheets of the

"Th' abandon'd manners of our writing train

May tempt mankind to think religion vain ;
But in their fate, their habit, and their mien,
That Gods there are, is evidently seen :
Heav'n stands absolv'd by vengeance on their pen,
And marks the murderers of fame from men:
Thro' meagre jaws they draw their venal breath,
As ghastly as their brothers in Macbeth:
Their feet thro' faithless leather meets the dirt,
And oftener chang'd their principles than shirt:
The transient vestments of these frugal men
Hasten to paper for our mirth again :
Too soon (O merry, melancholy fate!)
They beg in rhyme, and warble thro' a grate;
The man lampoon'd, forgets it at the sight;
The friend thro' pity gives, the foe thro' spight;
And tho' full conscious of his injur'd purse,
Lintot relents, nor Curll can wish them worse."

"An Author, 'tis a venerable name!

How few deserve it and what numbers claim!
Unbless'd with sense, above their peers refin'd,
Who shall stand up, dictators to mankind?

« AnteriorContinuar »