CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE 
 
 ANNA S. GURLEY 
 
 MEMORIAL BOOK FUND 
 
 FOR THE PURCHASE OF BOOKS 
 IN THE FIELD OF THE DRAMA 
 
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 CLASS OF 1877 
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Cornell University Library 
 PR3461.F6A751889 
 
 The table-talk and bon-mots of Samuel Fo 
 
 3 1924 013 182 880 
 
THE TABLE-TALK AND BON-MOTS 
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE. 
 
This Edition {with 14 Illustrations) is limited to 350 
 Copies, of which this is No... 
 
^ 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013182880 
 
THE 
 
 Table-Talk and Bon-Mots 
 
 OF 
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE. 
 
 {WITH AN INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR.) 
 
 EDITED BY THE LATE 
 
 WILLIAM COOKE. 
 
 *' A merrier man 
 I never spent an hour's talk withal. 
 His eye begat occasion for his wit ; 
 For every object that the one did catch, 
 The other turn'd to a mirth-loving jest." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 illustrated. 
 
 NEW SOUTHGATE : 
 
 H. A. ROGERS, 2 BOUNDS GREEN ROAD. 
 
 1889. 
 U 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 — 
 
 Samuel Foote was bom at Truro, in Cornwall, in 
 the year 1721, his father, John Foote, heing a 
 magistrate. of that county. His mother (descended 
 in the female line from the old Earl of Eutland) 
 was the daughter of Sir Edward Goodere, Bart. 
 He was educated at Worcester College, Oxford, and 
 studied for the Bar ; but finding the legal profession 
 not suited to his taste, he soon turned his attention 
 to the stage, and first made his entrd on the boards 
 at the Haymarket Theatre on the 6th of February 
 1744 in the character of Othello, to Macklin's 
 logo. His appearance, however, in tragedy was but 
 little removed from utter failure, and, listening to 
 the advice of his friends, he turned his attention to 
 comedy, with which both his talents and figure were 
 more congenial. Accordingly in I747 ^6 opened 
 the Haymarket Theatre with some very humorous 
 imitations of well-known individuals, which were 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 well received ; and ttus, having discovered where 
 his strength lay, he wrote several two-act farces, 
 and continued to perform at one of the winter 
 theatres every season, usually bringing out some 
 pieces of his own, and regularly returning to his 
 summer quarters. In 1766, whUst riding in com- 
 pany with the Duke of York, Lord Delaval, and 
 others, during a visit at Lord Mexborough's seat, 
 he was thrown from his horse and fractured one of 
 his legs so seriously that amputation was rendered 
 necessary. The operation, however, was skilfully 
 performed, and except for the necessity of using a 
 cork leg, it is stated that he felt as little incon- 
 venience as could possibly result from such an 
 accident. The accident, moreover, would seem to 
 have proved of good service to him, for the Duke of 
 York used his powerful influence in obtaining for 
 him a royal patent to erect a theatre in the city 
 of Westminster, with a privilege of exhibiting 
 dramatic pieces there, from the 14th of May to 
 the 14th of September, during the remainder of 
 his life. This privilege he availed himself of by 
 purchasing the old premises In the Haymarket 
 (which he had hitherto rented), and erecting a new 
 theatre on the same ground. The new house was 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 opened ty him in the May of 1767, with an intro- 
 ductory piece called The Prelude, in which he 
 recited with some pleasantry his late misfortune, 
 and alluded in becoming terms to the munificence 
 of his royal patron. From this date forward his 
 success was signal, into the details of which it 
 would be outside the scope of this brief memoir to 
 follow him. He, however, had his trials, as most 
 people do, the chief one being an infamous charge 
 made against him by a discharged man-servant, for 
 which he was tried ; but, though fully acquitted, it 
 had such an effect upon his mind and health, that 
 he died in a few months after (21st October 1777), 
 in the fifty-seventh year of his age. 
 
 Samuel Foote was the author of twenty-six 
 dramatic pieces, all replete with wit, humour, and 
 satire, the best known of which is perhaps the 
 Mayor of Garratt, a comedy first performed in 
 the year 1763, in which he acted the part of 
 Major Sturgeon. 
 
 Foote was in his person about the middle height, 
 rather clumsily made ; with a broad fleshy face, 
 that would be reckoned both vulgar and unmean- 
 ing but for a certain archness in his eye, which at 
 once overcame all other appearances, and instantly 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 proclaimed him the genuine humorist. There are 
 several portraits of him both in his dramatic and 
 private character, none of which are unlike; but 
 the most perfect is the painting by F. Colson in 
 the year 1769, representing him in the forty-eighth 
 year of his age, an engraving of which, by Mr. E. 
 Stodart, is prefixed to these pages. He married 
 in early life, but had no children in wedlock. 
 
 As an Actor, Poote has been so much and so long 
 praised that it is needless for more to be said here. 
 
 As a Humorist, the reader will probably arrive 
 at his own conclusion after a perusal of the follow- 
 ing pages. 
 
 The Wit was at times coarse, but it should be 
 remembered that he lived in times which are 
 generally allowed to be not so refined as the 
 present. Johnson, Garrick, and a host of lesser 
 lights, however, sought and enjoyed his company 
 and mourned him when he died. In their 
 company, therefore, we cannot do better than 
 leave him. 
 
 "Peace to his manes." 
 
THE 
 
 TABLE-TALK AND BON-MOTS 
 
 OF 
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE. 
 
 FooTE was one day taken into White's by a friend 
 who wanted to write a note. Foote, standing in a 
 room among strangers, appeared to feel not quite 
 at ease. Lord Carmarthen, wishing to relieve his 
 embarrassment, came up to speak to him ; but, 
 himself feeling rather shy, he merely said, "Mr. 
 Foote, your handkerchief is hanging out of your 
 pocket." Upon which, Foote, looking suspiciously 
 round, and hurriedly thrusting the handkerchief 
 back into his pocket, replied, " Thank you, my 
 Lord ; you know the company better than I do." 
 
 A gentleman praising the personal charms of a 
 very plain woman before Foote, the latter whispered 
 
THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 him, "And why don't you lay claim to such an 
 accomplished heauty ? " — "What right have I to 
 her?" said the other. — "Every right, by the law 
 of all nations ; as the first discoverer." 
 
 Following a man in the street who did not bear 
 the best of characters, he slapped him familiarly 
 on the shoulder, thinking he was an intimate 
 friend. On discovering his mistake he cried out, 
 " Oh ! sir, I beg your pardon, I really took you 
 
 for a gentleman who ." — "Well, sir," said 
 
 the other, not suffering him to finish his sentence, 
 " and am I not a gentleman ? " — " Nay, sir," said 
 Foote, " if you take it up in that way, I must only 
 beg your pardon a second time." 
 
 Previously to Foote's bringing out his Primitive 
 Fuppef-Show at the Haymarket Theatre a lady of 
 fashion asked him, " Pray, sir, are your puppets to 
 be as large as life ? " — " Oh dear, Madam, no : not 
 much above the size of Garrick ! " 
 
1 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 3 
 
 Dining at the table of a nobleman who generally 
 gave nothing but port wine, Poote met his wine 
 merchant there, who asked him, in the course of 
 conversation, how the last pipe of port turned out. 
 " Why, I should suppose pretty well," said he, " as 
 I Jiave had no complaints from the Mtchen." — There 
 was as much truth as jest in this reply, as Foote, 
 when he was in cash, indulged his servants in all 
 kinds of luxuries. 
 
 Being at the same table another day, when the 
 Cape was going round in remarkably small glasses, 
 his Lordship was very profuse on the excellence of 
 the wine, its age, &c. " But you don't seem to 
 relish it, Foote, by keeping your glass so long 
 before you ? " — " Oh yes, my Lord ; perfectly well : 
 I am only admiring how little it is considering its 
 great age." 
 
 Walking on the north parade at Bath in com- 
 pany with a friend, he returned the salute of a man 
 of fashion who bore rather a suspicious character. 
 " Do you know whom you saluted ? " said his 
 
THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 friend. " Oh yes, perfectly well ; but what can a 
 man do ? Ton know there's no turning OTie's lack 
 upon such fellows." 
 
 When Mrs. Macauley published a pamphlet 
 called Loose Thottghts, several ladies who happened 
 to be in company with Foote reprobated the title 
 as very improper for a woman. " Not at all, ladies ; 
 the sooner a woman gets rid of such thoughts 
 the better." 
 
 An artist belonging to the Royal Academy, 
 being much hypped, was eternally complaining 
 of illness, but could never tell what was the matter 
 with him. At last he married; which being told 
 to Foote, he exclaimed, "I heartily wish him 
 joy ; for now he'll readily find out what's the matter 
 with him." 
 
 The same artist, meeting him some time after- 
 wards, exclaimed, " Well, Foote, you have been 
 premature about my finding out my disorder, as I 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTS. 5 
 
 have got the best wife in the world." — " I am sorry 
 for that, my dear friend ; for you know the old 
 proverb, £ad is the best." 
 
 A physician at Bath told him that he had a 
 mind to publish his own poems, but he had so 
 many irons in the fire, he did not well know what 
 to do. " Then take my advice, Doctor," said Foote, 
 " and ^ut your poems where your irons are." 
 
 A mercantile man of his acquaintance who would 
 read a poem of his to him one day after dinner 
 pompously began — 
 
 " ' Hear me, Phoebus ! and ye Muses nine ! ' 
 
 Pray be attentive." — "I am," said Foote; "nine 
 and one are ten; go on." 
 
 A well-beneficed old parson being in a large 
 company at a public dinner, he entertained them 
 with nothing but the situation and profits of his 
 parochial livings, the glebe of which, he said, he kept 
 
6 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 entirely to himself. The company were mucli teased 
 with this for some time ; when Foote, observing 
 the parson stretch across the table a pair of dirty 
 brown hands, instantly exclaimed, " Well, Doctor, 
 I don't know what the rest of the company may 
 think of you, but for my part, I now see you do 
 keep your glebe in your own hands." 
 
 A gentleman just married, telling Foote that he 
 had that morning laid out three thousand pounds 
 in jewels for his dear wife; "Well," said the 
 other, " you have but done her justice ; as, by 
 your own reckoning, she must be a very valuable 
 woman." 
 
 A lady of suspected virtue being one night at 
 Vauxhall Gardens when the company of impures 
 were rather numerous, observed to Foote, who was 
 walking with her, " How beastly full the place 
 was ! " — " Why, no. Madam," said he, looking her 
 full in the face ; " I think 'tis rather brim-full." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 7 
 
 Baron Newman (a celebrated gambler well known 
 about town some years ago by the title of tbe left- 
 handed Baron *) being detected, in the rooms at 
 Bath, in the act of secreting a card, the company, 
 in the warmth of their resentment, threw him out 
 of the window of a one pair of stairs room where 
 they were playing. The Baron, meeting Foote some 
 time afterwards, loudly complained of this usage, 
 and asked him what he should do to repair his 
 injured honour. " Do ! " said the wit ; " why, 'tis a 
 plain case ; never play so high again as long as you 
 live." 
 
 On meeting Major B — ton (a character then 
 well known in the annals of play) one day at Bath 
 he asked him, with all the cordiality occasioned by 
 a long absence, how he was. "Ah! Foote," said 
 the other, " I have had a terrible accident since I 
 saw you last ; no less than the loss of my eye." — 
 
 * The occasion of this appellation was, his concealing a card at 
 piquet under his left hand, which his antagonist perceiving, thrust 
 a fork through his hand, and nailed him to the table, which gave 
 him a partial lameness in that hand ever after. This unhappy 
 man shot himself about the year 1786, after an unsuccessful season 
 at Brighton. 
 
8 THE TABLE TALK AND 
 
 " An eye, my dear fellow ! " cried the other, with 
 the greatest seeming anxiety. "Pray, at what 
 game ? " 
 
 When Foote parted with his theatre to Colman, 
 he got himself engaged at the same time as a 
 principal performer; but some difference arising 
 about settling the value of the comedy of 27ie Lame 
 Lover, Colman observed, that it would not bring so 
 much as the other pieces, and therefore he should 
 have an abatement. " Yes, yes," said the other, 
 " it will ; for though he is Tiomiiially lame, I shall 
 always lend him & foot for his support." 
 
 A proprietor of a declining newspaper being 
 asked in company how much he divided yearly, 
 and demurring to the question, Foote answered 
 quickly, " Oh, sir, this is an amicable society ; they 
 never divide wpon any account." 
 
 Foote at a very early period of his life formed 
 an acquaintance with Sir Francis Blake Delaval, 
 
BON-MOTS or SAMUEL FOOTE. 9 
 
 whicli continued with uninterrupted good-humour 
 and friendship to the death of the latter. They 
 seemed to have possessed from nature what are 
 perhaps the best requisites for so intimate an 
 union — a similarity of taste and studies ; with a 
 superiority in the one not to dread a rivalship of 
 the other, and a disposition in the other to acquiesce 
 in that superiority. Pleasure, through its infinite 
 ramifications, was the great object of their lives ; 
 and both having fortunes (the one, patrimonial ; 
 the other, acquired) to -support this object, they 
 pursued it in all its sources ; from books and the 
 most brilliant conversation, sometimes to the lowest 
 species of bufibonery. 
 
 In this partnership of wit and humour, Foote 
 stood first in the^rm; which the other submitted 
 to with the most perfect accord ; playing his part, 
 where he could, by either rebutting the jests of his 
 colleague, or himself commencing the first attack. 
 
 Sir Francis, having dipped his estates consider- 
 ably, turned his thoughts towards matrimony ; and 
 as he was a remarkably handsome man, with a 
 fine address and polished manners, he stood fair to 
 
10 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 establish himself to advantage in this line. Foote 
 happened to be acquainted with Lady Harriet 
 Paulet, a lady with ninety thousand pounds at her 
 own disposal, but very plain in her person ; and, it 
 is said, equally so in her understanding. He intro- 
 duced his friend, who soon gained upon her affec- 
 tions, and a day was appointed for the marriage ; 
 but a doubt striking Sir Francis, why Foote, whom 
 he knew to be as much in want of money as him- 
 self, did not marry her, he put the question to him. 
 
 "And so I would," said Foote, "but" "But 
 
 what, sir ? " said the other, impatiently. — " But that 
 I happened to be already married to my washer- 
 woman." * 
 
 When Sir Francis introduced his lady into the 
 gay world, he was much rallied by his acquaintance 
 on the homeliness of her person ; upon which 
 Foote said, " that as he made the match, he must 
 likewise make his friend's apology; which was, 
 that he bought her by weight, and paid nothing 
 for the fashion." 
 
 Soon after the death of the above-mentioned 
 
 * A familiar name which he always applied to his wife. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 11 
 
 lady (who did not long survive her marriage), a 
 mutual acquaintance of the parties, meeting Foote, 
 said, "he had just seen Sir Francis dressed in 
 deep mourning, by which he supposed he must 
 have lost some valuable friend." — " Oh no," said 
 the other ; " Frank's only a widower." 
 
 Sir Francis sitting one night in the front boxes 
 of Drury Lane with a lady of fashion, whilst Sevigny 
 (who had been bred a cutler) was playing Selim in 
 Barharossa, the lady felt herself much affected with 
 a particular passage, and exclaimed, " I am almost 
 ashamed of my weakness, but that man cuts me to 
 the very heart ! " — " Oh ! dear Madam," said the 
 other, " how can it be otherwise ? Consider, he's a 
 razor-grinder." 
 
 Whenever these two wits were in town at the 
 same time they generally dined together, either 
 at their own or some of their friends' houses, the 
 tavern, &c. Foote, just after returning from Ire- 
 land, lived mostly ,with Sir Francis, who, though 
 he kept a good table, did not always spread it 
 with much taste. The conversation turning one 
 
12 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 day on the hospitalities of the Irish, Foote praised 
 them much, and said, " they had the superiority 
 in living, in some respects, above us." This Sir 
 Francis denied, by saying, that " though they gave 
 good things, they did not generally introduce them 
 to the best advantage." 
 
 Soon after this. Sir Francis having occasion to 
 step into an adjoining room, Foote turned round 
 to one of the company and cried out, " Did you ever 
 hear such a hound as this ? — talking of the elegancies 
 of a table ; and here I have been seven days together 
 dining with him on a greasy loin of pork. What 
 he can mean by it I don't know ; except he means 
 to run his pork against The Beggar's Opera." * 
 
 Sir Francis by this time returned; and over- 
 hearing the last sentence, good-humouredly ex- 
 claimed, " What, Foote ! at my loin of pork still ? " 
 — " No," said the other, perfectly unabashed, " your 
 loins of pork have been at me; and if you don't 
 tahe them off, in another week I suppose I shall 
 be as full of bristles as Peter the wild man." 
 
 * About this time Beard and Miss Brent were performing in The 
 Beggar's Opera, night after night, at Covent Garden Theatre with 
 great success. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 13 
 
 These little sallies of humour, however, did 
 not interrupt the harmony of the two friends. 
 They played, as it were, the first and second 
 fiddle occasionally ; and provided the concert con- 
 tributed to their own or the company's amuse- 
 ment, all was well. Sometimes they regaled 
 themselves over a bottle ; sometimes amused them- 
 selves in the green-room, sporting with the per- 
 formers ; sometimes at ridottos, masq[uerades, &c. ; 
 and occasionally making the nrtuoso round, as 
 they called it, — which consisted in visiting all the 
 curious exhibitions from the Tower to Hyde Park 
 Corner. 
 
 Sir Francis carried this whimsical humour into 
 the country, where, whether at his own house or 
 at his brother's (Lord Delaval), Foote, as his 
 arbiter deliciarum, arranged all the festivities. 
 These were composed, by turns, of an ass-race, 
 a puppet-show, a grinning-match, a shift-race, by 
 women; and lastly (though not least frequently) 
 a sack-race, in which all the runners were close- 
 buttoned up to the chin in sacks, and in this 
 condition the first who jumped to a certain dis- 
 tance was the winner. 
 
14 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 These amusements drew a great deal of the 
 company of the neighbourhood to Seaton Delaval, 
 where they all partook of the convivialities of the 
 table as well as the sports on the lawn. 
 
 In the midst of this gay, frolicsome life, Foots 
 suggested to Sir Francis, " that as he (Sir Francis) 
 was fond of the stage, and a good performer him- 
 self, it would be turning his talents to some 
 account, to get up some creditable play, in which 
 himself and friends might fill up the characters." 
 The hint was immediately taken ; and Garrick 
 was applied to for the use of his theatre, who 
 readily granted it at the request of so many noble 
 and honourable suitors. 
 
 Private theatricals were at this period very rare ; 
 they had been almost laid aside from the time when 
 Frederick Prince of Wales had honoured them by 
 his encouragement at Cliefden and Leicester Houses ; 
 so that the report of this intended feU, as a novelty, 
 drew much of the attention of the town. The 
 scenery was for some months in preparation, the 
 dresses were magnificent, and tickets of admission 
 were distributed to only the first people of condi-, 
 tion. The play fixed upon was Othello: the part 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 15 
 
 of Othello by Sir Francis ; lago, by bis brother 
 (afterwards Lord Delaval); Desdemona, by Lady 
 Mexborough; and after the play there were to be 
 a ball, supper, &c., in a grand style. 
 
 Foote was intended for one of this party, but, 
 either from accident or design, did not attend till 
 the play was finished, and then entered the great 
 green-room as the company were all taking refresh- 
 ments. " Oh, Foote ! where have you been ? What 
 have you lost ! Such a play you'll never have another 
 opportunity of seeing ! " was the general buzz from 
 one end of the room to the other. To all this the 
 wit bowed contrition, disappointment, and so forth j 
 when, slyly approaching the place where Garrick sat, 
 he asked him, in a whisper loud enough to be heard 
 by the whole company, " what he seriously thought 
 of it?" — "Think of it!" says Garrick, equally 
 wishing to be heard ; " why, that I never suffered so 
 much in my whole life ! " — " What ! for the author ? 
 I thought so. Alas ! poor Shakspeare ! " 
 
 The company not being prepared for this stroke, 
 the laugh was unanimous against Garrick ; which 
 Sir Francis joined in with as much good-humour 
 as if he was not at all affected by the sarcasm. 
 
16 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Sir Francis and Foote, strolling from the Turk's- 
 head tavern in Gerard Street, not a little inebriated, 
 espied a lona rdba most tawdrily dressed out, ogling 
 them from her drawing-room . window. This was 
 enough to excite the gallantry of Sir Francis, who, 
 instantly dropping upon one knee, theatrically ex- 
 claimed, " Ah, ma chere ielle ! " Foote, seeing this, 
 was determined not to be outdone in gallantry ; and 
 accordingly, placing himself by the side of Sir 
 Francis, exclaimed in the same impassioned tone 
 of voice and manner, " Ah, ma Jeze-lel ! " 
 
 But the moment at last arrived which was to 
 break this bond of fun, wit, and humour for ever. 
 Sir Francis depended too much on the strength of 
 a good constitution to balance his successive dis- 
 sipations; hence he grew corpulent, acquired gross 
 humours, and (what was still worse) was subject 
 to spasms in his stomach, which, though often 
 alarming, gave no check to his irregularities. 
 
 During the summer of 1772, dining at the 
 house of his brother-in-law (Lord Mexborough), 
 and taking a good deal of ice after a hearty dinner, 
 he felt himself so suddenly and violently chilled 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 17 
 
 that he called for a rummer of brandy, which he 
 drank off at once. At that moment a convulsive 
 spasm seized him, and he fell from his chair sense- 
 less. He was carried home in this state, and had 
 every proper assistance administered to him, but 
 in vain. He died, without ever recovering from 
 his fit, on the following morning. 
 
 Foote heard of this melancholy event with a 
 sincere sorrow. He loved him with as much con- 
 stancy of friendship as he could feel towards any 
 man; and to be deprived of him in the meridian 
 of life, when they thought they had many more 
 follies to commit, and many more pleasures to 
 hunt down, was a disappointment of a distressing 
 nature to a hrother wit. ' Besides, Sir Francis was 
 at times his flatterer, and occasionally his dupe; 
 and Foote might, in this respect, have felt a 
 loss similar to that ascribed to the Duke of 
 Buckingham — 
 
 " No mit to flatter left, of all his store ; 
 No fool to laugh at, which he valued more." 
 
 But whatever motives might have formed the 
 basis of his grief, his immediate sorrow on hearing 
 
18 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 of the event was pungent and sincere. He burst 
 into a flood of tears, retired to his room, and saw 
 no company for three days. 
 
 On the fourth, Jewel, his treasurer, calling on 
 him for the arrangement of some urgent business, 
 he, with swelled eyes and in faltering words, in- 
 quired when Sir Francis was to be buried. " Not 
 till the latter end of next week, sir," replied the 
 other ; "as I hear the surgeons intend first to 
 dissect his head." This last expression (as in 
 instances of madness) striking the chord of his 
 ruling passion, he suddenly exclaimed, "And what 
 will they get there ? I'm sure I have known poor 
 Frank these five-and-twenty years, and I never 
 could find anything in it." 
 
 This gentleman was born with very superior 
 advantages of person and of fortune. The former 
 he availed himself of in the prosecution of his 
 pleasures; the latter he employed alternately as 
 a means of dissipation and of generosity. In 
 modern honour and modern gallantry he vied with 
 the first fashionables in Europe ; and if blending 
 foreign pleasures with English eccentricities con- 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 19 
 
 stituted a real patriot, he even surpassed the most 
 sanguine of the Bill of Eights.* 
 
 Had he been born in the court of N"ero, he, in 
 all probability, would have attained the highest 
 honours. Not that he possessed a grain of that 
 monster's cruelty; but, from being inspired with 
 an ambition for the same amusements, he would 
 have ridden with him as a charioteer, fiddled with 
 him as a musician, fenced with him as a gladiator, 
 and strutted with him as a player. 
 
 Though indolent in business, he was active in 
 his pleasures; and so strongly did he possess the 
 spirit of emulation, that he would be the leading 
 showman of his day, whatever species of frivolity 
 was the fashion. Tet, with all these drawbacks 
 upon his character, he was not deficient in either 
 wit or learning, or in the ready application of both. 
 He excelled sometimes in repartee ; and once re- 
 plied to the late Lord Chatham in the House of 
 Commons with a point and promptitude which for 
 a time abashed even that celebrated statesman.t 
 
 * Sir Francis was a strenuous supporter of a club at that time 
 which adopted the name of " The Bill of Rights." It had a degree 
 oi popularity ; and that, probably, was his principal inducement. 
 
 t Mr. Pitt having attacked ^ome opinions of Sir Francis' in the 
 
20 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 His early and long acquaintance with Foote 
 cultivated his talents for pun and hon-mot, in the 
 former of which points he was a proficient, but in 
 the latter attempted too frequently to be always 
 successful. He was, notwithstanding, what may 
 be well called an agreeable, gay companion; and 
 to this character he united generosity, affability, 
 politeness, and good-nature ; nor was he, perhaps, 
 ever intentionally any man's enemy. 
 
 Let those who dislike this character on the whole, 
 first ask themselves whether, under the temptation 
 of such a figure, such a fortune, and such vivacity 
 of constitution, they would not have some difficulty 
 in leaving, themselves, one more perfect. 
 
 A simUar instance as that lately related, of the 
 predominance of his favourite passion, was afforded 
 by the death of Holland of Drury Lane Theatre. 
 
 House of Commons (soon after he had himself abandoned his former 
 ideas of a German war) as savouring too much of the iuffoimery of 
 the stage, Sir Francis, in reply, said, "that if once performing a 
 character on the stage could be imputed to him as an act of buf- 
 foonery, he must plead guilty to that charge ; but this he could say 
 in his own justification — and he could wish it would equally apply 
 to the right hon. gentleman who spoke last — that it was the only 
 'part he ever played in his life.'' 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 21 
 
 This performer was the son of a haher who lived 
 at Chiswick; and having an early inclination, as 
 well as certain abilities, for the stage, young 
 Holland was brought out under the immediate 
 patronage and tuition of Garrick ; from whom, if 
 he did not catch his divine fire, he imitated his 
 art so well, in many instances, as to render him- 
 self very respectable in the line of his profession. 
 
 Foots had a long intimacy and regard for him ; 
 and when Holland died of the smallpox, about 
 the year 1768, he left our hero a legacy, and 
 appointed him one of the bearers of his funeral, 
 which last of&ce he performed with a sincere 
 sorrow. Looking in at the Bedford Coffee-house 
 the same evening, he was asked whether he had 
 attended the remains of his old friend to Chiswick. 
 " Oh yes, poor fellow ! " said he (the tears scarce 
 dry upon his cheeks) ; " I have just seen him 
 shoved into the family oven." 
 
 Lord Delaval having presented one of his chap- 
 lains to a good living, a person in company said, 
 " Well, let the Delavals alone for doing things in 
 
THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 a good style " (stile). — " It may be so," said Foote, 
 " but it is not, however, their usual gait " (gate). 
 
 Foote praising the hospitalities of the Irish, after 
 one of his trips from the sister kingdom, a gentle- 
 man present asked him whether he had ever been 
 in Cork. "No, sir," said he, quickly; "but I 
 have seen a great many drawings of it." 
 
 Before the present alterations were made in 
 Vauxhall Gardens, it was common, on a rainy 
 night, for the company and singers to retire to 
 the rotunda, where the amusements of the evening 
 were carried on. Foote, on one of these occasions, 
 happened to be sitting just under the celebrated 
 Miss Brent (who was remarkable for a strong 
 breath) while she sang one of her favourite songs, 
 which was loudly applauded and encored. " Well, 
 Foote," said a lady, seeing him rather silent in his 
 applause, " what think you of this song ? You 
 don't seem to like it much." — "Why, as to the 
 words, my lady, I think them very pretty ; but, to 
 tell you the truth, I don't much relish the air." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 23 
 
 At Fordyce, the banker's, sale at Eoehampton 
 (in 1772) Foote, who attended almost every day, 
 bought nothing but a pillow; on which he was 
 asked what particular use he could have for a 
 single pillow. " As a narcotic" said he ; " for if 
 the original proprietor could sleep so soundly on it, 
 at the time of owing so much as he did, it may 
 be of singular service to me on many occasions." * 
 
 One of the performers coming up to Foote in 
 the green-room with a long face, said he had just 
 heard that Dr. Kenrick was going to give a public 
 critique on his last new comedy of The Cozeners at 
 Maryhone Gardens. " Is he so ? " said Poote : " well, 
 let the Doctor take care of the fate of our first 
 parents — a fall in the garden." 
 
 Happening to spend an evening with two digni- 
 taries of the Church, the subject insensibly turned 
 on polemical divinity ; which causing a difference of 
 opinion between them, they appealed to Foote. " I 
 
 * The original of this is a, hon-mot of the Emperor Augustus. 
 
24 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 thank you, gentleman," said he ; " but I always 
 make it a rule never to meddle in family affairs." 
 
 Woodward, having some difference with Garrick 
 about increase of salary, consulted Foote on the sub- 
 ject, and urged the reasonableness of his demand 
 from the great variety of characters in which he was 
 engaged. " Why, indeed, Harry," said Foote, " con- 
 sidering you play in pantomimes as well as comedies, 
 I think you are fully entitled to the money, whether 
 you are paid by the hour or the ground." 
 
 When Mrs. Abington returned from her first 
 very successful trip to Ireland, Foote wished to 
 engage her for his summer theatre, but in the 
 meantime Garrick secured her for Drury Lane. 
 Foote, on hearing this, asked her why she gave 
 Garrick the preference. " I don't know how it 
 was," said she ; " he talked me over so by telling 
 me he would make me immortal, that I did not 
 know how to refuse him." — " Oh ! did he so ? Then 
 I'll soon outbid him that way; for, come to me, 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 25 
 
 and I will give you two pounds a week more, and 
 charge you nothing for immortality." 
 
 Foote, returning from dining with a certain lord 
 of the Admiralty, was met by a friend, who asked 
 him what sort of a day he had had. "Very in- 
 different indeed : bad company, and a worse 
 dinner." — "I wonder at that," said the other, "as 
 I thought the admiral a good jolly fellow." — 
 " Why, as to that, he may be a good sea-lord, but 
 take it from me, he is a very bad land-lord'' 
 
 On another day, coming from the same noble- 
 man's table, he exclaimed, " Worse and worse ! 
 Everything about the table stunk but the vinegar, 
 and that was sweet." 
 
 Diblle Davis, one of Foote's lutts in ordinary, 
 dining with him one day at North End, observed, 
 that " well as he loved porter, he could never drink 
 it without a head." — " That must be a mistake, 
 
26 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Dibble," returned his host, " as you have done so 
 to my knowledge above these twenty years." 
 
 Being asked at what time of life he thought 
 female beauty began to decline, he replied, 
 " Woman is to be counted like a game of piquet : 
 twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, 
 twenty-nine, — sixty." 
 
 Being at the levee of Lord Townshend when that 
 nobleman was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, he thought 
 he saw a person in his Excellency's suite whom he 
 had known to have lived for many years a life of 
 expediency in London. To convince himself of the 
 fact, he asked his Excellency who it was. " That 
 
 is Mr. S , one of my gentlemen at large," 
 
 was the answer. " Do you know him ? " — " Oh 
 yes ! perfectly well," said Foote ; " and what your 
 Excellency tells me is doubly extraordinary: first, 
 that he is a gentleman; and next, that he is at 
 large." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 27 
 
 The Mrs. Eeddish who was originally Miss 
 Hart, playing the Queen in Richard III. one even- 
 ing at Drury Lane, and being of a very coarse, 
 masculine make, a gentleman asked Foote who 
 she was. Being told that her name was Reddish, 
 he exclaimed, " Eeddish ! Eeddish ! Pray, what 
 Eeddish?" — "Why, zounds! sir," said Foote, 
 " don't you see ? ^orse-Eeddish, to be sure." 
 
 At the time of the Stratford Jubilee, planned 
 and conducted by Garrick in honour of Shakspeare, 
 the weather in general turned out very wet and 
 cold, particularly the day appointed for the great 
 dramatic procession. Garrick, meeting Foote that 
 morning in the public breakfast-room, just in the 
 time of a very heavy shower of rain, exclaimed, 
 with evident chagrin, "Well, Sam, what do you 
 think of all this?" — "Think of it!" says Foote; 
 " why, as a Christian should do ; I think it is 
 God's revenffe against vanity." 
 
 Meeting with Lacy (Garrick's brother-manager) 
 a little before this time, they were talking of the 
 
28 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 badness of the weather, and their apprehensions 
 of the procession-day proving wet. " And in this 
 case," said Poote, "what will you do?"— "Do!" 
 says Lacy, shrugging up his shoulders in his usual 
 coarse way. "Why, if the day should turn out, 
 as you say, wet and windy, Garrick and his 
 mummers may parade it as much as they please, 
 but Tione of the clothes shall walk." 
 
 » 
 
 During this festival, which drew together most 
 of the wits, dramatists, and amateurs of Shak- 
 speare, from every part of the three kingdoms, 
 Foote distinguished himself, at all the public 
 places, in a capital line of wit and brilliancy. 
 Being on the Green one evening, rattling away 
 in his usual manner, a large fat country squire, 
 most gorgeously dressed out in silver-laced clothes, 
 approached the circle with great civility, and en- 
 tered into conversation with him. Foote, taking 
 him for one of the better sort of natives of the 
 town, thought this a good opportunity to pick up 
 some anecdotes about Shakspeare; but the squire, 
 to avoid a subject for which he was totally unfit, 
 turned it off, by complaining of the badness of 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 29 
 
 the roads, the extortion of the inns, bad beds, &c. 
 " Oh ! then it appears," says Foote, " you are not 
 a native of this town." — "No, no, sir," said the 
 squire, " I am no native ; I came all the way 
 from Essex to see the show." — " From Essex ? " 
 returned Foote (seemingly in a great surprise, and 
 viewing him from head to heel). " And pray, sir, let 
 me ask you one question more : Who drove you ? " 
 
 At a table where he dined in the interior parts 
 of Scotland, an old lady, being called upon for 
 a toast, gave Charles the Third. " Of Spain, 
 Madam ? " said Foote. " No, sir," cried the lady, 
 with some pettishness ; " of England ! " — " Poh ! 
 poh ! " said one of the company, " never mind her ; 
 she is one of our old folks, who have not got 
 rid of their political prejudices." — " Oh, dear sir, 
 make no apology," cried Foote ; " I was prepared 
 for all this ; as, from your living so far north as 
 you do, I suppose none of you have yet heard of 
 the Revolution." 
 
so THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 While at Edinburgh, he was urged to take off 
 Wilkes, who was at that time as obnoxious in 
 Scotland as he was popular in England. He 
 answered, that he had but one objection; which 
 was, "that as he intended to take himself off for 
 London in a few days, he did not choose to sup 
 on hrick-hats and rotten eggs the first night of his 
 arrival in the metropolis." 
 
 On his return from Scotland, being asked by a 
 lady whether there was any truth in the report 
 that there were no trees in Scotland : " A very 
 malicious report indeed, my lady," said he; "for, 
 just as I was crossing Port-Patrick to Donaghadee, 
 I saw two black birds perched on as fine a thistle 
 as ever I saw in my life." 
 
 Foote, who lived in habits of intimacy with 
 Lord Kellie, took as many liberties with his face 
 (which somewhat resembled in appearance a meri- 
 dian sun) as ever Falstaff did with his friend 
 Bardolph's. One day his Lordship choosing to 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTB. 31 
 
 forget his promise of dining with him, it piqued 
 him so, that he called out, loud enough to be 
 heard by the whole coffee-house where they were 
 sitting, " Well, my Lord ; since you cannot do me 
 the honour of dining with me to-day, will you 
 be so good, as you ride by, just to looh over 
 against my south wall ? — for, as we have had little 
 or no sun for this fortnight past, my peaches 
 will want the assistance of your lordship's counte- 
 ruince." 
 
 His Lordship having cracked some jokes upon 
 one of his friends rather too coarsely, an Irish 
 gentleman who heard of it said, "if he had 
 treated him so he would pull Mm ly the nose." 
 — " Pull Mm by the nose," said Foote : " you may 
 as well thrust your hand into a furnace." 
 
 The same noble Lord coming into the club, 
 on a hot summer night, dressed in a somewhat 
 tarnished suit of laced clothes, the waiter announced, 
 "Lord Kellie."— " Lord Kellie!" repeated Foote, 
 looking him full in the face at the same time ; " I 
 thought it was all Monmouth Street in flames." 
 
32 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 A gentleman at Foote's table complaining that 
 the beer was cold, "Hand the tankard, then, to 
 Lord Kellie," said he, " and it will be fire-proof in 
 a moment.'' 
 
 During one of Foote's trips to Dublin, he was 
 much solicited by a silly young man of fashion to 
 assist him in a miscellany of poems and essays 
 which he was about to publish ; but when he asked 
 to see the manuscript, the other told him, " that at 
 present he had only conceived the different subjects, 
 but had put none of them to paper." — " Oh ! if that 
 be the state of the case," replied Foote, "I will 
 give you a motto from Milton for the work in its 
 present state : 
 
 ' Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.' " 
 
 A young gentleman, making an apology to his 
 father for coming late to dinner, said, " that he 
 had been visiting a poor friend of his in St. 
 George's Fields." — "Ah! a pretty kind of friend 
 indeed," says the father, "to keep us waiting for 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 33 
 
 dinner in this manner." — " Ay, and of the best 
 kind too," said Poote ; " as you know, my dear sir, 
 a friend in need is a friend indeed!' 
 
 When a celebrated empiric first set up his 
 chariot, he consulted Foote about the choice of 
 a motto. " What is your crest ? " said the wit. 
 "Three mallards" answered the Doctor. "Why, 
 then, the motto I would recommend to you is, 
 Quack ! quack ! quack ! " 
 
 Being asked by a lady to translate a physician's 
 motto, which was, "A numine solus," he quickly 
 replied, " God help the patient ! " 
 
 The first time that Foote was in company with 
 Sir W. W. Wynn, who was remarkably corpulent, 
 he was asked how he liked him. " Oh ! a true 
 Welshman," said he ; " all mountain and barren- 
 ness." 
 
34 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Having some pique towards Colonel Bowden, who 
 stuttered remarkably, he happened to cross him 
 on the Eichmond road, as he was taking a ride 
 with a friend. " How do you do. Colonel ? " says 
 Foote's companion. "Pre — pre — pretty," stam- 
 mered the Colonel, endeavouring to say "Pretty 
 well ; " when Foote, desiring the post-boy to drive on, 
 his companion exclaimed, " Why do you drive off so 
 rudely ? " — " Oh," replied Foote, " to save time ; as 
 we shall be at Hounslow before he'll be well en(yugh 
 to give you an answer." 
 
 Bowden, who was a very fat man, being in Ger- 
 many while he was an officer in the Guards, hap- 
 pened to be sent on what is called a flying party, 
 of which he gave his father (who was nearly as fat 
 as himself) the following laconic account : — 
 
 Dear Sir, — Our general has thought fit to select me for 
 a flying party ; and as you seem to have the same family 
 talents for enterprises of this description, I shaU not be 
 much surprised if I hear that they have engaged you to 
 play Harlequin next winter at Drury Lane. 
 
 The same facetious gentleman, dining one day at 
 the house of Thrale, the member for the borough. 
 
EON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 35 
 
 and seeing nothing to his liking in the first course, 
 answered only, when asked to be helped to any- 
 thing, " I will wait for something else." A neck of 
 mutton being the last thing, he refused it also. 
 Mrs. Thrale, in some confusion, apologised for her 
 dinner by saying, "that the high winds had that 
 morning thrown down the kitchen chimney, and 
 she was afraid there was nothing else but some 
 pastry." Bowden, roused at this, and seeing the 
 mutton on the point of being carried from the 
 table, stuttered out to the servant as well as he 
 could, " Holloa, master ! bring that back again : I 
 now begin to find it is neck or nothing ! " 
 
 Bowden being in the stage-box one night when 
 Mrs. Pritchard was playing in the mask of Britannia, 
 her pasteboard armour was buckled on so tight, 
 particularly about the neck, that she could hardly 
 articulate her words. This created some con- 
 fusion for a time; when Bowden, seeing the 
 cause, stuttered out as loud as he could, " Will 
 nobody slit that dear woman's dripping-pan for 
 her? If they don't, poor Britannia will be un- 
 done." 
 
36 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 When the late Duke of Norfolk was Mr. Howard, 
 he published a book called His own Thoughts, of 
 which he promised a second part. Being in com- 
 pany with Foote some time after this at the Bedford 
 coffee-house, he pressed our hero to give an opinion 
 of his book, which the other at first declined ; but 
 at length, being at a loss for an excuse, he replied, 
 " I will wait for your next book, sir ; second thoughts 
 are best." 
 
 Sitting with Lord H (who was much ad- 
 dicted to the bottle) previously to a masq^uerade 
 night, he asked Foote " what new character he ought 
 to appear in." — " New character ! " said the other, 
 pausing for some time. " Suppose you go soler, my 
 Lord ! " 
 
 Some years ago Dr. Arne produced an operetta 
 at Covent Garden Theatre, called The Rose, which, 
 though full of Scriptural allusions, was hissed off 
 the stage the first night. Foote, getting into the 
 lobby just after its fate, was asked what he really 
 thought of it. "Why, bating the religion of it," 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 37 
 
 says he, " I never saw a piece so justly damned in 
 all my life ! " 
 
 A dull dramatic writer, who had often felt the 
 severity of the public, was co^iplaining one day to 
 Foote of the injustice done him by the critics ; but 
 added, "I have, however, one way of being even 
 with them ; which is, by constantly lauffhing at all 
 they say." — "You do perfectly right, my friend," 
 said Foote ; " for by this method you will not only 
 disappoint your enemies, but lead the merriest life 
 of any man in England." 
 
 Foote used to say, "that the difference of the 
 htie of a Court-levee after the death of a general 
 officer or of a hishop was that of a lobster lefore 
 and after boiling." 
 
 When Foote first heard of Dr. Blair's writing 
 Notes on Ossian (a work the reality of which has 
 been always much doubted), he observed, "the 
 booksellers ought to allow a great discount to the 
 
38 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 purchasers, as the notes required such a stretch of 
 credit." 
 
 Dining one day at Merchant-Taylors' Hall, Foote 
 enjoyed himself so pleasantly, that he sat till the 
 company were much thinned ; when, watching his 
 opportunity, he rose, and with great gravity took 
 leave by saying, " Gentlemen, I wish you loth good- 
 night." — " Both ! " echoed one of the company. 
 " Why, Foote, are you drunk ? Here are at least 
 above a dozen of us left ! " — " Oh yes," said the 
 wit, " I know that : there are just eighteen ; but as 
 nine tailors only make a man, I wish to be correct ; 
 therefore, as I said before, gentlemen, I wish you 
 hoth good-night." 
 
 Dining at a nobleman's table, where the com- 
 pany were praising the claret, his Lordship told 
 them that he had received that hogshead of wine 
 in return for a couple of hounds which he some 
 time before presented to Count Lauragais. " Why 
 then, my Lord," cried Foote, "I not only think 
 your wine excellent, but dog-cheap." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 89 
 
 Meeting with Lady A at Brighton, he 
 
 asked her what brought her there. " Why, really," 
 said she, " I don't well know : mere wantonness, I 
 believe." — "And pray, my Lady, have you been 
 cured yet ? " 
 
 A lady who had made several faux pas in life, 
 being afterwards married very happily, a company 
 of friends were talking over the circumstance, and 
 mentioning that she had the frankness to tell her 
 husband, before marriage, all that had happened : 
 " What candour ! What honesty ! " added they. 
 " Yes," cried Foote, joining in the general praise ; 
 " and what an amazing memory, too ! " 
 
 Lady S , who lived in good health and 
 
 spirits to the great age of ninety-two, was asked, 
 when eighty-four, at what .time of life the passion of 
 love generally fails. " That," said she, " is a question 
 of experience, which I cannot at present determine ! " 
 
40 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 A young lady having made her d^ut at the 
 Haymarket Theatre with very indifferent success, 
 and being, of course, laid on the shelf, v?as every 
 now and then soliciting Foote to know " when she 
 should make her next appearance." — "Your next 
 appearance ? " said he one day, musing. " Let me 
 see: why, Madam, by the time the public have 
 forgotten your first." 
 
 A person abusing the players in general one 
 night in company with Foote, said, among other 
 coarse things, " that they had not even one grain of 
 gratitude, about them." — "Nay, now," said Foote, 
 "you are too severe upon the profession; for, to 
 my certain knowledge, there are no people more 
 distressed at henefits forgotten." 
 
 It being observed by a lady how much better a 
 female of their mutual acquaintance, who had been 
 raised from a humble situation, looked than she did 
 a dozen years before : " Very true," said Foote ; '.' but 
 consider the education of her face since that time." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 41 
 
 A young Member of Parliament having made a 
 long declamatory speech, his uncle asked Foote " how 
 he liked it, and whether he did not think posterity 
 would speak of it." — " Oh ! no doubt, no doubt," 
 said he, wishing to get rid of the subject. " Well," 
 continued the other, " but what do you think they 
 will say ? " — " Will say ? " returned he, pausing. 
 " Why, they must say, if they do the young gentle- 
 man justice, that he OTice flourished in Parliament ! " 
 
 Of the same young gentleman, who was rather 
 haclnuard in paying Ms debts, he said "he was a 
 ■very promising young man.'' 
 
 When Foote was in Ireland, on seeing the 
 wretched appearance of the peasantry there, par- 
 ticularly in regard to their apparel, he observed, 
 " that he never knew before what the beggars in 
 England did with their cast-off clothes." 
 
 Mr, A r, then a handsome young surgeon 
 
 in the army, was suspected of an intrigue with a 
 
 s 
 
42 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 married woman of high fashion; anfl the reJ)ort 
 was, " that he was caught in her very bed-chamber 
 at an unseasonable hour of the night." Her friends, 
 however, endeavoured to get rid of it by saying, 
 that "the lady, having borrowed a very scarce book, 
 pledged herself to return it the next morning, and 
 
 therefore got young A r to read it to her." 
 
 This apology everybody understood as they liked. 
 Foote, however, vindicated the lady's honour very 
 strenuously, by saying, "she was not only totally 
 innocent of the charge, but he could mention the 
 very book they were reading together; namely. 
 The Christian's Daily Practice, in sheets." 
 
 When Quin first heard of Foote's success in 
 giving tea at the Haymarket, he said, in his sar- 
 castical manner, "he was glad of it; for now, 
 poor devil ! we may expect to see him with a 
 clean shirt on." Foote, hearing of this, charged 
 him one night at the Bedford with taking such a 
 liberty with him as to say " he should now wear 
 clean shirts." — " No, sir," says Quin, very gravely, 
 " I did not say shirts ; I said shirt : when I spoke 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 43 
 
 of you on this subject, I could not be so igTwrant 
 as to use the plural number'' 
 
 Foote had two natural children, to whom he 
 was much attached. As they were playing about 
 his knees one evening after dinner, a French 
 gentleman present asked him, " Sont-ils par la 
 meme mere, Monsieur ? " — " Oui, Monsieur," replied 
 he ; "by the same mare, but I have strong doubts 
 whether by the same horse." 
 
 The mother of the above children was a servant 
 of his, who lived with him for several years ; but, 
 on one of his trips to Paris, went off with a lass 
 viol player belonging to the Opera-House. On his 
 return he never looked after her, but enjoyed 
 himself as if nothing of the kind had happened. 
 The lady, however, feeling either remorse or per- 
 haps the want of her former good establishment, 
 solicited strongly to be restored, alleging, " that 
 though she had left his house, not knowing when 
 he would return, she had done nothing to forfeit 
 his esteem." — " What ! Madam," said he ;. " done 
 
44 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 nothing to forfeit my esteem ! Have you not been 
 hase-ly wZ-ated ? And now do you want to run 
 your gamut upon me ? " 
 
 Being at dinner in a mixed company soon after 
 the bankruptcy of one friend and the death of 
 another, the conversation naturally turned on the 
 mutability of the world. " Can you account for 
 this ? " said S — tt, a master-builder, who happened 
 to sit next to Toote. "Why, not very clearly," 
 said the other ; " except we could suppose the world 
 was built by contract." 
 
 On the occasion of a rehearsal of Venice Pre- 
 served, in which a new actress, who had been highly 
 recommended to Garrick, was to make her debut as 
 Belvidera, the lady repeated that tender exclama- 
 tion, " Would you kill my father, Jaffier ? " with so 
 much sang-froid in her voice and countenance, that 
 Garrick, after several attempts to set her right, at 
 length whispered to her, nearly in the same tone, 
 " Can you chop cabbage. Madam ? " 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. i5 
 
 A gentleman coming into the " Cocoa-tree " one 
 morning during the Duke of Grafton's Adminis- 
 tration, was observing, " that he was afraid the 
 poor Ministry were at their wife' end." — " Well, if 
 it should be so," said Foote, " what reason have 
 they to complain of so sJiori a journey ? " 
 
 Being asked his opinion of Churchill the poet, 
 he said that Lily the grammarian had already 
 given his character in one line with great accuracy : 
 
 " Bifrons, atque eustos ; hoSjfur, sus, atgue sacerdos." * 
 
 Hugh Kelly, the author of False Delicacy, &c., 
 dining with Foote one day, in passing through the 
 drawing-room looked into the library, and being 
 
 * Which line Mr. Gostling, a clergyman of Canterbury, has paro- 
 died in the following humorous manner : — 
 
 Bifrons — not living as he preaches ; 
 Cuatos — of all that in his reach is ; 
 Boa — when among his neighbours' wives ; 
 Far — when a-gathering-in his tithes ; 
 Sus — sitting at a parish-feast ; 
 Sacerdos last, a finish' d priest. 
 
46 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 surprised at the smallness of the collection (the 
 principal part of his books being at North End), 
 rather triumphantly exclaimed, " Why, hey-day ! 
 I have got almost as many books myself ! " — " Per- 
 haps you may, sir," said the other ; " but consider, 
 you read all that you write." 
 
 The same author was boasting that, as a reviewer, 
 he had the power of distributing literary reputation 
 as he liked. "Take care," said Foote, "you are 
 not too prodigal of that, or you may leave none for 
 yourself." 
 
 A very thin lady seriously asked Foote whether 
 he believed in spirits. " Ay, Madam," replied he, 
 looking her full in the face, " as sure as you are there." 
 
 Foote told Lord Carlisle that he once had it in 
 contemplation to bring out a piece in order to ridi- 
 cule the absurdities of the Grecian Drama. 
 
 His plan was as follows : — He was to introduce 
 but one personage, who was to be a mock despotic 
 monarch, attended by a chorus of tinkers, tailors, 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTS. 47 
 
 blacksmiths, musicians, bakers, &c. This character 
 was to strut about the stage, boast of the unlimited 
 extent of his Imperial power, threaten all with fire 
 and sword, take the city of London, storm the 
 Tower, and even threaten to dethrone the sovereign 
 himself. 
 
 The chorus, terrified at these exploits and menaces, 
 were then to fall upon their knees, tear their hair, 
 beat their breasts, and supplicate his Imperial High- 
 ness to spare the effusion of so much human blood ; 
 to which, after a conflict of contending passions 
 during the course of five acts, the hero was to agree, 
 and the piece was then to conclude with a full 
 hymn of thanksgiving for the deliverance of so 
 many individuals.* 
 
 Dining at the house of a nobleman who gave 
 him a had dinner and worse wine, but who had 
 
 * With all deference to Foote's comic abilities, it may be thought 
 that a drama founded on this model would not generally succeed. 
 The far greater part of an audience know nothing of the Grecian 
 unities, which this piece was intended to ridicule ; therefore, though 
 it might gratify a few among the number of scholars and men of 
 taste, the mass of the audience, not understanding the original, 
 would, of course, have very little relish for the caricature. 
 
48 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 happened to fight a duel some time before, he was 
 afterwards asked how he liked his reception. "Oh!" 
 said he, " that fellow should never ask anybody to 
 his house but his antagonists, as then he might ^poison 
 them without running the risk of his own life" 
 
 A great epicure having bought a library, a 
 person was wondering what he could do with 
 it, as he was well known to prefer a good table 
 to all the books in the world. "It may be partly 
 for that reason," said Foote ; " for the Table of 
 Contents." 
 
 Dr. Johnson, being asked by a lady why he 
 so constantly gave money to beggars, replied with 
 great feeling, " Madam, to enable them to beg on." 
 
 Of an actress who was remarkably awkward with 
 her arms, Foote said, " she kept the Graces at arm's- 
 length." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 49 
 
 Eich, the patentee of Covent Garden Theatre, 
 had many eccentricities of character ; and one of the 
 number was his constant forgetfulness of the names 
 of his performers, as well as those of his most in- 
 timate friends. In a conversation one day with 
 Foote, he called him " Muster Footy." The other 
 looking grave upon this, Pdch made an apology, 
 and said, " he was so unfortunately absent in that 
 respect, that it was no unusual thing in him to 
 forget his own name." — "Why, that is singular 
 enough," said Foote ; " for though I knew you could 
 never write it, I did not think you could forget it" 
 
 A gentleman in the country who had just buried 
 a rich relation (an attorney) was complaining 
 to Foote, who happened to be on a visit with 
 him, of the very great expenses of a country 
 funeral, in respect to carriages, hatbands, scarves, 
 &c. " Why, do you bury your attorneys here ? " 
 asked Foote, gravely. " Yes, to be sure we do : 
 how else ? " — " Oh ! we never do that in London." 
 " No ! " said the other, much surprised ; " how do 
 you manage ? " — " Why, when the patient happens 
 
50 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 to die, we lay him out in a room over-night by 
 himself, lock the door, throw open the sash, and in 
 the morning he is entirely off." — " Indeed ! " said 
 the other, in amazement ; " what becomes of him ? " 
 " Why, that we cannot exactly tell, not being ac- 
 quainted with supernatural causes. All that we 
 know of the matter is, that there's a strong smell of 
 brimstone in the room the next morning." 
 
 A person praising the affections of the widows of 
 Malabar, who burn themselves on a funeral pile in 
 honour of their husbands' memory, Foote observed, 
 " that women of England claimed a higher honour ; 
 for they frequently burned before marriage for their 
 fi,rst husband, and afterwards for a second." 
 
 A friend telling Poote that he had just purchased 
 a house which he thought a good bargain, though 
 he doubted, from its being so old, whether it would 
 stand the lease : " What sort of next-door neighbours 
 have you ? " demanded he. — " Why, what have my 
 next-door neighbours to say to my house ? " — - 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 51 
 
 " More than you seem aware of, for by your own 
 account, a great deal of your safety depends upon 
 their being good house-holders." 
 
 Sir Joseph M , who was a distiller by pro- 
 fession, having made a speech in Parliament in 
 favour of the administration, in the course of which, 
 as the lawyers say, " he proved rather too much," 
 the Opposition next day were jesting with Foote 
 about it. " Ah ! " said the latter, " Sir Joseph 
 would be a very good kind of man, if he would 
 only bring out with him what he generally leaves 
 at home, — a still-head." 
 
 The Lying Valet being one night added as an 
 after-piece to the admirable comedy of The Devil 
 upon Two Sticks, Garrick, coming into the green- 
 room, cried out to Foote, " Well, Sam, I see, after 
 all, you are glad to take up with one of my farces." 
 — " Why, yes, David," said the other ; " what cbuld 
 I do better ? I must have some ventilator for this 
 excessive hot weather." 
 
52 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Foote, dining one gala -day at the Duke of 
 Leinster's in Dublin, where all the family plate 
 was brought out, and the table covered with a pro- 
 fusion of mad& dishes, happened on the same night 
 to sup at the Countess of Brandon's, who, seeing 
 him eat rather heartily, cried out, " Why, Poote, 
 I thought you dined with the Duke to-day, who 
 entertains in the grandest style of any man in 
 Ireland." — " That may be so, my Lady ; but it is 
 not in my style to dine in a silversmith's shop and 
 have all the victuals brought from the apothecary's." 
 
 The players rallying Dibble Davis one morning 
 in the green-room on the awkward cut of a new 
 coat, he apologised for his own taste by saying " it 
 was the fault of his tailor." — "Yes," said Foote, 
 " poor man ! and his misfortune too." 
 
 The following similar anecdote is told of Theo- 
 philus Gibber. His father, seeing him dressed out 
 in a superb suit of clothes one morning in the 
 green-room, lifted up his eyes in surprise (knowing 
 the deranged state of his finances), and exclaimed, 
 
EON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 63 
 
 "Oh, The, The! I really pity you."— "Pity me, 
 father ! " said The, coolly surveying himself in the 
 glass ; " you had better pity my tailor." 
 
 A person of rather doubtful integrity was bragging 
 to Foote, "that, however other people might act, he 
 had the satisfaction to feel that his heart always lay 
 at his tongue's end." — " I always thought so," said the 
 other ; " as I knew it never lies in the right place." 
 
 An apothecary in Cheapside, during an epidemic 
 of violent influenza, exhibited in his shop window 
 a card with " The four-thieves' vinegar sold here " 
 printed upon it.* This being observed by a physi- 
 cian of Foote's acquaintance who used the shop, he 
 carelessly asked the apothecary "how long it was 
 since he took in three partners ? " The apothecary 
 
 * It is said that, during the great plague in London, four thieves, 
 availing themselves of the public calamity, took that opportunity 
 to plunder the houses of the dead and dying, yet, notwithstanding, 
 escaped the infection themselves. On its being inquired how they 
 thus ensured their own safety, it was found that they constantly 
 carried about them sponges of prepared vinegar ; which prepara- 
 tion future apothecaries adopted in all infectious times, and sold 
 under the denomination of " The four-thieves' vinegar." 
 
64 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 assuring him that he stood alone in the firm of the 
 house, the doctor took him to his window, and rer 
 commended to him " to deceive the public no longer." 
 
 The same physician being at Batson's coffee- 
 house (a house well known to be long and much 
 frequented by the faculty), a gentleman happened 
 to call out for a weak doctor (a glass of rum and 
 milk was then known by this name). "Waiter," 
 said the physician, " don't you hear what the gentle- 
 man calls for ? " — " Yes, sir ; and I am making one 
 as fast as possible." — "Making one, you block- 
 head ! " said the other ; " why give yourself so much 
 trouble, when, if you'll but go to the upper end of 
 the room, you'll find enough ready made to your 
 hand ? " 
 
 Foote riding out on the Downs near Bath in 
 company with a friend, they observed at some dis- 
 tance a person coming towards them who appeared 
 to be dressed out in gold lace. "What beau on 
 horseback is this ? " said the friend. " Psha ! " (on 
 his coming a little closer), "'tis nobody, after all, 
 but the little quicksilver apothecary with his tawdry 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 55 
 
 waistcoat." — " Be a little more circumspect for the 
 future," said Foote, " as you see it is not all gold 
 that glisters." 
 
 A gentleman having a rich aunt (to whom he 
 was presumptive heir) very much in the hands of 
 her apothecary, who not only laid her under an 
 annual contribution for medicines she little wanted, 
 but frequently meddled in family affairs, at last 
 took a resolution to retaliate on him in the follow- 
 ing manner : — 
 
 He called upon him one day, seemingly in a 
 violent passion ; and after reprobating him for the 
 various impositions practised on his relation, added, 
 " But this is not the worst of it, sir ; not satisfied 
 with imposing on her credulity in expensive and 
 unavailing medicines, I find you have had influence 
 enough to prevail on her to bequeath you two thou- 
 sand pounds legacy in her will, to the absolute 
 robbery of me and my family." 
 
 This last piece of news, though pleasing to the 
 apothecary's ear, he most strenuously denied having 
 the least knowledge of. "Well, well," continued 
 
66 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 the other, "you may go on a little longer, but my 
 father will be in town in about a fortnight's time ; 
 and then, as much as you may plume yourself on 
 your hypocrisy, the will shall be entirely altered." 
 
 "And now," said Foote (who generally told this 
 story in the company of some medical man), " what 
 do you think was the consequence ? " — " Why, the 
 old joke, that the lady, leaving off medicine, re- 
 covered of her malctdie imaginaire." — "No such 
 thing, I assure you ; the apothecary was too wise 
 to trust to so common a case; for, understanding 
 that his patient's brother was coming to town in a 
 fortnight in order to alter the will, which he sup- 
 posed was in his favour, he took care the sister 
 should die before that time. But, alas ! when the 
 will came to be opened, there was no legacy for 
 the doctor, so that he had nothing but the murder 
 to console him for his ingenuity." 
 
 An assuming, pedantic lady, boasting of the many 
 books which she had read, often quoted ZocJce upon 
 Understanding ; " a work," she said, " she admired 
 above all things ; yet there was one word in it. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 67 
 
 which, though often repeated, she could not dis- 
 tinctly make out, and that was, the word ide-a" 
 (pronouncing it very long) ; " but I suppose it 
 comes from a Greek derivation." — "You are per- 
 fectly right. Madam," said Foote ; " it comes from 
 the word ideaousky." — "And pray, sir, what does 
 that mean ? " — " The feminine of ideot, Madam." 
 
 A person talking of an acquaintance of his who 
 was so avaricious as even to lament the prospect 
 of his funeral expenses, though a short time before 
 he had been censuring one of his own relations for 
 his parsimonious temper : " Now is it not strange," 
 continued he, "that this man would not take the 
 beam out of his own eye before he attempted the 
 m,ote in other people's ? " — " Why, so I dare say he 
 would," cried Foote, "if he was sure of selling the 
 timber.'' 
 
 Being asked whether the infant child of a very 
 weak father did not carry a corresponding likeness, 
 he replied, " I am not so great a physiognomist as 
 to know whether the father is like the child ; but 
 
58 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 this I know, there is a great deal of the child in the 
 father." 
 
 Plautus turned a miU. Terence was a slave. 
 Boethius died in a jail. Paulo Borghese, though he 
 had fifteen different trades, yet starved with them 
 all. Tasso was often distressed for five shillings. 
 Servin (one of the suite of Maximilian, Duke of 
 Sully, in his embassy to England during the reign 
 of James the First, and one of the most learned 
 and accomplished men of his age) died drunk in a 
 common brothel. Bentivoglio was refused admit- 
 tance into the very hospital which he erected. 
 Edmund Alleyn, the celebrated actor and contem- 
 porary of Shakspeare, died in a similar institution 
 of his own. 
 
 Corneille, the great French dramatic writer, was 
 so poor that he has been seen in very old age 
 standing at the entrance of a cobbler's stall with 
 only one shoe on while the other was mending; 
 and Eacine left his family in such distress as to be 
 supported by a pension which his friends solicited 
 for them. Crichton (by way of distinctioii called 
 The admirable Crichton, of whom more will be said 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 69 
 
 below in page 65), who was the most accomplished 
 as well as the most learned and dissipated man of 
 his time, lived on the supply of the day, and at length 
 lost his life in a midnight brawl in the public street. 
 Butler, though his talents were the delight of the 
 age he lived in, and his immortal work the principal 
 subject of the Court conversation, was never master 
 of fifty pounds.* Otway is said to have died of 
 hunger; Camoens ended his days in an hospital; 
 and Vauglas left his body to the surgeons to pay 
 his debts. 
 
 By the Editor. 
 Cervantes,t the celebrated author of Don Quixote, 
 after being imprisoned, and meeting many'unac- 
 
 * Butler lived on, neglected, for some time after the publication 
 of his Hudibras ; though the King and courtiers had his work so 
 much in their memory that they scarcely quoted any other book. 
 At last the Duke of Buckingham, urged by the remonstrances of 
 Wyoherly, agreed to spend an evening with Butler at a tavern, as 
 introductory to relieving him from all his wants. The evening 
 arrived ; but scarcely was the Duke seated, when he spied an impure 
 of his acquaintance crossing the opposite room. This circumstance 
 was irresistible to the Duke ; he immediately followed her, and 
 never saw Butler afterwards. 
 
 + Cervantes died on the 23rd of April 1616, the, very day which 
 closed the life of our immortal Shakspeare ; perhaps the literary 
 world never before suffered such a loss at once. 
 
60 THE TABLE-TALK AKD 
 
 countable slights and hardships, died for want. 
 Churchill died a heggar; Lloyd, his friend and 
 brother patriot, died in the Fleet, where he pre- 
 viously existed for some years by soliciting daily 
 charity and subscriptions for works which he never 
 meant to publish; Bickerstaff ran away as much 
 for debt as for the crime imputed to him ; Dr. 
 Goldsmith was nearly two thousand pounds in debt 
 when he died; and Hugh Kelly, author of False 
 Delicacy, &c., died in just the same condition. 
 
 Dr. Paul Hiffernan, an author well known about 
 the same period, contracted his last illness, which 
 was a jaundice, from mere want, and was then 
 supported by a friendly subscription. 
 
 Purdon, though bred at Trinity College, Dublin, 
 and always considered as a good scholar and a man 
 of taste, was so dissipated that, after subsisting for 
 many years as a bookseller's hack, he ended his 
 days in an hospital. 
 
 Jones, author of The Earl of Essex, &c., being 
 run over by a night-cart in the street, was carried 
 to an hospital (for want of any other lodging), and 
 was supported there by the master of the Bedford 
 coffee-house till he died. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 61 
 
 Boyce, one of the earliest contemporaries of Dr. 
 Johnson, and originally a writer with him in the 
 Gentleman's Magazine, expired in a miserable garret 
 on Tower Hill, 
 
 Sterne, the celebrated author of Tristram Shandy, 
 though his works sold uncommonly well, and his 
 income as a clergyman, together with his reputation 
 as a writer, might have commanded respect and 
 independence, left a wife and daughter in great 
 distress, dying seven hundred pounds in debt. 
 
 Mrs. Manley, the author of the original Atalantis, 
 and the protdgS of Swift, Steele, Prior, &c., finally 
 subsisted on the bounty of Alderman Barber ; while 
 rioyer Sydenham, the learned and elegant translator 
 of Plato, was supported by one lHott, a publican 
 near Temple Bar, who, having known him in better 
 days, kindly remembered him in the time of sick- 
 ness and misfortune. 
 
 To this melancholy catalogue we may add the 
 subject of these Memoirs, who, though the heir 
 and possessor of three successive fortunes, and the 
 natural inheritor of as much wit and humour as 
 perhaps ever fell to the lot of one man, yet was 
 so thoughtless about pecuniary affairs that he was 
 
62 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 often at a loss for the supply of the day which was 
 passing over him ; and, except the income which 
 he derived from the sale of his theatre, and which 
 died with him, he did not leave as much behind 
 him as discharged his funeral expenses. 
 
 In a miscellany like this, where we are occasion- 
 ally rambling over the flowers of genius and the 
 fates of literary men, no apology will perhaps be 
 necessary for introducing the following anecdotes, 
 not generally known, relative to some of the above- 
 mentioned extraordinary characters. 
 
 When Maximilian Bethune, Duke of Sully, and 
 chief Minister to Henry IV. of France, was coming 
 over ambassador to England in the year 1603, he 
 had in his suite (which consisted of above two 
 hundred persons, mostly of distinction) a young 
 man of the name of Servin, whose character is so 
 very extraordinary that nothing less than the pen 
 of the noble and respectable historian himself can 
 render it credible. 
 
 " The beginning of June," says he, " I set out 
 
BaN-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTS. 63 
 
 from Calais, where I was to embark, having with 
 me a retinue of above two hundred gentlemen (or 
 who called themselves such), and of whom a con- 
 siderable number were really of the first distinction. 
 Just before my departure old Servin came and 
 presented his son to me, begging that I would use 
 my endeavours to make him a man of some worth 
 and honesty, though he confessed it was what he 
 dared not hope ; — not through any want of capacity 
 in the young man, but from his natural inclination 
 to all kinds of vice. 
 
 "The father was in the right. What he told 
 me having excited my curiosity to gain a thorough 
 knowledge of young Servin, I found him to be at 
 once a wonder and a moTisfer ; for I can give no 
 other idea of that assemblage of the most excellent 
 and the most pernicious qualities. 
 
 " Let the reader represent to himself a man of 
 genius so lively and an understanding so exten- 
 sive as rendered him scarcely ignorant of anything 
 that could be known; of so vast and ready a 
 comprehension, that he immediately made himself 
 master of whatever he attempted ; and so pro- 
 digious a memory, that he never forgot what he 
 
64 THE TABLE-TALK AND- 
 
 once learned. He was master of every part of 
 philosophy and the mathematics, particularly forti- 
 fication and drawing. Even in theology he was 
 so well skilled, that he was an excellent preacher 
 whenever he chose to exert that talent, and an 
 able disputant either for or against the reformed 
 religion. He not only understood Greek, Hebrew, 
 and all the languages which we call learned, but 
 likewise all the different jargons or modern dialects ; 
 he accented and pronounced them so naturally, 
 and so perfectly imitated the gestures and manners 
 both of the several nations of Europe and of the 
 particular provinces of France, that he might be 
 taken for a native of all or any of those countries ; 
 and this quality he applied to counterfeit all sorts 
 of persons, in which he succeeded wonderfully. 
 
 " He was, besides, the best comedian and greatest 
 buffoon that, perhaps, ever appeared. He had a 
 genius for poetry, and had written many verses. 
 He played upon almost all instruments, was a 
 perfect master of music, and sung most agreeably 
 and justly. He likewise could say mass, for he 
 was of a disposition to do as well as to know all 
 things. His body was well suited to his mind ; 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 65 
 
 he was light, nimble, dexterous, and fit for every 
 kind of exercise. He could Tide well; and in 
 dancing, wrestling, and leaping he was as much 
 admired. There are not many games of entertain- 
 ment that he did not know, and he was skilled in 
 almost all the mechanic arts. 
 
 "But now for the reverse of the medal. — He 
 was treacherous, cruel, cowardly, and deceitful; a 
 liar, a cheat, a drunkard, and a glutton; a sharper 
 in play, immersed in every species of vice, a 
 blasphemer, and an atheist. In a word, in him 
 m'ay be found all the vices contrary to nature, 
 honour, religion, or society ; the truth of which he 
 evinced with his latest breath, as he died in the 
 flower of his age, in a common brothel, entirely 
 corrupted by his debaucheries, and expired with a 
 glass in his hand, cursing and denying God ! " 
 
 Among the favourites of nature that have from 
 time to time appeared in the world, enriched with 
 various endowments and contrarieties of excellence, 
 none seems to have been more exalted above the 
 common rate of humanity than the man known, 
 about three centuries and a half ago, by the appella- 
 
66 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 tion of The admirable Crichton, of whose history, 
 whatever may be rejected as surpassing credibility, 
 yet I shall, upon respectable authority, relate enough 
 to rank him in the number of the prodigies of the 
 human race. 
 
 " Virtue, says Virgil, is better accepted when it 
 comes in a pleasing form. — The person of Crichton 
 was eminently beautiful ; but his beauty was con- 
 sistent with such activity and strength, that, in 
 fencing, he could spring at one bound the length 
 of twenty feet upon his antagonist; and he used 
 the sword in either hand with "such force and 
 dexterity, that scarcely any one had courage to 
 engage him. 
 
 "Having studied at St. Andrews, in Scotland, he 
 went to Paris in his twenty-first year, and affixed 
 on the gate of the college of Navarre a kind of 
 challenge to the learned of that university to dis- 
 pute with them on a certain day ; offering to his 
 opponents, whoever they should be, the choice of 
 ten languages and of all the faculties and sciences. 
 On the day appointed three thousand auditors 
 assembled, when four doctors of the Church and 
 fifty ministers appeared against him; and one of 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 67 
 
 his antagonists confesses, 'that the doctors were 
 defeated ; that he gave proofs of knowledge seem- 
 ingly above the reach of man ; and that a hundred 
 years passed without food or sleep, it was thought, 
 would not be sufficient for the attainment of his 
 learning.' After a disputation of nine hours he 
 was presented, by the president and professors, 
 with a diamond and a purse of gold, and dismissed 
 with repeated acclamations. 
 
 "Prom Paris he went to Eome, where he made 
 the same challenge, and had, in the presence of 
 the Pope and the Cardinals, the same success. 
 Afterwards he contracted at Venice an acquaint- 
 ance with Aldus Manutius, by whom he was intro- 
 duced to the learned of that city. He then visited 
 Padua, where he engaged in another public dispu- 
 tation, beginning his performance with an extem- 
 pore poem in praise of the city and the assembly 
 present, and concluding with an oration, equally 
 unpremeditated, in praise of ignorance. 
 
 " He then published another challenge, in which 
 he declared himself ready to detect the errors of 
 Aristotle and all his commentators, either in the 
 common forms of logic or in any way which his 
 
68 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 antagonists should propose of a hundred different 
 kinds of verse. 
 
 " These acquisitions of learning, however stu- 
 pendous, were not gained at the expense of any 
 pleasure in which youth generally indulges, or by 
 the omission of any accomplishment in which it 
 becomes a gentleman to excel. He practised in 
 great perfection the arts of drawing and painting. 
 He was an eminent performer in both vocal and 
 instrumental music. He danced with uncommon 
 gracefulness ; and, on the day of his disputation 
 at Paris, exhibited his skill in horsemanship before 
 the Court of Prance, where, at a public match of 
 tilting, he bore away the ring upon his lance fifteen 
 times together. 
 
 " He likewise excelled in domestic games of less 
 dignity and reputation ; and in the interval between 
 his challenge and disputation at Paris he spent so 
 much of his time at cards, dice, and tennis, that a 
 lampoon was fixed upon the gate of the Sorbonne, 
 directing those who would see this monster of 
 erudition to look for him at the taverns. 
 
 " So extensive was his acquaintance with life 
 and manners, that in an Italian comedy composed 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 69 
 
 by himself, and exhibited before the Court of 
 Mantua, he is said to have personated fifteen dif- 
 ferent characters, in all of which he might succeed 
 without great dif&culty, since he had such powers 
 of retention, that by once hearing an oration of an 
 hour's length he could repeat it exactly, and in the 
 recital follow the speaker through all his variety of 
 tone and gesticulation. 
 
 " Nor was his skill in arms less than in learning, 
 or his courage inferior to his skill. There was a 
 prize-fighter at Mantua, who, travelling about the 
 world, according to the barbarous custom of that 
 age, as a general challenger, had defeated the most 
 celebrated masters in many parts of Europe, and 
 in Mantua, where he then resided, had killed three 
 antagonists. The Duke repented that he had granted 
 him his protection, when Crichton, looking on his 
 sanguinary success with indignation, offered to stake 
 fifteen hundred pistoles and mount the stage against 
 him. 
 
 "The Duke with some reluctance consented to 
 this proposal; and the day being fixed, the com- 
 batants appeared. Their weapons seem to have 
 been the single rapier, which was then newly intro- 
 
70 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 duced in Italy. The prize-fighter advanced with 
 great violence and firmness, while the other con- 
 tented himself by calmly parrying his passes and 
 suffering him to exhaust his vigour by his own 
 fury. Then Crichton became the assailant; and 
 pressed upon him with such force and agility that 
 he thrust him thrice through the body and saw him 
 expire at his feet. He divided the prize which he 
 had won among the widows whose husbands had 
 been killed by his opponent. 
 
 " The death of this wonderful man I should be 
 willing to conceal, did I not know that every reader 
 will inquire curiously after that fatal hour which is 
 common to all human beings, however distinguished 
 from each other by nature or by fortune. 
 
 " The Duke of Mantua, having received so many 
 proofs of his various merit, made him tutor to his 
 son, Don Vincenito de Gonzago, a prince of loose 
 manners and turbulent disposition. On this occa- 
 sion it was that he composed the comedy in which 
 he exhibited so many different characters with exact 
 propriety. But this honour was of short continu- 
 ance ; for, as he was one night, in the time of the 
 Carnival, rambling about the streets with his guitar 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 71 
 
 in his hand, he was attacked by six men, masked. 
 Neither his courage nor his skill, in this exigence, 
 deserted him; he opposed them with such dexterity 
 and spirit that he soon dispersed them and dis- 
 armed their leader, who, throwing off his mask, 
 discovered himself to be the Prince, his pupil. 
 Crichton, falling on his knees, took his own sword 
 by the point and presented it to the Prince, who 
 immediately seized it, and — instigated, as some say, 
 by jealousy ; according to others, only by drunken 
 fury and brutal resentment — plunged it in his heart. 
 
 " Thus was the admirable Crichton brought into 
 that state in which he could excel the meanest of 
 mankind by only a few empty honours paid to his 
 memory. The Court of Mantua testiiSed their esteem 
 for him by a public mourning, the contemporary 
 wits were profuse of their encomiums, and the 
 palaces of Italy were adorned with pictures repre- 
 senting him on horseback, with a lance in one hand 
 and a book in the other." 
 
 Such is the account which Dr. Hawkesworth gives 
 of this extraordinary man, who was killed, as above 
 described, in 1558. There are other accounts of 
 him : by Mackenzie, in his history of Scotch writers, 
 
72 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 and by Bishop Tanner, in his Bibliotheca, who 
 both describe him as a real character of most un- 
 common abilities. There was a picture of him in 
 the possession of Lord EUicock, a lord of session in 
 Edinburgh in 1805; but the only pieces of his 
 writing remaining are two copies of verses in the 
 DelicicB Poefarum Scotorum. 
 
 The history of Otway is too well known to need 
 a general description in this miscellany, but the 
 following curious particulars (supposed to be the 
 memoranda of Southern, a contemporary' dramatic 
 writer) must not be omitted : — 
 
 " Otway and Elkanah Settle (the antagonist of 
 Dryden, and last of the City-poets) ran away from 
 Oxford together, with a company of strolling-players. 
 Otway went to Christchurch in 1669, and per- 
 formed a part in the play of The Jealous Bridegroom, 
 in 167 1-2. 
 
 " In his person he was of the middle size, about 
 five feet seven inches high, and inclinable to fatness. 
 He had a thoughtful, expressive eye, and that was 
 all. He gave himself up very early to drinking, 
 and, like the generality of the unhappy wits of that 
 
THOMA s or WA y . 
 
 FrorrL a Ti dure by Frl/ij- 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 73 
 
 age, passed his days between rioting and fasting, 
 ranting and jollity, profligacy and penitence ; carous- 
 ing a week with Lord Plymouth, and then starving 
 a month in low company. He lodged at an obscure 
 ale-house on Tower Hill, where he died in great 
 distress. 
 
 Mrs. Manley, who was celebrated in her time 
 among the novelists and dramatic writers of the 
 profligate age of Charles the Second, was the 
 daughter of Sir Eoger Manley, and was born in one 
 of the islands of Hampshire, of which her father 
 was governor, and which once belonged to France. 
 
 Swift speaks of her as "a very decent woman, 
 possessed of generous principles for one of her sort, 
 with a great deal of good sense and invention ; " 
 and in another place he calls her " one of his best 
 under- spur -leathers to his political pamphlets." 
 And yet he knew little of her private history, or 
 rather affected not to know it, for he otherwise 
 could not have spoken so favourably of her; but 
 she was a violent Tory, and assisted him in writing 
 The Examiner, and these were sufficient claims to 
 his good opinion. 
 
74 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 In his Journal to Stella he again speaks of Mrs. 
 Manley's assistance to him, and of his frequently 
 locking her up in a room when anybody broke in 
 upon him, with a number of other little particulars 
 which would induce much suspicion of something 
 beyond a political nature did not Swift's decided 
 character relative to the sex fully exculpate him. 
 But the fact was, that, far from Mrs. Manley being 
 of even a decent character, she was well known 
 to be a dissolute woman, who was charged by 
 the Duchess of Cleveland (mistress to Charles the 
 Second, and whose patronage she enjoyed for some 
 time) with carrying on an intrigue with her son. 
 Whether this was strictly true or not cannot now 
 be determined ; but that she was a confidential 
 agent in carrying on the Duchess of Cleveland's 
 amours appears by some papers in a Chancery suit 
 in which her patrons were concerned. 
 
 Her principal work, independent of her plays, 
 was The New Atalantis, in four volumes, in which 
 she took liberties not only with her own sex, in 
 her luxurious description of love-adventures, but 
 also with the political characters of many of the 
 distinguished Whig personages of those times. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 75 
 
 Grown old and poor, she was taken into the 
 house of Alderman Barber (Swift's former printer, 
 and the general printer to the Tory party), who 
 perhaps found in the protection of her the best 
 preservative against the exposure of many political 
 secrets which she probably was in the possession 
 of, and which " her poverty and not her will " might 
 otherwise induce her to divulge. She died on the 
 nth of June 1724, at Barber's house, aged about 
 sixty-four. 
 
 Mrs. Manley was a favourite not only with the 
 beaux of her time, but also with the wits and philo- 
 sophers, such as Swift, Bolingbroke, Steele, Prior, 
 &c. She dedicated her tragedy of Zucius, the First 
 Christian King of Britain, to Sir Eichard Steele, 
 who wrote the prologue for her (though she had 
 abused him, some years before, in her New Ata- 
 lantis) ; and Prior wrote the epilogue. 
 
 Her father is supposed to have been the author 
 of The Turkish Spy, a work which has undergone 
 many editions, and is much valued for the anec- 
 dotes and private history, foreign and domestic, 
 which it contains. 
 
76 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Of Churchill the following particulars are but 
 very little known. 
 
 Soon after the publication of his Bosdad (a poem 
 which, however meritorious in some particulki^s, 
 contains many illiberal and partial criticisms) he 
 was sitting one night at the Eose tavern, in com- 
 pany with Mat. Clarke of Covent Garden Theatre, 
 when Churchill, who was intoxicated with the 
 applause given him by his flatterers, was repeat- 
 ing with great energy some parts of this poem. 
 " Ah ! " said Clarke, " this may be sport to you, 
 but you should consider it is death to a great many 
 of my brother-performers." — " Pooh ! pooh ! " cried 
 the other ; " they are fair game for a satirist." — 
 "You may think so," said Clarke; "but if you 
 mentioned me in the manner you have some of 
 them, I would have shown you the difference." — ■ 
 " Why, what would you do ? " — " Only knock you 
 down," said Clarke, " the very first place I saw you 
 in." Here Churchill retired a few paces, and put 
 himself into a pugilistic attitude, which Clarke 
 perceiving, he snatched up a case-knife in one 
 hand, and a corner of the cloth which was laid for 
 supper in the other, and then exclaimed, " Come, 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 77 
 
 come ; none of your bullying tricks with me ; if 
 you have a mind to see what I can do, take that 
 knife and the other end of the cloth, and let us 
 fairly see who is the best man, the player or the 
 libeller." Terrified at this fierce and very unex- 
 pected onset, Churchill paused for some time ; then 
 taking him by the hand, said' "he was a manly 
 fellow, and the last person in the world to whom 
 he would willingly give offence." 
 
 Churchill evidently took Dryden for his model 
 in poetry, and his genius seemed to incline more 
 to the strong and energetic than to the correct and 
 harmonious style. . But his defect was, that he did 
 not sufficiently blend them to give perfection to the 
 former. His usual manner of composing was this, 
 as I have often heard it from his first publisher : 
 After he had finally resolved upon a subject, he 
 rambled about the fields alone for some hours, till 
 he had accumulated as many ideas relative to the 
 matter as he could ; he then retired to his study, 
 threw the whole upon paper, and, after a very few 
 corrections, offered his work to the bookseller. Some 
 of his lighter works were published in this careless 
 manner ; but his friend Wilkes soon put a stop to 
 
78 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 such a proceeding, which, he justly observed, would 
 soon ruin him in his reputation, both with his party 
 and with the public at large. The hasty temper of 
 Churchill did not like to be sent back so often to 
 the anvil (as he called it) ; but Wilkes was per- 
 emptory, and the other acquiesced. 
 
 His Prophecy of Famine, which is undoubtedly 
 one of his most finished productions, Wilkes made 
 him correct three different times ; and when he 
 brought it in its last improved state, " Yes, Charles," 
 said he ; " now, you may depend upon it, it will 
 do, as it is at once personal, poetical, and political." 
 
 The following anecdote of Churchill, told hy him- 
 self in a mixed company at the table of Plexney, 
 his bookseller, wUl show at once the very great 
 imprudence and dissipation of his character : — 
 
 Having occasion to settle with his publisher, 
 from whom he received above sixty pounds, he 
 stayed so late and got so completely drunk — 
 
 " His usual custom in the afternoon " — 
 
 that he could not be persuaded to take a coach or 
 suffer any one to see him home. In this condition 
 he staggered down to Charing Cross, where he fell 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 79 
 
 in company with an unhappy female of the lowest 
 description, and from that moment forgot every 
 other circumstance which occurred till the next 
 morning, when he found himself awakened by a 
 very strong and unusual heat playing upon his face 
 and eyes. Not knowing where he was, he stretched 
 out his hand, to feel whether any chair was near 
 him; but instead of a chair, he grasped a root 
 with some fresh earth loosely attached to it. This 
 alarmed him ; suddenly starting up, he found himself 
 in an asparagus-bed at Battersea, with a wretched 
 trull fast asleep beside him. 
 
 His first recollection was about his money, when 
 he exclaimed to her, with an oath, " You have picked 
 my pockets, and, I suppose, brought me here to 
 murder me ! " The woman, awaking at this instant, 
 denied the charge, and requested he would count 
 his money and he would find it all right. Upon 
 examination it proved so. His companion then 
 recounted the adventures of the preceding night, 
 which were as follow : — " That after he had picked 
 her up at Charing Cross, she had knocked at several 
 doors in order to get a bed ; but the people, seeing 
 him so drunk and herself so miserable in her appear- 
 
8Q THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 ance, refused them admittance. She then, as her 
 last resource (it being a fine harvest moon), took 
 him to Battersea Fields where she often, from her 
 necessities, had been obliged to make use of the 
 same lodging." — " I was so struck with the fidelity 
 and disinterestedness of this woman's conduct," 
 added Churchill, " that I immediately gave her three 
 guineas, took down her name, and directed her to 
 call on me in a week's time, when I got her admitted 
 into the Magdalen." 
 
 When Lloyd was confined in the Fleet, Churchill 
 commissioned his publisher (Kearsley) to, allow him 
 a guinea a. week, which was punctually paid till 
 the death of Churchill, when Kearsley suffered in 
 common with the other creditors. 
 
 The death of this very eccentric man was as 
 unaccountable as his life. He set out, in 1763, on 
 a visit to his friend Wilkes, who was then in Paris ; 
 but stopping at Boulogne, he contracted a miliary 
 fever, which every day growing worse and worse, 
 his friends persuaded him to make a will. This, 
 with great formality, he sat up in his bed to do, 
 and bequeathed annuities to the aniount of a hun- 
 dred and ten pounds ; though at the same time, if 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 81 
 
 he gave himself the trouble to consider, he would 
 have known that he had not a single guinea (inde- 
 pendent of the future sale of his works) that he 
 could call his own. 
 
 In this state he had a wish to return to England, 
 which his friends imprudently indulged; but the 
 removal from a warm bed to the inclemencies of a 
 sea-voyage terminated his life a few hours after he 
 had landed at Dover. 
 
 Among his manuscripts was found the com- 
 mencement of a violent satire against three of his ■ 
 most intimate friends, Lloyd, Thornton, and Colman. 
 Wilkes, who had the inspection of his papers, very 
 properly burnt them. This fragment consisted of 
 about a hundred lines. 
 
 His few books, furniture, &c., sold most extrava- 
 gantly dear. Party, and the popularity of his name 
 as a writer, had stamped a kind of visionary value 
 upon them, which my readers will best judge of 
 when they are informed that a common steel pen 
 sold for five pounds, and a pair of plated spurs for 
 sixteen guineas ! * 
 
 * The following advice which Madame Terein, a woman of great 
 literary discernment, gave to Marmontel when a young man, with 
 
82 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Having finished these incidental remarks on the 
 fates of literary characters, let us now return to join 
 in the laugh with Poote and his merry associates. 
 
 Foots rattling away, in his usual manner, at Mr. 
 Fitzherbert's table, a gentleman, who either had a 
 mind to set up for a second-hand wit or wanted to 
 cheapen the talent, requested " that he would give 
 him his last good thing." — " Why, so I would," said 
 the other, " if I could trust you." — " What ! do you 
 doubt my integrity ? " — " Not at all, my dear sir ; 
 but I do your steadiness; for, believe me, there are 
 very few people that can carry a Ion-mot safely!' 
 
 Foote made a somewhat similar reply to the 
 late Duke of Cumberland, who told him, by way of 
 
 respect to a/uthorship should be a perpetual lesson to all writers by 
 profession. "Secure yourself," said she, "a livelihood independent 
 of literary successes, and put into this lottery only the overplus 
 of your time ; for woe to him who depends wholly on his pen ! 
 Nothing is more casual. The man who makes shoes is sure of his 
 wages ; but the man who writes a book or a tragedy is never sure 
 of anything." — Life of Marmontel. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 83 
 
 compliment, "that lie himself swallowed all his 
 good things." — " Do you so ? " said the wit. " Then 
 let me compliment your Eoyal Highness, in turn, 
 on the excellency of your digestion, as I never 
 knew you throw up one of them." 
 
 Foote was four days in the interior parts of Scot- 
 land without being able to get any meat. He was, 
 however, told that if he would push on for a day's 
 journey further he ^ipould be sure of one of the best 
 inns in Scotland ; but when he arrived there, the 
 landlord, like Boniface in the Beaux Stratagem, " had 
 everything he called for, the week before.'' At last 
 he said he could get him a boiled fowl. "Ex- 
 cellent ! " said Foote ; " this, with a little celery 
 sauce, will do nicely." A long period elapsed with- 
 out this fowl makiug its appearance, when, Foote's 
 patience being almost exhausted, he opened a window 
 which looked into the yard, and there saw a woman 
 knocking down an old game-cock with a pot-ladle ; 
 "which cock," said he, telling the story, "gauntlets 
 and all, I was obliged to eat for my supper." — 
 " And could you eat it ? " asked one of his hearers. 
 
H THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 — " Why, what else could I do, on the spur of such 
 an occasion ? " 
 
 Hearing that a friend of his, of no great legal 
 abilities nor any settled fortune, had been promoted 
 to the office of Attorney-General in one of the West 
 India islands, he exclaimed, " Alas, poor Jack ! 
 Hitherto he had the art of concealing his wants; 
 but now he'll be completely exposed, as necessity 
 has no law." 
 
 Expecting a gentleman to dine with him at North 
 End who was remarkable for wearing a black scratch- 
 wig, and who did not come in time, Foote was every 
 now and then on the look-out for him. At last 
 perceiving him riding up the avenue, "Ay, here 
 he comes at last," said he. — " But are you sure it 
 is he ? " asked one of the company, impatient for 
 dinner. — " Why, at this distance I would not take 
 my oath of it ; but it is either he or Charles the 
 Second, for there is the black wig evidently bobbing 
 up and down among the oaks." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOGTE. 85 
 
 The same gentleman having introduced to him 
 his wife (who was very plain), and seeing Foote 
 rather struck with her homely appearance, observed, 
 " that though Ms Helen could not boast much beauty, 
 she was a very excellent domestic woman for all 
 that." — " I have no doubt of it, my good friend," 
 said Foote ; " I was only thinking what a thousand 
 pities it is that the Grecian Helen was Twt more 
 like her ; for if she was, Troy most certainly would 
 never have been burnt." 
 
 Somebody praising Mr. Archibald Hamilton as a 
 well-read man, Foote said he did not see much of 
 that about him. " I grant you he reads a great many 
 proofs ; but these are no. proofs of his reading." * 
 
 A country squire just come to town was bragging 
 of the great number of fashionable people he had 
 visited that morning ; " and among the rest," said 
 he, in a pompous, deliberate manner, " I called upon 
 
 * There was, however, more quibble than truth in this assertion, 
 as Mr. Hamilton was a very judicious and well-informed man. 
 
86 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 my good friend the Earl of Choi — mon — dely, but 
 he was not at home." — " That is rather surprising," 
 said Foote : " what ! nor none of his pe — o^ple ? " 
 
 Being on a visit at Crabbe Boulton's (chairman 
 of the East India Company) during a frosty season, 
 where they kept very bad fires, Eoote found himself 
 so uncomfortable that he prepared next morning 
 for setting off to town. " Eh ! " said his host, seeing 
 the chaise at the door, " why think of going so 
 soon ? " — " Because, if I stay any longer, perhaps I 
 should not have a leg to stand wpon." — " Why, we 
 don't drink so hard." — " No ; but it freezes so hard, 
 and your servants know the value of a good hit of 
 timher so well, that I'm in hourly dread of losing 
 my wooden leg." 
 
 Meeting a well-known bookseller in the street, 
 who for his various publications had been often 
 prosecuted by the Crown, he perceived some altera- 
 tion in his dress which he could not account for. 
 " Oh," said the other, " it is because I have thrown 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 87 
 
 off my wig and wear my own hair." — " And how 
 could you be such a fool ? " said Foots. — " Why, do 
 you think I'm ashamed to show my ears ? " — " No ; 
 but you should have been provident enough to keep 
 your wig, to conceal the loss of them." 
 
 Dr. Johnson, being asked by a lady what love 
 was, replied, " it was the wisdom of a fool and the 
 folly of the wise." Dryden, being once asked the 
 same question, said, " it was a thing he had often 
 seen, felt, and heard of, but never could understand." 
 
 Foote laughing at Dr. Johnson's absurdities before 
 an intimate friend of the Doctor, the latter told him, 
 " Johnson was even with him, for he said as severe 
 things of him." — " What could be say of me ? " cried 
 Foote. — "Why, talking of your religion one day, 
 somebody said you were an infidel, when Johnson 
 replied, 'No, sir; not otherwise than as a dog is 
 an infidel, who does not know whether he believes 
 or not.' " Foote reddened at this excessively, and 
 very seriously entered into the proofs of his moral 
 and religious education. 
 
88 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Foote was taken off his guard at another time in 
 a singular manner. Soon after the publication of 
 his comedy of The Author, his friends were laughing 
 at the absurdity of persons piquing themselves on 
 the antiquity of their family ; when one who knew 
 Foote's failing on this account observed, " that, how- 
 ever people might laugh at family, he believed there 
 never was a man well descended who was not proud 
 of it." Foote, catching the bait, instantly replied, 
 " No doubt, no doubt ; for instance, now, though I 
 trust I may be considered far from a vain man, yet, 
 being descended from as ancient a family as any in 
 Cornwall, I am not a little proud of it, as, indeed, 
 you shall see I may be." 
 
 Here the servant was ordered to bring down the 
 family pedigree, which he began elucidating with 
 all the vanity and folly he so successfully ridiculed 
 in his own Gadwallader. 
 
 Johnson and Foote, though both men of wit 
 and strong sense, showed these qualities in different 
 ways. The first was grave and sarcastical; .the 
 other was the meteor of the moment, who possessed 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 89 
 
 every species of wit and humour, and could command 
 them at will. Johnson never condescended to be 
 the buffoon, and was not always ready at retort.* 
 Foote never failed, and rather than be out of 
 laugh, could put on the motley coat with pleasure, 
 and strut in it with as much pride as in his 
 most refined sallies of conversation. This con- 
 trariety of talents and inclinations kept those two 
 geniuses from a personal acquaintance for a long 
 time, though they perfectly understood each other's 
 character, and associated occasionally with the 
 common friends of both. 
 
 Accident, however, drew them together at the 
 table of Mr. Ktzherbert (the father of the then 
 Lord St. Helens); and Johnson has told the par- 
 ticulars of this interview himself, as follows : — 
 
 "The first time I ever was in company with 
 Foote was at Mr. Fitzherbert's. Having no good 
 opinion of the fellow, I was resolved not to be 
 
 * This defect Johnson once confessed to Mr. Boswell, upon the 
 latter asking him why he was so severe upon him without cause. 
 "No, sir," said Johnson; "you made me angry before, about 
 the American war." — " And why did you not take your revenge 
 directly ? " — " Because, sir, I had nothing ready : a man cannot 
 strike his antagonist till he baa weapons." 
 
 G 
 
90 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 pleased ; and it is very difficult to please a man 
 against his will. I went on eating my dinner 
 pretty sullenly, affecting for a long time not to 
 mind him ; but the dog was so very comical that 
 I was obliged to lay down my knife and fork, throw 
 myself back on my chair, and fairly laugh it out 
 with the rest. No, sir ; there was no avoiding it ; 
 the fellow was irresistible." 
 
 A still more natural proof of the superior powers 
 of his conversation happened on another day at the 
 same table. Foote, among the revolutions of his 
 various fortune, contracted himself as a partial 
 partner in a small-beer brewery ; that is, he was to 
 have a certain profit of the trade, in the proportion 
 of the small-beer which he sold upon his own ac- 
 count ; and as his friends and acquaintances were 
 numerous and respectable, the ^rm augured favour- 
 ably to both parties. 
 
 However, whether the leading partner considered 
 Foote's particular recommendation as a passport for 
 any kind of beer, or whether he was in the general 
 habit of using the pump too liberally, the small- 
 beer served at Mr. Fitzherbert's table was such that 
 
BON-MOXS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 91 
 
 the servants could not drink it ; but as the gentle- 
 man brewer was so very intimate with the master, 
 they, to avoid complaining themselves, commissioned 
 Sancho, a hlack boy who was a great favourite about 
 the house, to lay their general resolution before him, 
 " that they could no longer drink the small-beer." 
 
 On the day appointed for this eclairdssement 
 Foote happened to dine at Mr. Ktzherbert's ; but 
 Sancho, who waited at table, instead of being an 
 informer against him, was so delighted with his 
 stories and flashes of merriment that he told his 
 fellow-servants, on going down into the kitchen, 
 " that he would drink the small-beer on, if it was 
 ten times worse, rather than do the least injury to 
 so comical a gentleman." 
 
 Dr. Johnson did not take much delight in that 
 kind of conversation which consists in telling 
 stories, but he was not, however, an enemy to that 
 sort of talk from Mr. Foote, " whose happiness of 
 manner in relating was sufeh," he said, " as subdued 
 arrogance and roused stupidity. Mis stories were 
 truly like those of Biron in Love's Labour's Lost, so 
 very attractive — 
 
92 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 ' That aged ears play'd truant at his tales, 
 And younger hearings were quite ravished ; 
 So sweet and voluble was his discourse.' " 
 
 Of his dramatic character the Doctor gave the 
 following opinion : — " He is not a good mimic, but 
 he has wit, a fertility and variety of images, and 
 is not deficient in reading. He has knowledge 
 enough to fill up his part ; then he has great range 
 for his wit; he never lets truth stand between him 
 and a jest, and he is sometimes mighty coarse." 
 
 Being asked whether Foote had a singular talent 
 of exhibiting character, he replied, "No, sir; it is 
 not a talent, it is a vice. It is what others abstain 
 from. It is not comedy, which exhibits the char- 
 acter of a species, as that of a miser gathered 
 from many misers ; it is farce, which exhibits an 
 individual." 
 
 At another time, speaking of his dramatic char- 
 acter, he observed, "I don't think Foote a good 
 mimic. His imitations are not like. He gives you 
 something different from himself, without going into 
 other people. He cannot take off any person, except 
 he is strongly marked, such as George Faulkner. 
 
d(*J/yx 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 93 
 
 He is like a painter who can draw the portrait of a 
 man who has a wen upon his face, and who there- 
 fore is easily known. If a man hops upon one leg, 
 Foote can hop upon one leg; lut he has not a 
 nice discrimination of character. He is, however, 
 upon the whole, very entertaining, with a par- 
 ticular species of conversation between wit and 
 buffoonery." 
 
 Concluding on this subject, he would say, "I 
 am afraid Foote has no principle. He is at times 
 neither governed by good manners nor discretion, 
 and very little by affection. But for a broad 
 laugh " (and here the Doctor would himself smUe in 
 recollection of it) " I must confess the scoundrel 
 has no fellow." 
 
 When Johnson heard of the report of Foote's 
 being horse-whipped in Dublin for taking off 
 George Faulkner, the printer, Garrick observed, 
 " that he was much surprised at it, as he thought 
 Foote was so well known that nolody minded him." 
 — "Yes, sir," said Johnson; "but now you find 
 the fellow has found out the art of rising in 
 the world." 
 
94 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Yet with all this equivocal praise, and all these 
 sarcasms levelled against Foote, when Johnson first 
 heard of his death he exclaimed, " Alas, poor Sam ! 
 In him we have lost a man who has left a chasm 
 in society that wUl not readily be filled up." 
 
 On another occasion Johnson, on being asked if 
 he had seen Foote at Brighthelmstone, and whether 
 he thought he would so soon be gone, replied, 
 " Life," says Falstaff, " is a shuttle. He was a fine 
 fellow in his way; and the world is really im- 
 poverished by his sinking glories. Murphy ought 
 to write his life, at least to give the world a Foote- 
 ana. Now, will any of his contemporaries bewail 
 him ? Will Genius change his sex to weep ? I 
 would really have his life written with diligence." 
 
 Whilst on his professional visits to Ireland, Foote 
 was in the habit of taking off Faulkner, the celebrated 
 Dublin printer. Faulkner stood the jest for some 
 time, but found at last that Foote's imitations became 
 so popular, and drew such attention to himself, that 
 he could not walk the streets without being pointed 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL. FOOTE. 95 
 
 at. He bethought himself of a remedy. Collecting 
 a number of boys, he gave them a hearty meal and 
 a shilling each for a place in the gallery, and pro- 
 mised them another meal on the morrow if they 
 would hiss off the scoundrel who turned him into 
 ridicule. The injured man learnt from his friends 
 that Foote was received that night better than ever. 
 Nevertheless, in the morning, the ragged troop of 
 boys appeared to demand their recompense, and 
 when the printer reproached them for their treachery 
 their spokesman said, " Please, yer honour, we did 
 all we could, for the actor-man had heard of us, 
 and did not come at all, at all; and so we had 
 nobody to hiss. But when we saw yer honour's 
 own dear self come on we did clap, indeed we did, 
 and showed you all the respect and honour in our 
 power. And so yer honour won't forget us because 
 yer honour's enemy was afraid to come, and left 
 yer honour to yer own dear self." 
 
 The acquaintance between Foote and Garrick 
 commenced very early in life; and though the 
 former was continually sparring at the latter, they 
 
96 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 lived much together both in the habits of business, 
 visitings, conversation parties, &c. 
 
 Garrick dining one day at Foote's table when 
 the former kept his servants at board vrages, at a 
 certain hour of the night " Mr. Garrick's servants " 
 were rather pompously announced. " Oh, let them 
 wait," said Foote ; " but, James," turning round to 
 his footman, and in a voice loud enough to be 
 heard by the whole company, " be sure you lock up 
 the pantry." 
 
 He took every occasion to have a stroke at 
 Garrick's parsimony. After rehearsals, when Foote 
 used to be the delight of the green-room for the 
 sallies of his wit and humour, he would frequently 
 say, " Bless me ! here we have been laughing away 
 our time, and 'tis now past four o'clock, without 
 ever thinking of dinner. Garrick, have you enough 
 for a third, without infringing on your servants' 
 generosity, as I know they are all upon board 
 wages ? " 
 
 Garrick, rather embarrassed, would sometimes 
 say, "Why, hey now, Sam; if — if you are really 
 serious, and not engaged, and would finish ottr 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 97 
 
 laugh in Southampton Street, I dare say Mrs. 
 Garrick would find a chair for you." 
 
 " Oh, don't let me break in upon her generosity. 
 If the kitchen-fire should he out, or this is cold- 
 meat day, or one of her fast-days, I can pop into 
 a coffee-house ; though, I must confess, the want 
 of Mrs. Garrick's company must make every place 
 a desert." 
 
 Garrick generally forced a laugh upon these occa- 
 sions, but was always glad to conclude a truce at 
 the expense of a dinner. 
 
 At another time he said Garrick loved money so 
 well, that should he ever retire from his profession 
 he would commence banker's clerk, for the mere 
 pleasure of counting over the cash ; and as for the 
 stage, he was so fond of it, that rather than not 
 play at all, he would act before the kitchen-fire 
 at the " Shakspeare " for a sop in the pan. 
 
 Foote and Garrick supping together at the " Bed- 
 ford," the former, in pulling out his purse to pay 
 the reckoning, dropped a guinea, which rolled in 
 such a direction that they could not readily find it. 
 
98 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 "Where the deuce," says Foote, "can it be gone 
 to ? " — " GoTie, to the devil, I suppose," said Garrick. 
 — " Well said, David ; you are always what I took 
 you for ; ever contriving to make a guinea go farther 
 than any other man." 
 
 Another version, I suspect, of this story is the 
 following : — When Foote proposed a venison feast at 
 the " Crown and Anchor " to Murphy and Garrick, 
 Dr. Schonberg and two other lawyers were engaged 
 in it. None came but Foote, Murphy, and Garrick. 
 The bill came to three guineas a head, and Foote 
 wrote to the absentees for their shares. When 
 Foote paid his, the waiter said, "This is a bad 
 shilling, sir."—" Is it ? " replied Foote. " Look at it, 
 Davy." — Garrick, who was half-tipsy, said it was, 
 and threw it away. " Do you change it for him," 
 said Foote ; " you can make it go as far as anybody." 
 
 Garrick, said Foote, lately invited Bishop Hurd to 
 dine with him in the Adelphi; and after dinner, 
 the evening being very warm, they walked up and 
 down in front of the house. As they passed and re- 
 passed the dining-room windows, Garrick was in a 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 99 
 
 perfect agony; for he saw that there was a thief 
 in one of the candles which were burning on the 
 table ; and yet Hurd was a person of such conse- 
 quence that he could not run away from him to 
 prevent the waste of his tallow. 
 
 At the " Chapter " coffee-house Foote and his 
 friends were making a contribution for the relief of 
 a poor feUow who was nick-named the Captain of 
 the Four Winds, because his hat was worn into 
 four spouts. Each person of the company dropped 
 his mite into the hat as it was held out to him. 
 "If Garrick hears of this," said Foote, "he will 
 certainly send us his hat." 
 
 Foote showing a house which he had newly 
 fitted up to some friends, in passing through his 
 bed-chamber one of the company observed a small 
 Eoman bust of Garrick on the bureau, at which he 
 smiled. " I don't wonder," said Foote, " you should 
 laugh at me for allowing him to be so near my 
 gold ; but then please to observe he has no haTids." 
 
 Previously to Foote's bringing out his Primitive 
 Puppet-Show in the Haymarket Theatre, he enjoined 
 
100 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 all his performers, carpenters, scene-shifters, &c., to 
 keep it a profound secret ; only to insinuate that 
 something was in preparation that would much sur- 
 prise the town from its novelty. Garrick, among 
 others, heard of this ; and as he was always " trem- 
 blingly alive" to everything that might operate 
 against his fame and profit, he took several cir- 
 cuitous ways to find out the nature of the design, 
 but in vain. Foote kept him on the tortures of 
 expectation for some time; till, being very nearly 
 ready for exhibition, he determined to have the 
 laugh against him once for alL He accordingly 
 told him, "if he would dine with him on such a 
 day, he should be let into the secret." 
 
 Garrick readily obeyed the summons, and a con- 
 vivial party was likewise summoned by Foote to 
 share in the merriment of the plot. After dinner 
 Foote said very gravely, " that the secret he had 
 hitherto kept so very profound was, a performer he 
 had to introduce of such rare and singular talents 
 that, except himself" bowing to Garrick, "he did 
 not believe there was a man of near such merit on 
 any theatre in Europe." — " Eh ! eh ! " said Garrick, 
 much confused, " where does he come from ? What 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 101 
 
 is his name ? " — " Birch" said the other ; " a very 
 near relation of your old friend Dr. Birch. He's 
 now in the next room; will you have a specimen 
 of his abilities ? " — " Why, hey, now, if I did not 
 think it would dash the young man's spirits, I — I 
 should like it above all things." — " Oh, if that be 
 all — here, John, introduce the young gentleman. 
 I'll be answerable for his spirits; as you'll find 
 him to be bred in the true school of Socrates, and 
 that he has learned to consider his audience as so 
 many cabbage- stalks." 
 
 At this moment John, who previously had his 
 cue, introduced a large figure of Punch in his arms. 
 — " Eh ! " said Garrick, " what now ? I understand : 
 oh ! a puppet-show ! Well, but what is your hero 
 to do ? Is he to be only a mere comical fellow, 
 or a mimic, or what ? " — " Why, what the deuce, 
 David, surely you are not already jealous of poor 
 Punch ? Come, John, part the rivals, or we 
 shall soon have some noble blood spilt on the 
 occasion." 
 
 Here the laugh was unanimously against Garrick, 
 who was, however, very glad to be eased of his 
 fears at the expense of a little ridicule. 
 
102 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 When Garrick first undertook to play JSayes in 
 The Rehearsal, he had some doubts of the propriety 
 of taking off his brother performers, and therefore 
 made a proposal to Giffard, the manager of the 
 theatre in Goodman's Fields, to permit him to begin 
 with him as a kind of an apology for the rest. 
 Giffard, supposing that Garrick would only just 
 glance at him to countenance the mimicry of the 
 others, consented ; but Garrick hit him off so truly 
 and made him so completely ridiculous at rehearsal 
 that Giffard, in a rage, sent him a challenge, which 
 Garrick accepting, they met the next morning, when 
 the latter was wounded in the sword-arm, 
 
 The comedy of The Rehearsal had been during 
 this time advertised for the Saturday night ensuing ; 
 but the duel intervening (which none but the parties 
 and their seconds knew of at that time, and very 
 few ever since), the play was put off for a fortnight 
 longer, on account of the sudden indisposition of a 
 principal performer. At the end of that time it 
 came out, with imitations of most of the principal 
 actors ; but Giffard was totally omitted. 
 
 Foote, returning one night from the House of 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 103 
 
 Commons to the " Bedford " after hearing the late 
 Lord Chatham, then Mr. Pitt, deliver one of his 
 fulminating speeches against the Ministry, met 
 Garrick there ; and upon his asking him where he 
 had been, said " he had just come from hearing a 
 man give such specimens of dramatic abilities as, 
 in his opinion, were much superior to anything on 
 the stage." Observing the very forcible manner in 
 which Foote said this, Garrick began to be alarmed, 
 and hesitatingly said, " Why, hey ! now then, 1 sup- 
 pose we shall soon have him for or against old 
 Drury." — " I don't exactly know that, but this you 
 may depend upon; should that day ever arrive. 
 King David will be but a viceroy at lest!" At 
 this Garrick coloured, and showed for some time 
 great uneasiness ; when Foote at last quieted him 
 by asking what he thought of the talents of Mr. 
 Pitt. — " Think of him ! " says Garrick, in a mixture 
 of agreeable surprise and of veneration for so 
 exalted a character ; " why, that if he had originally 
 preferred Drury Lane to St. Stephen's, he would 
 have almost annihilated the stage, by throwing us 
 all at such an immeasurable distance ! " 
 
104 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Murphy, who used to dwell with enthusiasm on 
 his recollections of Chatham's oratory, was once in 
 the gallery of the House with Foote, when Pitt 
 (Lord Chatham) was putting forth all his power 
 in an attack on Murray (Lord Mansfield). " Shall 
 we go home now ? " said Murphy. — " No," replied 
 Foote ; " let us wait till he has made the little 
 man (Murray) vanish entirely." 
 
 The following comparisons and opinions by Dr. 
 Johnson may not be uninteresting to the reader : — 
 
 " Garrick has greatly the preference for elegance 
 of conversation, but Foote has greater powers of 
 entertainment. Garrick is restrained by principle, 
 but Foote has the advantage of an unlimited range. 
 Garrick has some delicacy of feeling ; it is possible 
 to put him out ; you may get the better of him ; 
 but Foote is the most incompressible fellow I ever 
 knew; when you have driven him into a comer, 
 and think you are sure of him, he runs through 
 between your legs, jumps over your head, and so 
 makes his escape." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 105 
 
 " Garrick was on the whole a good man, a decent 
 liver in a profession which is supposed to give in- 
 dulgences to licentiousness, and a man who freely 
 gave away money acquired ly himself. He began 
 the world with great hunger for money, the son of 
 a half-pay officer, whose study was to make four- 
 fence go for fourpence-halfpenny ; but when he got 
 money, and became independent, he was liberal." 
 
 " Burke has that constant stream of conversation, 
 that if a man was by chance to go with him under 
 a shed or into a stable to shun a shower, he would 
 say, 'This is an extraordinary man.' Foote was a 
 man who never failed in conversation; but if he 
 had gone into a stable the ostler would have said, 
 ' Here has been a mighty comical fellow ; ' but he 
 would not have respected him." 
 
 Question by one of the company : " Why then, 
 sir, the ostler perhaps would have given him as 
 good as he brought, as the common saying is." — 
 "Yes, sir; and Foote would have been able to 
 answer the ostler exactly in his own way. When 
 Burke does not descend to be merry, his conversa- 
 tion is very superior indeed. There is no propor- 
 
 H 
 
106 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 tion between the powers which he shows in serious 
 talk and in jocularity : when he lets himself down 
 to that he is in the kennel." 
 
 " I do not think Burke has wit. He is, indeed, 
 continually attempting it, but he fails ; and I have 
 no more pleasure in hearing a man attempting wit 
 and failing, than in seeing a man trying to leap 
 over a ditch and tumbling into it." 
 
 " Amidst all the brilliancy of Burke's imagina- 
 tion and the exuberance of his wit there is 
 occasionally a strange want of taste. It was ob- 
 served of the Venus of Apelles, that her flesh 
 seemed as if it had been nourished by roses ; but 
 Burke's oratory would sometimes make us suspect 
 that he eats potatoes and drinks whisky." 
 
 While this subject was afloat at Foote's table 
 one day, Topham Beauclerc (who, though a very 
 ingenious man, was no way remarkable for being 
 an apologist") observed that " the best excuse for 
 Burke's redundancy of imagination was what the 
 Marquis of Halifax said of Bishop Burnet: 'Our 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 107 
 
 nature hardly allows us to have enough of any- 
 thing without our having too much.' He cannot, 
 at all times, so hold in his thoughts hut that 
 sometimes they run away with him ; as it is hard 
 for a vessel that is hrimful, when in motion, not to 
 run over ; and therefore the variety of matter that 
 he ever carries about him may throw out more 
 than an unkind critic would allow." 
 
 Though Dr. Johnson admitted that Burke " pos- 
 sessed a great variety of knowledge, a store of 
 imagery, and a power of diversifying his matter by 
 placing it in various relations," he would not allow 
 him either wit or humour ; and when Dr. Eobertson 
 asked him whether Burke did not possess a degree 
 of wit with his other great talents, he replied, 
 " No, sir ; he never succeeds there : 'tis low ; 'tis 
 conceit. I used to say Burke never made a good 
 joke ; and what I most envy him is, his being 
 constantly the same." 
 
 With great deference to the above authority, 
 several of Burke's speeches and many parts of his 
 conversation refuted this dogmatical assertion. It 
 is true he had not the exuberance of Foote, George 
 
108 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Selwyn, the Earl of Chesterfield, and some others ; 
 yet he was far from being deficient in point and 
 jocularity when he thought proper, as the following 
 out of many other instances may prove : — 
 
 When Gerard Hamilton (commonly known by the 
 name of Single-speech Hamilton), who first patronised 
 Mr. Burke by procuring him a pension on the Irish 
 Establishment, had quarrelled with him, Hamilton 
 in a moment of ill-temper said, "he was an un- 
 grateful man, as 'twas he that first took him from 
 a garret and introduced him into life." — " Oh ! then 
 it appears, by his own confession," said Burke, " that 
 / first descended to know him." 
 
 On Wilkes being carried on the shoulders of the 
 mob, he exclaimed, in the character which Horace 
 has given of Pindar as a poet : 
 
 " Numerisquefertur 
 
 Lege solutus." 
 
 Horace too, he said, had in one line given the 
 best description of a good desirable manor : 
 
 " Est modus in rebus ; sunt certi deniqueyEnes." 
 
 When Boswell told him that he had a mind to 
 visit the Isle of Man, in order to write an account 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 109 
 
 of it, Burke approved of his resolution, and said he 
 would give him a motto for his work : 
 
 " The proper study of mankind is Man." 
 
 Dining at an eminent personage's table where the 
 bottle circulated very fast, he was asked next morning 
 how he liked his host. " Oh," said he, " so well, 
 that all Whig as I am, I will allow him to be a prince 
 jure de-viTio.'' 
 
 A white horse and a beautiful woman, Foote said, 
 were two troublesome things to manage, as the first 
 was difficult to be kept clean, and the second, honest. 
 
 Mrs. Gibber, having some little fracas with Garrick 
 about increase of salary, in which, after some struggles, 
 she succeeded, was soon afterwards singing with 
 great applause the following line in a favourite song 
 of that day : 
 
 " The roses will bloom when there's peace in the breast." 
 
 " Very true," said Foote, singing out to the same 
 tune, by the side-scene : 
 
 " So the turtles will coo when they've peas in their craws.'' 
 
no THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 An artist of the name of Forfeit, having some job, 
 to do for Foote, and keeping it long after the time 
 when he promised to bring it home, was making his 
 apology by saying " he had got into a foolish scrape 
 about the antiquity of family with another artist, who 
 gave him such a drubbing as confined him to his bed 
 for a considerable time. " Forfeit ! Forfeit ! " said 
 the wit, catching the idea ; " why, surely you should 
 have the best of that argument ; as I can prove your 
 family to be not only several thousand years old, but 
 at the same time the most numerous of any on the 
 face of the globe." — " Ay ! " said the man, quite 
 transported with joy ; " pray on what authority ? " 
 — " On the authority of Shakspeare : 
 
 'All the souls that are, were forfeit once.' " 
 
 Old Usher, one of the veterans of the Haymarket 
 Theatre, praising very much a loin of veal that was 
 on Foote's table, asked him who was his butcher. " I 
 think his name's Addison," said Foote. — " Addison ! " 
 cried Usher ; " I wonder is he any relation to the 
 great Addison ? " — " Why, that I don't exactly know; 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. Ill 
 
 and yet I think he must, as he is seldom without 
 his steel " (Steele) " by his side." 
 
 Talking of the folly of an old man marrying a 
 young woman, a lady observed, " that perhaps he 
 was in love ; and then he was rather to be pitied 
 than reproved." — " Very true, Madam," said Foote ; 
 " for love is like the smallpox ; the later in life we 
 catch it, the worse the disorder generally turns out." 
 
 Serjeant S — re was said to have been originally 
 bred an apothecary and accoucheur. In the course 
 of human events, however, and by the aid of studious 
 and persevering talents, he became a learned serjeant- 
 at-law ; though in this situation he was always con- 
 sidered more of a prosing than an eloquent speaker. 
 When the late Mr. Murphy (1805) was a young 
 barrister on the home circuit, he had the curiosity 
 to take down a speech of the Serjeant's, which con- 
 sisted of little else than constant repetitions of 
 " Gemmen of the Jury,'' &c. This speech he after- 
 wards showed to the Lord Chief Baron Skinner, 
 
112 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 who, instead of laughing at it with the rest of the 
 company, very gravely remarked, " that he thought 
 the Serjeant very ill-treated ; for though it was true 
 he often delivered other people, it was never under- 
 stood he could deliver himself." 
 
 Garrick repeating the following passage to his 
 supposed mistress in a new play : 
 
 -" Alas ! 
 
 I fear I seem too little in your eyes," 
 
 a man in the upper gallery cried out, " Why, to be 
 sure you do ; it would be very odd if you did not." 
 On this the house was in a roar ; when Garrick 
 took the hint, and never repeated the line afterwards. 
 
 Kitty Clive possessed a strong masculine under- 
 standing, with a very lively conversation to the last. 
 After her retirement from the stage she was prevailed 
 upon to see Tom King in the character of Belcour 
 in The West Indian. She had a long and early 
 friendship for this very deserving actor, and allowed 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 113 
 
 him all his merit in most of the characters for which 
 he was distinguished, but could never subscribe to 
 his easy well-lred gentleman. Upon coming home 
 she was asked how she liked him. " Oh, just as I 
 thought," said she ; " ever gay, brisk, and lively ; 
 but still those curling-irons were, as usual, constantly 
 peeping out of his pocket." 
 
 She was always averse to cultivating much ac- 
 quaintance with what is called the great world, 
 though at times strongly solicited. One day' a 
 female friend was pressing her on this subject, and 
 asking her why she did not visit the Countess of 
 
 , Lord and Lady , &c., some of whom were 
 
 not the most immaculate characters in private life. 
 " Why, because, my dear," said she, " I choose my 
 company as I do my fruit ; therefore I am not for 
 damaged quality." 
 
 When first she saw Mrs. Siddons in Isabella she 
 was asked, "Well, Kitty, what do you think of 
 your Pritchards and Gibbers now ? " — " Oh," said 
 she, " 'tis all truth and daylight." 
 
114 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Her Portia in The Merchant of Venice was 
 always one of her favourite characters, though it 
 was far from being one of her best, and became 
 still worse as she grew corpulent. Garrick saw 
 this, and hinted to her to give it up. " I will," 
 said she, " when you give up Ranger ; for I'm sure 
 I am as good a figure for Portia as you are for 
 the other." Seeing this would not do, Garrick ac- 
 knowledged her remark in a very neat epigram, the 
 concluding verse of which runs thus : 
 
 " Dear Kate, it is vanity both us bewitches, 
 Since I must the truth on't reveal ; 
 For when I mount the ladder, and you wear the breeches, 
 We show what we ought to conceal." 
 
 But neither of them took advice from this 
 epigram : Kitty was the Portia of Drury Lane and 
 Garrick the Ranger to the period of their respective 
 retirements. 
 
 Having a good opinion of the abilities of a young 
 gentleman who was strongly recommended to her, 
 she introduced him to Garrick, who, at her request, 
 put him in the part of Richard for his first appear- 
 ance. Getting no applause, however, during the 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 115 
 
 performance of this character, Garrick rather taunt- 
 ingly said, "Well, Kitty, you see what kind of 
 reception your stage-struck hero receives from the 
 audience." — " There may be a reason for that," said 
 she. — " "Why, what reason ? " — " They are not used 
 of late to ie spoJcen to hut by the recorder." * 
 
 Serjeant Whitaker, who was a wit and a humorist 
 in his day, as well as a very respectable lawyer, 
 and who often joined the social band of our modern 
 Aristophanes, was travelling down to Oxford in 
 company with Mr. Murphy, when their chaise was 
 stopped in the lane of a country village by a 
 waggon delivering fat and offal to a tallow-chandler. 
 While they fretted at this delay a horseman came 
 up to the side of the chaise, who appeared to be a 
 country-rider, and one of the thinnest men possible, 
 and began teasing them with an account of the 
 number of miles he had ridden that day, and the 
 still greater number he had to go before night. 
 
 * The excuse that Bwckingha/m, makes in Richa/rd III. for the 
 City Common-hall, on their not listening to hia speech in favour of 
 the Duke of Gloucester. 
 
116 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Whitaker heard him with a subdued temper for 
 some time ; at last breaking out, he exclaimed, 
 "And what mighty matter is all this, sir, con- 
 sidering that you have just sent your guts lefore 
 you, and have now nothing to carry about you but 
 the case ? " 
 
 Being an examining counsel at the bar of the 
 House of Lords, he put a question to a witness 
 which the House ordered the counsel to withdraw 
 upon ; and they entered into a debate of near two 
 hours, still resolving upon nothing. On his re- 
 admittance he was desired to put the same question 
 over again. Whitaker, who felt this trifling, very 
 gravely replied, "Upon my word, my Lords, it is 
 so long since I put the first question that I entirely 
 forget it ; but with your permission I'll put another." 
 
 Lady A r and another lady praising Serjeant 
 
 Walker's dancing a minuet at some country as- 
 sembly (who was rather an awkward man at the 
 graces), Whitaker was astonished at it, and for 
 some time endeavoured to persuade them that they 
 must mean somebody else. The ladies, however, 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 117 
 
 still persisting, he very gravely begged permission 
 to put one. question to them: "Pray, ladies, was it 
 upon his hind or fore legs that Serjeant Walker 
 moved so gracefully ? " 
 
 Being on the circuit, he was accommodated by a 
 friend of his, during his stay in some town, with a 
 bed. The next morning, as usual, the lady of the 
 house, in doing the honours, asked him how he 
 slept, and "hoped he found himself sufficiently 
 comfortable and warm." — " Yes, yes. Madam ; pretty 
 well, upon the whole. At first, to be sure, I felt 
 a little queer for the want of Mrs. Whitaker ; but 
 recollecting that my portmanteau lay in the room, 
 I threw it behind my back, and it did every bit 
 as well." 
 
 Poote had a brother named Edward, a hum-drum 
 kind of quiet man, who being mostly unbeneficed 
 in his profession, Foote allowed him sixty pounds 
 a year, and as he himself called it, " the run of his 
 house and theatre." This man, having nothing to 
 do, was constantly gossiping in the green-room. 
 
118 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 where being observed by the late Duke of Cumber- 
 land, his Highness inquired who he was. " What ! 
 that little man in the shabby black coat just gone 
 out ? " said Foote. " Oh, that's my barber." 
 
 This passed off for the time, till by accident 
 the Duke found out that instead of his barber he 
 was his brother, and challenged him about it the 
 first time he saw him. " Why, what could I do 
 with the fellow ? " said Foote. " I could not say 
 he was a brother-wit ; and as I could not disclaim 
 all relationship with him, I was obliged to make 
 him out a brother-shaver." 
 
 At other times Ned (as our hero familiarly 
 called him) would fall asleep in the green-room; 
 and as he had a remarkably large tongue, it fre- 
 quently lolled out of his mouth, to the no small 
 entertainment of the performers. One morning at 
 rehearsal, however, this circumstance offered such a 
 temptation to one of the players that he gave him 
 a cMicle under the chin, which cut his tongue and 
 sent him crying to his brother. " And why do 
 you abuse the performers so much as you do ? " 
 asked the latter. — " What ! I abuse them ? " said 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 119 
 
 the poor parson. " I never said a disrespectful 
 word of them in my life." — " Poh ! poh ! " said the 
 other; "that must be a fib by your own confes- 
 sion, as 'tis plain you have not been able to keep a 
 good tongue in your head." 
 
 An attorney of a very bad character having a 
 dispute with a bailiff, the latter brought an action 
 against him, which Foote recommended to be com- 
 promised. The parties at length agreed, but re- 
 quested that in case of a difference in arbitration 
 they would permit them to call upon him to decide. 
 " Oh no," said Foote ; " I may be partial to one 
 or other of you; but I'll do better; I'll recom- 
 mend a thief, as the common friend of both." 
 
 When Macklin gave lectures on Oratory (at what 
 he called Mack's coffee-house, in contradistinction 
 to White's), Foote, who was then a young dashing 
 man of the town, attended them constantly, and 
 was as much the object of attention to the com- 
 
120 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 pany as the orator. One night, when Macklin 
 was formally preparing to begin, hearing Foote 
 rattling away at the lower end of the room, and 
 thinking to silence him at once, he called out in 
 his sarcastic manner, " Pray, young gentleman, do 
 you know what I am going to say ? " — " No, sir," 
 said Foote, quickly ; " do you ? " 
 
 Foote, who was ever in the extremes of Fortune, 
 now at the top and now at the bottom of her 
 wheel, happened some time after this to be in the 
 latter condition, when Macklin had an opportunity 
 of retorting on him. They were both at the 
 "Bedford" coffee-house together, when Foote, perhaps 
 to keep up the appearance of prosperity, was every 
 now and then showing off a fine gold repeating 
 watch, which he kept either dangling in his hand 
 or up to his ear. At last he suddenly exclaimed, 
 " Zounds ! my watch is stopped ! " — " Poh ! poh ! " 
 said Macklin, " never mind that, Sam ; you may 
 depend upon it, it will soon go." 
 
.^tcu.isi ^huL^^ 
 
BON-MOTS OP SAMUEL FOOTE. 121 
 
 Murphy was the first author who brought out 
 Mrs. Yates's abilities, by introducing her in the 
 character of Mandane, in his Or^pTian of China. 
 Mrs. Gibber was originally east for this part ; but 
 thinking there might be a contrivance between her 
 and Garrick that she should be sick on the occa- 
 sion, he engaged Mrs. Yates, then an actress of 
 not above three pounds a week, to under-study the 
 part. His suspicions were soon after justified! 
 Mrs. Gibber was announced to be suddenly taken 
 ill, and Garrick said " the play must go over to 
 the next season." — " N"o," said Murphy ; "I am 
 prepared ; " and immediately produced Mrs. Yates ; 
 who played the part admirably, very much to 
 Garrick's surprise, and equally to the anticipation 
 of her subsequent renown. 
 
 During the above business, Foote and Murphy 
 being at dinner at the Bedford, a note came from 
 Mrs. Gibber, pleading sudden illness, apologising 
 for the unluckiness of the circumstance, and con- 
 cluding with " praying most earnestly for the 
 success of the piece." When Murphy read this 
 note, he handed it over to Poote ; who, after perus- 
 ing it, very deliberately asked him what religion 
 
122 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Mrs. Gibber was of ? " — " A Boman Catholic, I 
 believe," said Murphy. — "I thought so," said the 
 other, " hy her praying so earnestly for the dead." 
 
 • 
 
 When Murphy had finished his Upholsterer, the 
 first dramatic piece he ever wrote, he sent it to 
 Garrick for representation ; who, after some time, 
 returned it, as " rather premature for the stage." 
 The author complained of this to Mr. Fox (after- 
 wards Lord Holland, and who was then high in 
 office), who had previously read it, and liked it 
 much. — " Well," said that gentleman, " Garrick 
 dines here on Sunday next with some others ; and 
 if you'll call on me on Monday morning, I may be 
 able to tell you some particulars that may clear 
 away his objections." 
 
 Murphy accordingly called at the time appointed; 
 when Mr. Fox told him, " that soon after dinner he 
 contrived it with one of his friends to quote, every 
 now and then, some passages in The Upholsterer. 
 ' Hey dey ! ' said Garrick ; ' here you have been 
 poaching, I find, in some of the grounds that I 
 know a little of.' — ' Yes,' said Mr. Fox, ' and what 
 the town will soon know a great deal of, if I am not 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 123 
 
 much mistaken, and to the author's advantage. — 
 Come, here's his health, and success to his piece.' At 
 this," continued Mr. Fox, " our conversation ended ; 
 but I dare say you'll soon hear from him again." 
 
 The same evening Murphy received a very polite 
 note from Garrick, requesting "to have the farce 
 back again : as he had overlooked the scenes in the 
 pressure of varied business ; he now believed they 
 had a great deal more merit than he had been then 
 aware of ; and the only apology he could make was 
 to get the farce up directly, and give it all the 
 strength of his company." 
 
 This proposal was joyfully accepted. The farce 
 was soon after brought out in great force ; Razor 
 by Woodward, who made a chef-d'ceuvre of it ; and 
 Pamphlet by Garrick, who played it in his usual 
 style of excellence. 
 
 Murphy at first wished to dedicate his Orphan 
 of China to Mr. Pox. " No," said that gentleman ; 
 " you'll only make yourself enemies, and do me no 
 good. Dedicate it to the Prince of Wales " (George 
 IV.), "and I'll put you in the way of it." The 
 next time Mr. Fox saw Murphy, he bid him attend 
 
124 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Lord Bute the Sunday following at Kensington: 
 "you will then be told 'a single play cannot so 
 well be dedicated to the Prince ; ' and in that case 
 seize the opportunity, and beg leave to dedicate it 
 to his Lordship." 
 
 The poet did as he was directed. Lord Bute, 
 after acknowledging the favour, accepted the dedi- 
 cation ; and made him a present, from the Prince 
 of Wales, of a bank-note of a hundred pounds. 
 
 Murphy telling the above anecdote some time 
 afterwards at Holland House, Lord Hillsborough 
 asked him whether, in the course of the conversa- 
 tion he had with Lord Bute, his Lordship once 
 asked him to sit down ? " No," said Murphy ; 
 "now I recollect, he walked me up and down a 
 long gallery during the whole time." — " I thought 
 so," said Lord Hillsborough ; " now this is among 
 the number of his Scotch vanities." 
 
 Charles James Fox told Eogers (the banker- 
 poet) that Lord WilHam Bentinck once invited 
 Foote to meet him and some others at dinner in 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 125 
 
 St. James's Street ; and that they were rather angry 
 at Lord William for having done so, expecting that 
 Foote would prove only a bore, and a check on 
 their conversation. "But" said Fox, "we soon 
 found that we were mistaken : whatever we talked 
 about — whether fox-hunting, the turf, or any other 
 subject — Foote instantly took the lead and de- 
 lighted us all." 
 
 Dr. Paul Hiffernan was one of the mendicant 
 authors who attended Foote's levee. He was by 
 no means deficient in either classical learning or 
 modern languages; but living so long out of 
 England, he wanted a facility of style, as well as 
 a good taste for English subjects. This kept him 
 more at a distance with the booksellers than he 
 wished : Foote, however, occasionally relieved and 
 laughed at him. 
 
 One day Paul was relating some circumstance 
 as a fact ; and by way of corroboration said he 
 would pawn his soul upon it. — "Ay, that you 
 may," said Foote ; " and your watch too^ Doctor, 
 
126 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 whicli at present is of more value to you; and yet 
 I must question the veracity of what you tell me." 
 Another time, returning from ISTorth End (where 
 Foote then lived) to town when it rained very 
 hard, Foots lent him half-a-crown to pay his coach 
 hire. "I believe, sir," said one of the servants, 
 "the fare to town is three shillings." — "Yes, I 
 know that very well," said Foote ; " but the little 
 walk the Doctor will have to his lodgings in this 
 fine refreshing shower, will give his old black coat 
 a drink that will be infinitely better for him than 
 the odd sixpence." 
 
 Paul was fond of laying, or rather offering, 
 wagers. One day, in the heat of argument, he 
 cried out, "I'll lay my head you are wrong upon 
 that point." — "Well," said Foote, "I accept the 
 wager; any trifle among friends has a value." 
 
 Foote would occasionally sear up these sarcasms 
 with acts of kindness and generosity. One day 
 meeting Paul waddling up the Haymarket with 
 rather a woeful countenance, he asked what was 
 the matter with him. "I don't know," said the 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 127 
 
 other ; " one way or other, I feel myself but so-so 
 this morning." — "What, I suppose the old dis- 
 order, impecuniosity ? " , At this the Doctor shook 
 his head. " Well then, let me prescribe for you ; 
 I have had a lumper last night at my theatre, and 
 therefore can afford to lend you as many guineas 
 as you have shillings in your pocket." 
 
 The Doctor, very fortunately for him, had just 
 changed his last half-guinea ; and had seven shillings 
 remaining, which he instantly produced with great 
 satisfaction. — " Ay, here we have come to the root 
 of the disorder," said Foote, smiling: "there are seven 
 guineas for youj and now, Doctor, I hope you'll 
 be a healthy man for at least seven weeks longer." 
 
 Hiffernan wrote a farce, which was damned. 
 The elder Colman, however, seeing something in it 
 worth using in a piece of his, proposed giving him 
 ten guineas for it, which the other joyfully accepted ; 
 but Colman pausing about what form of a receipt 
 should be given for it, the Doctor suddenly took up 
 the pen and wrote, " Eeceived of Geo. Colman, Esq. 
 ten guineas, for an incident ; and for which I am 
 much obliged to him." 
 
128 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Lords Bolingbroke and Mansfield, who were 
 partly contemporaries, were not less distinguished 
 for their eloq^uence than for their rank, learning, 
 and general accomplishments. Lord Chesterfield, 
 a decided critic upon this subject, speaks thus of 
 the powers of the former of them : — 
 
 " Lord Bolingbroke has both a tongue and a pen 
 to persuade. His manner of speaking in private 
 conversation is full as elegant as his writing. 
 Whatever subject he either speaks or writes upon, 
 he adorns it with the most splendid elocLuence: — 
 not a studied, laboured eloquence; but such a 
 flowing happiness of diction, as, from care perhaps 
 at first, is become so habitual to him, that even 
 his most familiar conversations, if taken down in 
 writing, would bear the press without the least cor- 
 rection, either as to the method or style. If his 
 conduct in the former part of his life had been 
 equal to all his natural and acquired talents, he 
 would have most justly merited the epithet of all- 
 accomplished." 
 
 Lord Mansfield almost stood alone, through a long 
 course of professional business, for a copiousness and 
 richness of eloquence, not only in his speeches in 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 129 
 
 parliament, and at the bar of the House of Lords, 
 but on seemingly the most barren questions in the 
 courts. Many instances of this have been given by 
 the old solicitors; who have said, that often when 
 the audience part of the Court of King's Bench would 
 begin to thin from the expectation of no material 
 business coming on, no sooner was the cry given of 
 " Murray being up," than the crowds would run back 
 so as not only to fill the court, but all the avenues 
 leading to it. 
 
 He read too with a great discrimination and 
 sweetness of tone : 
 
 "Nullwm quod tetegit, non ornavit:" 
 
 Insomuch that in reading even the law and parlia- 
 mentary records, he rendered them so interesting, 
 and so peculiarly illustrative of his argument, that 
 they served as fine reliefs to the more luminous 
 parts of his oration. In short, this great man was 
 every way entitled to the following compliment paid 
 to him by his friend Pope, who early saw the force, 
 the dignity and the extent of his general powers: — 
 
 " Blest as thou art with all the power of words, 
 So known, so honour'd, in the House of Lords, 
 
130 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Conspicuous scene ! another yet is nigh, 
 More awful far, where kings and poets lie ; 
 Where Murray, long enough his country's pride, 
 Shall be no more than Tully, or than Hyde." 
 
 Besides the testimonies of Addison, Steele, Gibber, 
 and others, in favour of the professional abilities 
 of Betterton, which consisted in an infinite variety 
 of tones, and a power of eye and gesture that were 
 irresistible ; Booth tell us, that " the first time he 
 himself played the Gkost to his Hamlet, he was so 
 petrified by his awful impressive manner of address- 
 ing him, that it was some minutes before he could 
 speak." 
 
 Nat. Lee was so pathetic a reader of dramatic 
 poetry, that while he was reciting one of his own 
 plays in the green-room to Major Mohun, the latter, 
 in the warmth of his admiration, threw away the 
 part, and exclaimed : " To what purpose can I 
 undertake this character, if I am not able to play 
 it as well as you read it ? " 
 
 Dryden, though one of the first harmonisers of 
 our language, was so indifferent a reader, that when 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 131 
 
 he.- brought his play of Amphytrion to the stage. 
 Gibber, who heard, him give it the first reading, 
 saySj " Though he delivered the plain sense of 
 every period, yet the whole was in so cold, so fiat, 
 and unafi'ecting a manner, that I am afraid of not 
 being believed if I should express it." 
 
 CoUey Gibber's voice as an actor was occasionally 
 harsh and unmusical, more particularly in tragedy ; 
 he was a fine reciter of comedies in private. I^oote 
 and Murphy, both excellent judges, have given 
 testimony of this ; particularly the latter, who heard 
 him read the scenes of Lord and Lady Tovmley in 
 The Provoked Susband to Mrs. Wof&ngton. It is 
 true, his voice partook of the old school, and there- 
 fore differed in some respect from that familiarity 
 in modern dialogue which Garrick introduced ; but 
 it was, upon the whole, a fine picture of the manners 
 of the age in which the play was written, and had 
 a very impressive effect. 
 
 Pope had a very musical voice ; and recited 
 poetry so sweetly in his youth, with a pleasing 
 languor in his eye, that he was called by Mr. 
 
132 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Cromwell and many of his early friends, " the young 
 nightingale." * 
 
 Eowe (the poet) equally excelled in reading well. 
 Mrs. Oldfield, herself a fine reciter, and an acknow- 
 ledged judge, declared "that all the merit she 
 acquired in the modulation of her tones, was from 
 Eowe reading his own tragedies." 
 
 Hooke, the elegant writer of the Eoman History, 
 during his progress in that work, read some of the 
 orations to Speaker Onslow, who was himself an 
 acknowledged good orator ; and he delivered them 
 with such grace and elocution, that Onslow ex- 
 claimed, " How can I tell whether those lines are 
 sense or nonsense, when you bribe me with such a 
 harmony of voice ? " 
 
 Thomson read so badly, and with such a broad 
 Scotch accent, that he latterly never attempted it, 
 but to divert the company. One of the players 
 
 * After Lady Mary Wortley Montagu quarrelled with Pope, 
 bearing the epithet of "the young nightingale" applied to him, she 
 exclaimed : " Very true indeed ; all sound, and no sense ! " 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 133 
 
 ■was obliged to read his two tragedies of Agamemnon 
 and Sophonisia. 
 
 Southern says of Congreve, " that when he brought 
 a comedy of his to the players" (Dr. Johnson 
 believed it to be The Old Bachelor), " he read it so 
 ■wretchedly ill, that they were on the point of reject- 
 ing it, till one of them good naturedly took it out of 
 his hands and read it ; when they were so fully per- 
 suaded of its excellence, that for half a year before 
 it was acted he had the privilege of the house." 
 
 Addison, on the first reading of his Cato in the 
 green-room, succeeded so ill, that he would not 
 attempt it a second time. He therefore consigned 
 that task to Gibber ; who acquitted himself so much 
 better than the author, that the latter requested he 
 would perform the part of Cato. But Gibber knew 
 his own talents too well for this ; and he yielded 
 the part very judiciously to Booth. 
 
 Isaac Hawkins Browne, who was himself a fine 
 poet (as he proved by his Latin poem on the im- 
 mortality of the soul), never could thoroughly relish 
 
134 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Milton till he heard the elder Sheridan read some 
 passages from that divine author. 
 
 Though Sheridan's voice was never, in my 
 opinion, harmonious enough for the tender and 
 pathetic parts of this divine poem ; yet in the 
 sublimer passages I have often borne witness to 
 his dignity, force, and elocution. 
 
 Mr. Browne, besides being a good poet, was a 
 very fine reciter, and a most delightful companion ; 
 which latter quality Dr. Johnson, in his Lives of 
 the Poets, thus elegantly describes : — 
 
 "His conversation was at once so elegant, so 
 apparently artless, so pure, and so pleasing, it 
 seemed a perpetual stream of sentiment, enlivened 
 by gaiety, and sparkling with images." 
 
 Lord Chatham, so justly celebrated for his oratory, 
 integrity, and transcendent abilities, was likewise a 
 very fine and animated reader. Shakspeare was 
 one of his favourite authors ; whom he occasionally 
 read to his family and private companies, with great 
 power of voice and manner. He generally selected 
 the heroic characters; such as Hotspur, Henry V., 
 Coriolanus, &c. ; assigning the comic parts to some 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 135 
 
 of his relations. He had likewise an elegant turn 
 for poetry ; in which he would probably have greatly 
 excelled, had he not been summoned away by the 
 higher duties which he- owed his country. 
 
 Bois Eobert, who lived in the reign of Louis the 
 Fourteenth, was celebrated for telling anecdotes 
 with uncommon grace and vivacity ; and by this 
 talent ingratiated himself very much with Cardinal 
 Eichelieu. His friends often solicited him to pub- 
 lish them ; but he had the good sense to know that 
 though a man may talk himself into reputation, he 
 may print himself out of it. 
 
 The celebrated comedian Shuter had the pecu- 
 liarity of Bois Eobert, that his stories would not 
 bear printing ; nor indeed would many of them bear 
 reciting by any other person than himself. It was 
 in his manner that he excelled; and that manner, 
 aided by the luxuriance of his comic features, and 
 the drollery of his eye, was irresistible. 
 
 Garrick read dramatic poetry with infinite grace, 
 judgment, and versatility; so much so, that he 
 
136 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 could generally impose any part lie pleased on a 
 performer, though ever so bad, by his manner of 
 repeating it in the green-room. Dick Yates often 
 told the Editor of these Memoirs, that it req[uired 
 all his skill and foresight to guard against him in 
 this point; of which he gave the following anec- 
 dote among many others : — 
 
 In order to strengthen the comedy of The Jealous 
 Wife as much as possible on its first appearance, 
 Garrick proposed that Yates should play the char- 
 acter of Sir Harry Beagle, instead of Major Oakly. 
 For this purpose, on his first reading the play in the 
 green-room, he embellished the character of Blr 
 Harry with such an infinite variety of humour, that 
 everybody applauded it except Yates, who still 
 requested the Major in preference. Garrick again 
 pressed him by saying " what a fine character it 
 was ! how much in his way ! " &c. ; till Yates at 
 last put an end to the controversy by saying, " If I 
 could presume, sir, on playing it anything like you, 
 I would accept it ; but as I know my own powers, 
 I must beg leave to decline it." The event showed 
 that Yates was right both in his own judgment and 
 in that of the public. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 137 
 
 As another instance of his powers of recitation, 
 the following fell under my own observation : — 
 
 In company with a friend to whom Garrick had 
 promised some instruction in the character of Mac- 
 heth, I waited on him at his house in the Adelphi 
 about eleven o'clock on a Sunday morning. After 
 some preliminary conversation, Garrick took up the 
 play, and read several passages with a taste, feel- 
 ing, and discrimination, new even to me, who had 
 seen him so often in this character on the stage. 
 But when he came to the dagger scene, I observed 
 his face instantly assume a mixture of horror, per- 
 plexity, and guilt, which I thought it impossible for 
 human nature to affect : the glare of his eye was con- 
 formable to the range of his features, and he went 
 through the passage in a style totally indescribable, 
 I then saw the amazing effect of his art ; in which, 
 like a great original in painting, the nearer it was 
 viewed, the more the delicate and master touches 
 of the pencil were discernible. 
 
 This event happened above thirty years ago (1805); 
 and I now remember it with a sensibility which, 
 while it affords me the most lively impressions, leads 
 me to despair of ever " seeing its like again." 
 
138 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Monsieur Texier recited French pla3's uncom- 
 monly -well; and introduced into his reading a 
 particular manner, which gave his powers of recita- 
 tion greater scope. This was, by never announcing 
 the name of the character who spoke, otherwise 
 than at the beginning of the play, or on the change 
 of a scene. Hence he marked his dramatis personm 
 by the discrimination of his voice and manner only, 
 and succeeded most happily. When complimented 
 upon this talent, he replied with much seeming 
 humility : " Cest le petit don de la nature." (It is 
 the trifling gift of nature.) 
 
 Quin was reckoned to read Milton well ; though ' 
 Dr. Johnson thought him more an actor, than a 
 reciter, of the poet. In the declamatory parts of 
 tragedy, however, he had the approbation of the 
 best judges. 
 
 John Henderson piqued himself on his reading, 
 and was much followed by the public. But the 
 fault imputed to Quin by Dr. Johnson, was con- 
 spicuous in Henderson: he was too much an actor 
 in the comic parts of recitation. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 139 
 
 Hugh Kelly, the author of False Delicacy, &c. 
 read very musically ; though with little or no foun- 
 dation in science. His ear and manner alone carried 
 him through with much satisfaction to those who 
 heard him. 
 
 Isaac Bickerstaff recited in a voice so thick, and 
 a manner seemingly embarrassed, as rendered him 
 not only incapable of giving variety to his tones, 
 but at times scarcely intelligible. In reading his 
 comedy of 'Tis Well it's no Worse (since cut down 
 to the farce of The Panel) to a small circle of 
 friends, he laid most of them asleep, though just 
 after partaking the hospitalities of his table. 
 
 Dr. Goldsmith read go slovenly, and with such 
 an Irish brogue, that it was sometimes difficult to 
 distinguish his poetry from his prose. He was 
 sensible of this himself ; and used to say : " I leave 
 the reading of my pieces, and the punctuation of 
 them, to the players and the printers ; for, in truth, 
 I know little of either." 
 
 John Walker, preceptor in oratory (author of the 
 
140 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Pronouncing Dictionary, and other philological works 
 of merit), has shown himself well qualified for such 
 a profession both by his precepts and example. In 
 the recital of the sublime passages of Milton and 
 our best poets, he has long been justly celebrated ; 
 and the Editor of this volume once heard him 
 read the Lord's Prayer in a tone of such fervour 
 and piety, as excited a wish that the powers of 
 this impressive science might be more cultivated 
 by the professors of our holy religion. 
 
 Frodsham the York manager, independently of 
 his great stage qualifications, was a very fine reciter. 
 He once introduced into a public lecture which he 
 read at York, some observations on the liturgy ; 
 which he first exemplified by an imitation of the 
 various styles mostly in practice, and then gave 
 specimens of the manner in which many of the 
 sublime passages of it should be read, highly to the 
 gratification of a very respectable audience. 
 
 Dr. Johnson read serious and sublime poetry 
 with great gravity and feeling. In the recital of 
 prayers and religious poems he was awfully impres- 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 141 
 
 sive, and his memory served him upon those occa- 
 sions with great readiness. One night at the club, 
 a person quoting the nineteenth psalm, the Doctor 
 caught fire ; and, instantly taking off his hat, began 
 with great solemnity : 
 
 " The spacious firmament on liigh," &c. * 
 
 and went through that beautiful hymn. Those 
 who were acquainted with the Doctor, knew how 
 harsh and repulsive his features in general were ; 
 but upon this occasion, to use the language of Scrip- 
 ture, " his face was almost as if it had been the face 
 of an angel." 
 
 Foote having occasion for the testimony of 
 Walter Eoss, of Edinburgh, in some theatrical law- 
 
 * This fine Tersion of the nineteenth psalm has been generally 
 attributed to Addison, from its being introduced under the letter C 
 in the sixth volume of the Spectator, as well as from its moral and 
 sublime tendency ; and this opinion has been so prevalent, that the 
 collectors of the Musical Miscellany have ignorantly given the words 
 as written by Doctor Addison: but the real author was Andrew 
 Marvell, the celebrated patriot, as appears by his posthumous 
 papers ; a man who added to an inflexible love of his country a 
 pious and practical belief in the Christian religion. 
 
 [Dr. Grosart in his edition of Marvell's works has shown clearly 
 that Marvell was not the author.] 
 
142 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 suit, the latter (who was a ScotcliTnan) travelled all 
 the way up to town in a post-chaise under the 
 character of writer to the signet, for which he charged 
 Foote the whole of his expenses. 
 
 The cause, when it came to a hearing, was deter- 
 mined against Foote ; and, as it was then said, on 
 the incompetency of the evidence of Eoss: which 
 created some little coolness between the parties. 
 Friends however interfering, they were reconciled, 
 and dined together the day before Eoss went out 
 of town; during which meeting Foote asked him, 
 in the course of conversation, how he intended to 
 travel back. " On foot" said the wag, taking him 
 in his own way. — " I am heartily sorry for that," 
 said the other ; "as I know of no man who more 
 richly deserves horsinff." 
 
 Talking of the best method of cutting up a 
 'haunch of venison, Foote said " the best carver in 
 the world was a man who could cut up a haunch 
 dexterously, and eat none himself." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 143 
 
 A wealthy man from the city, dining one day at 
 North End, was every now and then boasting, with 
 all the insolence of prosperity, of his many thou- 
 sands in the funds, his capital in trade, mortgages, 
 annuities, &c. ; when Foote cut him short by saying 
 " he was very sorry for the circumstance." — " What!" 
 exclaimed his guest, "do you envy me my pro- 
 sperity ? " — " No, my good sir," said the other ; 
 "but you talk so much of your riches, I am afraid 
 the company (who don't know you as well as I do) 
 will think you are going to ireah." 
 
 A lady of fashion having suddenly eloped to 
 avoid her creditors, a circle of her former friends 
 were, as usual, sitting in judgment on her character, 
 and relating different anecdotes which fell within 
 their respective knowledge. Among the rest. Lady 
 
 Betty D was violently severe against her, for 
 
 robbing her Ladyship of a fine new set of teeth, 
 which she borrowed of her for the feigned purpose 
 of getting a new set like them. " Nay," said Poote, 
 " now Lady Betty, that's no such great matter after 
 
144 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 all." — " What ! no great matter, sir, to rob me of 
 my teeth ? " — " Why, no ; I really think not : for, 
 at the worst, you know, it was only biting the 
 liter." 
 
 The year after the season in which Mr. and Mrs. 
 Barry drew such crowds to the Opera-house in the 
 Haymarket, Foote engaged them to play at his little 
 theatre. His friends expressing their surprise why 
 he should pay such high prices for tragedy at his 
 house, he replied : " Why, to tell you the truth, I 
 have no great occasion for them ; but they were 
 such had neighbours last year, that I find it cheaper 
 to give them board and lodging for nothing, than to 
 have them any longer opposite to me." 
 
 Foote always acknowledged the humour and 
 naivetd of the Irish, and gave many instances of it in 
 the course of his convivial hours. — One frosty day, 
 he said, as he was crossing the ferry near Dublin, 
 a passenger was put into the boat quite drunk, who 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 145 
 
 was at first very ungovernable. This occasioned 
 many remarks : one said " how beastly drunk he 
 was ; " another, " that he ought to be thrown over- 
 board," &c. At last the boatman, looking at him, 
 seemingly with an eye of compassion, exclaimed : 
 " Why, to be sure, good people, the man is bad 
 enough ; but, bad as he is, I wish / had half Ms 
 disorder about Tue." 
 
 Another time, dining at a public table in Dublin, 
 where, as usual, the company were giving loyal 
 toasts, a giddy young man of fashion, who sat by 
 a Eoman Catholic priest, was every now and then 
 teasing him with such toasts as were not quite con- 
 genial to his way of thinking. The priest took no 
 notice of it for some tirue, till it came to his own 
 turn ; wlien he very gravely asked his neighbour 
 what was the preceding toast : — " The Glorious 
 Eevolution, Doctor' ; match it if you can." — " Was 
 that a good one ? " asked the other, drily. — " Oh, 
 most excellent ! " — " Why then, my honey, I'll give 
 you Another of them." 
 
 He used to tell a story of meeting an Irishman 
 
146 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 comparing his watch by St. Paul's, and bursting 
 into a fit of laughter. Being asked what he laughed 
 at, he replied : " And how can I help it ? when 
 here is my little watch, that was made by Paddy 
 OTlaherty on Ormund Quay, and which only cost 
 me five guineas, has leat your big London clock 
 there a full hour and a quarter since yesterday 
 morning." 
 
 Mrs. Olive and Mrs. Pritchard, becoming latterly 
 very corpulent, were one night performing the 
 characters of Lady Easy and Edging in the comedy 
 of The Careless Husband. In the part where the 
 former desires the latter to take up a letter which 
 is dropt on the stage, Mrs. Olive (who could as well 
 have taken up the monument) cried out, " Not I, 
 indeed ! take it up yourself, if you like it." This 
 threw an equal embarrassment on the other ; which 
 the audience seeing, began to titter. At last Mrs. 
 Pritchard, with great presence of mind, replied : 
 " Well, madam Pert, since you won't take up the 
 letter, I must only get one that will ; " and accord- 
 ingly beckoned towards the side scene, when one of 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 147 
 
 the servants of the house came forward and ter- 
 minated the dispute. 
 
 Mrs. Gammon, who was very large and fat, walk- 
 ing on the Steine one evening at Brighton, somebody 
 said, " Here comes Mrs. Gammon ! " — " Who ? " 
 said Foote, holding up his glass at the same time ; 
 " only a single gammon ! why, 'tis the, wlioU of the 
 old sow herself." 
 
 He lived in habits of intimacy with this lady ; 
 but a man of wit never suffers such a circumstance 
 to stand in the way of a Ion-mot. 
 
 It is rather extraordinary, that though Edward 
 Moore, (author of the periodical paper called The 
 World) was totally ignorant of every language but 
 his own, it has been universally allowed that few 
 men wrote better in prose or verse, or showed more 
 knowledge of the classics in applications and allu- 
 sions to them. 
 
 Lord Chesterfield saw this singularity ; and upon 
 
148 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Mr. Moore's death (having a great regard for him), 
 he undertook the education of his only son : when, 
 by way of cultivating the family talent (as his Lord- 
 ship called it), he carefully avoided having the youth 
 taught any other language than his own native Eng- 
 lish. But the pupil, not having the difficulties 
 which his father had to struggle with, nor conse- 
 quently the same spur to assiduity, wanted, in all 
 probability the ingredients which contributed to 
 form and enrich his father's mind. Hence he pro- 
 mised to be no more than a mere English scholar, 
 without much taste or genius. He died, however, 
 before his Lordship fully proved the fallacy of his 
 speculation. 
 
 George Lord Lyttelton, though otherwise a very 
 ingenious and respectable character, was very sub- 
 ject to reveries while any person was talking to 
 him. One day Garrick and his Lordship were con- 
 versing about Mr. Moore (the first subject of the 
 preceding article), when they both agreed in wish- 
 ing that some comfortable and independent situa- 
 tion could be procured for him. At this instant 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 149 
 
 Garrick caught his Lordship's eye wandering to- 
 wards the ceiling in search of his favourite reverie ; 
 and, willing to try how far it would carry him, 
 cried out : " Pray, my Lord, suppose we could get 
 Moore to he one of the runners of the penny-post 
 office ; don't you think that would be a pretty snug 
 genteel thing for him and his family ? " — " Ay, 
 ay, David," said his Lordship, catching only the 
 last word ; " so it would, so it would : and I thank 
 you for putting me in mind of it.'' 
 
 Besides Foote's weU-known talents for dramatic 
 writing, he read much, and knew from tradition 
 many anecdotes of the stage. He encouraged this 
 conversation likewise much at his table ; whence the 
 following particulars are gleaned, which it is hoped 
 will not be unacceptable to the lovers of the 
 drama. 
 
 The characters of The Beeruiting Officer were taken 
 by Captain Farquhar from the following originals : 
 Justice Balance was a Mr. Beverley ; a gentleman 
 
150 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 of strict honour and independency, then Eecorder 
 of Shrewshury. 
 
 Another of the Justices was Mr. Hill, an inhahitant 
 of Shrewsbury. 
 
 Worthy was a Mr. Owen who lived on the borders 
 of Shropshire. 
 
 Captain Plume was Farquhar himself. 
 
 Captain Brazen, unknown. 
 
 Sylvia was Miss Beverley, daughter of the gentle- 
 man of that name just mentioned. 
 
 Melinda was Miss Harnage, of Belsadine, near the 
 Wrekin. 
 
 The plot is supposed to be the author's own in- 
 vention. 
 
 (The above information was communicated to Dr. 
 Percy, Bishop of Dromore, by Mr. E. Blakeway of 
 Shrewsbury ; and this gentleman had it from an 
 old lady living at Shrewsbury (1765), who knew 
 Farquhar intimately.) 
 
 The plot of Otway's Orphan, though generally sup- 
 posed to be invented by the author, is taken from a 
 fact related in a very scarce pamphlet (of which, I 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 151 
 
 believe, only two copies are now to be found) entitled 
 English Adventures, published in 1667. The fol- 
 lowing are the particulars : — 
 
 The father of Charles Brandon, afterwards Duke 
 of Suffolk, retired, on the death of his lady, to the 
 borders of Hampshire. His family consisted -of 
 two sons; and a young lady, the daughter of a 
 friend lately deceased, whom he adopted as his 
 own child. 
 
 This lady, being singularly beautiful, as well as 
 amiable in her manners, attracted the affections of 
 both the brothers. The elder, however, was the 
 favourite, and he privately married . her ; which the 
 younger not knowing, and overhearing an appoint- 
 ment of the lovers to meet the next night in her 
 bed-chamber, he contrived to get his brother other- 
 wise employed, and made the signal of admission 
 himself (thinking it a mere intrigue). Unfortu- 
 nately, he succeeded. 
 
 On a discovery, the lady lost her reason, and soon 
 after died. The two brothers fought, and the elder 
 fell. The father broke his heart in a few months 
 afterwards. The younger brother, Charles Brandon 
 (the unintentional author of all this family misery). 
 
152 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 quitted England in despair, with a fixed determina- 
 tion of never returning. 
 
 Being abroad for several years, his nearest rela- 
 tions supposed him dead, and began to take the 
 necessary steps for obtaining his estates ; when, 
 roused by this intelligence, he returned privately to 
 England, and for a time took obscure lodgings in 
 the vicinity of his family mansion. 
 
 While he was in this retreat, the young king 
 (Henry VIII.), who had just buried his father, was 
 one day hunting on the borders of Hampshire, when 
 he heard the cries of a female in distress in an ad- 
 joining wood. His gallantry immediately summoned 
 him to the place, though he then happened to be 
 detached from all his courtiers ; where he saw two 
 ruffians attempting to violate the honour of a young 
 lady. The king instantly drew on them ; and a 
 scuffie ensued, which roused the reverie of Charles 
 Brandon, who was taking his morning's walk in an 
 adjoining thicket: he immediately ranged himself 
 on the side of the king, whom he then did not 
 know; and by his dexterity soon disarmed one of 
 the ruffians, while the other fled. 
 
 The king, charmed with this act of gallantry so 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 153 
 
 congeliial to his own mind, inc[uired the name and 
 family of the stranger ; and not only repossessed 
 him of his patrimonial estates, but took him under 
 his immediate protection. 
 
 It was this same Charles Brandon who afterwards 
 privately married Henry's sister, Margaret, Queen- 
 dowager of France ; which marriage the king not 
 only forgave, but created him Duke of Suffolk, and 
 continued his favour towards him to the last hour 
 of the Duke's life. 
 
 He died before Henry ; and the latter showed 
 in his attachment to this nobleman, that notwith- 
 standing his fits of capriciousness and cruelty, he 
 was capable of a cordial and steady friendship. 
 He was sitting in council when the news of Suf- 
 folk's death reached him ; and he publicly took 
 that occasion both to express his own sorrow, and 
 to celebrate the merits of the deceased. He de- 
 clared, that during the whole course of their ac- 
 quaintance his brother-in-law had not made a 
 single attempt to injure an adversary, and had 
 never whispered a word to the disadvantage of 
 any one ; " and are there any of you, my Lords, 
 who can say as much ? " When the King sub- 
 
154 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 joined these words (says the historian), he looked 
 round in all their faces, and saw that confusion 
 which the consciousness of secret guilt naturally 
 threw upon them. 
 
 Otway took his plot from the fact related in this 
 pamphlet; but to avoid perhaps interfering in a 
 circumstance which might affect many noble families 
 at that time living, he laid the scene of his tragedy 
 in Bohemia. 
 
 There is a large painting of the above incident 
 now at Woburn, the seat of his Grace the Duke of 
 Bedford; and the old Duchess-dowager, in show- 
 ing this picture a few years before her death 
 to a nobleman, related all the particulars of the 
 story. 
 
 The character of Antonio in the above play (an 
 old debauched senator, raving about plots and 
 political intrigues) is supposed to have been in- 
 tended for that celebrated but turbulent character, 
 Anthony the first Earl of Shaftesbury. 
 
 When the elder Colman had nearly finished The, 
 Jealous Wife, he laid it before Garrick, as a friend, 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 155 
 
 for inspection. The latter was rauch pleased with 
 it in general: yet saw, from his intimate know- 
 ledge of stage effect, that there wanted a second 
 character in the piece, to support the firmness of 
 the husband ; who, though drawn as a sensible 
 man of the world, is evidently in the trammels of 
 his wife. 
 
 Colman instantly agreed in the justness of the 
 remark, took back the play, and added the part of 
 Major Oakly, which now makes so conspicuous a 
 figure in it. 
 
 The hint of this character he took from the 
 portrait of Tom Meggot, in Nos. 212 and 216 
 of the Spectator, both papers written by Sir 
 Eichard Steele. To these Colman stands like- 
 wise much indebted for the conduct of the 
 two brothers ; particularly for the quarrel in 
 the last act, which is principally taken from 
 No. 216. 
 
 These little circumstances, however, must be 
 considered as mere hints, to things of which 
 sort most dramatic writers are indebted. The 
 play as it now stands is evidently all Colman's 
 own, from his manner of adoption, arrauge- 
 
156 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 ment, &c. ; and ranks (as it deservedly ought) as 
 a comedy of the first distinction for genius and 
 observation. 
 
 Though no man respected the general talents of 
 Dryden more than Foote did, he was ' too good a 
 judge of dramatic writing not to censure most of 
 the plays of this celebrated poet. The licentious- 
 ness of the age of Charles the Second showed itself 
 in no one instance more strongly than in the 
 theatre. Dryden paid a large tribute to this pro- 
 fligacy of manners ; as may be exemplified in a 
 great number of his plays, but perhaps in none 
 so much as in his tragedy of Tyrannic Love, or the 
 Royal Martyr. 
 
 The hero of this piece is the emperor Maximin, 
 a monster of such cruelty, caprice, and impiety, as 
 should scarcely be looked on in the pages of history. 
 It is true, Dryden has told us in his preface, that 
 "he has only drawn him for detestation ;" but he 
 should have known (if not intoxicated with the 
 vices and caprices of the age he lived in), that as 
 in inanimate nature there are objects too indelicate 
 for public development, so there are characters in 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 157 
 
 life too singularly vicious to be brought forward as 
 examples. 
 
 But that my readers may judge for themselves, 
 I shall select from this tragedy the speech which 
 Maximin makes on the death of his daughter; 
 which Poote, in a fit of merriment, has often re- 
 peated with a degree of drollery equal to the ex- 
 hibition of any of his comic characters. 
 
 " What had ye, gods, to do with me, or mine ? 
 Did I molest your heaven 1 
 "Why should you then make Maximin your foe ; 
 Who paid you tribute, -which he need not do ? 
 Your altars I with smoke of gums did crown. 
 For which you lecm'd yoxir hungry nostrils down ; 
 All daily gaping for my incense there, 
 More than your sun could draw you in a year. 
 And you, for this, those plagues on me have sent. 
 But, by the gods, — by Maximin, I meant, — 
 Henceforth I, and my world, 
 Hostility with you, and yours, declare : 
 Look to it, gods ; for you the aggressors are. 
 Keep you your rain and sunshine in your skies. 
 And I'll keep back my flame and sacrifice ; 
 Your trade of heaven shall soon be at a stand, 
 And all your goods lie dead, upon yorwr hand." 
 
 Who could have libelled Dryden more than he 
 
158 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 has done himself by this impious and ridiculous 
 speech ? 
 
 The comedy of The Provoked Husland, which 
 Vanbrugh so happily conceived, and which Gibber 
 has more happily still connected and continued, is 
 little known in its rudiments. 
 
 Manly in the present comedy, was an uncle of 
 Squire Richard in the sketch ; who, speaking of 
 families, says, " It is a settled foundation point in 
 all great families, that every child shall be a beggar 
 but the first, and he shall be a fool." 
 
 Sir Francis Headpiece, the Sir Francis Wrong- 
 head of the present play, is represented as two-and- 
 forty years of age ; and his character is drawn by 
 the Butler in the following words : " He has drunk 
 thirty-two tuns of ale." 
 
 The Townlys in the present play, were in the 
 sketch Lord and Lady Loverule ; and their conduct 
 and contentions were pretty much the same as at 
 present, except in the fifth act, where Gibber has, 
 with great taste and dramatic efiect, recalled the 
 lady's heart to a sense of her conjugal duties, as 
 well as showed her the frivolities and miseries of 
 
m 
 
EON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 159 
 
 her former conduct. This last act is entirely 
 Gibber's own. He likewise simplified the business 
 in the body of the play, by uniting Uncle Richard 
 and Sir Charles in the person of Manly, as well 
 as by skilfully retouching the whole of the other 
 four acts. 
 
 The critics of that day, led on by the personal 
 animosities of Pope and some of his friends (who 
 detested Gibber), took up the posthumous honour 
 of Vanbrugh with great heat; and insisted that 
 Gibber had spoiled the original sketches by blend- 
 ing his own hrothers (the TFrongheads) with the 
 high bred characters of Lord and Zady Townly, 
 which belonged to Vanbrugh. This malicious 
 assertion was very nearly fatal to this excellent 
 comedy on the first night of its representation, till 
 Gibber fully proved its falsity, to the disappoint- 
 ment and shame of its malevolent authors. 
 
 It is generally thought that Garrick and Golman, 
 who wrote that very pleasant comedy. The Clandes- 
 tine Marriage, were indebted only to a hint from 
 Hogarth's Marriage d-la-mode ; but it appears they 
 had other obligations, which they never acknow- 
 
160 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 ledged, from a farce called False Concord (written 
 by Mr. Townley, author of High Life helow Stairs, 
 and acted for Woodward's benefit). This farce con- 
 tains three remarkable characters ; Lord Lavender, 
 Mr. Suds, a rich soap-boiler, and a pert valet : 
 which are almost the exact counterparts of Lord 
 Ogleby, Mr. Sterling, and Brush, in The Clandes- 
 tine Marriage. 
 
 Archbishop Bancroft once asked Betterton, " Pray 
 Mr. Betterton, can you inform me what is the reason 
 you actors on the stage affect your audience by speak- 
 ing of things imaginary, as if they were real ; while 
 we in the church speak of things real, which our con- 
 gregations receive only as if they were imaginary ? " 
 — "Why, really, my Lord," said Betterton, "I 
 • don't know ; except it is that we actors speak of 
 things imaginary as if they were real, while you 
 in the pulpit speak of things real as if they were 
 imaginary." 
 
 " What a pleasure it is to pay our debts ! It 
 seems to flow from a combination of circumstances, 
 each of which is productive of a specific happiness. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 161" 
 
 In the first place, it removes that uneasiness which 
 a true spirit feels from dependence and obligation. 
 It affords pleasure to the creditor, and therefore 
 gratifies our social affection. It promotes that 
 future confidence which is so interesting to an 
 honest mind. It opens a prospect of being readily 
 supplied with what we want on future occasions. 
 It leaves a consciousness of our own virtue ; and is 
 a measure which we know to be right, both in point 
 of justice and of sound economy. Finally, it is a 
 main support of reputation." 
 
 A person making the above reflections before 
 Foote, he, with that air of ridicule and promptitude 
 of mind for which he was so eminently distinguished, 
 begged the company would hear the other side of 
 the question, namely : — 
 
 "The advantages of not paying our debts pre- 
 suppose a person to be a man of fortune; other- 
 wise he would not gain credit. It is the art of 
 living without money. It saves the trouble and 
 expense of keeping accounts ; and makes other 
 people work, in order to give ourselves repose. It 
 prevents the cares and embarrassments of riches. 
 
162 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 It checks avarice, and encourages generosity; as 
 people are commonly more liberal of others' goods 
 than of their own : while it possesses that genuine 
 spark of primitive Christianity, which would live in 
 a constant communion of all property. 
 
 " In short, it draws the inquiries and attention of 
 the world on us while we live, and makes us sin- 
 cerely regretted when we die." 
 
 Dr. Messenger Mousey, who was a leading man 
 for wit and humour during more than half a century, 
 was patronised by Lord Godolphin, the son of Queen 
 Anne's treasurer; and by him presented, on the 
 death of Dr. Smart, to the place of physician to 
 Chelsea College. 
 
 He was acquainted with most of the wits and 
 literati of his day : and of course with Foote and 
 Garrick; at whose tables he often circulated the 
 laugh : whether at or mth the parties, it was in- 
 different to him; — mirth and pleasure were the 
 ordei; of the day, and they were to be provided at 
 whatever expense. 
 
'^-^£.. 
 
 "/U-fyi, 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 163 
 
 Of his origin .the Doctor used to give the follow- 
 ing humorous account; which he did, not so much 
 for the sake of merely stating a whimsical fact, as 
 to humble the arrogant folly of those who would 
 claim a peculiar degree of merit from the adven-* 
 titious circumstance of family connections. 
 
 " The first of my ancestors," said he, " of any 
 note, was a haker and dealer in hops; which two 
 trades just enabled him, with some difiiculty, to 
 support a large family. 
 
 " Having a pressing occasion for a temporary sum, 
 he robbed his feather-beds of their contents, and 
 supplied the deficiency with unsaleable hops. In 
 a few years afterwards, a severe blight universally 
 prevailing, hops became very scarce, and enormously 
 dear. His hoarded treasure was applied to; the 
 contents were ripped out, and a good round sum 
 was procured for them ; though in a plentiful season 
 they would not have been marketable. Thus," 
 added the Doctor, " our family hopped into the 
 world from obscurity." 
 
 Monsey living the friend of all hours with Lord 
 Godolphiuj used to tell many anecdotes as related 
 
164 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 by that nobleman ; and among others the following 
 one, relative to his grandmother Sarah, Duchess of 
 Marlborough. 
 
 In a conversation ■which Lady Sunderland had 
 with her mother the Duchess, the former observed : 
 " In all the torrent of abuse poured out on your 
 Grace, your worst enemies have never called you a 
 faithless wife." — " It was no great merit," said the 
 Duchess, as she was turning over the papers after- 
 wards sent to Mallet for her husband's history; 
 "it was no great merit; for I had the hand- 
 somest, the most accomplished, and bravest man in 
 Europe for my husband." — " Yet, Madam, you don't 
 say that he was without faults ? " replied Lady 
 Sunderland. — " By no means : I knew them better 
 than he did himself, or even than I do my own. 
 He came back one day from my poor misled mistress 
 Queen Anne (I beUeve when he resigned his com- 
 mission), and said he had told her that he thanked 
 God, with all his faults, neither avarice nor amiition 
 could be laid to his charge. 
 
 " When he told me this," continued she, " though 
 not in a laughing humour, I bit my tongue almost 
 through to prevent my smiling in his face." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 165 
 
 During a prevailing general illness in the Doctor's 
 neighbourhood, a petit maitre lord of his acquaintance 
 sent him a very formal letter, interdicting all visits 
 to the family during this influenza — a correspond- 
 ence by letter his Lordship barely admitted, but 
 even a letter was to pass quarantine for a night 
 and a day. If the Doctor passed him in riding out, 
 the glasses of his Lordship's coach were closely shut 
 up ; and a mere waving of the hands was the only 
 personal civility that passed between these intimate 
 friends for seven months. 
 
 One day, meeting the Doctor on the road suddenly, 
 the peer exclaimed, " My dear Monsey, to tell you 
 the truth, we are afraid of you just at this time, 
 you come from so many sick rooms." — " And you, 
 my Lord," cried Monsey, " produce the very reverse 
 effect upon me ; as, when I see you, you make me 
 sich, but never afraid." 
 
 " So you are one of the venal electors of ," 
 
 said Monsey to a man whom he knew to have 
 been bribed at an election. " I never had that 
 disorder in my life" said the man, mistaking the 
 word venal for one of a somewhat similar sound. 
 
166 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 — " Then you had a worse in your hand to my 
 knowledge." 
 
 Dining with Garrick in company with Dr. War- 
 burton and Dr. John Brown (author of Barbarossa, 
 &c.), Monsey was rather grave. " Why so much 
 out of spirits, Doctor ? " said Garrick. — " Oh ! he is 
 afraid of Dr. Warburton," said Brown. — "Afraid of 
 him ! " said Monsey, looking indignantly at both ; 
 " no : I may be dull to-day, for how can it be other- 
 wise from the effect of this conversation ? but I 
 assure you I am not afraid of Dr. Warburton, nor 
 of his man Jack either." 
 
 Once, on Toote seeing a sweep riding on a blood- 
 horse, he remarked : " There goes Warburton on 
 Shakespeare." 
 
 " Leonidas " Glover having married a lady of an 
 athletic make and constitution, soon after retired 
 to the country for a few months without the know- 
 ledge of his friends and acquaintance. 
 
 " Have you seen Glover since his marriage ? " said 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 167 
 
 a lady : " I fear lie is lost" — " I hope not, Madam," 
 said Monsey, " though 'tis not impossible that, like 
 his hero, he may have perished in the Straits of 
 TherTrwpylcB." 
 
 The Duke of Grafton was said to be mean enough 
 to postpone paying Dr. Monsey for a long attend- 
 ance upon him and his family, by the promise of a 
 little place at "Windsor. 
 
 " I take the liberty to call upon your Grace," said 
 Monsey one morning to him, " to tell you that this 
 little place is at last vacant." — " Ecod ! " (a favourite 
 word of the Duke's), " and so it is, my dear Monsey ; 
 I know it : but, confound it ! the Chamberlain has 
 just been with me to tell me he has promised it to 
 Jack " 
 
 On this the Doctor retired rather disappointed ; 
 when meeting the Chamberlain next day, and 
 lamenting his ill luck, his Lordship stared at 
 him, and asked him whether he could keep a 
 secret. Then putting a folded paper into his 
 hand, " There," says he, " is a letter in his Grace's 
 own hand, soliciting this very place for another 
 person." 
 
168 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Sir Eobert Walpole used to spend much of his 
 leisure hours with Monsey ; -who was his neighbour 
 at Chelsea, and whom he used to call his merry 
 Norfolk Doctor. 
 
 The Minister was fond of bUliards ; but at this 
 game the Doctor very much excelled him. "How 
 happens it/' said Sir Eobert in one of his social 
 hours, " that nobody will beat me at billiards, or 
 contradict me, but you. Doctor ? " — " Because," said 
 Monsey, " they get places ; I get only a dinner and 
 praise." 
 
 A popular young clergyman, of a good heart 
 and sound understanding, was at times infected 
 with a solemn theatric mode of speaking, accom- 
 panied with a mincing gesture bordering on the 
 coxcomb. _ This foible did not escape the eye of 
 the Doctor; who knew his general merit, and 
 thought him worth reclaiming. He therefore took 
 the first opportunity, when they were alone, to tell 
 him of his faults, with a friendly offer to cure him. 
 The proposal being as readily accepted of by the 
 clergyman, it was agreed, that whenever the Doctor 
 saw the affectio dramatica coming on, he should 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 169 
 
 offer him his snuff-box by way of signal, and give 
 two smart raps on the lid. 
 
 The prescription, after some time, had the 
 desired effect. The ;patient had the good sense to 
 know the value of such an intellectual physician, 
 and acknowledged the cure with gratitude. 
 
 Another clergyman, a near neighbour of Mon- 
 sey's, but of a different description from the former, 
 was in the habit of contradicting him without 
 either learning or judgment, and often without a 
 single idea to support his argument. "If you 
 have any faith in your opinion," said the Doctor 
 one day, not condescending to use any other argu- 
 ment, " will you venture a small wager on it ? " — 
 " I could, but I won't," was the answer. — " Then 
 by your own confession," replied the other, "you 
 have very little wit, or very little money." 
 
 Though Monsey lived in intimacy with Garrick 
 at the theatre, and at a variety of private tables, 
 Garrick was not very fond of asking him to his 
 house; and the reason he gave for it was, to use 
 his own words, "that the Doctor was so great a 
 
170 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 blackguard, he could not be sure of him a moment." 
 On his promising, however, to behave better for the 
 future, Garrick ventured to ask him to meet a large 
 party of Eight Honourables and fashionables at his 
 house in Southampton Street, where Mousey figured 
 for some time with his usual wit and pleasantry, 
 very much to the pleasure and entertainment of the 
 company. 
 
 At the second course the Doctor wished for a 
 piece of roasted chicken, which was at the upper 
 end of the table, and calling for it to no purpose 
 several times to Mrs. Garrick, who happened to be 
 engaged in talking to some noble Lord at her elbow, 
 he at last, raising his voice, exclaimed aloud, " You 
 little confounded toad, will you, or will you not, 
 send me a wing, leg, bit of the breast, rump, or 
 merry-thought of one of those chickens ? " 
 
 The company, knowing the Doctor's peculiarity of 
 humour, laughed at this; but Garrick's pride was 
 hurt to the q[uick, in feeling himself so cavalierly 
 treated before so many noble personages. 
 
 The above story getting wind, and the laugh con- 
 tinuing against Garrick, he determined to have his 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 171 
 
 revenge, which he contrived in the following man- 
 ner: — Getting Monsey to spend a day with him at 
 Hampton Court, when there was none present but 
 Mrs. Garrick and another in the secret, he care- 
 lessly asked him, in the course of conversation, how 
 he liked his last performance of Ranger. — " Oh, 
 admirably well," was the answer; "you never 
 played it with more health and spirits." — " Well, 
 see there now, Mrs. Garrick ! You would per- 
 suade me it would not do, and that the town 
 would smoke me, and yet you see here so good 
 a judge as Dr. Monsey could not find out the 
 difference." — " The difference ! " said Monsey in 
 surprise. " Why, what the deuce does all this 
 mean?" — "Why, to tell you the truth, my dear 
 friend (but you must promise me to keep it a pro- 
 found secret), as I begin to feel myself not so 
 alert as formerly in the young sprightly parts of 
 comedy, I have instructed Dagger Marr* to be 
 my representative in the ladder-scene, and others 
 where there is little or no speaking, which saves 
 
 * An inferior player of Dmry Lane, who received this appel- 
 lation from his boasting that he could play the dagger-scene in 
 Macbeth better than Garrick, if he would only lend him his eyes. 
 
172 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 me a great deal of trouble ; and it is amazing 
 how, by the advantages of dress, imitation, &c., 
 the fellow has caught my manner, so that I can 
 scarcely perceive the difference myself." — "You 
 astonish me," said the Doctor, catching the bait ; 
 "why, I could not see a shade of difference. 
 But it can't be ; you're hmnming me, David." — 
 " No indeed," replied Mrs. Garrick, " it is too 
 true; but my dear Doctor, be secret; for if the 
 public should once know it, I am afraid they will 
 revenge it not only on poor Mr. Garrick, but upon 
 the house, wardrobe, scenery, &c." 
 
 This was enough for Monsey. Next morning 
 he ran about all Chelsea telling the news ; and 
 the day after, in every corner about London 
 where he could thrust himself, with all the cir- 
 cumstances of Garrick's meanness, indolence, con- 
 tempt of the public, &c. But the story was too 
 gross to gain a single believer besides himself. 
 Everybody laughed at him, and said it was a 
 palpable imposition. Irritated at this, he flew to 
 Garrick for a justification; but Garrick was now 
 prepared to laugh at him in common with the 
 rest, by telling him that "he was very sorry to 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTB. 173 
 
 see his understanding so far upon the decline as 
 to be duped in so obvious a manner." — " Well," 
 said Monsey, somewhat abashed at finding himself 
 thus outwitted, "I don't think, David, you alone 
 could deceive me ; but the seeming flat simplicity 
 of that little witch of a wife of yours, I must 
 confess, has fairly taken me in." 
 
 When Garrick first introduced Dr. Monsey to 
 Murphy, after the success of that gentleman's 
 farce called The Upholsterer, the Doctor, as soon 
 as he was admitted at the street-door, ran directly 
 upstairs to the top of the house. " Why, where 
 the deuce are you going ? " said Garrick. — " Up 
 to the poet's chamber, to be sure," replied Mon- 
 sey ; " did not you tell me that he lodged here ? 
 And where should the poet's chamber be but in 
 the garret ? " — " Pooh, pooh, man ! Mr. Murphy 
 is in the drawing-room." — " Oh ! then I suppose 
 the captain's out of town," said Monsey, enter- 
 ing the room, " and you have taken this oppor- 
 tunity of seeing company in his apartments. 
 Well, it is a fair deception enough, and not totally 
 undramatic." 
 
174 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Murphy, having been previously acquainted with 
 the Doctor's character, joined in the laugh, and 
 they spent an hour or two very agreeably. At 
 last Monsey, looking at his watch, cried out, 
 "Well, I have now seen enough of the poet. 
 I'll go from hence to Exeter Change, thence to 
 the tall woman at Charing Cross, thence to the 
 Menagerie in the Haymarket; and then I think 
 I shall have done with eschibitiom for this day." 
 
 The first acquaintance which Dr. Monsey had 
 with Garrick was occasioned by the' following 
 circumstance : — 
 
 Monsey attended at the Old Bailey to hear 
 some remarkable trial, and going late, was obliged 
 to stand about the dock. In the crowd a tall 
 man stood just before him, who totally prevented 
 him from seeing. Monsey several times requested 
 of him to move his head a little to the right or 
 left, that he might just look at the prisoner, 
 but in vain ; the other made no answer, and 
 looked down on him with contempt. This irri- 
 tated the Doctor so much that he exclaimed, 
 " Well, if I did not feel myself a coward, Mr. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 175 
 
 Brobdignag, I would most certainly knock you 
 down." 
 
 The latter part of this sentence Monsey did not 
 recollect to have said; but Garrick, who heard 
 the story, and at that time was not personally 
 acquainted with Monsey, invented it : " And this 
 anticipation of my real character" said the Doctor, 
 " first induced me to become known to him." 
 
 When Gulliver's Travels first came out, a copy 
 was sent by a friend to Monsey, who, opening 
 the book by accident in the middle, was so capti- 
 vated with the novelty and strength of mind of 
 the author, that he read on from that point to 
 the end. He then thought of going to sleep; 
 but his curiosity was too strong to suffer this, 
 and he again took up the book, and read from 
 the beginning to the part at which he first set 
 out. 
 
 The Doctor, meeting Garrick one morning in 
 the Strand in rather a pensive mood, asked him 
 what he was thinking of. " Thinking of ? " said 
 
176 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Garrick, as if roused from his reverie ; " I was 
 thinking what a fool I have been through life; 
 scratdiing up money here and there, morning and 
 night, and all for whom ? Why, for George and 
 his children, who may make ducks and drakes of 
 it." — " And why don't you do as I do ? " said 
 Monsey ; " spend your money yourself, save your 
 executors the trouble, and be your own heir." — 
 " And so I will," cried Garrick ; — " with a courage," 
 said Monsey in telling the story, "that at the time 
 I thought natural ; but, alas ! turning the corner 
 of Southampton Street, he unfortunately met with 
 the ghost of a fartJiing, and aU his boasted resolu- 
 tion vanished into air."* 
 
 It was remarkable in Mrs. Garrick, who was 
 always reckoned a very sensible wonaan, and 
 chargeable with very few weaknesses, that she 
 imagined she spoke the English language very 
 correctly, though the contrary (from her being a 
 foreigner) was notorious. One day, coming to 
 
 * This anecdote has been attributed to Macklin, Foote, and 
 others, but is here given to Dr. Monsey, on the authority of him- 
 self who often told the story. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 177 
 
 town from Hampton Court with Dr. Monsey, she 
 teased him so much on this subject, that on his 
 telling the story afterwards to her husband he 
 said " he had a great mind to get out of the 
 coach and walk from Turnham Green to town." — 
 " Pooh ! " said Garrick, " you should have under- 
 stood her better. But I "will give you a fresh 
 instance of her folly on this point: — She was 
 lately at an auction of linens (for you know my 
 wife loves bargains), and having a piece knocked 
 down to her, the auctioneer asked her what name 
 he should set down. ' Petty Price,' said she ; 
 meaning one of our servants' names, from not 
 choosing to draw the gaze of the room on her by 
 giving her own. ' A petty price, Madam. ! ' said 
 the auctioneer ; ' well, since you think so, you 
 will have it in your power to bid higher for 
 the next lot ; but in the meantime, Madam, 
 I shall be obliged to you for your name.' — 
 .' Petty Price,' continued my wife ; and, in short, 
 so she would have continued to the end of the 
 chapter but for some good-natured person near 
 her, who, observing her mistake, bawled out ' Betty 
 Price.' " 
 
178 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Mrs. Garrick, as Germans generally do, sounded 
 the letter B like a P, which led her into many 
 mistakes, and, by her husband's constantly laying 
 traps for her, would induce her to say very odd 
 and laughable things. But all could not cure her 
 of the foible mentioned above. 
 
 The long intimacy between Doctor Mousey and 
 Garrick, during which they contributed much to 
 their own amusement and much to that of their 
 mutual friends, was at last broken off by a 
 frivolous circumstance, which Garrick should have 
 laughed at, as coming from such a man as 
 Monsey. 
 
 The incident was this. A gentleman in a mixed 
 company asserted that, to his certain knowledge, 
 Garrick meant to quit the stage very shortly. 
 " He never will do it," said Monsey, '' as long as 
 he knows a guinea is cross on one side and pile 
 on the other." * This was industriously reported 
 to Garrick, with exaggerations, which induced 
 him to send the Doctor an anonymous letter, 
 wherein, after sharply reproving him for the license 
 
 * A proverbial expression in Norfolk. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 179 
 
 of his tongue, he concluded with the well-known 
 quotation from Horace: 
 
 " Ahsentem qui rodit amicum," &c. 
 
 Mousey, however, continued his sallies against 
 Garrick's parsimony, and during Garrick's last 
 illness, thinking it to be only a temporary com- 
 plaint, had begun some stanzas on the occasion, 
 the two following of which are alone preserved : — 
 
 " ' Hmsit lateri lefhalis aruTido.' 
 
 " Seven wise physicians lately met, 
 To save a wretched sinner ; 
 ' Come, Tom,' says Jack, ' pray let's be quick, 
 Or I shall lose my dinner.' " 
 
 The consultation then begins, and the case of 
 the patient is stated ; after which — 
 
 " Some roar'd for rhubarb, jalap some, 
 And some cried out for Dover : 
 ' Let's give him something,' each man said ; 
 ' Why, e'en let's give him over.' " 
 
 Upon Garrick's death Monsey's friends wanted 
 him to publish this piece ; but he revolted at such 
 a pfoceeding, and said, " No ; had he lived, I would 
 have gone on with the laugh ; but he had too 
 
180 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 much talent and too many good qualities alDout 
 him for us not to let his little frailties lie quiet 
 in the grave." 
 
 During the quarrel above mentioned the Mar- 
 quis of Bath virished to reconcile the parties; but 
 Monsey avoided this by saying, " As for my part, 
 I am much obliged to you, my Lord, for thinking 
 of me ; but why will your Lordship trouble your- 
 self with the squabbles of a Merry Andrevj and a 
 Quack ? " 
 
 It was neatly enough said by Mr. Porson the 
 Greek professor of Cambridge, speaking of Gibbon's 
 History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman 
 Empire, " that in some passages he drew the 
 thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his 
 argument." 
 
 Sir Joshua Eeynolds used to tell the following 
 anecdote relative to Pope : — When Eeynolds was 
 a young man he was present at an auction of very 
 
iliiiiiiii!iii!i!iiiiij!iiliiiiiilii!ii:i 
 
 Eogravpd "by Cha" H(7H.rJ) . 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 181 
 
 scarce pictures, which attracted a great crowd of 
 connoisseurs and others, when, in the moment of 
 a very interesting piece being put up, Mr. Pope 
 entered the room. All was in an instant, from a 
 scene of confusion and bustle, a dead calm. The 
 auctioneer, as if by instinct, suspended his hammer. 
 The audience, to an individual, as if by the same 
 impulse, rose up to receive the poet, and did not 
 resume their seats till he had reached the upper 
 end of the room. 
 
 A still greater mark of respect was shown to 
 him by Frederick Prince of Wales. His Eoyal 
 Highness did him the honour of dinins; with him 
 at Twickenham, when the poet, perhaps exerting 
 himself too much on the occasion,' fell fast asleep 
 immediately after dinner. Lord Bolingbroke, con- 
 founded at this circumstance, wished to wake him ; 
 but the Prince, with great condescension, prevented 
 him by saying, "No, no, my Lord; we should 
 accommodate ourselves to the infirmities of such a 
 man as Mr. Pope." 
 
182 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Soon after Garrick's purchase at Hampton Court, 
 he was showing Dr. Johnson the grounds, the 
 house, Shakspeare's temple, &c. ; and concluded by 
 asking him, "Well, Doctor, how do you like all 
 this ? " — " Why, it is pleasant enough," growled the 
 Doctor, " for the present ; but all these things, 
 David, make death very teirible." 
 
 At another time, on Garrick's showing him a 
 magnificent library full of books in most elegant 
 bindings, the Doctor began running over the 
 volumes in his usual coarse and negligent man- 
 ner, which was by opening the book so wide as 
 almost to break the back of it, and then flung them 
 down one by one on the floor with contempt. — 
 " Zounds ! " said Garrick, who was in tortures all 
 this time; "why, what are you about there? 
 You'll spoil all my books ! " — " No, sir," cried 
 Johnson; "I have done nothing but treat a pack 
 of silly plays in fops' dresses just as they deserve, 
 but I see no looks." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 183 
 
 Mrs. Cholmondeley, having subscribed for forty 
 copies of Dr. Johnson's Shakspeare, told Mr. 
 Murphy that she wished to pay the money into 
 the Doctor's own hands, for the pleasure of being 
 introduced to him. A day was accordingly ap- 
 pointed, and they called upon Johnson, who at 
 this time lived in Gray's Inn, about one o'clock. 
 They rapped at the outer door of his chambers for 
 some time, but no person appearing, they were 
 on the point of going away when they heard 
 somebody bustling towards the door, which, when 
 opened, exhibited the Doctor just risen from his 
 bed, in his shirt, without a night-cap, and in bis 
 hand a certain utensil which (from some unac- 
 countable absence of mind) he carried steadily 
 before him. Startled at such a sight, the lady 
 wished to retire ; . but the Doctor, with great sang- 
 froid, desired them to step into the next room till 
 he was dressed, and then very deliberately walked 
 back to his bed-chamber. 
 
 ■V\Tien Garrick was a boy, on his dining at Dr. 
 Warburton's table with his father, he was asked 
 
184 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 to take a glass of wine, whicli, as he was not 
 used to it at his own house, he declined, and said 
 he would rather have a glass of beer. — "'So, 
 no, young gentleman," cried the Doctor; "take 
 your wine : people who drink beer generally think 
 beer." 
 
 A clergyman being much pressed by a lady of 
 his acquaintance to preach a sermon on the first 
 Sunday after her marriage, complied, and chose 
 the following passage in the Psalms for his text : — 
 " And let there be abundance of peace, while the 
 moon endureth." 
 
 Henry III. of France could not stay in the room 
 where there was a cat; though so immoderately 
 fond of dogs, that the Duke de Sully says, on his 
 first audience he had a basket full of young 
 puppies suspended by a black string from his neck, 
 and was playing with them all the time of the 
 conference. 
 
 The Duke d'Epernon would faint at the sight of 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 185 
 
 a leveret; Marshal d' Albert could not endure a 
 a wild boar nor a sucking . pig ; Ulidislas, King of 
 Poland, was distracted at the sight of apples ; 
 nor could Erasmus even smell fish without being 
 greatly agitated. . 
 
 Scaliger trembled at the sight of water-cresses; 
 Tycho Brahe felt his limbs sink under him when 
 he met either a hare or a fox ; Bacon swooned at 
 the eclipse of the moon; and Boyle fell into con- 
 vulsions on hearing the sound of water drawn from 
 a cock. 
 
 James I. could not endure the sight of a drawn 
 sword; and Sir Kenelm Digby tells us, "that the 
 King's hand shook so much in knighting him, that 
 he would have run the point of the sword into his 
 eye if the Duke of Buckingham had not directed 
 it to his shoulder. 
 
 La Motte de Vayer could not endure music, 
 but delighted in thunder. An Englishman in the 
 seventeenth century was near expiring whenever the 
 fifty-third chapter of Isaiah was read to him ; and a 
 Spaniard, about the same period, fell into a syncope 
 when he heard the word lana (wool) mentioned, 
 though his coat was made of that substance. 
 
186 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 "And I, myself," said Foote, when listening 
 to these anecdotes, "remember a London alder- 
 man who in general ate in a fine aldermanic 
 style, but turned pale at the sight of a sirloin 
 of roast beef. Now, there was a pretty fellow 
 for you ; libelling a whole corporation by his 
 own absurdity." 
 
 Mr. Taylor (familiarly called by his acquaint- 
 ance "honest Tom Taylor") had been a wealthy 
 brewer, but retired to Hammersmith, where he oc- 
 casionally entertained with great hospitality many 
 of the wits and hon-vivants of his day. Foote 
 often was one of this party. On Taylor's making 
 an apology one day for the badness of his dessert, 
 by saying that his garden had been robbed, the 
 week before, of some of the finest and ripest 
 fruit he had seen for many years — "Why, as 
 to your being robbed," said Foote, "that I am 
 inclined to believe ; but with respect to the 
 ripeness of your fruit, my dear Tom, I must beg 
 leave to differ with you, as I heard they caused 
 a great reaching." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 187 
 
 Foote being one night very merry at the " Bed- 
 ford" coffee-house, the conversation happened to 
 turn on the abilities of Mr. Garrick as an actor, 
 when, amongst many compliments to him, it was 
 observed as something extraordinary, that though 
 he was so excellent an actor himself, he was far 
 from being lucky in his pupils. "Why, yes," 
 replied Foote, " he is something like the famous 
 running-horse Childers ; the best racer in England 
 himself, but could never get a colt." 
 
 On Mrs. Yates rehearsing one morning at Drury 
 Lane Theatre a new part of a tragic princess, 
 where at her death a flourish of trumpets was 
 necessary, Hopkins, the prompter, doubtful whether 
 it was proper to go through the whole ceremony 
 at that time, walked up softly to her as she lay 
 seemingly dead upon the stage, and whispered, 
 " Madam ! Madam ! " — " Well, what does the man 
 want ? " — " Only, Madam, to know whether you 
 would have the flourish now, or wait for it till 
 night." 
 
188 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Taswell, the player, was originally bred at 
 Oxford, and designed for the Church; but from 
 some of those unaccountable events . which decide 
 the fate of i characters, he neglected everyj;hing 
 for the stage— a profession that seemed to re- 
 ject .him, as he never could rise above the station 
 of a low comedian. But his humour was original ; 
 and as a performer he was not only a favourite, 
 but his jokes bore the currency of the day round 
 Covent Garden. , i. , 
 
 His wife was (in the technical language of 
 the theatre) a dresser and - ^property woman, ; but 
 one evening, in distributing the properties of the 
 play, making some mistake, which he felt in his 
 own character, he said. nothing to. her till. he got 
 her home, and then th.us addressed her : "Madam, 
 as you are my wife, I must forgive .you this 
 little favx pas ; but having offended me as one 
 of the company, I must chastise • you ; " which 
 he did corporally. 
 
 On Garrick's reprimanding him one morning 
 for coming late to reheairsal, he made many 
 awkward apologies about not knowing the time, 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 189 
 
 &c. " Why, have you no : watch ? " : asked ' Gar- 
 rick. — " No," growled Taswell. — " What , has be- 
 come of it ? " — " It is at the pawnbroker's." — 
 " And how do you contriTe to rise and ■ go about 
 your business?" — "By the cries of the town," 
 said Taswell: "I rise with the old- clothes -man, 
 dine with ' the dog's meat and cat's ■ meat, ho ! ' 
 get to the playhouse by the milkman, and go to 
 bed by the tune of Hippesly's ' Drunken Man ' ; " 
 all of which he mimicked in - such a whimsical 
 manner as soon made his best apology with the 
 manager. 
 
 Having once a green-room wrangle with Mrs 
 Clive, he concluded his remarks upon her by 
 saying, " Madam, I have • heard of tartar and 
 Irimstone, and know the effects of both ; but 
 you are the cream of one and the flower of the 
 other." 
 
 Havard the actor (better known, from the 
 urbanity of his manners, by the familiar name 
 of Billy Havard) had the misfortune to be mar- 
 
190 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 ried to a most notorious shrew and druflkard. 
 One day, dining at Garrick's, he was complain- 
 ing of a violent pain in his side. Mrs. Garrick 
 offered to prescribe for him. " Ko, no," said 
 her husband ; " that wiU not do, my dear ; Billy 
 has mistaken his disorder ; his great complaint 
 lies in his ribs." 
 
 Baddeley,' who was a good low comedian, par- 
 ticularly in the cast of foreign footmen, had 
 been originally a cook in the royal kitchen; 
 but being constantly dangling about the play- 
 houses, Foote engaged him as one of his com- 
 pany when he opened the Haymarket Theatre 
 about the year 1761. Many years after this, 
 supposing himself ill-used by the manager, he 
 resented it in very lofty language, and told him, 
 among other things, "that he had not treated 
 him like a gentleman." — " Like a gentleman ! " 
 said Foote in surprise. "How can you be such 
 an ungrateful varlet, when you know I made 
 a gentleman of you by taking your spit from 
 the fire and placing it ly your side ? " 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. • 191 
 
 Foote, in walking about, his own grounds at 
 North End one morning with a friend, spied dash- 
 ing towards them on the" Fulham road two per- 
 sons in one of those high phaetons so much the 
 yogue. of that day.. "Is. not that Moody," said 
 he, " in that strange three-pair-of-stairs phaeton ? " 
 — " Yes," said his friend ; " and Mr. Johnson, 
 the stockbroker, with . him ; . and yet I wonder 
 how he can leave his, business, for I think this 
 is no holiday." — "Why, no," said Foote; "I think 
 not; except they choose to call this ascension 
 day." 
 
 Garrick, when he was in Paris, dining at the 
 table of the Duke of Mvernois, with Preville, the 
 celebrated comic actor, and several distinguished 
 characters, the conversation turned upon the stage, 
 when several compliments' were paid Preville, on 
 his imitation of a drunken man on horseback. 
 Garrick, excited by a kind of emulation, said " he 
 had himself often occasion to imitate a drunken 
 man on the stage, but never on horseback ; he 
 should therefore be very happy to take a lesson 
 
192 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 from Monsieur Preville." Both these great masters 
 then agreed to give specimens of their art, when 
 the Duke adjudged the prize' to Garrick, by say- 
 ing, "he was not only, drunk in his face and 
 general manners, but ' drunker- in his knees than 
 Preville." 
 
 During his stay in Paris he visited the cele- 
 brated Madame Clairon. In ' the course of con- 
 versation with her, he asked if she had ever heard 
 the gamut of the passions.—" E"o," said she.-^" Then 
 I will show you," replied Garrick, and instantly 
 began with his voice and countenance to run over 
 the whole scale and compass of them, in such a 
 manner as delighted and surprised her. 
 
 It was a remark of his, that ,as, soon as any, 
 of his performers set up their carriages, they were 
 immediately followed by bailiffs., 
 
 He was always against the practice of women 
 acting men's parts, and said "it was as unnatural 
 as for men to act women's parts. They might 
 
^^Mm^x/j^, 
 
 ^/|^/. 
 
BON-MOTS OP SAMUEL FOOTE. 193 
 
 for a time please the million, from, many causes 
 very remote from good ' acting ;' but to a critical 
 eye they ' were most ■ ridiculous." ' When > Mrs. 
 Woffington was urged as a' contrary example, he 
 said, "No. To be sure, iffir Harry Wildair (from 
 her person, and her living so "much in the habits 
 of men in preference to her own sex) was a great 
 effort; but it was still a woman's effort, and not 
 the character." 
 
 One night, during . the winter ■ before Garrick 
 went to Italy, the cash receipts of Drury Lane 
 Theatre (though he ' and ' Mrs. ■ Gibber performed 
 in the same play) amounted to only three pounds 
 fifteen shillings and sixpence ! • ' 
 
 It was well enough said by a natural critic, 
 that the principal' difference between' a comedy 
 and tragedy was, that the former generally con- 
 cluded in a church, and the other in a church- 
 yard. 
 
1st THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 The celebrated Kitty D , who was of the 
 
 bed-chamber pf Queen Caroline, was so great 
 a favourite at Court that she formed almost the 
 centre of attraction . there. " What can be the 
 reason of this?" said a noble Lord one day, ad- 
 dressing Lady Townshend. " Kitty is neither very 
 young nor very beautiful, nor in my opinion has 
 she a. great deal, of wit; therefore what degree of 
 merit has she in causing this general attraction ? " 
 — " Oh, my Lord," said her Ladyship, " Kitty 
 might have the merit of being willing." 
 
 It was well observed , by- her Ladyship, on 
 what are commonly called white lies, that, they 
 are very often the; gentlemen-ushers of Hack 
 ones. 
 
 Somebody speaking disrespectfully of the punc- 
 tilioes of good-breeding and politeness, she ob- 
 served,, "that though they may be sometimes 
 misunderstood or carried to excess, they were 
 good screens from many ugly sights." 
 
 The same lady remarked, "that carelessness 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 195 
 
 was little better than a half-way house between 
 accident and design." 
 
 She had always a strange opinion of the Bristol 
 family, and used to say, " that Providence seemed 
 to have made three kinds of people instead of two ; 
 namely, men, women, and the Harveys." 
 
 When her son, the Marquis of Townshend, was 
 about to receive an addition to his hereditary 
 honours, he first sent in his adopted title as 
 Marquis of Raynham (the name of the family 
 seat in Norfolk). On his telling his mother of 
 this, circumstance immediately afterwards, she asked 
 him why he should prefer the title of the estate 
 to the family Tiame, which was always respectable' 
 and would remain ; whereas lands and tenements 
 were perpetually changing masters ; repeating the 
 well-known lines of Pope : — 
 
 " Shades that to Baeoa a retreat afford, 
 Become the portion of some booby Lord ; 
 And Hemsley, once proud Buckingham's delight, 
 Slides to a scrivener, or a city knight." 
 
 His Lordship entered into her ideas, and was 
 
196 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 just in time at the Heralds' Office to make the 
 alteration. 
 
 Seeing the Duke of Newcastle one morning 
 bustling through the levee, " Oh, here comes New- 
 castle," said she. — " Lord ! he seems in a wondrous 
 hurry," said • a lady near • her. — " Oh, not more 
 than usual, my dear," said the Dowager; "the 
 Duke always appears as if he had lost an hour 
 in the morning, and was looking for it all day 
 long." 
 
 A lady railing against the vices of the present 
 times, and asserting that no preceding age was 
 half so profligate, Lady Townshend very gravely 
 asked her, " Pray, Madam, what do you think of 
 Mrs. Potiphar and the two Misses Lot ? " 
 
 Lady Greenwich, who was in the habit of taking 
 a great quantity of Havana snuff, was reproved 
 by an old lady of her acquaintance before her 
 husband (then Charles Townshend) for using so 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 197 
 
 much of it ; " and you, sir," added she, " should 
 be the first to break her off this custom." — "TSo" 
 said the husband, with great coolness, " she may 
 take as much Havana as she pleases,' provided 
 she, does not follow Lord Albemarle's method.* 
 
 Mr. Lockman, who was a great connoisseur in 
 music, was the composer of that very popular 
 ballad, " How canst thou^ lovely Nancy ? " &c, which 
 at the time of its publication (1758), and many 
 years afterwards,' was the ' rage not only at the 
 public gardens, but of all the young musical people 
 in the' three kingdoms.' Being at an exhibition 
 of pictures one day, a gentleman with two lovely 
 daughters hanging on 'his arms saw him sitting in 
 the corner of the room, and willing to show them 
 the author of a song they so much admired, pointed 
 him' out to them. "Oh! where, where, papa?" 
 said the girls ' eagerly. — " There," said the father, 
 repeatedly pointing to the spot. — " What ! that 
 
 * Lord Albemarle, who had a command in the successful expe- 
 dition against Havana, was so ill with the gout during the period 
 of active operations that he was confined to his bed. 
 
198 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Ugly old fright in the snuff-coloured suit of 
 clothes ? " said the eldest, fetching a deep sigh. 
 " Oh ! I hope not." 
 
 Foote, as has heen before observed, took all 
 occasions to illustrate the humour of the Irish 
 character; and, among others, told the following 
 anecdote of Lord Chief Justice Clayton :- — 
 
 This learned judge (an Englishman), on his 
 appointment to the head of the Eing's Bench in 
 Ireland, understood very little of the laws and 
 customs of that country. He was one day observ- 
 ing to Counsellor Harwood (a celebrated Irish wit), 
 that, numerous as the English laws were, one was 
 found to be a Icey to the other ; " whereas here," 
 said he, " it is just the contrary ; as your laws are 
 so continually clashing, that, upon my word, at 
 times / don't clearly uriderstand them." — " Very 
 true indeed, my Lord," cried the Counsellor very 
 gravely ; " tlmt's what we all say!' 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 199 
 
 Talking of pantomimes one evening at North 
 End, Foote gave the following extemporary account 
 of them : — 
 
 " Aulus Gellius mentions Harlequins in the time 
 of the Eomans ; and in • the eleventh and twelfth 
 centuries the Italian priests invented what they 
 called a familiar Harlequin, which met people in 
 cross-roads and solitary places, to frighten them 
 in order to induce them to go a-crusading or to 
 pay for the remission of their sins. 
 
 "The players about the middle of the fifteenth 
 century, seeing what a profitable thing the clergy 
 made of Harlequin, took him into their company, 
 and made a species of dramatic entertainment in 
 which he was the principal actor. Eich, the 
 patentee of Covent Garden Theatre, introduced 
 Harlequin into England; and my friend Harry," 
 turning about to Woodward, who sat next to him, 
 "has since identified him as a thorough-bred 
 English character." 
 
 A young man of fashion was complaining to 
 Eoote that he had lost a large sum of money at 
 
200 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 the gaming-table the night before ; and, what was 
 more extraordinary, that he lost it upon twelve 
 casts of a die successively. " Not at all extra- 
 ordinary," said Foote; "Shakspeare has explained 
 the cause many years ago : ■. 
 
 " The earth hath bubbles, as the water hath." 
 
 Soon after the charge of an assault was brought 
 against Foote, he was gallanting it with one of 
 the actresses in the green-room, when a gentleman 
 asked Lord Townshend who she was. " I don't 
 exactly know her name," said his Lordship ; " but 
 I suppose she's one of Foote 's alibis." 
 
 Foote experienced a number of vicissitudes in 
 life, ■ sometimes up and often down ; he kept his 
 carriage when he first set out in life, and put it 
 down soon after; when he set it up again, he 
 changed his motto, and chose Iterum (i.e., again). 
 Soon, however,- misfortunes obliged him to dispose 
 of it; about a twelvemonth after he found means 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 201 
 
 to get another, and now the motto was again 
 changed, and instead of Iterum, it was Iterum 
 Iterumgue (i.e., again and again). 
 
 When Foote went to live at Hammersmith he 
 took a house that was advertised to be completely 
 furnished. But he had not been there long, be- 
 fore the cook complained there was never a roll- 
 ing-pin. " N"o ? " said he ; " then bring me a saw — •! 
 will soon make one." Which he accordingly did, 
 of one of the mahogany bed-posts. The next day 
 it was discovered there was wanting a coal-scuttle ; 
 and he supplied this deficiency with a drawer from 
 a curious japan chest of drawers. There was 
 never a carpet in the parlour, and he ordered a 
 new white cotton counterpane to be laid, to save 
 the boards. His landlord paying him a visit, to en- 
 quire how he liked his new residence, was greatly 
 astonished to find such disorder, as he considered 
 it ; he remonstrated to Foote, and complained of 
 the injury his furniture had sustained; but the 
 genius insisted upon it, that all the complaint was 
 
 
 
202 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 on his side, considering the trouble he had been 
 at to supply those necessaries, notwithstanding 
 he had advertised his house completely furnished. 
 The landlord now threatened the law ; and Foote 
 threatened to take him off, saying an auctioneer 
 was a fruitful character. This last consideration 
 weighed with the landlord, and he quietly put up 
 with his loss. 
 
 Foote was once asked why learned men are to 
 be found in rich men's houses, and rich men never 
 to be seen in those of the learned ! " Why," says 
 he, " the first know what they want, but the latter 
 do not." 
 
 Horace Walpole dining with the Duchess of 
 Queensberry on her birthday (when she had just 
 finished her eightieth year), soon after the cloth 
 was removed, he very politely drank her health 
 in a bumper, and added, " May you live, my Lady 
 Duchess, till you begin to grow ugly ! " — " I thank 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 203 
 
 j-ou, Mr. Walpole," replied lier Grace ; " aud may 
 you long continue your taste for antiquities ! " 
 
 Pope and Gay complimenting her Grace one day 
 on her great personal and mental accomplishments, 
 she said, " Ay, gentlemen ; all this is very fine 
 and far-fetched, but 'tis nothing after all to my 
 little dust-cart man." This exciting their curi- 
 osity, she told them, that soon after she was 
 married, as she was crossing on foot from her 
 house in Albemarle Street to Devonshire House, 
 dressed in a plain linen gown, and without a 
 footman, she heard a voice repeatedly cry out 
 " Pretty maid ! pretty maid ! " At last, turning 
 round to know who addressed her in that familiar 
 manner, she saw a little dustman in the middle 
 of his cart, who cried out, " Do, my pretty maid, 
 lend me your two fine blue eyes to light my pipe 
 with." 
 
 This well-known patroness of Gay pressed 
 George the Second very much to have Gay's opera 
 of Polly, which was meant as a sequel to the 
 Beggar's Opera, licensed. The Minister, however. 
 
204 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 having settled it otherwise, the King put it off 
 from time to time. At last, urging it very 
 strongly one day, she offered to read it to his 
 Majesty in the closet, when he would be convinced 
 there were no objectionable passages. — " Oh ! my 
 Lady Duchess," said the King, "I shall certainly 
 see you in my closet with a great deal of pleasure ; 
 but I hope, when we meet there, we shall have 
 better business to do than reading of plays." 
 
 Dr. H and Dr. W sitting after dinner 
 
 at the house of the latter, the conversation turned 
 on The Divine Legation of Moses. They both 
 seemed to agree in the principles of the book, 
 but differed widely about the meaning of some 
 
 particular passages. Dr. W defended, and Dr. 
 
 H opposed ; and both with a degree of warmth 
 
 unusual to such friends and philosophers. Mrs. 
 W — ton, during this time, was .employed on some 
 needle- work at the lower end of the table ; when, 
 raising her eyes with a kind of astonishment, and 
 looking them both full in the face, she exclaimed : 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE, 205 
 
 " Hey-day, gentlemen, where is the occasion for 
 all this noise and wrangle; when, to my certain 
 hnmcledge, neither of you believe one single 
 syllable of the matter ? " 
 
 An anecdote, somewhat similar to this, is told 
 of the first Lord Shaftsbury; who, conversing with 
 another gentlemen on the great variety of sects 
 in the world, at last concluded with observing, 
 "that notwithstanding this, all men of sense were 
 nearly of the same religion." — "And pray, my 
 Lord," said a niece of Lady Shaftsbury's, who over- 
 heard the conversation, " what religion is that ? " 
 — " That, my dear," said his Lordship, " men of 
 sense never tell." 
 
 Before Foote made his first trip to Scotland, 
 he was inquiring of an old Highlander who had 
 been formerly prompter to the Edinburgh theatre, 
 about the general condition of the country with 
 respect to travelling, living, habits, manners, &c. ; 
 of all which the Scot gave him a very minute 
 
206 . THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 and favourable account. " You amaze me/' said 
 Foote : " why then, I suppose, with about three 
 hundred a year one may live like a gentleman in 
 your country." — "In truth, Master Foote," replied 
 his informer, " I cannot tell that ; for as I never 
 knew a man who spent half that sum, I don't 
 know what may come into his head who would 
 attempt to squander the whole." 
 
 Mrs. Foote was kept so much in the back- 
 ground by the gay, licentious, eccentric life of 
 her husband, that little is known of her history ; 
 except that she was the very reverse of him. 
 Mildness and forbearance seemed to be the lead- 
 ing features of her character; and these qualities 
 could serve as no lasting checks upon a man of 
 his temper. Implicated, however, as she was, 
 in the fate of her husband, she furnishes the 
 following anecdotes : — 
 
 Dr. Nash, of Worcester, being in town one 
 spring, not long after Foote's marriage, intended 
 to pay his old fellow-collegian a visit, but was 
 
EON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 207 
 
 much surprised at hearing that he was in the 
 Fleet prison. Thither he hastened directly ; and 
 found him in a dirty two-pair-of-stairs back room, 
 with furniture every way suitable to such an apart- 
 ment. The Doctor, shocked at this circumstance, 
 began to condole with him; when Foote cut him 
 short by turning the whole into raillery : " Why, 
 is not this better," said he, "than the gout, the 
 fever, the small-pox, and 
 
 " The thousand various ills 
 That flesh is heir to ? " 
 
 This is a mere temporary confinement ; without 
 pain, and not very uncongenial (let me tell you) 
 to this sharp biting weather: whereas the above 
 disorders would not only give pain and confine- 
 ment for a time, but perhaps ultimately prevent 
 a man from ever going into the world again." 
 
 Laughing on in this manner, the Doctor per- 
 ceived something stir behind him in the bed ; 
 upon which he got up, and said he would call 
 another time — " No, no," said the other ; " sit 
 down : 'tis nothing but my Foot." — " Your foot ! " 
 said the Doctor: "well, I want no apologies; I 
 
208 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 shall call another time." — " I tell you again," said 
 the other, "'tis nothing but my Foot; and to con- 
 vince you of its being no more, it shall speak to 
 you directly." Upon this his poor wife put her 
 head from under the bed-clothes ; and, with much 
 confusion and embarrassment, made many apologies 
 for her distressed situation. 
 
 A connection formed on such discordant prin- 
 ciples, could not be supposed to be either very 
 endearing or permanent. He accordingly at one 
 time took it into his head (as he said, "to make 
 her life more comfortable") to part from her: 
 but after an absence of some months, his friends 
 remonstrating on the injustice to a woman who 
 had never offended him, an accommodation was 
 brought about ; and one Costello (an inferior 
 player belonging to Drury Lane, but one of 
 Foote's laughing junto) was commissioned to carry 
 the lady to Blackheath, where her husband then 
 resided. 
 
 They were to travel in a one-horse chaise from 
 town ; and Costello, who always piqued himself 
 upon being a capital driver, ran so close to a 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOGTE. 209 
 
 broad-wheeled waggon as to throw them both 
 into the middle of a ditch; where they were 
 not only well covered with dirt, but the lady 
 had her face much bruised and disfigured. 
 
 Mr. Murphy, who was to be one of the party 
 at this reconciliation dinner, arrived soon after; 
 and meeting Foote in the back parlour, asked 
 whether the lady had yet arrived. " Oh yes," 
 said Poote; "you will find her above in the draw- 
 ing-room: and there you may learn geogra^phy 
 from her face, as it is a complete map of the 
 world. On one side you may see the hl'm 
 Tnountains ; on the other, the Hack forests: here 
 the Bed Sea; and here" (pointing to his fore- 
 head) "you may evidently behold the rocks of 
 Scilly." 
 
 The celebrated philosopher, Dr. Benjamin Frank- 
 lin, though very different in general temper and 
 l)abits, was not unknown to Foote and his junto, 
 whose wit he often relished as a seasoning to 
 deeper thoughts and graver studies. 
 
 The Doctor speaking of those early and acci- 
 
210 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 dental inducements which lead the mind to par- 
 ticular arts or sciences, gave another testimony 
 to the opinion of Dr. Johnson and others, "that 
 he who would perfect his style, should turn over 
 the pages of Addison by day and by night;" 
 as it was by stumbling accidentally, he said, on 
 an odd volume of the Spectator, when a boy, 
 that he was first induced to become a reader, 
 and afterwards a writer. His method, which is 
 given here as no inconsiderable example, was as 
 follows : — 
 
 " I was delighted," said he, " with the style 
 of the Spectator ; and was desirous, if possible, 
 to imitate it. In order to succeed, I selected 
 some of the papers, made short summaries of 
 the sense of each period, and laid them aside 
 for some days; after which I endeavoured, with- 
 out looking at the original, to recompose the 
 essay; and to express at length each thought 
 as it was in the book, employing only such 
 phrases as occurred to my own mind." 
 
 By degrees this plan succeeded; and though 
 he wanted the finished graces of an Addisonian, 
 style (and who has been able to catch them ?), 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 211 
 
 he acquired a familiarity of expression, and a 
 correctness of thinking, which perhaps without 
 this aid he would never have been able to 
 attain. 
 
 Swift had strength and precision, Dryden often 
 united elegance to strength, and Bolingbroke was 
 happy in both; but Addison had a grace in 
 writing, with such a well-bred familiarity in ex- 
 pression, independent of his judgment as a critic 
 and a moralist, as rendered him an unique among 
 English writers. 
 
 Dr. Franklin once examining a boy at the 
 request of his father, relative to the progress 
 he had made in his learning, found him offering 
 excuses for almost everything which he should 
 have done. This he listened to for some time 
 with great patience, and very much to the boy's 
 satisfaction, who thought he had deceived him: 
 at last he said, in his usual grave manner : "I 
 grant you, young gentleman, you have been very 
 ingenious in your apologies for not doing your 
 duty ; and as such I must report you to your 
 father : but this I must likewise tell him as well 
 
212 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 as you, — that the boy who is good at excuses is 
 generally good for nothing else." 
 
 When people who had got together a little 
 money in trade, used to be capriciously wishing 
 to live in the country (without having a single 
 quality or habit to fit them for agriculture, its 
 pursuit, or enjoyments), he would drily ask, " What 
 do you think of the country for ? " The answer 
 usually was, " Oh ! because I am tired of the 
 town." — "And for this reason," replied he, "you 
 want to re-tire in the country." 
 
 On the subject of natural and artificial educa- 
 tion, he used to tell the following anecdote : — 
 
 On the conclusion of some treaty between a 
 party of Indians with the Council of Pennsylvania, 
 the latter offered to the former to educate some 
 of their young men according to the modes of 
 civilised life. The Indians, after duly consider- 
 ing the proposal, declined the offer ; asking, at the 
 same time, " What can we get by the exchange of 
 education ? You cannot walk so fast, nor so well, 
 as we can. You cannot fight so well, nor are you 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 213 
 
 such good marksmen. Our wants are fewer ; our 
 distinctions less : without jealousy, ambition, &c. 
 But as you mean to live friendly with us, we are 
 ready to communicate these blessings to you; by 
 educating, from time to time, a number of the 
 young men of your nation." 
 
 When he heard people say " they were tired of 
 a thing," merely through a want of proper perseverr 
 ance, he used to reply, " Well, do as married people 
 do ; tire and hegin again." 
 
 Franklin's father was a Puritan of the old 
 stamp-; and with other peculiarities of this sect, 
 was accustomed to precede all his meals with 
 long prayers, and sometimes to say grace over 
 every particular dish. This not agreeing with the 
 impatience of young Franklin's appetite, who was 
 then about eleven years old, he determined to give 
 his father a broad hint. Accordingly, when, at 
 the beginning of winter, he was, as usual, busy in 
 salting provisions for the season, he asked his 
 father, " whether it would not be better to crave 
 a blessing, once for all, on the whole cask of pro- 
 
214 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 visions, tlien ; as it would be a wonderful saving 
 of time in future." 
 
 His peculiar talent was that of illustrating 
 subjects by apposite anecdotes. When he was 
 agent here for the province of Pennsylvania, he 
 was frequently applied to by the ministry for his 
 opinion respecting the operation of the Stamp 
 Act; but his answer was uniformly the same, 
 "that the people of America would never submit 
 to it." 
 
 After the news of the destruction of the stamped 
 papers had arrived in England, the ministry again 
 sent for the Doctor to consult with; and in con- 
 clusion offered this proposal : " That if the Americans 
 would engage to pay for the damage done in the 
 destruction of the stamped paper, &c., the Parlia- 
 ment would then repeal the Act." 
 
 The Doctor, having paused upon' this question 
 for some time, at last answered it as follows : — 
 
 "This puts me in mind of a Frenchman, who, 
 having heated a poker red-hot, ran furiously into 
 the street, and addressing the first Englishman he 
 met there, ' Hah ! monsieur, voulez-vous give me 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 215 
 
 de plaisir, de satisfaction, to let me run this poker 
 only one foot into your body ? ' — ' My body ! ' 
 replied the Englishman : ' what do you mean ? ' — 
 ' Vel den, only so far,' marking about six inches. 
 ' Are you mad ? ' returned the other ; ' I tell you, 
 if you don't go about your business, I'll knock you 
 down.' — ' Vel den,' said the Frenchman, soften- 
 ing his voice and manner; 'vil you, my good sire, 
 only be so obliging as to pay me for the trouble 
 and expense of heating this poker ? ' " 
 
 When any one was for proving the fortune 
 and respectability of another by the number of 
 servants, carriages, &c., the Doctor used to reply, 
 " Well, well ; this may be your opinion, and the 
 opinion of many people: but I have not yet 
 learnt that extravagance is the criterion of fortune 
 or independence." 
 
 Foote was inclined to think that John Home 
 was not the sole author of the tragedy of Douglas ; 
 as he had often heard from some old members of 
 
216 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 the Scotch bar that he was assisted in it by a 
 junto of clever young men, who belonged to a 
 club of which Home was a member, and particu- 
 larly by the father of Lord Minto. This gentle- 
 man's subsequent tragedies seem to warrant this 
 opinion. 
 
 Mr. Fortescue (afterwards Master of the EoUs), 
 when a lawyer on the western circuit, wrote a 
 letter' to Mr, Pope in the year 1727, stating that 
 " one Lemuel Gulliver had a cause there, and lost 
 it on the iU reputation he had of being a most 
 notorious liar ; " and an Irish judge told some 
 person of Swift's acquaintance very gravely, that 
 " he looked upon the whole of Gulliver's Travels 
 (whatever other persons might think of them) to be 
 one continued heap of improbable lies." 
 
 Dr. Arbuthnot says, that Lord Scarborough 
 (who was no inventor of stories) told him that 
 he happened to be in company with a master of 
 a ship, who said that " he was very well acquainted 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 217 
 
 with Mr. Gulliver, but that the printer had made 
 a mistake; for it was at Wapping, and not at 
 JRotherhithe, that the Captain lived." 
 
 In another place Dr. Arbuthnot says : " I lent 
 Gulliver's Travels to an old gentleman to read, 
 who, putting on his spectacles, went very deliber- 
 ately to his map to look for Lilliput." 
 
 Foote was of opinion that Pope's learning was 
 rather elegant and' superficial than deep and 
 erudite ; " and if we believe Voltaire," said he, 
 " he did not understand even the French lan- 
 guage ; though all his biographers say that he 
 made himself master of the French when he re- 
 moved from Binfield to Hyde Park Corner." 
 
 This being doubted by some of the company, 
 he turned to a volume of Voltaire, where (in his 
 characters of English writers) he says that "Pope 
 could hardly read French, spoke not one word 
 of the language, nor ever wrote a syllable of it, 
 nor was he capable;" and all this he does not 
 
218 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 say to lower the poet, ■whom ia other respects 
 he praises most lavishly, but to prove that he 
 did not write a letter in French (as he was 
 reported to have done) to Eacine, the son of the 
 celebrated poet; "for," adds he, "if he did, God 
 must certainly have endowed him with the gift 
 of tongues, by way of recompense for having 
 composed so wonderful a work as the Essay on 
 Man." 
 
 Davenport (the tailor), who acquired a con- 
 siderable fortune with a good character, asked 
 Foote for a motto for his coach. "Latin or 
 English?" asked the wit. — "Poh! English, to be 
 sure; I don't want to set up for a scholar." — 
 " Then I have got one from Hamlet that will 
 match you to a button-hole: 'List/ list! oh, 
 list!'" 
 
 Dr. Thompson, who was a celebrated physician 
 in his day, and who was equally remarkable for 
 the slovenliness of his person, could not endure 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 219 
 
 the sight of muffins, and in his medical capacity 
 always reprobated them as very unwholesome. On 
 his breakfasting one morning at Lord Melcombe's 
 when Garrick was present, and a plate of muffins 
 being introduced, the Doctor grew outrageous, 
 and vehemently called out, " Take away the 
 muffins ! take away the muffins ! " — " No, no," 
 said Garrick, seizing the plate; "take away the 
 ragamuffins." 
 
 Dr. James is said to have been indebted for 
 the discovery of the celebrated powder long 
 known by his name to a German called Swan- 
 berg; but such is generally the fate of original 
 inventors, that the German died almost starving, 
 while James, and many of his successors in the 
 sale of this medicine, rode in their coaches. 
 
 James, being once asked his opinion of the 
 difference between a doctor and an apothecary, 
 replied, "it did not become him to decide on 
 such a delicate point; however, he would tell 
 
220 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 the company an anecdote which perhaps might 
 elucidate the question. 
 
 " A monlcey belonging to a gentleman's house in 
 the country observed the butler one day go into 
 the cellar, take the spigot out of the barrel, draw 
 himself a jug of ale, and then return it into the 
 barrel again. When the butler went away, Jacko, 
 who wi^ed to be an imitator vnthout the capacity 
 of his original, drew the spigot out of the barrel, 
 but, 710^ knowing how to stop it again, let the beer 
 run all about the place, while he frisked up and 
 down stairs in the greatest fright and confusion 
 imaginable.'' 
 
 Foote was an enthusiastic admirer of Shak- 
 speare, and frequently, in the course of dramatic 
 conversation, would point out particular beauties 
 which had escaped the research of his commen- 
 tators. He one day asserted, "that it would not 
 be difficult to find passages in Shakspeare which 
 are not strictly correct either in sense or gram- 
 mar, yet carry the meaning so warmly and ob- 
 viously to everybody's mind as no other words 
 
(}C<^ q^fvr^^ 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 221 
 
 could convey it. This," added he, "was the 
 witchery of the poet, who, by the inspiration 
 of his Muse, could 'snatch a grace beyond the 
 reach of art.' " 
 
 Everybody who knew Goldsmith intimately 
 must have known that he was no less distin- 
 guished as a poet than for the eccentricities and 
 varieties of his character, being by turns vain 
 and humble, coarse and refined, judicious and 
 credulous. In one of his humiliating moments 
 he accidentally met with an old acquaintance 
 at a chop-house, soon after he had finished his 
 comedy of She Stoops to Conquer, and talk- 
 ing to him upon the subject, requested of him 
 as a friend, and as a critic whose judgment 
 he relied on, that he would give him an opinion 
 of it. 
 
 The Doctor then began to tell the particulars 
 of his plot, in his strange, uncouth, deranged 
 manner, which the other could only make out 
 to be, "that the principal part of the business 
 
222 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 turned upon one gentleman mistaking the house 
 of another for an inn ; " at which he shook his 
 head, observing at the same time, that he was 
 afraid the audience, under their then sentimental 
 impressions, would think it too broad and farcical 
 for comedy. 
 
 Goldsmith looked very serious at this, and 
 paused for some time. At last, taking him by 
 the hand, he piteously exclaimed, "I am much 
 obliged to you, my dear friend, for the candour 
 of your opinion; but it is aU I can do; for, 
 alas ! I find that my genius (if ever I had any) 
 has of late totally deserted me." 
 
 One of the performers of the Haymarket Theatre 
 was observing to Foote, " what a hum-drum kind 
 of man Dr. Goldsmith appeared to be in the green- 
 room, compared with the figure he made in his 
 poetry." — "The reason of that," said he, "is, be- 
 cause the Muses are better companions than the 
 players." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 223 
 
 One night, during the lectures on Oratory 
 (alluded to at p. 1 1 9) by Macklin, whilst en- 
 larging on the importance of exercising memory 
 as a habit, he took occasion to say that, to such 
 perfection had he brought his own, he could 
 learn anything by rote on once hearing it. Foote, 
 who was present, waited till the conclusion of the 
 lecture, and then, handing up the subjoined sen- 
 tences, desired that Macklin would be good enough 
 to read and afterwards repeat them from memory. 
 More amazing nonsense never was written : — 
 
 " So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage- 
 leaf, to make an apple-pie ; and at the same 
 time a great she-bear, coming up the street, pops 
 its head into the shop. ' What ! no soap ? ' 
 So he died, and she very imprudently married 
 the barber ; and there were present the Picninnies, 
 and the Joblilies, and the Garcelies, and the 
 Grand Panjandrum himself, with the little round 
 button at top ; and they all fell to playing the 
 game of catch as catch can, till the gunpowder 
 ran out at the heels of their boots." 
 
 It is needless to say that the laugh turned 
 against Macklin. 
 
224 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 On another occasion, whilst the lecturer was 
 expatiating on the prevalence of duelling in Ire- 
 land, and having begun at the earliest period of 
 Irish history, was now arrived at the reign of 
 Elizabeth, Foote called out " Order ! " that being 
 the recognised mode of intimating a wish to put 
 a question to the lecturer. "Well, sir," said 
 Macklin, " what have you to say upon this sub- 
 ject?" "I think, sir," said Toote, "this matter 
 might be settled in a few words. What o'clock is 
 it, sir ? " Macklin could not possibly see what the 
 clock had to do with a dissertation on duelling : 
 he gruffly retorted the hour to be half-past nine. 
 " Very well," said Foote, " about this time of the 
 night, every gentleman in Ireland that can pos- 
 sibly afford it is in his third bottle of claret, 
 and therefore in a fair way of getting drunk ; 
 and from drunkenness proceeds quarrelling, and 
 from quarrelling duelling, and so there is an end 
 of the chapter." The abridgment was so satis- 
 factory to the audience, the hour of the night 
 being considered, that Macklin had to shut up 
 his antiquarian disquisition in great dudgeon. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 225 
 
 Foote being in company where a Bishop was 
 at the table, and having spoken rather long on 
 a subject not agreeable, " When will the comedian 
 leave oS preaching ?" exclaimed his lordship. " Oh 
 sir, the moment I am made a Bishop," was the 
 reply. 
 
 " Why do you attack my weakest part ? " he 
 asked of one who had raised a laugh against 
 what Johnson calls his depeditation ; "do I ever 
 say anything about your head ? " 
 
 One night at his friend Delaval's, when the 
 glass had been circulating freely, one of the 
 party would suddenly have fixed a quarrel upon 
 him for his indulgence of personal satire. " Why, 
 what would you have?" exclaimed Foote, good- 
 humouredly putting it aside; "of course, I take 
 all my friends off, but I use them no worse than 
 myself, I take myself off." "Gadso!" cried the 
 malcontent, " that I should like to see ; " upon 
 which Foote took up his hat and left the room. 
 
226 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 " Pray," said a lady to Foote, " what sort of 
 
 man is Sir John D 1" — " Oh ! a very good 
 
 sort of man." — "But what do you call a good 
 sort of man ?." — " Why, Madam, one who pre- 
 serves all ihe exterior decencies of ignorance." 
 
 Laughing at the imbecilities of a common 
 friend one day, somebody observed, " it was very 
 
 surprising, as Tom D knew him very well, 
 
 and thought him far from being a fool." — " Ah, 
 poor Tom ! " said Foote ; " he is like one of those 
 people who eat garlic themselves, and therefore 
 can't smell it in a companion." 
 
 Foote used to tell the following anecdote of 
 a noble lord of his intimate acq[uaintance : — 
 
 This nobleman, liberal in his heart, though not 
 possessed of a fortune equal to all its demands, 
 had occasion to call together the leading members 
 in the county of which he was Lord Lieutenant, 
 towards a public subscription. Finding the pulse 
 of the audience not very strong towards it, he 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 227 
 
 began by putting down his own name for five 
 hundred pounds. On this his old steward im- 
 mediately took fire, and hobbling up to him, 
 whispered, " My Lord, my Lord, are you mad ? 
 Why, we have not five pounds in the house." — 
 " I know it, I know it, you old blockhead ; go 
 about your business;" then, raising his voice to 
 the clerk of the meeting, he cried, " Put me down 
 for five hundred pounds." 
 
 The liberality of this sum, and from a man 
 of such comparatively small fortune, seemed to in- 
 cite the whole assembly, and subscriptions poured 
 in apace. Here the matter rested till about a 
 month afterwards, when the collecting-clerk made 
 his best bow to his Lordship, requesting his sub- 
 scription money. " Subscription from me ! " said 
 his Lordship in surprise. "What! did not I 
 devise the ways and means by which you got 
 all this money ? And now you want to drag more 
 out of my own pocket ! Why, you unfeeling man, 
 would you kill your decoy-duck ? " 
 
228 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 At the time of Dr. Atterbury, Bishop of Eochester, 
 being banished from this kingdom by a decision of 
 the House of Lords, his Lordship's high character 
 as a scholar and a man of taste, and perhaps, 
 above all, his being a suffering Tory, induced some 
 of the first persons in the country to propose 
 a subscription for his future support. It was 
 scarcely opened, when it was filled by all the 
 Right Honourables and Honourables of his party, 
 to the amount of forty-four thousand pounds, 
 which, with the Bishop's private fortune, was 
 thought a splendid provision. But, alas! all 
 this was but on paper : when the money came 
 to be paid in, after every endeavour to rouse 
 and stimulate these noble personages to keep 
 their word, the sum actually received was but 
 two thousand three hundred pounds. 
 
 When Miss Fenton, the original Polly in The 
 Beggar's Opera, was taken off the stage by the 
 Duke of Bolton, it created great confusion in 
 the theatre for some time where to find a sub- 
 stitute. At length a Miss Norsa, the daughter 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 229 
 
 of a Jew merchant ia the City, was selected for 
 this purpose, who was a great favourite with 
 the public, both from the beauty of her person 
 and the harmony of her voice. 
 
 She was taken off the stage by Lord W 
 
 (son of the Minister), under a promise of marriage 
 (as it was said) after his father's death ; and on 
 the strength of this promise she lent him three 
 thousand pounds, left her by her father, which 
 sum, through negligence, or some other cause 
 difficult now to be traced, was never repaid her, 
 either during his Lordship's life or by will at 
 his death. In this distressed situation, Eich, the 
 manager, much to the credit of his humanity, 
 took her into his house, where she was kindly 
 and hospitably entertained, and where she con- 
 tinued to the hour of her death, which happened 
 at a very advanced period. 
 
 The following anecdotes of Swift were related 
 by Foote, Dr. Johnson, the elder Sheridan, and 
 others : — 
 
 Swift made his debut in the literary world 
 
230 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 as a poet, with no success. He wrote Pindaric 
 odes to the King, to Sir Wniiam Temple, and 
 to the Athenian Society, which were all very 
 unworthy of his subsequent reputation ; hut those 
 to the writers of the Athenian Orach (a set of 
 people who rendered themselves objects of notice 
 only by their ignorance in attempting to give 
 solutions to every question, and their credulity 
 in listening to the greatest falsehoods) were equal 
 to any issuing from Grub Street. The following 
 is the concluding couplet to a long, dull Panegyric 
 on the Doers of the Athenian Oracle : — 
 
 " You seem almost transform'd to water, flame, and air ; 
 So well you answer all phenomena there." 
 
 Dryden, on perusing those verses, is reported 
 to have said, " Cousin Swift, you will never be 
 a poet." However, the fact turned out far other- 
 wise ; for though he never afterwards attempted 
 the heroic or Pindaric, perhaps there are few 
 poets in our language whose sense is more com- 
 pact and who use so few expletives. He was 
 but twenty-four years of age when he wrote his 
 Pindarics. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 231 
 
 He liked Portugal wine better than Cham- 
 pagne, claret, or Burgundy. White port was his 
 favourite liquor, which he always mixed with 
 great quantities of sugar ; he generally drank a 
 pint at dinner and a pint at supper, but latterly 
 only half-a-pint at each meal. With respect to 
 eating, he was always plain and abstemious. In- 
 deed he says of himself in one of his letters to 
 Stella : " I have a sad vulgar appetite. I never 
 endure above one dish, hor ever could since I 
 was a boy, and loved stuffing." * 
 
 Dining one day at Sir Arthur Acheson's, at 
 Market Hill, and the hock being given about in 
 very small glasses, " Come, Mr. Dean," said Sir 
 Arthur, " I'll pledge you in a glass of hie, hoec, 
 hoc." — "No, sir," replied Swift; "I beg leave 
 to decline it; so, John," turning round to the ser- 
 vant, " bring me a hujus " (hugeous) " glass of hock." 
 
 Hiding out one morning in the Strand near 
 
 * " On rainy days alone I dine 
 Upon a chick, and pint of wine : 
 On rainy days I dine alone, 
 And pick my chicken to the bone." 
 
 — Swift's Poems^ 
 
232 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Dublin, he met with a parishioner of his well 
 mounted, and began to pay him some compli- 
 ments on his horse, &c. "All this may be very 
 true, Mr. Dean," said the man; "but still he is 
 not equal to yours." — " To mine ! " returned the 
 Dean in surprise; "why, this is but a mere pad, 
 which I keep for exercise." — "Ay; but notwith- 
 standing that," replied the other, "he carries the 
 lest head of any horSe in Ireland." 
 
 Swift would never own that he wrote The 
 Tale of a Tub; and when George Faulkner, his 
 printer, one day asked him whether he really 
 was the author of it, "Young man," said he, 
 " I am surprised that you dare ask me such a 
 question." 
 
 In a conversation with Swift, Pope asked him 
 what the people in Ireland thought of him (Pope). 
 "Why," said Swift, surveying him at the same 
 time, "they think you a very little man, but a 
 great poet." Pope felt this, and replied with 
 some acrimony, " They think the very reverse 
 of you in England." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 233 
 
 Swift makes the following very good excuse 
 for a dull man on leaving a circle of wits : " Sir, 
 I suppose, by the laughing and merriment of the 
 company we have left, there were many good 
 things said. Now, as I never invent a jest my- 
 self, so I make it a rule never to laugh at other 
 people's." 
 
 Foote was of opinion that, from Swift's inti- 
 mate knowledge of Courts, and the freeness of 
 his observation upon Ministers and administra- 
 tions, a collection of his thoughts upon this 
 subject would form an excellent practical digest 
 of politics. 
 
 ON THE DAT OF JUDGMENT. 
 (By Swift.) 
 
 With a whirl of thought opprest, 
 I sank from reverie to rest. 
 A horrid vision seiz'd my head ; 
 I saw the graves give up their dead : 
 Jove, arm'd with terrors, burst the skies ; 
 And thunder roars, and lightning flies. 
 Amaz'd, confus'd, its fate unknown, 
 The world stands trembling at his throne ; 
 While each pale sinner hangs his head : 
 Jove, nodding, shook the heav'ns, and said, 
 
 Q 
 
234 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 " Offending race of human-kind, 
 By nature, reason, learning, blind ; 
 You who through frailty stepp'd aside, 
 
 And you who never fell — through pride ; 
 You who in different sects have shamm'd, 
 And come to see each other damn'd 
 (So some folks told you, but they knew 
 No more of Jove's designs than you) : — 
 The world's mad business now is o'er, 
 And I resent these pranks no more ; 
 I to such blockheads set my wit ! 
 I damn such fools ! go, go ; you're bit." 
 
 The following character of Swift is supposed 
 to be written by Counsellor Morgan, an old and 
 intimate acquaintance of his : — 
 
 " I was intimate with the Dean in the younger 
 parts of his life, and our acquaintance continued 
 to the end of it. I had a friendship for the 
 man, and a fondness for his wit, but still think 
 that no author has given his character fairly, 
 
 "His wit was certainly unbounded. In his 
 writings he had a natural propensity to humour, 
 but no man was ever more deficient in good- 
 humour. His imagination was quick, but not 
 warm ; there was uncommon vivacity in his con- 
 ceits, but they were for the most part cynical 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 235 
 
 and eccentric. In everything he said, and every- 
 thing he wrote, his pride constantly preponderated : 
 he was not content to acquire admiration ; but was 
 arbitrary, and would command it. 
 
 "His fondness for satire was so. prevalent a 
 passion, that no man who knew him could escape 
 it: even the modest and assuming at times were 
 attacked with equal severity ; though not so much 
 with a view to show the weakness of his friends, 
 as to assert the superiority of his own talents. 
 In correcting the ignorant he was unmerciful ; 
 in censuring the works of his cotemporaries he 
 was ungenerous and unkind. He expected that 
 every man should consult his humours, while he 
 consulted no man's in return. If he was silent 
 in company, he expected their patience till he 
 spoke; if communicative, he laid claim to an 
 undivided attention. 
 
 "His knowledge of men was general; it was 
 not, however, deep, nor' perfect. He was by no 
 means a master of original principles of action ; 
 but rather observed the result, and reported with 
 an appearance of consummate judgment. His 
 poetry, in the main, with all its beauties, is pro- 
 
236 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 stituted to the most trifling subjects. His poli- 
 tics were factious in the extreme. He never 
 could forgive the ministry who superseded his 
 friends, because tliey were not inclined to gratify 
 his unbounded ambition: and hence arose his 
 violent opposition to government ; and all the 
 rancorous effusions of a party spirit, by which he 
 inflamed the spirits of the vulgar. 
 
 "He affected a contempt for the great, though 
 no man was more gratified by their attention. 
 His writings to his friends have an incomparable 
 beauty of style ; but all his epistles to people 
 in a higher sphere are unnatural and laboured. 
 From the whole survey of the man, I am in- 
 clined to think that, like Eembrandt's figures, he 
 would have been lost in the shadows of his 
 character, if the strength of its light had- not 
 relieved him." 
 
 Dr. Barnard, the venerable and respected Bishop 
 of Limerick (then Dean of Derry), being in a 
 conversation with Foote, Dr. Johnson, Sir Joshua" 
 KeynoldSj and other distinguished characters, hap- 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 237 
 
 pened to say, " that he thought no man could im- 
 prove when past the age of forty-five." Upon 
 this Dr. Johnson, in his usual dogmatical manner, 
 observed that he (Barnard) was an instance to the 
 contrary ; for there was great room for improve- 
 ment in him, and wished he would set about it. 
 
 This produced the following elegant lagatelle 
 from the former, in the course of the next day ; 
 addressed " To Sir Joshua Eeynolds and Co." 
 
 " I lately thought no man alive 
 Could e'er improve past forty-five. 
 
 And ventur'd to assert it : 
 The observation was not new, 
 But seem'd to me so just and true 
 
 That none could controvert it. 
 
 ' No, sir,' says Johnson ; ' 'tis not so : 
 That's your mistake, and I can show 
 
 An instance if you doubt it. 
 You, sir, who are near forty-eight. 
 May much improve, 'tis not too late ; 
 
 I wish you'd set about it.' 
 
 Encourag'd thus to mend my faults, 
 I turn'd his counsel in my thoughts, 
 Which way I should apply it : 
 Learning and wit seem'd past my reach, 
 For who can learn when none will teach 1 
 And wit — I could not buy it. 
 
238 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Then come, my friends, and try your skill : 
 You can inform me, if you will 
 
 (My books are at a distance). 
 With you I'll live and learn, and then 
 Instead of books I shall read men ; 
 
 So lend me your assistance. 
 
 Dear knight of Plympton,* teach me how 
 To suffer with unruffled brow, 
 
 And smile serene, like thine ; 
 The jest uncouth, or truth severe, 
 To such I'll turn my deafest ear, 
 
 And calmly drink my wine. 
 
 Thou say'st, not only skill is gain'd. 
 But genius too may be attain'd, 
 
 By studious imitation. 
 Thy temper mild, thy genius fine, 
 I'll copy till I make thee mine 
 
 By constant application. 
 
 The art of pleasing teach me, Garrick ; 
 Thou who reversest odes Pindaric 
 
 A second time read o'er t. 
 Oh ! could we read thee backward too. 
 Last thirty years thou should'st review. 
 
 And charm us thirty more. 
 
 If I have thoughts, and can't express 'em, 
 Gibbon shall teach me how to dress 'em . 
 In terms select and terse ; 
 
 * Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 t Alluding to Garrick, in a whim, reading Cumberland's odes 
 backward. 
 
EON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 239 
 
 Jones teach me modesty and Greek ; 
 Smith how to think, Burke how to speak, 
 And Beauclerc to converse. 
 
 Let Johnson teacli me how to place 
 In fairest light each borrow'd grace ; 
 
 From him I'll learn to write : 
 Copy his clear familiar style ; 
 And, from the roughness of his file, 
 
 Grow, like himself, polite. 
 
 Foote often dined at the Chaplain's table ; of 
 ■which he was so much the life and spirit, that 
 George III. (who used to have several of our hero's 
 Ion-mots repeated to him next day at the levee) 
 frequently wished that etiquette would permit him 
 to be one of the party. Foote used to tell 
 many anecdotes relative to this table, and among 
 others the following : — 
 
 Charles the Second was so pleased with the 
 convivialities of it, that he frequently dined with 
 his Chaplains, and several of the court wits who 
 constantly attended him. However, about the 
 period of shutting up the Exchequer by the ad- 
 vice of Clifford (1672), the royal finances were 
 so low, that in the general scale of retrenchment, 
 
240 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 he was advised to abolish this table, and the 
 report gained ground of its being soon put into 
 execution. While this report still prevailed, the 
 King dined there one day; when the Chaplain 
 whose turn it was to say the usual grace, " God 
 bless the King, and the table ! " gave it another 
 turn, by exclaiming with great fervour, "God 
 bless the King, and save the table ! " The King, 
 caught with this stroke of humour, cried out : 
 " God's fish, Doctor ! and so it shall be : " and 
 so it continued from that day to the spring of 
 1 80s, when it was finally abolished. 
 
 The following letter was written by Lord 
 
 Orford in answer to a letter of Lady C n, 
 
 requesting his opinion of ITie Scornful Lady, by 
 Beaumont and Fletcher, since altered to the 
 comedy of The Capricious Lady. 
 
 "I return your Ladyship the play, and will 
 tell you the truth. At first I proposed just to 
 amend the mere faults of language, and the in- 
 correctness : but the farther I proceeded, the 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. ' 241 
 
 less I found it worth correcting; and indeed I 
 believe nothing but Mrs. Abington's acting can 
 make anything of it. It is like all the rest of 
 the pieces of Beaumont and Fletcher: they had 
 good ideas, but never made the most of them ; 
 and seem to me to have finished their plays 
 when they were drunk, so very improbable are the 
 means by which they produce their denouement. 
 
 "To produce a good play from one of theirs, I 
 believe the only way would be, to take their plan, 
 draw the characters from nature, omit all that 
 is improbable, and entirely re-write the dialogue ; 
 for their language is at once hard and pert, vulgar 
 and incorrect, and has neither the pathos of the 
 preceding age nor the elegance of this. They 
 are grossly indelicate, and yet have no simplicity. 
 There is a wide difference between unrefined and 
 vicious indecency: the first would not invent fig- 
 leaves ; the latter tears holes in them after they 
 are invented." 
 
 The following is extracted from a letter written 
 by Lord Orford on the progress of tragedy. 
 
 " The excellence of our dramatic writers is by 
 
242 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 DO means equal to that of the great men we have 
 produced in other walks. 
 
 " Theatric genius lay dormant after Shakspeare ; 
 waked with some bold and glorious, but irregular 
 and often ridiculous, flights in Dryden; revived 
 in Otway; maintained a kind of placid pleasing 
 dignity in Eowe, and even shone in his Jane Shore. 
 
 " In Southern it seemed a genuine ray of nature 
 and of Shakspeare; but, falling on an age still 
 more Hottentot, was stifled in those gross and 
 barbarous productions, tragi-comedies. It turned 
 to tuneful nonsense in The Mourning Bride; 
 grew stark mad in Lee ; whose cloak, a little 
 the worse for wear, fell on Younge ; yet in 
 both was still a poet's cloak. It recovered its 
 senses in Hughes and Fenton ; who were afraid 
 it should relapse, and accordingly kept it down 
 with a timid but amiable hand : and then it 
 languished." 
 
 Garrick's whisper on the stage was most deserv- 
 edly praised for its being heard through the whole 
 theatre, while the loud declamation of many of his 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 243 
 
 colleagues was occasionally unintelligible. "The 
 reason," replied Garrick, on this being remarked 
 to him, " is, that many of the actors have no idea 
 of distinctness in their pronunciation, and forget the 
 lesson of acquiring 'a temperance that may give 
 it smoothness.' " 
 
 Garrick was one summer travelling in the 
 north of England, when, happening to stop at 
 a very obscure village, he heard the theatrical 
 drum beating about the streets, and saw the 
 principal performer (as was usual in those days) 
 distributing the play-bills.* This was sufficient 
 to induce him to stay the night, in order to see 
 the comedy, which was The Recruiting Officer. 
 He accordingly wrapped himself up in his great- 
 coat, to avoid being known : and, after having 
 paid his shilling, seated himself in the pit, quite 
 
 * It was the custom about loo years ago, particularly in the 
 county towns of England and Ireland, to announce the play of 
 the day by beat of drum through the principal streets, one of the 
 performers attending to distribute the bills. It was likewise 
 usual then, and long after that period, for the actresses to wait 
 upon the principal ladies in the town with bills for their benefit 
 nights, and return their acknowledgments afterwards in sedan- 
 chairs. 
 
244 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 secure, he thought, from all eyes but his own. 
 The actors, however, were better informed : as 
 on one of the company recognising him, it was 
 unanimously determined in the green-room to 
 return him his admission money; and the man- 
 ager immediately waited on him for that purpose. 
 Garrick, seeing the man approach, asked him, 
 with some surprise, what was the matter ? — 
 " Only to return you your money, sir." — " What ! " 
 said Garrick, " is it a bad shilling ? " — " Oh dear 
 no, sir," replied the other ; " but we make it a rule 
 never to take any money from one another." 
 
 On the same scale of acquaintance, a performer 
 once told him, "that he often had the honour of 
 playing in the same scene with him." — "With 
 me ? " said Garrick, in some surprise : " I really 
 don't recollect it. Pray, what particular part was 
 it ? "_« The Cock in Hamlet, sir." * 
 
 * It waa formerly the custom of the stage to employ a man be- 
 hind the scenes to imitate the crowing of a cock in the ghost-scene 
 in Samlet ; but this being often executed unskilfully, it threw an 
 air of ridicule on the performance, and the custom was abolished. 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 245 
 
 Mrs. Pritchard was so very natural an actress, 
 and was so powerfully afifected by her feelings, 
 that she seldom retired from any great tragic 
 part without being in some degree affected by a 
 stomachic complaint. 
 
 It is generally thought that Mrs. Pritchard 
 died of a mortification in her foot; but it is now 
 known, on respectable authority, that her death 
 was principally occasioned by a broken heart. 
 She retired from the stage on the death of a 
 relation who died intestate, and to whom she 
 thought herself heiress ; it was likewise uni- 
 versally considered so for a time, and letters of 
 administration were taken out by her for that 
 purpose: but just as she was extending her ex- 
 penses for the enjoyment of this large fortune, 
 another claimant appeared, who proved himself 
 to be the nearest legal heir, and who consequently 
 ■■ obtained the property. 
 
 It being proposed to Lord Halifax to solicit the 
 . hand of Miss Drury, who had one of the greatest 
 
246 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 fortunes in England at that time, he declined it, 
 and she afterwards married Lord B — k — shire : 
 upon which Foote said of Lord Halifax (who was 
 rather a dissipated man), "that lie preferred the 
 hundreds of old Drury to the thousands of modern 
 Drury'' 
 
 The following extract of a letter from Peter 
 CorneiUe, dated 1679, was found some years 
 ago among a bundle of loose papers belonging to 
 a family at Eouen, who lived in intimacy with, 
 and were related to, that celebrated poet. 
 
 " I saw yesterday our worthy relation and friend 
 M. CorneiUe. Though he is now seventy-three 
 years of age, he is as well as can be expected 
 at that time of life. We went out together in 
 the afternoon; and passing through the street of 
 la Farcheminerie, he was obliged to stop, and go 
 into a cobbler's stall, to have one of his shoes 
 mended, which had just burst. We both sat on 
 the bench while the man was doing it ; and 
 when he had finished, M. CorneiUe gave him 
 
EON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 247 
 
 three small pieces of money, the only ones (I 
 believe) he had in his pocket. 
 
 " At our return home, I offered him my purse ; 
 ■which he refused, and absolutely rejected the pro- 
 posal I made of dividing the. contents of it be- 
 tween us. On taking leave of him, I could 
 not help shedding tears at the unhappy condi- 
 tion of so great a man." 
 
 Of the difference between intuition and sagacity 
 (the one being immediate in its effect, and the 
 other rec[uiring a circuitous process) Foote said, 
 "the former was the eye, the latter the nose, of 
 the mind." 
 
 A person observing to Foote that there was 
 better oratory occasionally at the Eobin Hood, 
 when Jekup the baker was president of that 
 society, than there was at that time in the 
 House of Commons : " No doubt of it," said Foote ; 
 " as people go to the Bouse of Oommons for bread, 
 but to the baker merely for oratory." , 
 
248 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 An author left a comedy with Foote for perusa] ; 
 and on the next visit asked for his judgment 
 on it, with rather an ignorant degree of assur- 
 ance. " If you looked a little more to the gram- 
 mar of it, I think," said Foote, "it would be 
 better." — " To the grammar of it, sir ! What ! 
 would you send me to school again ? " — " And 
 pray, sir," replied Foote very gravely, " would that 
 do you any harm ? " 
 
 A clergyman in Essex, not much celebrated 
 as a preacher, used to wear boots generally on 
 duty ; and gave as a reason for it, that " the 
 roads were so deep in some places, that he found 
 them more convenient than shoes." — "Yes," said 
 Foote : " and, I dare say, equally convenient in the 
 pulpit ; for there the Doctor is generally out of 
 his depth too." 
 
 A foreigner being present at a musical piece 
 which was damned the first night of its perform- 
 ance, asked Foote who the author was. Being 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 219 
 
 told that his name was St. John, he asked again, 
 " St. Jean, St. Jean, quel St. Jean ? (St. John, 
 St. John, what St. John?)"— "OA, Monsieur/" 
 cried Foote, " le gentilhomme sans la tete. (Oh, sir ! 
 the gentleman without a head)." 
 
 Toote, who had all qualities of humour about 
 
 him, and sometimes would not let truth stand 
 
 in the way of his joke, was one day, after dinner, 
 
 apologising to his company for not giving them 
 
 pine-apples in the dessert ; " but," added he, " that 
 
 confounded fellow of a next-door neighbour of 
 
 mine comes over the garden-wall at night, and 
 
 steals all my pines." — " What ! my Lord B 's 
 
 brother ? " — " Yes ; no less a man, I assure you : 
 
 and I have got his great toe in my man-trap at 
 
 this instant." — " Oh ! it is impossible," said the 
 
 company ; " you are surely humming us." — " Nay, 
 
 I will convince you of it in a moment." Here he 
 
 called up his gardener; and turning to him with 
 
 great gravity, asked him what he had done with 
 
 the Honourable Mr. S t's great-toe. " The toe, 
 
 sir ? " said the gardener, not being at first pre- 
 
 E 
 
250 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 pared for the question. — " Yes, the toe which you 
 found in my man-trap this morning." — " Oh, yes ! 
 the toe," — catching the joke — "-why, to tell you 
 the truth, sir, it stunk so horridly, that I threw it 
 out about an hour ago." — "You should not have 
 done that," said one of the company, taking the 
 story as a fact ; " you should have kept it to 
 expose him." — " No, no," said the wit ; " 'tis better 
 as it is; consider how the keeping of such a toe 
 must have disgraced a Foot." 
 
 A silly young woman of fashion having in- 
 scribed on a pane of glass, at the inn at Staines, 
 
 the following words : — " Dear Lord D has 
 
 the softest lips of ainy man in England." Foote, 
 coming into the room soon after, wrote under- 
 neath : — 
 
 " Then as like as two chips 
 Are his head and his lips." 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 251 
 
 A friend speaking of a formal man of their 
 mutual acquaintance, observed in his defence that 
 " notwithstanding a little stiffness, there were times 
 when he could be very familiar." — "Yes," said 
 Foote, " but then it is a full-dress familiarity." 
 
 Some improvement being made near St. Sepul- 
 chre's church, by the erection of a new compter, 
 a person observed how convenient it would be 
 from its correspondence to Newgate. " I dislike 
 it for that very reason," said Foote; "because it 
 is encouraging a criminal correspondence." 
 
 A gentleman having lost his money at a faro- 
 bank, where he suspected the lady of the house, 
 he communicated his suspicions to .Foote, who 
 comforted him by saying, "that he might depend 
 upon it, 'twas all fair play." 
 
 Foote calling upon a gentleman of the law 
 who did not live happily with his wife, the 
 
252 THE TAJBLB-TALK AND 
 
 servant maid soon afterwards came into the room 
 to look for her mistress. "What do you want 
 your mistress for?" asked the barrister. "Why 
 indeed, sir, to tell you the truth, she scolds me 
 so from morning to night, I come to give her 
 warning." — " What, then you mean to leave 
 us ? " — " Certainly, sir," said she, shutting the 
 door after her. " Happy girl ! " exclaimed Foote ; 
 " I most sincerely wish your poor master could 
 give warning too." 
 
 Foote used to tell a saying of an old officer 
 in the Court of Chancery, who had it from his 
 uncle (his predecessor in the same office for forty 
 years), that "if there was ainything which Pro- 
 vidence could be supposed to be ignorant of, it 
 was the event of a Chancery suit." 
 
 The late Lord Chancellor Eoslyn, when Mr. 
 Wedderburne, in a letter addressed to Mr. Andrew 
 Stuart in the great cause depending between 
 Douglas and the Duke of Hamilton, speaks on 
 the same subject thus : " My ideas of justice are 
 a little perplexed by this decision : and I consider 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 253 
 
 it as a striking example, among many others, that 
 no cause is either certain or desperate." 
 
 It is likewise told of Lord Hardwicke, that 
 the cause in which he had his first brief- in the 
 Court of Chancery as a barrister, he decided as 
 Lord Chancellor towards the close of his con- 
 tinuance in office. 
 
 In Foote's cause before Lord Mansfield, when 
 Lord Mansfield, who had continued firm on his 
 side throughout, was at last brought over to his 
 opponent, Foote exclaimed to Murphy, " Damn the 
 trial, what a crane-necked turn it has taken ! It 
 has been tried twenty times at Caen Wood, and 
 gained the verdict in my favour." 
 
 A conceited young man asking Foote what 
 apology he should make for not being one of 
 the party the day before to which he had, a 
 card of invitation, " Oh, my dear sir ! " replied 
 the wit, "say nothing about it: you were never 
 missed." 
 
254 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 Boyce the poet, and contemporary of Johnson 
 and Foots, was so miserably poor at one time, 
 that he was obliged to lie in bed for want of 
 clothes ; and when a friend, hearing of his dis- 
 tressed situation, sent him a guinea, he instantly 
 laid out a crown of it for mushrooms and truffles, 
 to garnish a slice of roast beef, which he ate in 
 bed. 
 
 It was of this unhappy man that Dr. Johnson 
 replied, on being asked which was the best poet, 
 Boyce or Derrick ? " How can I appreciate the 
 difference between a flea and a louse ? " 
 
 George Steevens and a literary party being in 
 the habit of visiting Cambridge for many years 
 during the long vacation, Dr. Johnson asked 
 him how they generally amused themselves there. 
 " Why, sir," said the other, " we read or walk 
 in the morning, meet at dinner, go to the play 
 at Stirbitch fair in the evening, and then drop 
 in at one of the booths, and pick up the Uft 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 265 
 
 leg of a goose." — "And pray, sir," said Johnson, 
 " what peculiar excellence is there in the left leg 
 of a goose ? " — " Oh ! a great deal, when it happens 
 to be the only leg Ufl'' 
 
 A poor author, who was never remarkably 
 clean in his person, dining with Foote, Lord 
 K , who happened to be at table, was com- 
 plimenting him on his last performance. " Oh 
 my Lord ! " said Bayes, " now you are ironing 
 me."*— "Not he, indeed," said Foote; "for if 
 his Lordship meant to do that, he certainly 
 would have washed you first." 
 
 When L , who had been sentenced to the 
 
 pillory, saw Foote in the pump-room at Bath, 
 whither he had been ordered for the jaundice, 
 
 "Your looks mend," says L . "Yes," says 
 
 Foote, " I am washing the eggs from my face." 
 
 • A cant word then used tor exerciaing irony towards any 
 person. 
 
256 THE TABLE-TALK AND 
 
 On the morning before he set out for Dover, an 
 old performer belonging to the Hay market Theatre 
 called to take leave of him. " Well," said Foote, 
 " what's the matter with you this morning, you 
 look so ruefully ?"—" Why, I don't know how 
 it is, but I find I'm not myself to-day." — " No ! 
 then I heartily wish you joy ; for though I don't 
 know wlio you are now, you must certainly be 
 a gainer hy the change." 
 
 The last flash of wit Foote played off was the 
 following, thus closing his real, like his dramatic 
 character : 
 
 " Qualis ah incepto processerit, et sibi constet." 
 
 Whilst Foote was on his way to the south of 
 France in the winter of 1777 for the benefit 
 of his health, he passed a day in Dover, and on 
 his going into the kitchen of the inn to order 
 a particular dish for dinner, the cook understand- 
 ing that he was about to embark for France 
 (and perhaps willing to have a satirical cut at 
 
BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 257 
 
 French travellers) was bragging that, for her part, 
 she was never out of her own country, roote, 
 who had humour of every kind ready on all 
 occasions, instantly replied, "Why, cookey, that's 
 very extraordinary, as they tell me above stairs 
 that you have been several times all over grease" 
 (Greece). — " They may say what they please above 
 stairs, or below stairs," replied the cook, "but I 
 was never ten miles from Dover in all my life." 
 — " Nay now, that must be a fib," said Foote, " for 
 I have myself seen you at spit-head." 
 
 The day Foote set out for Dover, about an 
 hour before he went into the chaise, he walked 
 into every room in his house, examined, with an 
 accuracy not usual to him, every article of furni- 
 ture he had, but more particularly his pictures, 
 of which he had a large and elegant assortment. 
 When he came to the portrait of Weston, he 
 made a full stop, as if by some secret impulse, 
 and riveted his eyes upon the countenance of 
 his old acquaintance for above ten minutes, with- 
 out uttering a syllable; then turning off, with a 
 
258 TABLE-TALK AND BON-MOTS OF SAMUEL FOOTE. 
 
 tear in his eye, he exclaimed, " Poor Weston ! " 
 But the words had scarce dropped from his lips, 
 when, with a tone as it were of reproach for 
 his seeming security, he repeated again, "Poor 
 Weston ! It will be very shortly, ' Poor Foote ! ' 
 or the intelligence of my spirits deceives me." 
 
 Within one week after this prophetic speech, 
 poor Foote was numbered with the dead. 
 
JEpftapb on Samuel jfoote. 
 
 Here lies the Body of 
 
 THE ENGLISH AEISTOPHANES ! 
 
 A Fellow 
 
 Of infinite jest, 
 
 Of most EXCELLENT FANCY. 
 
 Alas ! where are his GIBES now ? 
 
 His GAMBOLS, his Songs, 
 
 His FLASHES of MERRIMENT, 
 
 Which were wont to set the TABLE in a, ROAR? 
 
 Not ONE, now, 
 
 To MOCK his own GRINNING ! 
 
 We could have better spared a. better MAN. 
 
 He was one of the best actors in the world, 
 
 Either for 
 
 TRAGEDY, COMEDY, HISTORY, PASTORAL, or FARCE. 
 
 He held the MIRROR up. 
 
 And showed, SCORN her own IMAGE. 
 
 He was the abstract — and brief chronicle of the times. 
 
 In short. 
 
 For the law of WIT— and the LIBERTY, 
 
 he was 
 
 The ONLY MAN ! 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Abington, Mrs., 24, 241. 
 Acheson, Sir Arthur, 231. 
 Addison, Joseph, 110, 130, 141 
 
 »., 210-211 ; Cato, 133. 
 Albemarle, Lord, 197. 
 Albemarle Street, 203. 
 Allen, Edmund, 58. 
 Amphytrion, 131. 
 Anne, Queen, 164. 
 Arbuthnot, Dr., 216-217. 
 Aristotle, 67. 
 Arne, Dr., 36. 
 Athenian Oracle, The, 230. 
 Atterbury, Bishop, 228. 
 Aulus Gellius, 199. 
 Author, The, 88. 
 
 Bacon, Lord, 185, 195. 
 Baddeley, Robert. 190. 
 Barber, Alderman, 61, 7.1. 
 Barnard, Bishop, 236-239. 
 Barry, Spranger, 144. 
 Barry, Spranger, Mrs., 144. 
 Bath, 3, 5, 255. 
 Bath Downs, 54. 
 Bath, Marquis of, 180. 
 Batson's Coffee-house, 54. 
 Battersea Fields, 79-80. 
 Beard, John, 12 m. 
 Beauclero, Topham, 106, 239. 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher's The 
 
 Scornful Lady, 240-241. 
 Bedford Coffee-house, 21, 36, 
 
 42, 97, 10.3, 120-121. 
 Bedford, Duke of, 154. 
 Bedford, Dowager-Duchess of, 
 
 154. 
 Beggar's Opera, 203, 228. 
 Bentinck, Lord William, 124. 
 Bentivoglio, 58, 
 Betterton, Thomas, 160 ; as 
 
 JJamlet, 130. 
 Beverley, Miss, 150. 
 Beverley, Recorder, 150. 
 Biokerstaff, Isaac, 60, 139. 
 Bill of Rights Club, 19 n. 
 Binfield, 217. 
 Birch, Dr. Thomas, 101. 
 Blackheath, 208. 
 Black's Coffee-house, 119. 
 Blair, Dr., 37. 
 Blakeway, E., 150. 
 Boethius, 58. 
 Bolingbroke, Lord, 75, 128, 181, 
 
 211. 
 Bolton, Duke of, 228. 
 Bolton, Duchess of, 228. 
 Booth, Barton, 130, 133. 
 Borghese, Paulo, 58. 
 Boawell, James, 89, 108. 
 
262 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Boulogne, 80. 
 
 Boulton, Crabbe, 86. 
 
 Bowden, Colonel, 34-35. 
 
 Boyle, Robert, 185. 
 
 Boyoe (or Boyse), Samuel, 61, 
 
 254. 
 Brahe, Tycho, 185. 
 Brandon, Countess of, 52. 
 Brent, Miss, 12 n, 22. 
 Brighton, 39, 94, 147. 
 Bristol family, 195. 
 Britannia, 35. 
 Browne, Isaac Hawkins, 133- 
 
 134. 
 Browne, Dr., 166. 
 Buckingham, first Duke, 185. 
 Buckingham, second Duke, 17, 
 
 59 n. 
 Burke, Edmund, 105-109, 239. 
 Burnet, Bishop, 106. 
 Bute, Lord, 124. 
 Butler, Samuel, 59 ; Hvdibraa, 
 
 59. 
 
 Cadwalladee, 88. 
 
 Caen Wood, 253. 
 
 Calais, 63. 
 
 Cambridge, 254. 
 
 Camoens, 69. 
 
 Capricious Lady, The, 240- 
 
 241. 
 Careless Susband, The, 146. 
 Carlisle, fifth Lord, 46. 
 Carmarthen, Lord, 1. 
 Caroline, Queen, 194, 
 Cato, 133. 
 Cervantes, 59. 
 Chaplain's table. The, 239. 
 Chapter Coffee-house, 99. 
 Charing Cross, 78, 79, 174. 
 Charles II., 73, 74, 84, 156, 
 
 239-240. 
 Charles IIL, 29. 
 
 Chatham, Lord, 19, 103-104, 
 
 134. 
 Chelsea, 168, 172. 
 Chelsea College, 162. 
 Chesterfield, Lord, 108, 128, 
 
 147-148. 
 Childers, the racehorse, 187. 
 Chiswick, 21. 
 Cholmondely, Lord, 86. 
 Cholmondely, Mrs., 18S. 
 Christohurch, 72. 
 Churchill, Charles, 45, 60, 76-8, 
 
 80 ; Prophecy of Famine, 78. 
 Cibber, Colley, 52, 130-31, 
 
 133 ; improves The Provoked 
 
 Husband, 168, 159. 
 Cibber, Susannah Maria, 109, 
 
 113, 121-22, 193. 
 Cibber, Theo., 52. 
 Clairon, MdUe., 192. 
 Clamdestine Marriage, The, 159. 
 Clarendon, Lord, 130. 
 Clarke, Mat., 76. 
 Clayton, Chief-Justice, 198. 
 Cleveland, Duchess of, 74. 
 Cliefden, 14. 
 Olive, Kitty, 112-14, 189 ; as 
 
 Portia, 114 ; as Lady Easy, 
 
 146. 
 Cocoa-tree Coffee-house, 45. 
 Colman the Elder, 8, 81, 127 ; 
 
 The Jealous Wife, 154 ; adds 
 
 Major Oakley, 155 ; The Clan- 
 destine Marriage, 159. 
 Congreve, William, 133. 
 Corneille, Pierre, 58, 246, 247. 
 
 Costello, , 208. 
 
 Covent Garden Theatre, 36, 49, 
 
 76, 188, 199. 
 Criohton, the Admirable, 68, 
 
 65-72. 
 Cromwell, Richard, 132. 
 Crown and Anchor, The, 98. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 263 
 
 Cumberland, Duke of, 82. 
 Cumberland's, Eichard, West 
 Indian, 112. 
 
 D'Albbrt, Marshal, 185. 
 
 Davenport, , 218. 
 
 Davis, Dibble, 25, 52. 
 
 Day of Judgment, Swift's, 232. 
 
 Debts, The pleasure of paying 
 and of not paying, ] 60-2. 
 
 Delaval, Sir F. B., 8-20, 225. 
 
 Delaval, Lord, vi., 13, 21. 
 
 D'Epernon, Duke of, 184. 
 
 Derrick, Samuel, 254. . 
 
 De Vayer, La Motte, 186. 
 
 Devonshire House, 203. 
 
 Digby, Sir Kenelm, 185. 
 
 Divine Legation, The, 204. 
 
 Doddington, Bubb (Lord Mel- 
 combe), 219. 
 
 Douglas and Hamilton Chancery 
 suit, 252. 
 
 Dover, 81, 256, 257. 
 
 Drunken Man, The, 189. 
 
 Drury Lane Theatre, 11, 20, 24, 
 103, 114, 187, 193. 
 
 Drury, Miss, 245, 246. 
 
 Dryden, John, 72, 77, 87, 130, 
 211, 230, 241 ; Tyrannic love, 
 156, 157 ; Amphytrion, 131. 
 
 Dublin, 32, 60, 93, 144, 145, 
 
 232. 
 Duelling in Ireland, 224. 
 
 Edinbcegh, 30, 205. 
 EUicook, Lord, 72. 
 English Adventures, 151. 
 Erasmus, 185. 
 Essay on Man, 218. 
 Exeter Change, 174. 
 
 False Concord, 160. 
 
 Farqubar, George, 150 ; The 
 
 Recruiting Officer, source of 
 characters for, 149, 150, 243. 
 
 Faulkner,- George, 92-95, 232 
 
 Fenton, Elijah, 242. 
 
 Fenton, Lavinia, 228. 
 
 Fitzherbert, William, 82, 89-91. 
 
 Fleet Prison, 80, 207. 
 
 Flexney (bookseller), 78. 
 
 Flying Childers, 187. 
 
 Foote, Edv\fd. (Samuel's brother), 
 117-19. 
 
 Foote, John (Samuel's father), v. 
 
 Foote, Mrs., 206-209. 
 
 Foote, Samuel — as Othello, v. ; 
 The Prelude, vii. ; Mayor of 
 Garratt, vii. ; Major Sturgeon, 
 vii. ; Primitive Puppet-Show, 
 2, 99 ; Lame Lover, 8 ; The 
 Author, 88 ; OadwaUader, 88 ; 
 his children, 43 ; his mistress, 
 43 ; his motto, 200 ; house at 
 Hammersmith, 201 ; house at 
 Blaokheath, 208 ; epitaph, 
 257.. 
 
 Fordyce (banker), 23. 
 
 Forfeit (artist), 110. 
 
 Fortescue, Mr., 216. 
 
 Four Thieves Vinegar, 53. 
 
 Fox, 0. J., 124, 125. 
 
 Franklin, Dr. Benjamin, 209- 
 215 ; his father, 213. 
 
 Frederick, Prince of Wales, 14, 
 181. 
 
 Frodsham (manager), 140. 
 
 Gammon, Mrs., 147. 
 
 Garrick, David, viii., 2, 15, 21, 
 24, 27, 44, 51, 93, 95-105, 
 112,114,121-23,131,135-37, 
 148, 154, 161-162, 166, 169, 
 180, 183, 188, 190-193, 219, 
 238, 242-44; as Jaffier, 44; 
 as Bayes, 102 ; aa Ranger, 114 ; 
 
264 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 as Pamphlet, 123 ; as Macbeth, 
 137 ; The Clandestine Mar- 
 riage, 159 ; imitates a drunken 
 man, 191 ; his Gamut of the 
 Passions, 192 ; his house in 
 the Adelphi, 98 ; at Hampton 
 Court, 171, 177, 182 ; in South- 
 ampton Street, 97, 137, 170 ; 
 his stage whisper, 242, 243 ; 
 a brother performer claims 
 acquaintance with, 244. 
 
 Garrick, Mrs., 97, 170-72, 176- 
 78, 190. 
 
 trarrick, George, 176. 
 
 Gay, John, 203 ; PoUy, 203 ; 
 Beggar's Opera, 203, 228. 
 
 George I., 230. 
 
 George II., 203, 204. 
 
 George III., 239. 
 
 George IV., 123, 124. 
 
 Gibbon, Edward, 180, 238. 
 
 Gifltard (manager), 102, 166. 
 
 Glover, Richard, 166. 
 
 Godolphin, Lord, 162, 163. 
 
 Goldsmith, Oliver, 60, 221, 222 ; 
 as a reader, 139 ; She Stoops 
 to Conquer, 221. 
 
 Gonzago, Don Vincenito de, 70. 
 
 Goodere, Sir Edward, v. 
 
 Goodman's Fields Theatre, 102. 
 
 Gostling, Rev. Mr., 45 n. 
 
 Grafton, Duke of, 45, 167. 
 
 Gray's Inn, 183. 
 
 Greenwich, Lady, 196. 
 
 Grosart, Dr., 141 »h 
 
 Gulliver's Travels, 175, 216, 21 7. 
 
 Halifax, Savile Marquis of, 106. 
 Halifax, Lord, 245, 246. 
 Hamilton, Archibald, 85. 
 Hamilton, Duke of, 250. 
 Hamilton, William Gerard, 108. 
 Hammersmith, 201. 
 
 Hardvricke, Lord, 253. 
 Harlequin, origin of, 199. 
 Harnage, Miss, 150. 
 Hart, Miss, 27. 
 Harvey, family of, 195. 
 Harwood, Counsellor, 198. 
 Havard, W., 189. 
 Hawkesworth, Dr., 71. 
 Haymarket, The, 126. 
 Haymarket Little Theatre, v., 
 
 2, 40, 42, 62, 99, 110, 190, 
 
 222, 256. 
 Haymarket Menagerie, 174. 
 Haymarket Opera-House, 144. 
 Helen of Troy, 85. 
 Henderson, John, 138. 
 Henry III. of France, 184. 
 Henry IV. of France, 62. 
 Henry VIIL, 152, 153. 
 Hiflernan, Paul, 60, 125-28. 
 Hill, Mr., 150. 
 Hillsborough, Lord. 124. 
 Hippisley's DrunJeen Man, 189. 
 Hogarth's Marriage d la Mode, 
 
 159. 
 Holland, Charles, 20, 21. 
 Holland House, 124. 
 Holland, Third Lord, 122, 123. 
 Home, Rev. John, 215, 216. 
 Hooke, Nat., 132. 
 Horace, 108, 179. 
 Hopkins (prompter), 187. 
 Hounslow, 34. 
 
 House of Commons, 103, 247. 
 House of Lords, 116, 129. 
 Eudibras, Butler's, 59. 
 Hughes, John, 242. 
 Hurd, Bishop, 98, 99, 204. 
 Hyde Park Corner, 13, 217. 
 
 Irish, the, 22, 41, 144, 145, 
 
 198, 224. 
 Isle of Man, 108. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 265 
 
 James, Dr., 219-220. 
 
 James I., 185. 
 
 Jane Shore, 242. 
 
 Jealous Wife, The, 154-155. 
 
 Jekup (baker), 247. 
 
 Jewel (treasurer), 18. 
 
 Johnson, Dr., viii., 48, 61, 87- 
 88, 91-93, 104, 133-134, 138, 
 183, 210, 225, 229, 236-237, 
 239, 254-255 ; at Garrick's 
 house, 182 ; as a reader, 140- 
 141; his chambers at Gray's 
 Inn, 183. 
 
 Johnson, Mr., 191. 
 
 Jones (play-writer), 60. 
 
 Jones, Sir William, 239. 
 
 Kbaeslet (publisher), 80. 
 Kellie, Lord, 30. 
 Kelly, Hugh, 45, 60, 139. 
 Kenrick, Dr., 23. 
 Kensington Palace, 124. 
 King, Tom. in The West Indian, 
 112. 
 
 Laot, James, 27. 
 
 Lame Lover, The, 8. 
 
 Lauragais, Count, 38. 
 
 Lee, Nat, 130, 242. 
 
 Leicester House, 14. 
 
 Leinster, Duke of, 52. 
 
 Lily, "W., 45. 
 
 Little Theatre in the Haymar- 
 ket, v., 2, 40, 42, 62, 99, 110, 
 190, 222, 256. 
 
 Lloyd, Kobert, 60, 80-81. 
 
 Locke's Essay on Eumam Under- 
 standing, 56. 
 
 Lockman, John, 197. 
 
 Lot, the Misses, 196. 
 
 Lovely Namcy, song of, 197. 
 
 Lucius, the First Christian King 
 of Britain, 75. 
 
 Lyttelton, George Lord, 148- 
 149. 
 
 Maoaulat, Mrs., 4. 
 
 Mackenzie, Henry, 72. 
 
 Macklin, Charles, 119, 120, 176, 
 223-224 ; as lago, v. ; The 
 Magdalen, 80. 
 
 Mallet, David, 164. 
 
 Mauley, Mrs., 61, 73-75 ; New 
 Atalantis,7i; her husband, 75. 
 
 Manley, Sir Roger, 73 ; Turk- 
 ish Spy, 75. 
 
 Mansfield, Lord, 104, 128, 129, 
 161, 253. 
 
 Mantua, Duke of, 69, 70. 
 
 Manutius, Aldus, 67. 
 
 Margaret of !B"rance, 153. 
 
 Marlborough, Sarah, Duchess 
 
 of, 164. 
 Marlborough, first Duke of, 
 
 164. 
 Marmontel, 81 n. 
 Marr, Dagger, 171. 
 Marriage A la Mode, 159. 
 Marvell, Andrew, 141 74. 
 Marybone Gardens, 23, 
 Maximin, Emperor, 156-157. 
 Mayor of Garratt, The, vii. 
 Meggot, Tom, 155. 
 Melcombe, Lord, 219. 
 Merchant Taylors' Hall, 38. 
 Mexborough, Lady, 15. 
 Mexborough, Lord, 16. 
 Milton, John, 32, 134, 138, 140. 
 Minto, Lord, 216. 
 Mohun, Major, 130. 
 Monsey, Dr., 162-180. 
 Montagu, Lady M. W., 132. 
 Moody, Tom, 191. 
 Moore, Edward, 147-149. 
 Morgan, Counsellor, 234-236. 
 Mourning Bride, The, 242. 
 S 
 
266 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Murphy, Arthur, 94, 98, 104, 
 111, 115, 121-124, 173-174, 
 209, 253 ; Orphan of China, 
 121 ; The Upholsterer, 122- 
 124, 173. 
 
 Nash, Dr., 206-208. 
 New Atalantis, The, 74. 
 Newgate, 251. 
 Newman, Baron, 7. 
 Nero, 19. 
 
 Newcastle, Duke of, 196. 
 Nivemois, Duke of, 191. 
 Norfolk, Duke of, 36. 
 Norsa, Miss, 228-229. 
 North-end, 25, 46, 84, 126, 143, 
 191, 199. 
 
 Old Bailey, 174. 
 
 Oldfield, Mrs., 132. 
 
 Onslow (Speaker), Arthur, 132. 
 
 Orford, Lord, 240-242. 
 
 Orphan, The, 150. 
 
 Orphan of China, The, 121. 
 
 Otway, Thomas, 59, 72, 154, 
 242 ; yAe Orphan, source of 
 plot, 150; Venice Preserved, 
 44. 
 
 Owen, Mr., 150. 
 
 Oxford, 72, 115, 188. 
 
 Padua, 67. 
 
 Paris, 43, 66, 68, 191. 
 
 Paulet, Lady H., 10. 
 
 Percy, Dr., 150. 
 
 Pindar, 108. 
 
 Plautus, 58. 
 
 Plymouth, Lord, 73. 
 
 Polly, Gay's, 203. 
 
 Pope, Alexander, 129, 131-132, 
 180-181, 195, 203, 216, 232 ; 
 hatred of Gibber, 159 ; his 
 house at Twickenham, 181 ; 
 
 his knowledge superBcial, 
 217 ; Sssay on Man, 218. 
 
 Person, Richard, 180. 
 
 Potiphar, Mrs., 196. 
 
 Prelude, The, vii. 
 
 Pretender, Old, 29. 
 
 Preville (actor), 191-192. 
 
 Price, Betty, 177. 
 
 Primitive Puppet - Show, The, 
 2, 99. 
 
 Prior, Matthew, 61, 75. 
 
 Pritchard, Mrs., 113, 245 ; as 
 Edging, 146 ; in Britannia, 35. 
 
 Public subscriptions, how man- 
 aged, 226-228. 
 
 Prophecy of Famine, 78. 
 
 Provoked Husband, The, 158. 
 
 Purdon, 60. 
 
 QuEBNSBEEBT, Duohess of, 202- 
 
 204. 
 Quin, James, 42, 138. 
 
 Racine, J., 58. 
 
 Racine, the younger, 218. 
 
 Recruiting Of/ieer, The, 149, 243. 
 
 Reddish, Mrs., 27. 
 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 180, 
 
 236-238. 
 Rich, John, 49, 199, 229. 
 Richelieu, Gardinal, 135. 
 Rich men versus learned men, 
 
 202. 
 Robert, Bois, 135. 
 Robertson, Dr. William, 107. 
 Robin Hood, The, 247. 
 Roehampton, 23. 
 Rogers, Samuel, 124. 
 Rome, 67. 
 
 Rose Tavern, The, 76. 
 Roslyn, Lord Ghancellor, 257. 
 Ross, Walter, 141, 142. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 267 
 
 Eowe, Nicholas, 132 ; J<m.e 
 Shore, 242. 
 
 Sanohopt, Archbishop, 160. 
 Scaliger, 185. 
 Scarborough, Lord, 216, 
 Sohonberg, Dr., 98. 
 Scornful Lady, The, 240-241. 
 Scotch frugality, 208. 
 Seaton, Delaval, 14. 
 Selwyn, George, 108. 
 Servin, 58, 62-65. 
 Settle, Elkanah, 72. 
 Sevigny (actor), 11. 
 Shaftesbury, Anthony, first Earl, 
 
 154, 205. 
 Shakespeare, 15, 58, 59 «., 110, 
 
 134, 166, 200, 220, 242. 
 Shakespeare Coffee-house, 97. 
 Shakespeare JvMlee, 27-28. 
 Sheridan, Thomas, 134, 229. 
 She Stoops to Conquer, 221. 
 Shuter, Edward, 135. 
 Siddons, Mrs., as Isabella, 113. 
 Skinner, Chief Baron, 111. 
 Smart, Dr., 162. 
 Smith, Adam, 239. 
 Sorbonne, The, 68. 
 Southern, Thomas, 72, 133, 242. 
 Spectator, The, 155, 210. 
 Staines, 250. 
 
 St. Andrew's College, 66. 
 St. George's Fields, 32. 
 St. Paul's, 146. 
 St. Sepulchre's Church, 251. 
 Steevens, George, 254. 
 Steele, Sir Richard, 61, 75, 111, 
 
 130, 155. 
 Stella, Swift's, 74, 231. 
 Sterne, Laurence, 61. 
 Stirbitch Fair, 254. 
 Strand, The, 175. 
 Stuart, Andrew, 252. 
 
 Suffolk, Charles Brandon, Duke 
 of, 151-153. 
 
 Sully, Maximilian, Duke de, 58, 
 62, 184. 
 
 Sunderland, Lady, 164. 
 
 Swanberg, , 219. 
 
 Swift, Dean, 61, 73-75, 211, 
 229-236 ; Oulliver's Travels, 
 175, 216-217 ; Tale of a Tub, 
 232 ; Bay of Judgment, 232. 
 
 Sydenham, Floyer, 61. 
 
 Taiioe's motto, A, 218. 
 Tale of a Tub, 232. 
 Tanner, Bishop, 72. 
 Tasso, 58. 
 
 Taswell (actor), 188-189. 
 Taylor, Thomas, 186. 
 Temple Bar, 61. 
 Temple, Sir William, 230. 
 Terein, Madame, 81 n. 
 Terence, 58. 
 Texier (actor), 138. 
 Thompson, Dr., 218. 
 Thomson, James, 132 ; his Bri- 
 tannia, 35. 
 Thornton, Bonnell, 81. 
 Thrale, Mrs., 35. 
 Townley's False Concord, 160. 
 Townshend, Charles, 196. 
 Townshend, Lady, 194-195. 
 Townshend, Lord, 26, 200. 
 Townshend, Marquis of, 195. 
 Tower, The, 13. 
 Tower Hill, 61. 
 Turkish Spy, The, 7.5. 
 Turk's Head Tavern, 16. 
 Turnham Green, 177. 
 Twickenham, 181. 
 Tyrannic Love, 156. 
 
 Ulidiblas of Poland, 185. 
 Upholsterer, The, 122-124, 173. 
 Usher (actor), 110. 
 
268 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Vanbecgh, Sir John ; The Pro- 
 voiced Husband, its composi- 
 tion, 158-159. 
 
 Vauglas, 59. 
 
 Vauxhall Gardens, 6, 22. 
 
 Venice Preserved, 44. 
 
 Voltaire, 217. 
 
 Wales, Frederick, Prince of, 
 
 14, 181. 
 Walker, John, 139, 140. 
 Walker, Serjeant, 116-117. 
 Walpole, Horace, 202, 203, 240 ; 
 
 on the progress of tragedy, 
 
 241-242. 
 Walpole, Second Lord, 229. 
 Walpole, Sir Robert, 168. 
 Warburton, Dr., 166, 183-184, 
 
 204. 
 Wedderburn (Lord Eoslyn), 252. 
 West Indian, The, 112. 
 
 Weston, Thomas, 257-258. 
 Whitaker, Serjeant, 115-117. 
 White's Club, 1, 119. 
 Wilkes, John, 30, 77, 78, 80, 
 
 81, 108. 
 Woburn Abbey, 154. 
 WofiBngton, Peg, 131; as Sir 
 
 Harry Wildair, 193. 
 Woodward, Henry, 24, 160, 
 
 199 ; as Razor, 123. 
 Worcester College, v. 
 Wycherley, William, 59 n. 
 Wynn, Sir Watkin, 33. 
 
 Yates, Mrs., 187. ; as Mandane, 
 
 121. 
 Yates, Richard, 136. 
 York, 140. 
 York, Duke of, vi. 
 Younge, , 242. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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