chambers to her apartments one evening, only preceded by a single page, a small canvass bag of guineas, which he held in his hand, accidentally dropped, when one of them rolled in under a closet, where wood was generally kept for the use of the bedchamber. After the King had very deliberately picked up the money, he found himself deficient of a guinea, and, judging where it went, Come," says he to the page, we must find this guinea; here, help me to throw out this wood." The page and he accordingly fell to work, and in a little time found it. "Well," says the King, you have wrought hard, there's the guinea for your labour, but I would have nothing lost." 66 LIVES OF THE BRITISH EDWARD MOORE. Of the life of this ingenious writer, few particulars are known, and none respecting his descent, birth, education, or death, at least none which we have been able to discover. Edward Moore was bred a linendraper; but whether from a stronger attachment to study than the counter, or from a more ardent zeal in pursuit of fame than in fortune, or whether from the cause assigned by our author himself, in the preface to the quarto edition of his works, in 1756, "that his marriage with the Muses, like most other marriages into that noble family, was more from necessity than inclination," he quitted business to join the retinue of those ladies, and he cer- . tainly had a very happy and pleasant talent for poetry. In his trial of Selim, the Persian, which is a compliment to the first and worthy Lord Lyttleton, he has shewn himself a perfect master of the most elegant kind of panegyric, that which is couched under the appearance of accusation; and his Fables for the Female Sex, not only in the freedom and ease of the versification, but also in the forcibleness of the moral and poignancy of the satire, approach nearer to the manner of Gay than any of the numerous imitations of that author, which have been attempted since the publication of his Fables. As a dramatic writer, Moore has by no means met with the success his pieces have merited; which are three in number, The Foundling and Gil Blas, comedies; and the Gamester, a tragedy. The first has been condemned for its supposed resemblance to the celebrated comedy of the Conscious Lovers; and the Gamester met with a cold reception for no other apparent reason,but because it too nearly touched a favourite and fashionable vice. Yet, on the whole, his plots are interesting, his characters well drawn, his sentiments delicate, and his language poetical and pleasing; and what crowns all, and more forcibly claims for his writings public notice, is, that the greatest parity pervades the whole, the obvious tendency of every piece being the promotion of morality and virtue, as is indeed observed by the author himself, in the preface already referred to, when speaking of his writings in general, "Such as the work now is (says Moore) I submit it to the public. Defects in it there are many-its claims (if it has any, and I may be allowed to name it) is its be ing natural and unaffective, and tending to promote virtue." Moore married a lady of the name of Hamilton, daughter to the tabledecker to the princess. She had also a poetical turn, and has been said to have assisted her husband in the writing of his plays. One specimen of her poetry was handed about before their marriage, and has since appeared in different collections of songs. It was addressed to a daughter of the famous Stephen Duck, and begins with the following stanza : "Would you think it, my Duck? for the fault I must own, "Your Jenny at last is quite covetous grown; "Tho' millions of fortune should lavishly pour, "I still should be wretched if I have not More." JOHNSON versus GARRICK, Mr. Garrick was once present with Dr. Johnson at the table of a nobleman, where, amongst other guests, was one of whose near connections some disgraceful anecdote was then in circulation. It had reached the ears of Johnson, who, after dinner, took an opportunity of relating it in his most acrimonius manner. Garrick, who sat near him, pinched his arm and trod upon his toes, and made use of other means to interrupt the thread of his narration; but all was in vain; the doctor pro ceeded, and when he had finished his story, he turned gravely round to Garrick, of whom before he had taken no notice whatever, "Thrice," said he, "Davy have you trod upon my toe, thrice have you pinched my arm, and now if what I have related be a falsehood, convict me before this company." Garrick replied not a word, but frequently declared afterwards, that he never felt half so much perturbation even when he met his father's ghost. had taken up a longer time than usual, so that the master (whose breakfast had been detained till it was quite cold) was not a little vexed, and taking up the muffin, gave it to the boy, saying, "Here you little stupid blockhead, my muffin is quite cold, take it into the kitchen and heat it." The boy was gone so long, that the master's patience being exhausted, he sent for him, and the poor fellow, with the last piece in his mouth, "What the deuce," exclaimed he," you little monkey, you have not devoured my muffin, I hope; I told you to take it to the kitchen and heat it." "Yes, sir," replied the boy, who had just swallowed his mouthful; "but you told me always to drop the H." THE POET'S CORNER. THE BIRTH OF PITY. BY J. HUGHES, ESQ. I. When pity first appeared on earth, As within a desert wild, In pleasing hope they nurs'd the child, III. When grown up each bewitching grace EPIGRAMS.. O! sweet were those days, now the source of my moan, When often, my vows to renew, II. How sweetly thy voice has enliven'd the song, How oft l'ye entreated the sun to prolong HOPELESS LOVE. If I could bring my soul to think Will sometimes cross my brain; I know 'tis wrong to love thee-feel The moisture from thine eye; O'er mountains and woodlands, tho' tempests Tho' every blessing meant for mine have blown, I hasten'd, dear Mary, to you. Should pass my head, and light on Thine. THE TWOPENNY BAG. Whereat the gentleman began to stare "My friends," he cried, "p-x take you for your care."-Pope. L. Our friend" Nag Rom,' ,"must be an odd dog to have been so christened; but he will see we have not disdained to pick his bones-we hope to hear from him again soon. E. Clarke will forgive some slight liberties we were obliged to take-his future favours will not be slighted. But as for "Paul," he is not worthy to be called a disciple of the Muses, much less to be made their Poet Laureat, and write their Odes-a fig for such! Is "Tuzzi-Muzzi" defunct? And what has become of some others we could name? Contributions (post paid) to be sent to the Editor, at the Publishers'. |