"
The memoir and translation, though advertised to form a volume, were not
published together; but appeared separately in a magazine.
As to the heroi-comical poem, also, cited in the foregoing letter, it
appears to have perished in embryo. Had it been brought to maturity we
should have had further traits of autobiography, the room already described
was probably his own squalid quarters in Green Arbor Court; and in a
subsequent morsel of the poem we have the poet himself, under the
euphonious name of Scroggin:
"Where the Red Lion peering o'er the way,
Invites each passing stranger that can pay;
Where Calvert's butt and Parson's black champagne
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury Lane:
There, in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug,
The muse found Scroggin stretch'd beneath a rug;
A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay,
A cap by night, a stocking all the day!"
It is to be regretted that this poetical conception was not carried out;
like the author's other writings, it might have abounded with pictures of
life and touches of nature drawn from his own observation and experience,
and mellowed by his own humane and tolerant spirit; and might have been a
worthy companion or rather contrast to his Traveler and Deserted Village,
and have remained in the language a first-rate specimen of the mock-heroic.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154