important trifling of the place. We almost see him acting as the adviser of the lively ladies in a little ball-room scene. One who greatly contributed to their "fun" and gaiety was "a gentleman whose beauty and address procured him the appellation of Cupid from the ladies two years ago," and who had acted as an amateur master of the ceremonies. Dodd knew his merits. He had seen him

Thro' the rooms advance,

Guide the gay band, and lead the sprightly dance.

Doctor

This gentleman had directed the graceful minuet, chosen partners for the ladies, and

To the tuneful band with glove so white,

Could wave and bid them play each maid's delight.

He got partners and players in the card-rooms for "sober whist, brisk loo, or blithe quadrille." During the next visit of the Doctor, the loss of this useful person was sensibly felt :

Silent we sit, expecting who shall lead;

The music's silent-and the beaux seem dead;
Perchance a lonely minuet's begun,

But who shall dance the next when this is done?

The Doctor put this into his usual rhyming. He, too, appreciated the loss of this "Cupid" at "The Rooms," and, after his lively manner, slyly picked out a pretty lady, and put his poetical remonstrance into her mouth, as "Clorinde:"

Intrepid to the bath I once could hie,
For Love was there

Now to that bath with timid step I go,

And plunge affrighted to the gulph below.

The Doctor knew well "Draper's," or "Nash

court," and was sometimes on "sober palfry," or "in coach drawn by Margatian steeds, much toiled, ill fed,” and had often driven to see the Ramsgate pier, then in progress, "slow work of public cost." No wonder that, on quitting this pleasant spot where he had been so petted, he should feel regret, or that his heart should expand. Dwelling in a curiously mistaken spirit of prophecy on a picture of his end-blissful end-departing serenely and peacefully :

So shall my weeping friends, when the last sigh
Declares departed life, smiting their breasts,

Say "Lov'd he liv'd, and loving:

Peace to his shade,

Embalm his memory, and receive him Heav'n!"

He little thought how many weeping friends, and yet more weeping spectators, were to be admitted to look on at his last moments.

During one of his visits, about the year 1762, he made an expedition from Margate to Brighthelmstone. He was one of a party, and they seem to have been very merry on the road, so much so that Doctor Dodd was induced to embody their pleasant adventures in his favourite vehicle, rhyme—and rhyme, too, of the usual quality. He must have lightened the way with true clerical jocularity. Looking back, as he wrote, the little ordinary incidents of an ordinary journey were quickened into events of a most exquisite humour,* though he hints that the notes were sup-· plied by the company. At five o'clock on the first day they got to "Dull Sandwich," where they were welcomed by Lord the warden of the Cinque

*This was not published until some years after his death.

Ports, who held the queen's canopy at the recent coronation, and who was now "so obliging" as to clothe himself in his coronation robes to entertain them.

Admires the baron and his robes by fits.

The second day they came by moonlight

Into dirty Deal,

Where wretchedly we sup on fried-stewed veal.

A jocular note explains how this dish "was intended for cutlets, and then, it seemed, fried; but it swam in so much sauce that we could conclude no less than that it was stewed." Then came Dover, and "smuggling, ill-built Folkstone," where they had excellent claret, of which

We drank delighted, tho' we'd cause to fear
That even claret pays no duty here.

Then they crossed the Romsey marshes, which, as the sands grow heavy, the horse of one of "our dear ladies" tripped and "fell;" "fatal propensity in the female kind,” adds the gallant clergyman.

On the third day they were at Rye, with which they were greatly pleased. "One of the party, a bookman, found out a bookseller," which would seem to point to the chronicler. Then came Winchelsea, where Mr. Norton treated them handsomely:

Than Norton never man was more polite.

At Hastings they found bad entertainment, a drunken landlady, and "stinking beds."

A little farther, they passed the house of one of his

favourite pupils. "Ah, my lov'd Lancaster!" whom in a few years he was to apostrophise, in exactly the same words, from his cell in Newgate. Then, in a strange spirit of prophecy, which perhaps he thought would be merely dramatic in this place, but would not be so soon fulfilled, he added:

Still toils thy friend thro' life's lone tedious way,
But from thee hopes he has not long to stay;
Quick on his journey passing soon he'll come,
And joyful meet thee at our Father's home!

This little bit of pathos was no doubt only in harmony with the character he had been supporting during the journey; the charming and diverting clergyman who put the little incidents in such a comic point of view, but who, every now and again, jumbled up some piety with his jocularity. These little hints which we gather from his writings, help wonderfully in the estimation of his character, which, as we go along, becomes perfectly clear and con

sistent.

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.

STRUGGLES FOR PROMOTION.

He was now well established as one of the "clever men," for whom the country friend, yearning after good preachers, would have quitted the parochial Fleet-street to listen to. The king, or more probably the Duke of Newcastle, put him in the list of Royal Chaplains; and about the same time he became acquainted with the Bishop of St. David's, Dr. Squire a name that figures very frequently in the dedications of the period-a name, too, which wicked college undergraduates twisted into the more grotesque "Doctor Squirt." He was quite unknown to the bishop, but characteristically introduced himself by an admiring sonnet-a happy example of earnest heroics descending suddenly into burlesque. He sings him as addressing Religion and Reason:

Attendant thereon, heavenly Reason came,
And on Religion's shrine an offering laid;
I saw it straight her whole attention claim;
Then what it was I could not but inquire.