That wild enthusiastic force, By which, above her common course, Look'd down on earthly things with scorn; For their religion than our own, At Clio's as at Fisher's name; Who know these boasted sacred streams Were mere romantic idle dreams, That Thames has waters clear as those The whole fountain would not thither lead So soon as one poor jug from Tweed: Who, if to raise poetic fire, The power of Beauty we require, In any public place can view 73 More than the Grecians ever knew; If wit into the scale is thrown, Can boast a Lennox of our own; 62 Catherine Fisher, better known by the name of Kitty Fisher, a courtesan of exquisite beauty, and first rate colebrity in the annals of fashionable dissipation. 78 Mrs. Arabella Lennox, the author of some very pleasing novels, was the daughter of a North American gentleman of the name of Ramsay, and was born at New York. Sir John Hawkins, in his life of Dr. Johnson, tells an amusing anec dote of the celebration of the birth of her first literary child, Why should we servile customs choose, In the broad beaten turnpike-road 80 86 as the Doctor called it, entitled "The life of Harriot Stuart." and published in 1751. Johnson in his club proposed devoting to it a whole night spent in festivity, to which proposition all the company acceded. The place appointed was the Devil Tavern, and there, about the hour of eight, Mrs. Lennox and her husband, and a lady of her acquaintance, as also the club and friends to the number of twenty, assembled. The supper was elegant, and Johnson had directed that a magnificent hot apple pie should make a part; and this he insisted upon having stuck with bay leaves, because Mrs. Lennox was an authoress, and had written verses; and further, he had prepared for her a crown of laurel, with which, but not till he had invoked the muses by some ceremonies of his own invention, he encircled her brows. The night passed in pleasant conversation and harmless mirth, intermingled at different periods with the refreshments of tea and coffee. About five Johnson's face shone with meridian plendour, though his drink had been only lemonade. The greater part of the company had deserted the colours of Bacchus, and were with difficulty rallied to partake of a second refreshment of tea and coffee, which was scarcely ended when the day began to dawn. This phenomenon began to put them in mind of their reckoning, but the waiters were all so overcome with sleep, that it was two hours before a bill could be got; and it was not till near eight that the creeking of the street door gave the signal for their departure. She be ing a Roman Catholic translated into English the Memoirs of Sully a Huguenot. Unless his lady Muse be there; Must grace some mighty villain's hearse, Since then our critic Lords expect, And in this dearth of sense and wit, With nothing done, and little said, (By wild excursive Fancy led Into a second Book thus far, Like some unwary traveller, Whom varied scenes of wood and lawn Whom every step leads more astray: Though conscious Arrow all the while An arrant stalking-horse is made, To plant, more firmly, Falsehood's throne, Where Fraud and Falsehood scorn thy sway) You tread the round of England's court, 120 125 130 135 140 145 I still pursued thy sacred plan, To wear mean Falsehood's golden chain; All low disguise I scorned to try, But come not with that easy mien Which, with Cervantes gave thee grace; Far from thy seemly matron train At once to please us and amend ; Of noblest City parents born, Whom wealth and dignities adorn, 150 155 160 165 170 175 156 The offence to which our author here pleads guilty had been before alluded to by him in "The Conference," in which he severely condemned his own conduct, and antici pated the just censure of the public. |