j 826.) Ei he Chronologer. 63h, 
together a bulk of minute facts, which would fill a folio. But the number 
Was nothing to the exactness. I think I have him ‘before me. now—his 
eye alittle cocked, and his tongue somewhat tripping oyer his third. 
alake of brandy and water, in high tide of anecdote. On these occa-. 
sions, the army was his favourite topic, and he descanted over his old 
acquaintance, who were very miscellaneous, with a pleasurable regret, 
«JT remember,” he would say, ‘“ one Saturday evening, the 11th of July, 
1794, Tom Spriggs—he is since dead—poor Tom died on the 14th Octo- 
ber 1811—and I went walking down the road, when, just by the Crown, 
and Sceptre Tavern, now pulled down—pulled down on the 4th of June, 
1801—we heard a band. So Tom and I went to it, and it was the 50th 
marching in—the black cuffs, you know. Of all the tunes on the face of 
the earth, the tune they were playing was the British Grenadiers. The 
drum-major was a remarkable looking man, with one of the reddest noses 
you ever knew—a fellow who was fond of his glass, which got him into 
a'scrape here, for on the 7th of August the same year he beat John 
Wilson, the gauger, in the street, for which he was very near being laid up 
for three months ; but that Wilson, who was avery good-natured fellow, 
made it up, on condition that he gave a guinea to the hospital. Well: 
Tom and I joined the regiment, and we walked in with them. It was as 
hot an evening as you ever felt—I don’t think I ever remember any 
hotter, except the 9th of June 1809, which was the devil itself. I spoke 
to the Lieutenant of the Grenadiers, one James Thomson, — but no rela- 
tion of the Thomsons of the West—and he and I fell into chat, which 
ended with our asking him to join us that evening ina bottle., Faith, he 
was a pleasant fellow—not more than three and twenty then. Seven 
years a ‘terwards, he came back here, and took.a fancy to Jenny Davies, 
Baghte of old Davies, of the Lodge—a snug old fellow, who died on 
he 18th of September 1800; and they were married by old Doctor 
Grundy, on the 8th of August 1801. What became of her I never heard ; 
but he Jeft the army shortly after, and is, I believe, alive still—for the 
guard of the High-flyer coach told me he met him at Hatchett’s on the 
29th of February, 1824,—when he was going,” &c. &c. &c. 
- Such was poor Dick’s conversation, in unbroken strain. If the subject 
happened to be hanging, how minute, how exact and interminable would 
be every anecdote. In a word, this was his current. on all occasions. 
It was a pleasure to sce him correcting blunders, sometimes made pur- 
posely, sometimes par hasard. If you said “ Christopher Snob was mayor 
here in 1789 ;”—« No,” Dick would say, “1788. I knew the man; he 
always wore snuff-coloured breeches, and silver buckles in his shoes.” 
« T think,” another would remark, “Tom Buck is in the 54th. He 
must be in it now these fifteen years.” —« Right, Sir,” Dick would say, 
“as to the regiment, he is in the 54th; but his commission bearing 
dite the 17th of May 1811, his fifteenth year wants nearly nine 
onths of being out.”—« Old Dr. Dozy,” a third would remark, | “is 
gesting very old; he has been rector here thirty-five years.”—<* AJ- 
7 st," would be Dick's reply, “on the 14th of next month, exactly.” 
« Pray, Sir,” another would inquire, “ did you ever see Mr. Kemble ?°— 
“See him!” would be the answer, “ saw him play here on the 3d 
6f October’ 1799, in Hamlet, then he broke his sword. I took a welsh- 
rabbit with him, after the play, at poor Doll Jones’s—who died, poor 
oman? last January—the first Friday of the year—leaving, however, 
Bazething snug after her.” 
