98 Lifc, Genius, and Personal Habits of Bewick. 
of the superb Crescent, nearly opposite the Old Hall ; and, 
after the fervid raptures of again meeting, we settled down 
into our usual chit-chat. There were three windows in the 
front room, the ledges and shutters whereof he had pen- 
cilled all over with funny characters, as he saw them pass 
to and fro, visiting the well. These people were the source 
of great amusement : the probable histories of whom, and 
how they came by their ailings, he would humorously narrate, 
and sketch their figures and features in one instant of time. I 
have seen him draw a striking likeness on his thumb-nail, in 
one moment; wipe it off with his tongue, and instantly draw 
another. He told me that, at watering-places, if his name were 
known, he was pestered with people staring at him, and in- 
flicting foolish questions ; and he cautioned me always in public 
to call him the “ old gentleman.” We dined occasionally at 
the public table ; and one day, over the wine, a dispute arose 
between two gentlemen about a bird ; but was soon terminated 
by the one affirming he had compared it with the figure and 
description of Bewick, to which the other replied that Bewick 
was next to Nature. Here the old gentleman seized me by the 
thigh with his very hand-vice of a grasp; and I contrived to 
keep up the shuttlecock of conversation playfully to his high- 
est satisfaction, though they who praised him so ardently, little 
imagined whose ears imbibed all their honest incense. On 
evenings we often smoked in the open windows of his pleasant 
lodgings, and chatted in all the luxury of intellectual leisure. 
A cocky wren ran, like a mouse, along the ledge of the win- 
dow. ‘* Now,” says he, ‘ when that little fellow sings, he 
sings heartily!” Upon which the merry little creature, as if 
conscious of our conviviality, and of who heard him, perched 
on a post, and trilled his shrilly treble with thrilling might 
and main. Of nights we had music, the young ladies sang, 
or we read marvellous or merry ballads, Gr again relapsed 
into our pleasantries; fully agreeing with the piquant and 
pithy Venusian poet, that fun is no foe to philosophy, to mix 
short sallies with our serious discourse, and nothing so sweet 
as to play the fool when fitting. 
“ Misce stultitiam consiliis brevem : 
Dulce est desipere in loco.” 
Of mornings he walked out before the gnats and butterflies 
(as he called the company) began to frisk : for his most satiri- 
cal arrows, though always pointed, were never envenomed ; 
mere birdbolts, that he playfully and smartly squandered, not 
for prey but pastime. There was a neat, clean, pretty damsel 
that waited on the lodgers, to whom he gave little history 
