MEMOIR OF THOMAS BEWICK. 69 
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 conver- 
sation playfully to his highest 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 window. ‘ 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, or again relapsed into our plea- 
santries ; 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 stultitiain consiliis brevem 
Dulce est deeipere in loco.’ 
“ Of Lord Byron’s poetry he’ spoke with great 
disgust, saying, it teemed with less imagination, and 
more trash, in any quantity, than that of any other 
great poet ; that power was the prominent feature 
of his mind, which he prostituted ; and the great 
failing of his heart was depravity, which he adorned 
