damn them, what if they should put it in the newspapers, how you and I went together to Oxford? What would I care? If I should go down into Sussex, they would say I was gone to the Speaker. But what of that? If my son were but big enough to go on with the business, by God! I would keep as good company as old Jacob.' . . . As Mr. Lintot was talking I observed he sat uneasy on his saddle, for which I expressed some solicitude. ''Tis nothing,' says he; 'I can bear it well enough, but since we have the day before us, methinks it would be very pleasant for you to rest awhile under the woods.' When we alighted, 'See here, what a mighty pretty Horace I have in my pocket! what if you amused yourself by turning an ode, till we mount again? Lord, if you pleased, what a clever Miscellany might you make at leisure hours.' 'Perhaps I may,' said I, 'if we ride on; the motion is an aid to my fancy, a round trot very much awakens my spirits; then jog on apace, and I'll think as hard as I can.'
"Silence ensued for a full hour, after which Mr. Lintot tugged the reins, stopped short and broke out, 'Well, sir, how far have you gone?' I answered, 'Seven miles.' 'Zounds, sir,' said Lintot, 'I thought you had done seven stanzas. Oldworth, in a ramble round Wimbleton hill, would translate a whole ode in half this time. I'll say that for Oldworth (though I lost by his Sir Timothy's), he translates an ode of Horace the quickest of any man in England. I remember Dr. King would write verses in a tavern three hours after he could not speak; and there's Sir Richard, in that rambling old chariot of his, between Fleet ditch and St. Giles's pound shall make half a job.' 'Pray, Mr. Lintot,' said I, 'now you talk of
