in his arm-chair by the fireside, before which a few apples were laid. He was reading. I asked him what book he had got. He said the History of Birmingham. Local histories, I observed, were generally dull. ‘It is true, sir; but this has a peculiar merit with me; for I passed some of my early years and married my wife there.’ I supposed the apples were preparing as medicine. ‘Why, no, sir; I believe they are only there because I want something to do. These are some of the solitary expedients to which we are driven by sickness. I have been confined this week past; and here you find me roasting apples, and reading the History of Birmingham.’
“I asked him if he had seen Mr. Mason’s translation of Du Fresnoy (which was just then published), and what he thought of it. He said he had read some pages, and that he thought it was executed with as much fidelity as was consistent with taste, and with as much elegance as could be employed without departing from fidelity; but that the epistle to Sir J. Reynolds was a very poor thing.
“Mr. Cole, of Milton near Cambridge, had died a few days before. He was a great antiquary and collector of books. On examining his library, his books[1] were found to contain a great many sarcastic remarks against persons now living, and with whom he had lived in intimacy, particularly Mr. Horace Walpole, who had been at school with him (as Mr. Walpole himself told me), and who used to send him a copy of every piece printed at Strawberry Hill.
- ↑ They were sold to Benjamin White, the bookseller, and resold by him in one of his annual catalogues. Mr. Steevens picked out the most curious.
