the frequent
recurrence of certain hyperbolical expressions, which he applies on
almost all occasions.

He was particularly fond of composing epitaphs, of which, as I remember,
he shewed me a manuscript book full. One of these on Henry Hammond, the
parish clerk at Eartham, is among the best in the language. It is
inserted in the Memoirs which Hayley wrote of his son.

An active spirit in a little frame,
This honest man the path of duty trod;
Toil'd while he could, and, when death's darkness came,
Sought in calm hope his recompense from God.
His sons, who loved him, to his merit just,
Raised this plain stone to guard their parent's dust.

FOOTNOTES
[1] Nichols's Illustrations of Literature, vol. iv. p. 742.
[2] In a similar sketch from the pen of the Rev. Samuel Greatheed,
referring to an earlier period, it is stated that "he usually rose
and took a dish of coffee at four A.M.," and that "while dressing, he
most frequently composed a few stanzas of a devotional turn." This
practice of early rising he continued many years after the Editor
became acquainted with him, walking in his garden, even in winter,
and when the ground was covered with snow, with a lantern in his
hand, some hours before daylight; and repeatedly throwing up the
sash of his friend's sleeping room, on the ground floor, to give him
the benefit of the morning air. _Note by Doctor Johnson_.
[3] To the best of his recollection, the Editor never saw him abroad
without an umbrella; which in fine weather he used as a parasol, to
preserve his eyes. He even rode with it on horseback, a very awkward
operation, considering the high-spirited animals that composed his
stud, and the constitutional malady in his hip-joint, which, in
addition to his weight (for he was a remarkably strong-built man),
and his never riding without military spurs, reduced his danger of
falling almost to a certainty, when he opened his umbrella without
due precaution. But he was a stranger to fear in equestrian matters,
and always mounted his horse again, as soon as he could be caught.
The Editor was once riding gently by his side, on the stony beach of
Bognor, when the wind suddenly reversing his umbrella, as he
unfolded it, his horse, with a sudden but desperate plunge, pitched
him on his head in an instant. Providentially he received no hurt,
and some fishermen being at hand, the