the times which make me
think that ere long we shall care as little about King George here, and
peers temporal and peers spiritual, as we do for King Canute or the
Druids.

This chapter began about the wits, my grandson may say, and hath wandered
very far from their company. The pleasantest of the wits I knew were the
Doctors Garth and Arbuthnot, and Mr. Gay, the author of _Trivia_, the most
charming kind soul that ever laughed at a joke or cracked a bottle. Mr.
Prior I saw, and he was the earthen pot swimming with the pots of brass
down the stream, and always and justly frightened lest he should break in
the voyage. I met him both at London and Paris, where he was performing
piteous congees to the Duke of Shrewsbury, not having courage to support
the dignity which his undeniable genius and talent had won him, and
writing coaxing letters to Secretary St. John, and thinking about his
plate and his place, and what on earth should become of him should his
party go out. The famous Mr. Congreve I saw a dozen of times at Button's,
a splendid wreck of a man, magnificently attired, and though gouty, and
almost blind, bearing a brave face against fortune.

The great Mr. Pope (of whose prodigious genius I have no words to express
my admiration) was quite a puny lad at this time, appearing seldom in
public places. There were hundreds of men, wits, and pretty fellows
frequenting the theatres and coffee-houses of that day--whom _nunc
prescribere longum est_. Indeed I think the most brilliant of that sort I
ever saw was not till fifteen years afterwards, when I paid my last visit
in England, and met young Harry Fielding, son of the Fielding that served
in Spain and afterwards in Flanders with us, and who for fun and humour
seemed to top them all. As for the famous Dr. Swift, I can say of him,
"_vidi tantum_." He was in London all these years up to the death of the
queen; and in a hundred public places where I saw him, but no more; he
never missed Court of a Sunday, where once or twice he was pointed out to
your grandfather. He would have sought me out eagerly enough had I been a
great man with a title to my name, or a star on my coat. At Court the
doctor had no eyes but for the very greatest. Lord Treasurer and St. John
used to call him Jonathan, and they paid him with this cheap coin for the
service they took of him. He writ their lampoons, fought their enemies,
flogged and bullied in their service, and it must be owned with a
cons