water which was to have washed away her wit; which she
resolved to keep with all its consequences."

Her fugitive pieces, mostly in verse, thrown off from time to time at
all periods of her life, are numerous; and the best of them that have
been recovered will be included in these volumes. In a letter to the
author of "Piozziana," she says:--"When Wilkes and Liberty were at
their highest tide, I was bringing or losing children every year; and
my studies were confined to my nursery; so, it came into my head one
day to send an infant alphabet to the 'St. James Chronicle':--

"'A was an Alderman, factious and proud;
B was a Bellas that blustered aloud, &c.'

"In a week's time Dr. Johnson asked me if I knew who wrote it? 'Why,
who did write it, Sir?' said I. 'Steevens,' was the reply. Some time
after that, years for aught I know, he mentioned to me Steevens's
veracity! 'No, no;' answered H.L.P., anything but that;' and told my
story; showing him by incontestable proofs that it was mine. Johnson
did not utter a word, and we never talked about it any more. I durst
not introduce the subject; but it served to hinder S. from visiting
at the house: I suppose Johnson kept him away."

It does not appear that Steevens claimed the Alphabet; which may have
suggested the celebrated squib that appeared in the "New Whig Guide,"
and was popularly attributed to Mr. Croker. It was headed "The
Political Alphabet; or, the Young Member's A B C," and begins:

"A was an Althorpe, as dull as a hog:
B was black Brougham, a surly cur dog:
C was a Cochrane, all stripped of his lace."

What widely different associations are now awakened by these names!
The sting is in the tail:

"W was a Warre, 'twixt a wasp and a worm,
But X Y and Z are not found in this form,
Unless Moore, Martin, and Creevey be said
(As the last of mankind) to be X Y and Z."

Amongst Miss Reynolds' "Recollections" will be found:--"On the
praises of Mrs. Thrale, he (Johnson) used to dwell with a peculiar
delight, a paternal fondness, expressive of conscious exultation in
being so intimately acquainted with her. One day, in speaking of her
to Mr. Harris, author of 'Hermes,' and expatiating on her various
perfections,--the solidity of her virtues, the brilliancy of her wit,
and the strength of her understanding, &c.--he quoted some lines (a
stanza, I believe, but from what author I know not[1]), with which he
concluded his most eloquent eulogium, and of