nnah
More did get unendurably poky, narrow, and solemn in her last days, and
not a little sanctimonious; and we naturally think of her as an aged
spinster with black mitts, corkscrew curls, and a mob cap, always
writing or presenting a tedious tract, forgetting her brilliant youth,
when she was quite good enough, and lively, too. She was a perennial
favorite in London, meeting all the notables; the special pet of Dr.
Johnson, Davy Garrick, and Horace Walpole, who called her his "holy
Hannah," but admired and honored her, corresponding with her through a
long life. She was then full of spirit and humor and versatile talent.
An extract from her sister's lively letter shows that Hannah could hold
her own with the Ursa Major of literature:

"Tuesday evening we drank tea at Sir Joshua's with Dr. Johnson. Hannah
is certainly a great favorite. She was placed next him, and they had the
entire conversation to themselves. They were both in remarkably high
spirits. It was certainly her lucky night. I never heard her say so many
good things. The old genius was extremely jocular, and the young one
very pleasant. You would have imagined we had been at some comedy had
you heard our peals of laughter. They, indeed, tried which could pepper
the highest, and it is not clear to me that the lexicographer was really
the highest seasoner."

And how deliciously does she set out the absurdity then prevailing, and
seen now in editions of Shakespeare and Chaucer, of writing books, the
bulk of which consists of notes, with only a line or two at the top of
each page of the original text.

It seems that a merry party at Dr. Kennicott's had each adopted the name
of some animal. Dr. K. was the elephant; Mrs. K., dromedary; Miss Adams,
antelope; and H. More, rhinoceros.

"HAMPTON, December 24, 1728.

"DEAR DROMY (a): Pray, send word if _Ante_
(b) is come, and also how _Ele_ (c) does, to your
very affectionate RHYNEY" (d).

The following notes on the above epistle are by a commentator of the
latter end of the nineteenth century. This epistle is all that is come
down to us of this voluminous author, and is probably the only thing she
ever wrote that was worth preserving, or which might reasonably expect
to reach posterity. Her name is only presented to us in some beautiful
hendecasyllables written by the best Latin poet of his time (Bishop
Lowth):

_Note_ (_a_).

"_Dromy._--From the