hwaymen--one
of whom disclosed the secrets of the craft to him--who wrote him
dedications, letters, poems, and what not. The good city of Bath set up
his statue, and did Newton and Pope[20] the great honour of playing
'supporters' to him, which elicited from Chesterfield some well-known
lines:--

'This statue placed the busts between
Adds to the satire strength;
Wisdom and Wit are little seen,
But Folly at full length.'

Meanwhile his private character was none of the best. He had in early
life had one attachment, besides that unfortunate affair for which his
friends had removed him from Oxford, and in that had behaved with great
magnanimity. The young lady had honestly told him that he had a rival;
the Beau sent for him, settled on her a fortune equal to that her father
intended for her, and himself presented her to the favoured suitor. Now,
however, he seems to have given up all thoughts of matrimony, and gave
himself up to mistresses, who cared more for his gold than for himself.
It was an awkward conclusion to Nash's generous act in that one case,
that before a year had passed, the bride ran away with her husband's
footman; yet, though it disgusted him with ladies, it does not seem to
have cured him of his attachment to the sex in general.

In the height of his glory Nash was never ashamed of receiving
adulation. He was as fond of flattery as Le Grand Monarque--and he paid
for it too--whether it came from a prince or a chair-man. Every day
brought him some fresh meed of praise in prose or verse, and Nash was
always delighted.

But his sun was to set in time. His fortune went when gaming was put
down, for he had no other means of subsistence. Yet he lived on: he had
not the good sense to die; and he reached the patriarchal age of
eighty-seven. In his old age he was not only garrulous, but bragging: he
told stories of his exploits, in which he, Mr. Richard Nash, came out as
the first swordsman, swimmer, leaper, and what not. But by this time
people began to doubt Mr. Richard Nash's long-bow, and the yarns he spun
were listened to with impatience. He grew rude and testy in his old age;
suspected Quin, the actor, who was living at Bath, of an intention to
supplant him; made coarse, impertinent repartees to the visitors at that
city, and in general raised up a dislike to himself. Yet, as other
monarchs have had their eulogists in sober mind, Nash had his in one of
the most depraved; and Anste