error of the times. Half our modern plays have one of these characters in them. It is incredible the pains I have taken, and the absurd methods I employed, to traduce the character of women of distinction. When another had spoken in raptures of any one, I have answered, “D—n her, she! We shall have her at H——d’s very soon.” When he hath replied, “He thought her virtuous,” I have answered, “Ay, thou wilt always think a woman virtuous, till she is in the streets; but you and I, Jack or Tom (turning to another in company), know better.” At which I have drawn a paper out of my pocket, perhaps a taylor’s bill, and kissed it, crying at the same time, “By Gad, I was once fond of her.”

“Proceed, if you please, but do not swear any more,” said Adams.

Sir, said the gentleman, I ask your pardon. Well, sir, in this course of life I continued full three years.—“What course of life?” answered Adams; “I do not remember you have mentioned any.”—Your remark is just, said the gentleman, smiling; I should rather have said, in this course of doing nothing. I remember some time afterwards I wrote the journal of one day, which would serve, I believe, as well for any other during the whole time. I will endeavour to repeat it to you.

In the morning I arose, took my great stick, and walked out in my green frock, with my hair in papers (a groan from Adams), and sauntered about till ten. Went to the auction; told lady ——she had a dirty face; laughed heartily at something captain ——said, I can’t remember what, for I did not very well hear it; whispered lord——; bowed to the duke of——; and was going to bid for a snuff-box, but did not, for fear I should have had it.

From 2 to 4, drest myself. A groan.

4 to 6, dined. A groan.

6 to 8, coffee-house.

8 to 9, Drury-lane playhouse.

9 to 10, Lincoln’s Inn Fields.

10 to 12, Drawing-room. A great groan.

At all which places nothing happened worth remark.

At which Adams said, with some vehemence, “Sir, this is below the life of an animal, hardly above vegetation: and I am surprised what could lead a man of your sense into it.” What leads us into more follies than you imagine, doctor, answered the gentleman—vanity; for as contemptible a creature as I was, and I assure you, yourself cannot have more contempt for such a wretch than I now have, I then admired myself, and should have despised a person of your present appearance (you will pardon me), with all your learning and those excellent qualities which I have remarked in you. Adams bowed, and begged him to proceed. After I had continued two years in this course of life, said the gentleman, an accident happened which obliged me to change the scene. As I was one day at St. James’s coffee-house, making very free with the character of a young lady of quality, an officer of the guards, who was present, thought proper to give me the lye. I answered I might possibly be mistaken, but I intended to tell no more than the truth. To which he made no reply but by a scornful sneer. After this I observed a strange coldness in all my acquaintance; none of them spoke to me first, and very few returned me even the civility of a bow. The company I used to dine with left me out, and within a week I found myself in as much solitude at St. James’s as if I had been in a desert. An honest elderly man, with a great hat and long sword, at last told me he had a compassion for my youth, and therefore advised me to show the world I was not such a rascal as they thought me to be. I did not at first understand him; but he explained himself, and ended with telling me, if I would write a challenge to the captain, he would, out of pure charity, go to him with it. “A very charitable person, truly!” cried Adams. I desired till the next day, continued the gentleman, to consider on it, and, retiring to my lodgings, I weighed the consequences on both sides as fairly as I