"Themistocles had many towns to furnish his tables, and a whole city had the charge of his meals. In some respects I am like him, for I am fed by the labours of a multitude. A wig has kept me two days; the trimmings of a waistcoat as long; a ruffled shirt has paid my washer-woman; a pair of velvet breeches discharged my lodgings; my coat I swallow by degrees, the sleeves I breakfasted upon for three days, the body, skirts, etc. served me as long; and two pair of pumps enabled me to smoke several pipes. You would be surprised to think how my appetite, barometer-like, rises in proportion as my necessities make their terrible advances. I here could say something droll about a good stomach, but it is ill jesting with edged tools, and I am sure that is the sharpest thing about me. "You may, perhaps, think I am lost to all sense of my condition, that while I am thus wretched I should offer at ridicule; but, Sir, people constitutioned like me, with a disproportionable levity of spirits, are always most merry when most miserable, and quicken like the eyes of the consumptive, which are brightest the nearer the patient approaches his dissolution. But to show you that I am not lost to all reflection, I here think myself poor enough to want a favour, and humble enough to ask it. Then, Sir, I could draw an encomium on your good sense, humanity, etc. etc.; but I will not pay so bad a compliment to your understanding as to endeavour by a parade of phrases to win it over to my interest. If at the concert you could make a gathering for me, it would be a means of obtaining my liberty. "You well know, Sir, the first people of rank abroad perform the most friendly offices for the sick; be not therefore offended at the request of the unfortunate. "GEORGE ALEXANDER STEVENS." [153] On the spirited style in which the late Miss Catley, of melodious memory, performed this character, the following lines were written; but I do not recollect having seen them printed:-- "Hail, vulgar goddess of the foul-mouth'd race! (If modest bard may hail without offence), On whose majestic, blush-disdaining face, The steady hand of Fate wrote--IMPUDENCE! Hail to thy dauntless front, and aspect bold! Thrice hail! magnificent, immortal scold! "The goddess, from the upper gallery's height, With heedful look the jealous fishwife eyes; Though early train'd to urge the mouthing fight, She hears thy bellowing powers with new surprise; Returns instructed to the realms that bore her, Adopts thy tones, and carries all before her. "From thee the roaring Bacchanalian crew, In many a tavern round the Garden known, Learn richer blackguard than they ever knew: They catch thy look,--they copy every tone; They ape the brazen honours of thy face, And push the jorum with a double grace.