He was sometimes so intolerably sarcastic, and more particularly at the expence of his friends in the city, that the wonder is, how he could so long continue in their good graces. He never put any restraint upon himself, when in company, on the other side of Temple-bar, but indulged in all the satire of his wit, at the citizen’s expence. A few examples, among a hundred that could easily be given, may suffice. When confined in the King’s Bench, he was waited upon by a deputation from some ward in the city, when the office of alderman was vacant. As there had already been great fermentation on his account, and much more apprehended, they who were deputed, undertook to remonstrate with Wilkes on the danger to the public peace, which would result from his offering himself as a candidate on the present occasion, and expressed the hope that he would at least wait till some more suitable opportunity presented itself. But they mistook their man; this was with him an additional motive for persevering in his first intentions. After much useless conversation, one of the deputies at length exclaimed, “Well, Mr. Wilkes, if you are thus determined, we must take the sense of the ward.” “With all my heart,” replied Wilkes, “I will take the non-sense, and beat you ten to one.” Upon another occasion, Wilkes attended a city dinner, not long after his promotion to city-honours. Among the guests was a noisy vulgar deputy, a great glutton, who, on his entering the dinner room, always with great deliberation took off his wig, suspended it on a pin, and with due solemnity put on a white cotton night-cap. Wilkes, who certainly was a high-bred man, and never accustomed to similar exhibitions, could not take his eyes from so strange and novel a picture. At length, the deputy, with unblushing familiarity, walked up to Wilkes, and asked him whether he did not think that his night-cap became him? “Oh! Yes, Sir,” replied Wilkes, “but it would look much better if it was pulled quite over your face.” Wilkes’s dislike of the Scotch was sufficiently notorious, yet he was very partial to Boswell, and often sought his society. I dined with him once, (_loquitur Sexagenarius noster_) when, among some enlightened people, was present a heavy, stupid, consequential fellow, who held some city office, and who often, in the course of the conversation, treated Wilkes with much rudeness. It seemed that Wilkes and Boswell had met in Italy, and had ascended to the top of Vesuvius together. They recapitulated various circumstances of their expedition with much pleasantness and good-humour: and among other things, Boswell reminded Wilkes, with no ordinary satisfaction, of the exquisite Lacryma Christi, which they had found at a hermitage for the accommodation of travellers, half-way up the mountain: “Pray brother Wilkes,” said the citizen, “what is Lacryma Christi?” The answer which is here omitted, joined the most perfect wit, to the grossest blasphemy.