Note 12 — Vol. I.—2.

The matter is of no consequence—no, not even to myself. From my family I derived nothing but a name which is more, perhaps, than I shall leave: but (to check the sneers of rude vulgarity) that family was among the most ancient and respectable of this part of the country, and, not more than three generations from the present, was counted among the wealthiest.—Σχιας οναρ!

[13] He had gone with Bamfylde Moor Carew, then an old man.

[14] Her maiden name was Elizabeth Cain. My father’s christian name was Edward.

[15] This consisted of several houses, which had been thoughtlessly suffered to fall into decay, and of which the rents had been so long unclaimed, that they could not now be registered unless by an expensive litigation.

[16] Of my brother here introduced for the last time, I must yet say a few words. He was literally,

and the short passage of his life did not belie the melancholy presage of his infancy. When he was seven years old, the parish bound him out to a husbandman of the name of Leman, with whom he endured incredible hardships, which I had it not in my power to alleviate. At nine years of age he broke his thigh, and I took that opportunity to teach him to read and write. When my own situation was improved, I persuaded him to try the sea; he did so; and was taken on board the Egmont, on condition that his master should receive his wages. The time was now fast approaching when I could serve him, but he was doomed to know no favourable change of fortune: he fell sick, and died at Cork.

[17] My indenture, which now lies before me, is dated the 1st of January, 1772.

[18] The sum my master received was six pounds.

[19] As I have republished one of our old poets, it may be allowable to mention that my predilection for the drama began at an early period. Before I left school, I had written two tragedies, the Oracle and the Italian.

My qualifications for this branch of the art may be easily appreciated; and, indeed, I cannot think of them without a smile.—These rhapsodies were placed by my indulgent friend, who thought well of them, in the hands of two respectable gentlemen, who undertook to convey them to the manager of ——: I am ignorant of their fate. The death of Mr. Cookesley broke every link of my connection with the majority of my subscribers, and when subsequent events enabled me to renew them, I was ashamed to inquire after what was most probably unworthy of concern.

[20] I began this unadorned narrative on the 15th of January, 1801: twenty years have therefore elapsed since I lost my benefactor and my friend. In the interval I have wept a thousand times at the recollection of his goodness; I yet cherish his memory with filial respect; and at this distant period, my heart sinks within me at every repetition of his name.

[21] Many of these papers were distributed; the terms, which I extract from one of them, were these: “The work shall be printed in quarto, (without notes,) and be delivered to the Subscribers in the month of December next.

“The price will be sixteen shillings in boards, half to be paid at the time of subscribing, the remainder on delivery of the book.”

[22] I have a melancholy satisfaction in recording that this revered friend and patron lived to witness my grateful acknowledgment of his kindness. He survived the appearance of the translation but a very few days, and I paid the last sad duty to his memory, by attending his remains to the grave. To me—this laborious work has not been happy: the same disastrous event that marked its commencement, has embittered its conclusion; and frequently forced upon my recollection the calamity of the rebuilder of Jericho, “He laid the foundation thereof in Abiram, his first born, and set up the gates thereof in his youngest son, Segub.” 1806.