in reality but running among rocks and shelves, to stop his course. May his waters never be troubled with mud or gravel, nor stopped by any grinding stone! May his friends be all true trouts, and his enemies laid as flat as flounders! I look upon him as the most fluent of his race; therefore let him not despond. I foresee his black rod will advance to a pike, and destroy all our ills.
But I am going; my wind in lungs is turning to a winding sheet. The thoughts of a pall begin to apall me. Life is but a vapour, car elle va pour la moindre cause. Farewell: I have lived ad amicorum fastidium, and now behold how fast I di um!"
Here his breath failed him, and he expired. There are some false spellings here and there; but they must be pardoned in a dying man.
A Letter to the King at Arms.
[From a reputed Esquire, One of the Subscribers to the Bank.]
IN a late printed paper, containing some notes and queries upon that list of the subscribers names which was published by order of the commissioners for receiving subscriptions, I find some hints and innuendoes that would seem to insinuate, as if I and some
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