' This
shewed both that a journal of his Tour upon the Continent was not wholly
out of his contemplation, and that he uniformly adhered to that strange
opinion, which his indolent disposition made him utter: 'No man but a
blockhead ever wrote, except for money[53].' Numerous instances to refute
this will occur to all who are versed in the history of literature.[54]
He gave us one of the many sketches of character which were treasured in
his mind, and which he was wont to produce quite unexpectedly in a very
entertaining manner. 'I lately, (said he,) received a letter from the
East Indies, from a gentleman whom I formerly knew very well; he had
returned from that country with a handsome fortune, as it was reckoned,
before means were found to acquire those immense sums which have been
brought from thence of late; he was a scholar, and an agreeable man, and
lived very prettily in London, till his wife died. After her death, he
took to dissipation and gaming, and lost all he had. One evening he lost
a thousand pounds to a gentleman whose name I am sorry I have forgotten.
Next morning he sent the gentleman five hundred pounds, with an apology
that it was all he had in the world.
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