On Bois.-- Campbell.--Theodore Hook.--Mathews.--James and Horace Smith.--Fuseli.--Bonnycastle.--Kinnaird, &c.
JUST after this period I fell in with a new set of acquaintances, accounts of whom may not be uninteresting.-- I forget what it was that, introduced me to Mr. Hill, proprietor of the Monthly Mirror; but at his house at Sydenham I used to meet his editor, Du Bois; Thomas Campbell, who was his neighbor; and the two Smiths, authors of The Rejected Addresses. I saw also Theodore Hook, and Mathews the comedian. Our host was a jovial bachelor, plump and rosy as an abbot; and no abbot could have presided over a more festive Sunday. The wine flowed merrily and long: the discourse kept pace with it; and next morning in returning to town; we felt ourselves very thirsty. A pump by the roadside, with a plash round it, was a bewitching sight.
Du Bois was one of those wits, who, like the celebrated Eachard, have no faculty of gravity. His handsome hawks eyes looked blank at a speculation; but set a joke or a piece of raillery in motion, and they sparkled with wit and malice. Nothing could be more trite or commonplace than his serious observations. Acquiescences they should rather have been called; for he seldom ventured upon a gravity, but in echo of another's remark. If he did, it was in defense of orthodoxy, of which he was a great advocate; but his quips and cranks were infinite. He was also an excellent scholar, he, Dr. King and Eachard, would have made a capital trio over a table, for scholarship, mirth, drinking, and religion. He was intimate with Sir Philip Francis, and gave the public a new edition of the Horace of Sir Philip's father. The literary world knew him well also as the writer of a pop-