ocure any assistance. The last
time the keeper saw him was on July 31, when Savage, seeing him at his
bed-side, said, with uncommon earnestness, I have something to say to
you, sir, but, after a pause, moved his hand in a melancholy manner, and
finding himself unable to recollect what he was going to communicate,
said, 'tis gone. The keeper soon after left him, and the next morning he
died. He was buried in the church-yard of St. Peter, at the expence of
the keeper.

Such were the life and death of this unfortunate poet; a man equally
distinguished by his virtues and vices, and, at once, remarkable for his
weaknesses and abilities. He was of a middle stature, of a thin habit of
body, a long visage, coarse features, and a melancholy aspect; of a
grave and manly deportment, a solemn dignity of mien, but which, upon a
nearer acquaintance, softened into an engaging easiness of manners. His
walk was slow, and his voice tremulous and mournful. He was easily
excited to smiles, but very seldom provoked to laughter. His judgment
was eminently exact, both with regard to writings and to men. The
knowledge of life was his chief attainment. He was born rather to bear
misfortunes greatly, than to enjoy prosperity with moderation. He
discovered an amazing firmness of spirit, in spurning those who presumed
to dictate to him in the lowest circumstances of misery; but we never
can reconcile the idea of true greatness of mind, with the perpetual
inclination Savage discovered to live upon the bounty of his friends. To
struggle for independence appears much more laudable, as well as a
higher instance of spirit, than to be the pensioner of another.

As Savage had seen so much of the world, and was capable of so deep a
penetration into nature, it was strange he could not form some scheme of
a livelihood, more honourable than that of a poetical mendicant: his
prosecuting any plan of life with diligence, would have thrown more
lustre on his character, than, all his works, and have raised our ideas
of the greatness of his spirit, much, beyond the conduct we have already
seen. If poverty is so great an evil as to expose a man to commit
actions, at which he afterwards blushes, to avoid this poverty should be
the continual care of every man; and he, who lets slip every opportunity
of doing so, is more entitled to admiration than pity, should he bear
his sufferings nobly.

Mr. Savage's temper, in consequence of the dominion of his passions, was
u