t he will say to it." It was
agreed, and I immediately transcrib'd it, that it might appear in my
own hand.

We met; Watson's performance was read; there were some beauties in it,
but many defects. Osborne's was read; it was much better; Ralph did it
justice; remarked some faults, but applauded the beauties. He himself
had nothing to produce. I was backward; seemed desirous of being
excused; had not had sufficient time to correct, etc.; but no excuse
could be admitted; produce I must. It was read and repeated; Watson
and Osborne gave up the contest, and join'd in applauding it. Ralph
only made some criticisms, and propos'd some amendments; but I
defended my text. Osborne was against Ralph, and told him he was no
better a critic than poet, so he dropt the argument. As they two went
home together, Osborne expressed himself still more strongly in favor
of what he thought my production; having restrain'd himself before, as
he said, lest I should think it flattery. "But who would have
imagin'd," said he, "that Franklin had been capable of such a
performance; such painting, such force, such fire! He has even
improv'd the original. In his common conversation he seems to have no
choice of words; he hesitates and blunders; and yet, good God! how he
writes!" When we next met, Ralph discovered the trick we had plaid
him, and Osborne was a little laughed at.

This transaction fixed Ralph in his resolution of becoming a poet. I
did all I could to dissuade him from it, but he continued scribbling
verses till _Pope_ cured him.[35] He became, however, a pretty good
prose writer. More of him hereafter. But, as I may not have occasion
again to mention the other two, I shall just remark here, that Watson
died in my arms a few years after, much lamented, being the best of
our set. Osborne went to the West Indies, where he became an eminent
lawyer and made money, but died young. He and I had made a serious
agreement, that the one who happen'd first to die should, if possible,
make a friendly visit to the other, and acquaint him how he found
things in that separate state. But he never fulfill'd his promise.

[35] "In one of the later editions of the _Dunciad_ occur
the following lines:

'Silence, ye wolves! while Ralph to Cynthia howls,
And makes night hideous--answer him, ye owls.'

To this the poet adds the following note:

'James Ralph, a name inserted after the first editions,
not known till he w