his own exuberant erudition.

The poignant Fielding, in his preface to his "Journey to Lisbon," has
a fling at the gravity of our doctor. "The laborious, much-read Dr. Z.
Grey, of whose redundant notes on 'Hudibras' I shall only say that it
is, I am confident, the single book extant in which above 500 authors
are quoted, not one of which could be found in the collection of the
late Dr. Mead." Mrs. Montague, in her letters, severely characterises
the miserable father of English commentators; she wrote in youth and
spirits, with no knowledge of books, and _before_ even the unlucky
commentator had published his work, but wit is the bolder by
anticipation. She observes that "his dulness may be a proper ballast
for doggrel; and it is better that his stupidity should make jest dull
than serious and sacred things ridiculous;" alluding to his numerous
theological tracts.

Such then are the hard returns which some authors are doomed to
receive as the rewards of useful labours from those who do not even
comprehend their nature; a wit should not be admitted as a critic till
he has first proved by his gravity, or his dulness if he chooses, that
he has some knowledge; for it is the privilege and nature of wit to
write fastest and best on what it least understands. Knowledge only
encumbers and confines its flights.

FOOTNOTES:

[74] Dr. Zachary Grey was throughout a long life a busy contributor
to literature. The mere list of his productions, in
divinity and history, occupy some pages of our biographical
dictionaries. He was born 1687, and died at Ampthill, in
Bedfordshire, in 1766. In private he was noted for mild and
pleasing manners. His "Hudibras," which was first published
in 1744, in two octavo volumes, is now the standard
edition.--ED.

[75] Cole's MSS.

THE LIFE OF AN AUTHORESS.

Of all the sorrows in which the female character may participate,
there are few more affecting than those of an authoress;--often
insulated and unprotected in society--with all the sensibility of the
sex, encountering miseries which break the spirits of men; with the
repugnance arising from that delicacy which trembles when it quits its
retirement.

My acquaintance with an unfortunate lady of the name of ELIZA RYVES,
was casual and interrupted; yet I witnessed the bitterness of "hope
deferred, which maketh the heart sick." She sunk, by the slow wastings
of grief, into