My pamphlet by some means falling into the hands of one Lyons, a surgeon, author of a book entitled “The Infallibility of Human Judgment,” it occasioned an acquaintance between us.  He took great notice of me, called on me often to converse on those subjects, carried me to the Horns, a pale alehouse in ——­ Lane, Cheapside, and introduced me to Dr. Mandeville, author of the “Fable of the Bees,” who had a club there, of which he was the soul, being a most facetious, entertaining companion.  Lyons, too, introduced me to Dr. Pemberton, at Batson’s Coffee-house, who promis’d to give me an opportunity, some time or other, of seeing Sir Isaac Newton, of which I was extreamely desirous; but this never happened.

I had brought over a few curiosities, among which the principal was a purse made of the asbestos, which purifies by fire.  Sir Hans Sloane heard of it, came to see me, and invited me to his house in Bloomsbury Square, where he show’d me all his curiosities, and persuaded me to let him add that to the number, for which he paid me handsomely.

In our house there lodg’d a young woman, a milliner, who, I think, had a shop in the Cloisters.  She had been genteelly bred, was sensible and lively, and of most pleasing conversation.  Ralph read plays to her in the evenings, they grew intimate, she took another lodging, and he followed her.  They liv’d together some time; but, he being still out of business, and her income not sufficient to maintain them with her child, he took a resolution of going from London, to try for a country school, which he thought himself well qualified to undertake, as he wrote an excellent hand, and was a master of arithmetic and accounts.  This, however, he deemed a business below him, and confident of future better fortune, when he should be unwilling to have it known that he once was so meanly employed, he changed his name, and did me the honor to assume mine; for I soon after had a letter from him, acquainting me that he was settled in a small village (in Berkshire, I think it was, where he taught reading and writing to ten or a dozen boys, at sixpence each per week), recommending Mrs. T——­ to my care, and desiring me to write to him, directing for Mr. Franklin, schoolmaster, at such a place.

He continued to write frequently, sending me large specimens of an epic poem which he was then composing, and desiring my remarks and corrections.  These I gave him from time to time, but endeavor’d rather to discourage his proceeding.  One of Young’s Satires was then just published.  I copy’d and sent him a great part of it, which set in a strong light the folly of pursuing the Muses with any hope of advancement by them.  All was in vain; sheets of the poem continued to come by every post.  In the mean time, Mrs. T——­, having on his account lost her friends and business, was often in distresses, and us’d to send for me, and borrow what I could spare to help her out of them.  I grew fond of her company, and, being at that time