own self-complacency, he dared to exhibit his peculiarities before the English Aristophanes.  It was an act of imprudence, for Foote had long before (in 1747) opened the little theatre of the Haymarket with a sort of monologue play, ’The Diversions of the Morning,’ in which he convulsed his audience with the perfection of a mimicry never beheld before, and so wonderful, that even the persons of his models seemed to stand before the amazed spectators.

These entertainments, in which the contriver was at once the author and performer, have been admirably revived by Mathews and others; and in another line, by the lamented Albert Smith.  The Westminster justices, furious and alarmed, opposed the daring performance, on which Foote changed the name of his piece, and called it ’Mr. Foote giving Tea to his Friends,’ himself still the sole actor, and changing with Proteus-like celerity from one to the other.  Then came his ’Auction of Pictures,’ and Sir Thomas de Veil, one of his enemies, the justices, was introduced.  Orator Henley and Cock the auctioneer figured also; and year after year the town was enchanted by that which is most gratifying to a polite audience, the finished exhibition of faults and follies.  One stern voice was raised in reprobation, that of Samuel Johnson:  he, at all events, had a due horror of buffoons; but even he owned himself vanquished.

’The first time I was in Foote’s company was at Fitzherbert’s.  Having no good opinion of the fellow, I was resolved not to be pleased:  and it is very difficult to please a man against his will.  I went on eating my dinner pretty sullenly, affecting not to mind him; but the dog was so very comical, that I was obliged to lay down my knife and fork, throw myself back in my chair, and fairly laugh it out.  Sir, he was irresistible.’  Consoled by Foote’s misfortunes and ultimate complicated misery for his lessened importance, Bubb Dodington still reigned, however, in the hearts of some learned votaries.  Richard Bentley, the critic, compared him to Lord Halifax—­

  ’That Halifax, my Lord, as you do yet,
  Stood forth the friend of poetry and wit,
  Sought silent merit in the secret cell,
  And Heav’n, nay even man, repaid him well.

A more remorseless foe, however, than Foote appeared in the person of Charles Churchill, the wild and unclerical son of a poor curate of Westminster.  Foote laughed Bubb Dodington down, but Churchill perpetuated the satire; for Churchill was wholly unscrupulous, and his faults had been reckless and desperate.  Wholly unfit for a clergyman, he had taken orders, obtained a curacy in Wales at L30 a year—­not being able to subsist, took to keeping a cider-cellar, became a sort of bankrupt, and quitting Wales, succeeded to the curacy of his father, who had just died.  Still famine haunted his home; Churchill took, therefore, to teaching young ladies to read and write, and conducted himself in the boarding-school where his duties lay,