she was again favoured with a competent sum, to turn it into trade, and quit the precarious life of a poetical mendicant.  Mr. Cibber had five guineas in reserve for her, which, with ten more she received from the duke of Marlborough, enabled her to take a shop in St. James’s Street, which she filled with pamphlets and prints, as being a business better suited to her taste and abilities, than any other.  Her adventures, while she remained a shopkeeper, are not extremely important.  She has neglected to inform us how long she continued behind the counter, but has told us, however, that by the liberality of her friends, and the bounty of her subscribers, she was set above want, and that the autumn of her days was like to be spent in peace and serenity.

But whatever were her prospects, she lived not long to enjoy the comforts of competence, for on the 29th of August, 1750, a few years after the publication of her second volume, she died at Dublin, in the thirty ninth year of her age.

Considered as a writer, she holds no mean rank.  She was the author of The Turkish Court, or The London Apprentice, acted at the theatre in Caple-street, Dublin, 1748, but never printed.  This piece was poorly performed, otherwise it promised to have given great satisfaction.  The first act of her tragedy of the Roman Father, is no ill specimen of her talents that way, and throughout her Memoirs there are scattered many beautiful little pieces, written with a true spirit of poetry, though under all the disadvantages that wit can suffer.  Her memory seems to have been amazingly great, of which her being able to repeat almost all Shakespear is an astonishing instance.

One of the prettiest of her poetical performances, is the following Address to the reverend Dr. Hales, with whom she became acquainted at the house of captain Mead, near Hampton-Court.

To the Revd.  Dr. HALES.

    Hail, holy sage! whose comprehensive mind,
  Not to this narrow spot of earth confin’d,
  Thro’ num’rous worlds can nature’s laws explore,
  Where none but Newton ever trod before;
  And, guided by philosophy divine,
  See thro’ his works th’Almighty Maker shine: 
  Whether you trace him thro’ yon rolling spheres,
  Where, crown’d with boundless glory, he appears;
  Or in the orient sun’s resplendent rays,
  His setting lustre, or his noon-tide blaze,
  New wonders still thy curious search attend,
  Begun on earth, in highest Heav’n to end. 
  O! while thou dost those God-like works pursue,
  What thanks, from human-kind to thee are due! 
  Whose error, doubt, and darkness, you remove,
  And charm down knowledge from her throne above. 
  Nature to thee her choicest secrets yields,
  Unlocks her springs, and opens all her fields;
  Shews the rich treasure that her breast contains,
  In azure fountains, or enamell’d plains;
  Each healing stream, each plant of virtuous use,
  To thee their medicinal pow’rs produce. 
  Pining disease and anguish wing their flight,
  And rosy health renews us to delight.