BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR, SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY THE ORDINARY OF NEWGATE.

Man is a most frail being, incapable of directing his steps, unacquainted with what is to happen in this life; and perhaps no man is a more manifest instance of the truth of this maxim, than Mr. The. Cibber, just now gone out of the world. Such a variety of turns of fortune, yet such a persevering uniformity of conduct, appears in all that happened in his short span, that the whole may be looked upon as one regular confusion: every action of his life was matter of wonder and surprise, and his death was an astonishment.

This gentleman was born of creditable parents, who gave him a very good education, and a great deal of good learning, so that he could read and write before he was sixteen. However he early discovered an inclination to follow lewd courses; he refused to take the advice of his parents, and pursued the bent of his inclination: he played at cards on Sundays, called himself a gentleman; fell out with his mother and laundress; and even in these early days his father was frequently heard to observe, that young The.— would be hanged.

As he advanced in years, he grew more fond of pleasure; would eat an ortolan for dinner, though he begged the guinea that bought it; and was once known to give three pounds for a plate of green pease, which he had collected over-night as charity for a friend in distress: he ran into debt with every body that would trust him, and none could build a sconce better than he: so that at last his creditors swore with one accord that The.— would be hanged.

But as getting into debt, by a man who had no visible means but impudence for subsistence, is a thing that every reader is not acquainted with, I must explain that point a little, and that to his satisfaction.

There are three ways of getting into debt; first, by pushing a face; as thus: “You, Mr. Lutestring, send me home six yards of that paduasoy, dammee;—but, harkee, don’t think I ever intend to pay you for it, dammee.” At this the mercer laughs heartily; cuts off the paduasoy, and sends it home; nor is he, till too late, surprised to find the gentleman had said nothing but truth, and kept his word.

The second method of running into debt is called fineering; which is getting goods made up in such a fashion, as to be unfit for every other purchaser; and if the tradesman refuses to give them credit, then threaten to leave them upon his hands.

But the third and best method is called, “Being the good customer.” The gentleman first buys some trifle, and pays for it in ready money; he comes a few days after with nothing about him but bank-bills, and buys, we will suppose, a six-penny tweezer-case; the bills are too great to be changed, so he promises to return punctually the day after, and pay for what he has bought. In this promise he is punctual, and this is repeated for eight or ten times, till his face is well known, and he has got at last the character of a good customer. By this means he gets credit for something considerable, and then never pays for it.

In all this the young man, who is the unhappy subject of our present reflections, was very expert; and could face, fineer, and bring custom to a shop with any man in England: none of his companions could exceed him in this; and his very companions at last said that The.— would be hanged.

As he grew old he grew never the better; he loved ortolans and green pease as before; he drank gravy-soup when he could get it, and always thought his oysters tasted best when he got them for nothing, or, which was just the same, when he bought them upon tick. Thus the old man kept up the vices of the youth, and what he wanted in power, he made up by inclination; so that all the world thought that old The.— would be hanged.

And now, reader, I have brought him to his last scene; a scene where perhaps my duty should have obliged me to assist. You expect, perhaps, his dying words, and the tender farewell he took of his wife and children; you expect an account of his coffin and white gloves, his pious ejaculations, and the papers he left behind him. In this I cannot indulge your curiosity; for, oh! the mysteries of Fate, The.— was drowned!

“Reader,” as Hervey saith, “pause and ponder; and ponder and pause; who knows what thy own end may be!”