sigh on the seventeenth of September, 1802--

--Like ripe fruit he dropp'd
Into his mother's lap ...
...for death mature.

Having always lived in an union of the utmost tenderness with his
family, he exhibited a pleasing instance of the "ruling passion strong
in death." "Having passed," says his son, "a considerable time in a sort
of doze, from which it was thought he had hardly strength to revive, he
awoke, and upon seeing me, feebly articulated, 'How do the dear people
do?' When I answered that they were well; with a smile upon his
countenance, and an increased energy of voice, he replied, 'I thank
God;' and then reposed his head upon his pillow, and spoke no more."

He was buried at Twickenham, where, on inquiring a few years ago, I
found that no monument had been raised to his memory.

He left behind a widow, a daughter, and two sons. From the narrative of
his life written by one of these, the Reverend Archdeacon Cambridge, and
prefixed to a handsome edition of his poems and his papers in The World,
the above account has been chiefly extracted.

Chesterfield, another of the contributors to The World, inserted in it a
short character of him under the name of Cantabrigiensis, introduced by
an encomium on his temperance; for he was a water-drinker.

That he was what is commonly termed a news-monger, appears from the
following laughable story, told by the late Mr. George Hardinge, the
Welch Judge:--