had been allotted him, but thought he had a right to share the
affluence of his mother; and therefore without scruple applied to
her as her son, and made use of every art to awaken her tenderness
and attract her regard. But neither his letters, nor the
interposition of those friends which his merit or his distress
procured him, made any impression on her mind. She still resolved
to neglect, though she could no longer disown him. It was to no
purpose that he frequently solicited her to admit him to see her;
she avoided him with the most vigilant precaution, and ordered him
to be excluded from her house, by whomsoever he might be introduced,
and what reason soever he might give for entering it.

Savage was at the same time so touched with the discovery of his
real mother, that it was his frequent practice to walk in the dark
evenings for several hours before her door, in hopes of seeing her
as she might come by accident to the window, or cross her apartment
with a candle in her hand. But all his assiduity and tenderness
were without effect, for he could neither soften her heart nor open
her hand, and was reduced to the utmost miseries of want, while he
was endeavouring to awaken the affection of a mother. He was
therefore obliged to seek some other means of support; and, having
no profession, became by necessity an author.

At this time the attention of the literary world was engrossed by
the Bangorian controversy, which filled the press with pamphlets,
and the coffee-houses with disputants. Of this subject, as most
popular, he made choice for his first attempt, and, without any
other knowledge of the question than he had casually collected from
conversation, published a poem against the bishop. What was the
success or merit of this performance I know not; it was probably