The time of our meeting drew near, when Ralph called upon me, and told me that his performance was ready. I informed him that I had been idle, and, not much liking the talk, had done nothing. He ſhowed me his piece, and aſked what I thought of it. I expreſſed myſelf in terms of warm approbation; becauſe it really appeared to have conſiderable merit. He then ſaid: Oſborne will never acknowledge the ſmalleſt degree of excellence in any production of mine. Envy alone dictates to him a thouſand animadverſions. Of you he is not ſo jealous: I wiſh therefore you would take the verſes, and produce them as your own. I will pretend not to have had leiſure to write any thing. We ſhall then ſee in what manner he will ſpeak of them. I agreed to this little artifice, and immediately tranſcribed the verſes to prevent all ſuſpicion.
We met. Watſon's performance was the firſt that was read. It had ſome beauties, but many faults. We next read Oſborne's, which was much better. Ralph did it juſtice, remarking a few imperfections, and applauding ſuch parts as were excellent. He had himſelf nothing to ſhow It was now my turn. I made ſome difficulty; ſeemed as if I wiſhed to be excuſed; pretended that I had had no time to make corrections, &c. No excuſe, however, was admiſſible, and the piece muſt be produced. It was read and re-read. Watſon and Oſborne immediately resigned the palm, and united in applauding it. Ralph alone made a few remarks, and propoſed ſome alterations; but I defended my text. Oſborne agreed with me, and told Ralph that he was no more able to criticiſe than he was able to write.
When Oſborne was alone with me, he expreſſed himſelf ſtill more ſtrongly in favour of what he conſidered as my performance. He pretended
