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revise the bad Verses of others; indeed, ’tis said that in the book of poor blind old Mrs Williams, there are scarce two lines which are not the Doctor’s. At one Time Johnson recited to me some lines by a Servant to the Duke of Leeds , which had so amus’d him, that he had got them by Heart. They are on the Duke’sWedding, and so much resemble in Quality the Work of other and more recent poetick Dunces, that I cannot forbear copying them:
    ‘When the Duke of Leeds shall marry’d be
To a fine young Lady of high Quality
How happy will that Gentlewoman be
In his Grace of Leeds’ good Company.’
     
    I ask’d the Doctor, if he had ever try’d making Sense of this Piece; and upon his saying he had not, I amus’d myself with the following Amendment of it:
    When Gallant LEEDS auspiciously shall wed
The virtuous Fair, of antient Lineage bred,
How must the Maid rejoice with conscious Pride
To win so great an Husband to her Side!
     
    On shewing this to Dr Johnson, he said, ‘Sir, you have straightened out the Feet, but you have put neither Wit nor Poetry into the Lines.’
    It wou’d afford me Gratification to tell more of my Experiences with Dr Johnson and his circle of Wits; but I am an old Man, and easily fatigued. I seem to ramble along without much Logick or Continuity when I endeavour to recall the Past; and fear I light upon but few Incidents which others have not before discuss’d. Shou’d my present Recollections meet with Favour, I might later set down some further Anecdotes of old Times of which I am the only Survivor. I recall many things of Sam Johnson and his Club, having kept up my Membership in the Latter long after the Doctor’s Death, at which I sincerely mourn’d. I remember how John Burgoyne , Esq, the General, whose Dramatick and Poetical Works were printed after his Death, was blackballed by three Votes; probably because of his unfortunate Defeat in the American War , at Saratoga . Poor John ! His Son fared better, I think, and was made a Baronet. But I am very tired. I am old, very old, and it is Time for my Afternoon Nap.

 
    THE BEAST IN THE CAVE
     

    T HE HORRIBLE CONCLUSION which had been gradually intruding itself upon my confused and reluctant mind was now an awful certainty. I was lost, completely, hopelessly lost in the vast and labyrinthine recess of the Mammoth Cave. Turn as I might, in no direction could my straining vision seize on any object capable of serving as a guidepost to set me on the outward path. That nevermore should I behold the blessed light of day, or scan the pleasant hills and dales of the beautiful world outside, my reason could no longer entertain the slightest unbelief. Hope had departed. Yet, indoctrinated as I was by a life of philosophical study, I derived no small measure of satisfaction from my unimpassioned demeanour; for although I had frequently read of the wild frenzies into which were thrown the victims of similar situations, I experienced none of these, but stood quiet as soon as I clearly realised the loss of my bearings.
    Nor did the thought that I had probably wandered beyond the utmost limits of an ordinary search cause me to abandon my composure even for a moment. If I must die, I reflected, then was this terrible yet majestic cavern as welcome a sepulchre as that which any churchyard might afford, a conception which carried with it more of tranquillity than of despair.
    Starving would prove my ultimate fate; of this I was certain. Some, I knew, had gone mad under circumstances such as these, but I felt that this end would not be mine. My disaster was the result of no fault save my own, since unknown to the guide I had separated myself from the regular party of sightseers; and, wandering for over an hour in forbidden avenues of the cave, had found myself unable to retrace the devious windings which I had pursued since forsaking my companions.
    Already my torch had begun to expire; soon I would be enveloped by the total and almost palpable