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However that were, his disappearance seemed to be bewailed as some general calamity. Every one wanted so agreeable an amusement, and the Coffee-houses began to be sensible that the Esquire's 'Lucubrations' alone had brought them more customers than all their other newspapers put together.
This invaluable document, which bore the London postdate of June 23, 1832, ran as follows: "Anglesea Hotel, Haymarket, London, June 23, 1832. "Sir Please to erect a plain tomb-stone at the head of Charles Gosford, Esquire's grave, who died a few month's since at Swords, aged thirty-two years. This is all that need be inscribed upon it. You are referred to Mr.
Steele has treated of, in so different manners, and yet all so perfectly well, made the World believe that it was impossible they should all come from the same hand. This set every one upon guessing who was the Esquire's friend? and most people at first fancied it must be Doctor Swift; but it is now no longer a secret, that his only great and constant assistant was Mr. Addison.
He waited no longer; springing on his charger, with a movement so sudden and unexpected, the helmet fell from his esquire's hand, and waving his sword above his undefended head, he shouted aloud his war-cry, and dashed on, followed by his men, to the spot where a large body of his foes already stood.
"What!" cried the captain, enraged by the low murmur uttered by the grooms as if endorsing the young esquire's words. "More insolent than ever! Give up your sword, or, by Heaven, I'll send you back to the castle upon a litter." "Send me, then," said the lad contemptuously, "or be prepared to go yourself." "Bah! No more words. Come on," cried the captain; and he prepared to attack once more.
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