; but no excuse could be admitted; produce I must.
It was read and repeated; Watson and Osborne gave up the contest,
and join'd in applauding it. Ralph only made some criticisms,
and propos'd some amendments; but I defended my text. Osborne was
against Ralph, and told him he was no better a critic than poet,
so he dropt the argument. As they two went home together,
Osborne expressed himself still more strongly in favor of what he
thought my production; having restrain'd himself before, as he said,
lest I should think it flattery. "But who would have imagin'd,"
said he, "that Franklin had been capable of such a performance;
such painting, such force, such fire! He has even improv'd the original.
In his common conversation he seems to have no choice of words;
he hesitates and blunders; and yet, good God! how he writes!"
When we next met, Ralph discovered the trick we had plaid him,
and Osborne was a little laught at.
This transaction fixed Ralph in his resolution of becoming a poet.
I did all I could to dissuade him from it, but he continued
scribbling verses till Pope cured him. He became, however, a pretty
good prose writer. More of him hereafter. But, as I may not have
occasion again to mention the other two, I shall just remark here,
that Watson died in my arms a few years after, much lamented,
being the best of our set. Osborne went to the West Indies,
where he became an eminent lawyer and made money, but died young.
He and I had made a serious agreement, that the one who happen'd
first to die should, if possible, make a friendly visit to the other,
and acquaint him how he found things in that separate state.
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