Crabbe himself, tells me, they were once, without being aware of it,
in the same inn together for a day or two, and must have frequently
met, as they went in and out of the house, during the time.
Almost every second day, while the Satire was printing, Mr. Dallas,
who had undertaken to superintend it through the press, received fresh
matter, for the enrichment of its pages, from the author, whose mind,
once excited on any subject, knew no end to the outpourings of its
wealth. In one of his short notes to Mr. Dallas, he says, "Print soon,
or I shall overflow with rhyme;" and it was, in the same manner, in
all his subsequent publications,--as long, at least, as he remained
within reach of the printer,--that he continued thus to feed the
press, to the very last moment, with new and "thick-coming fancies,"
which the re-perusal of what he had already written suggested to him.
It would almost seem, indeed, from the extreme facility and rapidity
with which he produced some of his brightest passages during the
progress of his works through the press, that there was in the very
act of printing an excitement to his fancy, and that the rush of his
thoughts towards this outlet gave increased life and freshness to
their flow.
Among the passing events from which he now caught illustrations for
his poem was the melancholy death of Lord Falkland,--a gallant, but
dissipated naval officer, with whom the habits of his town life had
brought him acquainted, and who, about the beginning of March, was
killed in a duel by Mr.
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