The Love Letters 
 
 of 
 Mr. H. fc? Miss R. 
 
^JUUUv^ 
 
 The *Love-Lettersof 
 
 Mr. H. ftf Miss R. 
 ,1775-1779, 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 GILBERT BURGESS 
 
 CHICAGO 
 STONE &T KIMBALL 
 
 MDCCCXCV 
 
c 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 THE strange and pathetic story that is 
 told in the love letters that passed 
 between Mr. Hackman and Miss Reay, 
 excited widespread attention and sympathy 
 during the spring of the year 1779, and 
 interest in the affair was revived in the 
 following year by the publication of an 
 anonymous book in which some of these 
 letters, in a garbled form, were inserted. 
 
 The originals, or copies of the originals 
 for Hackman was sufficiently romantic to 
 have kept copies of his own letters were 
 given to Kearsly, the publisher, by Mr. 
 Frederick Booth, Hackman's brother-in-law, 
 in consequence of Kearsly having issued a 
 pamphlet, on the 24th of April, 1779, called 
 " The Case and Memoirs of the late Revd. 
 Mr. James Hackman," which was full of 
 errors. In the Public Advertiser of the 24th of 
 
Introduction 
 
 April, 1779, Booth, in view of the advertised 
 publication of the " Case and Memoirs " 
 by Kearsly, announced positively that no 
 materials for a life of Hackman could possibly 
 be obtained except through him, as all the 
 necessary letters and documents were in his 
 possession. Croft's edition of the letters 
 was issued by the same publisher in the 
 spring of the following year. It is not quite 
 clear whether Booth was approached by 
 Kearsly or by Croft; but that he (Booth) 
 was satisfied with the latter's work is evident 
 from the fact that it elicited no further pro- 
 test from him. 
 
 Sir Herbert Croft, Bart., was born at 
 Dunster Park, Berkshire, on November i, 
 1751. In March, 1771, he matriculated at 
 University College, Oxford, 1 where Scott 
 afterwards Lord Stowell was his tutor. 2 He 
 then entered Lincoln's Inn, but want of 
 means did not allow him to continue in the 
 profession of the law, so in 1782 he returned 
 to Oxford, and decided for the Church. In 
 April, 1785, he took the degree of B.C.L., 
 and in 1786 he received the vicarage of 
 
 1 Nichols' " Literary Illustrations," v. 202. 
 
 2 " Diet. Nat. Biog." (Stephen.) 
 
 vi 
 
Introduction 
 
 Prittlewell, 1 in Essex. During his sojourn at 
 Lincoln's Inn, he wrote many tracts and 
 pamphlets; he also tried to compile an 
 English dictionary, but he found that ;ioo 
 a year the amount he had available for 
 that purpose was hardly sufficient. 
 
 He also wrote the life of Young for 
 Johnson's series of the Lives of the Poets. 2 
 Croft was somewhat eccentric in the manage- 
 ment of his finances, and was always begging 
 money or preferment from his friends ; there 
 is a letter in the British Museum 3 from him 
 to Bishop Douglas, 4 hi which he complains 
 of having been cold-shouldered by Pitt, 
 whose favour he had tried to gain by offering 
 
 1 Gentleman's Magazine, 1816, pt. i. 470. 
 
 2 Among Croft's other works were : "A Brother's 
 Advice to his Sisters," 1775. "Fanaticism and 
 Treason," "The Literary Fly," 1780. "The 
 Abbey of Kilhampton," 1780 a series of anti- 
 cipatory epitaphs upon prominent living personages. 
 "Sunday Evenings," 1784, religious discourses, 
 which Dr. Johnson disapproved of on account of 
 their levity of style (Boswell's Johnson, Morley's 
 edition, iv. 231), and a curious French work, 
 " Horace eclairci par la ponctuation," Paris, 1810. 
 
 3 Egerton MSS. 2185, fol. 172. 
 
 4 John Douglas, Bishop of Salisbury. (Gent. Mag. 
 1807, pt. i. 475.) 
 
Introduction 
 
 to insert verses in favour of that politician in 
 a book he was writing. There is also a 
 letter, 1 dated i3th of October, 1796, to 
 Bishop Douglas' son, the Rev. W. Douglas, 
 written from Exeter Gaol, "the common 
 prison ^<&/ hoc approbria I " as Croft 
 says, where he was imprisoned for a debt of 
 ^40, which he hopes Mr. Douglas will send 
 at once. Croft subsequently lived in France 
 with the eccentric Lady Mary Hamilton. 
 
 On the death of Chatterton, Croft ob- 
 tained from the poet's sister, Mrs. Newton, 
 his letters and manuscripts, and, foreseeing 
 that the Hackman-Reay correspondence 
 would have a large sale, he decided to in- 
 clude the Chatterton matter in the volume, 
 which he entitled "Love and Madness." 
 He clumsily put his papers into the form of 
 a letter from Hackman, which was marked 
 No. 49 in the original book, and is included 
 in the Appendix to the present volume. 
 The difference in the style of this letter 
 from that of all the others was so apparent 
 that suspicion fell upon the authenticity of 
 other parts of the volume. 
 
 1 Egerton MSS. 2186, fol. 88-93. 
 viii 
 
Introduction 
 
 John Nichols 1 mentions " Love and 
 Madness " as having passed through seven 
 editions. "These letters," he continues, 
 "are given as the correspondence of Mr. 
 
 Hackman and Miss Reay They are 
 
 enlivened with a variety of anecdotes, 
 chiefly of a literary kind. Among other 
 miscellaneous matters, the story of that 
 extraordinary genius, Thomas Chatterton, is 
 introduced at great length, with critical ob- 
 servations on his writings j an account of his 
 publication of ' Poems,' said to have been 
 written by one Rowley, a monk, about 300 
 years ago ; of his other schemes of author- 
 ship, and, finally, of his unhappy exit, in 
 
 the eighteenth year of his age If 
 
 this be all 'borrowed personage,' as Mr. 
 Walpole expressed it, it is so ingenious a 
 fiction, that the author will be praised, 
 perhaps, for his abilities even by those who 
 may find themselves inclined to impeach his 
 honesty." 
 
 In the Monthly Magazine for November, 
 1799, Robert Southey brought a charge 
 against Croft of having obtained the papers 
 and letters relating to Chatterton from the 
 
 1 " Literary Illustrations," v. 203. 
 ix 
 
Introduction 
 
 unfortunate poet's sister, Mrs. Newton, under 
 false pretences. Croft, who was at that time 
 in Denmark, sent a very foolish and evasive 
 reply to the same Magazine, 1 in which he 
 said that he must first arrange Southey's 
 abuse, for that gentleman wrote prose some- 
 what like bad poetry, and poetry somewhat 
 like bad prose. He entirely ignored the 
 main charge brought against him, and his 
 vulgar attack upon Southey brought him 
 justly into contempt among the literary men 
 of the day. 
 
 The Rev. Charles Cuthbert Southey, who 
 edited his father's " Life and Correspondence," 
 writes to Grosvenor C. Bedford, upon this 
 subject. 
 
 " Sir Herbert Croft had obtained possession 
 from Mrs. Newton (Chatterton's sister) of all 
 her brother's letters and MSS. under promise 
 of speedily returning them; instead of which, 
 some months afterwards, he incorporated 
 and published them in a pamphlet, entitled 
 ' Love and Madness.' 
 
 /" At the use thus surreptitiously made of 
 her brother's writings, Mrs. Newton more than 
 
 1 Gentleman's Magazine, February, March and 
 April, 1800. 
 
 x 
 
Introduction 
 
 once remonstrated j but, beyond the sum of 
 ;io, she could obtain no redress. Mr. 
 Cottle l and my father now took the matter 
 up, and the former wrote to Sir H. Croft, 
 pointing out to him Mrs. Newton's reasonable 
 claim, and urging him by a timely concession 
 to prevent that publicity which otherwise 
 would follow. 
 
 " He received no answer ; and my father 
 then determined to print by subscription 
 all Chatterton's works, including those 
 ascribed to Rowley, for the benefit of Mrs. 
 Newton and her daughter. He accordingly 
 sent proposals to the Monthly Magazine^ in 
 which he detailed the whole case between 
 Mrs. Newton and Sir Herbert Croft, and 
 published their respective letters. The public 
 sympathised rightly on the occasion, for a 
 handsome subscription followed. Sir Herbert 
 Croft was residing in Denmark at the time 
 these proposals were published, and he re- 
 plied to my father's statement by a pamphlet 
 full of much personal abuse." 
 
 However, Mr. Cottle and Southey pub- 
 lished the edition in three volumes 8vo, and 
 the editors had the satisfaction of paying over 
 
 1 A well-known Bristol bookseller, 
 xi 
 
Introduction 
 
 to Mrs. Newton and her daughter upwards 
 
 of 3- 
 
 Southey again brought charges against 
 Croft in the Gentlemen's Magazine for 
 March 1800. He says "Sir Herbert does 
 not deny his promises to the family of after 
 assistance, nor that when Mrs. Newton 
 applied for it, he required a certificate of her 
 character from the Clergyman of the Parish." 
 
 In a note to the ninth edition of " Love 
 and Madness," Croft excuses himself for 
 having pretended that Mr. Hackman had 
 visited Bristol to find out facts about Chat- 
 terton, by referring to an extract from the 
 fourteenth letter in " Love and Madness." 
 
 The passage he mentions is as follows : 
 
 " Robinson Crusoe now what nature ! It 
 affects us throughout, exactly in the way you 
 mentioned. But, shall I finish my disserta- 
 tion ? come as writing to you gives me so 
 much pleasure, and as I cannot do anything 
 to you but write this morning, I know you 
 will excuse me. Did you ever hear to what 
 Crusoe owed his existence ? You remember 
 Alexander Selkirk's strange sequestration at 
 Juan Fernandez. It is mentioned, I believe, 
 in Walter's account of Anson's voyage, when 
 xii 
 
Introduction 
 
 Captain Woodes Rogers met with him and 
 brought him to England, he employed the 
 famous Daniel de Foe to revise his papers. 
 That fertile genius improved upon the 
 materials, and composed the celebrated story 
 of Robinson Crusoe. The consequence was 
 that Selkirk, who soon after made his appear- 
 ance in print, was considered as a bastard of 
 Crusoe, with which spurious offspring the 
 press too often teems. In De Foe, un- 
 doubtedly, this was not honest. Had Selkirk 
 given him his papers, there could have been 
 no harm in working them up his own way. 
 I can easily conceive a writer making his 
 own use of a known fact, and filling up the 
 outlines which have been sketched by the 
 bold and hasty hand of fate. A moral may 
 be added, by such means, to a particular 
 incident; characters may be placed in their 
 just and proper lights; mankind may be 
 amused (and amusements, sometimes, pre- 
 vent crimes), or, if the story be criminal, 
 mankind may be bettered, through the channel 
 of their curiosity. But I would not be dis- 
 honest, like De Foe ; nor would I pain the 
 breast of a single individual connected with 
 this story." 
 
 xiii 
 
Introduction 
 
 Yet Croft, who thus denounces Defoe, 
 announced subsequently that he himself had 
 acted with precisely the same dishonesty in 
 the matter of Mr.Hackman's correspondence. 
 A further light is thrown upon the matter 
 by an advertisement to the eighth edition 
 of "The Case and Memoirs;" the author, 
 who, on the evidence of a rhymed lampoon 
 in one of the papers of the day, was one 
 Manasseh Dawes, 1 a barrister and literary 
 hack, says that, being a gentleman, he wishes 
 to keep that character inviolate; conse- 
 quently, he thinks it necessary to declare 
 that all the facts are genuine, as he will testify 
 and explain, if necessary, on an application 
 to him at Mr. Kearsly's (the publisher), and 
 he hopes that, therefore, his numerous 
 readers will not now suppose that he has 
 " intruded anything on the public with intent 
 to catch the penny of curiosity, at the 
 expense of truth and candour," 
 
 When this was written Kearsly had pos- 
 session of the real facts of the case, and 
 was able to invite investigation. 
 
 The enormous success of "Love and 
 Madness" tempted Croft to declare him- 
 
 1 Public Advertiser, June 3, 1779. 
 xiv 
 
Introduction 
 
 self the author of the Chatterton excerpt, 
 and also to hint that of the entire work 
 only the outline was true. The word out- 
 line is easily expansible, and, considering 
 that the letter about Chatterton, and two 
 or three other obvious additions, formed 
 half the volume, he was, perhaps, justified in 
 claiming his portion. Croft says that he 
 dedicates the ninth edition to Johnson, 
 because the Doctor had expressed his appre- 
 ciation of the work. But Boswell records 1 
 that Johnson censured and much disapproved 
 of " Love and Madness," on account of the 
 mingling of the fact with the fiction that is 
 to say, the inclusion of the Chatterton papers 
 among the Hackman-Reay correspondence. 
 
 As several of the connecting links in the 
 narrative are missing, I have endeavoured to 
 weave the letters into a coherent narrative ; 
 in one or two instances I have been obliged 
 to suppress certain passages, by reason of 
 their having been written at a time when 
 there was a greater license of expression 
 than is permissible nowadays. I have also 
 omitted, in two of the letters, references to 
 Chatterton which Croft introduced to give 
 
 1 Boswell's Johnson (Henry Morley), iv. 134. 
 
Introduction 
 
 verisimilitude to his assertion that the long 
 letter containing the life of the poet was 
 written by Hackman. 
 
 No record of Croft's own work tallies at all 
 with the idea that he created such a romance. 
 But, apart from the controversy, the story 
 and the letters seem to me to be a veritable 
 " human document " of strong interest. And, 
 after exhaustive investigation, I am convinced 
 that such a document is only explainable on 
 the grounds of a real living correspondence 
 and that these letters are, without doubt, 
 those that passed between Hackman and 
 Miss Reay. 
 
 April, 1895. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 
 AT HlNCHINBROOK 
 
 PART II 
 
 IN IRELAND 
 
 PAGE 
 19 
 
 75 
 
 PART III 
 
 IN LONDON 117 
 
 APPENDIX . 
 
 183 
 
 xvii 
 
PART I 
 
 AT HINCHINBROOK 
 
 JAMES HACKMAN, who figures as Mr. 
 H. in this collection of letters, was 
 born at Gosport, in the year 1752. His 
 father was a retired Naval Lieutenant, with a 
 modest income, which, however, was large 
 enough to enable him to give his son a good 
 general education, and to send him subse- 
 quently to St. John's College, Cambridge. 
 
 On leaving the University, James Hackman 
 was apprenticed to a mercer in his native 
 town but soon tiring of trade, he persuaded 
 his father to buy him an ensigncy in the 68th 
 Regiment of Foot. He was then quartered 
 upon a recruiting party at Huntingdon, where 
 he first made the acquaintance of the famous 
 (or infamous) Earl of Sandwich, who was the 
 First Lord of the Admiralty at that time. 
 Cradock, in his " Memoirs," writes that a 
 friend of Lord Sandwich's was a candidate 
 19 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 for the Chemistry Professorship at Cambridge, 
 and that, as Cradock had been solicited for 
 his vote and interest, the Earl invited him to 
 travel in his coach, and to stay with him at 
 his seat, Hinchinbrook, on his return journey 
 to London. Cradock continues : 
 
 "We went together and passed a very 
 pleasant evening with a numerous party at 
 the Rose Tavern, and having voted next 
 morning, we returned to Hinchinbrook. Lord 
 Sandwich, on meeting his neighbour, Major 
 Reynolds, in the gateway with another officer, 
 insisted on their alighting, and taking a family 
 dinner at his house. The Major apologised 
 for his intrusion, hoped his Lordship would 
 excuse the liberty he had taken in bringing a 
 brother officer with him, and then introduced 
 his friend, Captain Hackman. The party 
 merely consisted of Lord Sandwich, Miss 
 Ray, and a lady with her, the two gentlemen, 
 and myself. Dinner was soon served, and 
 coffee called for. We played two rubbers at 
 whist. Lord Sandwich held with Miss Ray, 
 against Major Reynolds and myself; Captain 
 Hackman requesting that he might only look 
 over the cards." 
 
 The Miss Ray (or Reay, as the name 
 20 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 should be written) mentioned by Cradock, 
 was living at Hinchinbrook, under the pro- 
 tection of Lord Sandwich, to the easily 
 imaginable distress of Lady Sandwich. 
 
 At the age of fourteen, Miss Reay had been 
 apprenticed to a mantua-maker in Clerken- 
 well, and was subsequently introduced by 
 her father, a stay-maker, to a customer of 
 his, a woman of infamous profession, who, 
 thinking that the girl was exceedingly pretty 
 and intelligent, mentioned her to the dissolute 
 Lord Sandwich. The Earl fell in love with 
 Miss Reay the moment he saw her, and im- 
 mediately took her under his protection. He 
 gave her a good education, and had her 
 thoroughly trained in music, of which art he 
 was passionately fond ; he himself, Cradock 
 tells us, was no mean performer upon the 
 kettle-drums ! Oratorios and concerts were 
 frequently given at Hinchinbrook, in which 
 Miss Reay, owing to her beautiful voice, took 
 part - } her personal charm and manner must 
 have been exceptionally attractive, for it is 
 related that she even captivated a Bishop's 
 lady, who was terribly exercised at finding 
 herself seated directly opposite to her at a 
 dinner-party. Hackman was so fascinated 
 
 21 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 by Miss Reay that he could not keep away 
 from the neighbourhood of Hinchinbrook, 
 and, being a handsome, high-spirited young 
 fellow, he soon became a welcome and fre- 
 quent guest at the house. The result was 
 that he fell desperately in love with his host's 
 mistress, and it was not long before his 
 love was reciprocated, and a clandestine 
 correspondence ensued. The first two 
 letters he sent to Miss Reay are written from 
 Huntingdon. 
 
 Dec. 4,1775- 
 DEAR MARTHA, 
 
 Ten thousand thanks for your billet by 
 my corporal Trim yesterday. The fellow 
 seemed happy to have been the bearer of it, 
 because he saw it made me happy. He will 
 be as good a soldier to Cupid as to Mars, I 
 dare say. And Mars and Cupid are not 
 now to begin their acquaintance, you know. 
 Whichever he serve, you may command him 
 of course, without a compliment ; for Venus, 
 I need not tell you, is the mother of Cupid, 
 and mistress of Mars. 
 
 At present the drum is beating up under 
 my window for volunteers to Bacchus. In 
 22 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 plain English, the drum tells me dinner is 
 ready ; for a drum gives us bloody-minded 
 heroes an appetite for eating, as well as for 
 fighting; nay, we get up by the beat of it, 
 and it every night sends, or ought to send, us 
 to bed and to sleep. To-night it will be late 
 before I get to one or the other, I fancy 
 indeed, the thoughts of you would prevent 
 the latter. But the next disgrace to refusing 
 a challenge, is refusing a toast. The merit 
 of a jolly fellow and of a sponge is much 
 about the same. For my part, no glass of 
 any liquor tastes as it should to me, but 
 when I kiss my Martha on the rim. 
 
 Adieu whatever hard service I may have 
 after dinner, no quantity of wine shall make 
 me let drop or forget my appointment with 
 you to-morrow. We certainly were not seen 
 yesterday, for reasons I will give you. 
 
 Though you should persist in never being 
 mine, 
 
 Ever, ever 
 
 Yours. 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 HUNTINGDON, Dec. 6th, 1775. 
 
 MY DEAREST MARTHA, 
 
 No, I will not take advantage of the 
 sweet, reluctant, amorous confession which 
 your candour gave me yesterday. If to 
 make me happy be to make my Martha 
 otherwise ; then, happiness, I'll none of thee. 
 
 And yet I could argue. Suppose he has 
 bred you up suppose you do owe your 
 numerous accomplishments, under genius, to 
 him are you therefore his property ? Is it 
 as if a horse that he has bred up should 
 refuse to carry him ? Suppose you therefore 
 are his property will the fidelity of so many 
 years weigh nothing in the scale of gratitude? 
 
 Years why, can obligations (suppose they 
 had not been repaid an hundred fold) do 
 away the unnatural disparity of years ? Can 
 they bid five-and-fifty stand still (the least 
 that you could ask), and wait for five-and- 
 twenty ? Many women have the same 
 obligations (if indeed there be many of the 
 same accomplishments) to their fathers. They 
 have the additional obligation to them (if, 
 indeed, it be an obligation) of existence. 
 The disparity of years is sometimes even 
 24 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 less. But, must they therefore take their 
 fathers to their bosoms ? Must the jessamine 
 fling its tender arms around the dying elm ? 
 
 To my little fortunes you are no stranger. 
 Will you share them with me? And you 
 shall tell his Lordship that gratitude taught 
 you to pay every duty to him, till love taught 
 you there were other duties which you owed 
 toH. 
 
 Gracious heaven, that you would pay them ! 
 
 But, did I not say I would not take ad- 
 vantage ? I will not. I will even remind 
 you of your children ; to whom I, alas ! 
 could only show at present the affection of a 
 father. 
 
 Martha weighs us in the scales. If grati- 
 tude out-balance love so. 
 
 If you command it, I swear by love, I'll 
 join my regiment to-morrow. 
 
 If love prevail, and insist upon his dues, 
 you shall declare the victory and the prize. 
 I will take no advantage. 
 
 Think over this. Neither will I take you 
 by surprise. Sleep upon it, before you return 
 your answer. Trim shall make the old 
 excuse to-morrow. And, thank heaven ! to- 
 night you sleep alone. 
 25 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 Why did you sing that sweet song yester- 
 day, though I so pressed you ? Those words 
 and your voice were too much. 
 
 No words can say how much I am yours. 
 
 Omiah, who is mentioned by Miss Reay in 
 the following letter was a native of Otaheite, 
 who was brought to England in 1775 by 
 Captain Ferneaux in the Adventure, the con- 
 sort of Captain Cook's ship the Resolution. 
 Lord Sandwich took him up, and showed 
 him all the sights. He went to Court and 
 was introduced to George III., with whom 
 he shook hands and said " How do you do ? " 
 
 To MR. HACKMAN. 
 
 HINCHINBROOK, Dec. j, 1775. 
 MY DEAR H. 
 
 Here has been a sad piece of work 
 ever since I received yours yesterday. But 
 don't be alarmed. We are not discovered 
 to the prophane. Our tender tale is only 
 known to (whom does your fear suggest ?) 
 to love and gratitude, my H. And they 
 ought both, for twenty reasons, to be your 
 friends, I am sure. 
 
 26 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 They have been trying your cause, ever 
 since the departure of honest Trim yester- 
 day. Love, though in my opinion not so 
 blind, is as good a justice as Sir John 
 Fielding. I argued the matter stoutly, my 
 head on his lordship's side of the question, 
 my heart on yours. At last they seemed to 
 say, as if the oath of allegiance, which I had 
 taken to gratitude, at a time when, Heaven 
 knows, I had never heard of love, should be 
 void, and I should be at full liberty to devote 
 myself, body and soul, to but call on me 
 to-morrow before dinner, and I'll tell you 
 their final judgment. This I will tell you now 
 love sent you the tenderest wishes, and 
 gratitude said I could never pay you all I 
 owe you for your noble letter of yesterday. 
 
 Yet oh, my H. think not meanly of me 
 ever for this. Do not you turn advocate 
 against me. I will not pain you 'tis impos- 
 sible you ever should. 
 
 Come then to morrow : and surely Omiah 
 will not murder love ! Yet I thought the 
 other day he caught our eyes conversing. 
 Eyes speak a language all can understand. 
 But is a child of Nature to nip in the bud 
 that favourite passion which his mother 
 27 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 Nature planted, and still tends ? What will 
 Oberea and her coterie say to this, Omiah, 
 when you return from making the tour of the 
 globe ? They'll blackball you, depend on it. 
 
 What would Rousseau say to it, my H. ? 
 
 You shall tell me to-morrow. I will not 
 write another word, lest conscience, who 
 is just now looking over my left shoulder, 
 should snatch my pen, and scratch out to- 
 morrow. 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 HUNTINGDON, Dec. 7, 1775. 
 MY DEAREST SOUL, 
 
 I hope to heaven Trim will be able to 
 get this to you to-night. Not I only, but 
 my whole future life, shall thank you for the 
 dear sheet of paper I have just received. 
 Blessings, blessings ! But I could write and 
 explain and offer up vows and prayers till the 
 happy hour arrives. 
 
 Yet, hear me, Martha. If I have thus far 
 deserved your love, I will deserve it still. As 
 a proof I have not hitherto pressed you for 
 anything conscience disapproves: you shall not 
 do to-morrow what conscience disapproves. 
 You shall not make me happy (oh, how 
 
 28 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 supremely blest!) under the roof of your bene- 
 factor and my host. It were not honourable. 
 Our love, the inexorable tyrant of our hearts, 
 claims his sacrifices, but does not bid us insult 
 his Lordship's walls with it. How civilly did 
 he invite me to Hinchinbrook in October 
 last, though an unknown recruiting officer! 
 How politely himself first introduced me to 
 himself! Often has the recollection made 
 me struggle with my passion. Still it shall 
 restrain it on this side honour. 
 
 So far from triumphing or insulting, heaven 
 knows if Lord Sandwich indeed love you, 
 if indeed it be aught beside the natural 
 preference which age gives to youth heaven 
 knows how much I pity him. Yet, as I 
 have either said or written before, it is only 
 the pity I should feel for a father whose 
 affections were unfortunately and unnaturally 
 fixed upon his own daughter. 
 
 Were I your seducer, Martha, and not 
 your lover, I should not write thus, nor 
 should I have talked or acted, or written as 
 I have. Tell it not in Gath, nor publish it 
 in the streets of Askalon, lest the Philistines 
 should be upon me. I should be drummed 
 out of my regimen for a traitor to intrigue. 
 29 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 And can you really imagine I think so 
 meanly of your sex? Surely you cannot 
 imagine I think so meanly of you. Why, 
 then, the conclusion of your last letter but 
 one ? A word thereon. 
 
 Take men and women in the lump, the 
 villany of those and the weakness of these 
 I maintain it to be less wonderful that an 
 hundred or so should fall in the world, than 
 that even one should stand. Is it strange 
 the serpent conquered Eve? The devil 
 against a woman is fearful odds. He has 
 conquered men, women's conquerors; he 
 has made even angels fall. 
 
 Oh, then, ye parents, be merciful in your 
 wrath. Join not the base betrayers of your 
 children, drive not your children to the bottom 
 of the precipice, because the villains have 
 driven them half way down, where (see, see !) 
 many have stopped themselves from falling 
 further by catching hold of some straggling 
 virtue or another which decks the steep-down 
 rock. Oh, do not force their weak hands 
 from their hold, their last, last hold ! The 
 descent from crime to crime is natural, per- 
 pendicular, headlong enough of itself ; do not 
 increase it. 
 
 30 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 " Can women, then, no way but backward 
 fall?" 
 
 Shall I ask your pardon for all this, Martha ? 
 No, there is no occasion, you say. 
 
 But to-morrow, for to-morrow led me out 
 of my strait path over this fearful precipice, 
 where I, for my part, trembled every step I 
 took lest I should topple down headlong. 
 Glad am I to be once more on plain ground 
 again with my Martha. 
 
 To-morrow, about eleven, I'll be with you ; 
 but let me find you in your riding-dress and 
 your mare ready. I have laid a plan, to which 
 neither honour nor delicacy (and I always 
 consult both before I propose anything to you) 
 can make the least objection. This once, trust 
 to me : I'll explain all to-morrow. Pray be 
 ready in your riding-dress. Need I add, in 
 that you know I think becomes you most ? 
 No, love would have whispered that. 
 
 Love shall be of our party. He shall not 
 suffer the cold to approach you; he shall 
 spread his wings over your bosom ; he shall 
 nestle in your dear arms, he shall. 
 
 When will to-morrow come? What tor- 
 turing dreams must I not bear to-night ? 
 
 I send you some lines which I picked up 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 somewhere, I forget where. But I don't think 
 them much amiss. 
 
 CELIA'S PICTURE. 
 To paint my Celia, I'd devise 
 Two summer suns in place of eyes ; 
 Two lunar orbs should then be laid 
 Upon the bosom of the maid ; 
 Bright Berenice's auburn hair 
 Should, where it ought, adorn my fair ; 
 Nay, all the signs in heaven should prove 
 But tokens of my wond'rous love. 
 All, did I say ? Yes, all, save one ; 
 Her yielding waist should want a zone, 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 HUNTINGDON, Dec. 8, 1775. 
 
 Then I release my dearest soul from her 
 promise about to-day. If you do not see 
 that all which he can claim by gratitude, I 
 doubly claim by love, I have done, and will 
 for ever have done. I would purchase my 
 happiness at any price, but at the expense of 
 yours. 
 
 Look over my letters, think over my con- 
 duct, consult your own heart, and read these 
 two long letters of your writing, which I 
 return you. Then, tell me whether we love 
 or not. And, if we love (as witness both 
 32 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 our hearts), shall gratitude, cold gratitude, 
 bear away the heavenly prize that's only 
 due to love like ours ? Shall my right be 
 acknowledged, and must he possess the 
 casket ? Shall I have your soul, and shall he 
 have your hand, your eyes, your bosom, your 
 
 lips, your 
 
 Gracious God of Love ! I can neither 
 write nor think. Send one line, half a line to 
 
 Your own, own 
 H. 
 
 To MR. HACKMAN. 
 
 HINCHINBROOK, Dec. io, 1775. 
 Your two letters of the day before yester- 
 day, and what you said to me yesterday in 
 my dressing-room, have drove me mad. To 
 offer to sell out, and take the other step to 
 get money for us both, was not kind. You 
 know how such tenderness distracts me. As 
 to marrying me, that you should not do upon 
 any account. Shall the man I value be 
 pointed at and hooted for selling himself to 
 a Lord, for a commission, or some such thing, 
 to marry his cast mistress ? My soul is above 
 my situation. Besides, I will not take advan- 
 tage, Mr. Hackman, of what may be only 
 33 o 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 perhaps (excuse me) a youthful passion. 
 After a more intimate acquaintance with me 
 of a week or ten days, your opinion of me 
 might very much change. And yet, you may 
 
 love as sincerely as I 
 
 But I will transcribe you a song which I 
 do not believe you ever heard me sing, 
 though it is my favourite. It is said to be 
 an old Scots ballad, nor is it generally known 
 that Lady A. L. wrote it. Since we have 
 understood each other, I have never sung 
 it before you, because it is so descriptive of 
 our situation, how much more so since your 
 cruelly kind proposal of yesterday ! I wept, 
 like an infant over it this morning. 
 
 AULD ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 When the sheep are in fold, and the cows are at 
 
 home, 
 
 And all the weary world to rest is gone, 
 The woes of my heart fall in showers from mine 'ee 
 While my good man lays sound by me. 
 
 Young Jamie lov'd me well, and he sought me 
 
 for his bride, 
 
 He had but a crown, he had no more beside ; 
 To make the crown a pound, young Jamie went 
 
 to sea, 
 And the crown and the pound were both for me, 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 He had na been gone but a year and a day, 
 When my father broke his arm, and our cow was 
 
 stole away ; 
 When my mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at 
 
 the sea, 
 And auld Robin Gray came wooing to me. 
 
 My father could na work, and my mother could 
 
 na spin, 
 I toiled night and day, but their bread I could na 
 
 win; 
 Auld Rob maintam'd them both, and, with tears 
 
 in his e'e, 
 Said, " Jenny, for their sakes, oh ! marry me." 
 
 My heart it said 'no, and I wish'd for Jamie 
 
 back, 
 But the wind it blew sore, and his ship prov'd a 
 
 wreck ; 
 His ship prov'd a wreck : Ah ! why did not 
 
 Jenny dee ! 
 Why was she left to cry " Woe is me ! " 
 
 My father argu'd sore, though my mother did 
 
 na speak ; 
 She look'd in my face till my heart was fit to 
 
 break ; 
 So auld Robin got my hand, but my heart was 
 
 in the sea, 
 And now Robin Gray is good man to me. 
 
 I had na been a wife but of weeks only four, 
 When sitting right mournfully at my own door, 
 35 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 I saw my Jamie's ghost, for I could not think 
 
 'twas he, 
 Till he said, "Jenny, I'm come home to marry 
 
 thee." 
 
 Sore did we weep, and little did we say, 
 We took but one kiss, then tore ourselves away ; 
 I wish I was dead, but I am not like to dee, 
 But long shall be left to cry " Woe is me ! " 
 
 I gang like a ghost, and I do not care to spin, 
 I fain would think on Jamie, but that would be 
 
 a sin ; 
 
 must e'en do my best a good wife to be, 
 For auld Robin Gray has been kind to me. 
 
 My poor eyes will only suffer me to add, 
 for God's sake, let me see my Jamie to- 
 morrow. Your name also is Jamie. 
 
 To MISS REAV. 
 
 HUNTINGDON, Dec. 13, 1775. 
 
 MY LIFE AND SOUL ! 
 
 But I will never more use any preface 
 of this sort, and I beg you will not. A 
 correspondence begins with dear, then my 
 dear, dearest, my dearest, and so on, till at 
 last panting language toils after us in vain. 
 
 No language can explain my feelings. Oh, 
 M. yesterday, yesterday ! Language, thou 
 36 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 liest ; there is no such word as satiety, posi- 
 tively no such word. Oh thou, beyond my 
 warmest dreams bewitching ! What charms ! 
 What 
 
 But words would poorly paint our joys. 
 When, when ? yet you shall order, govern 
 everything. Only remember, I am sure of 
 those we trust. 
 
 Are you now convinced that Heaven made 
 us for each other ? By that Heaven, by the 
 paradise of your dear arms, I will be only 
 yours ! 
 
 Have I written sense ? I know not what I 
 write. This scrap of paper (it is all I can 
 find) will hold a line or two more. I must 
 fill it up to say that, whatever evils envious 
 fate designed me, after those few hours of 
 yesterday, I never will complain nor murmur. 
 
 Misfortune, I defy thee now. M. loves 
 me, and H.'s soul has its content most abso- 
 lute. No other joy like this succeeds in 
 unknown fate. 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 HUNTINGDON, Dec. 24, 1775. 
 Talk not to me of the new year. I am 
 a new man. I will be sworn to it I am not 
 37 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 the same identical James Hackman that I 
 was three months ago. You have created me 
 yes, I know what I say created me anew. 
 
 As to thanking you for the bliss I taste 
 with you, to attempt it would be idle. 
 What thanks can express the Heaven of 
 Heavens ! 
 
 But I will obey you in not giving such a 
 loose to my pen as I gave the day before 
 yesterday. That letter, and the verses it 
 contained, which were certainly too highly 
 coloured, pray commit to the flames. Yet, 
 pray too, as I begged you yesterday, do not 
 imagine I thought less chastely of you because 
 I wrote them. By Heaven ! I believe your 
 mind as chaste as the snow which, while I 
 write, is driving against my window. You 
 know not what I think of you. One time, 
 perhaps, you may. 
 
 The lines I repeated to you this morning 
 are not mine. I think of them quite as you 
 do. Surely an additional merit in them is, 
 that to the uninitiated, in whom they might, 
 perhaps, raise improper ideas, they are totally 
 unintelligible. 
 
 38, 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 Jo MR. HACKMAN. 
 HINCHINBROOK, Christmas Day, 1775. 
 
 My old friend the Corporal looked as if 
 he had been tarred and feathered yesterday, 
 when he arrived with your dear billet. Omiah 
 took up the sugar-caster, when he saw him 
 through the parlour window, and powdered 
 a fresh slice of pudding, by way of painting 
 the snowy Corporal. Omiah's simplicity is 
 certainly very diverting, but I should like 
 him better, and take more pains with him, 
 if I did not think he suspected something. 
 The other day I am sure he came to spy the 
 nakedness of the land. Thank heaven ! our 
 caution prevented him. 
 
 Respecting the poetry which you repeated 
 to me the other day, I know not whether, as 
 you say, those to whom it could do any harm 
 could possibly understand it. For uninitiated 
 means, I believe, not yet admitted into the 
 mysteries, those who have not yet taken the 
 veil ; or, / should rather say, those who have 
 not yet thrown off the veil. Why was I not 
 permitted by my destiny to keep on mine, 
 till my H., my Mars, seized me in his ardent 
 arms ? How gladly to his arms would I have 
 given up my very soul ! 
 39 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 Cruel fortune, that it cannot be so to-day ! 
 But we forgot, when we fixed on to-day, that 
 it would be Christmas Day. I must do 
 penance at a most unpleasant dinner, as 
 indeed is every meal and every scene when 
 you are absent, and that, without the con- 
 solation of having first enjoyed your com- 
 pany. To-morrow, however, at the usual 
 time and place. 
 
 Your discontinuing your visits here, since 
 the first day of our happiness, gratifies the 
 delicacy of us both. Yet, may it not, my H., 
 raise suspicions elsewhere ? Your agreeable 
 qualities were too conspicuous not to make 
 you missed. Yet, you are the best judge. 
 
 My poor, innocent, helpless babes ! Were 
 it not on your account, your mother would 
 not act the part she does. What is Mrs. 
 Yates's sustaining a character well for one 
 evening ? Is it so trying as to play a part, 
 and a base one too, morning, noon, and 
 night? Night I But I will not make my 
 H. uneasy. 
 
 At least, allow that I have written you a 
 
 long scrawl. Behold, I have sent you a 
 
 tolerable good substitute for myself. It 
 
 is reckoned very like. I need not beg 
 
 40 
 

 of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 you not to show it. Only remember, the 
 painter's Martha is not to rob your own 
 Martha of a certain quantity of things called 
 and known by the name of kisses, which I 
 humbly conceive to be her due, though she 
 has been disappointed of them to-day. 
 
 So, having nothing further to add at present, 
 and the post being just going out, I remain 
 with all truth, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your most humble servant, 
 
 MARTHA. 
 
 There is a pretty conclusion for you. Am 
 I not a good girl ? I shall become a most 
 elegant correspondent in time, I see. This 
 paragraph is the postscript, you know, and 
 should therefore have been introduced by a 
 well-flourished P.S., the Sir Clement Cottrel 
 upon these occasions. 
 
 To MISS RE A Y. 
 
 HUNTINGDON, Dec. 28, 1775. 
 
 Your condescension in removing my most 
 groundless cause of jealousy yesterday was 
 more than I deserved. How I exposed my- 
 self by my violence with you ! But, I tell 
 
 41 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 you, my passions are all gunpowder. Though, 
 thank God ! no Othello yet am I. 
 
 One not easily jealous ; but, being wrought, 
 Perplex'd in the extreme. 
 
 and that God knows how I love you, worship 
 you, idolise you. 
 
 How could I think you particular to such 
 a thing as B. ? You said you forgave me to- 
 day, and I hope you did. Let me have it 
 again from your own dear lips to-morrow, 
 instead of the next day. Everything shall 
 be ready, and the guitar, which I wrote for, 
 is come down, and I will bring the song and 
 you shall sing it, and play it, and I will beg 
 you to forgive me, and you shall forgive me, 
 and five hundred ands besides. 
 
 Why, I would be jealous of this sheet of 
 paper, if you kissed it with too much 
 rapture. 
 
 What a fool ! No, my Martha, rather say 
 what a lover ! 
 
 Many thanks for your picture. It is like. 
 Accept this proof that I have examined it. 
 
 'Tis true, creative man, thine art can teach 
 The living picture every thing but speech ! 
 True, thou hast drawn her, as she is, all fair, 
 Divinely fair ! her lips, her eyes, her hair ! 
 42 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 Full well I know the smile upon that face, 
 Full well I know those features' every grace ! 
 But, what is this, my Martha's mortal part, 
 There is a subject beggars all thine art ; 
 Paint but her mind, by Heav'n ! and thou 
 
 shalt be, 
 
 Shalt be my more than pagan deity. 
 Nature may possibly have cast, of old, 
 Some other beauty in as fair a mould ; 
 But all in vain you'll search the world to find 
 Another beauty with so fair a mind. 
 
 To MISS RE A Y. 
 
 HUNTINGDON, Jan. i, 1776. 
 
 Lest I should not see you this morning, 
 I will scribble this before I mount honest 
 Crop, that I may leave it for you. 
 
 This is a new year. May every day of 
 it be happy to my Martha. May but do 
 not you know there is not a wish of bliss I 
 do not wish you ? 
 
 A new year, I like not this word. There 
 may be new lovers. I lie, there may not. 
 Martha will never change her H., I am sure 
 she will never change him for a truer lover. 
 
 A new year '76. Where shall we be in 
 '77? Where in '78? Where in '79 ? Where 
 in '80 ? 
 
 In misery or bliss, in life or death, in 
 43 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 heaven or hell, wherever jy<?& are, there may 
 H. be also ! 
 
 The soldier whom you desired me to beg 
 off, returns thanks to his unknown benefac- 
 tress. Discipline must be kept up in our way ; 
 but I am sure you will do me the justice to 
 believe I am no otherwise a friend to it. 
 
 The closing paragraph of this letter con- 
 tains an instance of Miss Reay's kindness of 
 heart. She was never liked in London, 
 owing to her connection with the unpopular 
 Lord Sandwich, and she was accused of 
 selling appointments in the Navy. In 1773, 
 Lord Sandwich brought an action against the 
 Evening Post, for having made a similar 
 accusation against him, and obtained ^2000 
 damages. In a contemporary pamphlet there 
 is a story bearing on this point, told about 
 Miss Reay's kindly intercession with the 
 Earl on behalf of a much neglected naval 
 officer. This unfortunate gentleman had 
 been a lieutenant for over thirty years, and 
 was complaining one day to a friend about 
 the little prospect he had of promotion. 
 His friend advised him to write to Miss Reay, 
 which he accordingly did, wi.th the result that 
 44 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 she placed his letter before the Earl, with the 
 emphatic remark that thirty years' service, in 
 her apprehension, gave an officer a better title 
 to promotion than his being the son of a Duke. 
 
 To MISS RE A Y. 
 
 HUNTINGDON, Feb. 8, 1776. 
 
 Since the thaw sent me from Hinchinbrook 
 the day before yesterday, I have written 
 four times to you, and believe verily I shall 
 write four-and-forty times to you in the next 
 four days. The bliss I have enjoyed with 
 you these three weeks has increased not 
 diminished my affection. Three weeks and 
 more in the same house with my Martha ! 
 it was more than I deserved. And yet to be 
 obliged to resign you every night to another ! 
 By these 6yes, by your still dearer eyes, I do 
 not think I slept three hours during the whole 
 three weeks. Yet, yet, 'twas bliss. How lucky 
 that I was pressed to stay at Hinchinbrook 
 the night the snow set in ! Would it had 
 snowed till doomsday ! But then you must 
 have been his every night till doomsday. 
 Now my happy time may come. 
 
 Though I had not strength to resist when 
 45 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 under the same roof with you, ever since we 
 parted the recollection that it was his roof 
 has made me miserable. Whimsical that he 
 should bid you press me, when I at first 
 refused his solicitation. Is H. guilty of a 
 breach of hospitality ? 
 
 I must not question. I must not think. 
 I must not write. But we will meet, as we 
 fixed. 
 
 Does Robin Gray suspect ? Suspect ! And 
 is H. a subject for suspicion ? 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 HUNTINGDON, Feb. 16, 1776. 
 
 Every time I see you I discover some new 
 charm, some new accomplishment. Before 
 heaven, there was not a tittle of flattery in 
 what I told you yesterday. Nothing can be 
 flattery which I say of you, for no invention, 
 no poetry, no anything can come up to what 
 I think of you. 
 
 One of our kings said of the citizens of his 
 good city of London, that when he considered 
 their riches, he was in admiration at their 
 understandings ; when he considered their 
 understandings, he was in admiration at their 
 riches. Just so do I with regard to your 
 46 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 person and your mind, but for a different 
 reason. Nature was in one of her extrava- 
 gant moods when she put you together. She 
 might have made two captivating women out 
 of you by my soul, half-a-dozen ! Your 
 turn for music and excellence in it would be 
 a sufficient stock of charms for the most dis- 
 agreeable woman to set up with in life. Music 
 has charms to do things most incredible; 
 music 
 
 Now shall I, with the good-humoured, 
 digressive pen of our favourite Montaigne in 
 his entertaining Essays, begin with love, and 
 end with a treatise upon the gamut ? 
 
 Yet to talk of music is to talk of you. 
 Martha and music are the same. What is 
 music without you. ? And harmony has tuned 
 your mind, your person, your every look and 
 word and action. 
 
 Observe, when I write to you I never pre- 
 tend to write sense. I have no head ; you 
 have made me all heart from top to bottom. 
 Sense why, I am out of my senses, and have 
 been these six weeks. Were it possible my 
 scrawls to you could ever be read by any one 
 but you I should be called a madman. I 
 certainly am either curst or blest (I know not 
 47 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 which) with passions wild as the torrent's 
 roar. Notwithstanding I take this simile 
 from water, the element out of which I am 
 formed is fire. Swift had water in his brain. 
 I have a burning coal of fire ; your hand can 
 light it up to rapture, rage, or madness. Men, 
 real men, have never been wild enough for 
 my admiration; it has wandered into the 
 ideal world of fancy. Othello (but he should 
 have put himself to death in his wife's sight, 
 not his wife), Zanga, are my heroes. Milk- 
 and-water passions are like sentimental 
 comedy. Give me (you see how, like your 
 friend Montaigne, I strip myself of my skin, 
 and show you all my veins and arteries, even 
 the playing of my heart), give me, I say, 
 tragedy, affecting tragedy, in the world, as 
 well as in the theatre. I would massacre all 
 mankind sooner than lose you. 
 
 This is mere madness ; 
 And thus awhile the fit will work on him ; 
 Anon, as patient as the female dove 
 When that her golden couplets are disclosed, 
 His silence will sit drooping. 
 
 Inconsistent being! While I am ranting 
 thus about tragedy and blood and murder, 
 behold, I am as weak as a woman. My tears 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 flow at but the idea of losing you ; yes, they 
 do not drop only, they pour. I sob like a 
 child. Is this Othello ? Is this Zanga ? We 
 know not what we are, nor what we may 
 become. 
 
 This I know, that I am and ever will be 
 yours and only yours. 
 
 I send you Ossian. You will see what a 
 favourite he is with me by some drawings 
 and pieces of (what your partiality will call) 
 poetry, which accompany the bard of other 
 times. Should you quit this world before 
 me, which fate forbid, often shall I hear your 
 spirit (if I can be weak enough to survive 
 you) calling me from the low-sailing cloud of 
 night. They abuse Macpherson for calling 
 them translations. If he alone be the author 
 of them, why does he not say so, and claim 
 the prize of fame ; I protest / would. They 
 who do not refuse their admiration to the 
 compositions, still think themselves justified 
 to abuse Macpherson, for pretending not to 
 be the author of what they still admire. Is 
 not this strange ? 
 
 As we could not meet this morning (how 
 long must our meetings depend on others, 
 and not on ourselves?) I was determined, 
 49 D 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 you see, to have a long conversation with 
 you. 
 
 Pray seal, in future, with better wax, and 
 more care. Something colder than one of 
 my kisses might have thawed the seal of yes- 
 terday. But I will not talk of thawing. Had 
 the frost and snow contiued, I had still been 
 with you at Hinchinbrook. 
 
 The remainder of this (my second sheet of 
 
 paper, observe) shall be filled with what I 
 
 think a valuable curiosity. The officer whom 
 
 you saw with me on Sunday, is lately come 
 
 from America. He gave it me, and assures 
 
 me it is original. It will explain itself. Would 
 
 I might be in your dear, little, enchanted 
 
 dressing-room, while you read it ! 
 
 A Speech of a Shawanese Chief to Lord 
 
 Dunmore. 
 
 *' I appeal to any white man to-day, if ever 
 he entered Logan's cabin hungry, and he 
 gave him not meat ; if he ever came cold or 
 naked, and I gave him not clothing. During 
 the last long and bloody war, Logan remained 
 idle, ignominious, in his cabin, an advocate 
 for peace. Such was my love of the whites, 
 that those of mine own country pointed at 
 me as they passed by, and said ' Logan is 
 50 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 the friend of white men.' I had even thought 
 to live with you. But the injuries of one 
 among you did away that thought, and 
 dragged me from my cabin of peace. Colonel 
 Cressop, the last spring, in cold blood, cut 
 off all the relations of Logan, sparing neither 
 women nor children. There runs not a drop 
 of the blood of Logan in the veins of any 
 human creature. This called on me for re- 
 venge. I have sought it. I have killed many. 
 Revenge has been fully glutted. 
 
 " For my country I rejoice at the beams 
 of peace. But, harbour not the thought that 
 mine is the joy of fear, Logan never felt fear. 
 He will not turn his heel to save his life. 
 
 " Who is there to mourn for Logan ? Not 
 one." 
 
 In the following letter there was an obvious 
 addition by Croft, which I have already 
 noticed in the Introduction. 
 
 To MISS RE A Y. 
 
 HUNTINGDON, Feb. 22, 1776. 
 
 How silly we were, both of us, not to re- 
 collect your favourite Jenny? and did not 
 Jamie think of her either ? 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 .... Though my mother did na speak, 
 She look'd in my face, till my heart was fit to 
 break. 
 
 Was not this exactly the instance we 
 wanted ? 
 
 Something more has occurred to me on the 
 same subject. Rather than not write to you, 
 or than write to you as descriptively as recol- 
 lection sometimes tempts me, I know you 
 would have me write nonsense. 
 
 In Hervey's " Meditations " are two pas- 
 sages as fine as they are simple and natural. 
 
 " A beam or two finds its way through the 
 grates, and reflects a feeble glimmer from the 
 naiis of the coffins." " Should the haggard 
 skeleton lift a clattering hand." In the lat- 
 ter I know not whether the epithet haggard 
 might not be spared. 
 
 Governor Holwell, in the account of the 
 sufferings at the black hole at Calcutta, when 
 he speaks of the length of time he supported 
 Nature by catching the drops, occasioned by 
 the heat, which fell from his head and face, 
 adds these words "You cannot imagine 
 how unhappy I was when any one of them 
 escaped my tongue ! " What a scene ! The 
 happiness, the existence of a fellow creature, 
 52 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 dependent upon being able to catch a drop 
 of his own sweat ! Shakspeare's fancy could 
 not have invented, nor ever did invent, any 
 thing more sublime ; for this is Nature, and 
 Nature itself is sublimity. People write upon 
 a particular situation ; they do not put them- 
 selves in the situation. We only see the 
 writer, sitting in his study, and working up a 
 story to amuse or to frighten ; not the iden- 
 tical Tom Jones, not Macbeth himself. 
 
 Can you become the very being you de- 
 scribe ? Can you look round, and mark only 
 that which strikes in your new character, and 
 forget all which struck in your own? Can 
 you bid your comfortable study be the prison 
 of innocence, or the house of mourning? 
 Can you transform your garret of indigence 
 into the palace of pleasure ? If you cannot, 
 you had better clean shoes than endeavour 
 by writings to interest the imagination. We 
 cannot even bear to see an author only 
 peeping over the top of every page to observe 
 how we like him. The player I would call a 
 corporal actor, the writer a mental actor. 
 Garrick would in vain have put his face and 
 his body in all the situations of Lear, if 
 Shakspeare had not before put his mind in 
 53 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 them all. In a thousand instances we have 
 nothing to do but to copy Nature, if we can 
 only get her to sit to our pencil. And yet 
 how few of the most eminent masters are 
 happy enough to hit off her difficult face 
 exactly ! 
 
 Every person of taste would have been 
 certain that Mr. Holwell was one of the suf- 
 ferers in the black hole, only from the short 
 passage I have noticed. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Faldoni and Teresa might have been pre- 
 vented from making proselytes, if they ever 
 have made any, by working up their most 
 affecting story so as to take off the edge of 
 the dangerous example. But not in the way 
 Mr. Jerningham has done it, who tells us, not 
 less intelligibly than pathetically. 
 
 All-ruling love, the god of youth, possess'd 
 Entire dominion of Faldoni 1 s breast ; 
 An equal flame did sympathy impart 
 (A flame destructive) to Teresa's heart : 
 As on one stem two opening flowers respire, 
 So grew their life (entwin'd) on one desire. 
 
 Are you not charmed ? Perhaps you never 
 saw the poem. I have it here, and will bring 
 54 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 it you as a curiosity. The melancholy tale will 
 not take up three words, though Mr. J. has 
 bestowed upon it 335 melancholy lines. The 
 catastrophe happened near Lyons, in the 
 month of June, 1770. Two lovers (Faldoni 
 and Teresa Meunier) meeting with an in- 
 vincible obstacle to their union, determined 
 to put an end to their existence with pistols. 
 The place they chose for the execution of 
 their terrible project was a chapel that stood 
 at a little distance from the house. They 
 even decorated the altar for the occasion. 
 They paid a particular attention to their own 
 dress. Teresa was dressed in white, with 
 rose-coloured ribbands. The same coloured 
 ribbands were tied to the pistols. Each 
 held the ribband that was fastened to the 
 other's trigger, which they drew at a certain 
 signal 
 
 Arria and Paetus (says Voltaire) set the 
 example; but then it must be considered 
 they were condemned to death by a tyrant. 
 Whereas love was the only inventor and 
 perpetrator of this deed. 
 
 Yet, while I talk of taking off the danger- 
 ous edge of their example, they have almost 
 listed me under their bloody banners. 
 55 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 On looking over the sermon I have written, 
 I recollect a curious anecdote of Selkirk. 
 
 (By-the-bye, Wilkes, I suppose, would say 
 that none but a Scotchman could have lived 
 so many years upon a desert island.) 
 
 He tamed a great number of kids for 
 society, and with them and the numerous 
 offspring of two or three cats that had been 
 left with him, he used often to dance. From 
 all which my inference is this Martha will 
 not surely deprive herself of H.'s society, 
 but will let him find her there to-morrow, 
 especially since, in Mr. J.'s expressive lan- 
 guage : 
 
 As on one stem two opening flowers respire, 
 So grow our lives (entwin'd) on one desire. 
 
 To MR. HACKMAN. 
 
 HINCHINBROOK, Feb. 23, 1776. 
 
 Where were you this morning, my life? 
 I should have been froze to death I believe 
 with the cold, if I had not been waiting for 
 you. I am uneasy, very uneasy. What could 
 prevent you ? You own appointment, too. 
 Why not write, if you could not come ? 
 Then, I had a dream last night, a sad dream, 
 my H. 
 
 56 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 .... For thee I fear, my love ; 
 Such ghastly dreams last night surprised my 
 soul. 
 
 You may reply, perhaps, with my favourite 
 Iphis 
 
 Heed not these black illusions of the night, 
 The mockings of unquiet slumbers. 
 
 Alas ! I cannot help it. I am a weak 
 woman, not a soldier. 
 
 I thought you had a duel with a person 
 whom we have agreed never to mention. 
 I thought you killed each other. I not only 
 saw his sword, I heard it pass through my 
 H.'s body. I saw you both die ; and with 
 you love and gratitude. Who is there, 
 thought I, to mourn for Martha ! Not one ! 
 
 You may call me foolish ; but I am uneasy, 
 miserable, wretched ! Indeed, indeed I am. 
 For God's sake, let me hear from you ! 
 
 To MR. H AC KM AN, 
 
 HINCHINBROOK, Feb. 24, 1776 
 
 That business, as I told you it would last 
 
 night, obliges him (Lord Sandwich) to go to 
 
 town. I am to follow for the winter. Now, 
 
 my H. for the royal black bob and the bit 
 
 57 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 of chalk ; or for any better scheme you will 
 plan. Let me know, to-morrow, where you 
 think Lady Grosvenor's scheme will be most 
 practicable on the road, and there I will 
 take care to stop. I take my Bible oath I 
 would not deceive you, and more welcome 
 shall you be to my longing arms than all 
 the Dukes or Princes in Christendom. If 
 I am not happy for one whole night in my 
 life, it will now be your fault. 
 
 Is not this kind and thoughtful? Why 
 did it never occur to you, so often as we 
 have talked of my being obliged to leave this 
 dear place to me most dear, since it has 
 been the scene of my acquaintance, my 
 happiness, with H. 
 
 But, am I to leave behind me that dearest 
 H. ? Surely your recruiting business must 
 be nearly over now. You must go to town. 
 Though things cannot often be contrived at 
 the Admiralty, they may, they may they shall 
 happen elsewhere. 
 
 Fail not to-morrow, and do not laugh at 
 me any more about my dream. If it was 
 a proof of my weakness, it was a proof also 
 of my love. 
 
 I wish the day on which I am to set out 
 58 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 from hence could be conjured about a month 
 further back or so. Now, you ask why ? 
 Look in your last year's almanack. Was 
 not the shortest day somewhere about that 
 time ? Come give me a kiss for that, I am 
 sure I deserve it. Oh ! fye, Mr. H., not 
 twenty. You are too generous in your pay- 
 ments. I must insist upon returning you 
 the overplus the next time we meet that 
 is to-morrow, you know. 
 
 To M2SS RE AY. 
 
 HUNTINGDON, Feb. 26, 1776. 
 
 Why will not the wished-for day, or rather 
 night, arrive ? And here, I have not seen 
 you since I know not when, not for two 
 whole days. 
 
 But I wrote you a long letter yesterday 
 why it would be dangerous to meet; and 
 all in rhyme. The beginning, I assure you, 
 was not poetry, but truth. If the conclu- 
 sion was coloured too highly, you must 
 excuse it. The pencil of love executed it, 
 and the sly rogue will indulge himself some- 
 times. Let the time come, I will convince 
 you his pencil did not much exaggerate. 
 
 Just now I was thinking of your birthday, 
 59 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 about which I asked you the other day. It 
 is droll that yours and mine should be so 
 near together. And thus I observe thereon : 
 
 Your poets, cunning rogues, pretend 
 
 That men are made of clay ; 
 And that the heavenly potters make 
 
 Some five or six a day. 
 
 No wonder, Martha, I and you 
 Don't quite detest each other ; 
 
 Or that my soul is link'd to yours, 
 As if it were its brother : 
 
 For in one year we both were made, 
 
 Nay almost in one day 
 So, ten to one, we both came from 
 
 One common heap of clay. 
 
 What ? If I were not cast in near 
 
 So fine a mould as you, 
 My heart (or rather, Martha, yours) 
 
 Is tender, fond and true. 
 
 Corporal Trim sets off to-day for our head- 
 quarters. My plan is laid so that no dis- 
 covery can take place. Gods, that two such 
 souls as yours and mine should be obliged 
 to descend to arts and plans ! Were it not 
 for your dear sake, I'd scorn to do anything 
 I would not wished discovered. 
 
 60 
 

 of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 To MR. HACKMAN, 
 
 HINCHINBROOK, Feb. 27, 1776. 
 
 All your plans are useless. The corporal 
 has made his forced march to no purpose. 
 The fates are unkind. It is determined that 
 I am to go up post. So, we cannot possibly 
 be happy together, as we hoped to have 
 been had our own horses drawn me up, in 
 which case I must have slept upon the road. 
 I am not clear old Robin Grey will not stay 
 and attend me. Why cannot my Jamie? 
 Cruel fortune ! But in town we will be 
 happy. When, again, shall I enjoy your 
 dear society, as I did during that, to me at 
 least, blessed snow ? Nothing but my dear 
 children could prevent our going with Cook 
 to seek for happiness in worlds unknown. 
 There must be some corner of the globe 
 where mutual affection is respected. 
 
 Do not forget to meet me. Scratch out 
 
 forget. I know how much you think of me : 
 
 too much for your peace, nay, for your health. 
 
 Indeed, my H., you do not look well. Pray 
 
 be careful. 
 
 Whatever wound thy tender health, 
 Will kill thy Martha's, too. 
 61 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 Omiah is in good humour with me again. 
 What kind of animal should a naturalist 
 expect from a native of Otaheite and a 
 Huntingdonshire dairymaid ? If my eyes do 
 not deceive me, Mr. Omiah will give us a 
 specimen. Will you bring me some book 
 to-morrow to divert me, as I post it to town, 
 that I may forget, if it be possible, I am 
 posting from you ? 
 
 But the lovers contrived to meet after all, 
 for Hackman's next letter is written from the 
 inn at Hockerill, where they had spent the 
 night together. 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 HOCKERILL, March i, 1776. 
 
 It is your strict injunction that I do not 
 offend you by suffering my pen to speak of 
 last night. I will not, my M., nor should I, 
 had you not enjoined it. You once said a 
 nearer acquaintance would make me change 
 my opinion of you. It has. I have changed 
 my opinion. The more I know you, the 
 more chastely I think of you. Notwith- 
 standing last night (what a night !) and our 
 first, too, I protest to God, I think of you 
 with as much purity as if we were going to 
 62 
 

 of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 be married. You take my meaning, I am 
 sure, because they are the thoughts which I 
 know you wish me to entertain of you. 
 
 You got to town safe, I hope. One letter 
 may find me before I shall be able to leave 
 Huntingdon, whither I return to-day, or, at 
 least, to Cambridge. I am a fool about Crop, 
 you know and I am now more tender of him 
 because he has carried you. How little did 
 we think that morning we should ever make 
 each other so happy ! 
 
 Do not forget to write, and don't forget the 
 key against I come to town. As far as seeing 
 you, I will use it sometimes, but never for an 
 opportunity to indulge our passion. That 
 positively shall never again happen under his 
 roof. How did we applaud each other for 
 not suffering his walls at Hinchinbrook to be 
 insulted with the first scene of it ! And how 
 happy were we both, after we waked from our 
 dream of bliss, to think how often we had 
 acted otherwise during the time the snow 
 shut me up at Hinchinbrook ! a snow as dear 
 to me as to yourself. 
 
 My mind is torn, rent, with ten thousand 
 thoughts and resolutions about you and about 
 myself. 
 
 63 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 When we meet, which shall be as we fixed, 
 I may perhaps mention one idea to you. 
 
 Pray let us contrive to be together some 
 evening that your favourite " Jephtha " is per- 
 formed. 
 
 Enclosed is a song which came into my 
 hands by an accident since we parted. 
 Neither the words nor the music, I take it, 
 will displease you. Adieu. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 When your beauty appears 
 In its graces and airs, 
 All bright as an angel new dropp'd from the sky ; 
 
 At distance I gaze, and am awed by my fears, 
 So strangely you dazzle my eye ! 
 
 But when, without art, 
 Your kind thoughts you impart, 
 When your love runs in blushes thro' every vein ; 
 When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in 
 
 your heart, 
 Then I know you're a woman again. 
 
 "There's a passion and pride 
 
 In our sex," she replied, 
 " And thus, might I gratify both, I would do ; 
 
 As an angel appear to each lover beside, 
 But still be a woman to you." 
 
 However, Hackman found the temptation 
 to follow Miss Reay to London too great to 
 6 4 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 resist ; and the two impassioned notes that 
 follow were written in the course of the same 
 day from a coffee-house near Charing Cross : 
 
 
 CANNON COFFEE HOUSE, CHARING-CROSS, 
 
 March 17, 1776. 
 
 No further than this can I get from you, 
 before I assure you that every word I said 
 just now came from the bottom of my heart. 
 I never shall be happy, never shall be in my 
 senses, till you consent to marry me. And 
 notwithstanding the dear night at Hockerill, 
 and the other which your ingenuity procured 
 me last week in D. Street, I swear, by the bliss 
 of blisses, I never will taste it again till you 
 are my wife. 
 
 To MISS RE AY, 
 
 CANNON COFFEE HOUSE, March 17, 1776. 
 Though you can hardly have read my last 
 scrawl, I must pester you with another. I 
 had ordered some dinner ; but I can neither 
 eat, nor do anything else. " Mad ! " I may 
 be mad, for what I know. I am sure I am 
 wretched. 
 
 For God's sake, for my life and soul's 
 sake, if you love me, write directly hither, or 
 at least to-night to my lodgings, and say 
 65 B 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 what is that insuperable reason on which you 
 dwelt so much. "Torture shall not force 
 you to marry me." Did you not say so ! 
 Then you hate me \ and what is life worth ? 
 
 Suppose you had not the dear inducement 
 of loving me (if you love me ! Damnation 
 blot out that iff) and being adored by me, 
 still, do you not wish to relieve yourself and 
 me from the wretched parts we act? My 
 soul was not formed for such meanness. To 
 steal in at a back door, to deceive, to plot, 
 to lie Perdition ! the thought of it makes me 
 despise myself. 
 
 Your children Lord Sandwich (if we 
 have not been ashamed of our conduct, why 
 have we cheated conscience all along by 
 "he "and "his," and " Old Robin Gray?" 
 Oh ! how we have descended, Martha !) 
 Lord Sandwich, I say, cannot but provide 
 for your dear boys. As to your sweet little 
 girl, I will be a father to her, as well as a 
 husband to you. Every farthing I have I 
 will settle on you both. I will, God knows, 
 and you shall find what I will do for you both, 
 when I am able. Good God, what would 
 I not do ! 
 
 Write, write ; I say, write. By the living 
 66 
 

 of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 God, I will have this insuperable reason from 
 you, or I will not believe you love me. 
 
 MissReay answered his notes immediately; 
 but it is evident from the tone of her reply 
 that she was afraid lest Hackman's presence 
 in London should awaken the suspicions 
 of Lord Sandwich, even if they had not 
 already been aroused by the hints of the 
 faithful Omiah, who seems to have suspected 
 the existence of the intrigue from its very 
 commencement. Croker, in his "Memoirs," 
 says that Miss Reay was, at this period, in 
 a very nervous and unsettled frame of mind. 
 
 "Miss Reay, towards the latter part of 
 the time that I frequented the Admiralty, 
 did not continue to speak of her situation 
 as before, complained of greatly being 
 alarmed by ballads that had been sung, or 
 cries that had been made directly under 
 the windows that look into the Park, and 
 that such was the fury of the mob, that she 
 did not think either Lord Sandwich or her- 
 self were safe whenever they went out ; and 
 I must own that I heard some strange 
 insults offered, and that I, with some of 
 the servants suddenly rushed out, but the 
 67 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 offenders instantly ran away and escaped. 
 One evening afterwards when sitting with 
 Miss Reay in the great room above stairs, 
 she appeared to be much agitated, and at last 
 said, ' she had a particular favour to ask of 
 me ; that as her situation was very precarious, 
 and no settlement had been made upon her, 
 she wished I would hint something of the 
 kind to Lord Sandwich/ I need not express 
 my surprise, but I instantly assured her, ' that 
 no one but herself could make such a pro- 
 posal, as I knew Lord Sandwich never gave 
 any one an opportunity of interfering with 
 him on so delicate a subject.' She urged 
 that her wish was merely to relieve Lord 
 Sandwich as to great expense about her, for 
 as her voice was then at the best, and Italian 
 musick was particularly her forte she was 
 given to understand that she might succeed 
 at the Opera House, and as Mr. Giardini then 
 led, and I was intimate with Mrs. Brooke, 
 and Mrs. Yates, she was certain of a most 
 advantageous engagement. I then instantly 
 conjectured who one of the advisers must 
 have been ; and afterwards found that three 
 thousand pounds and a free benefit had 
 been absolutely held out to her ; though not 
 68 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 by the two ladies, who managed the stage 
 department." 
 
 To MR. HACKMAN. 
 
 ADMIRALTY, March 17, 1776. 
 And does my H. think I wanted such a 
 letter as this to finish my affliction ? Oh, my 
 dear Jamie, you know not how you distress me. 
 And do you imagine that I have willingly 
 submitted to the artifices to which I have 
 been obliged, for your sake, to descend? 
 What has been your part, from the beginning 
 of the piece, to mine ? I was obliged to act 
 even to you. It was my business not to let 
 you see how unhappy the artifices to which 
 I have submitted made me ; and that they 
 did embitter even our happiest moments. 
 
 But fate stands between us. We are 
 doomed to be wretched. And I, every now 
 and then, think some terrible catastrophe 
 will be the consequence of our connection. 
 " Some dire event," as Storge prophetically 
 says in Jephtha, " hangs over our heads ; " 
 Some woeful song we have to sing 
 In misery extreme O never, never 
 Was my forboding mind distress 'd before 
 With such incessant pangs ! 
 
 Oh, that it were no crime to quit this 
 69 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 world like Faldoni and Teresa, and that we 
 might be happy together in some other world, 
 where gold and silver are unknown ! By 
 your hand I could even die with pleasure. I 
 know I could. 
 
 " Insuperable reason." Yes, my H., there 
 is, and you force it from me. Yet, better to 
 tell you than to have you doubt my love, 
 that love which is now my religion. I have 
 hardly any God but you. I almost offer up 
 my prayers to you, as well as for you. 
 
 Know, then, if you were to marry me, you 
 would marry some hundred pounds' worth of 
 debts ; and that you never shall do. 
 
 Do you remember a solemn oath which 
 you took in one of your letters, when I was 
 down at Hinchinbrook ? and how you told 
 me afterwards it must be so, because you had 
 so solemnly sworn it ? 
 
 In the same solemn and dreadful words I 
 swear that I never will marry you, happy as 
 it would make me, while I owe a shilling in 
 the world. Jephtha's vow is past. 
 
 What your letter says about my poor 
 children made me weep; but it shall not 
 make me change my resolution. 
 
 It is a further reason why I should not. 
 70 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 " If I do not marry you, I do not love you ! " 
 Gracious powers of love ! Does my H. say 
 so? My not marrying you is the strongest 
 proof I can give you of my love. And 
 Heaven, you know, has heard my vow. Do 
 you respect it, and never tempt me to break 
 it for not even you will ever succeed. Till 
 I have some better portion than debts, I 
 never will be yours. 
 
 Then what is to be done ? you ask. Why, 
 I will tell you, H. Your determination to 
 drop all particular intercourse till marriage 
 has made us one, flatters me more than 1 
 can tell you, because it shows the opinion 
 you entertain of me in the strongest light; 
 it almost restores me to my own good opinion. 
 The copy of verses you brought me on that 
 subject is superior to anything I ever read. 
 They shall be thy Martha's morning prayer, 
 and her evening song. While you are in 
 Ireland 
 
 Yes, my love, in Ireland. Be ruled by me. 
 You shall immediately join your regiment 
 there. You know it is your duty. In the 
 meantime, something may happen : Heaven 
 will not desert two faithful hearts that love 
 like yours and mine. There are joys ; there 
 71 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 is happiness in store for us yet I feel there 
 is. And (as I said just now) while you are in 
 Ireland, I will write to you every post, twice 
 by one post, and I will think of you, and I will 
 dream of you, and I will kiss your picture, 
 and I will wipe my eyes, and I will kiss it 
 again, and then I will weep again. And 
 
 Can I give a stronger instance of my 
 regard for you, or a stronger proof that you 
 ought to take my advice, than by thus begging 
 my only joy to leave me ? I will not swear 
 I shall survive it ; but, I beseech you, go ! 
 
 Fool that I am ! I undo with one hand 
 all that I do with the other. My tears, 
 which drop between every word I write, 
 prevent the effect of my reasoning - } which, I 
 am sure, is just. 
 
 Be a man, I say you are an angel. Join 
 your regiment ; and, as sure as I love you 
 (nothing can be more sure), I will recall you 
 from what will be banishment as much to me 
 as to you, the first moment that I can marry 
 you with honour to myself, and happiness to 
 myH. 
 
 But, I must not write thus. Adieu ! 
 Ill suits the voice of love when glory calls, 
 And bids thee follow Jephtha to the field. 
 72 
 

 of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 CANNON COFFEE HOUSE, 
 
 March 17, 1776. 
 
 And I will respect the vow of Jephtha, 
 and I will follow to the field. At least, I 
 will think of it all to-night, for I am sure I 
 shall not sleep, and will let you know the 
 success of my struggle, for a struggle it will be 
 to-morrow. I will wait for you at the same 
 place in the Park, where I shall see you open 
 the Admiralty door. Should it rain, I will 
 write. It was my intention to have endea- 
 voured to see you now, but I changed my 
 mind, and wrote this, and I am glad I did. 
 We are not in a condition to see each other. 
 Cruel debts ! Rather, cruel vow ! for, would 
 you but have let me, I would have contrived 
 some scheme about your debts. I could 
 form a plan. My Gosport matters my 
 commission. 
 
 Alas ! you frown, and I must stop. Why 
 would not fortune smile upon my two lottery 
 tickets ? Heaven knows I bought them on 
 your account. Upon the back of one of 
 them I wrote, in case of my sudden death, 
 " This is the property of Miss Reay? On the 
 73 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 back of the other, that it belonged to your 
 daughter. For what am I still reserved ? 
 
 To MR. HACKMAN. 
 
 ADMIRALTY, March 17, 1776. 
 
 Why, why do you write to me so often? 
 Why do you see me so often? when you 
 acknowledge the necessity of complying with 
 my advice. 
 
 You tell me, if I bid you, you will go. I 
 have bid you, begged you to go. I do 
 bid you go. Go, I conjure you, go ! But 
 let us not have any more partings. The last 
 was too, too much. I did not recover myself 
 all day. And your goodness to my little 
 white-headed boy ! He made me burst into 
 tears this morning by talking of the good- 
 natured gentleman, and producing your 
 present. 
 
 Either stay, and let our affection discover 
 and ruin us or go. 
 
 On the bended knees of love I entreat 
 you, H., my dearest H., to go. 
 
 This earnest appeal induced Hackman to 
 obey her wishes, and he departed for Ireland 
 immediately. 
 
 74 
 
PART II 
 IN IRELAND 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 IRELAND, March 26, 1776. 
 
 IRELAND ! England ! good heavens ! that 
 Martha should be in one part of the world 
 and her H. in another ! Will not our des- 
 tinies suffer us to breathe the same air? 
 Mine will not, I most firmly believe, let me 
 rest, till they have hunted me to death. 
 
 Will you not give me your approbation for 
 obeying you thus ? Approbation ! And is 
 that the coin to pass between us ? 
 
 Yet, I will obey you further. I will restrain 
 my pen as much as possible. I will scratch 
 the word love out of my dictionary. I will 
 forget : I lie I never can, nor ever will 
 forget you, or any thing which belongs to 
 you. But I will, as you wisely advise, and 
 kindly desire me, write as much as possible 
 on other subjects. Everything entertaining 
 75 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 that I can procure I will. I will Twissify, 
 and write Tours or anything but love-letters. 
 This morning pardon me : I am unable to 
 trifle ; I must be allowed to talk of love, of 
 Martha. 
 
 And, when I am able, you must allow me 
 to put in a word or two sometimes for myself. 
 To-day, however, I will not make you un- 
 happy by telling you how truly so / am. 
 
 The truth is my heart is full ; and though 
 I thought, when I took up my pen, I could 
 have filled a quire of paper with it, I now 
 have not a word to say. Were I sitting by 
 your side now (oh, that I were !) I should 
 only have power to recline my cheek upon 
 your shoulder, and to wet your handkerchief 
 with my tears. 
 
 My own safety, but for your sake, is the 
 last of my considerations. Our passage was 
 rather boisterous, but not dangerous. Mrs. 
 F. (whom I mentioned to you, I believe, in 
 the letter that I wrote just before we em- 
 barked) has enabled me to make you laugh 
 with an account of her behaviour, were either 
 of us in a humour to laugh. 
 
 Why did you cheat me so about that box ? 
 
 Had I known I should find, upon opening 
 76 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 it, that the things were for me, I would never 
 have brought it. But ih&tyou knew. Was it 
 kind, ray Martha, to give me so many daily 
 memorandums of you, when I was to be at 
 such a distance from you ? Oh, yes, it was, 
 it was, most kind. And that, and you, and 
 all your thousand and ten thousand kind- 
 nesses I never will forget. The purse shall 
 be my constant companion, the shirts I will 
 wear by night, one of the handkerchiefs I 
 was obliged to use in drying my eyes as soon 
 as I opened the box, the 
 
 God, God bless you in this world that is, 
 give you your H., and grant you an easy 
 passage to eternal blessings in a better. 
 
 If you go before me, may the stroke be so 
 instantaneous that you may not have time to 
 cast one longing, lingering look on H. ! 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 IRELAND, April 8, 1776. 
 
 Yours, dated April the first, would have 
 diverted me had I been some leagues nearer 
 to you. It contained true wit and humour. 
 I truly thank you for it, because I know with 
 how much difficulty you study for any thing 
 like wit or humour in the present situation of 
 77 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 your mind. But you do it to divert me ; and 
 it is done for one, who, though he cannot 
 laugh at it, as he ought, will remember it, 
 as he ought. Yet, with what a melancholy 
 tenderness it concluded ! There spoke your 
 heart. 
 
 Your situation, when you wrote it, was 
 something like that of an actress, who should 
 be obliged to play a part in a comedy, on 
 the evening of a day, which, by some real 
 catastrophe, had marked her out for the 
 capital figure of a real tragedy. 
 
 Perhaps I have said something like this 
 in the long letter that I have written since. 
 Never mind. 
 
 Pray be careful how you seal your letters. 
 The wax always robs me of five or six words. 
 Leave a space for your seal. Suppose that 
 should be the part of your letter which tells 
 me you still love me. If the wax cover it, I 
 see it not I find no such expression in your 
 letter I grow distracted and immediately 
 set out for Charing Cross, to ask you whether 
 you do indeed still love me. 
 
 In the hospitality of this country I was not 
 deceived. They have a curse in their lan- 
 guage, strongly descriptive of it " May the 
 78 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 grass grow at your door ! " The women, if I 
 knew not you, I should find sensible and 
 pretty. But I am deaf, dumb, blind, to every- 
 thing, and to every person but you. If I 
 write any more this morning, I shall certainly 
 sin against your commands. 
 
 Why do you say nothing of your dear 
 children ? I insist upon it that you buy my 
 friend a taw, and two dozen of marbles ; 
 and place them to the account of 
 
 Your humble servant. 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 IRELAND, May 3, 1776. 
 
 My last, I hope, did not offend you. The 
 bank note I was obliged to return ; although 
 I thank you for it, more than words can tell. 
 
 Shall I, whom you will not marry, because 
 you will not load me with your debts, in- 
 crease those debts; at least prevent you from 
 diminishing them, by robbing you of fifty 
 pounds ? Were I capable of it, I should be 
 unworthy of your love. But be not offended 
 that I returned it. Heaven knows how 
 willingly a quire of such things should have 
 accompanied it, had heaven made me so rich. 
 
 Be not anxious about me. Talk not of the 
 79 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 postage which your dear letters cost me. Will 
 you refuse to make your H . happy ? And think 
 you that I can pay too dear for happiness ? 
 
 But, Lord ! you rave. I am rich as rich 
 as a Jew ; and without taking into the calcu- 
 lation the treasure I possess in your love. 
 Why, you talk of what I allow that r elation , 
 poor soul ! That does not swallow up all 
 my lands and hereditaments at Gosport. 
 Then there's my pay, and twenty other 
 ways and means besides, I dare say, 
 could I but recollect them. Go to I tell 
 you I am rich. So, let me know you got the 
 silver paper safe, and that I am a good boy. 
 
 Rich ! To be sure I am ; why, I can afford 
 to go to plays. I saw Catley last night, in 
 your favourite character. By the way, I will 
 tell you a story of her, when she was on your 
 side the water. 
 
 Names do not immortalise praiseworthy 
 anecdotes ; they immortalise names. Some 
 difference had arisen between Miss Catley 
 and the managers, concerning the terms upon 
 which she was to be engaged for the season. 
 One of the managers called upon her, at her 
 little lodgings in Drury Lane, to settle them. 
 The maid was going to show the gentleman 
 80 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 upstairs, and to call her mistress. " No, no," 
 cries the actress, who was in the kitchen, and 
 heard the manager's voice, "there is no 
 occasion to show the gentleman into a room. 
 I am busy below [to the manager] making 
 apple-dumplings for my brats. You know 
 whether you have a mind to give me the 
 money I ask, or not. I am none of your 
 fine ladies, who get a cold or the tooth-ache, 
 and cannot sing. If you have a mind to 
 give me the money, say so ; my mouth shall 
 not open for a farthing less. So good- 
 morning to you, and do not keep the girl 
 there in the passage ; for I want her to put 
 the dumplings in the pot, while I nurse the 
 child." The turnips of Fabricius, and Andrew 
 Marvel's cold leg of mutton are worthy to be 
 served up on the same day with Nan Catley's 
 apple-dumplings. 
 
 Come \ I am not unhappy, or I could not 
 talk of other people and write thus gaily. 
 Nothing can make me truly unhappy but a 
 change in your sentiments of me. By the 
 Almighty God of heaven, I know my own 
 feeling so thoroughly, that I do not think I 
 could survive such a thing. 
 
 As you love me, scold me not about the 
 
 8l F 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 poplin which you will receive next week. It 
 cost me nothing ; I may surely give what was 
 given to me ! 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 IRELAND, May 29, 1776. 
 
 Do you think that to make such proposals, 
 as your last contained, is the way to reconcile 
 me to this worse than banishment? You 
 refused to come into my scheme of marriage. 
 Nothing shall tempt me to come into your 
 scheme. Persist in your idea of going on 
 the stage, and, as I live, I will come over 
 and make a party to damn you the first night 
 of your appearance. Since you will not 
 share my fortunes, I will not share your 
 earnings. 
 
 The story which you mention at Flam- 
 borough, of Boardingham, who was murdered 
 by his wife and her lover, is most shocking. 
 The reflections you draw from it are most 
 just, and what you say of our situation most 
 true. The woman must have been beyond 
 a savage. Yet their feelings, when she and 
 Aikney were at the gallows together (sup- 
 posing anything like love remained), must 
 have been exquisite. I protest I would wil- 
 82 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 lingly embrace with M. the cruellest death 
 which torture could invent (provided she 
 were on a bed of roses) than lead the happiest 
 life without her. What visions have I con- 
 jured up ! My pen drops from my hand. 
 Well, I must not think. 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 IRELAND, June 18, 1776. 
 
 My Laura is not angry with me, I hope, 
 for the three or four tender letters I have 
 written to her since the beginning of this 
 month. And yet, yours of yesterday seems 
 to say you are. If I bear my situation like a 
 man, will you not allow me to feel it like a 
 man? 
 
 Misfortune, like a creditor severe, 
 
 But rises in demand for her delay. 
 
 She makes a scourge of past prosperity, 
 
 To sting me more and double my distress. 
 
 But you say I must not write thus. If I 
 can help it, I will not. 
 
 Shall I write about the weather or politics ? 
 The sun shines to-day, yesterday it rained. 
 If you wish to appear learned, tell the next 
 83 
 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 company you go into that the distresses of 
 this country will soon oblige England to grant 
 her a free trade or something very much like 
 it ; and add, that her grievances are more 
 real now than when in 1601 she complained 
 to Elizabeth of the introduction of trials by 
 jury. Another slice of politics. Assert boldly 
 that " Junius " was written by Grenville's 
 secretary. This is a fact, notwithstanding 
 what Wilkes relates of Lord Germaine's 
 bishop. 
 
 Is this the style of letter-writing you allow 
 me ? Try again, then. 
 
 The favours I have received from the 
 worthy man I mentioned in a letter or two 
 ago are by his goodness every day increased. 
 Some superior souls have affected to hate 
 mankind. Here is one who, with an under- 
 standing and an experience inferior to none, 
 never loses an opportunity of befriending a 
 fellow-creature. I am afraid sometimes that 
 misfortune will one day or other play him 
 some confounded dog's trick, because he takes 
 such pleasure in thwarting every scheme that 
 she lays for any one's ruin. 
 
 Yet even this amiable character is not 
 without his defects. The following lines I 
 8 4 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 sent him this morning after playing at vingt- 
 un in company with him last night : 
 
 To Hackman, says a certain friend 
 
 (Both idle, rhyming bards), 
 " , with good manners and best sense, 
 
 Can't bear to lose at cards. 
 
 With such a head " " And such a heart," 
 Adds Hackman, " 'tis high treason. 
 
 But I, who knew that heart so well, 
 Have found, I think, the reason. 
 
 Friend to the poor, his purse their box, 
 
 He always would be winner ; 
 For then they win. But, should he lose, 
 
 The poor, too, lose a dinner." 
 
 This country's facetious Dean said, that 
 his friend Arbuthnct could do everything but 
 walk. My friend can do everything but lose 
 at cards. 
 
 Feeling, and all the commanding powers of 
 the mind, were never perhaps before so mixed 
 together. A tale of sorrow will make his 
 little eyes wink, wink, wink, like a green girl's. 
 Before the company came last night, I showed 
 him " Auld Robin Gray," and, though he had 
 seen it before, he could not get over " My 
 mother could na speak," without winking 
 85 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 For the credit of your side of the water, he 
 is an Englishman. His agreeable wife, by 
 her beauty and accomplishments, does credit 
 to this country. She is remarkable also for 
 her feeling, though in a different way. You 
 shall relate an anecdote of distress, or read 
 a story of ill-usage, and while his eyes are 
 winking for the object of ill-usage or the 
 distress, hers shall be striking fire with rage 
 against the author of it. " Good God ! " she 
 exclaims, " if that villain was but in my 
 power ! " And I sometimes think she is 
 going to ring for her hat and cloak, that she 
 may sally forth, and pull his house about his 
 ears. Bound up together (as they are, and 
 as I hope they will long continue) they form 
 a complete system of humanity. 
 
 It would have gratified me much to have 
 been with you when Garrick took his fare- 
 well of the stage. Do you remember the 
 last paper in the Idler upon its being the 
 last? The reflection that it was the last 
 time Garrick would ever play, was, in itself, 
 painful. How, my Laura, my Martha, my 
 life, shall I bear it, if I ever should be 
 doomed to take my last leave, my last look 
 of you ! 
 
 86 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 To MR. HACKMAN. 
 
 ENGLAND, June 25, 1776. 
 
 Let me give you joy of having found such 
 kind and agreeable friends in a strange land. 
 The account you sent of the gentleman and 
 lady, especially of the latter, quite charmed 
 me. Neither am I without my friends. A 
 lady, from whom I have received particular 
 favours, is uncommonly kind to me. For the 
 credit of your side of the water, she is an 
 Irishwoman. Her agreeable husband, by his 
 beauty and accomplishments, does credit to this 
 country. He is remarkable also for his feelings. 
 
 Adieu ! This will affect you, I dare say, in 
 the same manner your account affected me. 
 
 To MISS RE A Y. 
 
 IRELAND, July i, 1776. 
 
 Your little billet, of the 25th of last month, 
 was a proper reproof for the contents of one 
 of mine. Until I saw the joke I was truly 
 unhappy. If you had not written the long 
 and kind letter the next day, which came in 
 the same packet, I should have been miser- 
 able. Yet, I wish you happy, most happy; 
 but I cannot bear the thoughts of your 
 87 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 receiving happiness from any hands (man, 
 woman, or child) but mine. Had my affec- 
 tions not been fixed, as they are unalterably 
 elsewhere, the wife of my friend, with all her 
 charms, would never fix them. I have but 
 two masters, Love and Honour. If I did 
 not consider you as my wife, I would add, 
 you know I have but one mistress. 
 
 A friend of mine is going to England 
 (happy fellow I shall think him, to be in the 
 same country with you). He will call at the 
 Cannon Coffee House for me. Do send me, 
 thither, the French book you mention, 
 Werther. If you do not, I positively never 
 will forgive you. Nonsense, to say it will 
 make me unhappy, or that I shall not be able 
 to read it ! Must I pistol myself, because a 
 thick-blooded German has been fool enough 
 to set the example, or because a German 
 novelist has feigned such a story ? If you 
 do not lend it me, I will most assuredly 
 procure it some time or another; so, you 
 may as well have the merit of obliging me. 
 My friend will send a small parcel for you 
 to D. Street. The books I send you, be- 
 cause I know you have not got them, and 
 because they are so much cheaper here. If 
 88 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 you are afraid of emptying my purse (which, 
 by-the-way, is almost worn out), you shall be 
 my debtor for them. So send me a note of 
 hand, value received. The other things are 
 surely not worth mentioning. 
 
 To MR. HACKMAN. 
 
 ENGLAND, August 20, 1776. 
 
 For God's sake ! where are you ? What is 
 the matter? Why don't you write? Are 
 you ill ? God forbid ! Am I not with you 
 to nurse you ? If you are, why don't you 
 let somebody else write to me ? Better that 
 all should be discovered, than suffer what I 
 suffer. It is more than a month since I 
 heard from you. A month used to bring me 
 eight or ten letters. When I grew uneasy, 
 it was in vain, as I said in my last, that I 
 endeavoured to find your friend who brought 
 the parcel (for I would certainly have seen 
 him, and asked him about you). What is 
 become of all my letters for this last month ? 
 Did you get what I returned by your friend ? 
 Do you like the purse? The book you 
 mentioned is just the only book you should 
 never read. On my knees I beg that you 
 will never, never read it ! Perhaps you have 
 89 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 read it. Perhaps ! I am distracted. Heaven 
 only knows to whom I may be writing this 
 letter ! 
 
 Madam, or Sir, 
 
 If you are a woman, I think you will, if 
 you are a man, and ever loved, I am sure 
 you will, oblige me with one line to say 
 what is become of Mr. Hackman, of 
 
 the 68th Regiment. Direct to Mrs. , D. 
 
 Street, London. Any person whose hands 
 my letter may fall into, will not think this 
 much trouble ; and, if they send me good 
 news, heaven knows how a woman, who 
 loves, if possible, too well, will thank them. 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 IRELAND, Sept. 10, 1776. 
 
 As I am no sportsman, there is no merit, 
 
 you may think, in devoting a morning to this 
 
 employment. Nor do I claim any merit. 
 
 It is only making myself happy. 
 
 Now, I hope, you are quite at ease about 
 me. My health, upon my honour, upon our 
 love, is almost re-established. Were I not 
 determined to keep on this side the truth, I 
 would say quite. The four letters I have 
 90 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 written to you, since I received your frantic 
 sheet of paper, have explained and made up 
 everything. How can I sufficiently thank 
 you for all your letters ? Especially for that 
 of this week ? Never did you pen a better. 
 Did I know anybody employed in a work, 
 where that letter could properly appear, he 
 should insert it in your own words. 
 
 Excuse me, I am unwillingly called away. 
 
 What I said this morning about your 
 letter, brings to my recollection something 
 of that sort. Shall I tell it you ? I will. 
 
 James Hirst, in the year 1711, lived servant 
 with the Honourable Edward Wortley. It 
 happened, one day, in re-delivering a parcel 
 of letters to his master, by mistake he gave 
 him one which he had written to his sweet- 
 heart, and kept back one of Mr. Wortley's. 
 He soon discovered the mistake, and hurried 
 back to his master; but unfortunately for 
 poor James, it happened to be the first that 
 presented itself to Mr. Wortley, and, before 
 James returned, he had given way to a curi- 
 osity which led him to open it, and read the 
 love- told story of an enamoured footman. 
 It was in vain that James begged to have it 
 returned. " No," says Mr. Wortley, " James, 
 91 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 you shall be a great man, this letter shall 
 appear in the Spectator." 
 
 Mr. Wortley communicated the letter to 
 his friend, Sir Richard Steel. It was accor- 
 dingly published in his own words, and is 
 that letter, No. 71, volume the first of the 
 Spectator, beginning " Dear Betty." 
 
 James found means to remove that un- 
 kindness of which he complains in his letter ; 
 but, alas ! before their wishes were completed, 
 a speedy end was put to a passion, which 
 would not discredit much superior rank, by 
 the unexpected death of Betty. James, out 
 of the great regard and love of Betty, after 
 her death, married the sister. He dies, not 
 many years since, in the neighbourhood of 
 Wortley, near Leeds, Yorkshire. 
 
 To marry you is the utmost of my wishes ; 
 but, remember, I do not engage to marry 
 
 your sister, in case of your death 
 
 Death ! How can I think of such a thing, 
 though it be but in joke. 
 
 To MISS RE A Y. 
 
 IRELAND, September 15, 1776. 
 The commands of your last letter, for the 
 reasons you give, I have immediately obeyed. 
 92 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 My enquiries about the young Englishman 
 you mention amount to this. He is liked 
 tolerably well here. He would be liked 
 more, if he took more pains to be liked. His 
 contempt for some people in the world, whom 
 others despise perhaps as well as himself, is 
 sometimes too conspicuous. Accident has 
 given me an opportunity to see and know a 
 great deal of him ; and with certainty. His 
 heart is certainly not bad. His abilities are 
 certainly not equal to what he once con- 
 ses to have thought them ; perhaps they 
 superior to the opinion he now entertains 
 them. He has ambition and emulation 
 ough to have almost supplied any want of 
 ;enius, and to have made him almost any- 
 thing, had he fallen into proper hands. But 
 his schoolmasters knew nothing of his 
 human heart, nor over much of the head. 
 Though indolent to a degree, a keen eye 
 might have discovered, may still discover, 
 industry at the bottom ; a good cultivator 
 might have turned it, may still turn it, to 
 good account. His friendships are warm, 
 sincere, decided his enmities the same. 
 He complains now and then, that some of 
 his friends will pretend to know him better 
 
 93 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 than they know themselves, and better than 
 they know anything else. " They would 
 play upon him; they would seem to know 
 his stops ; they pretend to be able to sound 
 him from his lowest note to the top of his 
 compass ; and there is much music, excellent 
 voice, in a little pipe, yet cannot they make 
 it speak. Do they think," he demands, 
 " that he is easier to be played upon than a 
 pipe ? " Why, really, I do not think this is 
 the case at present, whatever it may have 
 been. Secrecy is not brought into the world, 
 it is acquired in the world. An honest heart 
 can only acquire it by experience. The 
 character which he had certainly gotten 
 among some of his intimates has been of 
 service both to them and to himself. They 
 made a point of secrecy, after they chose to 
 discover a want of it in him ; and now he 
 has made a point of it himself. My dearest 
 secret (you know what that is) should now 
 sooner be trusted to him than to any of his 
 former accusers. The loudest of them, to 
 rny knowledge, was little calculated to judge; 
 for though he might not absolutely think 
 him a coward, he certainly did not suspect 
 his friend of courage, till sufficient proof of it 
 94 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 was given under his own eye. Now, in my 
 opinion, true courage and resolution are this 
 gentleman's marking characteristics. This is 
 no great compliment ; for, without them, I 
 would not give a farthing for any man. 
 
 Such, in my judgment, is the young gentle- 
 man about whom you wished me to inquire, 
 and with whom I have happened to live a 
 good deal. His principal merit is that my 
 amiable friend (the mention of whose wife 
 just jogged your jealousy) sincerely loves 
 him. That worthy man seldom threw away 
 his attachment where it is not deserved. Nor 
 do I know anything in the gentleman whose 
 character I have been sketching which gives 
 me more pleasure, or which it would give 
 him more pleasure to have noticed, than the 
 love and respect which I am sure he feels for 
 my friend ; unless perhaps, his affectionate 
 sense of the obligations which I believe I 
 have told you he lies under to a Mr. B . 
 
 So much for business. Now for an article 
 of news. The latter end of last month a 
 lady and her servant, as they were riding in 
 Phoenix Park, were stopped by a man on foot, 
 very genteelly dressed in white clothes and a 
 gold-laced hat. He demanded the lady's 
 95 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 money, which she gave him, amounting to 
 twenty-six guineas. The person put the cash 
 into one of his pockets, and took from the 
 other a small diamond hoop-ring, which he 
 presented to the lady, desiring her to wear it 
 for the sake of an extraordinary robber who 
 made it a point of honour to take no more 
 from a beautiful lady than he could make a 
 return for in value. He then, with great 
 agility, vaulted over the wall and dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 This you may perhaps call an Irish way 
 of robbing. There certainly was something 
 original in it. The gentleman seems clearly 
 to imagine that an exchange is no robbery. 
 
 As to your threat, I will answer it in the 
 
 same style. " I will love you and, if ! " 
 
 But neither my answer, nor your threat is ori- 
 ginal. Reading this morning a history of this 
 country, I found the following anecdote : In 
 1487, a dreadful war was carried on in Ulster, 
 between the chieftain O'Neal, and the neigh- 
 bouring chieftain of Tirconnel. This war 
 had nothing more considerable for its imme- 
 diate cause than the pride of O'Neal, who 
 demanded that his enemy should recognise 
 his authority by paying tribute. The laconic 
 96 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 style, in which the demand was made and re- 
 jected, would not have disgraced a nobler 
 
 contest. "Send me tribute or else! " 
 
 was the message of O'Neal. To which was re- 
 turned, with the same princely brevity, " I owe 
 
 you none and if / " But I talk nonsense, 
 
 this does not prove your threat to have been 
 borrowed ; for I dare say, you never heard 
 of O'Neal till this moment It only proves 
 that two people may express themselves alike. 
 Should any man who loved like me (if any 
 man ever did love like me) have spoke of his 
 love in terms like those I used to speak of 
 mine, follows it therefore that I have bor- 
 rowed either his passion or his language? 
 Were it possible for you to think so, I never 
 would forgive you. Pray copy the music you 
 mention in your next. 
 
 To MISS RE A Y. 
 
 IRELAND, September 18, 1776. 
 How happens it that I have not sooner 
 noticed what you say, in a letter the begin- 
 ning of last month, about the new punishment 
 of working upon the Thames ? Politicians 
 may write more learnedly upon the matter, 
 but I will defy Beccaria to write more 
 97 G 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 feelingly or humanely. There certainly is 
 much truth in what you say. Experience, 
 however, will be the best test. Perhaps my 
 true reason for noticing your sensible letter 
 thus late, was to introduce a scene which 
 passed in the quicksilver mines of Idra, a 
 still more unpleasant abode than Mr. Camp- 
 bell's academy. This used to be Colonel 
 G.'s method, you remember, of introducing 
 his home-made jokes. Not that my story is 
 home-made. I take it from some Italian 
 letters which a brother officer lent me, written 
 by Mr. Everard, and I give it you almost in 
 his own words, except in one or two pas- 
 sages, where I think he has lost an opportunity 
 of surprising the reader. 
 
 " The pleasure I always take in writing to 
 you, wherever I am, and whatever I am doing, 
 in some measure dispels my present uneasi- 
 ness, and uneasiness caused at once by the 
 disagreeable aspect of everything around me, 
 and the more disagreeable scene to which I 
 have been witness. 
 
 "Something, too, I have to tell you of 
 Count Alberti. You remember him one of 
 the gayest, most agreeable persons at the 
 98 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 Court of Vienna, at once the example of the 
 men and the favourite of the fair sex. I often 
 heard you repeat his name with esteem as 
 one of the few that did honour to the present 
 age ; as possessed of generosity and pity in 
 the highest degree ; as one who made no other 
 use of fortune but to alleviate the distress of 
 mankind. But first of all, the scene I men- 
 tioned. 
 
 " After passing several parts of the Alps, 
 and having visited Germany, I thought I 
 could not well return home without visiting 
 the quicksilver mines at Idra, and seeing 
 those dreadful subterranean caverns where 
 thousands are condemned to reside, shut out 
 from all hopes of ever again beholding the 
 cheerful light of the sun, and obliged to toil 
 out a miserable life under the whips of impe- 
 rious taskmasters. Imagine to yourself a 
 hole in the side of a mountain of about five 
 yards over. Down this you are let in a kind 
 of a bucket more than an hundred fathom, the 
 prospect growing still more gloomy, yet still 
 widening, as you descend. At length, afte 
 swinging in terrible suspense for some time 
 in this precarious situation you at length 
 reach the bottom and tread on the ground, 
 99 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 which, by its hollow sound under your feet 
 and the reverberations of the echo, seems 
 thundering at every step you take. In this 
 gloomy and frightful solitude you are enlight- 
 ened by the feeble gleam of lamps here and 
 there disposed, so that the wretched inhabi- 
 tants of these mansions cannot go from one 
 part to another without a guide. And yet, 
 let me assure you, that though they by custom 
 could see objects very distinctly by these 
 lights, I could scarce discern for some 
 time anything, not even the person who 
 came with me to show me these scenes of 
 horror. 
 
 "From this description, I suppose, you 
 have but a disagreeable idea of the place ; 
 yet let me assure you that it is a palace if we 
 compare the habitation with the inhabitants. 
 Such wretches mine eyes never yet beheld. 
 The blackness of their visages only serves to 
 cover an horrid paleness caused by the nox- 
 ious qualities of the mineral which they are 
 employed to procure. As they in general 
 consist of malefactors condemned for life to 
 this task, they are fed at the public expense, 
 but they seldom consume much provision. 
 They lose their appetites in a short time, 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 and commonly, in about two years, expire 
 from a total contraction of the joints of the 
 body. 
 
 " In this horrid mansion I walked after my 
 guide for some time, pondering on the 
 strange tyranny and avarice of mankind, 
 when I was accosted by a voice behind me, 
 calling me by name, and enquiring after my 
 health with the most cordial affection. I 
 turned and saw a creature all black and 
 hideous, who approached me with a most 
 piteous accent, demanding, ' Ah ! Mr. 
 Everard, do not you know me?' Good 
 God ! what was my surprise, when, through 
 the veil of his wretchedness, I discovered 
 the features of my old and dear friend, 
 Count Alberti ! I flew to him with affection, 
 and, after a tear of condolence, asked how 
 he came there? To this he replied that, 
 having fought a duel with a General of the 
 Austrian infantry against the Emperor's com- 
 mand, and having left him for dead, he was 
 obliged to fly into one of the forests of 
 Istria, where he was first taken, and after- 
 wards sheltered by some banditti, who had 
 long infested that quarter. With these he had 
 lived nine months, till, by a close investiture 
 
 101 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 of the place in which they were concealed, 
 and after a very obstinate resistance, in which 
 the greatest part of them fell, he was secured 
 and carried to Vienna, in order to be broken 
 alive on the wheel. When he arrived at the 
 capital, he was quickly known, and several of 
 the associates of his accusation and danger 
 witnessing his innocence, his punishment of 
 the rack was changed into that of perpetual 
 confinement and labour in the mines of Idra. 
 A sentence, in my opinion, a thousand times 
 worse than death. 
 
 " As Alberti was giving me this account, a 
 young woman came up to him, who, at once 
 I saw, had been born for better fortune. The 
 dreadful situation of the place was not able 
 to destroy her beauty, and even in this scene 
 of wretchedness she seemed to have charms 
 to grace the most brilliant assembly. 
 
 "This lady was daughter to one of the 
 first families in Germany, and, having tried 
 every means to procure her lover's pardon 
 without effect, was at last resolved to share 
 his miseries, as she could not relieve them. 
 With him she accordingly descended into 
 these mansions, from which few ever return ; 
 and with him she is contented to live, 
 
 102 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 forgetting the gaieties of life ; with him to 
 toil, despising the splendours of opulence, 
 and contented with the consciousness of her 
 own constancy. 
 
 " I am, dear Sir, 
 
 " Yours, &c." 
 
 Now can I tell all the feelings of your dear 
 heart. Now see I your fancy busy with her 
 magic pencil ; and affecting is the picture it 
 has begun. Begun ; for your weeping eyes 
 will not suffer you to finish it. Can not you, 
 through all your tears, distinguish Alberti 
 and his wife dying in each other's arms after 
 about half a year ? What a scene ! 
 
 Is there any sum of money you would not 
 give to have this tragedy end happily ? That, 
 of course, is impossible. But Everard speaks 
 of the poor souls in his next letter, which I 
 may perhaps send you in my next. 
 
 Come, Martha, be a good girl, and you 
 shall have it now, though it will not give you 
 much consolation. 
 
 " My last to you was expressive, and per- 
 haps too much so, of the gloomy situation of 
 my mind. I own the deplorable condition 
 of the worthy man described in it was 
 103 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 enough to add double severity to the hideous 
 mansions. At present, however, I have the 
 happiness to inform you, that I was spectator 
 of the most affecting scene I ever yet beheld. 
 Nine days after I had written my last a 
 person came post from Vienna to the little 
 village near the mouth of the greater shaft. 
 He was also followed by a second, and he 
 by a third. The first enquiry was after the 
 unfortunate Count; and I, happening to 
 overhear the demand, gave them the best 
 information. Two of these were the brother 
 and cousin of the lady, the third was an 
 intimate friend and fellow - soldier of the 
 Count. They came with his pardon, which 
 had been procured by the General with whom 
 the duel had been fought, who was perfectly 
 recovered from his wounds. I led them with 
 all the expedition of joy down to his dreary 
 abode, and presented to him his friends, and 
 informed him of the happy change in his 
 circumstances. It would be impossible to 
 describe the joy that brightened up his grief- 
 worn countenance j nor was the young lady's 
 emotion less vivid at seeing her friends, and 
 hearing of her husband's freedom : some hours 
 were employed in mending the appearance of 
 104 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 this faithful couple, nor could I without a tear 
 behold him taking leave of the former wretched 
 companions of his toil. To one he left his 
 mattock ; to another his working clothes ; to 
 a third his little household utensils, such as 
 were necessary for him in that situation. We 
 soon emerged from the mine, and he once 
 again revisited the sight of the sun, which he 
 had totally despaired of ever seeing. A post- 
 chaise was ready the next morning to take them 
 to Vienna, whither, I am since informed by a 
 letter from himself, they are returned. The 
 Empress has taken them into favour ; his for- 
 tune and rank are restored ; and he and his fair 
 partner now have the pleasing satisfaction of 
 feeling happiness with double relish, because 
 they once new what it was to be miserable." 
 
 Says not our friend Sterne, that the cir- 
 cumstance of his being at Rennes at the 
 very time the Marquis reclaimed his forfeited 
 nobility and his sword, was an incident of 
 good fortune which will never happen to any 
 traveller but a sentimental one ? I believe 
 it; and may every other incident of good 
 fortune befall all such travellers. 
 
 Did I not say this second part of the story 
 105 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 would not afford you much consolation? 
 Excuse me for such a falsity. That was only 
 to surprise you. Well I knew what would 
 be my Martha's feelings. 
 
 Are you as deep in astrology as when you 
 wrote last to me ? On the page I have to 
 spare I will send you some some hasty lines 
 which I scribbled the other day to ridicule 
 the weakness of a Dr. W., who is as great 
 a fool at least as Dryden, and never fails 
 to cast the nativity of his children : 
 
 Kind heaven has heard the parent's prayer, 
 Each gossip hails the son and heir. 
 
 " Pray let the Doctor see," 
 " My master, ma'am ? Your labour past ; 
 He's got among the stars, to cast 
 
 His son's nativity." 
 
 Three hours elaps'd, our sage descends, 
 With " Well, and how's the child, my friend?" 
 
 " He's happy, sir, ere this." 
 " Happy ! why yonder stars ne'er shed 
 Benigner influence on the head 
 
 Of happier, I guess. 
 
 "Worth, virtue, wisdom, honour, wealth, 
 Man's best and only riches, health, 
 
 Assuredly await 
 
 Heav'n's favour'd child or never more 
 Say I have knowledge to explore 
 
 The secret page of fate. 
 106 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 " 'Twas there I read my happy boy 
 Full seventy summers should enjoy, 
 
 " Ere " when nurse sobb'd and said, 
 " Good lack ! the babe to whom kind heaven 
 So many bounteous gifts hath given, 
 
 These two hours hath been Dead." 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 IRELAND, January 26, 1777. 
 One of Lord Harcourt's suite will carry 
 this to England. His lordship was relieved 
 from guard yesterday by the arrival of a new 
 Lord Lieutenant. As politics have not much 
 to do with love, I shall not trouble you with 
 a history of the late reign, or with a prophecy 
 of what will be the present. Only let our great 
 actors take care they do not play the farce of 
 America in Ireland. My spirits, I thank you, 
 are now tolerable well. But you know I am, 
 at least I know I have been ever since you 
 have known me, a strange comical fellow. 
 Neither one thing nor t'other. Sometimes in 
 the garret, but, much oftener, down in the 
 cellar. If Salvator Rosa, or Rousseau, wanted 
 to draw a particular character, I am their 
 man. But you and I shall yet be happy 
 together, I know ; and then my spirits and 
 passions will return into their usual channels. 
 107 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 Why do you complain of the language of my 
 letters ? Suppose they were not tender. What 
 would you say, what would you think, then ? 
 Must not love speak the language of love ? 
 Nay, do not we see every day that love and 
 religion have mutual obligations, and con- 
 tinually borrow phrases from each other? 
 Put Jamie or Jenny, instead of Christ, and 
 see what you will make of Mr. Rowe's most 
 solemn poems, or of Dr. Watts' hymns. Let 
 me transcribe you a letter written by another 
 person to a lady. 
 
 "Sir Benjamin telling me you were not 
 come to town at three o'clock makes me in 
 pain to know how your son does, and I 
 can't help inquiring after him and dear Mrs. 
 Freeman. The Bishop of Worcester was with 
 me this morning before I was dressed. I 
 gave him my letter to the Queen, and he has 
 promised to second it, and seemed to under- 
 take it very willingly : though, by all the 
 discourse I had with him (of which I will 
 give you a particular account when I see you) 
 I find him very partial to her. The last time 
 he was here, I told him you had several times 
 desired you might go from me, and I have 
 108 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 repeated the same thing again to him. For 
 you may easily imagine I would not neglect 
 doing you right on all occasions. But I beg 
 it again, for Christ Jesus's sake, that you 
 would never name it any more to me ; for, 
 be assured, if you should ever do so cruel a 
 thing as to leave me, from that moment I 
 shall never enjoy one quiet hour. And, 
 should you do it without asking my consent 
 (which if I ever give you, may I never see 
 the face of heaven) I will shut myself up, 
 and never see the world more, but live where 
 I may be forgotten by human kind." 
 
 What think you of this letter ? If it should 
 have been written by a woman to a woman, 
 surely you will allow H. to write a little 
 tenderly to his own Martha ! This was really 
 the case. It is transcribed from " An Account 
 of the Conduct of the Dowager Duchess of 
 Marlborough," printed for W. Smith, Dame 
 Street, Dublin, 1742, which I bought at 
 Wilson's in Dane Street yesterday. This 
 pamphlet contains others as loving. This I 
 find, page 40. It was written to Lady Marl- 
 borough by her mistress (one would have 
 thought the word mistress in one sense did 
 109 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 belong to one of the parties) when she 
 was only Princess of Denmark. It refers to 
 the quarrel between the Princess and her 
 royal sister and brother-in-law, because she 
 would not part with her favourite, upon Lord 
 Marlborough's having displeased the king. 
 These two female lovers always corresponded, 
 under the names of Mrs. -Freeman and Mrs. 
 Morley, at the particular desire of the 
 Princess, who fixed upon the names. And 
 this, after she was Queen Anne. Be assured, 
 my Martha, that, although I write to you with 
 almost the same madness of affection, I will 
 never imitate her example, for all its royalty, 
 and exchange you for a mushroom of your 
 own raising. 
 
 From this date Hackman's letters have 
 a morbid vein running through them. He 
 mentions that he has received several letters 
 from Miss Reay, but none of them, however, 
 seem to have been preserved. 
 
 To MISS REAY, 
 
 IRELAND, Feb. 6, 1777. 
 
 My last was merry, you know. I cannot 
 say as much for your last. To-day you must 
 no 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 suffer me to indulge my present turn of mind 
 in transcribing something which was left 
 behind her by a Mrs. Dixon, who poisoned 
 herself not long since at Inniskillen. It was 
 communicated to me by a gentleman, after 
 a dinner yesterday, who is come hither about 
 business, and lives in the neighbourhood of 
 Inniskillen. 
 
 The unhappy woman was not above nine- 
 teen years of age. She had been married 
 about two years, and lived with her husband 
 all that time with seeming ease and cheer- 
 fulness. 
 
 She was remarkably cheerful all the fatal 
 day, had company to dine with her, made 
 tea for them, in the evening set them down 
 to cards, retired to her chamber, and drank 
 her cup of arsenic. 
 
 She left a writing on her table, in which is 
 obscurely hinted the sad circumstance which 
 urged her impatience to this desperate act. 
 
 Enclosed is an exact copy even to the 
 spelling. 
 
 " This | is to let all the world know, that 
 hears of me, that it is no crime I ever com- 
 mitted occasions this my untimely end ; but 
 in 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 despair of ever being happy in this world, as 
 I have sufficient reasons to think so. I own 
 it is a sinful remedy, and very uncertain to 
 seek happiness, but I hope that God will 
 forgive my poor soul ; Lord have mercy on 
 it ! But all I beg is to let none reproach my 
 friends with it, or suspect my virtue or my 
 honour in the least, though I am to be no 
 more. 
 
 " Comfort my poor unhappy mother, and 
 brothers and sisters, and let all mothers take 
 care, and never force a child as mine did me ; 
 but I forgive her, and hopes God will forgive 
 me, as I believe she meant my good by my 
 marriage. 
 
 "Oh ! that unfortunate day I gave my hand 
 to one, whilst my heart was another's, but 
 hoping that time and prudence would at 
 length return my former peace and tranquillity 
 of mind, which I wanted for a long time ; 
 but oh, it grieves me to think of the length 
 of eternity; and the Lord save me from 
 eternal damnation ! Let no one blame 
 Martin Dixon (her husband), for he is in no 
 fault of it. 
 
 " I have a few articles which I have a greater 
 regard for than anything else that's mine, on 
 
 112 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 account of him that gave them to me (but 
 he is not to be mentioned), and I have some 
 well-wishers that I think proper to give 
 them to. 
 
 " First, to Betty Balfour, my silver buckles ; 
 to Polly Deeryn, my diamond ring ; to Betty 
 Mulligan, my laced suit, cap, handkerchief, 
 and ruffles ; to Peggy Delap, a new muslin 
 handkerchief not yet hemmed, which is in 
 my drawer, and hope for my sake those 
 persons will accept of these trifles as a testi- 
 mony of my regard for them. 
 
 " I would advise Jack Watson [her brother] 
 to behave himself in an honest and obedient 
 manner in respect to his mother and family, 
 as he is all she has to depend upon now. 
 
 " I now go in God's name, though against 
 His commands, without wrath or spleen to 
 any one upon earth. The very person I die 
 for, I love him more than ever, and forgive 
 him. I pray God grant him more content 
 and happiness than he ever had, and hope 
 he will forgive me, only to remember such a 
 one died for him. 
 
 " There was, not long ago, some persons 
 pleased to talk something against my reputa- 
 tion, as to a man in this town ; but now, 
 113 H 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 when I ought to tell the truth, I may be 
 believed. If ever I knew him, or any other 
 but my husband, may I never enter into 
 glory ; and them I forgive who said so ; but 
 let that man's wife take care of them that told 
 her so ; for they meant her no good by it. 
 
 " With love to one, friendship to few, and 
 goodwill to all the world, I die, saying, Lord 
 have mercy on my soul ; with an advice to all 
 people never to suffer a passion of any sort to 
 command them as mine did in spite of me. I 
 pray God to bless all my friends and acquaint- 
 ance, and begs them all to comfort my 
 mother, who is unhappy in having such a 
 child as I, who is ashamed to subscribe 
 myself an unworthy and disgraceful member 
 of the Church of Scotland. 
 
 " JANE WATSON, otherwise DIXON." 
 
 My pen shall not interrupt your medita- 
 tions hereon by making a single reflection. 
 We both of us have made, I dare say, too 
 many on it. She, too, was Jenny and had her 
 Robin Gray. 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 IRELAND, April, 20, 1777. 
 
 Now you see there is something in dreams. 
 114 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 But why is not your alarming letter more 
 particular about your complaint? Do they 
 nurse you as tenderly as I would ? Are they 
 careful about your medicines? For God's 
 sake tell them all round what happened lately 
 here to Sir William Yorke, the Chief Justice. 
 
 Sir William was grievously afflicted with 
 the stone. In his severe fits he used to take 
 a certain quantity of laudanum drops. On 
 calling for his usual remedy, during the most 
 racking pains of his distemper, the drops 
 could not be found. The servant was de- 
 spatched to his apothecary ; but, instead of 
 laudanum drops, he asked for laudanum. A 
 quantity of laudanum was accordingly sent, 
 with a special charge not to give Sir William 
 more than twenty-four drops. But the 
 fellow, forgetting the caution, gave the bottle 
 into his master's hand, who, in his agony, 
 drank up the whole contents, and expired 
 in less than an hour. 
 
 Why, my dearest love, did you conceal 
 your illness from me so long? Now, you 
 may have revealed the situation of your health 
 to me too late. God forbid! If I write 
 more, I shall write like a madman. A 
 gentleman takes this who sails for England 
 115 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 to-day. To-morrow or next day the Colonel 
 will be here. If Lord Sandwich, as I have 
 reason to expect, has influenced him to 
 refuse me leave of absence, I will most 
 certainly sell out directly, which I have an 
 opportunity to do. At any rate, I will be 
 with you in a few days. If I come without 
 a commission you must not be angry. To 
 find you both displeased and ill, will be too 
 much for your poor H. For my sake, be 
 
 careful. Dr. I insist upon your not 
 
 having any longer. His experience and 
 humanity are upon a par. Positively you 
 must contrive some method for me to see 
 you. How can love like mine support exist- 
 ence if you should be ill, and I should not be 
 permitted to see you. But I can neither 
 think nor write any more. 
 
 Hackman then sold out and left at once 
 for England, arriving in London in the begin- 
 ning of May 1777. 
 
 116 
 
PART III 
 IN LONDON 
 
 To MISS RE AY, 
 
 CANNON COFFEE HOUSE, May 4, 1777. 
 DID you get the incoherent scrawls I wrote 
 you yesterday and the day before? Yours 
 I have this instant read and wept over. 
 Your feeble writing speaks you weaker than 
 you own. Heavens, am I come hither only 
 to find I must not see you ! Better I had 
 staid in Ireland. Yet, do I now breathe the 
 air with you. Nothing but your note last 
 night could have prevented me, at all hazards, 
 from forcing my way to your bedside. In 
 vain did I watch the windows afterwards, to 
 gather information from the passing lights 
 whether you were better or worse. For God 
 of heaven's sake send me an answer to this ! 
 
 To MR. HACKMAN. 
 ADMIRALTY, May 4, 1774. 3 o'clock. 
 
 My dear mistress bids me write this from 
 117 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 her mouth : " These are the last words I 
 speak. My last thoughts will be upon you, 
 my dearest, dear H. In the next world we 
 shall meet. Live and cherish my memory. 
 Accept the contents of this little box. Be a 
 friend to my children. My little girl." 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 ADMIRALTY, May 4, 1777. 5 o'clock. 
 MY DEAR SOUL, 
 
 At the hazard of my life I write this to 
 tell you Heaven has spared my life to your 
 prayers. The unfinished note, which my 
 hasty maid I cannot go on. 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 My dear Mistress bids me say, Sir, that 
 her disorder has taken a turn within this 
 hour, and the physicians have pronounced 
 her out of all danger. Honoured Sir, I 
 humbly crave your pardon for sending away 
 my scribble just now, which I am afraid has 
 made you uneasy; but indeed, Honoured 
 Sir, I thought it was all over with my poor 
 dear mistress ; and then, I am sure I should 
 have broke my heart. For, to be sure, no 
 servant ever had a better, nor a kinder 
 mistress. Sir, I presume to see your honour 
 
 118 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 tomorrow. My mistress fainted away as she 
 began this, but is now better. 
 " Admiralty. 6 o'clock." 
 
 To MISS RE A Y. 
 
 CANNON COFFEE HOUSE, June 27, 1777. 
 5 o'clock. 
 
 As I want both appetite and spirit to touch 
 my dinner, though it has been standing 
 before me these ten minutes, I can claim no 
 merit in writing to you. May you enjoy that 
 pleasure in your delightful situation on the 
 banks of the Thames, which no situation, no 
 thing upon earth, can in your absence afford 
 me! 
 
 Do you ask me what has lowered my 
 spirits to-day ? I will tell you. Do not be 
 angry, but I have been to see the last of 
 poor Dodd, Yes, "poor Dodd ! " though 
 his life was justly forfeited to the laws of his 
 country. The scene was affecting it was 
 the first of the kind I had ever seen, and 
 shall certainly be the last. Though, had I 
 been in England when Peter Tolosa was 
 deservedly executed in February, for killing 
 Duarzey, a young French woman with whom 
 he lived, I believe I should have attended 
 119 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 the last moments of a man, who could 
 murder the object of his love. For the 
 credit of my country, this man (does he 
 deserve the name of man ? ) was a Spaniard. 
 
 Do not think I want tenderness because I 
 was present this morning. Will you allow 
 yourself to want tenderness, because you 
 have been present at Lear's madness, or 
 Ophelia's ? Certainly not. Believe me (you 
 will believe me, I am sure) I do not make 
 a profession of it, like George S. Your H. 
 is neither artiste nor amateur, nor do I, like 
 Paoli's friend and historian, hire a window 
 by the year, which looks upon the Grass- 
 market at Edinburgh. 
 
 Raynal's book you have read, and admire. 
 For its humanity it merits admiration. The 
 Abbe does not countenance an attendant on 
 scenes at this sort by his writings, but he 
 does by his conduct. And I would sooner 
 take Practice's word than Theory's. Upon 
 my honour Raynal and Charles Fox, not- 
 withstanding the rain, beheld the whole from 
 the top of an unfinished house, close by the 
 stand in which I had a place. 
 
 However meanly Dodd behaved formerly, 
 in throwing the blame of his application to 
 1 20 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 the chancellor on his wife, he certainly died 
 with resolution. More than once to-day 
 I have heard that resolution ascribed to his 
 hope that his friend Hawes, the humane 
 founder of the Humane Society, would be 
 able to restore him to life. But I give him 
 more credit. Besides, Voltaire observes that 
 the courage of a dying man is in proportion 
 to the number of those who are present, 
 and St. Everemond (the friend of the French 
 M.) discovered that les Anglais surpassent 
 toutes les nations a mourir. Let me surpass 
 all mankind in happiness, by possessing my 
 Ninon for life, and I care not how I die. 
 
 Some little circumstances struck me this 
 morning, which, however you may refuse to 
 forgive me for so spending my morning, I am 
 sure you would not forgive me were I to omit. 
 Before the melancholy procession arrived, a 
 sow was driven into the space left for the 
 sad ceremony, nor could the idea of the 
 approaching scene, which had brought the 
 spectators together, prevent too many from 
 laughing, and shouting, and enjoying the 
 poor animal's distress, as if they had only 
 come to Tyburn to see a sow baited. 
 
 After the arrival of the procession, the pre- 
 
 121 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 paration of the unhappy victim mixed some- 
 thing disagreeably ludicrous with the solemnity. 
 The tenderest could not but feel it, though 
 they might be sorry that they did feel it. The 
 poor man's wig was to be taken off, and the 
 nightcap brought for the purpose was too 
 little, and could not be pulled on without 
 force. Valets de chambre are the greatest 
 enemies to heroes. Every guinea in my 
 pocket would I have given that he had not 
 worn a wig, or that (wearing one) the cap 
 had been bigger. 
 
 At last arrived the moment of death. The 
 driving away of the cart was accompanied 
 with a noise which best explained the feelings 
 of the spectators for the sufferer. Did you 
 never observe, at the sight or relation of any- 
 thing shocking, that you closed your teeth 
 hard, and drew in your breath hard through 
 them, so as to make a sort of hissing sound ? 
 This was done so universally at the fatal 
 moment that I am persuaded the noise 
 might have been heard at a considerable dis- 
 stance. For my own part, I detected myself, 
 in a certain manner, accompanying his body 
 with the motion of my own. 
 
 Not all the resuscitating powers of Mr. 
 
 122 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 Hawes can, I fear, have any effect ; it was so 
 long before the mob would suffer the hearse 
 to drive away with his body. 
 
 Thus ended the life of Dr. Dodd. How 
 shocking, that a man, with whom I have 
 eaten and drunk, should leave the world in 
 such a manner ! A manner which, from 
 familiarity, has almost ceased to shock us 
 except when our attention is called to a 
 Perreau or a Dodd. How many men, how 
 many women, how many young, and, as they 
 fancy, tender females, with all their sensi- 
 bilities about them, hear the sounds, by which 
 at this moment I am disturbed, with as much 
 indifference as they hear muffins and matches 
 cried along the street ! The last dying speech 
 and confession^ birth, parentage, and education. 
 Familiarity has even annexed a kind of 
 humour to the cry. We forget that it always 
 announces the death (and what a death !) of 
 one fellow being ; sometimes of half-a-dozen, 
 or even more. 
 
 A lady talks with greater concern of cattle- 
 day than of hanging-day. And her maid 
 contemplates the mournful engraving at the 
 top of a dying speech with more indifference 
 than she regards the honest tar hugging his 
 123 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 sweetheart at the top of " Black-eyed Susan." 
 All that strikes us is the ridiculous tone in 
 which the halfpenny balladmonger singer 
 chants the requiem. We little recollect that, 
 while we are smiling at the voice of the 
 charmer, wives or husbands (charm she never 
 so wisely), children, parents, or friends, per- 
 haps all these and more than these, as pure 
 from crimes as we, and purer still, perhaps, 
 are weeeping over the crime and punishment 
 of the darling and support of their lives. 
 Still less do we at this moment (for the 
 printer always gets the start of the hangman, 
 and many a man has bought his own dying 
 speech on his return to Newgate by virtue of 
 a reprieve) still less do we ask ourselves, 
 whether the wretch, who, at the moment we 
 hear this (which ought to strike us as an) 
 awful sound, finds the halter of death about 
 his neck, and now takes the longing farewell, 
 and now hears the horses whipped and en- 
 couraged to draw from under him for ever 
 the cart which he now, now, now feels depart 
 from his lingering feet whether this wretch 
 really deserved to die more than we. Alas ! 
 were no spectators to attend executions but 
 those who deserve to live, Tyburn would 
 124 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 be honoured with much thinner congrega- 
 tions. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Well, I have made an uncomfortable sort 
 of a meal on tea, and now I will continue 
 my conversation with you. Conversation a 
 plague on words, they will bring along with 
 them ideas. This is all the conversation we 
 must have together for some days. Have I 
 deserved the misery of being absent from my 
 M. ? To bring proofs of my love would be 
 to bring proofs of my existence. They must 
 end together. Oh, Martha, does the chaste 
 resolution which I have so religiously observed 
 ever since I offered you marriage deserve no 
 smiles from fortune ? Is then my evil genius 
 never to relent ? Had I not determined to 
 deserve that success which it is not for mor- 
 tals to command, I should never have strug- 
 gled with my passions as I did the first time 
 we met after your recovery. What a struggle ! 
 The time of year, the time of day, the situa- 
 tion, the danger from which you were hardly 
 recovered, the number of months since we 
 had met, the languor of your mind and body, 
 the bed, the everything. Ye cold-blooded, 
 white-livered sons and daughters of chastity, 
 125 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 have ye no praises to bestow on such a for- 
 bearance as that ? Yet, when your strength 
 failed you, and grief and tenderness dissolved 
 you in my arms ; when you reclined your 
 cheek upon my shoulder, and your warm 
 tears dropt into my bosom, then who could 
 refrain? then 
 
 What then, ye clay-cold hypercritics in 
 morality ? 
 
 Then, even then, " I took but one kiss, 
 and I tore myself away." 
 
 Oh that I could take only one look at this 
 moment ! 
 
 Your last says the sun will shine. Alas ! I 
 see no signs of it. Our prospects seem shut 
 up for ever. 
 
 With regard to the stage, we will talk of it. 
 My objections are not because I doubt your 
 success. They are of a different kind the 
 objections of love and delicacy. Be not 
 uneasy about my selling out. The step was 
 not so imprudent. What think you of orders ? 
 More than once you know you have told me 
 I have too much religion for a soldier. Will 
 you condescend to be a poor parson's wife ? 
 
 But I shall write to-morrow at this rate. 
 
 126 
 

 of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 July 7, 1777. 
 
 Since last night I have changed my mind, 
 totally changed it. I charge you not to see 
 Mrs. Yates this morning. Write her word 
 that your mind is changed. Never will I 
 consent to be supported by your labours. 
 Never, never shall your face, your person, 
 your accomplishments be exposed for so 
 much an hour. By heaven ! I will not for- 
 give you if you do not give up all thoughts 
 of such a thing. 
 
 Miss Reay seems, after all, to have aban- 
 doned her intention of going on the stage, 
 although she was studying at the time with 
 Signora Galli, an Italian opera-singer, who 
 had been appointed companion to Miss Reay 
 by Lord Sandwich. It is probable that Galli 
 was also instructed to play the part of spy 
 over Miss Reay's actions. The following four 
 letters from Hackman cover a period of 
 twelve months, during which time he was 
 preparing to enter the Church. 
 
 127 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 CROYDON, Sept. 20, 1777. 
 
 That you have taken to drawing gives me 
 particular pleasure. Depend upon it, you 
 will find it suit your genius. But, in truth, 
 your genius seizes everything. While your 
 old friend is eating his corn I sit down to tell 
 you this, which I would not say to your face 
 lest you should call it flattery, though you 
 well know flattery is a thing in which we 
 never deal. My opinion of the great man's 
 style of painting who condescends to improve 
 you in drawing is exactly yours. Posterity 
 will agree with us. The subjects you recom- 
 mended to his pencil are such as I should 
 have expected from my M.'s fancy. While I 
 walked my horse hither this morning two or 
 three subjects of different sorts occurred to 
 me. All of them would not suit his style. 
 But I know one or two of them would not 
 displease you if well executed. Some of 
 them I will send you. 
 
 Louis XIV. when a boy, viewing the battle 
 of St. Anthony from the top of Charonne. 
 In 1650, I think. 
 
 Richard Cromwell, when the Prince de 
 Conti, Condi's brother, told him in conver- 
 ts 
 
r r. H. and Miss R. 
 
 sation, at Montpelier, without knowing him, 
 that Oliver was a great man, but that Oliver's 
 son was a miscreant for not knowing how to 
 profit by his father's crimes. 
 
 Milton, when the idea first struck him of 
 changing his mystery into an epic poem. 
 
 Demosthenes declaiming in a storm. 
 
 William the Conqueror and his rebellious 
 son Robert discovering each other in a battle, 
 after they had encountered hand to hand for 
 some time. 
 
 Charles XII. tearing the Yizir's robe with 
 his spur. 
 
 And again, after lying in bed ten months 
 at Demotica. 
 
 .... Though my mother could na speak, 
 
 She look'd in my face till my heart was like to 
 break. 
 
 The Abra of Prior's Solomon. 
 
 When she, with modest scorn, the wreath 
 
 return'd, 
 Reclin'd her beauteous neck, and inward 
 
 mourn'd. 
 
 Our Elizabeth, when she gave her Essex a 
 box on the ear. 
 
 Chatterton's Sir Charles Bawdin parting 
 from his wife. 
 
 129 i 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 Then tir'd out with raving loud, 
 
 She fell upon the floor ; 
 Sir Charles exerted all his might, 
 
 And march' d from out the door. 
 
 The Conference of Augustus, Anthony and 
 Lepidus (you are deep in Goldsmith, I know). 
 Do you remember the scene? Equally 
 suspicious of treachery, they agreed to meet 
 on a little island near Mutina. Lepidus first 
 past over. Finding every thing safe, he made 
 the signal. Behold them, yonder, seated on 
 the ground, on the highest part of a desolate 
 island, unattended, fearful of one another, 
 marking out cities and nations, dividing the 
 whole world between them, and mutually 
 resigning to destruction, agreeably to lists 
 which each presented, their dearest friends 
 and nearest relations. Salvator Rosa would 
 not make me quarrel with him for doing the 
 background. Your friend, if any one living, 
 could execute the figures. 
 
 Let me suggest one more subject. Mon- 
 mouth's decapitation, in the time of James II. 
 History speaks well of his face and person. 
 The circumstances of his death are these : 
 He desired the executioner to dispatch him 
 with more skill than he had dispatched 
 130 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 Russel. This only added to the poor fellow's 
 confusion, who struck an ineffectual blow. 
 Monmouth raised his face from the block, 
 and with a look (which I cannot describe, 
 but the painter must give) reproached his 
 failure. By the turn of the head, the effect 
 of the blow might be concealed, and left to 
 fancy ; which might collect it from the faces 
 of the nearest spectators. The remainder of 
 the scene is too shocking for the eye, almost 
 for the ear. But, I know not how, whenever 
 I am away from you, nothing is too shocking 
 for me. Monmouth again laid down his head. 
 The executioner struck again and again, to as 
 little purpose ; and, at last, threw down the 
 axe. The sheriff obliged the man, whose 
 feelings all must pity and respect, to renew 
 his attempt. Two strokes more finished the 
 butchery. 
 
 Were it possible to tear off this last subject 
 without destroying half my letter, I really 
 would. It will make you shudder too much. 
 But, you see, it is not possible; and you 
 prefer such a letter as this, I know, to none. 
 The paper only affords me room to say my 
 horse is ready. Every step he carries me 
 from you will be a step from happiness. My 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 imagination would busy herself just now 
 about the manner in which I should behave, 
 if I were to die as ignominiously as Mon- 
 mouth. But, as I feel no inclination for 
 rebellion, fancy threw away her pains. 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 Feb. 5, 1778. 
 
 Oh ! my dearest Martha, what I have gone 
 through since I wrote to you last night it is 
 impossible for me to describe. Thank God, 
 you were not in town ! Suffice it that my 
 honour and life are both as you wish 
 them. Now, mine of last night is more in- 
 telligible. How strange, that the kindest 
 letter that you almost ever wrote me, should 
 come to me precisely at the time I was 
 obliged to make up my mind to quit the 
 world, or, what is more, much more^ to quit 
 you ! Yet, so it was. 
 
 The story my letter mentioned, of a friend 
 who had received such an affront as no human 
 being could away with, was my own. Your 
 feelings agreed with me, I am sure. Duelling 
 is not what I defend. In general, almost 
 always, it may be avoided. But cases may 
 be put, in which it can be avoided only by 
 worse than death, by everlasting disgrace 
 132 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 and infamy. Had I fallen, I know where my 
 last thoughts would have lingered ; and you 
 and your children would have had some tokens 
 of my regard. Be assured the matter is for 
 ever at an end, and at an end as properly as 
 even you can wish. How happy shall we be 
 in '79 or '80 (for before that time we shall 
 surely be blest with each other !), to have 
 those friends about us who where privy to 
 this day, and to talk over the possibility of it ! 
 
 H., in all thy future life, sacred be every 
 fifth of February ! 
 
 My mind is too much agitated to write any 
 more this evening. To-morrow I will be 
 more particular. My last I am sure could 
 not alarm you; though, had anything hap- 
 pened, it would have prepared you. Do not 
 be alarmed by this. Upon my honour 
 (with which you know I never preface a 
 falsity) I am not hurt ; nor, as it since turns 
 out, is the other gentleman, at least, not 
 materially. 
 
 One trifling circumstance I must mention 
 As I was determined either to kill or be 
 killed (unless sufficient apologies should be 
 made), the only proper and least pernicious 
 idea of duelling, I did uot see why I should 
 133 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 not recruit my strength as much as possible. 
 So, about three o'clock, I took some cold 
 saddle of mutton and brandy and water at 
 rny friend's. After which I went home to 
 seal up some things for you, where my friend 
 was to call for me. When I saw him coming 
 to my door between four and five, I had 
 just wrung the affectionate hand of the man 
 I most value, and committed to his care 
 you and your dear little girl, and my dear 
 sister, &c. &c. Love, honour, revenge, and 
 all my various feelings would, in spite of my- 
 self, parch my tongue. As I took my hat 
 out of my dressing-room, I filled a wine- 
 glass of water, and drank half of it, to moisten 
 my mouth. When I saw that glass again, 
 about an hour ago, on returning to that home, 
 which I never again thought to see, in order 
 to write to her of whom I thought I had 
 taken my last leave in this world when I 
 took that glass again into my hand, 
 recollected my feelings on setting it down, 
 and emptied the remainder of its contents, 
 a libation of gratitude to the superin- 
 tending Providence of Heaven, oh ! M., 
 no pen, not even yours, can paint my 
 feelings ! 
 
 134 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 Only remember, in all our future life, each 
 fifth of February be ever sacred ! 
 
 To MISS RE AY, 
 
 March 2, 1778. 
 
 Your going out of town so suddenly has 
 not served to mend my spirits. But I will 
 be as merry as I can. Were I to be very 
 miserable after my late miraculous adventure, 
 I should be guilty of sullenness against Pro- 
 vidence. The minute account I gave you of 
 it last week, was, I assure you, dictated by my 
 feelings before they had forgotten the affect- 
 ing circumstances. Your observations are 
 truly just and striking. Unpardonable as 
 the affront which I had received appears to 
 mortal eyes, I should not readily, I fear, have 
 found an answer to the question of the en 
 quiring angel, on entering the world of spirits 
 " What brings you hither? " 
 
 Did I not tell you on Saturday the parti- 
 culars of the poor fellow who suffered this 
 day se'nnight for murdering Mrs. Knightly ? 
 They are singular. He was an Italian, I 
 understand. Such a thing is not credible 
 but of an Italian. 
 
 Mrs. Knightly's account was, that on the 
 135 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 1 8th of January Ceppi came into her room 
 (she being in bed), locked the door, sat 
 himself in a chair, and told her he was come 
 to do her business. She, not understanding 
 this, asked him to let her get out of bed, 
 which he did. He then took from his pocket 
 two pistols. She went towards the door in 
 order to get out, but he set his back against 
 it. She, to appease him, told him he might 
 stay to breakfast. He answered he would 
 have none, but would give her a good one. 
 She then called out to alarm the house, ran 
 towards the bed, and said, " Pray do not 
 shoot me ! " and drew up close to the 
 curtains. He followed, and discharged the 
 pistol, after which he threw himself across 
 the bed and fired the other pistol at himself, 
 which did not take effect. During this a 
 washerwoman ran upstairs, and with a poker 
 broke the bottom panel of the door, through 
 which Mrs. Knightly was drawn half naked, 
 and Ceppi, following, ran downstairs, but 
 was pursued and taken. In his defence, he 
 said he had proposed honourable terms of 
 marriage to her, but that she had refused 
 and deserted him; that he was overcome 
 with grief and love, and that his design was 
 136 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 not to hurt her, but to shoot himself in her 
 presence. 
 
 It appears, I am afraid, from all the cir- 
 cumstances, that, whatever his despair meant 
 with regard to his own life, he certainly 
 was determined to take away hers. How 
 unaccountably must Nature have formed 
 him. Besides the criminality and brutality 
 of the business, the folly of it strikes me. 
 What ! because the person, on whom I have 
 fixed my affections, has robbed me of 
 happiness by withdrawing hers, shall I let 
 her add to the injury by depriving me of 
 existence also in this world, and of every- 
 thing in the next ? In my opinion, to run 
 the chance of being murdered by the new 
 object of her affections or of murdering him, 
 is as little reconcileable to common sense as 
 to common religion. How much less so to 
 commit complicated murder, which must cut 
 off all hopes in other worlds. 
 
 Yet, could I believe (which I own I cannot, 
 from the evidence in this case) that the idea 
 of destroying her never struck him till his 
 finger was at the trigger; that his only 
 intention was to lay the breathless body of 
 an injured lover at her feet had this been 
 137 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 the fact, however I might have condemned 
 the deed, I certainly should have wept over 
 the momentary phrenzy which committed it. 
 But, as nothing appears to have past which 
 could at all make him change his plan, I 
 must (impossible as it seems) suppose him 
 to have deliberately formed so diabolical a 
 plan ; and must rejoice that he was not of 
 the same country, while I lament that he was 
 of the same order of beings with myself. 
 * * * * * 
 
 If the favour I mentioned to you on 
 Saturday be at all out of course, pray do not 
 ask it. Yet the worthy veteran I want to 
 serve has now and then seen things happen 
 not altogether in course. When he called 
 this morning to learn how I had succeeded, 
 I observed to him, while we were talking, 
 that he was bald. " Yes," said he, shaking 
 his grey hairs, " it will happen so by people's 
 continually stepping over one's head." 
 
 He little suspected the channel of my 
 application, but he asked me this morning 
 whether ^50, if he could scrape it together, 
 properly slid into Miss Reay's hand, might 
 not forward his views. My answer was, that 
 I had no acquaintance with the lady, but I 
 138 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 knew for certain that she had never in her 
 life soiled her fingers with the smallest 
 present of this sort. 
 
 Happy, blest, to know you, to love you, 
 and be loved by you ! 
 
 
 To MISS RE AY. 
 
 HOCKERILL, September 5, 1778. 
 
 Here did I sit, more than two years ago, 
 in this very room, perhaps in this very chair, 
 thanking you for bliss, for paradise, all claim 
 to which I soon after voluntarily resigned, 
 because I hoped they would soon be mine 
 by claims more just, if possible, than those 
 of love. Two years how have I borne 
 existence all the while ! But delicacy and 
 respect for you enjoined forbearance ; and 
 Hope led me on from day to day, deceiving 
 Time with distant prospects which I thought 
 at hand. When will the tedious journey 
 end ? When will my weary feet find rest ? 
 When shall I sleep away my fatigues on 
 the down-soft pillow of the bosom of love ? 
 Should hope continue to deceive me, you 
 never shall make me happy, till you make 
 me your husband. Yet, as we sate upon 
 the grass, under the trees near the water, 
 139 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 just before you returned me my stick, 
 because you thought the gentleman coming 
 along the path by the mill was a certain 
 person yet, had I then loosened another 
 button or two of my favourite habit which was 
 already opened by the heat; had I then 
 (you remember, my Laura, the conversation 
 and the scene) forgotten my resolution, for- 
 gotten everything, and rioted in all your 
 glowing charms, which only love like mine 
 could withstand who is he that would dare 
 to blame me ? Who would dare to say I 
 had done what he would not have done ? 
 But the scene must be shifted. Sally 
 Harris, you know, arrived only at the dignity 
 of Pomona at Hockerill. Had my Martha 
 her due, mankind at large would admit her 
 double claim to the titles of Minerva and of 
 Venus. 
 
 To sleep here is impossible. As well 
 expect the miser to sleep in a place where he 
 once hung in raptures over a hidden treasure 
 which is now lost. This letter I have an 
 opportunity to send to our old friend, for 
 you, without taking it to town. Let me fill 
 up the remainder of my paper with an almost 
 incredible anecdote I learned from a gentle- 
 140 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 man who joined me on the road this morning 
 and travelled some miles with me. It hap- 
 pened last week, I think. Peter Ceppi you 
 remember. Surely that Providence which 
 prevents the propagation of monsters, does 
 not suffer such monstrous examples as these 
 to propagate. 
 
 One Empson, a footman to Dr. Bell, 
 having in vain courted for some time a 
 servant belonging to Lord Spencer, at last 
 caused the banns to be put up at church, 
 without her consent, which she forbad. 
 Being thus disappointed, he meditated re- 
 venge ; and having got a person to write a 
 letter to her, appointing a meeting, he con- 
 trived to waylay her, and surprise her in 
 Lord Spencer's 'park. On her screaming, he 
 discharged a pistol at her, and made his 
 escape. The ball wounded her, but not 
 mortally. 
 
 Oh love, love, canst thou not be content 
 to make fools of thy slaves, to make them 
 miserable, to make them what thou pleasest ! 
 Must thou also goad them on to crimes ! 
 Must thou also convert them into devils, 
 hell-hounds ! 
 
 141 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 To MISS RE A Y. 
 CRAVEN STREET, Jan. 28, 1779. 
 
 The short note I wrote to you last night, 
 immediately on my reaching town, you 
 received. But why no answer to it ? Why 
 do you not say when we shall meet ? I have 
 ten thousand things to tell you. My situa- 
 tion in Norfolk is lovely. Exactly what you 
 like. The parsonage-house may be made 
 very comfortable at a trifling expense. How 
 happily shall we spend our time there ! How 
 glad am I that I have taken orders, and 
 what obligations have I to my dear B. to 
 Mr. H. and Dr. V. ! Now, my happiness 
 can be deferred no longer. My character 
 and profession are, now, additional weights 
 in the scale. Oh, then, consent to marry 
 me directly. The day I lead you to 
 the altar will be the happiest day of my 
 existence. 
 
 Thanks, a thousand thanks for your tender 
 and affectionate letters while I was in 
 Norfolk. Be assured Galli could mean 
 nothing by what she said. She is our firm 
 friend, I am persuaded. About an hour ago 
 I called there ; but she was out. Presently, 
 142 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 I shall go again with this, in the hope of 
 hearing something about you. 
 
 Oh, Martha ! every day I live I do but dis- 
 cover more and more how impossible it is 
 for me to live without you. 
 
 Do not forget the 5th of next month. We 
 st keep that day sacred together. 
 
 . 
 
 There seems to be a mistake in the date 
 of this letter, as Hackman was not ordained 
 deacon until Wednesday, February 24, 1779 ; 
 he became a priest at a general ordination 
 on the following Sunday, and received the 
 living of Wiveton, in Norfolk, on March i 
 of the same year, the day on which he wrote 
 the last letter he ever sent to Miss Reay. 
 Full of hope and happiness he looks forward 
 to the new life that is before them, and 
 he expresses his thankfulness for Signora 
 Galli's kindness. But there is no doubt that 
 this woman, whose conduct throughout was 
 sinister, is morally responsible for the events 
 that followed. 
 
 To MISS REAY. 
 
 March i, 1779. 
 
 Though we meet to-morrow, I must write 
 you two words to-night, just to say that I 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 have all the hopes in the world that ten days 
 at the utmost will complete the business. 
 When that is done, your only objection is 
 removed along with your debts ; and we may, 
 surely, then be happy, and be so soon. In a 
 month, or six weeks at furthest ', from this time, 
 I might certainly call you mine. Only re- 
 member that my character, now I have taken 
 orders, makes expedition necessary. By to- 
 night's post I shall write into Norfolk about 
 the alterations at our parsonage. To-morrow ! 
 Galli's friendship is more than I can ever 
 return. 
 
 But Miss Reay, either out of consideration 
 for the future welfare of her children, or 
 because she found that she was no longer in 
 love with Hackman, gave him to understand, 
 through the agency of Signora Galli, that, 
 after all, she could not consent to marry him. 
 Hackman, almost crazy with disappointed 
 love, wrote immediately to a friend in the 
 country, who replied advising Hackman not 
 to believe anything that Galli had said; he 
 also offered to come to town if he could be 
 of any assistance. Hackman then wrote, in 
 answer, the following letter. 
 144 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 March 20, 1779. 
 Your coming to town, my dear friend, will 
 answer no end. Galli has been such a friend 
 to me, it is not possible to doubt her infor- 
 mation. What interest has she to serve ? 
 Certainly none. Look over the letters, with 
 which I have so pestered you for these two 
 years, about this business. Look at what I 
 have written to you about Galli since I 
 returned from Ireland. She can only mean 
 well to me. Be not apprehensive. Your 
 friend will take no step to disgrace himself. 
 What I shall do I know not. Without her I 
 do not think I can exist. Yet I will be, you 
 shall see, a man, as well as a lover. Should 
 there be a rival, and should he merit chastise- 
 ment, I know you will be my friend. But I 
 will have ocular proof of everything before 
 I believe. Yours ever. 
 
 A fortnight later Hackman wrote again 
 to the same friend. 
 
 It signifies not. Your reasoning I admit. 
 Despair goads me on. Death only can relieve 
 me. By what I wrote yesterday you must 
 see my resolution was taken. Often have I 
 
 145 K 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 made use of my key to let myself into the 
 Admiralty, that I might die at her feet. She 
 gave it me as the key of love ; little did she 
 think it would ever prove the key of death. 
 But the loss of Lady Hinchinbrook keeps 
 Lord Sandwich within. 
 
 My dear Charles, is it possible for me to 
 doubt Galli's information ? Even you were 
 staggered by the account I gave you of what 
 passed between us in the Park. What then 
 have I to do, who only lived when she loved 
 me, but to cease to live now she ceases to 
 love ? The propriety of suicide, its cowardice, 
 its crime, I have nothing to do with them. 
 All I pretend to prove or to disprove is my 
 misery, and the possibility of my existing 
 under it. 
 
 Till within this month, till Galli's informa- 
 tion, I thought of self-murder as you think 
 of it. Nothing now is left for me but to leap 
 the world to come. If it be a crime, as I too 
 much fear, and we are accountable for our 
 passions, I must stand the trial and the 
 punishment. My invention can paint no 
 punishment equal to what I suffer here. 
 
 Think of those passions, my friend j those 
 passions of which you have so often, since I 
 146 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 knew Miss Reay, spoken to me and written 
 to me. If you will not let me fly from 
 my misery, will you not let me fly from my 
 passions ? They are a pack of bloodhounds 
 which will inevitably tear me to pieces. My 
 carelessness has suffered them to overtake 
 me, and now there is no possibility, but this, 
 of escaping them. The hand of Nature 
 ,ped upon every species of combustible 
 in my bosom. The torch of love has set the 
 heap on fire. I must perish in the flames, 
 t first I might perhaps have extinguished 
 em ; now they rage too fiercely If they 
 be smothered, they can never be got 
 under. Suppose they should consume any 
 other person beside myself ? And who is he, 
 that will answer for passions such as mine ? 
 At present, I am innocent 
 
 ui 
 he. 
 
 Hackman dined the next day with Mr. 
 Frederick Booth and his sister. He went 
 afterwards to the Admiralty in the hope of 
 catching a glimpse of Miss Reay, and, seeing 
 Lord Sandwich's carriage standing there, he 
 guessed that she was going out in it and 
 would probably call on Signora Galli, who 
 had rooms in the Haymarket. So he walked 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 to the Cannon Coffee House, in order that he 
 might see the carriage pass. Miss Reay soon 
 drove up and he followed the carriage from 
 the Haymarket to Covent Garden Theatre, 
 where " Love in a Village " was being per- 
 formed. The moment Miss Reay and Galli 
 alighted, the handsome Lord Coleraine came 
 forward to meet them, whereupon Hackman, 
 mad with jealousy, decided to commit suicide. 
 He went away and, having bought a brace of 
 pistols (in case one should miss fire) he 
 returned to the Opera House. Croker says : 
 "The ladies sat in a front box, and three 
 gentlemen, all connected with the Admiralty, 
 occasionally paid their compliments to them, 
 Mr. Hackman was sometimes in the lobby, 
 sometimes in an upper side-box, and more 
 than once at the Bedford Coffee House to 
 take brandy -and -water, but still seemed 
 unable to gain any information." When the 
 opera was over, Miss Reay was standing in 
 the vestibule waiting for the carriage to be 
 announced, and it is related, in the " Life 
 and Correspondence of M. G. Lewis," that 
 " Mrs. Lewis happened to make some remark 
 on a beautiful rose which Miss Reay wore in 
 her bosom. Just as the words were uttered 
 148 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 the flower fell to the ground. The poor girl, 
 who had been depressed in spirits before, 
 was evidently affected by this incident, and 
 said, in a slightly faltering voice, ' I trust I am 
 not to consider this as an evil omen ! ' " 
 
 Hackman, who was watching her, tried to 
 push his way through the crowd, but was 
 unable to do so, until Lord Sandwich's car- 
 riage being called, Miss Reay tried to get to 
 the door. A Mr. Macnamara, of Lincoln's 
 Inn, seeing the difficulty she was in, offered 
 his arm to her and led her towards her 
 carriage. 
 
 This seems to have added fresh fuel to the 
 jealousy which was consuming Hackman, so 
 forcing his way up to Miss Reay, he drew 
 one pistol out of his pocket and shot her in 
 the forehead, shooting himself with the other 
 the instant after, and they fell together on the 
 pavement. Hackman, to his infinite despair, 
 found that he had not inflicted a mortal 
 wound upon himself, so he beat his head 
 frantically with the butt-end of the pistol as 
 he lay upon the ground, crying out the while 
 " Kill me ! Kill me ! " He was prevented 
 from doing himself any further injury by Mr. 
 Mahon, an apothecary, of Russell Street, and 
 149 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 both he and his unfortunate victim were 
 removed to the Shakespeare Tavern, where, 
 a medical examination having been made, it 
 was found that Miss Reay was dead. A 
 letter to Mr. Booth, Hackman's brother-in- 
 law, was found in one of his pockets, which 
 shows that Hackman's original intention was 
 to kill himself, and that the murder was only 
 the result of a momentary impulse. 
 
 April 7, 1779. 
 MY DEAR FREDERICK, 
 
 When this reaches you I shall be no 
 more, but do not let my unhappy fate distress 
 you too much. I strove against it as long as 
 possible, but it now overpowers me. You 
 know where my affections were placed ; my 
 having by some means or other lost hers (an 
 idea which I could not support) has driven me 
 to madness. The world will condemn, but your 
 heart will pity me. God bless you, my dear 
 Frederick ! Would I had a sum of money to 
 leave you to convince you of my great regard. 
 You were almost my only friend. I have hid 
 one circumstance from you which gives me 
 great pain. I owe Mr. W. of Gosport one 
 hundred pounds, for which he has the writings 
 150 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 
 of my houses ; but I hope in God, when they 
 are sold, and all other matters collected, 
 there will be nearly enough to settle your 
 account. May Almighty God bless you and 
 yours with comfort and happiness, and may 
 you ever be a stranger to the pangs I now 
 feel ! May Heaven protect my beloved 
 woman and forgive this act, which alone 
 could relieve me from a world of misery I 
 have long endured ! Oh, if it should be in 
 your power to do her any act of friendship 
 remember your faithful friend, 
 
 JAMES HACKMAN. 
 
 When Hackman had so far recovered as to 
 be able to speak he inquired anxiously of 
 Mr. Bond the surgeon as to the condition of 
 Miss Reay. Being informed that she was dead 
 he earnestly implored him to prevent her 
 corpse being exposed to the gaze of the public. 
 
 The news of the tragedy was at once car- 
 ried to the Admiralty, and Croker says that 
 Lord Sandwich " stood, as it were, petrified, 
 till suddenly seizing a candle, he ran upstairs 
 and threw himself on the bed, and in an 
 agony exclaimed, ' Leave me for awhile to 
 myself; I could have borne anything but 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 this.' The attendants remained for a con- 
 siderable time at the top of the staircase, till 
 his lordship rang the bell and ordered that 
 they should all go to bed." 
 
 Sir John Fielding, the magistrate, was sent 
 for, about three o'clock the next morning, 
 from Brompton. He arrived two hours later, 
 and finding that Hackman's wounds were not 
 dangerous, he ordered the surgeon to take 
 him to Tothill Fields prison. The corpse of 
 Miss Reay was removed to an undertaker's 
 in Leicester Square, and she was subsequently 
 buried near her mother in the parish church 
 of her native village, Elstree, in Hertfordshire, 
 where, says Leigh Hunt, "she had been a 
 lowly and happy child, running about with 
 her blooming face, and little thinking what 
 trouble it was to cost her." 
 
 On the following day there was an article 
 in the Morning Post upon the tragedy, 
 which contained a eulogistic reference to 
 Miss Reay : 
 
 " There was scarce any polite art at which 
 she was not an adept, nor any part of female 
 literature with which she was not conversant. 
 All the world are acquainted with the uni- 
 versal sweetness of her vocal powers ; but it 
 152 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 was the peculiar pleasure of a few only to 
 
 know 
 
 and 
 
 her conversation, her feelings, 
 indeed her general deportment, all partici- 
 pated of an unparalleled delicacy which had 
 characterised her through life." 
 
 Miss Reay's personality must have been 
 singularly fascinating, as otherwise she could 
 never have kept her hold upon her dissipated 
 " protector " for so many years. Croker 
 relates that Lord Sandwich after her death 
 went away into the country, " but, after a 
 great length of time, he was persuaded by our 
 open-hearted friend, Admiral Walsingham, 
 to meet a select party at his house. All 
 passed off exceedingly well for a while, and 
 his lordship appeared more cheerful than 
 could have been expected ; but, after coffee, 
 as Mr. and Mrs. Bates were present, some- 
 thing was mentioned about music, and one 
 of the company requested that Mrs. Bates 
 would favour them with " Shepherds, I have 
 lost my love." This was unfortunately the 
 very air that had been introduced by Miss 
 Reay at Hinchinbrook and had been always 
 called for by Lord Sandwich. Mr. Bates 
 immediately endeavoured to prevent its 
 being sung, and by his anxiety increased 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 his distress ; but it was too late to pause. 
 Lord Sandwich struggled for a while to over- 
 come his feelings, but they were so apparent 
 that at last he went up to Mrs. Walsingham 
 and in a very confused manner said he hoped 
 she would excuse his not staying longer at 
 that time, but that he had just recollected 
 some pressing business which required his 
 return to the Admiralty, and bowing to all the 
 company, rather hastily left the room." 
 
 Unpopular as the Earl was, there was 
 general sympathy felt for him as the follow- 
 ing quatrain from the Gentleman! 3 Magazine 
 shows : 
 
 Britannia weeps, since S 's heart can feel, 
 
 That heart long tempered of the hardest steel ! 
 These tears most generous we may all aver 
 To weep for him who never felt for her. 
 
 On the morning of April 8, Hackman 
 wrote to his friend, the Rev. Charles Porter, 
 of Clapham, to whom he afterwards entrusted 
 these letters and the fragments of manuscript, 
 which he wrote while in Newgate, asking him 
 to bring him some poison. 
 
 TOTHILL FIELDS, April 8, 1779. 
 I am alive and she is dead. I shot her 
 and not myself. Some of her blood and 
 154 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 
 brains is still upon my clothes. I do not 
 ask you to speak to me. Only come hither, 
 and bring me a little poison; such as is 
 strong enough. Upon my knees, I beg, if 
 your friendship for me ever was sincere, do, 
 do, bring me some poison. 
 
 On Friday, April 9, at half-past nine in 
 the morning, Mr. Hackman was brought up 
 to Sir John Fielding's private office, by the 
 governor of Tothill Fields prison. A con- 
 temporary account says that " the surgeons, 
 constables, and witnesses attended, and were 
 severally sworn to their depositions taken 
 on Thursday last. Mr. Bond read over 
 these depositions to the prisoner, who 
 wept very much, and was quite convulsed 
 each time the name of the deceased was 
 mentioned. He did not attempt to palliate 
 his offence ; but said he eagerly wished to 
 die. Upon the whole, it was impossible to 
 behold him without pity, notwithstanding 
 the enormity of his offence. He was com- 
 mitted to Newgate, and Sir John Fielding 
 desired that a person might be set over the 
 prisoner to prevent him destroying himself. 
 Lord Essex and several other noblemen and 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 gentlemen were present at the above ex- 
 amination." 
 
 The same day he wrote to Mr. Porter, who 
 had refused, at first, to visit him. 
 
 April 9, 1779. 
 
 Your note just now, and the long letter 
 I received at the same time, which should 
 have found me the day before yesterday, have 
 changed my resolution. The promise you de- 
 sire, I most solemnly give you. I will make no 
 attempt upon my life. Had I received your 
 comfortable letter when you meant I should, I 
 verily do not think this would have happened. 
 
 Pardon what I wrote to you about the 
 poison. Indeed, I am too composed for any 
 such thing now. Nothing should tempt me. 
 My death is all the recompense I can make to 
 the laws of my country. Dr. V. has sent me 
 some excellent advice, and Mr. H. has refuted 
 all my false arguments. Even such a being 
 as I find friends. 
 
 Oh, that my feelings and his feeling would 
 let me see my dearest friend. Then I would 
 tell you how this happened. 
 
 Two days before his trial, he wrote again. 
 156 
 

 of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 To THE SAME. 
 
 NEWGATE, April 14, 1779. 
 
 My best thanks for all your goodness since 
 this day se'nnight. Oh, Charles, this is about 
 the time. I cannot write. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 My trial comes on either Friday or Satur- 
 day. It will be indeed a trial. God (whom 
 I have so outraged) can alone tell how I 
 shall go through it. My resolution is not 
 fixed as yet about pleading guilty. The 
 arguments by which they tell me I may 
 escape that death which is so much my due, 
 I certainly will not suffer to be used. 
 * * * * * 
 
 Whatever the world may think, you, I 
 know, believe that I had no intention against 
 her till the very instant. The account I wrote 
 to you of the shocking business since it hap- 
 pened, was the real truth. All Tuesday, after 
 I had finished my letter to you, I, in vain 
 sought for an opportunity to destroy myself 
 in her presence. So, again, on the Wednes- 
 day, all the morning. In the afternoon, after 
 dining at poor Booth's, I saw Lord Sandwich's 
 coach pass by the Cannon Coffee House, where 
 I was watching for it. I followed it to Galli's 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 (inhuman, and yet not guilty, Galli !) From 
 her house I saw it] take them to the play. 
 Now, I was determined ; and went to my 
 lodgings for my pistols, where I wrote a 
 letter to Booth which I put into my pocket, 
 intending to send it ; but, as I forgot it, the 
 letter was found there. When I returned to 
 Covent Garden, I waited for the conclusion 
 of the play, in the Bedford Coffee House. 
 What a figure must I have been ! Indeed, I 
 overheard one gentleman say to a friend, that 
 I looked as if I was out of my senses. Oh, 
 how I wished for the play to be over ! I had 
 charged my pistols with the kindest letter she 
 ever wrote me, a letter which made me the 
 happiest of mortals, and which had ever since 
 been my talisman. At last, arrived the end of 
 the play, and the beginning of my tragedy. I 
 met them in the stone passage, and had then 
 got the pistol to my forehead, but she did not 
 see me (nor did any one, I suppose). And the 
 crowd separated us. This accident I con- 
 sidered as the immediate intervention of Pro- 
 vidence. I put up my pistol, turned about, and 
 should (I most firmly believe) have gone out 
 the other way, and have laid aside my horrid 
 resolution, had I not looked round and seen 
 158 
 

 of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 Mr. Macnamara (whom I immediately con- 
 strued into the favoured lover described by 
 Galli) offer her a hand, which I thought was 
 received with particular pleasure. The stream 
 of my passions, which had been stopped, now 
 overwhelmed me with redoubled violence. It 
 hurried me after them. Jealousy suggested 
 a new crime ; and nerved anew the arm of 
 despair. I overtook them at the carriage, and 
 and, at about the time I am now writing 
 this, felt more than all the tortures of all the 
 damned together. 
 
 What shall I not feel at the necessary 
 recital of the tragedy at my trial ! 
 
 On Friday, April 16, Hackman's trial 
 came on before Judge Blackstone, "for 
 feloniously, wilfully, and with malice afore- 
 thought, shooting Miss Reay in the forehead." 
 Mr. Fielding and Mr. Howarth prosecuted 
 for the Crown ; Hackman was defended by 
 Mr. Davenport. After all the witnesses had 
 been heard, Judge Blackstone called upon 
 Hackman to make his defence. In a nervous 
 and affecting manner, which produced a pain- 
 ful impression on all present, he made the 
 following speech : 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 MY LORD, 
 
 I should not have troubled the Court with 
 the examination of witnesses to support the 
 charge against me, had I not thought that the 
 pleading guilty to the indictment would give 
 an indication of contemning death, not suit- 
 able to my present condition ; and would, in 
 some measure, make me accessary to a second 
 peril of my life. And I likewise thought that 
 the justice of my country ought to be satisfied 
 by suffering my offence to be proved, and the 
 fact to be established by evidence. 
 
 I stand here the most wretched of human 
 beings, and confess myself criminal in a high 
 degree. I acknowledge with shame and re- 
 pentence that my determination against my 
 own life was formal and complete. I protest, 
 with that regard to truth which becomes my 
 situation, that the will to destroy her, who 
 was ever dearer to me than life, was never 
 mine until a momentary frenzy overcame me, 
 and induced me to commit the deed I deplore. 
 The letter which I meant for my brother-in- 
 law, after my decease, will have its due 
 weight, as to this point, with good men. 
 
 Before this dreadful act, I trust nothing 
 will be found in the tenor of my life which 
 160 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 the common charity of mankind will not 
 readily excuse. I have no wish to avoid the 
 punishment which the laws of my country 
 appoint for my crime ; but, being already too 
 unhappy to feel a punishment in death, or a 
 satisfaction in life, I submit myself to the 
 disposal and judgment of Almighty God, and 
 to the consequences of this enquiry into my 
 conduct and intention. 
 
 Mr. Davenport urged Hackman's acquittal 
 on a point of law that of insanity, and also 
 pleaded that the letter to Mr. Booth, which 
 was found in Hackman's pocket, proved that 
 it was not his previous intention to kill Miss 
 Reay. Judge Blackstone, in the course of his 
 summing-up, said that to constitute murder 
 it was not necessary that there should be a 
 long form of deliberation ; that the bare 
 wilfully shooting at one man and killing 
 another was wilful murder ; that it was also 
 wilful murder if a man, in attempting to shoot 
 himself, should kill another j that the prisoner 
 had rested his defence on the ground of 
 insanity, but it was not every fit or start 
 of passion that would justify the killing of 
 another, but it must be the total loss of 
 
 161 L 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 reason, and incapability of reason in every 
 part of life. With regard to the letter found 
 in the prisoner's pocket, his lordship said he 
 was sorry to say that it argued a coolness and 
 deliberation which in no way accorded with 
 the ideas of insanity. On the whole, he left 
 it to the jury to consider of the fact and not 
 the point of law, adding that, if in discharge 
 of their consciences, they were convinced 
 that the prisoner was totally dispossessed of 
 his reason and understanding, they would 
 acquit ; if not, they must find him guilty. 
 The jury consulted for a few minutes, then 
 brought in a verdict of guilty; and Baron 
 Massieres, the Recorder's assistant, imme- 
 diately pronounced sentence of death. Hack- 
 man behaved with perfect fortitude, and, 
 bowing to the court and jury, retired. Lord 
 Sandwich, who had great personal influence 
 with George III., wrote to Hackman, that 
 if he wished to live, "the man whom he 
 has most injured will use all his interest to 
 procure his life." 
 
 But Hackman replied that " the murderer 
 
 of her whom he preferred, far preferred, to 
 
 life, suspects the hand from which he has 
 
 just received such an offer as he neither 
 
 162 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 desires nor deserves. His wishes are for 
 death, not for life. One wish he has. Could 
 he be pardoned in this world by the man he 
 has most injured oh, my Lord, when I meet 
 her in another world, enable me to tell her 
 (if departed spirits are ignorant of earthly 
 things) that you forgive us both, that you will 
 be a father to her dear infants ! " J. H. 
 
 During the trial, Hackman's brother-in-law, 
 Mr. Booth, who was too agitated to remain in 
 court, waited outside until the verdict should 
 be delivered. The officious Boswell was the 
 first person to inform him that the death 
 sentence had been passed upon his relative. 
 " How did Hackman behave ? " asked Booth, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " As well, sir," answered Boswell, with an 
 echo of the Johnsonian pomposity in his 
 words, " as you or any of his friends could 
 wish ; with decency, propriety, and in such a 
 manner as to interest every one present. He 
 might have pleaded that he shot Miss Reay 
 by accident, but he fairly told the truth, that 
 in a moment of frenzy he did intend it." 
 
 " Well," said Booth, " I would rather have 
 found him guilty with truth and honour, than 
 escape by a mean evasion, " 
 163 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 " Which " (says the chronicler of the above 
 conversation, the author of a pamphlet con- 
 taining a full report of the trial) "was a 
 sentiment truly noble, bursting from a heart 
 rent with anguish ! " 
 
 Boswell says, in his "Life of Johnson," 
 that " the Doctor was much interested by my 
 account of what passed, and particularly 
 with his prayer for the mercy of heaven. He 
 said, in a solemn, fervid tone, 'I hope he 
 shall find mercy.' " 
 
 Horace Walpole wrote the same day to 
 the Rev. Mr. Cole : 
 
 " I do not know whether our clergy are 
 growing Mahometans or not : they certainly 
 are not what they profess themselves ; but as 
 you and I should not agree, perhaps, in 
 assigning the same defects to them, I will 
 not enter on a subject which I have promised 
 you to drop. All I allude to now is the 
 shocking murder of Miss Reay by a divine. 
 In my own opinion we are growing more fit 
 for Bedlam than for Mahomet's paradise. 
 The poor criminal, I am persuaded, is mad, 
 and the misfortune is the law does not know 
 how to define the shades of madness ; and 
 164 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 thus there are twenty out-pensioners of 
 Bedlam, for one that is confined." 
 
 The Countess of Upper Ossory, in a letter 
 to George Selwyn, mentions that Hackman 
 and Miss Reay were the sole topic of the 
 town. She adds that Hackman's behaviour 
 during his trial was wonderfully touching. 
 
 The following disconnected papers, which 
 were written by Hackman in the condemned 
 cell, show that as the date of his execution 
 grew nearer, he became resigned to his fate, 
 and earnestly desired to die. 
 
 NEWGATE, Saturday Night. 
 
 April 17, 1779 
 MY DEAR CHARLES, 
 
 The clock has just struck eleven. All 
 has, for some time, been quiet within this sad 
 abode. Would that all were so within my 
 sadder breast ! 
 
 That gloominess of my favourite, Young's 
 " Night Thoughts " which was always so con- 
 genial to my soul, would have been still 
 heightened had he ever been wretched 
 enough to hear St. Paul's clock thunder 
 through the still ear of night in the con- 
 165 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 demned walls of Newgate. The sound is 
 truly solemn, it seems the sound of death. 
 
 Oh that it were death's sound! How 
 greedily would my impatient ears devour it ! 
 
 And yet, but one day more. Rest, rest, 
 perturbed spirit, till then. 
 
 And then ! 
 
 My God, my creator, my first father ! Thou 
 who madest me as I am, with these feelings, 
 these passions, this heart ! Thou who art all 
 might, and all mercy ! Well Thou knowest 
 I did not, like too many of Thy creatures, 
 persuade myself there was no God before I 
 persuaded myself I had a right over my life. 
 Oh, then, my Father, put me not eternally 
 from Thy paternal presence ! It is not 
 punishments, nor pains, nor hell I fear : what 
 man can bear, I can. My fear is to be 
 deemed ungrateful to Thy goodness, to be 
 thought unworthy of Thy presence, to be 
 driven from the light of Thy countenance. 
 
 Well Thou knowest I could not brook the 
 thoughts of wanting gratitude to things 
 beneath me in Thy creation, to a dog, a 
 horse, almost to things inanimate, a tree, 
 a book, and thinkest Thou that I could 
 bear the charge of want of gratitude to Thee / 
 1 66 
 

 of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 And might, oh might I resign the joys of 
 the other world, which neither eye can see, 
 nor tongue can speak, nor imagination dream, 
 for an eternal existence of love and bliss 
 with her, whom 
 
 Presumptuous murderer! The bliss you 
 ask were paradise. 
 
 My Father who art in heaven, I bow before 
 Thy mercy, and patiently abide my sentence. 
 
 These papers, which will be delivered to 
 you after my death, my dear friend, are not 
 letters. Nor know I what to call them. 
 They will exhibit, however, the picture of a 
 heart which has ever been yours more than 
 any other man's. 
 
 NEWGATE, Sunday, April 18, 1779. 
 Four in the Morning. 
 
 O, Charles, Charles torments, tortures ! 
 Hell, and worse than hell ! 
 
 When I finished my last scrap of paper, I 
 thought I felt myself composed, resigned. 
 Indeed I was so I am so now. 
 
 I threw my wearied body wearied, Heaven 
 knows, more than any labourer's, with the 
 workings of my mind upon the floor of my 
 dungeon. 
 
 167 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 Sleep came uncalled, but only came to 
 make me more completely cursed. 
 
 The world was past, the next was come; 
 but, after that, no other world. All was 
 revealed to me. My eternal sentence of 
 mental misery (from which there was no 
 flight), of banishment from the presence of 
 my Father, or more than poetry ever feigred 
 or weakness feared, was past, irrevocably 
 past. 
 
 Her verdict, too, of punishment was pro- 
 nounced. Yes, Charles she, she was pun- 
 ished and by whose means punished ? 
 
 Even in her angel mind were failings, 
 which it is not wonderful I never saw, since 
 Omniscience, it seemed, could hardly discern 
 them. O, Charles, these foibles, so few, so 
 undiscernible, were still, I thought in my 
 dream, to be expiated. For my hand sent 
 her to heaven before her time, with all her 
 few foibles on her head. 
 
 Charles, I saw the expiation these eyes 
 beheld her undergo the heavenly punish- 
 ment. 
 
 That past, she was called, I thought, to 
 the reward of her ten thousand virtues. 
 
 Then, in very deed, began my hell, my 
 
 168 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 worse than woman ever dreamed of hell. 
 Charles, I saw her, as plainly as I see the 
 bars of my dungeon, through which the eye 
 of day looks upon me now for almost the 
 last time. Her face, her person were still 
 more divine than when on earth they 
 were cast anew, in angel moulds. Her 
 mind, too, I beheld as plainly as her face, 
 and all its features. That was the same 
 that was not capable of alteration for the 
 better. 
 
 But, what saw I else? That mind, that 
 person, that face, that angel was in the 
 bosom of another angel. Between us was a 
 gulf, a gulf impassible ! I could not get to 
 her, neither could she come to me. 
 
 Nor did she wish it. There was the 
 curse. 
 
 Charles, she saw me, where I was, steeped 
 to the lips in misery. She saw me; but 
 without a tear, without one sigh. 
 
 One sigh from her, I thought, and I could 
 have borne all my sufferings. 
 
 A sigh, a tear ! She smiled at all my 
 
 sufferings. Yes, she, even she, enjoyed the 
 
 tortures, the wrackings of my soul. She 
 
 bade her companion angel, too, enjoy them. 
 
 169 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 She seemed to feast upon my griefs ; and 
 only turned away her more than damning 
 eyes to turn them on her more than blest 
 companion. 
 
 Flames and brimstone, corporeal suffer- 
 ance, were paradise to such eternal mental 
 hell as this. 
 
 Oh ! how I rejoiced, how I wept, sobbed 
 with joy, when I awoke, and discovered it 
 was only a dream, and found myself in the 
 condemned cell of Newgate. 
 
 *':*:'*'** 
 
 Mr. H. and Dr. V., neither of whom you 
 know, I believe, are exceedingly kind to me. 
 The latter writes to me, the former sees 
 me, continually. Your poor Hackman finds 
 more friends than he merits. 
 
 NEWGATE, Sunday, April 18, 1779. 
 
 Five o'clock in the afternoon. 
 Since I wrote to you this morning I have 
 more than once taken up my pen. For what 
 can I do, that affords me more pleasure than 
 writing to such a friend as you are, and have 
 been, to me ? 
 
 Pleasure ! Alas ! what business has such a 
 170 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 wretch as I with such a word as that? 
 However, pouring myself out to you thus 
 upon paper is, in some measure, drawing off 
 my sorrows ; it is not thinking. 
 
 Cruel Galli ! And yet I can excuse her. 
 She knew not of what materials I was made. 
 Lord Sandwich wished to preserve a treasure 
 which any one would have prized. Galli was 
 employed to preserve the treasure. And 
 she suspected not that my soul, my existence 
 were wrapped up in it. 
 
 O, my dear Charles, that you could prevail 
 upon yourself to visit this sad place ! And 
 yet, our mutual feelings would render the 
 visit useless. So it is better thus. 
 
 Now, perhaps, you are enjoying a com- 
 fortable and happy meal. There, again, my 
 misfortunes ! Of happiness and comfort, for 
 the present, I have robbed you. H. has mur- 
 dered happiness. 
 
 But this is the hour of dinner. How 
 many are now comfortable and happy? 
 While I 
 
 How many, again, with everything to 
 make them otherwise, are at this moment 
 miserable ! 
 
 The meat is done too little, or too much. 
 171 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 (Should the pen of fancy ever take the trouble 
 to invent letters for me, I should not be 
 suffered to write to you thus, because it 
 would seem unnatural. Alas ! they know 
 not how gladly a wretch like me forgets 
 himself). The servant, I say, has broken 
 something some friend (as the phrase is) 
 does not make his promised appearance, 
 and, consequently, is not eye-witness of the 
 unnecessary dishes which the family pretends 
 to be able to afford or some friend (again) 
 drops in unexpectedly, and surprises the 
 family with no more dishes upon the table 
 than are necessary. 
 
 Ye home-made wretches, ye ingenious 
 inventors of ills, before ye suffer yourselves 
 to be soured and made miserable, for the 
 whole remainder of this Sunday, by some 
 trifle or another, which does not deserve the 
 name of accident, look here behold, indeed, 
 that misery of which your discontentedness 
 complains ! 
 
 Peep through the grate of this my only 
 habitation, ye who have town-houses and 
 country-houses. Look into my soul recollect 
 in how few hours I am to die, die in what 
 manner, die for what offence ! 
 172 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 
 I was obliged to lay down my pen. Such 
 a picture as this, in which myself made the 
 principal figure, was rather too much. 
 * * * * * 
 
 Good God ! to look back over the dreadful 
 interval between to-day and last October two 
 years. What a tale would it make of woe ! 
 Take warning from me, my fellow creatures, 
 and do not love like H. 
 
 Still SUNDAY. 7 o'clock. 
 
 When these loose, incoherent papers shall 
 come into your hands, after my death, it will 
 afford you some consolation to know my 
 temper of mind at last. 
 
 Charles, as the awful moment approaches, 
 I feel myself more and more and more 
 composed, and calm and resigned. 
 
 It always, you know, was my opinion that 
 man could bear a great load of affliction 
 better than a small one. I thought so then 
 now I am sure of it. This day se'nnight, I 
 was mad, perfectly mad. This afternoon I 
 am all mildness. 
 
 This day se'nnight! To look back is 
 death, is hell. It is almost worse than to 
 look forward. 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 But is there not a God ? Did not that 
 God create me ? Does not that God know my 
 heart, my whole heart ? Oh ! yes, yes, yes ! 
 
 To-morrow, then. And let to-morrow 
 come. I am prepared. - 
 
 God (who knows my heart, and will judge 
 me, I trust, by that heart) knows it is not 
 with a view to diminish my own guilt, the 
 magnitude and enormity whereof I acknow- 
 ledge but let those, who survive me, flatter 
 themselves that all the guilt of mankind 
 goes to the grave, to the gallows (gracious 
 Heaven !) with H. 
 
 I shall leave behind me culprits of the 
 same kind as myself culprits who will not 
 make my trifling atonement of an ignominious 
 death. Oh, may they see their crimes, and 
 weep over them before they are confronted 
 with the injured parties at the footstool of 
 the throne of the God of heaven ! 
 
 These are crimes (as indeed are all the 
 crimes of men, however noiseless or in- 
 audible) with which the listening angel flies 
 up to Heaven's chancery, but these are not 
 they upon which the recording angel drops a 
 tear as he notes them down. The pencil of 
 eternity engraves such crimes as these on 
 174 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 adamantine tablets, which shall endure to the 
 end of time. Mine, mine, perhaps may head 
 the list. 
 
 Be merciful, O God ! be merciful ! 
 
 Reflection in this world is almost worst 
 than the worst which offended Omnipotence 
 can inflict upon me in the next. I must 
 fly from it. 
 
 And are there not crimes as bad as mine ? 
 It is far from my intention to argue away the 
 badness of my crime ; but there surely are, 
 and worse. 
 
 Let that gallant, gay, young gentleman 
 yonder hold up his hand. Yes, sir; you I 
 first arraign. Not for breach of friendship, 
 not for false oaths to credulous virgins, not 
 for innocence betrayed these are no longer 
 crimes j these are the accomplishments of 
 our age. Sir, you are indicted for slow and 
 deliberate murder. Put not on that confident 
 air, that arrogant smile of contempt and 
 defiance. Demand not with a sneer to have 
 the witnesses produced, who were present 
 when you struck the stroke of death. Call 
 not aloud for the blood-stained dagger, the 
 dry-drawn bowl, the brain-splashed pistol 
 are these the only instruments of death ? 
 175 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 You know they are not. Murder is never at 
 a loss for weapons. 
 
 Sir, produce your wife. See, see! what 
 indignation flashes in his eyes ! A murderer, 
 and the murderer of his wife! May the 
 
 calumniator Sir, no imprecations, no 
 
 oaths; those are what betrayed that wife. 
 You did not plant a dagger in her breast ; but 
 you planted there grief, disease, death. She, 
 sir, who gave you all, was destroyed, was 
 murdered by your ill-usage. And not 
 suddenly, not without giving her time to 
 know what was to happen. She saw the 
 lingering stroke, she perceived the impossi- 
 bility to avoid it ; she felt it tenfold from the 
 hands of a much-loved husband. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Were these scraps of paper to be seen by 
 any other eye than yours, common people 
 would wonder that, in proportion as the 
 moment drew nearer, I got further and 
 further from myself. It may be contrary to 
 the rules of critics, but so it is. To think, 
 or to write about myself, is death, is hell. 
 My feelings will not suffer me to date these 
 different papers any more. 
 
 Let me pay a small tribute of praise. How 
 176 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 often have you and I complained of fami- 
 liarity's blunting the edge of every sense on 
 which she lays her hand ? At her bidding, 
 beauty fades even in the eye of love ; and the 
 son of pity smiles at sorrow's bleeding breast. 
 In her presence, who is he that still continues 
 to behold the scene of delight, or that still 
 hears the voice of mourning ? What, then, 
 is the praise of that gaoler, who in the midst 
 of misery, and crimes, and death, sets fami- 
 liarity at defiance, and still preserves the 
 feelings of a man? The author of the life 
 of Savage gives celebrity to the Bristol gaoler, 
 by whose humanity the latter part of that 
 strange man's life was rendered more com- 
 fortable. Shall no one give celebrity to the 
 present keeper of Newgate? Mr. Akerman 
 marks every day of his existence by more 
 than one such deed as this. Know, ye rich 
 and powerful, ye who might save hundreds of 
 your fellow creatures from starving by the 
 sweepings of your tables know that, among 
 the various feelings of almost every wretcn 
 who quits Newgate lor Tyburn, a concern 
 neither last nor least is that which he feels 
 upon leaving the gaol of which this man is 
 the keeper. 
 
 177 M 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 But I can now no longer fly from myself. 
 In a few short hours, the hand which is now 
 writing to you, the hand which 
 
 I will not distress either you or myself. 
 My life I owe to the laws of my country, and 
 I will pay the debt. How I felt for poor 
 Dodd! Well, you shall hear that I died 
 like a man and a Christian. I cannot have a 
 better trust than in the mercy of an all-just 
 God. And, in your letters, when you shall 
 these unhappy deeds relate, tell of me as I 
 am. I forget the passage, it is in Othello. 
 
 You must suffer me to mention the tender- 
 ness and greatness of mind of my dear Booth. 
 The last moments of my life cannot be bet- 
 ter spent than in recording this complicated 
 act of friendship and humanity. When we 
 parted, a task too much for us both, he asked 
 me if there was anything for which I wished 
 to live. Upon his pressing me, I acknow- 
 ledged I was uneasy, very uneasy, lest Lord 
 Sandwich might withdraw an allowance of fifty 
 pounds a year, which I knew he made to her 
 father. " Then," said Booth, squeezing my 
 hand, bursting into tears, and hurrying out of 
 the room, " I will allow it him." The affec- 
 tionate manner in which he spoke of my sister 
 178 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 would have charmed you. God for ever bless 
 and prosper him ! And my sister and you ! 
 
 While he was in Newgate he received, says 
 the author of Hackman's " Case and Memoirs," 
 many anonymous letters, one, as the hand- 
 writing showed, was from Galli, saying : 
 
 "O ! Mr. Hackman, for God's sake, die in 
 the Roman Catholick faith ! " 
 
 He also had a letter from a woman he did 
 not know, saying that she had long privately 
 ved him, but that her love was hopeless 
 
 cause she was poor, without beauty, and 
 nothing to boast of. The author of the 
 Case and Memoirs " goes on to say that 
 Hackman also received many letters from 
 " those superabundant good Christians called 
 Methodists, who, negligent of themselves, 
 affect the highest concern for the future wel- 
 fare of others Bedlam is the place 
 
 for such men to rave in, rather than the 
 chamber of an invalid, or the apartments of 
 a condemned prisoner." 
 
 Hackman spent the evening preceding his 
 execution with his friend, Mr. Porter ; he 
 went to bed at eleven, and slept for some 
 179 
 
The Love Letters 
 
 hours. At five he arose, and after he was 
 dressed, drank a " bason of tea " and remained 
 in prayer until half-past seven. Mr. Porter 
 and Mr. Vilette, the prison chaplain, then 
 went to him, and led him to the chapel, 
 where they remained until nine. By this 
 time the sheriffs were waiting, and Hackman 
 was taken to the press-yard, where a rope was 
 fastened round his shoulders and under his 
 arms. He was, however, spared the ad- 
 ditional degradation of having a rope put 
 round his neck, and his hands were not tied 
 at the wrists. He was then brought out and 
 put into a coach, and, accompanied by the 
 two clergymen and a sheriffs officer, the 
 dreary progress to Tyburn commenced. 
 Owing to the enormous crowds that blocked 
 the streets he did not arrive there until eleven 
 o'clock. In a second coach were seated the 
 Earl of Carlisle and Boswell the latter, how- 
 ever, did not deem it expedient to mention 
 this fact to Dr. Johnson. As soon as he was in 
 the cart, which in those days took the place 
 of a fixed platform, he spent some time in 
 prayer, kneeling down with his face towards 
 Paddington. His friends then took leave of 
 him, and it is recorded that he behaved with 
 180 
 
of Mr. H. and Miss R. 
 
 the utmost fortitude, although Mr. Porter 
 was so moved by his emotions that he had to 
 be supported. Hackman, desiring that he 
 might drop his handkerchief as a signal when 
 he was ready, kneeled down again, and, amid 
 the silence and suspense of the largest crowd 
 that had ever witnessed an execution at 
 Tyburn, prayed for five minutes. When he 
 dropped the handkerchief it fell underneath 
 the cart, causing a delay of half a minute 
 while the executioner and his assistants 
 scrambled for it. Then the horses were 
 whipped up, and James Hackman paid the 
 last earthly penalty for the crime of having 
 loved Martha Reay so passionately that he 
 was irresistibly impelled to murder her. In 
 his last moments he scribbled a few words in 
 pencil to his friend, Mr. Porter : 
 
 " Farewell for ever in this world ! I die a 
 sincere Christian and penitent, and every- 
 thing I hope that you can wish me. Would 
 it prevent my example's having any bad effect 
 if the world should know how I abhor my 
 former ideas of suicide, my crime .... will 
 be the best judge. Of her fame I charge you 
 to be careful. My poor sister will . . . ." 
 
 181 
 

 APPENDIX' 
 
 THE following account of the life of 
 Chatterton, which Croft prefaces with a few 
 sentences in clumsy imitation of Hackman's 
 style, is copied from a reprint of " Love and 
 Madness," which was issued by an Ipswich 
 bookseller in 1810. It is more connected 
 and concise than the versions in the earlier 
 editions. 
 
 The task you have set me about Chatter- 
 ton is only a further proof of your regard 
 for me. You know the warmth of my pas- 
 sions, and you think that if I do not employ 
 myself they may flame out and consume me. 
 Well, then, I will spend a morning or two 
 in arranging what I have collected respect- 
 ing the author of Rowley's poems. Every 
 syllable you will read I assure you shall be 
 authentic. 
 
 Did you start at "The author of Row- 
 ley's poems?" My mind does not now 
 harbour a doubt that Chatterton wrote the 
 183 
 
Appendix 
 
 whole, whatever I thought when we read 
 them together at H. The internal evidence 
 of the matter shall not puzzle you, but you 
 shall tell me" whether you do not think it 
 easier for Chatterton to have imitated the 
 style of Rowley's age (which he has not done 
 exactly, if you believe those who think as I 
 think), than for Rowley to write in a style 
 which did not exist till so many ages after 
 his time. To suppose him to have found 
 half, and to have added to them, or to con- 
 sider him as a cat's paw in the business to 
 some contemporary Rowley, in order to 
 extricate a fictitious Rowley from oblivion? 
 would in my humble opinion be nonsense. 
 For my own part, though he might find 
 some old MSS., I cannot believe he found a 
 syllable which he has attributed to Rowley. 
 Who will engage to prove from internal 
 evidence the antiquity of any one of Rowley's 
 compositions? What he did find certainly 
 suggested to him the idea of pretending to 
 have found more ; but how shall we persuade 
 credulity to believe that all Rowley's poems 
 were copied from old MSS., when the only 
 MSS. produced in confirmation of the story 
 are indisputably proved to be modern ? Is 
 184 
 
Appendix 
 
 any one fool enough to believe C. was the 
 only blind, subterraneous channel through 
 which these things were to emerge to day, 
 and float for ever down the stream of fame ? 
 This (without mentioning other objections 
 to such a ridiculous belief) were to suppose 
 two people to determine on the same strange 
 conduct, and two people (the real and the 
 foster father) to keep with equal fidelity the 
 same secret. And would the foster father 
 have been as fond and careful of another's 
 secret, as of the offspring of his own inven- 
 tion? 
 
 It is not clear to me that C.'s life (if such 
 a scrap of existence can be called a life) 
 does not exhibit circumstances still more 
 extraordinary, if possible, than his being the 
 author of Rowley's poems. But I possess 
 not the abilities which Johnson displayed in 
 his famous life of Savage, nor is this a formal 
 life of Chatterton ; though such a thing 
 might well employ even the pen of Johnson. 
 This is only an idle letter to my dear M. 
 Oh, my M., you, who contributed so liberally 
 last year to extricate from distress the 
 
 abilities of a ; what would you not have 
 
 done for Chatterton ! 
 
 185 
 
Appendix 
 
 Thomas Chatterton, destined to puzzle 
 at least, if not to impose upon, the ablest 
 critics and antiquarians which the most 
 polished age of England has produced, was 
 born at Bristol, Nov. 20, 1752. His father 
 had been master of the free school in Pile 
 Street in that city, and was sexton of St. 
 Mary Redcliffe Church. History condescends 
 not to relate anything more of such an 
 ignoble family, than that they had been 
 sextons of the same church for near a 
 century and a half. 
 
 It seems to have been determined by for- 
 tune that this poor lad I ought rather to say 
 this extraordinary human being should have 
 no obligation but to genius and himself. His 
 father, as he was a schoolmaster, and reported 
 to have been a tolerable poet for a sexton, 
 might perhaps have given his son a free- 
 school education, had he lived to see him old 
 enough for instruction. The sexton died very 
 soon after, if not before, the birth of his son ; 
 who indisputably received no other education 
 than what he picked up at a charity school at 
 a place called St. Augustine's Back in Bristol. 
 Reading, writing, and accounts, composed 
 the whole circle of sciences which were 
 186 
 
Appendix 
 
 taught at this university of our Bristol Shake- 
 speare. 
 
 On July i, 1767, he was articled clerk 
 to an attorney of Bristol, whom I have 
 not been able to find out. From him, I 
 understand, has been procured a strange, 
 mad MS. of Chatterton, which he called 
 his will. 
 
 When the new bridge at Bristol was 
 finished, there appeared, in Farly's Bristol 
 Journal, an account of the ceremonies on 
 opening the old bridge (the piece is prefixed to 
 the volume of Chatterton's " Miscellanies "), 
 preceded by these words : "To the Printer. 
 Oct. i, 1768. The following description of 
 the c fryars ' first passing over the old bridge, 
 taken from an old MS., may not at this time 
 be unacceptable to the generality of your 
 readers. Yours, Dunhelmus Bristoliensis." 
 Curiosity at last traced the insertion of this 
 curious memoir to Chatterton. To the 
 threats of those who treated him (agreeably 
 to his age and appearance) as a child, he 
 returned nothing but haughtiness and a 
 refusal to give any account. To milder usages 
 and many promises, the boy, after sometime, 
 confessed that he had received that and other 
 187 
 
Appendix 
 
 MSS. from his father, which he had found in 
 an iron chest placed by William Canynge 
 (the founder of the church of which C.'s 
 family had so long been sextons) in a muni- 
 ment room over the northern portico of St. 
 Mary Redcliffe. Warton (in his history of 
 English poetry) says when this appeared he 
 was about seventeen. Days are more material 
 in C.'s life than years in the lives of others. 
 He wanted, you see, something of sixteen. 
 One fact is curious, that, though it was not 
 possible for him to have picked up Latin at 
 a charity school where Latin was not taught, 
 his note to the printer has, for no apparent 
 reason, a Latin signature, Dunhelmus Bris- 
 toliensis. This Latin certainly was not 
 Rowley's. It must have been C.'s. The 
 memoir procured C. the acquaintance of 
 some gentlemen of Bristol, who, because they 
 condescended to receive from him the com- 
 positions which he brought them, without 
 giving him much, if anything, in return, 
 fondly imagined themselves the patrons of 
 genius. Mr. Catcott and Mr. Barrett, a 
 pewterer and a surgeon, of his obligations 
 to whom he speaks in his letters, were his 
 principal, if not his only, patrons. To these 
 188 
 
Appendix 
 
 gentlemen he produced, between October 
 1768 and April 1770 (besides many things 
 which he confessed to be his own, and 
 many which, in the interval, appeared in the 
 Town and Country Magazine) ^ all Rowley's 
 poems, except the " Ballad of Charitie." 
 Of these only two, I think, and those the 
 shortest, he pretended to be the original 
 MSS. The rest were transcripts, in his 
 own hand, of some of which he acknow- 
 ledged himself the author. Concerning these 
 curiosities no distinct or satisfactory account, 
 by friend or enemy, by threat or promise, 
 could ever be drawn from him. For these 
 curiosities how much he received from his 
 Bristol patrons does not appear. His patrons 
 do not boast of their generosity to him. 
 They (Catcott at least) received no incon- 
 siderable sum for Rowley's poems j nor has 
 the sale of them turned out badly. In con- 
 sequence of the money got by poems which 
 Chatterton certainly brought to light, and 
 which I firmly believe C. to have written ? 
 his mother acknowledges to have received 
 the immense sum of five guineas, by the 
 hands of Mr. Catcott; and Mr. Barrett, 
 without fee or reward, cured the whitlowed 
 189 
 
Appendix 
 
 finger of the sister. Talk no more of the 
 neglect of genius in any age or country, when 
 in this age and country Rowley's poems have 
 produced such fortunes to the author and his 
 family. Should I ever appear in print on 
 this subject, I would publicly call upon the 
 gentlemen concerned in this transaction to 
 state their accounts. 
 
 Has not the world a right to know what 
 Catcott fairly bought of Chatterton (he does 
 not pretend to have bought all), and what 
 was the fair purchase-money of these in- 
 estimable treasures ? Let us know what the 
 editors of Rowley's poems gave and received 
 for them, and what the sale of them has 
 produced ? Is the son to be declared guilty 
 of forgery ? Are his forgeries to be converted 
 into (I believe, no inconsiderable sums of) 
 money? And is the mother and sister's 
 share to be five guineas? 
 
 Either mean envy of C.'s extraordinary 
 genius, or manly abhorrence of his detestable 
 death, leads almost every person, who talks or 
 writes about this boy, to tell you of his shock- 
 ing profligacy and his total want of principle. 
 
 When C. left this world in August, 1770, 
 he wanted as many months as intervene 
 190 
 
Appendix 
 
 
 between August and November to complete 
 his eighteenth year. If into so small a space 
 he had contrived to crowd much profligacy 
 and much want of principle, some perhaps 
 may be ascribed to his youth, and to want of 
 friends. Johnson, I remember, defends even 
 the life of Savage, which differed from 
 Chatterton's in more circumstances than its 
 length, by some such observation as this : 
 that the sons of affluence are improper 
 judges of his conduct, and that few wise 
 men will venture to affirm they should have 
 lived better than Savage in Savage's situation. 
 Do profligate and unprincipled^ some of the 
 tenderest epithets vouchsafed unto poor 
 Chatterton, mean dishonest or undutiful, an 
 unkind brother or an unfeeling child ? The 
 dullest enemies of his genius can produce no 
 proofs of any such crime. Some of the 
 papers that I shall send you will contain the 
 fullest proof of the negative. Do they mean 
 that, being a young man, he was addicted to 
 women, like all youths of strong imaginations? 
 Do the epithets mean that he exhibited 
 those damnable proofs of his crimes which 
 Bougainville exported into the country of 
 Omiah? The proofs (if there were any, 
 191 
 
Appendix 
 
 which his bedfellow at his first lodging in 
 town denies) only show that he was unlucky. 
 The crimes must be admitted. Do they 
 mean that, writing to procure bread for him- 
 self, his mother, and his sister, he wrote on 
 any side and on any subject which would 
 afford bread? 
 
 Let me now make you acquainted with 
 the indisputable history of this boy till he 
 left Bristol. As he says, in his " Story 
 of Canynge." 
 
 In all his sheepen gambols, and child's play, 
 
 At every merry-making, fair or wake, 
 
 I kenn a purpled light of wisdom's ray ; 
 
 He ate down learning with the wastle cake, 
 
 As wise as any of the aldermen, 
 
 He'd wit enough to make a mayor at ten. 
 
 Beattie has hardly been able to invent a 
 more striking picture of his minstrel than is 
 exhibited of Chatterton in a letter written by 
 his sister, last year, to a gentleman who 
 desired her to recollect every circumstance 
 concerning him, however trifling it might 
 seem to her. The letter is lent to me, with 
 many charges of care. Pray be careful of it. 
 In transcribing it, you will naturally preserve 
 the false spelling and stops. Let Chatterton's 
 192 
 
Appendix 
 
 sister tell her own story in her own way. The 
 anxiety shown in this letter to prove " he was 
 a lover of truth from the earliest dawn of rea- 
 son," is owing to what these two poor women 
 (the mother and sister) have heard about 
 deceit, imposter and forgery. For Chatterton's 
 sake the English language should add another 
 word to its dictionary ; and should not suffer 
 the same term to signify a crime for which a 
 man suffers the most ignominious punishment, 
 and the deception of ascribing a false anti- 
 quity of two or three centuries to compo- 
 sitions, for which the author's name deserves 
 to live for ever. Suffer me to ask what the 
 prudery of our critics would have said had 
 the song to ^Ella, or the chorus to Godwin, 
 been produced by Mr. Warton's nephew, or 
 by a relation of Mr. Walpole ? Should we 
 then have been stunned in this manner with 
 repetitions of imposter and forgery ? The 
 sins of the forgery and the imposter would 
 then have been boasted by the child's most 
 distant relations, unto the third and fourth 
 generations. Is lady A. L. accused si forgery 
 for her " Auld Robin Gray? " Is Macpherson's 
 name mentioned in the same sentence with 
 this unfeeling word forgery, even by those 
 193 H 
 
Appendix 
 
 who believe Macpherson and Ossian to be 
 the same? "When a rich man speaketh," 
 says the son of Sirach (you see I have not 
 taken orders in vain), " every man holdeth 
 his tongue : and lo ! what he says is extolled 
 to the clouds : but if a poor man speak, they 
 say, * What fellow is this ? ' " 
 
 A gentleman, who saw these two women 
 last year, declares that, in his opinion, they 
 might easily have been persuaded that injured 
 justice demanded their lives at Tyburn, for 
 being the mother and sister of him who was 
 suspected to have forged the poems of Rowley. 
 Such terror had the humanity of certain cu- 
 rious enquirers impressed upon their minds, 
 by worrying them to declare the truth, the 
 whole truth, and nothing but the truth about 
 the forgery. Strange-fated Chatterton ! Hadst 
 thou possessed fewer and less eminent 
 abilities, the world would now give thee 
 credit for more and for greater. 
 
 With regard to the fact, the mother and 
 sister, either believe, or pretend to believe, 
 that all Rowley's poems came out of the old 
 chest in the church. The case is, not one of 
 the three knows anything of the matter. Most 
 readily I admit that, if Chatterton be an 
 194 
 
Appendix 
 
 impostor (/.<?., the wonderful human being I 
 firmlybelieve him), he imposed upon every 
 soul who knew him. This, with me, is one 
 trait of his greatness. 
 
 It has been thought that murders and other 
 crimes are pointed out to discovery by the 
 finger of Providence. But " God's revenge 
 against murder " is, in fact, only the sociable- 
 ness of man's disposition. That we may 
 have been wisely formed for this purpose, 
 among others, I do not deny. But Tyburn 
 would see fewer executions were man a less 
 sociable animal. It is not good for him to 
 be alone. Joy or sorrow, villainy or otherwise, 
 we must have society, we must communicate it. 
 Man, in spite of grammar, is a noun adjective. 
 Does any one admire Junius for saying that 
 his secret should die with him, and for keep- 
 ing his word ? But this was only saying he 
 would not enlarge the circle of those to whom 
 his secret was already known, for that he was, 
 as he says, " the sole depositary of his own 
 secret," I cannot think. 
 
 The original letters are clearly written in a 
 female hand. But Junius is now known. 
 
 Let any man, at any time of life, make an 
 experiment of not communicating to a single 
 
Appendix 
 
 individual, during twelve months, a single 
 scheme, a single prospect, a single circum- 
 stance respecting himself. Let him try how 
 it is to lock up everything, trifling or serious, 
 sad or merry, within his own solitary breast. 
 There are easier tasks. This boy did it during 
 his whole life. 
 
 Very few such men as John the Painter * 
 have appeared in the world, from whom his 
 secret was only stolen by the traitorous hand 
 of friendship. No such human being as this 
 boy, at any period of life, has ever been 
 known, or possibly ever will be known. The 
 Spartan lad was far inferior, and that was the 
 effect of education. Psalmanazar and D'Eon 
 are not to be compared with him. That, 
 at his timid and sociable age, when other 
 
 * Do not smile at my lugging in John the Painter 
 till you consider how it applies. His secrecy was 
 wonderful, yet less wonderful that Chatterton's in 
 exact proportion as his secret was more criminal, 
 and more nearly concerned his life. But you will 
 not deny it to be odd, what I know for a fact, that 
 among his papers were some observations on 
 Rowley's poems. If they have not been destroyed, 
 they might surely be published. They could not 
 endanger our dockyards.though written by John the 
 Painter. Cannot you give a hint of this kind, some 
 day, at your house ? Most probably he has them. 
 196 
 
Appendix 
 
 children are almost afraid to be left alone, 
 Chatterton should wrap his arms round him, 
 stand aloof from the whole world, and never 
 lean upon a single individual for society in 
 his schemes (in schemes, too, neither odious 
 nor criminal), is with me almost more won- 
 derful than the schemes which I firmly believe 
 him, without any assistance, to have planned 
 and executed. It shall make a trait in the 
 character of a general, if he have strength of 
 mind enough not to communicate his plans 
 to his first favourite, till the communication is 
 no longer dangerous. Shall not a boy of 
 eighteen, of seventeen, of sixteen, have merit 
 for secrecy much more singular ? 
 
 In one part of the sister's letter, you will 
 not fail to recollect Dry den, who speaks of 
 the alliance between understanding and 
 madness. I am sure that " Love and Mad- 
 ness " are near relations. 
 
 " Conscious, of my own inability's to write 
 to a man of letters. And reluctant to engage 
 in the painful recollection of the particulars 
 of the life of my poor deceased brother. 
 Together with the ill-state of health I've 
 enjoyed since it has been required of me, are 
 197 
 
Appendix 
 
 Sir, the real causes of my not writing sooner. 
 But I am invited to write as to a friend, in- 
 spired with the sacred name, I will forget the 
 incorrectness of my epistle and proceed. 
 
 " My brother very early discover'd a thurst 
 for preheminence, I remember before he was 
 5 years old he would always preside over 
 his play mates as their master and they his 
 hired servants He was dull in learning not 
 knowing many letters at 4 years old, and 
 always objected to read in a small book. He 
 learnt the Alphabet from an old Folio musick 
 book of father's my mother was then tearing 
 up for waste paper, the capitals at the begin- 
 ning of the verses. I assisted in teaching 
 him. I recollect nothing remarkable till he 
 went into the school, which was in his 8th 
 year. Excepting his promising my mother 
 and me a deal of finery when he grew up as 
 a reward of her care. About his loth year 
 he began (with the trifle my mother allowed 
 him for pocket money) to hire books from 
 the circulating library and we were informed 
 by the usher made rapid progress in arith- 
 metick. Between his nth and i2th year 
 he wrote a caterlogue of the books he had 
 read to the number of 70. History and 
 198 
 
Appendix 
 
 divinity were the chief subjects, his school 
 mates informed us he retired to read at the 
 hours allotted for play. At 12 years old 
 he was confirmed by the bishop, he made 
 very sencible serious remarks on the awfull- 
 ness of the ceremony and his own feelings 
 and convictions during it. Soon after this in 
 the week he was door-keeper he made some 
 verses on the last day, I think about 18 
 lines, paraphrased the 9 chapter of Job 
 and not long after some chapters in Isaiah. 
 He had been gloomy from the time he began 
 to learn, but we remark'd he was more cheer- 
 full after he began to write poetry. Some 
 saterical peicis we saw soon after. His inti- 
 mates in the school were but few and they 
 solid lads and except the next neighbour's 
 sons I know of none acquaintance he had 
 out. He was 14 the 2oth of Novr. and 
 bound apprentice the ist of July follow- 
 ing. Soon after his apprenticeship he corre- 
 sponded with one of his school mates that had 
 been his bedfellow, and was I believe bound 
 to a merchant at New York. He read a 
 letter at home that he wrote to his friend, a 
 collection of all the hard words in the English 
 language, and requested him to answer it. 
 199 
 
Appendix 
 
 He was a lover of truth from the earlyest 
 dawn of reason, and nothing would move 
 him so much as being bely'd. When in the 
 school we were informed by the usher, his 
 master depended on his verasity on all occa- 
 tions. Till this time he was remarkably 
 indifferent to females, one day he was remark- 
 ing to me the tendency sever study had to 
 sour the temper and declared he had always 
 seen all the sex with equal indifference but 
 those that nature made dear, he thought of 
 makeing an acquaintance with a girl in the 
 neighbourhood, supposeing it might soften 
 the austerity of temper study had ocationed, 
 he wrote a poem to her and they commenced 
 corrisponding acquaintance. About this time 
 the parchments belonging to my father that 
 was left of covering his boys books, my 
 brother carried to the office. He would 
 often speak in great raptures of the undoubted 
 success of his plan for future life. He was 
 introduced to Mr. Barret, Mr. Catcot, his 
 ambition increas'd daily. His spirits was 
 rather uneven. Some time so gloom'd that 
 for many days together he would say very 
 little and that by constraint. At other times 
 exceeding chearfull. When in spirits he would 
 200 
 
Appendix 
 
 injoy his rising fame. Confident of advance- 
 ment he would promise my mother and me 
 should be partakers of his success. Mr. 
 Barret lent him many books on surgery and 
 I believe he bought many more as I remember 
 to have packt them up to send to him when 
 in London and no demand was ever made 
 for them. About this time he wrote several 
 saterical poems. One in the papers of Mr. 
 Catcot's putting the pewter plates in St. 
 Nicholas tower. He began to be universally 
 known among the young men. He had 
 many cap acquaintance but I am con- 
 fident but few intimates. At about 17, he 
 became acquainted with Mr. Clayfield, distiller 
 in Castle-street, who lent him many books 
 on astronomy. Mr. Cator likewise assisted 
 him with books on that subject, from thence 
 he applyd himself to that study. His hours 
 in the office was from 8 in the morning to 
 8 in the evening. He had little of his 
 masters business to do. Sometimes not 2 
 hours in the day, which gave him an oppor- 
 tunity to pursue his genius. He boarded 
 at Mr. Lambert's, but we saw him most 
 evenings before 9 o'clock and would in 
 general stay to the limits of his time which 
 201 
 
Appendix 
 
 was 10 o'clock. He was seldom 2 evenings 
 together without seeing us. I had almost 
 forgotten to add, we had heard him frequently 
 say that he found he studied best towards 
 the full of the moon and would often sit up 
 all night and write by moon light. A few 
 months before he left Bristol he wrote letters 
 to several booksellers in London I believe 
 to learn if there was any probability of his 
 getting an employment there but that I 
 cannot affirm as the subject was a secret at 
 home. He wrote one letter to Sir Horace 
 Warpool, and except his corrispondence with 
 Miss Rumsey, the girl I before mentioned, 
 I know of no other. He would frequently 
 walk the colledge green with the young girls 
 that statedly paraded there to show their 
 finery. But I really believe he was no 
 debauchee (tho some have reported it), 
 the dear unhappy boy had faults enough I 
 saw with concern, he was proud and exceed- 
 ingly impetious but that of venality he could 
 not be accused justly with. Mrs. Lambert 
 informed me not 2 months before he left 
 Bristol, he had never been once found out of 
 the office in the stated hours as they fre- 
 quently sent the footman and other servants 
 
 202 
 
Appendix 
 
 there to see Nor but once stayd out till 
 ii o'clock; then he had leave, as we 
 entertained some friends at our house at 
 Christmas. 
 
 "Thus Sir have I given you, as before 
 the great searcher of hearts the whole truth 
 as far as my memory have been faithful the 
 particulars of my dear brother. The task 
 have been painfull, and for want of earlier 
 recollection much have been nay the greatest 
 part have been lost. My mother joins with 
 me in best respects which conclude me. 
 
 " Sir, 
 " Your very humble servant, 
 
 " MARY NEWTON. 
 " BRISTOL, SOMERSETSHIRE SQUARE, 
 
 "Sept. 22, 1 778." 
 
 Chatterton remained in the attorney's 
 office at Bristol till April 1770. The life 
 he led there you may collect from Mrs. 
 Newton's letter. In addition to that, she 
 and her mother relate that his Sundays were 
 generally spent in walking alone into the 
 country round Bristol, as far as the day would 
 allow his return before night. From these 
 excursions he never failed to bring home 
 203 
 
Appendix 
 
 with him drawings of churches, or of some- 
 thing which had struck him. That he had 
 a turn of drawing you will see by the figure 
 of a warrior (perhaps ^lla) presenting a 
 church on his knee, which shall accompany 
 this letter (and you are now a judge of 
 drawing, you know). It was one of his first 
 attempts. 
 
 But any single self-acquired accomplish- 
 ment ceases to surprise, when we recollect 
 his other acquisitions of heraldry, architec- 
 ture, music, astronomy, surgery, &c. Our 
 surprise has been long since called forth. 
 Had Chatterton, without any instruction but 
 reading, writing, and accounts, before he was 
 1 8, arrived at the ability of only putting to- 
 gether, in prose or in verse, something which 
 was deemed worth insertion in the most 
 worthless magazine, it would have been sur- 
 prising. What master would not be astonished 
 to discover such a talent in a servant (grown 
 grey in the acquisition of it) who had only 
 learnt to read and write ? Stephen Duck, 
 and others, have been lifted to independence, 
 to wealth, for little more. The author of our 
 existence can alone determine to what He 
 has made his creatures equal. 
 204 
 
Appendix 
 
 That Chatterton should acquire particular 
 things, without instruction, is not singular, 
 since it was with him a favourite maxim that 
 man was equal to anything, and that every- 
 thing might be acquired by diligence and 
 abstinence. Was anything of this sort 
 mentioned in his hearing? All boy as he 
 was, he would only observe that the person 
 
 Kin question merited praise \ but that God 
 had sent His creatures into the world with 
 arms long enough to reach anything, if they 
 would be at the trouble of extending them. 
 This idea he could not but feel confirmed by 
 what he knew of a Mr. Burgum (I think), 
 Mr. Catcott's partner, who taught himself 
 Latin and Greek. 
 
 How very strongly the idea, that a human 
 being may accomplish anything, had taken 
 possession of Chatterton. He desires his sis- 
 ter to improve herself in copying music, draw- 
 ing, and everything which requires genius; 
 as if genius were no less common to man 
 and woman than a pair of eyes or a nose. 
 He gave all his fellow-creatures credit for 
 what he felt so plainly himself. 
 
 When Voltaire tells us, in his history of 
 Charles XII., that on such a day he quitted 
 205 
 
Appendix 
 
 Stockholm, to which he never returned^ we 
 are interested enough, even in such a savage, 
 to feel something like concern. In April 
 1770 Chatterton quitted Bristol (from which 
 place he never had before been absent 
 further than he could walk in half a Sunday, 
 and to which place he never returned), to try 
 his fortune in London. 
 
 He lodged first at Shoreditch, afterwards 
 (when his employment made it necessary for 
 him to frequent public places, I suppose) 
 in Brook Street, Holborn. The man and 
 woman where he first lodged are still living 
 in the same house. He is a plaisterer. They 
 and their nephew, niece, and Mrs. Ballance, 
 who lodged in the house, and desired them 
 to let Chatterton (her relation) lodge there 
 also. The little collected from them you 
 shall have in their own words. But the life 
 he led did not afford them any opportunities 
 to observe him, could they have imagined 
 that such a being was under the same roof 
 with them, or that they would be asked for 
 their observations upon him, after an interval 
 of so many years. Mrs. Ballance says he 
 was as proud as Lucifer. He very soon 
 quarrelled with her for calling him " Cousin 
 206 
 
Appendix 
 
 Tommy" and asked her if she ever heard of 
 a poet's being called Tommy ? But she 
 assured him she knew nothing of poets, and 
 only wished he would not set up for a 
 gentleman. Upon her recommending it to 
 him to get into some office, when he had 
 been in town two or three weeks, he stormed 
 about the room like a madman, and frightened 
 her not a little by telling her, he hoped, with 
 the blessing of God, very soon to be sent 
 prisoner to the Tower, which would make his 
 fortune. He would often look steadfastly in 
 a person's face without speaking, or seeming 
 to see the person, for a quarter of an hour or 
 more, till it was quite frightful, during all 
 which time (she supposes, from what she has 
 since heard) that his thoughts were gone about 
 something else. When Beckford died, he was 
 perfectly frantic, and out of his mind, and 
 said he was ruined. He frequently said he 
 should settle the nation before he had done ; 
 but how could she think her poor cousin 
 Tommy was so great a man as she now finds 
 he was? His mother should have written 
 word of his greatness, and then, to be sure, 
 she would have humoured the gentleman 
 accordingly. Mr. Walmsley saw nothing of 
 207 
 
Appendix 
 
 him, but that there was something manly 
 and pleasing about him, and that he did not 
 dislike the wenches. Mrs. Walmsley's account 
 is that she never saw any harm of him, that he 
 never mislisted her; but was always very 
 civil whenever they met in the house by 
 accident ; that he would never suffer the 
 room, in which he used to read and write, to 
 be swept, because, he said, poets hated 
 brooms ; that she told him she did not any- 
 thing that poet folks were good for, but to 
 sit in a dirty cap and gown in a garret, and 
 at last to be starved ; that, during the nine 
 weeks he was at her house, he never stayed 
 out after the family hours, except once, when 
 he did not come home all night, and had 
 been, she heard, poeting a song about the 
 streets. The night, Mrs. Ballance says, she 
 knows he lodged at a relation's ; Mr. Walms- 
 ley's house was shut up when he came home. 
 The niece says, for her part, she always 
 took him more for a mad boy than anything 
 else, he would have such flights and vagaries ; 
 that, but for his face, and her knowledge of 
 his age, she should never have thought him 
 a boy, he was so manly, and so much himself; 
 that no women came after him, nor did she 
 208 
 
Appendix 
 
 
 know of any connection ; but still that he 
 was a sad rake, and terribly fond of women, 
 and would sometimes be saucy to her ; that 
 he ate what he chose to have with his relation 
 (Mrs. B.) who lodged in the house, but he 
 never touched meat, and drank only water 
 and seemed to live on the air. 
 
 The niece adds that he was good-tempered, 
 and agreeable, and obliging, but sadly proud 
 and haughty ; nothing was too good for him, 
 nor was anything too good for his grand- 
 mother, &c., at a time when she (the niece) 
 knew he was almost in want ; that he used 
 to sit up almost all night, reading and writing, 
 and that her brother said he was afraid to lie 
 with him ; for, to be sure, he was a spirit, 
 and never slept ; for he never came to bed 
 until it was morning, and then, for what he 
 saw, never closed his eyes. 
 
 The nephew (Chatterton's bedfellow, during 
 the first six weeks he lodged there) says, that, 
 notwithstanding his pride and haughtiness, 
 it was impossible to help liking him ; that he 
 lived chiefly upon a bit of bread, or a tart, 
 and some water, but he once or twice saw 
 him take a sheep's tongue out of his pocket ; 
 that Chatterton, to his knowledge, never 
 209 o 
 
Appendix 
 
 slept while they lay together ; that he never 
 came to bed until very late, sometimes three 
 or four o'clock, and was always awake when 
 he (the nephew) waked, and got up at the 
 same time, about five or six; that almost 
 every morning the floor was covered with 
 pieces of paper not so big as sixpences, into 
 which he had torn what he had been writing 
 before he came to bed. In short, they all 
 agree that no one would have taken him, 
 from his behaviour, &c., to have been a poor 
 boy of seventeen, and a sexton's son : they 
 never saw such another person before nor 
 since he appeared to have something won- 
 derful about him. They say he gave no 
 reason for quitting their house. They found 
 the floor of his room covered with little 
 pieces of paper, the remains of his porting, 
 as they term it. 
 
 And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy ; 
 
 Deep thought oft seem'd to fix his infant eye. 
 Dainties he heeded not, not gaude, nor toy, 
 
 Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy. 
 
 Silent, when glad ; affectionate, though shy : 
 And now his look was most demurely sad ; 
 
 And now he laugh' d aloud, yet none knew why. 
 The neighbours stared and sigh'd, yetbless'dthelad 
 Some deem'dhim wondrous wise, and somt btliev'd him mad 
 
 210 
 
Appendix 
 
 Mrs. Angel, to whose house he removed 
 from Shoreditch, I have in vain endeavoured 
 repeatedly to find out. A person in distressed 
 circumstances, as I understand her to be, is 
 slow to believe that an inquiry after her hiding- 
 place is only set on foot by the curiosity of 
 honest enthusiasm. Little versed in the history 
 of mankind, she cannot imagine how any one 
 can be curious or concerned about a person, 
 so many years after his death, for whom in 
 his lifetime no one cared a farthing. Every 
 stranger is to her imagination a bailiff in dis- 
 guise. In every hasty tread she hears " the 
 monster Bumbailiano, keeper of the dark 
 and black cave." Poor hunted animal ! If 
 thou wert kind to Chatterton; if, by thy 
 charitable means, his young hairs were brought 
 down with somewhat less of sorrow to the 
 grave, never may the monster lay his cruel 
 paw upon thy shoulder ! 
 
 Could Mrs. Angel be found, much might 
 not be learnt from her short knowledge of 
 Chatterton, for he remained nine weeks in 
 Shoreditch at least, not much more, perhaps, 
 than has been gotten from Mrs. Walmsley 
 and her family. Mrs. Wolfe, a barber's wife, 
 within a few doors of the house in which 
 
 211 
 
Appendix 
 
 Mrs. Angel lived, remembers him, and 
 remembers his death. She speaks also of 
 his proud and haughty spirit, and adds, that 
 he appeared both to her and Mrs. Angel as 
 if he were born for something great. Mrs. 
 Angel told her, after his death, that, as she 
 knew he had not eaten anything for two or 
 three days, she begged he would take some 
 dinner with her on the 24th of August ; but 
 he was offended at her expressions, which 
 seemed to hint that he was in want, and 
 assured her he was not hungry. 
 
 Ah ! who can tell how hard it is to climb 
 
 The steep where Fame's proud temple shines 
 afar! 
 
 Ah ! who can tell how many a soul sublime 
 Hath felt the influence of malignant star, 
 
 And wag'd with fortune an eternal war ! 
 
 Check'd by the scoff of pride, and envy's frown, 
 And poverty's unconquerable bar, 
 
 In life's low vale remote hath pin'd alone, 
 
 Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown ! 
 
 Such was the short and incredible life of 
 Thomas Chatterton. Over his death, for the 
 sake of the world (he is out of the reach of 
 our pity or concern), I would willingly draw a 
 veil. But this must not be. They who are 
 in a condition to patronise merit, and they 
 212 
 
Appendix 
 
 
 who feel a consciousness of merit which is 
 not patronised, may form their own resolu- 
 tions from the catastrophe of his tale : those, 
 to lose no opportunity of befriending genius ; 
 these, to seize every opportunity of befriend- 
 ing themselves ; and, upon no account, to 
 harbour the most distant idea of quitting the 
 world, however it may be unworthy of them, 
 lest despondency should at last deceive them 
 into so unpardonable a step. Chatterton, as 
 appears by the coroner's inquest, swallowed 
 arsenic in water on the 24th of August, 1770, 
 and died in consequence thereof the next 
 day. He was buried in a shell in the bury- 
 ing-ground of Shoe-land workhouse. His 
 taking such a rash and unjustifiable step is 
 almost as strange as his fathering his poems 
 upon Rowley. That he should have been 
 driven to it by absolute want (though I do not 
 say it was not so) is not very possible, since 
 he never indulged himself in meat and drank 
 nothing but water. The coroner has no 
 minutes of the melancholy business, and is 
 unable to recall any of the circumstances at 
 this distance of time to his memory. The 
 witnesses before the inquest, as appears by his 
 memorandum, were Frederick Angel, Mary 
 213 
 
Appendix 
 
 Foster, and William Hamsley, none of whom 
 I have been able to find out. That his 
 despair should fix on August, that it should 
 not have staid at least till the gloomier 
 months of winter, must surprise those who 
 are sensible of the influence of such a climate 
 as ours. Recollecting what Mrs. Newton 
 says of the effect which the moon had upon 
 her brother, I searched for the moon's 
 changes in August 1770. Much cannot be 
 presumed from them. The moon was at the 
 full on the 6th, and in the last quarter the 
 1 4th. The 2oth, at eleven at night, there 
 was a new moon. The fatal day was the 
 24th. But who can bear to dwell upon, or 
 argue about, the self-destruction of such a 
 being as Chatterton ? The motives for every- 
 thing he did are past finding out. 
 
 His room, when it was broke open after 
 his death, was found, like the room he quitted 
 at Mrs. Walmsley's, covered with little scraps 
 of paper. What a picture he would have 
 made, with the fatal cup by his bedside, 
 destroying plans of future ^Ellas and God- 
 wins, and of unfinished books of The Battle 
 of Hastings? M. I have had the (call it 
 what you will) to spend half an hour in the 
 214 
 
17 
 
 I 
 
 Appendix 
 
 room. It was half an hour of most exquisite 
 sensations. My visit of devotion was paid 
 in the morning, I remember ; but I was not 
 myself again all day. To look round the 
 room ; to say to myself, here stood his bed ; 
 there the poison was set ; in that window he 
 loitered for some hours before he retired to 
 his last rest, envying the meanest passenger, 
 and wishing he could exchange his own feel- 
 ings and intellects for their manual powers 
 and insensibility ! Then, abhorrence of his 
 death, abhorrence of the world, and I know 
 not how many different and contradictory 
 but all distracting ideas ! Nothing should 
 tempt me to undergo such another half-hour. 
 
 Bristol, stand forth ! Too just are even these 
 
 rhymes 
 
 Without a trial to condemn thy crimes. 
 Come forward, answer to thy cursed name ; 
 Stand, if thou dare, before the bar of fame. 
 Bristol, hold up thine hand, that damned hand 
 Which scatters misery over half the land, 
 The land of Genius ! 
 
 We come now to the question of most 
 difficulty, but of least consequence. What 
 could induce Chatterton to lay such a plan ? 
 Was it the credit of imposing upon the world, 
 which he was determined never to claim, 
 215 
 
Appendix 
 
 since he never owned the imposition ? My 
 answer is, that I neither know nor care ; and 
 the conjectures of the rustiest fellow of the 
 Antiquarian Society cannot give an answer 
 much more to the purpose. Are the motives 
 of men's and women's conduct so plain that 
 he who runs may read them ? How much 
 less obvious are we to expect the motives of 
 a boy's conduct? Chatterton, with some, 
 with many things about him, superior to 
 most, to all men, was still but a boy. 
 Though he did see seventeen before his 
 death, he must have been literally a boy 
 when he laid the foundation of his plans. If 
 Macpherson and Ossian be the same, if 
 Chatterton thought them to be the same, 
 Chatterton is an original in poetry only, not 
 in suppositiousness. Good men are satisfied 
 with the applause of their own consciences, 
 and scatter charity with the invisible hand of 
 bounty. May not great men be formed in 
 the same mould ? May not obscurity appear 
 to enlarge an ideal as well as a real object ? 
 God would, perhaps, be something less of 
 God were He visible. But, as I said, I 
 neither know nor care what was Chatterton' s 
 motive. 
 
 216 
 
Appendix 
 
 
 Am I still asked for it? Like many a 
 man in conversation, I will get off by telling 
 a story. D'Alembert, in his pamphlet upon 
 the destruction of the Jesuits, relates that 
 one of the Order, who had spent twenty years 
 upon a mission in Canada, did not believe 
 even the existence of a God. Notwith- 
 standing this, he had, numerous times run 
 the hazard of his life in defence of that 
 religion which he preached with success 
 among the savages. To a friend, who ex- 
 pressed surprise at the warmth of his zeal, 
 the missionary observed : " Ah, you have no 
 idea of the pleasure there is in having 20,000 
 men to listen to you, and in persuading them 
 what you do not believe yourself." 
 
 By what was the scheme suggested to 
 Chatterton's invention ? This question, it is, 
 perhaps, still more impossible to answer, nor 
 do I pretend to answer it. If you can 
 ground any conjecture on a few facts I will 
 mention, so : Psalmanazar died about the 
 time Chatterton's scheme was born, and 
 bequeathed his methodistical memoirs to the 
 world. Walpole, about the same time, 
 endeavoured to turn a whole national current 
 of belief with respect to Richard III., and 
 217 
 
Appendix 
 
 not long before, acknowledged the imposi- 
 tion he had put upon the public in the 
 preface to "Otranto." The Douglas cause 
 was, about the same time, in high agitation. 
 Ossian, with Blair's dissertation, in which 
 the name of sElla is mentioned, had not 
 long made its appearance. "The Concu- 
 bine," in Spenser's manner, appeared in 1767. 
 Percy's "Reliques" had not long been 
 published. Page xxiv. of the first volume 
 (second edition, 1767), mention is made 
 of " Colgrin, son of that ^Ella who was 
 elected King of the Saxons in the room of 
 Hengist." Chatterton must have admired 
 " Hardyknute" (vol. ii. p. 94), which Mrs. 
 Wardlaw pretended to have found on tf shreds 
 of paper employed for what is called the 
 bottoms of clues," and must have seen 
 through the pretended extract of a letter from 
 Canton to James Garland, Esq., at the end 
 of the third volume, which vouches for the 
 truth of Percy's Hau Kiou Choaau, there 
 advertised as translated from the Chinese. 
 On the 2ist of January, 1769, the invisible 
 Junius printed his first letter. In May 1769, 
 Mrs. Montague published her Essay on 
 Shakespeare, from which it is not impossible 
 218 
 
Appendix 
 
 that Chatterton's tindery ambition might 
 catch the fire of rivalry. Farrer's Essay on 
 the learning of Shakespeare had appeared 
 about a twelvemonth. In the wonderful 
 extent of his reading, Chatterton could not 
 be ignorant of Parnell's imposition on Pope, 
 by means of a pretended Leonine transla- 
 tion of some of his lines in the Rape of the 
 Lock, or of Parnell's Fairy Tale, in the 
 Ancient English style. Better memories may, 
 perhaps, recollect other things of this kind. 
 That Chatterton had Walpole and Ossian in 
 some measure present to his mind, is mani- 
 fest from his fixing upon the same person 
 (Mr W.) to introduce Rowley to the world, 
 whom Macpherson chose for Ossian. And, 
 surely, to prove Earl Godwin a good man 
 and true, in spite of history, is much such an 
 attempt as Mr. Walpole's concerning Richard. 
 The first stanza of Canynge's prologue to 
 Godwin, is little more than a versification of 
 the ingenious supposition in the article 
 Godwin, in the " Biographia Britannica," and 
 is rather the language of our distant age, 
 than of a man writing three hundred years 
 nearer Godwin, who was not then ungently 
 treated in so many histories as now. 
 219 
 
Appendix 
 
 Whilomme, by pensmen, much ungentle name 
 
 Has upon Godwin Earl of Kent been laid, 
 
 Thereby bereaving him of faith and fame. 
 
 The unforgiving clergymen have said, 
 
 That he was known to no holy wurche, 
 
 But this was all his fault, he gifted not the church. 
 
 It may be said that hardly one of the 
 schemes which I have mentioned succeeded. 
 Let me, in my turn, tell what Fontenelle, in 
 his " Dialogues," puts into the mouth of the 
 Russian Pretender. When he is asked how 
 he dared to assert a claim, for which two or 
 three impostors had suffered the cruellest 
 death, he answers, it was upon that very cir- 
 cumstance he grounded the probability of 
 passing for a true man and no impostor. 
 
 Of the impossibility to prove imitation I 
 am well aware. But for intentional imitation 
 I do not here contend. The originality of 
 his sublime genius would not have stooped 
 from its height to imitate any man that ever 
 existed. By the nature of his plan, the 
 folding-doors of imitation were effectually 
 shut against Chatterton. His hands were 
 tied up from picking and stealing. What 
 other poet, ancient or modern, except Homer 
 (and even Homer had his ancients, perhaps), 
 can produce an octavo volume, in the whole 
 
 220 
 
Appendix 
 
 course of which, after a search of some years, 
 the best and oldest heads are not able to 
 detect him with certainty more than six or 
 eight times ? And those coincidences must of 
 course have been the effect more of memory 
 than design. 
 
 If Chatterton did endeavour to catch the 
 public by other baits besides genius who can 
 blame him ? 
 
 Ill-fated Chatterton ! Why didst thou not 
 attend to Orestes " On the Poverty of 
 Authors " ? ( Town and Country Magazine, 
 Aug. 1769, p. 399.) How couldst thou ima- 
 gine that even thy parts would prevent thy 
 adding one to his long but faithful list of 
 the starved children of geni-us ? Could thy 
 penetrating sight discover no truth in his 
 borrowed observation, that "We more readily 
 assist the lame and the blind than a poor 
 man of genius; for every one is sensibly 
 affected with the apprehension of blind- 
 ness or lameness ; but who is in the least 
 dread of the accidents which attend on 
 genius ? " 
 
 Here let me stop a moment to rescue the 
 world from blame it does not merit. The 
 world is not accountable for the death of 
 221 
 
Appendix 
 
 every man of abilities who has perished, 
 however miserably, in an alehouse, or a prison. 
 Profligacy and genius, ability and prodigality, 
 are not, as many imagine, the same things. 
 But genius too often thinks it necessary to be 
 profligate, and profligacy often demands to 
 pass for genius. To behold genius confined 
 in a prison, or skulking in an alehouse, and 
 not to lend relief, were infamous, provided 
 the spectator could be sure he was lending 
 effectual relief. But if to rescue from one 
 prison, be only to give an opportunity to 
 visit another whose humanity is sturdy 
 enough to bear such insults even from a 
 friend or from a child ? Churchill reproached 
 the world with suffering Lloyd to pine in the 
 Fleet, and Johnson has moistened many an 
 eye with the sufferings of Savage. But the 
 world, if it be ever accountable, is only ac- 
 countable for the death of such a being as 
 Chatterton, who (let his enemies or enviers 
 persist, as they choose, in asserting what they 
 cannot prove) was not extravagant, was not 
 profligate, was not unprincipled. All his 
 profligacy consisted in quitting the attorney's 
 office, and penning ^Ella " when he should 
 have engrossed." His only extravagance was 
 222 
 
Appendix 
 
 lavishing unnecessary presents upon his 
 grandmother, mother, and sister, a few shil- 
 lings, the earnings of his genius, which might 
 otherwise, perhaps, have saved him from 
 starving. Unprinciples belongs to those who 
 accuse him of crimes without a shadow of 
 proof. 
 
 One other question remains to be answered. 
 It may be asked why Chatterton's own 
 " Miscellanies " are inferior to Rowley ? Let 
 me ask another question. Are they inferior ? 
 Genius, abilities, application, we may bring 
 into the world with us ; these rare ingredients 
 may be mixed up in our compositions by the 
 hand of Nature ; but Nature herself cannot 
 create a human being possest of a complete 
 knowledge of the world almost the moment 
 he is born into it. Is the knowledge of the 
 world, which his " Miscellanies " contain, no 
 proof of his astonishing quickness in seizing 
 everything he chose? Is it remembered 
 when, and at what age, Chatterton for the 
 first time quitted Bristol, and how few weeks 
 he lived afterwards ? Chatterton's " Letters " 
 and " Miscellanies " exhibit an insight into 
 men, manners, and things, for the want of 
 which in their writings, authors who have died 
 223 
 
Appendix 
 
 old men, with more opportunities to know the 
 world (who could have fewer than Chatter- 
 ton ?) have been thought to make amends 
 by other merits. 
 
 Again, in his own character, he painted for 
 booksellers and bread ; in Rowley's, for fame 
 and eternity. Why are a boy's tasks at 
 school inferior to what he writes for his 
 amusement ? Then it is not impossible that 
 he might designedly underwrite himself. He 
 certainly did when he wrote " Ladgate's 
 answer to the Song of ^Ella." After all, he 
 was no modern; the boy was born an 
 ancient ; and he knew mankind well enough 
 to see that, in the present age, there was a 
 greater facility of emergence from obscurity 
 to fame, through the channel of curiosity, 
 for a monk of the fifteenth century than for 
 a sexton's son of the eighteenth. Shame 
 upon that age, which still persists in bearing 
 testimony to his knowledge of it ! 
 
 With regard to Chatterton's face and 
 person, all agree that he was a manly, good- 
 looking boy, that there was something about 
 him which instantaneously prepossessed you 
 in his favour. Mr. Barrett and Mr. Catcott, 
 as well as all who remember him, speak 
 224 
 
Appendix 
 
 particularly of his eye. Catcott says he could 
 never look at it long enough to see what sort 
 of an eye it was ; but it seemed to be a kind 
 of hawk's eye, he thinks ; you could see his 
 soul through it. Mr. Barrett says he took 
 particular notice of his eyes from the nature 
 of his profession. He never saw such. One 
 was still more remarkable than the other. 
 You might see the fire roll at the bottom of 
 them, as you sometimes do in a black eye, 
 but never in grey ones, which his were. Mr. 
 Barrett adds, that he used often to send for 
 him from the charity school (which is close 
 to his house) and differ from him in opinion 
 on purpose to make him earnest, and to see 
 how wonderfully his eye would strike fire, 
 
 kindle, and blaze up 
 
 So ends what I have to say about Chatter- 
 ton, when I shall have just observed that his 
 innocent imposition on the world is exactly 
 the story of M. Angelo's buried statue of 
 Cupid ; and, finally, that Miss More is 
 oftener boasted of by Bristol, and has 
 acquired more fame and wealth for an " Ode 
 to Garrick's Dog" than Chatterton for all 
 Rowley's poems. Prefix to this letter, if 
 you please, the comforting discovery of Lord 
 225 p 
 
Appendix 
 
 Shaftesbury in his "Characteristics," that 
 " an ingenious man never starves unknown." 
 Such a being as Chatterton should not have 
 been suffered to starve at all. But comfort 
 like this is to be expected from "Knights 
 and Barons." 
 
 Bards may be Lords, but 'tis not in the cards, 
 Play as you will, to turn Lords into Bards. 
 
 The employment has been of the service 
 to me that you meant it should, In some 
 measure I have forgotten myself, and, as 
 much as it was possible, forgotten my M. 
 during the hours I have spent upon this 
 business. If the story be not told as regularly 
 as it might, the situation of my mind with 
 regard to you must be my excuse. Besides, 
 were I cold enough to tell such a tale as 
 Chatterton's with as much regularity as I put 
 a common occurrence upon paper I should 
 despise myself. All I shall further add is, 
 that I do not hold out Chatterton as the first 
 character in the world. An army of Mace- 
 donian and Swedish butchers, indeed, fly 
 before him ; nor does my memory supply me 
 with any human being who, at such an age, 
 with such disadvantages, has produced such 
 226 
 
Appendix 
 
 compositions. Under the heathen mythology 
 superstition and admiration would have 
 explained all by bringing Apollo upon earth. 
 Nor would the god ever have descended 
 with more credit to himself. But, after all, 
 the world is only indebted to Chatterton for 
 a few inimitable poems. If barbarity and 
 fanaticism be suffered to destroy mankind, 
 genius will write in vain, when there is none 
 to read. To preserve our fellow-creatures is 
 still a greater praise than to instruct or amuse 
 them. Perhaps, all circumstances considered, 
 the first character that ever existed was 
 Bartholomew las Casas. 
 
 Let me conclude these tedious sheets of 
 paper with a most capital subject for a painter, 
 from Chatterton's tournament^ which you may 
 add to the subjects I have before suggested 
 to you. It will surprise you to find how very 
 modern it is. The advocates to Rowley must 
 explain this to you, if they can, and if Rowley 
 has still any advocates ; for I do assure you, 
 as you will find by turning to the poem, that 
 I have only altered four words, and those 
 only by changing them for Chatterton's 
 words of explanation in his notes to the 
 poem. 
 
 227 
 
Appendix 
 
 When battle, steaming with new-quicken'd gore, 
 
 Bending with spoils and bloody dropping head, 
 Did the dark wood of ease and rest explore, 
 
 Seeking to lie on pleasure's downy bed 
 Pleasure, dancing from her wood, 
 
 Wreath'd with flowers of eglantine, 
 From his visage wash'd the blood, 
 
 Hid his sword and gaberdine. 
 
 The manner in which you account for the 
 self-destruction of that most wonderful boy, 
 Chatterton, is physical, I assure you, as well 
 as sensible. Tissot, in his " Essay on the 
 Diseases Incident to Literary Persons," starts 
 some ideas very much like yours, only they 
 are wrapped up in harder words. You shall 
 see : 
 
 " When the mind, long time occupied, has 
 forcibly impressed an action upon the brain, 
 she is unable to repress that forcible action. 
 The shock continues after its cause; and, 
 re-acting upon the mind, makes it experience 
 ideas which are truly delirious : for they no 
 longer answer to the external impressions of 
 objects, but to the internal disposition of the 
 brain, some parts of which are now become 
 incapable to receive new movements trans- 
 mitted to it by the senses." 
 228 
 
Appendix 
 
 " The brain of Pascal was so vitiated by 
 passing his life in the laborious exercises of 
 study, thought, and imagination, that certain 
 fibres, agitated by incessant motion, made 
 him perpetually feel a sensation which seemed 
 to be excited by a gulph of fire situated on 
 one side of him ; and his reason, overpowered 
 by the disorder of his nerves, could never 
 banish the idea of this fiery abyss. Spinello 
 painted the fall of the rebel angels, and gave 
 so fierce a countenance to Lucifer, that he 
 was struck with horror himself; and during 
 the remainder of his life, his imagination was 
 continually haunted by the figure of that 
 daemon, upbraiding him with having made 
 his portrait so hideous. Gasper Barlaeis, the 
 orator, poet, and physician, was not ignorant 
 of these dangers. He warned his friend 
 Hugh ens against them : but, blind with 
 regard to himself, by immoderate studies he 
 so weakened his brain, that he thought his 
 body was made of butter, and carefully 
 shunned the fire, lest it should melt him ; 
 till at last, worn out with his continual fears, 
 he leapt into a well. Peter Jurieu, so famous 
 in theological dispute, and for his " Commen- 
 tary on the Apocalypse," disordered his brain 
 229 
 
Appendix 
 
 in such a manner that, though he thought 
 like a man of sense in other respects, he was 
 firmly persuaded his frequent fits of the 
 cholic were occasioned by a constant engage- 
 ment between seven horsemen, who were 
 shut up in his belly. There have been many 
 instances of literature persons who thought 
 themselves metamorphosed into lanterns; 
 and who complained of having lost their 
 thighs." 
 
 No one can deny that Chatterton must 
 have gone through as much wear and tear of 
 the imagination as any person whom Tissot 
 mentions. But I would give a good deal, 
 were it possible for me never again to think 
 about Chatterton, or about his death, as long 
 as I live, for I never do without being 
 miserable. 
 
 What you let fall about the propensity of 
 the English to suicide, is not true ; though a 
 very popular idea. And yet I will relate to 
 you, in the words of another person, an 
 instance of English suicide much more cool 
 and deliberate than any you ever heard, I 
 daresay. It is a fact, and happened in 1732. 
 
 Richard Smith, a bookbinder, and prisoner 
 230 
 
Appendix 
 
 for debt within the liberties of the King's 
 Bench, persuaded his wife to follow his 
 example, in making away with herself, after 
 they had murdered their little infant. This 
 wretched pair were, in the month of April, 
 found hanging in their bedchamber at about 
 a yard's distance from each other \ and in a 
 separate apartment the child lay dead in a 
 cradle. They left two papers inclosed in a 
 short letter to their landlord, whose kindness 
 they implored in favour of their dog and cat. 
 They even left money to the porter, who 
 should carry the inclosed papers to the person 
 to whom they were addressed. In one of 
 these the husband thanked that person for 
 the marks of friendship he had received at 
 his hands ; and complained of the ill-offices 
 he had undergone from a different quarter. 
 The other papers, subscribed by the husband 
 and wife, contained the reasons which induced 
 them to act such a tragedy on themselves and 
 their offspring. This letter was altogether 
 surprising for the calm resolution, the good 
 humour, and the propriety, with which it was 
 written. They declared that they withdrew 
 themselves from poverty and rags ; evils that, 
 through a train of unlucky accidents, were 
 231 
 
Appendix 
 
 become inevitable. They appealed to their 
 neighbours for the industry with which they 
 had endeavoured to earn a livelihood. They 
 justified the murder of their child by saying, 
 it was less cruelty to take her with them, than 
 to leave her friendless in the world, exposed 
 to ignorance and misery. They professed 
 their belief and confidence in an Almighty 
 God, the fountain of goodness and benefi- 
 cence, who could not possibly take delight 
 in the misery of His creatures : they therefore, 
 resigned up their lives to Him without any 
 terrible apprehensions; submitting themselves 
 to those ways, which, in His goodness, He 
 should appoint after death. These unfortu- 
 nate suicides had been always industrious 
 and frugal, invincibly honest, and remarkable 
 for conjugal affection. 
 
 This tragedy I have shown you, because 
 I think France, lively France, in whose 
 language suicide is an Anglicism, can supply 
 me with an anecdote as authentic of some- 
 thing still more cool and more deliberate, 
 since the motives to the crime (to which no 
 motive can be sufficiently strong) were so 
 
 much weaker. 
 
 232 
 
Appendix 
 
 On the day before Christmas Day, 1773, 
 about eleven o'clock, two soldiers came to 
 the Cross-Bow Inn, at St. Dennis, and ordered 
 a dinner. Bordeaux, one of the soldiers, 
 went out and bought a little paper of powder 
 and a couple of bullets, observing to the 
 person who sold them to him, that as St. 
 Dennis seemed to be so pleasant a place, he 
 should not dislike to spend the remainder of 
 his life there. Returning to the inn, he and 
 his companion passed the day together very 
 merrily. On Christmas Day they again dined 
 as merrily, ordered wine, and about five 
 o'clock in the afternoon were found at the 
 fire, on breaking open the door, sitting on 
 the opposite sides of a table, whereon were 
 three empty champaign bottles, the following 
 will and letter, and a half-crown. They were 
 both shot through the head ; two pistols lay 
 upon the floor. The noise of the pistols 
 brought up the people of the house, who 
 immediately sent for M. de Rouilleres, the 
 Commandent of the Marechaussee at St. 
 Dennis. 
 
 The will I translated myself from a formal 
 copy, which was taken for a friend of mine at 
 St. Dennis in 1774. 
 
 233 
 
Appendix 
 
 THE WILL. 
 
 A man, who knows he is to die, should 
 take care to do everything which his survivors 
 can wish him to have done. We are more 
 particularly in that situation. Our intention 
 is to prevent uneasiness to our host, as well 
 as to lighten the labours of those whom 
 curiosity, under pretence of form and order, 
 will bring hither to pay us visits. 
 
 Humain is the bigger, and I, Bourdeaux, 
 am the lesser of the two. 
 
 He is drum-major of mestre de camp des 
 dragons, and I am simply a dragoon of 
 Belzunce. 
 
 Death is a passage I address to the gentle- 
 man of the law of St. Dennis (who, with his 
 first clerk as assistant, must come hither for 
 the sake of justice) the principle ; which, 
 joined to the reflexion that everything must 
 have an end, put these pistols into our hands. 
 The future presents nothing to us but what is 
 agreeable. Yet that future is short and must 
 end. 
 
 Humain is but twenty-four years of age ; 
 
 as for me, I have not yet completed four 
 
 lustres. No particular reason forces us to 
 
 interrupt our career, except the disgust we 
 
 234 
 
Appendix 
 
 feel at existing for a moment under the con- 
 tinual apprehension of ceasing to exist. An 
 eternity is the point of re-union ; a longing- 
 after which leads us to prevent the despotic 
 act of fate. In fine, disgust of life is our sole 
 inducement to quit it. 
 
 If all those who are wretched would dare 
 to divest themselves of prejudice, and to look 
 their destruction in the face, they would see 
 it is as easy to lay aside existence as to throw 
 off an old coat, the colour of which displeases. 
 The proof of this may be referred to our 
 experience. 
 
 We have enjoyed every gratification in life, 
 even that of obliging our fellow-creatures. 
 We could still procure to ourselves gratifi- 
 cations : but all gratifications must have a 
 period. That period is our poison. We are 
 disgusted at the perpetual sameness of the 
 scene. The curtain is dropped : and we 
 leave our parts to those who are weak enough 
 to feel an inclination to play them a few hours 
 longer. 
 
 Two or three grains of powder will soon 
 break the springs of this moving mass of 
 flesh, which our haughty fellow-creatures stile 
 the King of Beings. 
 
 235 
 
Appendix 
 
 Messrs, the officers of justice, our carcases 
 are at your discretion ! We despise them too 
 much to give ourselves any trouble about 
 about what becomes of them. 
 
 As to what we shall leave behind, for 
 myself, Bordeaux, I give to M. de Rouilleres, 
 commandant of the marechaussee at St. 
 Dennis, my steel-mounted sword. He will 
 recollect, that, last year, about this very day, 
 as he was conducting a recruit, he had the 
 civility to grant me a favour for a person of 
 the name of St. Germain, who had offended 
 him. 
 
 The maid of the inn will take my pocket 
 and neck handkerchiefs, as well as the silk 
 stockings which I now have on, and all my 
 other linen. 
 
 The rest of our effects will be sufficient to 
 pay the expense of the useless law proceed- 
 ings of which we shall be the subject. 
 
 The half crown upon the table will pay for 
 the last bottle of wine which we are going to 
 drink. 
 
 BOURDEAUX. 
 
 HUMAIN. 
 
 At ST. DENNIS, Christmas Day, 1773, 
 236 
 
Appendix 
 
 Of the following letter from Bordeaux to 
 his lieutenant in the regiment of Belzunce, I 
 have not seen the French ; I cannot therefore 
 answer for the translation, which does not 
 appear to have been done carefully. Another 
 friend supplied me with it. You shall have 
 it as I had it from him. 
 
 " SIR, 
 
 "During my residence at Guise, you 
 honoured me with your friendship. It is 
 time that I thank you. You have often told 
 me I appeared displeased with my situation. 
 It was sincere, but not absolutely true. I 
 have since examined myself more seriously, 
 and acknowledge myself entirely disgusted 
 with every state of man, the whole world, 
 and myself. From these discoveries a con- 
 sequence should be drawn : if disgusted with 
 the whole, renounce the whole. The calcu- 
 lation is not long. I have made it without 
 the aid of geometry. In short, I am on the 
 point of putting an end to the existence that 
 I have possessed for nearly twenty years, 
 fifteen of which it has been a burden to me ; 
 and, from the moment that I write, a few 
 grains of powder will destroy this moving 
 237 
 
Appendix 
 
 mass of flesh, which we vain mortals call the 
 King of Beings. 
 
 "I owe no one an excuse. I deserted, 
 that was a crime ; but I am going to punish 
 it ; and the law will be satisfied. 
 
 "I asked leave of absence from my 
 superiors, to have the pleasure of dying at my 
 ease. They never condescended to give me 
 an answer. This served to hasten my end. 
 
 " I wrote to Bord to send you some 
 detached pieces I left at Guise, which I beg 
 you to accept. You will find they contain 
 some well-chosen literature. These pieces will 
 solicit for me a place in your remembrance. 
 
 " Adieu, my dear lieutenant ; continue 
 your esteem for St. Lambert and Dorat. As 
 for the rest, skip from flower to flower, and 
 acquire the sweets of all knowledge, and 
 enjoy overy pleasure. 
 
 " Pour moi, j 'arrive au trou 
 Qui n'echappe ni sage ni fou, 
 Pour aller je ne scais oil. " 
 
 " If we exist after this life, and it is for- 
 bidden to quit it without permission, I will 
 endeavour to procure one moment to inform 
 you of it j if not, I should advise all those 
 who are unhappy, which is by far the greatest 
 part of mankind, to follow my example. 
 238 
 
Appendix 
 
 " When you receive this letter, I shall have 
 been dead at least twenty-four hours. 
 " With esteem, &c., 
 
 " BOURDEAUX." 
 
 Is there any thing like this in English story ? 
 
 If we exist after this life. Ah, my brave 
 Bourdeaux, that is the question ; and a 
 question which even you could not answer 
 in the negative. 
 
 .... There's the retrospect 
 That makes calamity of so long life, 
 For who would bear the whips and scorns o' 
 
 th' time, 
 The pangs of despised love, 
 
 (Which I could never bear.) 
 
 .... The law's delay, 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 Which patient merit of th' unworthy takes ? 
 But that the dread of something after death 
 Puzzles the will, 
 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
 Than fly to others that we know not of. 
 
 The pains these two poor fellows took (or 
 rather Bourdeaux, for he seems to have been 
 the principal) to prevent any trouble or un- 
 easiness to their survivors, lead me to reflect 
 how very uniformly the contrary is the con- 
 duct of suicides with us. One would some- 
 239 
 
Appendix 
 
 times almost fancy that they studied how they 
 might commit the abominable crime so as to 
 be found by those whom the discovery would 
 most affect. Have they wives, children ? It 
 must be done sometimes in their presence, in 
 bed with them ; often in their hearing ; almost 
 always in such a manner that they may be the 
 first spectators of it. Mr. Y., Lord F., 
 Mr. S., Lord C., Mr. B., are cruel instances 
 of this. Oh, for Omnipotence, to call such 
 savages back to life, and chain them to the 
 hardest tasks of existence ! Is not the crime 
 of suicide sufficient, without adding to it the 
 murder, or a heartbroken wife or child? 
 Hence you may, perhaps, draw an argument 
 that every suicide is a madman. For my 
 part, I have no doubt of it ; and if Humain 
 had fallen into the hands of a friend less mad 
 than Bourdeaux, he might have lived to have 
 fought another day. 
 
 And here ends a long, dull letter, about a 
 short, entertaining conversation (on your part 
 at least). 
 
 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. 
 London and Edinburgh. 
 

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