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 1 

 
 TUE 
 
 eccentric iHtitor: . 
 
 Rf.Ff-EcriNf; 
 A faithful and interesting DcUncxtion of 
 
 MJLE AND FEMALE CHARACTERS, 
 
 ANCIENT AND MODERN, 
 
 Who have been particularly distinguished by cxti-aordinary 
 
 QUALIFICATIONS, TALENTS, AND rUOPUNSITIKS, 
 
 Natural or Acquired, 
 
 CoraprehendiDg singular Instances of 
 
 LONGEVITY. ' 
 <J0M0i<MAT10N, 
 BULK, 
 S! A TURK. 
 
 POWKKS OF MIND AND OF 
 BODY, 
 
 VVON'DERFUL EXPLOITS, 
 AI)\i;MUKIiS, 
 HA U ITS. 
 PROPENSITIES, 
 ENTERPRISING PURSUITS, 
 &:c. A:c. Vc. 
 
 - With a faiiliful Narration of 
 
 EVERY INSTANCE OF SINGULARITY, 
 
 Manifested in llie Lives and Conductof Characters who have rendered theniselves 
 eminently conspicuous by their Eccentricities. 
 
 Theiuhole exhiUiiiig an iiidre-stirig a/i,i 
 
 WONDERFUL DISPLAY OF HUALVN ACTION 
 
 IN THE 
 
 Grand Theatre oftlie World. 
 ■"— *^ — 
 
 Collected and re-collected, from the most authentic Sources, 
 
 liY 
 
 G. //. WILSON. 
 
 IN FOUR VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. IL 
 
 iLonDoit: 
 
 PRINTED FOR JAMES CUNDFE, 
 
 Ivy-Lane, Paterimter-Row, 
 
 JS07.
 
 /
 
 100. 
 
 :r a 
 
 THE 
 
 ECCENTiRIC MIFvFvOPv. 
 
 HENRY JENKINS. 
 
 Few countries can produce such numerous in- 
 stances of extraordinary longevity as the British 
 islands, which afford incontestible proof of the 
 healthiness of their climate. Among these ex- 
 amples, the most remarkable is, perhaps, that of 
 Henry Jenkins, who attained the patriarchal age 
 of 169 years. Tiie only account now extant of 
 this venerable man is that given by Mrs. Anne 
 Sciville, who resided at Bolton, in Yorkshire, where 
 Jenkins lived, and had frequent opportunities of 
 seeing andconversinc; with him. 
 
 " When I came," says she, to live at Bolton, 
 I was told several particulars of the great age of 
 Henry Jenkins ; but 1 believed little of the story 
 for many years, till one day he coming to beg 
 an alms, I desired him to tell me truly how old 
 he was. He paused a little, and then said, that 
 to the best of his remembrance, he was about l6'2 
 or 3; and I asked, what kings he remembered? 
 He said, Henry VHL I asked what public thing 
 
 VOL. II. — ^0. 1 1. /V 
 
 4S9i65
 
 4 HENRY JENKINS. 
 
 lie could longest remember r he said Flowdeii- 
 ficld. I asked whether the khig was there? he 
 said. No; he was in France, and the earl of Surry 
 was general. I asked him how old he might l;c 
 then; he said, 1 believe I might be between 10 
 and 1£; for, says he, I was sent to Northallerton 
 with a horse-load of arrows, but they sent a big- 
 ger boy from thence to the army with them. 
 All this agreed with the history of that time ; for 
 bows and arrows were then used, the earl he 
 named was general, and king Henry VIll. was 
 then at Tourna}'. And yet it is observable that 
 ihis Jenkins could neither read nor write. There 
 were also four or five in the same parish that 
 were reputed all of them to be 100 years old, or 
 within two or three years of it, and they all said 
 he was an elderly man ever since they knew him ; 
 for he was born in another parish, and before 
 anv^reaiisters vrere in churches, as it is said. He 
 told me then too that he was butler to the lord 
 Cqnyers, and remembered the Abbot of Foun- 
 tains abbey very well before the dissolution of 
 the monasteries. Henry Jenkins departed this 
 life!, December S, I67O, at Ellchon upon Swale 
 in Yorkshire. The battle of Flowden-tleld was 
 fought September 9, 1513, and he was 12 years 
 old, when F"lowden-field was fought. So that 
 this Henry Jenkins lived 169 years, viz. I6 years 
 longer than old Parr, and was, it is supposed, 
 the oldest man born upon the ruins of the post 
 diluvian world. 
 
 " In the last ccnturv of his life he was a fisher-
 
 HENHY JENKINS. 5 
 
 man, and osed to trade in the streams: his diet 
 was coarse and sour, and towards the hitter end 
 of his days he begg(;d up and down. He lias 
 sworn in Chancery, and other courts, to above 
 140 years meniorv, and was often at the assizes 
 at York, wiiiihcr he lienerallv went on foot; and 
 I have heard some of the country gentlemen af- 
 iirm, that he frequently swam in the rivers after 
 he was past the age of 100 years. In the king's 
 remembrancer's office in the Exchequer, is a re- 
 cord of a deposition in a cause by Enghsh bill, 
 between Anthony Clark and Smirkson, taken 
 U)()j, at Kettering in Yorksliire, where Henry 
 Jenkins, of Ellerton upon Swale, labourer aged 
 157 years, was produced and deposed as a wit- 
 ness." 
 
 About seventy vcara after his death a monu- 
 ment was erected at Bolton, by a subscription of 
 the parishioners to perpetuate the memory of 
 this remarkable man. Upon it was engraved this 
 inscription : 
 
 '' Blush not marble t© rescue from oblivion the 
 memory of Henry Jenkins, a person of obscure 
 birth, but of a life truly memorable : for he was 
 enriched with tlie goods of nature, if not of for- 
 tune, and happy in the duration, if not variety 
 of his enjoyments : and though the partial world 
 despised and disregarded his low and humble 
 state, the equal eye of Providence beheld and 
 blessed it with a patriarch's liealth and length of 
 days, to teach mistaken man these blessings are 
 entailed on iemperancc, a life of labouij and a 
 
 A3.
 
 6 MARIA ELEONOEA SCHONING. 
 
 mind at ease. He lived to the amazing age of 
 l6y. Was interred here, Dec. 16^ UJ70, and 
 hud this justice done to his memory, 1743." 
 
 .MARIA ELEOXORA SCHONING. 
 
 41 ARIA Eleonora Schoninsc was the daughter of 
 a mechanic at Nurnberg, in Germany. The Hfe 
 of her mother was sacrificed in giving birth to her 
 child. She had the misfortune to lose her father 
 at an age when females are most environed with 
 dangers, when seduction- employs all its arts ta 
 destroy their innocence 6nd peace of mind. She 
 was not more than seventeen when she buried 
 him. Ever since her thirteenth year she had 
 been the only attendant on her beloved parent, 
 whom a paralytic seizure, and the loss of the 
 nse of his limbs confined to his bed. Tiiis long 
 period of the best years of her youth Maria 
 passed beside the bed of sickness, without ever 
 beholding the face of heaven, except when she 
 went a-broad for medicines or food. She had not 
 entered a place of divine worship since the day 
 she was confirmed^ The duties of a nurse occu- 
 pied all her time. She fomented his aching 
 ]imbs, lifted the helpless old man in her yet feeble 
 arms to and from his sick-bed; and had to at- 
 tend to all the domestic concerns. Day after 
 day Maria manifested the same patience, wiI-» 
 iingness^ and indefatigable assiduity^ and watched 
 
 a
 
 MARIA ELEONORA SCIIONING. 7 
 
 during many a tedious night, in which the groans 
 oi" the sufleier called her to his bed. Her youth 
 was spent in grief; she grew up in tears, a stran- 
 ger to the pleasures of ciiildhood and the harm- 
 less sports of youth. Tlie last words pronounced 
 by her expiring father were adthessed to liis con- 
 fessor. *' My dear Maria, said he, has treated 
 me like an angel, during my whole long afflic- 
 tion : the most disa2;reeable offices never ex- 
 toried from her a look of discontent; her eye 
 never met mine, but it beamed with compassion, 
 or was suffused with tears for my sufferings. 
 God," be exclaimed '' will- reward my excellent 
 girl for her dutiful attention to me !" He said 
 and closed his lips for ever. His wish may be 
 fulfilled in eternity, in this world the confident 
 hope of the expiring parent remained unaccom- 
 plished. 
 
 Maria still sat weeping after the bier, on wdiich 
 her father, her friend, the only bond that united 
 her to the world, the object of her cares, and 
 the hope of her future joys, was carried to the 
 grave. The last doleful tolls of the bell were 
 still accompanying her lamentations, when two 
 tax-officers, entered the house, and demanded the 
 papers of the deceased, that they might ascer- 
 tain whether he had alwa3's paid a sum conform- 
 able to his oath and his property. 
 
 It should here be observed, that the taxes paid 
 by the inhabitants of Nlirnberg v/ere originally a 
 voluntary contribution, each giving according 
 to his inclination and circumstances. At the be* 
 
 A3
 
 S MARIA ELEONORA 3CHON1NG. 
 
 ginning of ihe fifteenth century a certain stan- 
 dard was fixed, and at present each citizen is an- 
 nually obliged to take an oath that the sum paid 
 by hina is duly proportionate to his propertjr. 
 At his death the tax office has a right to inspect 
 his books, and to examine whether his contri- 
 bution was always in proportion to his real pro- 
 perty. II" iliey iind the contrary, il" the deceased 
 was not scrupulously exact, even to the merest 
 trifle, all that he leaves behind is confiscated; and 
 in spite of wife or family, the city exchequer be- 
 comes his heir. After this little explanation, 
 which the reader will not think unnecessary, we 
 proceed with the narrative. 
 
 Alter the few documents had been examined 
 and compared with the registers of taxes, the 
 spies of justice declared they had found facts suf- 
 ficient to prove, that the deceased had not paid 
 a sum proportionate to his circumstances; which 
 consequently imposed on them the duty of 
 placing all thepioperty he had left behind under 
 lock and seal, and requesting the young lady to 
 retire to an empty apartment till the tax-office 
 should have decided the business. 
 
 Maria, grown up amid privations, accustomed 
 to compliance, — the easily intimidated Maria, 
 readily obeyed. She hastened to the emptiest 
 garret, leaving the officers unmolested to put 
 seals upon the doors, and to convey to the tax- 
 office all the papers the}' could find. 
 
 Night came on, when Maria, exhausted with 
 fatigue and weeping, sought a place of repose.
 
 MARIA ELEONORA SCHONING. 9 
 
 She found the door of her chamber sealed, and 
 was obliged to pass the night in the garret upon 
 the floor. A few days elapsed before the officers 
 returned, and directed Maria to leave the house, 
 adding that the commissioners had adjudged the 
 property left by the deceased to the city-exche- 
 quer, as it had been proved that her father had 
 defrauded the citv in the payment of his taxes, 
 and had not contributed in proportion to his cir- 
 cumstances. The deceased, before his ihness, 
 Avas by no means rich, but he lived in good re- 
 pute, had no debts, and was able to pay in ready 
 money for the raw materials which he wanted for 
 l)is business. Three years of indisposition liad 
 indeed consumed the greatest part of the fruits 
 of his industry ; but still a sufficiency was left, 
 not only to secure his daughter from immediate 
 want, but to maintain her, in the economical 
 manner to which §he was accustomed till she 
 should obtain some situation or other, and have 
 become better acquainted with the world. Such 
 was the idea that administered consolation to her 
 expiring father. A being whose past existence 
 had consisted of a series of sorrows and painful 
 privations, vvliose life had been an uninterrupted 
 scene of affiiction, was incapable oF pleading in 
 her own behall'. Struck dumb v»'iti;i terror and 
 astonishment, like a dove driven from the ma- 
 ternal nest, Maria found herself thrust out of 
 her father's house, and the door shut against her. 
 All her riches consisted in the clothes she had 
 on ; her pocket afforded not one solitary penny.
 
 10 MARIA ELEONORA SCHONING. 
 
 She had no rclatiens to whom she conld apply; 
 for those of her mother had never coneerned 
 themselves about her, and her father was a native 
 of Lower Siixony. She had no acquaintance, as 
 all her father's friends had deserted him at the be- 
 ginning of his illness; no companion, for who 
 would associate with a sick-nurse ? Never was 
 human being more solitary and forlorn in the 
 midst of its fellow-creatures, than was this inno- 
 cent girl, who was now a houseless wanderer in an 
 extensive cit}-, in which her exemplary conduct, 
 her filial tenderness and mild virtues, had they 
 been known, must have commanded the admira- 
 tion and esteem of every generous mind. 
 
 Night drew on apace, and Maria knew not 
 where to find a shelter. With tottering step she 
 went to St. James's church-yard, where reposed 
 the ashes of her father ; she threw herself upon 
 the bare hillock that covered them ; she resigned 
 herself a prey to grief; and had it been possible 
 for despair and distress to have burst ^he bonds 
 which attached her to life, Maria would that 
 nisht have been released from all her misery. 
 
 The morning dawned over the city; the streets 
 began to be thronged ; the bell rung for morn- 
 ing piaj'er, and the grating of the church-doors, 
 rouzcd the disconsolate maiden from death-like 
 stupor. The bashful unfortunate hastened from 
 the grave; she concluded tliat men who had 
 driven her from her home, and from every thing 
 that had belonged to her father, would certainly 
 not suffer her to linger on the turf that covered
 
 MARIA ELEONORA SCHONTNC. 11 
 
 his relics. She left the cliii rob -yard, paced slowly 
 through the city gate, and threw herself under a 
 hedge, to spend the coming day, as she had done 
 the preceding night, in tears. 
 
 Slowly crept the hours of this dismal day for the 
 wretched Maria. Night approached, and hunger 
 drove back the sufferer into a place which had 
 robbed her of every thing but her wretchedness, 
 where she had nothing left but a life that she 
 would most joyfully have resigned. She had not 
 the courage to beg, and to the idea of stealing 
 her innocent soul was a stranger. The last gliai- 
 mer of evening found her again at the grave of 
 her father. 
 
 The church-yards of most of the German ci- 
 ties are equally pernicious to jnorals and to 
 health. They have lost the venerable character 
 by which they were formerly distinguislied; their 
 loneliness and solitude render them the undis- 
 turbed haunts of vice and beastly depravity. It 
 was close beside the grave of her father that Ma- 
 ria fell a prey to a roving debauchee. The bru- 
 tal monster took advantage of her situation, and 
 the purest innocence lost that jewel which the 
 emaciated Maria, half-dead with hunger, watch- 
 ing and grief, had neither the strength nor the 
 spirit to defend. Fate seemed to be in league 
 with her ravisher, and to have paralysed with 
 malignant officionsness the faculties both of her 
 body and mind, while he perpetrated the crime. 
 
 It was one of those nights of autumn in which
 
 12 MATIIA ELEONORA SCHONING, 
 
 the villain had no occasion to exclaim with Lady 
 Macbeth, 
 
 Come thick night 
 An J pall thee in the dunncst smoke of hell, 
 That m V keen knife see not the wound it makes. 
 Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the daik 
 To cTj — Hold, hold I 
 
 An awful silence pervaded the church -yard; 
 all the creauires of day had retired to rest; Ma- 
 ture seemed wrapped in the sleep of death. No- 
 thing was heard amid this grave-rlike stillness, 
 save the flight of a solitary bat, the hooting of 
 the screech-owl, or the rattling of " chapless" 
 skulls in the neighboring charnel-house. 
 
 Maria sat upon the grave of her father; the con- 
 sciousness of her degradation, a sentiment which 
 it was impossible to suppress, had stupefied all 
 her senses. Her fadter, knowing what snares are 
 laid in this deceitful world for female vrrtue, bad 
 often warned his daughter to beware of them, and • 
 had made her acquainted with the trials to which 
 her innocence woidd be exposed. She was, 
 therefore, fully sensible of her loss. Amid the 
 impenetrable gloom in which she was enveloped, 
 the times past appeared in lively colors before her 
 eyes, unsusceptible of any external impression. 
 She beheld her sick, her emaciated parent, with 
 uplifted hands, conjuring her to preserve her in- 
 nocence, if she would not destroy his repose, of 
 Avhich he had enjoyed so small a portion in this
 
 MARIA ELRONORA SCHONING. 13 
 
 world, even beyoiid tlic grave. She imagined 
 t|iat she lieard his dying voice, ascending fVoin 
 his tomb, and pronouncing tiiese words : '^ Be- 
 gone, wretch; leave a place where thou hast de- 
 voted thvself to infbniv; thv innocence was sa- 
 crificed on the grave of thy t'atli(;r." 
 
 This imaginary denunciation ot her departed 
 father, togetlier with the dreadful darkness of the 
 niglit, aiU-1 its spectre-like attendants, terrHied to 
 the highest degree, the already dismayed JNIaria. 
 She tied as tiiough infernal spiriit? were driving 
 her from the church-yard. She had not pro- 
 ceeded fur, when she was stopped by tlie watch- 
 men, to whom she was a welcome prize, as they 
 receive a piece of money, of about the value of a 
 shilling, for every girl they find abroad after ten 
 o'clock. It was midnight, and Maria was con- 
 veyed to the nearest watch-liouse. 
 
 Being carried the next day before the magis- 
 trate, a haughty and imperic-us man, he up- 
 braided her in the harshest terms as a public 
 prostitute. This unjust reproach had such an 
 effect on the innocent creature, who, notwith- 
 standing the last guilty night, had no reason to 
 blush for any criminal propensity of her heart or 
 will, as though she were seized by the icy hand of 
 death. She swooned, and it was not without 
 great difficulty that the officers of the police re- 
 storoJ her to her senses. The maorjstrate havino- 
 farther reprimanded her, dismissed her with the 
 
 threat that the next time she should be brouf>ht 
 
 o 
 
 VOL.2. — NO. 11. B
 
 14 MARIA ELEONORA SCHONING. 
 
 before him, he would send her with a smart lec- 
 ture into the house of correction. 
 
 Maria's heart torn by this cruel treatment, and 
 by her own recollections, now formed a resolution 
 which could not have arisen in her gentle mind, 
 had it not been engendered by the contempt she 
 felt for herself. The events of the past night; 
 the harsh behavior of the magistrate ; the dis- 
 graceful appellation which he applied to her, and 
 which she thouglit she merited ; her forlorn con- 
 dition — all these contributed to inspire the reso- 
 hition of drowning herself. With this design 
 she hastened out of the town towards the river 
 Pegnitz. 
 
 As she passed through the sub'irb of Wordt, 
 she met a soldier's wife, who, in her father's life- 
 time, had assisted her in various domestic occu- 
 pations that were too heavy for her strength. 
 She was startled by the appearance of the girl, 
 whom she addressed in a friendly tone, enquiring 
 how sht did, and what brought her so far from 
 home. To a being driven about as she had been 
 by the blasts of misfortune, the tone of tender- 
 ness was a cordiaL These were the first words, 
 sweetened with humanity that anj' human crea- 
 ture had s[)oken to her, since those of her ex- 
 piring father.. Her dormant sensibilities were 
 awakened. With impassioned fervor she threw 
 her arms around ilie woman, mIiosc looks and 
 words were so expressive of sympathy and aftec- 
 tion. With diflicuky she gave her an account,
 
 MARIA ELEONORA SCHONINC I.> 
 
 interriipto'l by sobs and tears, of her misfortunes, 
 Jier suiferings, and her resolution, 'I lie good 
 woman wept with her, pressed the wretehcd or- 
 phan to her heart, and inlreated lier in the trn- 
 derest manner, to reHnquish her niehinelioly in- 
 tention, as by taking away her own life, she 
 would deprive herself of ail hope of eternal feli- 
 city. 
 
 Maria was ]>liab]e, timid, and open to religi- 
 ous impressions ; ix required not mueh persuasi- 
 on to induce her to abstain from an action at 
 which her heart trembled, and wliich her religi- 
 on condemned. She accompanied her guardian 
 angel, whose name was H'lvi'Un, to lier habitation^ 
 at no great distance. 
 
 This honest woman was, likewise, oneof ihose 
 whose whole existence is a continued series of 
 affliction and distress ; for whom the world has 
 no other balm than sleep, no other physician 
 than death. She was married to one of the cit}'- 
 soldiers, who liad been long ill and confined to 
 liis bed. Two 3'oun^- children constituted all her 
 riches; she maintained herself and family by 
 washing, and a difficult task '.he found it to pro- 
 vide bread for four persons. She had several 
 times, by want of work, and the cries of the 
 hungry children been driven to the brink of des- 
 pair, and had been on the point of putting one 
 of her children to death, that she raigiit herself 
 be relieved from the burden of life. This she 
 thoucrht would be a remedy for all their wants: 
 the remaiuing child would be placed ia tlie or- 
 is a
 
 ]6 WAEIA ELEONORA SCIIONING. 
 
 phan house and her hosband in the hospital, 
 -while her execution would reconcile her with 
 God, and she should be happy with her mur- 
 dered infant. These tra2;ical ideas she Sommn- 
 nieaied to Maria, on whose mind they made a 
 deep inipressioii. In a subsecfucnt conversation 
 on the same subject, she declared herself incapa- 
 ble of conceiving how it was possible to take away 
 the life of any human creature, and in ^jarticu- 
 Jar, of an innocent child. " And for that very 
 reason, because it is innocent, I would send it 
 before me out of the world, in which no plea- 
 sures await it. Do you suppose I would chuse to 
 suffer for the sake of a bad child r On that ac- 
 count, too, I would take Nanny with me, be- 
 cause she was always so dutiful and so good ; 
 but as for Frank, he has already learned some 
 tricks, and is fitter for the world" This answer 
 frightened the tender Maria, who hugged the 
 children closely in her arms, as though siie 
 would protect them from their mother. 
 
 The woman, whose poverty was equalled only 
 by her hospitality, kept the forlorn orphan ia 
 her house. She redoubled her efforts to procure 
 work, in which JNlaria was her faithful assistant. 
 Thus these hapless mortals passed the summer ; 
 -they were never in absolute want of the most 
 necessary articles of subsistence, though their 
 supply was indeed but scanty. 
 
 Winter arrived, and brought with it a season of 
 dreadful afHiction for this wretched family. HUr- 
 Vm herself fell ill : grief and hard labour had ex-
 
 M A 11 1 A E L li O N O R A S C II O N 1 N G . 1 7 
 
 haustcd her strength^ and symptoms of a con- 
 sinn[)tion began to appear. AJ aria strained every 
 nc-rvc to support her friend and her family; but 
 this far exceeded her abilitv. Siic neither ])os- 
 sessed the boldness, nor the persuasive facuhies 
 that are requisite for the procuring of emplo}'- 
 nicnt ; and hence, with ttie best inclination in 
 the world to work, she was often obliged to 
 kee[) holiday. Every article of the least value 
 was sold or pawned and the house was stripped 
 as bare by the iron hand of necessity, as were 
 the adjacent garc^ens and the neighbouring wood 
 by the rigors of winter. 
 
 Spring was not far distant when llvirlin beg;\n 
 to ainend. She wanted nothing but strengtli ; she 
 could not hold herself upright. The physician had 
 directed her to take nourishing food, and a little 
 wine daily, assuring her that if she adhered to this 
 diet, her health would soon be restored. Maria was 
 present when the physician gave her this consola- 
 tory intelligence ; she rejoiced ibr the first time 
 in her life ; it was the first and the last pleasing 
 illusion that her soul ever cherished. Her 
 thoughts were wholly occupied in devising 
 liowto procure her friend the prescribed refresh- 
 ments; but In vain did she rack her invention, 
 no method, no opportunity of eifceting this ob- 
 ject coidd she discover. 
 
 HUrlin graduallygrew weaker, andat the same 
 time mere silent and pensive. A\^hen Maria ob- 
 served her thus lost in thought, she coiiceived 
 thut licr despuiring friend was brooding over the 
 
 J3 3
 
 IS MARIA ELLONOUA SCHONING. 
 
 plan of inurclering her child, in order to put an 
 end to her own life. This apprehension gave in- 
 expressible pain to the excellent girl; and so 
 much the more as the little creatures cluno; about 
 her with the most childlike attacliment, and the 
 lender Maria felt a love and alFection for them 
 as strong as though she had herself been their 
 liiotlier. 
 
 Under these cruel circumstances, arrived the 
 day pregnant with her fate. On that 'day none 
 of the miserable family had a morsel to cat. 
 Kiix'it came on and their teeth chattered with 
 the cold. The children cried for bread. Maria sat 
 beside the straw bed of her friend ; who uttered 
 liot a syllable, no, not even a sigh. The sor- 
 rowful Maria grasped her hand ; it was shrunk, 
 cold and lifeless. Slie stroked her cheek, adown 
 which trickled big, heavy tears. She asked, 
 whether she was in much paiu, but obtained no 
 answer. Maria's heart was ready to burst ; she 
 was on the brink of despair. A courage not her 
 own animated her soul. In this state, so contrary 
 to her nature, she conceived the idea of saving 
 her friend at the expence of her own j}erson. 
 She hastened, as if impelled by a superaatural 
 power, to put it into execution. 
 
 She recollected that the i-avisher of her inno- 
 cence had been desirous of expiating his offence 
 by the ofur of money. Maria formed the pain- 
 ful resolution of seeking to earn something in 
 ■ the same way, and of relieving her friend ^vifh 
 the produce of her guilt. Jt was uow dark ; she
 
 MARIA LLEONORA SrilONING. 19 
 
 went into the city^ but durst not venture to ap- 
 proach the churcli-yarcl in wliicli lior father was 
 interred. She repaired to other lonely situations, 
 but not a creature did she meet with. The wea- 
 ther was unfavonrable; the snow fell fast, and a 
 tempestuous wind howled through the streets. 
 No night could have been more perfectly ada];t- 
 td to cool the passions of the debauchee. Poor 
 Maria, how cruelly wast thou treated by froward 
 fate! In pious simplicity thou kneltst at the 
 grave of tliy father, virtuous and pure, and thy 
 innocence became the prey of a brutal ravisher. 
 Thou sinnedst without inclination, without en- 
 joyment, without resistance. Sorrow, hunger, 
 and want had deprived thee of energy, and thy 
 nerves of the power both of acquiescence and of 
 resistance. Nature and man were leagued to af- 
 fect the dishonor of the pure, of the spotless 
 jVlaria. — Now, when the unfortunate creature, 
 who thoroughly despised herself, was excited to 
 a repetition of the guilty deed by the virtuous 
 motive of saving four of her fellow creatures 
 from starving, she could find no opportunity of 
 committing this magnanimous crime. Sho con- 
 tinued to wander througii the streets. The tempest 
 Ikowled with increased fury; the snow was now 
 of considerable depth ; breathless and fatigued 
 she sought shelter beneath a shed. Into a corner 
 of this building a watchman had crept for refuge 
 from the rigors of the night. To him she was a 
 welcome guest, and in a trice she found herself 
 in the watch-house.
 
 CO MATtIA ELEONORA SCHONING. 
 
 The next inorniiisr she was carried before the 
 same hard-hearted mao;istrate as had treated her 
 so roughly on a former occasion. He sent her with- 
 out any father ceremony to tlie bouse of correc- 
 tion, orderin"" at the same time that she should 
 receive the usual welcome. On her arrival, she 
 was directed to wait in the front court-yard. 
 The master of the house appeared, tied her to a 
 post, and prepared to inflict on her tlie severe 
 discipline of the wliip. She begged, she intreated, 
 she screamed, slie made all the opposition in her 
 power — but in vain. Seeing no chance of escap- 
 ing the disgraceful punishment she exclaimed in 
 a lit of despair : ^Stop! I deserve a very diffe- 
 rent punishment; I have murdered an infant 
 child." " That, to be sure, is a different affair ;" 
 said llie man, unbinding her. He immediately 
 sent an account of tlie circumstance to the city- 
 judge. j\n ofliccr presently appeared, examined 
 the girl concerning the crime of which she ac- 
 cused herself, and as she persisted in her first 
 declaration, she was conveyed as a murderer to 
 prison. 
 
 In a few days she was brought up for a 
 closer examination. It was represented to her 
 tljat she could not have committed the crime 
 alone, and v/ithout accomplices, as she could not 
 have gone out immediately after her delivery to 
 dispose of the child. She then acknowledged 
 that Hiirlin was privy to the whole affair, that 
 she had assisted her at the birth, and had buried 
 the child in the wood. From the begimiing of
 
 MAniA ELEONORA SCIIONING. 21 
 
 ker confinement, Maria had cherished the idea of 
 involvino; her friend in her fate. She wished to 
 help her out of the world, and to spare her the 
 necessity of perpetrating the crime of murder; 
 and the preseyt opportunity ajipeared too fa 
 vorable to be neglected. Full of this thought 
 she heartily rejoiced at the service which she 
 should thus render to her friend. 
 
 Harlin was at this time too ill to he removed 
 to the prison : an oill^icer was tb.erefore placed 
 over her in her own house. AVhen she was 
 so far recovered as to be able to go abroad she 
 w-as confronted with ISIaria; who repeated her 
 former declaration in her presence. " For (Jod's 
 sake Maria, how have I deserved thi^ treat- 
 ment?" was all the reply that the astonished wo- 
 man was ablp to make. She denied the whole, 
 and to every question of the judge, she returned 
 no other answer than — " I know nothing of the 
 matter." The two prisoners were repeatedly ex- 
 amined in the presence of each other; the same 
 scone was invariably exhibited, Muria persisting 
 stediastly in her declaration, and liUrlin in her 
 denial of the fact. 
 
 At the fifth examination, Harlin was threaten- 
 ed with the torture; the instruments were 
 brought, and arranged by the executioner; and 
 she was warned for the last time either to con- 
 fess at once, or to [irepare for inevitable torture. 
 Tliis menace terrified poor Maria in the highest 
 dcGjree: a convulsive as^onv shook her wliole 
 frame. IShe was desirous of releasing her friend
 
 22 MARIA ELEONORA SCIIONING. 
 
 from a life of iniserv, not to draw down upon 
 her unavailing torment. She hoped to be licr 
 benefactress ; she now lool<ed upon herself as her 
 £xecutioner. She stepped hastily towards lier, 
 and presssing her bounden hands between her 
 own: " Hannah! dear Hannah!" she exclaimed, 
 " All will be provided for, and Nanny too will 
 be put into the orphan-house!" 
 
 Maria's motive instantly flashed like lightning 
 npon the mind of HUrlin. She now saw with grate- 
 ful emotion, the benevolent design of her friend, 
 Avhicli, without the perpetration of guilt, vvould 
 remove them into eternity. With cheerfulness 
 and courage she now addressed herself to the 
 judge. Ghe acknowledged herself to blame in 
 having so long denied the charge, and confessed 
 that Maria's declaration was perfectly consist- 
 ent with truth. As the prisoners adhered with- 
 out variation to this confession, an early day 
 was appointed for their trial, and they 'vere both 
 sentenced to be beheaded. 
 
 The day before the execution the two delin- 
 quents were allowed an interview, which gave 
 occasion to an exceedingly afi'ecting scene. 
 The approaching catastrophe had changed the 
 sentiments of Maria with respect to her friend. 
 She now thought it cruel and inhuman in herself 
 to devote her generous benefactress to death. 
 She was on the point of disclosing the whole 
 truth, but was restrained by the desire of death, 
 by the invincible solicitude to quit the world.
 
 MARIA ELEONORA SCIIONING. 23 
 
 When she saw HUiliii advancing towards her 
 with a serene and cheerful countenance, she ut- 
 tered a loud scream of anguish, and gave free 
 scope to her sensations. Siie threw herself into 
 the arms of her friend, and amid sobs and sighs 
 incessantly implored her forgiveness. Her tears 
 flowed without ceasing. Harlin pressed the 
 afflicted girl with the most fervent affection to 
 her heart; like a tender motlier she dried the 
 tears from her cheeks; assured her in the most 
 friendly manner, that she had nothing to forgive 
 her, but, that on the contrary, she was her only, 
 her greatest benefactress, as she had spared hei: 
 the commission of a grievous sin, and reletised 
 her from a world of misery. Dreadful was the 
 conflict of opposing sensations in the bosom of 
 the wretched Maria. The soothing expressions 
 of her tender, magnanimous companion; her 
 solemn protestations that she would undertake to 
 answer for them both before the judgment-seat 
 of God, were incapable of alleviating the anguish 
 she endured. There was no end to her tears and 
 lamentaiions, and sh« wrung her hands like one 
 reduced to despair. 
 
 The presence of the clergyman, and the pre- 
 parations for the sacrament at length restored ta 
 her soul a degree of composure. " Come, Ma- 
 ria," said Hiirlin, " let i.s partake of this holy 
 sacrament with cheerful reliance on God, and on 
 the enjoyment of eternal hapjjiness." These 
 consolatory words, pronounced by the lips of af- 
 fection, and accompanied with looks of tender- 
 
 3
 
 24 MARIA ELEONOR4 SCHONING. 
 
 nesH, recalled peace for a few minutes to her 
 troubled soul. Tliey communicated together, 
 and parted in melancholy silence. The excellent 
 woman once more pressed the desponding girl 
 to her bosom, and said, " Be of good (;;heer, 
 INiaria; to nioirow we shall be yonder above, 
 and all our aftliciions will remain here below." 
 Slie then hastened from her; on reaching her 
 cell, she heaved a deep sigh, and exclainied, w ith 
 emphasis: " God be thanked that this is past; 
 the anticipation ol" this scene alone embittered 
 my confinement, otherwise the sweetest and 
 most agreeabk- portion of my life !" She then 
 thanked ihc gaoler for the indulgence with which 
 he had treated her, took an affecting leave of lier 
 family, and her whole behavior displayed a hea- 
 vejdy serenity, as though they had already be- 
 longed to the beings of a better world. 
 
 On the dav of execution she conducted licr- 
 self with the same cheerfulness and equanimity. 
 She heard the bell ring, and proceeded to the 
 scaffold with an ease, fortitude, and intrepidit}', 
 equally remote from timid dejection, and auda- 
 cious boldness. A sacred serenity that touched 
 everv spectator appeared in her whole behavior. 
 Slie seemed to unite the simphcity of innocence, 
 with the dignitj' of an exajted mind. Very dif- 
 ferent was the state of the wretched Maria, The 
 desponding girl, who still accused herself of being 
 the murderer of her friend, sulfered inexpressible 
 anguish, and nothing but the hope that she 
 should still be able to save her iauocent compa-
 
 .VARIA ELEONOUA SCHONING. 25 
 
 nion by a frank confession of the truth, preserved 
 her from total stupefaction and insensibility to 
 all that was passing around her. She walked 
 not, but was dragged more dead than alive to 
 the place of execution. HUrlin went first; fre- 
 quently did she look back with love and compas- 
 sion at her Maria. When their eyes met, she 
 would turn hers joyfully towards heaven, as 
 though she would have cheered her friend with 
 the idea: *' We shall soon be yonder." 
 
 They now stood at the foot of the scaffold. 
 HUrlin was to be executed first. She once more 
 took leave of the half-dead and trembling Maria, 
 '' Dear Maria," said she tenderly at parting, " in 
 a few moments we shall be together in heaven !" 
 She then ascended the steps. Maria's eyes fol- 
 lowed her. She beheld her friend surrounded 
 by the assistants of the executioner, busily em- 
 ployed in binding up her hair, and uncovering 
 her neck. This spectacle operated with the 
 greatest violence on the girl ; she saw her friend 
 in the hands of the executioner, and she alone 
 was the cause of her death, she alone was her 
 murderer. It seeiiicd as though this sight and 
 this idea, transfused new life into her almost in- 
 animate frame, and supplied every nerve with 
 new energy. With a loud and piercing voice, 
 she cried, " Stop, for God's sake, stop ! she is 
 innocent!" She then threw herself at the feet 
 of tl^ sheriff and the clergyman, imploring 
 them to save HUrlin, who was perfectly innocent : 
 VOL. 2.-rNO. 2. c
 
 26 MARIA ELEONORA SCHONING. 
 
 adding:, *l^<it she had herself invented the whole 
 story from disgust of life ; that she had never 
 borne, much less destroyed a child; she was 
 ready to die; but she begged for heaven's sake 
 that they would not load her with the crime of 
 murdering her friend by her false evidence, and 
 that the sentence might be executed on her alone 
 for having forged such a charge. The sheriff 
 asked Hiarlinif Maria's declaration were true, or 
 if she adhered to her confession. She answered 
 sorrowfully and with evident reluctance: " Most 
 certainly what she says is true; I acknowledged 
 myself guilty, because I wished to die ; and it 
 may, therefore, easily be supposed that now, 
 when I am so near the object of my desire, this 
 deckration of my innocence proceeds not from 
 the motive of preserving my life. My only ob- 
 ject is to confirm the truth as disclosed by Maria, 
 and to relieve her from the distress she feels for 
 having accused me though innocent." 
 
 This explanation, together with the persua- 
 sions of the clergymen, and the murmur of com- 
 passion that proceeded from the people, induced 
 the sheriff to send the town-adjutaiit, with a re- 
 port of the circumstances to the town- house, to 
 demand a reprieve of the members of the senate, 
 assemhled there. It should be obsevved that at 
 iSuiemberg, it is customary for the three oldest 
 senators to remain together at the town-house, 
 till an exec;ulion is over, that in case of an ex- 
 traordinary exigency, tliey may give the neces-
 
 MARIA BLEONORA SCHONINc. 27 
 
 s.iry directions how to proceed, in the name of 
 the whole senate. 
 
 During the interval that elapsed till the return 
 of the messenger, one of the clergymen thought 
 fit to reprimand Harlin severely on account of 
 the first statement she had given. " I confess 
 the truth/' replied she^ " not with a view to save 
 my life. The murder was feigned hy Maria, for 
 the purpose of helping herself and me out of the 
 world, of which we were both tired and dis- 
 gusted. At first conscious of my innocence, 
 and ignorant of the good intentions of my 
 friend, I denied the murder. But of what avail 
 was this.'' My protestations were branded as lies 
 and shameless impudence. I was threatened 
 with the torture, and my hands were already 
 bound so tight, thatmy wrists still be^irthe marks 
 of the cords. One of the gentlemen present 
 threatened that I slionld be stretched till day- 
 light might be seen through me, and then he 
 imagined, I should be ready enough to confess 
 niv cuilt. I had no inclination to await the ful- 
 filment of this threat, and chose rather to ac- 
 knowledge myself guilty immediately; and this I 
 did the more cheerfully, as I was by this time ap- 
 prised of the kind intention of my Maria." 
 
 Still the clergyman was so hard-hearted and 
 unreasonable as to persecute her with farther re- 
 proaehes, to which the magnanimous woman 
 deigned not to reply. The only words she ut- 
 tered besides, duiing this melancholy pause v/ere 
 
 c »
 
 £S MARIA ELEONORA SCHON'ING. 
 
 juklressed to the unliappy partner of her fate. 
 " O Maria, ?\lariri, said she, a few moments pati- 
 ence longer, anJ all had been well ; it had all 
 been over by tliis time, and we happy !" The 
 wretched girl lay senseless on the steps of the 
 scaffold. The last violent exertion hafl ex- 
 hausted her strength ; she was in the agonies of 
 death. 
 
 The messenger returned. The answer directed 
 the sheriff to proceed with the executiou. Thi* 
 intelligence restored Harlin to her former sere- 
 nitv. Her head was struck off amidst the la- 
 jnentations of the people. The executioner was 
 incapable of dispatching more than one inno- 
 cent person at a time. He felt unwell; his at- 
 teadants were obliged to perform his office upon 
 Maria. She had before expired; Death had 
 employed his powerful scythe to cut down a 
 flower which was already withered. Such was 
 the end of two mortals, whose lives were not 
 worth the enjoyment, and who appear to have 
 been created merely for the purpose of dying a 
 violent death. 
 
 JOHN RICHARDSON PIMROSE BOBET. 
 
 This negro, who can scarcely be distinguished 
 from any other black when dressed and with lii? 
 hat on, may justly be considered as a very re- 
 markable phenomenon of nature. Part of hi*
 
 JOHN RICHARDSON PIMROSE BOBEY. <29 
 
 forehead is white ; the hair and skin from thence , 
 to the back part of his head are as white as the 
 finest wool, and shine like silver, while the rest 
 of his head and hair is black as jet. On other 
 ])arts of his body, on his breast, arms, and legs, 
 the black is likewise intermixed with while spots, 
 equal in delicacy to the color of any European. 
 
 This extraordinary man was born at Gutinga- 
 boo, in the parish' of St. John, near Kingston, 
 Jamaica, July. 5, 1774, of black parents, who 
 were slaves in the Rev. Mr. Pilkington's planra- 
 tions. His mother, who had four children, be- 
 sides, was so alarmed when she discovered this 
 her youngest was spotted-skinned, that she 
 could not be prevailed upon to give him the 
 breast. Such an astonishing child soon excited 
 the attention of his master, and other gentlemen 
 in the plantations, but particularly of Mr. Blun- 
 dell, an eminent merchart of Liverpool, who hap- 
 pened to be in Jamiiica, when he was only a few 
 months old, and declared him to be the greatest 
 curiosity in nature he ever saw. As soon as be 
 had completed his second year he was, (at the 
 suggestion of Mr. Graham of Kingston and 
 others) exhibited as a public show and a likeness 
 of him was painted and sent to England. It was 
 afterwards deposited in St. Andrew's college at 
 Glasgow as a singular hisus natuiic. 
 
 On tlie death of the Rev. Mr. Pilkington, the 
 plantations and slaves, including poor Bobey, his 
 father and mother, were sold to Artimr Macken- 
 zicj Esq. the present proprietor, and with whom 
 
 c 3
 
 50 JOHN RICHARDSON PIMROSE BOEEY. 
 
 his relations still remain. His former master 
 having had several children, who -were sent to 
 England for their education, left to one of his 
 sons (Henry Pilkington, who now resides at Bir- 
 mingham) considerable property, together with 
 this spotted negro, whom he was to take care of 
 and keep as his servant; but tiie young man ne- 
 ver possessed cither the property or servant, 
 through the treachery of those to whom the trust 
 was committed. 
 
 Daniel Dale, Esq. uncle to i^Ir. Pilklngton, is 
 at present in the possession of many plantations 
 in Jamaica, and likewise became the master of 
 Bobey, who, at the age of IQ years Was sent 
 hy him to England, and was christened at St. 
 John's church, Liverpool, by the Rev. Mr. Hud- 
 son; the addition of Richardson was made to 
 his name in honor of a gentleman, a very re- 
 putable merchant at Liverpool, who was very 
 partial to him. He was then sent to London, 
 where he arrived on the memorable day when 
 l»is Majesty attended by the most distinguished 
 of his subjects went in procession to St. Paul's 
 cathedral to return thanks on his recovery in 
 1789. He was first exhibited in the Haymarket 
 at '2s. 6d. each for about two months. Soon af- 
 ter his arrival in England, he was sent by Sir W. 
 Bogle, of Bloomsbury-square, for the inspection 
 of the university of Oxford. The gentlemen of 
 science there, particularly Dr. Thompson, con- 
 eluded that the extraordinary spots on his skin, 
 being so beautifully variegated all over his body.
 
 JOHN RICHARDSON FIMROSE BOBEY. 31 
 
 could not have originated from a fright of the 
 mother, as in such case they would have been 
 confined to one particular part: nor could ihey 
 in any degree account for so singular a work of 
 nature. 
 
 Mr. Clarke, the then proprietor of the wild 
 beasts, &c. at Exeter Change, visiting this curio- 
 sity at the Haymarket, purchased him as an ap- 
 prentice, by indentures, of Mr. Dale for 100 
 guineas, and he was in consequence exhibited at 
 Exeter Change. '^I'he principal nobility of the 
 kingdom now visited the Spotted ISegro, who 
 was also presented for inspection at Buckingham- 
 House to their Majesties by Mr. Tenant, of Pen- 
 tonville. Prince William of Gloucester fre- 
 quently came to see him at Exeter Change, and 
 Bobey being then placed near an Arabian savage, 
 which was particularly attaclied to him, the Duke 
 would frequently pretend to beat Bobey, while 
 the consequent rage of the savage aiforded much 
 mirth to the company. 
 
 In process of time Mr. Clarke sold his Mena- 
 gerie by auction, and Bobey on this occasion as- 
 sisted to bring forward the lots of monkeys, and 
 other animals. As soon as they were disposed 
 of, it came to poor Bobey 's turn to be oifered for 
 sale, but having during his short stay in England 
 acquired some notions of our free constitution — • 
 having already felt the blessings of liberty, and 
 being convinced that mankind cannot be sold 
 here like brutes, as in his native country, with 
 honourable indignation he refused to come for-
 
 52 JOHN RICHARDSON PITMROSE BOBEY. 
 
 ward, and, declared he would not be solcj like 
 the irtonkeys. Mr. Pidcock, the purchaser of 
 the wild beasts, however, bought the remainder 
 of his time by indenture, of Mr. Clarke for 
 50 guineas. 
 
 Bobey, having enlarged the circle of his ac- 
 quaintance, and learning from his friends that 
 DO apprentice in this country could be transfer- 
 red without his own consent, agreeably to their 
 advice, still refused his concurrence to the sale, but 
 continued in the service of Mr. Clarke for some 
 months after the auction. Not co.ntented, how- 
 ever, with Mr. Clarke's situation, he engaged 
 himself with Mr. Pidcock at Exeter Change at a 
 more liberal salary than what he had hitherto 
 enjoyed. He left Pidcock after about four 
 months service, and became the husband of .in 
 English lady, whose brother is principal painter 
 to the Circus. For some time they visited the 
 fairs in company with the exhibitors of wild 
 beasts and from the great encouragement they 
 received, they now resolved to set up in business 
 for themselves. By a proper application of 
 their savings, they soon made up a good collec- 
 tion of monkeys, birds, beasts, &c, and' net- 
 withstanding the expence of travelling, and the 
 mainteiuuice of five horses and men, such are 
 the excrtiyns and industry of this couple, and 
 the satisfaction they give at all the principal 
 fairs, diat there is little doubt but in a short time 
 they Will accumuiaiea decent fortune. 
 
 During their CAhibilions Bobey has been fre-
 
 ANIJE GRJiEW. S3 
 
 ^iiently examined and nibbed by some ignorant 
 people, who have imagined iliut l)is skin was 
 painted ; but they have been soon satisfied that 
 tlierc was no deception. lie is about a feet 8 
 inches high, well proportioned, his iWatures re- 
 gular, and, {or one of" the African race, may be 
 considered handsome. He has a remarkable 
 manner of imitating singing birds, particularly the 
 sky-lark, thriisii, blackbird, nightingale, and 
 various others ; also the young j)ig, puppy, and 
 other animals. He has been for some years a 
 member of the first masonic societies in this 
 kingdom, both of the ancient and modern or- 
 ders. He very willingly submits, when required, 
 to be examined by the curious, with respect to 
 the reality of his spots. In conversation he is affa- 
 ble, and in his dealings so very correct, thut we 
 may venture to say there are many white charac- 
 ters who would be found more black and fuller of 
 hltniiihcs than this Spotted INegro. 
 
 ANNE GREEN. 
 
 TflE extraordinary history of this woman, is re- 
 lated by Dr. Plot in his natural history of Ox- 
 fordshire. " In the year Ib'jO, says that writer 
 Anne Green, being a servant-maid of Sir Tho- 
 mas Read of Dims Tew, in Oxfordshire, was 
 with child by some servant or other of the fa- 
 mily (as she constantly affirmed when she had 
 little reason to lie,) and, through over-working 
 herself in turning of malt, fell in travail about
 
 S4 ANNE GREKN. 
 
 the fourth month of her time: but being young, 
 and not knowing what the matter might be, she 
 repaired to the privy, where the child (searcel}' 
 above a span long, of what sex could not be dis- 
 tinguished,) fell from her unawares. Presently 
 after, there appearing signs of some such matter, 
 and she having before confessed that she had 
 been guilty of zchat might occasion her being with 
 child, a search instantly was made, and the infant 
 found. 
 
 " Whereupon, within three days after her deli- 
 very, she was conveyed to the castle at Oxford, 
 vhere forthwith (an assize being purchased on 
 purpose) she was arraigned before Serjeant Uinp- 
 ton Croke, then living at Marston, who sat as 
 judge by a commission of oyer and terminer, and 
 by him sentenced to be hanged; which was ac- 
 cordingly executed on the 14th of December, in 
 the castle yard, where she hung about half an 
 hour, being pulled by the legs, and struck on the 
 breast (as she lierself desired) by divers of her 
 friends ; and, aftei* all, had several strokes given 
 ber upon the stomach with the but-end of a sol- 
 dier's musket. Being cut down, she was put in- 
 to a coffin, and brought awav to a house to he 
 dissected ; where, when they opened it, notwith- 
 standing the rope still remained unloosed, and 
 straight about her neck, they perceived her 
 breast to rise; whereupon one Mason, a tailor, 
 intending only an act of charity, set his foot up- 
 on her breast and belly; and, as some say, one 
 Onnn, a soldier, struck her again with the but- 
 end of liis musket.
 
 ANNE GREEN. 35 
 
 Notwithstanding all which, when the learned 
 and ingenious Sir William Petty, then anatomy 
 professor of the University, Dr. Wallis, and Dr. 
 Clarke, then president of Magdalen College, and 
 Viee-chancellor of the University, came to pre- 
 pare the hody for dissection, they perceived some 
 small rattling in her throat; hereupon desisting 
 from their former purpose, they presently used 
 means foi" her recovery by opening a vein, laying 
 her in a warm bed, and causing anottier to go into 
 bed to lier; also using divers reiutdics res|>ccting 
 her senselessness, head, throat, and breast inso- 
 much, that within fourteen hours s'le began to 
 speak, and the next day talked and prayed very 
 heartily. 
 
 " Durinc: the time of this her recoverins:, the 
 officers concerned in her execution would needs 
 have had her away again to have completed it on 
 her: but by the mediation of the worthy Doctors, 
 and some other friends witk the then governor uf 
 the city. Colonel Kelsey, there was a guard set 
 upon lier to hinder all further disturbance till he 
 had sued out her pardon from the powers then in 
 being; thousands of people in the mean time 
 coming to see her, and magnifying the just pro- 
 vidence of God in thus asserting her inuocency 
 of murder. 
 
 " After some time, Dr. Petty hearing slie had 
 discoursed with those about her, and suspecting 
 that the women might suggest utito her to relate 
 something of strange visions and apparitions she 
 had seen during the time she seemed to be dead
 
 36 ANNE GREEN. 
 
 (which they ah-eady had hegun to (]o, telling 
 about that she said, she had been in a fine green 
 meadow having a river running round it, and that 
 all things there glittered like silver and gold) he 
 caused all to depart the room but the gentlemen 
 of the faculty who were to have been at the dis- 
 section, and asked her concerning her sense and 
 apprehensions during the time she was hanged. 
 
 '' To which she answered at first somewhat 
 impertinently, taking as if she had been then to 
 suffer. And when they spake unto her concern- 
 ing her miraculous deliverance, she answered that 
 she hoped God would give her patience, and 
 the like: afterwards, when she was better reco- 
 vered, she affirmed, that she neither remembered 
 how the fetters were knocked off; how she went 
 out of the prison ; when she was turned off the 
 ladder ; whether any psalm was sung or not; nor 
 was she sensible of any pains that she could re- 
 member: what is most remarkable is, that she 
 came to herself as if she had awakened out of a 
 sleep, not recovering the use of her speech by 
 slow degrees, but in a manner altogether, be- 
 ginning to speak just where she left off on the 
 gallows. 
 
 " Being thus at length perfectly recovered, af- 
 ter thanks giren to God and the persons instru- 
 mental in it, she retired into the country to her 
 friends at Steeple Barton, where she was after- 
 wards married and lived in good repute amongst 
 her neighbours, having three children afterwards, 
 and not dying till the year l659."
 
 THOMAS AXELLO. 
 
 Biography contributes perhaps more tliaii 
 any other species of writing to a knowledge of the 
 nature of the human mind. On an attentive ob- 
 servation of the characters it pourtraj's, we can- 
 not forbear admiring the dispensation of the su- 
 preme creator, and acknowledging the wisdom 
 and bountiful providence he has displayed, in 
 this portion of his works. It teaches us that 
 there is scnvcely an affliction incident to our na- 
 ture, however severe, which we are not capabie 
 of enduring, and that when the accumulation cf 
 misery and misfortune threatens to overwhelm 
 the wretched mortal, he is generally endued with 
 a fortitude ant. resolution, v,hich enable him to 
 struggle against the storms of fate and the most 
 painful vicissitudes of life. Very different is the 
 picture, when the case is reversed. How seldom 
 is it that men, suddenly raised from indigence or a 
 low station, to the pinnacle of affluence or power, 
 retain that equanimity, that moderation, and 
 that prudence, which are necessary for the prop<?r 
 use of the one, or the due exercise of the other! 
 How much more frequently do we observe them 
 "inloxicated vnth those gifts which fortutie has 
 thrown into their hands! How often has noti, 
 <heir success operated with such destrucfive ef- 
 VOL. 2 — NO. 12. D
 
 S THOMAS AN'ELLO. 
 
 feet on their minds, as to enervate and to hurry 
 them into a thousand extravagancies, which can 
 only be ascribed to absolute insanity ! 
 
 Hence it would appear, that the mind of man 
 is much more dangerously affected by the sun- 
 shine of prosperity, than by the bleak blasts of 
 adverse fortune. When we reflect how many of 
 our fellow- creatures have to encounter the latter 
 to one who is exposed to the deleterious influ.ence 
 of the former, we shall confess that this is wisely 
 ordered by him, in whose hands is the distribution 
 of human happiness or misery. 
 
 These observations are suggested by tlie history 
 of Thomas Anello, who about the middle of the 
 seventeenth century, elevated himself from the 
 lowest situation to the temporary soverei<rntv 
 over the metropolis of the kingdom of Naples. 
 Had his mind possessed sufficient firmness to 
 support this exaltation, and had his ambition been 
 equal to his success, he might uixloubtedly have" 
 acted the same part in that country, as Cromwell 
 was^ about the same time, performing in Eng- 
 land, and perhaps have founded a new dynasty 
 in the southern division of the ItaUan peninsula, 
 
 Thomas Anello, by construction called Massa- 
 iiiello, was born in tiie year 1623, and at the 
 time when he attracted the notice of the world, 
 was about twenty- four years of age. He lived in 
 a corner of the great market-place at Naples, 
 and it was a singular circumstance, that under 
 one of his windows were fixed the arms and name • 
 of the emperor Charles the Fifth. That mo
 
 THOiMAS ANELLO. 3 
 
 iiarch liatl granted to the people of Naples, a 
 clKirtcr ot" privileges, wiiicli about this period^ 
 were greatly violated. Massaniello A\as robust, 
 of a good counlenance, and middle size. He 
 wore linen trowsers, a blue vvaisteoat, and went 
 barefoot, with a mariner's eap. His profession 
 was that of a dealer in fish ; whieh he either 
 caught himself or purchased for the {)urpose of 
 retailins;. The discontents excited in the citv 
 did not escape the observation of Massaniello ; 
 nay, so alive was lie to the cause of them, that, 
 notwithstanding the meanness of his profession 
 he began to form a project of efTeeting a refor- 
 mation. Going home one day violently agitated, 
 he met with the famous Banditto Perrone, and 
 one of his companions, as he passed by a church 
 to which they had fled for refuge. Being known 
 to them, they enquired what ailed him: on 
 which he replied, that he would be bound to be 
 hanged, if he did not right the city. They 
 laughed at the extreme improbability of such aa 
 event, but Massaniello swore that, if he had two 
 or three of his own humour to join him, he would 
 keep his word. They gave him a solemn pro- 
 mise of assistance, and he departed. 
 
 His resolution was soon afterwards strength- 
 ened by a circumstance in which he was perso- 
 nally interested. Some of the officers of the cus- 
 toms having met his wife carrying a small quan- 
 tity of contraband flour, seized her, and carried 
 her to prison; nor could Massaniello procure her 
 release till he had sold the whole of his property
 
 ♦ THOMAS ANEtLO. 
 
 to pay a fine of one hundred ducats as the price 
 cf her freedom. He now determined to avail 
 himself of the opportunity afforded by the po- 
 pular discontents, on account of the tax on fruit, 
 which fell particularly heav}' on the lower classes, 
 and accordindv went round amonii: the fruit- 
 
 ^hops in his quarter, advising the keepers of them 
 to go in a body the next day to the market, and 
 tell the co';ntry-fruiterers that they would buy 
 no niore taxed fruit. 
 
 The market-place was frequented by a great 
 
 ' number of boj^s, who assembled there to pick up 
 such fruit as fell. Massaniello associated with 
 ihem, taught them certain cries and clamors 
 siiited to his purpose, and collected such a num- 
 ber of tisem between sixteen and seventeen years 
 or age, that at first they amounted to five hun- 
 dred, and afterwards to five thousand. Of this 
 youthful army, Massaniello acted as general, pro- 
 viding each of the individuals who composed it 
 ■with a small cane. The shop-keepers complying 
 with his instructions, a great tumult took place 
 the next day betvAcen them and the fruiterers. 
 An oflficer, named Anaclerio, was sent by the 
 viceroy to quell this disturbance. * 
 
 Among the fruiterers was a cousin of Massa- 
 niello, who seconding the views of the latter, en- 
 deavored as much as possible to inflame the 
 people. He found that he could not sell his 
 fruit, unless at a very low price, which, when the 
 tax was paid, would be less than the prime cost. 
 On this he fell into a violent rage, and threw two
 
 TttOMAS ANELLO. .* 
 
 large baskets on the ground, exclaiming: "God 
 gives plenty^ and the bad government a dearth. 
 I care not for this fruit, let tho^e take it thiit 
 will." The boys eagerly ran to piek up and eat 
 the fruit. At this moment IVlassaniello rushed 
 in among them crying out : '^* No tax ! No tax !" 
 Anaclerio threatened hi?ii with whipping and the 
 gallies, on which not only the fruiterers but (he 
 rest of the people threw figs, apple.s, and other 
 fruits with great fury in his face. Massaniello 
 hit him on the breast with a stone; and encou- 
 raged his regiment of boys to follow his example : 
 but Anaclerio saved his life by flight. 
 
 The people, by this time, flocked in multitudes 
 to the market-place, loudly exclaiming against 
 the intolerable grievances under which ihey 
 groaned, and protesting their resolution to sub- 
 mit to them no longer. The uproar still in- 
 creasing, Massaniello leaped upon the highest 
 table among the fruiterers, and harangued the 
 crowd. He compared himself to Moses, wlio 
 delivered the Egyptians from the rod of Pharoah ; 
 to Peter wlio was a flsherman like, himself, yet 
 rescued Rome and the world from the slavery of 
 Satan, promising them a similar deliverance fror 
 their oppressors by his means, and declaring his 
 readiness to sacriflce his life in such a glorious 
 cause. By harangues of this kind, Massaniello 
 wonderfully inflamed the minds of the people, 
 and disposed them to assist heartily in his de- 
 sign. 
 
 They commcnx^d their operations by setting
 
 r^ THOMAS ANELLO. 
 
 fire to the house next to the toll-house for fruit, 
 both of which were burned to the ground, with 
 aH the books, account^, and goods they con- 
 tuined. All the shops were b}' this time shut 
 up, and the numbers increasing, many thousands 
 of people went in bodies-to tViose quarters of the 
 city where all the other toll-houses were situated. 
 Thfese they plundered of all tiieir books and wri- 
 tings, great quantities of money and many rich- 
 moveables, all of which were thrown into a great 
 fire of straw, aiwl burned to ashes in the streets^ 
 Meeting with no resistance, the people became 
 still bolder^ and proceeded towards the palace of 
 the vicero}'. First marched the corps of Massa- 
 iiiello, consisting of 2000 boys, every one \iolding 
 up his cane with a piece of black cloth at the 
 top, and with loud and doleful cries exciting the 
 *-ompassion, and intreating the assistance of their 
 fel'ow-citizens. 
 
 Or their arrival at the palace, they not only de- 
 manded, by loud cries, to be relieved from the 
 fruit-tax, but that all others, especially the tax 
 t)n corn should be suppressed. At length the^ 
 entered the palace, which they rifled, in spite of 
 the resistance of the guards, whom they disarmed. 
 The viceroy endeavored to escape in his car- 
 rla'^e, with the intuition of securing himself in 
 the cbmch of St. Lewis, but being observed by 
 the people, they stopped the coach, and sur- 
 rounding if with drawn swords, threatened his 
 , life, if "he refused, to take off the taxes. By 
 means of fair promises and assurances of redress^
 
 THOMAS ANELLO. 7 
 
 and by throwing money among tl)e multitude, 
 which they were eager to pick up, he, at length 
 reached the church in safety, and ordered the 
 doors to be shut. The people then applied to 
 the Prince dc Bisagnano, who was greatly be- 
 loved by them, to be their advocate. He pro- 
 mised to obtain what they desired; but, findina:, 
 after much labor and fatigue that it was impos- 
 sible to restrain their licentiousness or to quell 
 their fury, he availed himself of the first oppor- 
 tunity to escape from the labyrinth of popular 
 commotion. 
 
 Finding themselves w ithout a head, after the 
 retirement of the prince, IVlassaniello was nomi- 
 nated by' the people, to be their leader, which 
 charge he accepted. They appointed Genoino, 
 a priest of approved knowledge, temper, and 
 abilities, to attend his person ; and for a compa- 
 nion they added the above-mentioned famous 
 Banditto Perrone. By his spirit, good sense, and 
 resolution, Massaniello gained the hearts of all 
 the people, -v\ ho became willing to confer solemn- 
 ly upon him the supreme command, and to obey 
 him accordingly. A stage was, therefore, erected 
 in the middle of the market-place, where, clothed 
 in white, like the Neapolitan mariners of those 
 days, he, with his counsellors, gave public audi- 
 ence, received petitions, and pronounced sen- 
 tence in all cases both criminal and civil. 
 
 Massaniello now had no less than one hundred 
 and fifty thousand persons under his command. 
 Au incredible multitude of women likewise ap->
 
 8 THOMAS ANELLO, 
 
 pearecl with arms of various kinds, like so many 
 Amazons. A list was made out of above sixty 
 persons wh<. had farmed the taxes, or been in 
 any manner concerned in the custom-houses. 
 These, it was said, ha<l enriched themselves with 
 the blood of th€ people, and ought to be made 
 examples to }x>sterity. An order was, therefore, 
 issued that their houses and goods should be 
 burned; and it was executed with such regularity, 
 that no one was suffered to carry away the smal- 
 lest article. Many, for stealing mere trifles from 
 the flames were hanged by the public executioner 
 in the market-place, by the command of Massa- 
 niello. 
 
 The viceroy, who had left the church and shut 
 himself up in the castle was meanwhile devising 
 methods to appease the people, and to bring 
 them to an accommodation. He applied to the 
 archbishop of whose attachment to the govern- 
 ment he was well assured, and of v»'hose paternal 
 care and affection for them the people had no 
 doubt, to seconid his endeavors. He gave them 
 the original charter of Cliarles the Fifth, which 
 exempted them from all taxes, and on which they 
 had all along insisted, conttrmed by legal autho- 
 rity, and likewise a general pardon for all ofl*ence» 
 that had been committed. Furnished with these 
 powers the archbishop prevailed upon Massani- , 
 ello to assemble the principal leaders of the j| 
 people, and great hopes of a happy accommoda- ' 
 lion weie entertained.
 
 THOMAS ANELLO. f) 
 
 While this negociatiori uas on foot, five hun- 
 ih'ctl baiuliiti, all armed unci on liorseback, en- 
 ii-red the city under pretence that they came 
 lor the service ot" the people, but in reality, as it 
 afterwards; ap[)eared, for the purpose of destroy- 
 ing Mas-aniello ; for they discharged several shot 
 at him, some of which narrowly missed him. This 
 proceeding immediately put a stop to the whole 
 business, and it was suspected that the viceroy 
 was concerned in this treachery. The streets 
 were barricaded and orders were issued, that the 
 a(jueduct leading to the castle in which were the 
 viceroy and his family, together with all the prin- 
 <'ipal officers of state, should be cut off, and that 
 no provision except a small quantity of roots and 
 herbs should be carried thither. 
 
 The viceroy again applied to the archbishop, 
 charging him to assure the people of his good in- 
 tentions towards them, of his abhorrence of the 
 design manifested by the banditti, and of his re- 
 solution to exert all his authority to bring them 
 to condign punishment. The treaty was re- 
 newed and soon concluded, after which it was 
 judged proper that JNfassaniello should pay a 
 visit to the viceroy in his palace. He directed 
 that all the windows and balconies should be 
 hung with the richest silks and tapestries, that 
 could be procured. He threw off his mariner's 
 habit, and dressed himself in cloth of silver, with 
 M fine plume of leathers on his hat; and mounted 
 ou a beautiful charger, with a drawn sword in his
 
 10 THOMAS ANELLO. 
 
 haml, be went attended by fifty thousand of the 
 choicest of the people. 
 
 During his interview with the viceroy in the 
 balcony of the palace^ he gave him surprizing 
 proofs of the ready obedience of the people : 
 whatever cry he gave out was immediately re- 
 echoed by them, and when he put his finger to 
 his mouth the most profound silence prevailed 
 among the multitude. At length he ordered 
 them all to retire, and was obeyed with such 
 promptitude as if the crowd by whom he was 
 attended had vanished auay. 
 
 On the following Sunday the stipulations were 
 signed and solemnly sworn to be observed in the. 
 Cathedral of the city. Massaniello having now 
 accomplished his designs, declared his resolution 
 to return to his former occupation. Had he ad- 
 hered to it, he might justly have been reckoned 
 among the greatest characters that any age or 
 country has ever produced. But as it is vari- 
 ously reported, being either instigated by his 
 wife and relations, induced by fear, or allured by 
 the tasted sweets of power, he still retained his 
 authority, and what was worse he exercised it 
 in such a capricious and tyramiical manner that 
 his best friends began to be afraid of him. It 
 has been imagined that something was infused 
 into his drink to take away Ins senses, or, 
 what is still more probable, that he drank to 
 guch excess as to deprive himself of reason. Be 
 the cause, however, what it might, his conduct
 
 THOMAS ANELLO. H 
 
 was higlily improper. He galloped through the 
 streets Jike a madman, wantonly cutting and 
 maiming every person without distinction. The 
 natural consequence was, that instead of being 
 followed by the people as before, they all avoid- 
 ed his presence. Fatigued and exhausted with 
 this uncommon exercise, he took refuge in the 
 church of the Carmelites. 
 
 The archbishop immediately sent information 
 of this circumstance to the vicerov, and Massa- 
 niello was meanwhile taken care of by the religi- 
 ous belonging to the church, who provided him 
 with refreshments, after the fatigue occasioned 
 by his violent proceedings. 
 
 Some gentlemen now entered the church and 
 thinking to ingratiate themselves with the vice- 
 roy, as they passed through the cloister, they 
 cried out: " Long live the King of Spain, and 
 let none henceforth on pain of death obey Mas- 
 sauiello! "The people, so far from opposing 
 them in their search, made way for them and 
 they proceeded to the convent of the church en- 
 quiring for Massaniello. The unfortunate man 
 hearing his name pronounced, van out to meet 
 his foes, saying : ** i\re you looking for me, iny 
 people? Here lam. " The only answer he re- 
 ceived was the discharge of four muskets on him 
 at once. He instantly fell, and had only time to 
 exclaim; "Ah! migrateful traitors! " before he 
 expired. One of liis murderers then cut off his 
 head which he carried to the viceroy, to the 
 great terror of the populace^ who had assembled 
 
 6
 
 118 rHOMAS ANELLO. 
 
 to the number of eight or ten thousand in the 
 church and market-place, A more remarkable 
 instance of the inconstancy of popular favour 
 can scarcely be produced from the records of 
 history; for so far from avenging the' death of 
 their captain-general, they not only remained 
 quiet spectators but even exhibited signs of sa- 
 tisfaction. Nay, no sooner was^ the breath out 
 of his body, than those who had hitherto been his 
 followers took his mutilated corpse and afterwards 
 procured his head, dragged them through every 
 kennel and gutter of the city and at length 
 threw each of them into a difterejit ditch. The 
 same mutabilily of disposition was exemplified 
 the succeeding day. The mangled relics of the un- 
 fortunate Massaniello were then carefully sought, 
 and when found were washed from the filth by 
 which they were defaced. A more sumptuous 
 funeral was never seen in Naples than that pre- 
 pared for Massaniello, His body was followed 
 to the cathedral by five hundred priests, and forty 
 thousand persons of all ranks composed the pro- 
 cession. The Spanish ensigns were lowered as 
 it passed, and the viceroy sent out a number of 
 attendants with torches to assist at the ceremony 
 and to honor hiin in death. The commotion in 
 Naples began 7th of July 1^47, and was termi- 
 nated on the lOth of the same month by the 
 death of Tvlassaniello, who thus ruled nine days, 
 with more unlimited power than was perliaps 
 ever enjoyed by any sovereign.
 
 u 
 
 FRANCES SCANAGATTl, 
 
 This lady was bora at Milan^ ttnd baptized at 
 •the parish ofSt. Eusebiiis the 14th of September, 
 1781. In her infancy slie made considerable 
 progress in the German and French languages 
 under the tuition of a native of Strasburg, named 
 Madame Depuis. This lady having in her 
 youth belonged to the company of the Comedk 
 Ficnicaise, possessed some information^ and en- 
 gaged her pupil to apply to study with pleasure, 
 by the amusing means she employed of reciting 
 and explaining, sometimes in one, and sometimes 
 in another language, such small pieces of comedy 
 and romance as were within her reach, and 
 rtbliging her to repeat the same by degrees. It 
 •is not improbable, that in consequence of so many 
 comic and romantic ideas arising from these 
 amusing studies, this young lady insensibly con- 
 ceived a passion for the military profession, and 
 adopted tlie maxim, that women might run the 
 course of glory and science as well as men, if 
 they entered on it with equal advantages of in- 
 struction and education. 
 
 At ten years of age she was put under the care 
 of the Nuns of the Visitation, an institution in 
 high repute throughout Itah'- for the education of 
 young ladies ; and here she conducted herself 
 so as to obtain and deserve the esteem and friend- 
 
 VOL. 2. — NO. 12. E
 
 14 FRANCES SCANAGATTI. 
 
 ship of the whole house, for her sweet, amiable 
 and engaging disposition. Such are the very 
 , expressions made use of by the venerable and 
 <]istinguished sir{:)erior, INIadame de Dayanne, to 
 convey her approbation, and the general sense of 
 the nuns of this respectable estabHshment. 
 
 Towards the end of 1794 her fother, Mr. Jo- 
 seph Scanagatti, resolved to send his daughter to 
 \ ienna as a boarder with a widow-lady, in order 
 to improve her in the knowledge of the German 
 language, and to qualify her in the details of 
 house-keeping. On the journey she was dressed 
 in boy's cioihes to avoid trouble and imperti- 
 nence, and she was accompanied by one of her 
 brothers, who intended to stop at N^-ustadt, ia 
 order to attend a course of military studies in the 
 Academy of that town, which is esteemed the 
 nursery of the best officers in the Austrian army. 
 The pupils, to the number of four hundred, 
 mostly officers' sons, are maintained and edu- 
 cated by the Imperial Court, and, besides the 
 niilitar}' exercises, are instructed in languages, 
 m;ithcnuuics, and ihe helles-httres. 
 
 During the journey the brother fell sick, and 
 acknowledged to his sister, what he had not had 
 the courage to avow to his fatlier, that he had 
 neither taste nor inclination for a military life. 
 His sister -tlien strenuously urged him to return 
 ]:on:« with the servant tore-establish his health : 
 and havifii^ obtained from him the letter of re- 
 coinnundatioji he was to deliver to M. Haller, 
 surgeon ou the stiifl of the Academy, and ut
 
 FRANCKS SCANAGATTI. 15 
 
 \vho8e house he was to iiave boarded, she had 
 the coumi^e to introduce herseU", uiider its sane- 
 tion to the ijentleman as the recommended boy, 
 and as sneh received the kindest welcome. In a 
 short time she had the good fbrtiine to gain the 
 friendship of M. Mailer, his wife, aud two lovely 
 daughters, so as to be considered as one of the fa- 
 mily. Giving daily proofs of an amiable cha- 
 racter and a docile, disposition, she obtained from 
 the Court pern)ission to attend the lectures at 
 the Academy, and sso cons[>icuously distinguished 
 herself by her exem[)lary conduct and her pro- 
 gress, that she bore away the principal prizes m 
 both the )^-s \7Do and 17S;6 th it she remained 
 there. 
 
 At this Academy she ferfecte 1 herself in the 
 knowledge of German ;rd French, and also ac- 
 quired a knowledge of ihj HtJglish language un- 
 der Mr. Plunket, an Irish divine, one of the pro- 
 fessors of the institution, who declares that he 
 never had the s^mallest suspicion of young Srana- 
 gatti being a girl, but considered her as a verv 
 mild and accomplished boy, of uncojnmon pru- 
 dence. Here also she applied with the greatest 
 success to fencing and mditary tactics, as well as 
 to the various branches of the mathematics. 
 
 In the month of February, 1797, she resolved 
 to address tjie Supreme Council of War at Vi- 
 enna to be admitted an officer in the army, sup- 
 porting lier applicatioa by the most honourable 
 testimonies of conduct and talents, which tlie 
 Academy could not refuse her, and accompany-
 
 T6 FRANCES SCANAGATTI. 
 
 ing these with more eloquent vouchers, namely 
 the prizes awarded her during the two preceding 
 vears. 
 
 The Supreine Council being at ttiis time parti- 
 cularly in want of good officers, to replace the 
 great numbers who had fallen in the preceding 
 campaigjis, readily appoinied lier to an ensigncy 
 in the regiment of St. George. 
 
 Her promotion being notified to her through 
 the channel of the Academy, she immediately 
 set out for Vienna, where she received orders to 
 join a transport of recruits m Hungary, and pro- 
 ceed with it to the Upper Rhine, where the bat- 
 talion lay to which she was appointed. Thi« 
 battalion was composed of Waradiners, and 
 was commanded by Major Seitel. It was sta- 
 tioned on the right bank of the Rhine, in the 
 neighbourhood of Kehl, and at the extreme out- 
 posts when she jAined it; but shortly afterwards 
 it was obliged to retire to the town of Manheim, 
 the enemy having passed the Rhine between Kil- 
 stett and Diersheim. 
 
 At length the peace of Campo Formio put an 
 end to the campaign, and Mademoiselle Scana- 
 gatti having passed abotit sixteen months in dif- 
 ferent cantonments in the Empire, Silesia, and 
 Stiria, received an order to repair to Poland, to 
 join the fourth battalion of the regiment of 
 Wenzel Coiloredo, then commanded by Major 
 Deebor. 
 
 She was now stationed in the town of Sando- 
 mir; and here she experienced the most distrc^-
 
 FIVANCES SCANAGATTf. 17 
 
 "sing inquietudes, throagli the dreitd of iier sex 
 being discovered. As slie frequented the Cas- 
 sino, where tiie most select t^ompany associated, 
 some of the laches who assembled there conceived 
 doubts of her sex, either from her figure or lier 
 reserved manners, and communicated tlieir sus- 
 picions. Accordingly one day a young geitle- 
 man belonging to the town said ingenuously to 
 her '' Do you know, Ensign, what these ladies 
 observe of your" She immediately suspected 
 where the blow was directed ; but, concealing 
 lier alarm, she answered, she should be glad to 
 know in what respect she had attracted their no- 
 tice, " Why. replied the gentleman, tlkey ob- 
 serve in you the appearance and manner of a 
 lady." On this she fell a laughing, and, with an 
 arch and lively air, rejoined, " In this case. Sir, 
 as the decision of the question is competent to ;i 
 lady, I beg leave to select your wife for my judge." 
 This proposal he did not think proper to accept, 
 and, wishing to disengage himself, protested that 
 he was tar from believing any such thing, and on- 
 ly hinted at wliat the ladies whom he named had 
 suspected. She withdrew earlier than usual that 
 day, aud passed rather an uneasy night. But, 
 having fully meditated on her situation, she re- 
 solved to bear herself through, put on a good 
 face, appear at the Cassiuo next day, and tlicre 
 converse in the most gallant and free manner- with 
 the ladies in order if possible to remove their 
 suspicions. Accordingly, af'ter the usual com- 
 pliments she introduced the subject and declared 
 
 E 3
 
 18 FRANCES SCANAGATTI. 
 
 that far from being offended, she was on the con- 
 trary highly Haltered, in hopes that tlie opinion 
 they entertained would render them less difficult 
 to favour her with such a verification as would 
 enable them to pronounce their judgment with 
 greater certainty. This produced the effect 
 she wished: the ladies, astonished by this mili- 
 tary air of frankness, immediately retracted their 
 opinion, saying, " You are too gallant. Ensign, 
 for us to presume doing you any farther the in- 
 jury of believing you a lady:" and thus the mat- 
 ter ended. 
 
 Some time after, having received orders to 
 proceed to ChcJin, she had the good fortune to 
 escape the prying looks of the fair sex there, who 
 obliged her to use uncommon circumspection. 
 But she fell sick on the roafi, and was under the 
 necessity of stoj)ping at Lubin, the head-quar- 
 ters of the battalion. On this occasion she was 
 under nmch obligation to Captain Tauber, ofthe 
 ?ame regiment, who shewed her uncommon 
 murks of humanity, attention and kindness, in a 
 country where she was quite a stranger. Here 
 also she had some difiriculty to conceal her sex; 
 for, being afiected with a general debility, she 
 was obliged to commit herself in all her wants to 
 the care of a soldifcr who was her servant, but 
 twho, happily for her was a young man of 
 such simplicity, that she ran no risk from his pe- 
 netration. 
 
 She had scarcely recovered, wlien, having re- 
 ceived notice that the Council of War had re-
 
 FRANCES SCANAGATTI. 10 
 
 moved her to the regiment of i^imti^it she report- 
 ed herself ready to join immediately; and, not- 
 withstanding the advice of lier commander to 
 suspend herjoiirney until she had sufticiently re- 
 cruited her strength, she persisted in undertaking 
 it, and arrived on the 6th of May, 179!), ftt Pene- 
 zona, in the Bannat, where the staff were sta- 
 tioned. 
 
 Some promotions were at this crisis taking 
 place in the regiment, and being one of the old- 
 est ensigns, she expected to be promoted to a 
 lieutenancy, but was no less surprized than hurt 
 to find two younger ensigns j)rcferred over her 
 head. Being sure of her ground, in so far as to 
 know that the conduct-list given in her favour 
 by the regiments in which she had before served 
 had left not the smallest room for reproach; not- 
 withstanding her mild and patient character, she 
 presented very sharp remonstrances, protesting 
 tljat she should be ashamed to continue to wear 
 the uuifoim of the regiment if the injury done her 
 was not repaired. In answer to this remonstrance 
 she received a rescript of the 18th of July, 
 which entirely satisfied her; the regiment declar- 
 ing that the mistake proceeded from not having 
 known that Ensign Scanagatti luul been trans- 
 ferred to it when the promotions were proposed, 
 but that they would not fail to take the first 
 opportunity of doing justice to his merit; and in 
 fact she obtained a lieutenancy on the 1st of 
 March following. 
 
 She was now placed in the battalion of re-
 
 20 FRANCES SCANAGATXr. 
 
 serve, whicli generally remains inactive in can- 
 tonment, and was then under the command of 
 Lieutenant-Colonel Einsfeld. But anxious to 
 share in the glory oFthe campaign, she solicited 
 to he removed to one of the battalions of the 
 same regiment which were then acting against 
 tlie enemy in Italy, and she was in consequence 
 appointed to the sixth, encamped on the moun- 
 tains to the east of Genoa, which she joined with- 
 out dcla}'. 
 
 Here she encamped with her battalion, com- 
 manded by Major Paulich, with which sharp 
 skirmishes and actiojis more frequently took 
 place than at any other of the outposts. She 
 fought under tliat officer particuhuly in two bat- 
 tles that took place on the 14th and loth of De- 
 cember, 1799j» in tii*i neighbourhood of ScolFera, 
 and at Torriglia, where she had the satisfaction 
 of being the first that entered the enemy's in- 
 trenched redoubts, which they were then forced 
 to abandon, but which they retook next day, 
 through the superiority of force with which they 
 renewed the attack. 
 
 In this unfortunate aftair the brave Major 
 Paulich being severely woimdedand made priso- 
 ner, with a part of his battaHpn, the main body 
 of the ariiiy in tliat neighbourhood, under the 
 command of General Count Klenau, was oblig- 
 ed immediately to retire. i:lnsign Scanagatti was 
 then directed to post himself at Barba Gelata, 
 with a sn^.ull deiachment, to cover the retreat 
 on that side ; and on the 25 ih of the same nionth
 
 FRANCES SCANAGATTI. 21 
 
 received orders to join the battalion lying at 
 Cainpiano and CasteJbardi, in the territory of the 
 Duke ot" Parma. 
 
 f' Captain Golubowisch, and after him Captain 
 Kliunovvich, succeeded to the command of^ the 
 battalion, which, about tlie end of February^ 
 J 800, \\i,\s sent into quarters at LegluyTi. At 
 this time Ens'gn Scanagatti having been dis- 
 patched «n the regimental business to Venice, 
 Mantua, and iMilan, bad the satisfaction to revi- 
 sit her family in passing through Cremona, of 
 vhich town her father was then intendant. 
 
 Here she stoiit a day and tv^^o ni<2;hts. Her 
 mother during all that time never stdTerea her 
 out of her sight; and having remarked in the 
 morning that, when dressed, she laced her chest 
 very straitly, to efface eveiy exterior sign of her 
 sex, and that so strong a compression had al- 
 ready produced a certain degree of mortification 
 and some lividity in that part, Madame Scana- 
 gatti commucatcd her fears to her husband, that 
 their child would soon fall a victiin to a cancer, 
 if they delayed any longer to oblige her to quit 
 the service. 
 
 The father, from the moment the news reach- 
 ed him that his daughter had introduced herself 
 to the Academy as a boy, had never ceased to 
 importune her to return to the avocations of her 
 sex, but at the same time carefully concealed 
 this transaction of a daught-er of whom he re- 
 ceived the most satisfactory reports, and from 
 whose spirit he had also to expect some impru-
 
 22 FRANCES SCANAGATTl. 
 
 (lent rf-soliitionifcounteiactcdbv violent measure?. 
 He now seriously reflected on the most efficient 
 njeans to be en)ployed to calm tlie uneasiness of 
 his wife, nnd, if possible, to withdraw his daugh- 
 ter without irritating- l)er feelings. He renewed 
 the attempt to engage her voluntary compliance, 
 insisting s'.rongly, among many other dangers 
 ^o which she was exposed, on the discovery 
 Kiade by her mother, and offering to accommo- 
 date her in his house with every thing that could 
 give lier satisfaction. 
 
 This attempt was however fruitless. She an- 
 swered respect! ully, tiiat she would not fail to 
 ]>ay attention to what her mother had remarked 
 respecting her; nor would she hesitate a moment 
 to fly to the bosom of her family (always dear to 
 her,) as soon as peace should take place, and 
 which jould not be at a great distance ; but she 
 beg-ed him to reflect, that she should lose the 
 the little merit she had acquired in her career 
 were she to quit it ai that crisis. She concluded, 
 that he niight make himself perfectly easy on 
 her account, as, in the course of three years 
 and WW half, she had been able to support her 
 character in the midst of an aiuiy, and in a va- 
 riety of critical situations. In this manner she 
 took leave of'her parents, and proceeded to exe- 
 cute the remainder of her commissions. 
 
 Meanwhile her father resolved to go to Milan, 
 and in this dilomnuv to be guided entirely by 
 Count Cocasteli, a nobleman who had much re- 
 gard for him, and who, being Commissary Ge-
 
 FRANCES SCAN'AGATTI. 23 
 
 neral of his Imperial Majesty in Loinbardy, and 
 near the Army of Italy, could be of service to 
 him in an allair of such delicacy. In conse- 
 quence of his advice, and through the medium 
 of the Count, he addressed a 'memorial to his 
 Excellency J5aron Melas, disclosing the story 
 of his daughter, and soliciting for her an honour- 
 able discharge. 
 
 The. lady in the mean- time having executed 
 licr commissions, while her father was, unknown 
 to her engaged in this scheme, returned to her 
 regiment, which she found at the outposts in 
 the blockade of Genoa, encamped on Monte- 
 Bccco, and near Monte-Fac(.io. On the same 
 day the latter place capitulated, she received 
 notice that the Commander-in Chief had sent aa 
 order to the battalion of the same regiment to per- 
 mit Lieut. S'janagatti to join his family at Milan. 
 This permission, unsolicited by her, was equally 
 disagreeable and unexpected. She immediately 
 perceived thai it must liave come through her 
 parents; but, cruelly disappointed, she consoled 
 herself that her sex was not discovered, but that 
 she was treated as an officer in the very order of 
 the Commander-in-Chief; and what confirmed 
 her in this flattering idea was, the next day being 
 at dinner with General Baron de , Gottsheim, 
 commanding the division of the Imperial army 
 in this neighbourhood, she was always addressed 
 by the title of lieutenant, and nothing occur- 
 ■ed that gave her the smallest suspicion that 
 ler sex was known. 
 
 Amidst these reflections she resolved, on the
 
 FRANCES SCANAOATTI. 
 
 3d of June, 1800, to proceed on her Journey to- 
 wiuds her paternal mansion, but on the Bth of the 
 same month havini; learnt at Bologna that the 
 enemy had jujt entered the Milanese, she thought 
 it advisable to "proceed to Verona, to which 
 city the staff ot" the Austrian army was then re- 
 moved. She there applied for and obtained a 
 new route for Venice, where her father then was, 
 and where she remained, tired of an inactive life, 
 till the peace of Lunevilie permitted her to re- 
 turn with safety to her country. It was with no 
 small reofret she laid aside a uniform obtained 
 through the most signal merit, and supported in 
 an lionaurable and exemplary manner. To at- ' 
 test the truth of these particulars, and the well^- 
 merited opinion of her zealous and faithful servi- 
 ces, the Commander-in-Chief, General Baroa 
 Melas, in a rescript o,f the 23d of May, IBOl,': 
 announced to the su[)reme Council of War, that 
 on the 11th of July, 1800, he had. conferred her 
 lieutenancy on her brother, who was then a cadet 
 in the regiment of Belgiojoso. 
 
 It is only necessary to add^ that this adventu- 
 rous young lady, having resumed her sex in the 
 bosom of her family, is no less a pattern now of 
 female merit, than she formerly was of military 
 conduct; fulfilling, with unexampled sweetness 
 and equanimity of temper, the office of governess 
 to her younger sisters, and otherwise assisting her ' 
 venerable mother in the management of Iter do- j 
 jnestic concerns. •!
 
 25 
 
 EDWARD NOKES. 
 
 This man was by trade a tinker, and followed 
 that business till six weeks before his death. 
 I J is apartments pourtrayed symptoms of the most 
 abject poverty, though at liis dtnith he was 
 iound to be possessed of property to the amount 
 of between five and six thousand pounds. lie 
 bad a wife and several children, whom he brought 
 np in the most parsimonious manner, ol'ten feed- 
 ing them on grains and the oiFais of meat, which 
 he |r9rchased at reduced prices. He was no less 
 remarkable in his person and dress: for, in order 
 to save the expence of shaving, he w ould encou- 
 rage the dirt to gather on his face, to hide in 
 some measure the unseeml}' excrescence. He 
 never suffered his shirt to be washed in water; 
 but after wearing it till it became intolerably 
 black, he used to wasli'it in urine to save the ex- 
 pence of soap. His coat, which time had trans- 
 brmed into a jacket, would have puzj^led the 
 wisest philosopher to make out its original color, 
 so covered was it with shreds -and patches of dif- 
 ferent colors, and those so diversified, that it re- 
 sembled the trophies of the several nations of Eu- 
 rope, and seemed to vie with Joseph's " coat of 
 many colors." 
 
 The interest of his money, together with all 
 le could heap up from his penurious mode of 
 iving, he used to deposit in a bag, which was 
 VOL. 2. — NO. 12. F
 
 26 EDWARD NOKUS. 
 
 covered up in a tin pot, and then conveyed to a 
 bii'.k kitchen; one oi' ilie bricks was taken up, 
 and a hole made just larj^e enough to hold the 
 pot ; the brick was llien carefully marked, and a 
 ttdly kept behind the door of the sum deposited. 
 One day, his wife discovered this hoard, and re- 
 solving to profit by the opportunity-, took from, 
 the pot, one out of sixteen guineas, that were 
 then placed there. Her husband soon discovered 
 the trick, for when he came to count his raonejv 
 and finding it not agree with the tally behind the 
 door, which his wife did not know of, he taxed 
 her with the theft; and, to the day of his death, 
 even on his death-bed, he never spoke to her 
 without adding the epithet '' thief" to every 
 expression. 
 
 In his younger davs, he used at the deatli of 
 any of his children, to have a little deal box 
 made to put them in, and without any of the 
 solemnities of a regular funeral, he would take 
 them upon his shoulder to the place appropriated 
 for their reception ; where, once interred, he 
 seemed to verify the old adage, " Out of sight, 
 out of mind;" and went home as unconcerned as 
 if nothing had happened. 
 
 A short time before his death, which he evi- 
 dently hastened by the daily use of nearly a quart 
 of spirits, he gave strict charge that his coffin 
 should not have a nail in it, which was, actually 
 the case, the lid being fastened with hinges made 
 of cord: there was no plate on the coffin, but' 
 barely the initials E. N. cut on the lid. His
 
 MATIC CATOZ2E. 27 
 
 shroud was made of a pound of wool; the coffin 
 was covered with a sheet instead of a pall, and 
 was carried by six men, to each of whom he left 
 half-a-crown; and at his particular desire, not 
 one who followed him to the s:;rave wore mourn- 
 ing; but, on the contrary, each of the mourners 
 seemed to try who?e dress should be the most 
 striking, the undertaker even being habited in a 
 blue coat and scarlet u distcoat. lie died at Horn- 
 church, in Essex, aged 56 years, without a will, 
 and his fortune v>as equally divided among hi? 
 wife and family. 
 
 MARC CATOZZE. 
 
 Marc CATOZZE; called the Little Dwarf, 
 was born at Venice, in the year 1741, of robust 
 parents. He had several brothers, all of whom 
 vcre tall and well made; his body was not de- 
 formed, and appeared to belong to a man of five 
 feet six inches ; but he had neither arms nor legs, 
 the pectoral members consisting of a very promi- 
 nent shoulder, and a perfect haiul. The lower 
 part of the body was very flat, terminating in a 
 niis-shapen foot, but complete in ail its parts. ' 
 
 This man was well known ; he had spent the 
 greatest part of his life in traversing almost all 
 the states of Europe, exhibiting himself to the 
 public curiosity. He attracted the multitude, 
 not only by the singularity oi' his form, but like-
 
 $8. M-ARC CATOZZE. 
 
 wise by the astonishiitvg strength of his jaws, and 
 tlic (iL'Xterity with uhi<-h he {h«evv up into the 
 :V\r, stk'ks an*l other thinii;s withoJie of his hands, 
 aiul caiio;ht them with the other. 
 
 As he could scarcely reach his month wi^h the 
 ends of his fingers, his greatest difl^.<?ulty would 
 have been to feed himself without assistance, it 
 nature had not furnished him vv;t!i trie e^^traor- 
 Ciinary power of protriidini^', and at the same time 
 lowering his under }r<\v, as was chscovcved in dis- 
 secting his body after his death. 
 
 Though Catozze could walk and stand v.pright 
 ci! his feet, yet lie w ould have experienced great 
 diHiculty in reaching objects situated above, or 
 at. a certain distance from his liands. lie had 
 therefore contrived to lengthen them, as it were, 
 bv a very simple instrument whicli was to him of 
 t'ne utmost utility. This wa^ a hoiiow piece of 
 euier, about three feet in length, through which 
 passed a cylindrical iron rod, fixed so as to slide 
 up and down, terminating in a very sharp hook. 
 If he wished to lay hold of an object at some dis- 
 tance from his hand; for instance to button his 
 clothes, to take up or set down h.is metal goblet; 
 to pull the clolbts upon him in bed, he took his 
 tube, which he always kept near him, in one 
 hand and pushed it between his lingers, till lie 
 biousht the hooked end towards the baud that 
 was at liberty; then seizing the object that he 
 wanted with the hook, he drew it, towards him, 
 turning it any way he pleased, without letting go 
 the stick, but drawing back the hooked piece of
 
 MARC CATOZZE. 29 
 
 iron, as into a sheath. The habit of iisins: this 
 instrument had rendered him so dexterous, that, 
 by means of it he has frecjuently been seen 
 to take up a pieee of money from a table, or 
 from the ground. 
 
 It will scarcely be credited, that a man of this 
 description should have met with several women 
 whose affections be had the art to gainj at least, 
 he frequently boasted to that effect. 
 
 In his youth, Catozze travelled on horseback ; 
 for this purpose, he procured a particular kind of 
 saddle, and usually appeared in public, holding 
 the reins, beating a drum, going through the mili- 
 tary exercise with a musket, writing, winding up 
 his watch, cutting his victuals, or performing other 
 manoeuvres. He possessed a very robust consti- 
 tution ; was of a disposition more than cheerful, 
 and took a pleasure in relating his travels and ad- 
 Yentures. He spoke very well, and wrote En- 
 glish, German, French and Italian. The viva- 
 city of his disposition rendered his conversatioQ 
 extremely interestmg; but he was acklicted to 
 wine and spirituous liquors, and was fond of g'lod 
 living. He was very obstinate, had much self- 
 love, and a ridiculous haughtiness. Wlien he 
 went abroad for instance, he was drawn in a 
 small vehicle, by a man whom he called his 
 horse, and to whom he gave a few half pence ; 
 but he never suffered this man, vvhom he consi- 
 dered as his servant, to eat with him. 
 
 The lower extremities, as has been already ob- 
 servcdj consisted only of his feet; yet he could 
 
 3 F
 
 50 PETKR KINC. 
 
 11556 them for wnlking in an upright poniliotj, 
 Biore than once he h;is been seen walking in the 
 court oK the hospital at i*aris in which he re- 
 sided during the last years of his life, and even 
 to go nearly three quarters of a mile on foot, 
 lii order to rest hiniseJf, he turned out his toes 
 a« iar as he could, supported himself before on 
 his stick, and behind against any place that he 
 happened to be near ; and thus remained whole 
 hours conversing with strangers w ho called to see 
 feim. 
 
 He expired at the ao;e of C2, of an inflamma- 
 tion of the bowels ; hfiving for two years previous 
 to his death, coin-phiined of violent pains of the 
 «ht)]ic. 
 
 PETER KING. 
 
 Fob. some years of the latter part of his life, thii 
 singular mati displayed numerous peculiarities in 
 his manner of living, which, while they were per- 
 fectly innocent, served, by the occupation they af- 
 forded his mind, to smooth the path he was tra- 
 •velling on to eternity. Mr, King was born of poor, 
 but very reputable parents at Hammersmith, and 
 was very early placed out by them as shop-boy 
 to a hattter and hosier in the Strand. After ha- 
 ving served his master, who was a kind and very 
 j:idi;lgent man, for several years, with great dili- 
 gence, cre<fit, and honesty, and having on aH 
 3
 
 PRTHR KING. 31 
 
 occasions proved himself trust- woiihy, he, niar- 
 lied a very respectable youii;; woiikki whey lived 
 in the neighbourhood, and had gained his alfec* 
 tions. lie very soon after, with his master's as- 
 sistance, and by the help of the siiiall fortuj)e he 
 had obtained with his wife, set up for himself in 
 llolborn, where, by his modest deportment, 
 frugality', and unremitting attention to his busi- 
 ness, he in |)roces3 of time acquired a very coin*- 
 fortable competency, whieii, enabled him to quit 
 his business, and to live at ease, in decent re- 
 spectability', for the remainder of his days. He 
 retired to Islington, where he hired a small 
 house for himself and wife, never having had 
 any children. Not having the nsuvnl avocations 
 to fill up his time, anrl the number of his ac- 
 quaintance being rather scanty, he found this 
 new mode of life, though more dignified, not al- 
 together so consistent with his happiness as he 
 expected it would have been. Other amusements 
 failing him, he began, soon after his retirement, 
 to bestow unusual care upon his dress. In his 
 youth, when it was the fashion to wear laced 
 clothes, he had frequently betrayed strong marks 
 of admiration at the happiness that iie conceived 
 must accompany the being so fi.icly dressed; 
 but he was prevented from indulGrinG; himself in 
 this way by the narrow state of his finances. Ifi 
 old age this passion for dress returned upon him 
 with redoubled vigour ; and he began soon after 
 his retirement from business, to indulge himself 
 in fine elothcs to a most immoderate extent. At
 
 32 PETER K1N«. 
 
 first he used to walk out in the towti in his laced 
 clothes : but this attracted the attention of idle 
 boys, who, upon his appearance gathered in 
 crowds about him, to admire his laced clothes, 
 the want of which would, not many years ago, 
 have been almost equally an object of singularity. 
 He at length found it necessary to contine him- 
 self to his own territories ; chusing rather to de- 
 prive himself of his accustomed perambulations, 
 than to part for a moment, with any of his fine- 
 ry. He was now almost unceasingly occupied in 
 devising new modes of adorning his person, his 
 wife never attempting to check this propensity, 
 but rather encouraging him in it, seeing how 
 great was the satisfaction he, derived from it, 
 and that their finances could bear it without in- 
 convenience. — Decked in his gold-laced clothes, 
 slashed sleeves, and highly powdered perriwig, 
 he walked about his house, changing his dress 
 several times in the course of the day. While 
 not occupied with his dress, two favourite Tom 
 cate were a grand source of amusement to him: 
 these had been his constant and faithful compa- 
 nions for several 3'ears, and were rather looked up- 
 on by him as friends and equals than as brutes, and 
 had their places at table regularly assigned them 
 everyday. Finding so much satisfaction from 
 dress himself, he was disposed to extend this 
 soure of amusement to his friends the cats, and 
 and laced habits were accordingly provided for 
 them and the poor pusses generously bore the 
 ijicumbiunce with wljich they were loaded, as if
 
 BENJAMIN FOI'E. SS 
 
 to make some atonement to their kind master, for 
 the care he bestowed upon them. I'luis ahnost 
 sechuled from the world, Mr. Kiii'i' Jived for 
 several years happy in the society of liis own 
 Jidorned person, his now ahnost snperanijiiated 
 wife, and hiscals^and admitted but two or three 
 friends, now and then to see him ; aiid as he 
 xvas kindly indulged in his pecnharitics, he was 
 ahvavs affable and obii^in"- to ihem. The death 
 of his wile was so severe a shock to him, that he, 
 the day after took to his bed, and survived- hef 
 Dot more than a week. His passion^ however, 
 for fine clolhes forsook him not on his deadi- 
 bed; for such part of the da}^ as he coidd sit up 
 lie was regularly a-ttired in tliem. Having no re- 
 lations living, Mr. King left the whole of his pro-, 
 perty to an old servant, who had been his careful 
 and constant nurse, accompanied, however, with 
 the most earnest injunctions to support, his old 
 friends the cats in a manner suitable to the 
 friendship he entertained for theiii. He died 
 at Islington, at the beginning of the year 1806, 
 aged 75. 
 
 BENJAMIN POPE. 
 
 IHIS gentleman was nearly as ronarkable a 
 character as Mr. Elwcs, of penurious memory. 
 He was originally a tanner in Soiithwark, and 
 his dealings were so extensive, that his stock iu
 
 34 BENJAMIN POPE. 
 
 trade was, for muny years, supposed to be worth 
 sixty or seventy thousand pounds. He had been 
 long in business, and was reputed to be worth a 
 plumb. Mr. Pope at length beeanie a money- I 
 lender, and launched into discounting alid buying 
 annuities, mortirai^es and other transactions of a 
 like nature. He was not, however, so success- 
 ful in this branch of business as lie had been in 
 his former dealings; for the name of Pope, the 
 hsurer, frec|ucntly appears in the proceedings of 
 our courts of law, when the venerable sages on 
 the bench thought very differently from Mr. 
 Pope, of his practices in this line of businc&ji. 
 The most remarkable, and the last instance of 
 this sort was, when he was cast in J(),000l, 
 damages for some ugurions or illegal practices, 
 in some money transactions with Sir Alexander 
 Leith. This was generally thought a severe 
 sentence, and, perhaps, the wcii-known cha- 
 ructer of the man contributed not a little to- 
 wards it, Mr. Pope h.im self thought it so op' 
 pressive and unjust, that he complained of it 
 w ithout ceasing, and even printed a case, setting 
 forth the particulars of his grievance. To be even ■[ 
 with his adversary Mr. Pope went with all his 
 effects and property to Prance ; where a man 
 of his advanced age and ample fortune, without ' 
 any family but lib wife, who was a most worthy 
 woman, might certainly have lived very comfor- 
 tably : but Mr. Pope abroad, was removed from 
 his friends and customers. His money being idle, 
 which was always considered by him as a great
 
 BENJAMliV POPE. 35 
 
 misfortune, he resolved to return liome, and^ to 
 shew his resentment to his oppressors, as he 
 termed them, he preferred a residence in prison, 
 to the payment of the money. Such was his 
 constancy and resolution, in this particular, that 
 he actually suffered confinement for eleven years 
 and a quarter. Mr. Pope, at one time, might 
 have got his liberty for one thousand pounds, but 
 he remained inflexible, and said, that his com- 
 pliance would be an acknowledgment of the 
 justness of the debt, and he would forfeit his 
 life rather than make any such admission. In 
 prison, Mr. Pope had many opportunities of in- 
 dulging those propensities for which he had ever 
 been remarkable; he always looked at the pint 
 of small-beer, before he paid for it, to see that 
 the pot was full : for this he was in some degree 
 excusable, as the pint generally lasted him two 
 dajs, that and water been his only beverage. 
 He has indeed being knov.n to drink a little 
 strong beer, with some of his fellow prisoners at 
 their apartments, but this was very rarely prac- 
 tised, and he never ordered any for himself. He 
 purchased his three-farthing candle by weight, 
 and chose the heaviest of six, eight, or ten for 
 his money. 
 
 During the whole time of his confinement he 
 never had a joint of meat on his table ; a four- 
 penny plate of meat from a cook's shop was his 
 greatest luxury, and that generally served him 
 for two meals. But his family, though living at 
 a distance, frequently sent him a comfortable
 
 $0 BENJAMIN POPf.. 
 
 and proper supply; and on these occasions, Mr- 
 Pope soinetimes gave some leavings to his er- 
 rand-girl, or to some disitres^cd object. 
 
 It must indeed, be admitted, that Mr. Pope, 
 upon some occasions, sometimes so far departed 
 from himself, as to be liberal. When young iu 
 trade, he gave awi-ty upwards of a. stone of meat 
 every week, among his workmen and poor neigh- 
 bours ; and this practice lie never discontinued 
 not even when he was every day weighing his 
 candle, or looking after the measure of his small- 
 beer. In money transactions he suffered great 
 frauds and impositions in prison; as he had not 
 the ehoice of customers in his confined state, 
 and always endeavoured to make the most of iiii 
 money, he was more easily imposed upon. By 
 such means, he is supposed to have lost more 
 money than would have paiil his whole damages 
 and costs. He died in the Fleet Prison in the 
 month of July 1794, aged (j(j years.
 
 JOHN aVERS. 
 
 Before the metropolis had any bridge over 
 the Tiiames, the conveyance was by a ferry, 
 which used to carry passengers, from South- 
 wark to the city by boats ; whiclj ferry was rent- 
 ed of the city by John Overs, who enjoyed it for 
 many years. This man, though he kept many 
 servants, was of so covetous a disposition, that 
 he would not, even in his old age, spare his fee- 
 ble body, nor abate any thing of his unnecessary 
 labour, only to add to his wealth. He had al- 
 ways been accustomed to put his money out to 
 use, and in time it increased to such a degree 
 that he was almost as rich as the first noblemen 
 in the land; notwithstanding, his habit, house- 
 keeping, and expences, indicated the most abject 
 poverty. 
 
 This Charon had one daughter, both pious an<j[ 
 :)eautiful ; and he took care enough to have her 
 iberally educated; but when she grew up, and 
 it for marriage, he would suffer no man (by his 
 ^ood will) to have any access to her. Howcvei;, 
 I young gentleman took the opportunity, when 
 le was picking up his penny fares, to get ad- 
 nitted to her company. The first interview 
 VOL. 2. — NO. 13. o
 
 2 JOHN OVETtS. 
 
 pleased well, the second better, and tlie tliir<i 
 concluded the match. Meanwhile, the silly, 
 rich ferryman, not dreaming but things were as 
 secure by land as they wer€ by water, continued 
 in his former course, which was as follows. — He 
 was of so penurious a disposition, that, when he 
 would not be at the charge of a fire, he roasted, 
 or at least, warmed, a black pudding in his bosom, 
 and ate it; and gave his servants their portion 
 out of his bosom, heated by his rowing over the 
 water. Puddings were then a yard for a penny ; 
 and whenever he gave them their allowance, he 
 used to say, " There, you hungry dogs, you will 
 undo ine with eating!" 
 
 He w<ndd scared}' afford his poor neighbours 
 permission to light a candle, lest they should im- 
 poverish him, by taking some of the light. In the 
 night he went to scrape upon the dung-hill, and 
 if he could find any bones, he would bring thern 
 home in his cap, and have them stewed for pot- 
 tage; and instead of oatmeal, he would buy the 
 tiiftings of coarse meal, and with this make the 
 poor servants their broth. He bought his bread 
 at the market, not caring how mouldy or stale it 
 was ; and when he brought it home, he cut it in- 
 to slices, and laid it in the sun, that it might be 
 the harder to be eaten. Meat he would not buy, 
 unless it were tainted, and therefore would go fur- 
 ther in the family; and when his dog refused it, 
 he said, he was a dainty cur, and better fed than 
 taught, and then ate it iiimsclf. He needed no
 
 JOHN OVERfL 3 
 
 cats, for all the rats ajul mice voluntarily left his 
 house, as thcfe were no cruiiibs lei't by his ser- 
 \anti) to feed them. 
 
 It is farther reported of him, that, to save one 
 day's expenees, he first feigned himself sick, and 
 the next day counterfeited death, for no other 
 purpose than to save one day's provisions ; appre- 
 hending that, whilst his body was above ground, 
 his servants would not be so unnatural as to take 
 any manner of food till they had seen him in the 
 earth, purposing to recover the next morning af- 
 ter the charge was saved ; and with this he ac- 
 quainted his daughter, who, against her own will, 
 consented to satisfy his humour. He was then 
 laid out for dead, and wrapt up in a sheet, for he 
 would not be at the expence of a coffin. He was 
 laid out in his chamber with one candle burninGC 
 at his head, and another at his feet ; which was 
 the custom of the time. His apprentices hearing 
 of the glad tidings, came to see the joyful specta- 
 cle, and supposing liim really dead, began to 
 dance and skip about the corpse. One ran into 
 the kitchen, and breaking open the cupboard, 
 brought out the brown loaf; another fetched out 
 the cheese; and the third drew a flagon of beer. 
 They immediately began tilling their empty bel- 
 lies having been before almost starved, and re- 
 joicing among themselves in the expectation of 
 future comfort, and deliverance from the hard 
 usage they had endured. The old man lay- 
 quaking all this time to see the waste, and think- 
 ii}g he should be undone, hje could endure it no 
 
 G 2
 
 4 JOHN OVEKS. 
 
 longer. Stirring and sUuggling in bis sheet, he 
 stalked forth like a ghost, and taking a candle ia 
 each hand, was going to rout them for their bold- 
 ness, when one of them, thinking it was the de- 
 vil, in his likeness, in amazement caught hold of 
 the butt end of a broken oar, and at one blow 
 struck out his brains. Thu's he, who thouglit on- 
 ly to counterfeit death, actually lost his life, 
 through his own contrivance, and the law ac- 
 quitted the fellow of the act, as the deceased was 
 the prime occasion of the accident. 
 
 The daughter's lover hearing of her father's 
 death, instantly posted away to town, but, with 
 more haste than good speed, for in riding fast, 
 his horse unfortunately threw him, just at his en- 
 trance into London, and broke his neck. This, 
 and her father's death, had such had an effect oa 
 lier spirits as to bereaye her of her senses. The 
 father, who, for his usury, extortion, andthe-sor- 
 didness of his life, had been excommunicated^ 
 was not allowed christian burial ; but the daugh- 
 ter, for money, prevailed upon the friars of Ber- 
 .inondsey abbe}', in. the absence of the abbot, to 
 get him buried. 
 
 When the abbot came home, seeing a new 
 grave, he enquired who had been buried there, 
 in his absence. On being truly informed, he 
 caused the body to be taken up, and commanded 
 it to be laid on the back of his own ass, for if was 
 the custom of the times for the heads of religions 
 houses to ride upon asses, then making a shorty 
 prayer, he turned the beast with his burden out
 
 JOHN OVERS. 5 
 
 at the abbey gates, desiring of God lliat be migbt 
 carry him to some place where he best deserved 
 to be buried. The ass went with a solemn pace, 
 unguided by any, througli Kent Street, till he 
 came to St. Thomas-a-watering, which w^s then 
 the common execution place, and then shook 
 him off, just under the gallows; where a grave 
 was instantly made, and, without any cere- 
 mon}^, he was tumbled in, and covered with 
 earth. Such was the remarkable end of his in- 
 famous and abominable avarice! 
 
 These disasters coming on the daughter in 
 such rapid succession, and being troubled with a 
 number of new suitors, she resolved to retire into 
 a cloister of religious nuns; and determined, that 
 whatever her father had left her at his death, she 
 would dispose of as nearly as she could to the ho- 
 nour of her Creator, and the encouragement of 
 his religious service. Near to the place where her 
 father lived, and where she was born, she there- 
 fore caused the foundation of a famous church 
 to be laid, which was finished at her own charge, 
 and dedicated by her to the blessed Virgin Mary, 
 In memory of this pious act, and that her name 
 niight live to all posterity, the people added her 
 name to that given by her, and called it St. Ma- 
 ry Overs, which title it bears even to this da}'. 
 To the pubhc spirit of the priests of St. Mary 
 Overs, London Bridge owed its origin. Before, 
 there had been a ferry left by her parents to their 
 only daughter Mary, who founded a nunnery, 
 and endowed it with the money received from the 
 
 G 3
 
 6 EDWARD PRATT. 
 
 profits of the boats. This house was afterwards 
 converted into a great college of priests, who not 
 only built the bridge, but kept it in repair. The 
 first bridge it should be observed was of timber, 
 the materials of which it was constructed were 
 at hand, and most probably were rudely put tg- 
 gether. 
 
 EDWARD PRATT. 
 
 This relative of the noble family of the same 
 name, being half brother to the late venerable 
 and illustrious Earl Camden, was a man of sin- 
 gular character and affords a remarkable instance 
 of unconquerable taciturnity, and tenacious ac- 
 curacy of memory. Though by no means an 
 avaricious man, he always preferred the upper 
 floor of a house for his residence, on account of 
 its tranquillity; and regularly, while on shore, 
 dined in a room by himself at a tavern, where 
 he daily drank a solitary bottle of wine, without 
 intoxication. He was seldom heard to speak, 
 but no circumstance, however urgent, could pre- 
 •vail on him to break silence at zchist, the favourite 
 amusement, or rather occupation, of his life ; 
 and, at the conclusion of each rubber, he could 
 correctly call over the cards in the exact order in 
 which they were played, and enum.erat^ various 
 instances of error or dexterity in his associates, 
 with practical remarks. 
 But taciturnity was the favourite, the habitual
 
 EDWARD PBATT. 7 
 
 Or the affected pleasure of his life : he chose to 
 foregcr many little satisfactions arid comforts, ra- 
 ther than be at the trouble of askinc: for them. 
 The endearing chit-chat of friendship or affeo- 
 tipn, the familiar small-talk of domestic life, the 
 lively intercourse and spirited conversation of 
 polished circles, which the votaries of solitude 
 sometimes relish, he sedulously avoided. In his 
 -voyages to the east, he often doubled the Cape 
 of Good Hope without opening his lips. On a 
 certain occasion, the ship had been detained by a 
 long and troublesome calm, more distressing taa 
 sailor, than a tempestuous sea. The anxious 
 and dispirited crew were at last revived by the 
 wished-for breeze, which sprung up and wafted 
 them to the place of their destination. A shabby 
 seaman proclaimed tlie welcome tidings of land 
 from the top-mast. — While the officers and ship's 
 company were congratulating each other on the 
 approaching comforts oi terra Jirnm, the features 
 of Mr. Pratt \Aere observed somewhat to alter, 
 and unbend. " I knew, said he, you would en- 
 joy the sight of land ; I saw it an hour before the 
 careless raggamuffin aloft." — And these were tho 
 first, the last, and the only woi-ds he uttered du-» 
 ring the voyage. This unsocial aud reserved be- 
 havior probably originated from ill-treatment on 
 his first voyage, a hasty unfavourable opinion of 
 }iis associates, theboisterousness of the waves, or 
 an ill-founded and ungenerous prejudice, in 
 which he was supported by a learned writer. — 
 " I prefer a prison to a ship/' said J)y. Johnson^
 
 EDWARD PRATT. 
 
 '^ for you have always more room, and generally 
 better company." This illiberal sarcasm, from a 
 man who knew and taught better things^ seem? 
 -highly reprehensible. 
 
 CHRISTOPHER PIVETT. 
 
 Of the origin of this eccentric artist who foh* 
 lowed the trade of a carver and gilder at York, 
 with considerable reputation, nothing farther is 
 known, than that he was born in the year 1703. 
 He seems in the early part of his life to have em- 
 braced the military profession, and to have been 
 one of the retinue of his Royal Highness Wil- 
 liam Duke of Cumberland.' — He fougiit under 
 the Earl of Stair at the battle of Dettingen, and 
 under the Duke oi" Cumberland in the battle of 
 Fontcnoy ; was at the siege of Carlisle, and at the 
 battle of Culloden. 
 
 He settled at York at the latter end of the 
 year 1746. His habitation having been burnt 
 down, he took the singular resolution of not lying 
 in a bed, which he had not done for the last 
 thirty-eight years of his life. He used to sleep 
 on the floor or upon one or more chairs with his 
 clothes on. During the whole of this period he 
 lived alone, cooked his victuals himself, and seU 
 dcnn admitted any person into his habitatioa 
 carefully concealing the place of his birth or to 
 whom he was related. It was supposed that h6
 
 JOHN KELSEY. 9 
 
 \Vas born in or near London, and that he had 
 relations resident there at the time of his 
 death. He apj5cared to have had a liberal edu- 
 -cation, and was fond of beinc; stvled Sir Chris- 
 topher Pivett. He was also remarkable for 
 many other singularities. Among other un- 
 common articles which composed the furniture 
 of his apartment were a human skull and some 
 old swords and armor on which he seta great va- 
 lue. He retained his faculties to the last, de- 
 clined the indulgence ol a bed or even of a mat- 
 trass, and refused all medical assistmice. He 
 was an ingenious artist, and an honest man, and 
 died in York, in 1796, at the advanced age of 
 93 years. 
 
 JOHN KELSEY. 
 
 IN O stimulus has ever been found to operate 
 with greater power upon the human mind than 
 leligious enthusiasm. Lender the influence of 
 this passion which perhaps more thoroughly 
 subdues the reason and understanding than any 
 of the others implanted in the bosom of man, 
 the misguided fanatic braves every danger and 
 there is no enterprize too preposterous and extra- 
 vagant for him to undertake. Such was the 
 principle that reigned with unlimited dominion 
 in the heart of John Kelsey. 
 
 This man, likewise distinguished by the ap-
 
 30 JOHN KELSEY. 
 
 pellation of John the Quaker, was born of low 
 parents and lived during the reign of Charles the 
 II. He conceived no less a design than that of 
 convening the Grand Siguier to the christian / 
 faith, and for this purpose absolutely went to 
 Constantinople. He placed himself at the cor- , 
 ner of one of the streets of that city, and preach- 
 ed with all the vehemence of a fanatic ; but 
 speaking in his own language, a crowd of peo- 
 ple gathered round him, and stared with asto- 
 nishment, without being able to guess at the 
 drift of his discourse. He was soon considered 
 to be out of his senses, and at length was takea 
 to a madhouse, where he was closely confined for 
 six months. It happened that one of the keepers 
 knew a little of English, and discovered him to be; 
 an Englishman. Lord Winchelsea, who was then 
 ambassador to the Porte, was informed that a mad 
 countryman of his was then under confinement. 
 His Lordship immediately sent for him, and ne ap- 
 peared in an old dirty hat, very much torn, which 
 no persuasion could induce him to take off. The 
 ambassador thought that a little of the Turkish 
 discipline might be of some service to him, and 
 accordingly gave orders that he should receive 
 the bastinado. This had the desired effect, and 
 caused a total change in his behaviour, and he 
 ^'en confessed that the drubbing had a good ef- 
 fcft upon his spit it. Some letters were found up«« 
 on him, addressed to the Great Turk, in which 
 he told liim, tiiat he was a scourge in the hand 
 Qi God to chastLse the wicked j aad tliat he
 
 MARLOW SIDNEY ESg, 11 
 
 sent him not only to denounce, but to executa 
 vengeance. Soon after he was put on board a 
 ship for England, but artfiillj- found means to es- 
 cape in his passage, and got back again to Con- 
 stftutinople. He was soon discovered, and sent 
 on board of another ship, and means were taken 
 to prevent the possibility of his making a second 
 €scapc. 
 
 MARLOW SIDNEY ESQ. 
 
 1 HIS remarkable and eccentric character, died 
 on the 23d of January, 1804, at Cowpen, in 
 Northumberland in the 99th year of his age. 
 For many 3'ears he had such an antipathy against 
 medical men, that even in his last illness, he 
 would not suffer any to attend him. He was 
 very partial to the dress and company of the fair 
 sex, but never had the pleasure of tying the hy- 
 meneal knot. When seventy years of age, his 
 thirst for innocent and childish amusements was 
 such, that he actually went to the dancing school, 
 where he regularly attended, and appeared highly 
 gratified with his youtliful associates. About 
 two years before his dec<?ase a sister, who resided 
 in London, was at the trouble of paying him a 
 visit ; and durmg her short stay, he gencrousli/ al- 
 lowed her milk and lodging; but with bread and 
 other necessaries she was obliged to provide her- 
 self. \^lien he had any money to send to his
 
 12 WILLTAM ANDREW HORNE. 
 
 banker at Newcastle, three of his most trusty ser- 
 vants were well mounted and armed with pistols; 
 his principal man rode in the middle with the 
 cash, and the other two at proper distances from 
 him, in his van and rear. In this defensive man- 
 ner they marched along, the better to resist any 
 attack that might be attempted by daring high- ^ 
 waymen. Though so singular in his manner, no 
 person deserved better the name of a good man. 
 
 WILLIAM ANDREW HORNE. 
 
 Among the many instances of the remarkable 
 judgments of Heaven against persons guilty of 
 "the atrocious crime of murder, the following is 
 not the least extraordinary. It affords an addi- 
 tional and striking demonstration that thouo-h 
 the day of retribution may long be delayed, the 
 murderer seldom escapes, even in this world, the 
 punishment decreed by society for his offence. 
 William Andrew Home was the eldest son of 
 a gentleman who possessed a good estate in the 
 parish of Pentridge, in Derbyshire. There he 
 was born on the 30th. of November, 1685. By 
 his father wh > was reputed the first classic scho- i^ 
 lar in the county, he was taught Latin and Greek, "' 
 in neither of which he made much progress. 
 Being a favorite with the old gentleman he was 
 indulged at an early age with a horse and money, 
 
 7
 
 WILLIAM ANDREW IlORNE. 13 
 
 which enabled him to ramble fiom one place of 
 diversion lo another. In this course ot" dissipa- 
 tion, he gave a loose to his vicious inclinations, 
 and particularly to his passion for women. Not 
 content with debauching his mother's maid ser- 
 vants, he afterwards acknowledged in a j)aper 
 written with his own hand, that he had been the 
 occasion of the murder of a servant girl wb.o was 
 with child by him, and that he had a criminal 
 connection with his own sisters. 
 
 In the month of February 1724, one of his sis- 
 ters was delivered of a fine boy. Tiiree day; af- 
 terwards he went at ten o'clock at night, to his 
 brother Charles, who then lived with him at his 
 father's, and told him he must take a ride with 
 him that night. He then fetched the child, 
 which they put into a long linen bag, and taking 
 two horses out ol the stable, rode away, to An- 
 nesly in Nottinghamshire, five computed miles 
 from Butterley, carrying the ciiild by turns. 
 When they came near the place, M'^illiani 
 alighted, and asked whether the child was alive. 
 Charles answering in die affirmative, he took it 
 in the bag, and went away, bidding his brolher 
 stay till he should return. AVhen Charles asked 
 him what he had done with it, he said, he had 
 laid it by a hay-stack, and covered it with hay. 
 
 After his condemnation, he declared that he 
 had no intention the child siiould die ; that to 
 preserve its life, he put it into a bag lined with 
 wool, and made a hole in the bag to give it air; 
 that the child was well dressed, and was designed 
 
 VOL. 2 — NO. I.J. H
 
 1-1 WILLIAM ANDREW HORNE. 
 
 as a present for Mr. Chaworth of Annesly, and 
 was intended to be laid at his door : but on taking 
 it From his brother, and approaching the house^ 
 the doss made such a constant barkins;, that he 
 durst not go up to the door for fear of a disco- 
 very, there being a light in one of the windows; 
 that upon this disappointment^ he went back to 
 some distance, and at last determined to lay it un- 
 der a warm hay-stack, in hopes of its being dis- 
 covered early next morning, by the people who 
 came to fodder the cattle. The child was indeed 
 found, but it was dead, in consequence of being 
 left there all night in the cold. 
 
 Not long afterwards, Charles, having some dif- 
 ference with his brother, mentioned tlie affair to 
 his father, who enjoined him never to speak of 
 it again. It was, accordingly, kept a secret till 
 the old gentleman's death, which happened 
 about the year 1747, when he was in his 102d 
 year. Charles having occasion, soon after this 
 event, to call on Mr. Cooke an attorney of Der- 
 by, on parish business, related to him the whole 
 affair. Mr. Cooke said he ought to go to a ma- 
 gistrate, and make a full discovery. He accor- 
 dingly went to Justice Gisborne, |)ut that gcn- 
 tlejiian told him, it would be better to be silent, 
 as it was an affair of long standing, and might 
 hang half the family. After this Charles men- 
 tioned it to several other persons. 
 
 Charles at this time, w as far from being in 
 easy circumstances. He kept a little ale-house 
 at a gate leading to his brother's habitation ; and
 
 WILLIAM ANDREW HORNE. io 
 
 though he used frequently to open the gate for 
 him^ pulling off his hat at the same time, yet Wil- 
 liam would never speak to iiiai. Not only his 
 brother, but the whole country round had reason 
 to eomplain of his chm-lishness and rigor ; he 
 would searccly suffer a person, who was not qua- 
 lified, to keep a dog or a gun, so that he was^ 
 universally feared and hated. 
 
 About the year 1754, Charles being very ill of 
 a flux, sent for Mr. John White ©f Ripley, and 
 said he was a dying man, and co^dd not go out of 
 the world without disclosing his n^ind to him. lie 
 then acquaaaed him with the incest and murder. 
 Mr. White said ii was a delicate business, and 
 he knew not what to advise. A few days after- 
 wards, Mr. White seeing him surprisingly reco- 
 vered, asked'him to what it was owing, to which 
 Charles replied, it was in consequence of his 
 having disclosed his mind to him. 
 
 A short time previous to this circumstanc'e, 
 William Andrew Home threatened Oiie Mr. Roe 
 for killing game, and meeting liim at a public 
 house, an altercation arose on this .object, in 
 which Roe called Home an incestuous old dog. 
 For these words he was prosecuted in the ecclesi- 
 astical court at Litchfield, and being unable to 
 prove the charge, he was obliged to feubmit, and 
 to pay all expences. Roe being afterwards in- 
 formed that Charles Home had informed some 
 persons that his brother \Villiam had starved his 
 natural child to death, went to them, and found 
 his intelligence to be ti ue. Upon this he applied, 
 
 H 2
 
 16 AVILLIAM ANDREW HORNE. 
 
 about Christmas 1758, to a justice in Derbysliire, 
 ior a warrant to apprehend Charles, that the 
 truth might come out. The warrant was grant- 
 ed ; but as the justice did pubiic business en 
 Tvl ondajs only, the constable took Charles's word 
 for his appearance on the Monday following. 
 
 Meanwhile, William being informed of the 
 Avarj-ant, endeavoured to prevail on his brother 
 Charles to perjure himself, promising to be a 
 iViend to him. Charles refused to comply, say- 
 ing that he had no reason to expect any favour 
 {rmi him, but as he was his brother, if he would 
 give him five pounds to carry him to Liverpool, 
 lie would immediately embark for another coun- 
 try. William, however, refused to part with the 
 money. 
 
 The justices of Derbyshire, discovering some 
 reluctance to sift the affair to the bottom, an ap- 
 plication was made about the middle of Marchj 
 l7o9, to a justice of the peace in Nottingham- 
 sliire, who granted a warrant for apprehending 
 William. It was soon endorsed by Sir John 
 Every, a gentleman in the commission of the 
 peace for the county of Derby. About eight at 
 jiight the constable of Annesly, went to Mr. 
 -Home's house at Butterley, and knocked at the 
 door, but was refused admittance. He then left 
 the above mentioned Roe and two others to guard 
 the house, and came again the next morning. 
 He was told by a servant man that Mr. Home 
 was gone out. They insisted he was in the 
 feouse, and threatened to break open the door.
 
 WILLIAM ANDREW IIORNE. , 17 
 
 on whicli they were admitted. They search'ed 
 all over the house, but could not find Mr. Home. 
 Roe pressed them to make a second search. In 
 one of the rooms they observed a large old 
 chest, in which Home's wife said there was no- 
 thing but table linen and sheets. Roe insisted 
 on inspecting the contents, and was about, to 
 break the lid, when Mrs. Home opened itj 
 and her husband started up in a fright, bare- 
 headed, exclaiming, " It is a sad thing to hang 
 me, for my brotlier Charles is as bad as myself; 
 and he cannot hang me without hanging him- 
 self." 
 
 He was carried before two justices of Not- 
 tingham, and after an examination of some hours, 
 was committed to Nottingham gaol, to take his 
 trial at the assizes. Soon after his commitment 
 he made application to the court of King's 
 Bench, to be removed by Habeas Corpus, in or- 
 der to be bailed. For this purpose he went to 
 London in the custody of his goaler, but the 
 court denied him bail, so that he was obliged to 
 return to Nottingham, where he remained ia 
 confinement till the summer assizes, held on the 
 10th of August 1759, before Lord Chief Baron- 
 Parker. After a trial whijh lasted nine hours, 
 the jury having withdrawn for half an hour, pro-^ 
 nounccd a verdict of Guilty. Thirty-five years 
 the justice of heaven had lingered, but now it 
 descended with redoubled weight on the head of 
 the hoary sinner. On this occasion the very per- 
 sons who found the child appeared and corrobo- 
 
 ji 3
 
 18 M'lLLlAM ANDREW ILORNE. 
 
 rated the brother's tviclence. lie immediately 
 received sentence to be hanged the Monday fol- 
 lowing, but in the evening, at the intercession of, 
 s jme gentlemen who thought the time too short 
 for such an old offender to search his heart, the 
 judge uas pleased to respite the execution of the 
 sentence for a month; at the expiration of 
 whicli he obtained another respite till farther 
 orders. 
 
 This time he spent chiefly in fruitless applica- 
 tions, to persons in power for a pardon, mani- . 
 festing little sense of the crime of which he had 
 been convicted, and often saying it was doubly 
 hard to suffer on the evidence of a brother for a 
 crime committed so many 3'ears before. A day 
 or two previous to his execution, he solemnly de- 
 nied many atrocious things which common re- 
 port laid to his charge, and said to a person, 
 *' My friend, my brother Charles was tried at 
 Derby twenty years ago, and acquitted; my deair 
 sister Nanny forswearing herself at that time to 
 save his life, which you see was preserved to hang 
 jne." — He told the clergyman who attended him, 
 " that he forgave all his enemies, even his bro- 
 ther Charles ; but that at the day of judgment, if 
 God Almighty should ask him how his brother 
 Charles behaved, he would not give him a good 
 character." He was exactly 74 years old the 
 day he died, being executed on his birth-day. 
 This he mentioned several times after the order 
 lor his execution was signed, saying, he always 
 .-used to have plumb-pudding on his birth-day.
 
 "U'lLLIAM ANI)RE\¥ HCRME. 19 
 
 and would again^ if he could obtain another re- 
 ])j"ieve. 
 
 He was of such a penurious disposition, tliat it 
 is said he never did one generous action in the 
 whole course of his life. Notwithstanding his 
 licentious conduct, his father left him all his real 
 estate, having some time before his death given 
 all his personal property by a deed of gift to 
 Charles. The falher died on a couch in the kit- 
 chen, and had, at the time, about twelve guilieas 
 in his pocket, which undoubtedl}- belonged 
 to Charles. William, however, took the cash 
 out of the pocket of his deceased parent, and 
 would not part with it, till Charles promised to 
 pay the whole expence of burying the old 
 man. This he did, and afterwards insisting on 
 his right, the elder brother turned him out of 
 doors, and though he knew he was master of 
 such an important secret^ he refused to afford 
 him the least assistance ; or to give a morsel of 
 bread to his hungry children, begging at the door 
 of their hard-hearted uncle. — Besides his incest, 
 and the murder of the young woman, who was 
 with child bv him, he confessed that he broke 
 with a violent blow, the arm of one Amos Killer^ 
 which occasioned tliepoor fellow's death.
 
 te 
 
 THOMAS DAY, ESQ. 
 
 It is matter of just regret that Mr. Day, left 
 behind him no friend able or willing to present 
 the public with a complete account of his life. 
 The particulars which have been given con- 
 cerning this original and truly eccentric cha- 
 racter seem to justify the presumption that such 
 a narrative would have afforded equal instruc- 
 tion and entertainment. From such scanty ma- 
 terials as can be procured, the following facts 
 are gleaned ; but justice obliges the compiler to 
 acknowledge, that, for most of them, he is in- 
 debted to the interesting account of Mr. Day, 
 given by the ingenious Miss Seward, in her 
 " Memoirs of the Life of Dr. Darwin." 
 
 Thomas Day was born in London in 1748. 
 He was educated at the Charter-house, and from 
 that institution was removed to Corpus Christi 
 College, Oxford. His father died during his in- 
 fancy, leaving him an estate of twelve hundred 
 pounds per annum. Soon after that event Mrs. 
 Day married a gentleman of tiie name of Phi- 
 lips, one of those ordinary characters who seek 
 to supply an inherent want of consequence by an 
 officious interference in circumstances witk 
 which they have no real concern. Mrs. Philips, 
 with a jointure of three hundred pounds a y£ar
 
 THOMA5 DA Y, ESg. 21 
 
 put of her son's estate, had been left his guardian, 
 in conjunction with another person, wlioni she 
 iniluenced. Beiuff herself under the influence 
 of' her husband, the domestic situation of her 
 son, a youth of high spirit and no common ge- 
 nius, was often rendered extremely uncomfort- 
 able. It may easily be supposed tiuU he impa- 
 tiently brooked the troublesome authority of a 
 man whom he despised, and who had no claim 
 upon his obedience, though he considered it his 
 iluty to treat the husband of his mother with 
 some exterior deference and respect. She often 
 repined at the narrowness of her jointure, and 
 still more frequently expressed her anxiety lest 
 Mr. Pliilips who had no fortune of liis own, 
 should, by losing her, be deprived in the decline 
 of life, of a comfortable subsistence. No sooner 
 had Mr. Day come of age and into possession of 
 his estate, than he augmented his mother's join- 
 ture to four hundred pounds, and settled it on 
 Mr. Philips during his life. Such bounty to one 
 who liad needlessly embittered so many years of 
 his infancy and youth, affords incontestible evi- 
 dence of a truly noble and elevated mind. 
 
 Mr. Day was a phenomenon rarely seen in 
 these latter times, especially among persons of 
 his rank in society. Even at that period " when 
 youth, elate and gay, steps into lite," he looked 
 quite the philuscpher. Powder and elegant 
 clothes were at that time the appendages of gen- 
 tlemen, but Mr. Day wore neither. 1m person 
 lie was tall, and stooped in the shoulders; he was
 
 22 T^O^MS DAY, ESO. 
 
 full made, but not corpulent ; ant! in his pensive . 
 and meiancholy air were blended awkwardness 
 and dignity. Though his features bore the traces 
 of » severe small-pox, yet they were interesting 
 and agreeable, A kind of weight hung upon the 
 lids of his large hazleeyesj but when he declaimed 
 
 Of good and evil. 
 
 Passion and apathy, and glory and sbarae, 
 
 the expression that flashed from them was liighly 
 energetic. 
 
 His moral character was moulded after the an- 
 tique )noo!el of the most virtuous ciii^tcus^of 
 Greece and Rome. He proudly imposed on 
 himself rigid abstinence, even from the most in- 
 nocent pleasures ; nor would he allow any action 
 to be virtuous that was performed from the hope 
 of a reward here or hereafter. This severity of 
 principle had, however the effect of rendering 
 him rather sceptical towards the doctrines of re- 
 vealed religion. Strict integrity, active friend- 
 ship, openhanded bour.ty, and diffusive charity, 
 greatly over-balanced the tincture of misanthro- 
 pic gloom and proud contempt of common-life 
 society, which marked his character. For such 
 miseries as spring from refinement and the softer 
 affections, Mr. Day had no sympathy; but he 
 evinced genuine compassion for the sufferings of 
 cold and hunger. To the pleasure of relieving 
 these he nobly sacrificed all the parade of life 
 gnd all the gratifications of luxury, ^or po-
 
 THOMAS DAY, ESQ. 23- 
 
 lislied society lie expressed supreme contempt, 
 and cliciished a panicHlar aversion i'or the mo-« 
 deni plans of Iciuale education, ascribing to 
 their intluence the disappointment he experi- 
 enced honi the fickleness of a young lady to whom 
 he had paid his addresses. He, nevertheless, 
 thought it his dut^' to marry; he indulged syste- 
 matic idtas of the powers of philosophic tuition 
 to produce future virtue, and took great delight 
 in mouldino; the mind of infancy and vouth. 
 
 The distinctions of birth and the advantages 
 of wealth were ever regarded by Mr. JDay with 
 contempt, lie resolved that the woman whom 
 he should chuse for his wife sDould have a taste 
 for literature and science, for moral and patriotic 
 J philosophy. She would thus be a fit companion 
 in that retirement to which he had destined him- 
 self, and mi^ht assist in forming the minds of his 
 children to stubborn virtue and high exertion. 
 He likewise resolved, that in her dress, her diet, 
 and lier manners she should be simple as a moun- 
 tain-girl, fearless and intrepid as the Spartan 
 wives and lioman heroines. The most romantic 
 philosopher could not expect to find such a crea- 
 ture ready made to his hands, and Mr. Day was 
 soon convinced of the necessity of moulding some 
 infant into the being his fancy had pictured. 
 
 To the accomplishment of this plan he pro- 
 ceeded in the following manner. When he 
 came of age, he procured credentials of his 
 moral probity, and with these he travelled to 
 Shrewsbur}', accompanied by his friend the late 
 3
 
 24 THOMAS DAY, ESO. 
 
 Mr. Bicknel, llieii a banister in consi(Ierabl<* 
 j)i-aclice, to explore the Irospital for ibimdling 
 girls in that town. From among the little in- 
 mates of this institution, INIr. Day, in the pre- 
 sence of his friend, selected two of twelve years. 
 They were both beautiful ; the one, fair, with 
 flaxen locks and light eyes, he called Lucretia; 
 the other, a clear, auburn brunette, with darker 
 eyes, more glowing bloom and chcsnut tresses, 
 he named Sabrina. The written conditions on 
 which he obtained these girls were to this effect: 
 that, within a year he should place one of them 
 with some reputable tradeswoman, giving one 
 hundred pounds to bind her apprentice, and 
 maintaining her, if she behaved well, till she 
 married or began business for herself, in either 
 of which cases he promised to advance four 
 hundred more. He avowed his intention of 
 keeping and educating the other, with a view 
 to make her his wife; solemnly engaging never 
 to violate her innocence, and if he should re- 
 nounce liis plan, to maintain her in some cre- 
 ditable family till she married, when he promised 
 to give five hundred pounds as lier wedding por- 
 tion. For the performance of this contract Mr. 
 Bicknel w^as guarantee. 
 
 With these girls Mr. Day immediately \ycnt 
 to France, and that they might imbibe no 
 ideas but such as he chose to communicate, he 
 took with him in this excursion not a single En- 
 glisii servant. Notwithstanding all his philoso- 
 j)hy, his young companions iiarassed and per-
 
 > THOMAS DAV, ESQ. '2.> 
 
 plexed him not a little ; they were perpetually 
 quarrelling and lighting, and at length, falling- 
 sick of the small-pox, they chained him to their 
 bed-side by crying and screaming if thej'^ wfcre 
 left a moment with any person who could not 
 speak to them in their native language. Their 
 protector wiis therefore not on!}' obliged to sit up 
 with them many nights, but also to perform for 
 them the lowest offices that are required of a 
 nurse or a domestic. Health returned, and v.ith 
 it all their former beauty. Soon after' the reco- 
 very of his wards, Mr. Day was crossing the 
 Rhone with them, on a tempestuous day, when 
 tbe boat overset. Being an excellent swimmer 
 he saved them both, though not without consi- 
 derable difficulty and danger to himself. 
 
 After a tour of ei<j;ht months, durinc; which his 
 patience and perseverance had been abr.ndantl}' 
 exercised, Mr. Day returned to England, hear- 
 tily glad to separate the little squabblers. Sa- 
 brina having become the favourite, he placed 
 the fair Lucretia with a chamber milliner; she 
 behaved well, and afterwards married a respecta- 
 ble linen-draper in London. He committed Sa- 
 briua to the care of Mr. Bicknel's mother, while 
 he settled his affairs at his own mansion-house. 
 Bear-hill in Berkshire, from whicli filial tender- 
 ness would not permit him to remove his mother. 
 
 About this time the fame of Dr. Darwin's ta- 
 lents induced Mr. Day to visit Lichfield. Thi- 
 rlier in the spring of I770he conducted the beau- 
 teous Sabrina, then thirteen 3'ears old, and took 
 
 VOL. C.— NO. 13. I
 
 20 THOMAS DAY, ESO. 
 
 for twelve month? a pleasant mansion in the lit- 
 tle 2;recn valley of Slowe. Here he resumed ills 
 endeavours to implant in the mind of his charge 
 the characteristic virtues of Arria, of Portia, and 
 Cornelia, but his experiments were not attended 
 with the desired success. He found it impossible 
 to fortify her mind agajnst the dread of pain 
 and the sense of danger ; when he dropped 
 melted sealing-wax upon her arms she did not 
 endure it without flinching, and when he fired at 
 her petticoats pistols which she believed to be 
 charged with balls, she could not forbear starting, 
 and expressing her apprehensions by violent 
 screams. More than once when he tried iier fi- 
 delity in keeping pretended secrets^ he discovered 
 that she had communicated them to the servants 
 and to her playfellows. She manifested an aver- 
 sion to study and books, which afforded little pro- 
 mise of ability that should one day be responsible 
 ifor the education of youths who were to emulate 
 the Gracchi. 
 
 In these experiments Mr. Day persisted, toliis 
 •uniform disappointment, during the 3'ear he 
 spent in the neighbourhood of Lichfield. The 
 difficulty consisted in giving Sabrina a motive 
 for exertion, heroism, and self denial. His 
 plan rejected the usual sources — pecuniary re- 
 ward, luxury, ambition, and vanity. His vigi- 
 lance had kept her in total ignorance of the VcV- 
 lue of mone}', the reputation of beauty, and the 
 love of dress. The only inducement which she 
 could have to subdue the natural preference of 
 5
 
 THOMAS DAV, ESO. 27 
 
 ease and sport to pain and the labour of thinking, 
 was the desire of pleasing her proteetor, and ii» 
 ■this desire fear had a nnich larger share than af- 
 fection. At lengtli, discuLiraged by so many 
 fruitless trials, he renounced all hope of moulding 
 Sabrina into the being he had so fondly imaged, 
 and relinquishing liis intention of making her his 
 wife, he placed lier ai a boarding-school in \Var- 
 wickshire. 
 
 Ilis confidence in the power of education be- 
 gan to falter and his aversion to modern elegance 
 subsided. During his residence in the vale of 
 Hfowe he liad enjoyed daily opportunities of eon- 
 vcrsins; with thc-bcautifui jNliss llonora Snevd, 
 of Lichfield, the object of the inextinguishable 
 passion of tlie gallant and unfortunate iSIajor 
 Andre. Tlie mental and personal accomplish- 
 ments of this lady made such a deep impression 
 on the heart of Mr. Day, tliat he made her an 
 ofter of his hand. She admired ids talents, re- 
 spected his virtues, but found it impossible to 
 love him, and candidly told him so. He now 
 transferred his heart to her sister Elizabeth, a 
 very engaging young lady, though far inferior to 
 Honora, and she, with equal candor, acknow- 
 ledged that she could have loved him, had he ac- 
 quired the manners and habits of society, in- 
 stead of tliose austere sinouiarities for which he 
 was remarkable. 
 
 To these our philosopher now began to ascribe 
 all the disappointments he had hitherto experi- 
 enced in love. He told Elizabeth, that, for her 
 
 1 2
 
 *S THOMAS DAY, ESO. 
 
 sake, he would renounce his prejudices against 
 externa! refinements, -.vat] endeavour to acquire 
 them ; for which purpose he would go to Pari=:, 
 and place himself for a year under the uiition of 
 dancing and fencing masters.. This he actually 
 did_, but, notwilhstanding the many painful re- 
 straints to whicli lie submitted, and the incessant 
 assiduity with which he studied to acquire in his 
 air, manners, and address, the graceful ease and 
 polished exterior of a man of tiie world, he was 
 unable entirely to conquer habits to which time 
 iiad given such strengili. 
 
 He now returned to Enoland, but onlv to en- 
 dure 'fresh disappointments. The attempts he 
 made with visible effort to assunic the polish of 
 fashionable life, and the showy dress in which he 
 presented himself to his fair one, appeared in- 
 finitely more ungraceful and unbecoming than 
 his natural simplicity of manners and of garb. 
 She confessed that Thomas Day, blackguard, as 
 he jestingly styled himself, was much less displeas- 
 iu2;tu her eye than Thomas Day, fine o-eoLleman. 
 
 After such sacrifices and such efforts, it is easy 
 to conceive what must now have been his morti- 
 fication. Relinquishing his hopeless suit, be re- 
 sumed his accustomed plainness of attire, and 
 neglect of his person. He again visited the con- 
 tinent, where he passed another year, and re- 
 turned to England in 1773. From that period' 
 Mr. Day resided chiefly in London, where amid 
 the select circle to which he confined himself, he 
 often met the elegant Miss Esther JNIills, of Der-
 
 THOMAS DAY^ ESQ. il9 
 
 byshire. Brought up amid the luxuries, and pos- 
 sessing the accomplishments suited to her large 
 fortune, this lady had cultivated her understand- 
 ing by books, and her virtues by benevolence. 
 She soon discovered his talents and his merit, 
 and in her eyes the unpolished stoic possessed ir- 
 resistible charms. Her regard for him mani- 
 fested itself in the most unequivocal manner ; but 
 repeated disappointment had caused Mr. Day to 
 look with distrust on all female attention, how- 
 ever flattering. U was not till after years of mo- 
 dest, yet tender devotion, that he deigned to ask 
 JVJiss Mills, if, for his sake, she could renounce 
 all the pleasures, all the luxuries, all the ostenta- 
 tion of the world ; if, after procuring the ordi- 
 nary comforts of life, she could resolve to em- 
 ploy the surplus of her fortune in clothing the 
 naked and feeding the hungry ; if she could bury 
 herself with him in the country, and shun, 
 through the rest of her life, the infectious taint 
 of society. 
 
 Had not the heart of Miss Mills been influ- 
 enced by the most devoted attachment, she could , 
 scarcely have assented to such proposals. They 
 were, however, gladly accepted ; but something- 
 more remained. Mr. Day insisted that her 
 whole fortune should be settled upon her, to- 
 tally out of his controul, that if ever she grew 
 tired of such a system of life, she might return 
 to that to which she had been accustomed, wiien- 
 ever she pleased. 
 
 Having, iipwn these conditions, made Miss 
 
 1 3
 
 50 THOMAS DAY. ESO. 
 
 Mills his wife, Mr. Day retired with her into the 
 country about the year 1780. Mrs. Day had no 
 carriage, no servant of her own, no luxury of 
 any kind. Music, to which she was strongly at- 
 tached, was deemed trivial^ and she accordingly 
 banished her harpsichord and music books. Mr. 
 Day made frequent experiments on her temper 
 and her affection; and never did the most depen- 
 dent wife make such absolute sacrifices to the 
 most imperious husband, as did this lady, who 
 was in secure possession of an affluent indepen- 
 dence, and of whom nothing was required as a 
 duty. 
 
 It was not long after his marriage that Mr. 
 Day began to compose the History of Sandford 
 and Meiton, a work on which it is unnecessary 
 to pass any eulogium here. Its general adoption 
 as a book of education by enlightened parents 
 and instructors of youth, sufficiently attests the 
 merits of Mr. Day's labours. He was likewise 
 the author of two noble poems, which appeared 
 previous to Sandford and Merton. These were 
 The Devoted Legions and The Dying Negro, ^he 
 third edition of the latter he dedicated to Rous- 
 seau, in language replete with energy and every 
 grace of eloquence. 
 
 The useful life of Mr. Day was cut short in its 
 meridian. He fell a victim in the year 1/89 lo 
 one of his uncommon systems. He thought so 
 highly of the gratitude and sensibility of horses, 
 that whenever ihey were vicious or unruly, he 
 conceived it to be owing to previous ill usage.
 
 THOMAS DAY, ESO. 31 
 
 Having reared a favourite foal, he resolved to 
 accustom him to the bit and the burden himself, 
 without the assistance of a horse-breaker. He 
 accordingly mounted the animal, which, disliking 
 this new kind of treatment, plunged, threw his 
 master, who was not a good horseman, and with 
 his heels, struck him a blow on the head which 
 instantly proved fatal. 
 
 So deeply was Mrs. Day affected by his loss, 
 that it is said she never afterwads saw the sun ; 
 but, confining herself to her bed, within the 
 curtains of which no light was admitted during 
 the day, she rose only at night, and w'andered 
 alone in her garden, amid the gloom that was 
 congenial to her sorrows. She survived her 
 adored husband two years, and expired of a bro- 
 ken heart. Mr. and Mrs. Day left no issue. 
 
 The reader will not be displeased to find a few 
 farther particulars relative to the fortune of Sa- 
 brina, subjoined to this account of her patron. 
 We left her at school at Sutton Coldfield in 
 Warwickshire. There Sabrina remained three 
 years, grew elegant and amiable, and gained the 
 esteem of her instructress. On her leaving 
 school Mr. Day allowed her fifty pounds per an- 
 num. She resided some years near Birmingham, 
 and afterwards at Newport in Shropshire, secu- 
 ring herself friends by the strict propriety of her" 
 conduct and her virtues. In her twenty-sixth 
 year, two years after Mr. Day's marriage, his 
 friend Mr. Bicknel offered his hand to Sabrina 
 She accepted his addresses, ratiier from motives
 
 32 THOMAS DAY, ESQ. 
 
 of prudence than of passion, b'jt became one of 
 the best and most affectionate of wives. On her 
 asking Mr. Day's consent to this match, his re- 
 ply was ; " I do not refuse my consent to your 
 marrying Mr. Bicknel ; but remember you have 
 not asked my advice." Faithful to his promise 
 he gave her on this occasion a portion of five 
 hundred pounds. 
 
 The issue of this marriage was two boys, the 
 eldest of whom was five years old wlien Mr. Bick- 
 nel was removed from his family by the hand of 
 death. As he had no patrimonial fortune, and 
 had always lived up to his income, his widow 
 was left without any provision for herself and her 
 infants. In this situation Mr. Day allov/ed her 
 thirty pounds a year, in aid, as he said, of the 
 efforts he expected her to make for the mainten- 
 ance of her children. A subscription was made 
 among the gentlemen of the bar, and the sum of 
 8OOI. was raised for the use of Mrs. Bicknel and 
 her sons. Tliis excellent woman has lived many 
 years with Dr. Burney of Greenwich, as his 
 house-keeper and assistant in the cares of his 
 academy, where sire is treated with every mark 
 of esteem and respect that is due to her virtues. 
 Mrs. Day continued the allowance made by her 
 husband to Mrs. Bicknel, and bequeathed its 
 continuance from her own fortune during the iife^ 
 of the latter.
 
 33 
 
 JEFFERY HUDSON. 
 
 F HIS celebrated dwarf, was born at Oakham in 
 Rutlandshire, in iGl'), and about the age of 
 seven or eight years, being then but eighteen 
 inches liigh, was retained in the service of the 
 Dul<e of Buckinghaui who resided at Burleigh on 
 the I] ill. Soon after the marriage of Charles I. 
 the king and queen being entertained at Bur- 
 leigli, little Jeflery was served up at table in a 
 cold pye, which, when cut open, presented to 
 the astonished royal visitors the dimunitive Jef- 
 fery armed caf)-a-pee. This pye was purposely 
 constructed to hold our little hero, who, when 
 the dutchess made an incision in his castle of 
 paste, shifted his situation until sufficient room, 
 was made for his appearance. The queen ex- 
 pressing herself greatly pleased with his person 
 and manners, the dutchess presented him to her 
 majesty, who afterwards kept him as her dwarf. 
 From the age of seven years till thirty, he never 
 grew taller; but after thirty he shot up to three 
 feet nine inches, and there fixed. 
 
 Jeifery became a considerable part of the en- 
 tertainment of the court, and Sir William Da- 
 venport wrote a poem on a battle between him 
 and a turkey-cock, which took place at Dunkirk^ 
 where a woman rescued him from the fury of his 
 antagonist. In 16.08, was published a very small 
 and curious book called " The New Year's Gift,'* 
 presented at court horn ihe Lady Parvula to the 
 Lord Minimus, (commonly called Little Jeifery), 
 her majesty's servant, &c. written by Microphi- 
 i\s, with a portrait of Jeftery prefixed.
 
 34 JEFFERY HUDSON. 
 
 Before tliis period, our hero was employed in u 
 negociatio!) of great importance. This was, to 
 procure a midwife for the qiieciij but on his re- 
 turn with a lady of that profession and her ma- 
 jesty's dancing-master, with many rich presents 
 to the queen from her mother, Mary de Medicis, 
 he was taken by the Dunkirkers; and besides 
 what he was bringing for the queen, he lost to 
 the value of two thousand five hundred pounds, 
 that he had received in France, on his own ac- 
 count, from the queen's mother, and ladies of 
 that court. This happened in the year lO'SO. 
 
 Jeffery lost little of his consequence with the 
 queen on this misfortune, but was often teazed 
 by the courtiers and domestics with the story of : 
 the turkey-cock, and trifles of a similar descrip- 
 tion ; his temper was b}^ no means calculated to 
 put lip with lepeated affronts, and at last being 
 greatly provoked by Mr. Crofts, a young gentle- 
 man of famil}', a challenge ensued. Mr. Crofts 
 coming to the rendezvous armed only with a 
 squirt, the little creature was so enraged, tlrat a 
 real duel ensued; and tlie appointment being on 
 horseback with pistols, to put them more on a 
 level, Jeffer}' at the first fire, shot his antagonist 
 dead. This happened in France, whither he had 
 attended his mistress in the troubles. 
 
 He was afterward taken prisoner by a Turkish 
 rover, and so!d for a slave in Burbary; but did 
 not remain long in captivity, for at the begin- 
 ning of the civil war he was made captain in the 
 royal army; and in lG44, attended the queen 
 again into France, where he remained till the re-
 
 DR. HOWARD. 35 
 
 storation. At last, upon suspicion of his being 
 privy to the popish plot, he was taken up in 
 1664, and confined in the Gate-house, AVestJuiu- 
 ster, where he ended his life, at the age of G.'3. 
 
 THE REV. DR. HOWARD. 
 1 HIS gentleman of facetious memory was 
 chaplain to the late Princess Dowager of A\ ales, 
 and rector of Saint George, Southwark. De- 
 lighting much in the good things of this world, 
 he so far indulged his hunger and thirst after de- 
 licacies, that he found himself much in arrear to 
 many of his trading parishioners. Fortunately 
 for himself he lived in the rules of the Kin"-'s 
 Bench, which shielded him from the rude intri- 
 sion of clamorous creditors. The Doctor, how- 
 ever, was a man of humour, and frequently hit 
 upon expedients to keep them in good temper. 
 He once preached a sermon to them, from the 
 following text — " Have patience and 1 will pay 
 ye all." He expatiated at great length on the 
 virtue and advantage oi' patience. '' And now, 
 my brethren," said he, " I am come to the second 
 part of my discourse, which is — And I will pay you 
 all — but that I shall dcj'er to afutare opportunity.'''' 
 Another anecdote of him may tend to eluci- 
 date his character. Passing by a peruke-ma- 
 ker's shop in Leicester-fields, he sav/ a canonical 
 wig in the window, which took his fancy, and en- 
 tering the shop he gave orders for one in the 
 same pompous style, and of the same colour. In 
 order to obtain credit, he informed the master 
 4hat he was Rector of St. George's Southwark,
 
 SG DR. HOWARD. 
 
 and chaplain to the Princess Dowager of Wales. 
 Happy in the acquisition of such a customer^ 
 the hair-dresser finished the peruke with the ut- 
 most dispatch; but before he sent it home, he 
 had heard some whispers al)out the reverend doc- 
 tor which did not perfectly please him, and 
 therefore ordered his journeyman, whom he sent 
 with the wig, not to deliver it without' the mo- 
 ney. — " I have brought your wig, sir," said the 
 journeyman to his reverence. " Very well, put it 
 down."—" I can't, sir, without the cole." — " Let 
 me try it, however, to see whether it will fit me." 
 This the man thought so reasonable a request, that 
 he consented to it. The consequence was, that the 
 doctor ordered him instantl}' out of the room 
 without the peruke, protest! !ig that if he touched 
 it after he had sold and delivered it, he would 
 prosecute him for a robbery ; a regular transfer 
 had been made, and it was now his property. 
 
 The Doctor, when collecting a brief with the 
 parish officers of St. George, called, among the 
 rest of the inhabitants, on a grocer, with whom 
 he had a running account. To prevent being 
 first asked for a settlement, he enquired if he was 
 not some trifle in his debt: on referring to 'the 
 ledger, there appeared a balance of seventeen 
 shillings in favor of the tradesman. The Doctor 
 had recourse to his pocket, and pulled outjsome 
 halfpence, a little silver, and a guinea; the gro- 
 cer eying the latter, with a degree of surprise ex- 
 claimed, '' Good God, Sir, you have got a stranger 
 there !" " Indeed I have, Mr. Brown," replied 
 the wit, returning it into his pocket, " and before , 
 at'C part a e shall be better acquainted" *
 
 CHEVALIER DESSEASAU. 
 
 Among the eccentric characters who, ahout 
 half a century ago, attracted public notice in the 
 British metropolis was the Chevalier Desseasau. 
 He was a native of Prussia, of French extraction 
 and early in life bore a commission in the Prus- 
 sian service. This he found himself under the 
 necessity of quitting abruptly. A disagreement 
 between him and a brother officer was carried to 
 such a height that a duel ensued, in which his 
 antagonist was dangerously wounded. Uncer- 
 tain of the event and dreading the consequences 
 should the wound prove fatal, he ensured his safe- 
 ty by fligh 
 
 The chevalier sought a refuge in England, and 
 contracted so great a partiality for this country, 
 that he resolved to pass in it the remainder of his 
 days. The singularity of his dress and character 
 soon drew the attention of the curious. He was 
 well acquainted with Foote, Murphy, Goldsmith, 
 Johnson, and most of their contemporaries, emi- 
 nent for genius and talent in the walks of litera- 
 ture and the drama: nor was there a bookseller 
 of any note who did not know the Chevalier 
 Desseasau. His chief places of resort were Old 
 Anderton's Coffee-house in Fleet Street, the 
 
 VOL. 2. — NO. 14. K
 
 2 CHEVALIER DESSEASAU. 
 
 Barn, in St. Martin's Lane, and various coffee- 
 houses in the vicinity of Covent Garden. His 
 originality and good-nature caused his company 
 to be much courted. 
 
 He either had, or fancied that- he possessed a 
 talent for poetry, and used to recite his composi- 
 tions among his friends. On these occasions his 
 vanity often got the better of his good-sense, 
 find led him to make himself the hero of his 
 story. As an instance of this he frequently re- 
 peated the following lines with an emphasis which 
 indicated the xnost self-complacent satisfaction : 
 
 11 n'j' a au monde que deux heros, 
 
 Le roi de Prusse, et Chevalier Desseasau; 
 
 which may be thus rendered : — 
 
 In all the world but heroes two I know, 
 Prussia's fam'd King, and Chevalier Desseasau. 
 
 He never submitted any of his performances 
 to public view, but confined them to the circle 
 of his friends. He would often rehearse them 
 himself before select company, and during the 
 last years of his life, he derived his principal 
 means of subsistence from the presents made him 
 in return. 
 
 At this period he was reduced by misfortunes 
 and perhaps also by the intirmities of age, to a 
 residence within the rules of the Fleet prison ; 
 but sucli w&s the confidence placed in his honor, 
 that he was suffered to go wlierever he pleased
 
 CHEVALIER DESSEASAU. 3 
 
 He appenrcd in the streets in the singular dress 
 and accoLitrenieats delineated in our engraving. 
 His clothes were black, and their fashion had all 
 the si itV formality of those of an ancient buck. 
 In his luind he generally carried a gold-headed 
 cane, a roll of his poetry, and a sword, or some- 
 times two. The reason for this singularity was, 
 according to his own expression, that he might 
 aflfbrd an opportunity to his antagonist, whom he 
 wounded in the duel, to revenge his cause, should 
 he again chance to meet with him. This trait 
 would induce a belief that his misfortunes had 
 occasioned a partial derangement of the cheva- 
 lier's intellects. 
 
 With respect to his figure, he was short in 
 stature, slender in the lower extremities and not 
 very unlike the lady, who was said to be a natu- 
 ral daughter of Prince Henry of Prussia and Vi^as 
 well kiir'wn in London, where site appeared in 
 male attire, by the name of the Chevalier de 
 Verdion. 
 
 Desseasau died at his lodgings in Fleet Mar- 
 ket, aged upwards of 70, in February 1775, and 
 was interred in St. Bride's Church-yard. The 
 Gentleman's Magazine of that month, c<mtained 
 the following notice concerning him :" Died, 
 the Chevalier Desseasau, commonly called the 
 French Poet ; he has left a great personage, a cu- 
 rious sword, a gold medal and a curious picture." 
 WHiether these articles were ever disposed of 
 conformably to his bequest we are not informed* 
 
 K~2
 
 JOSEPH CAPPUR. 
 
 iN O place can alToicl a fairer field for the ex- 
 ertion of talents, or honest industry, than the ca- 
 pital of the Britisl) empire. How many instances 
 Blight be adduced of persons there raising them- 
 selves by those reconitnendations from the most 
 abject indigence to prosperity and wealth ! Of 
 many of these, however, it is to be regretted that 
 so little is known. " It would be amusing," says 
 the liev. Mr. Granger, " to trace the progress, 
 of a lord mayor from the loom or the fishmonger's 
 stall to the chair of the chief magistrate ; to be in- 
 formed with what difficulty he got the first hun- 
 dred pounds, with how much less he made it a 
 thousand, and "illi what cure be rr,i:r,dcd his 
 plumb." Mr. Cappur though lie did not attain 
 to such honors or such opulence affords, how- 
 ever, an example of the truth of these observa- 
 tions. 
 
 He was born in Cheshire, of humble parents ; 
 his familv beinir numerous, he came to London 
 at an early a2:e, to shift for himself, as he used 
 to say, and was bound apprentice to a grocer. 
 Mr. Ca|,pur soon manifested great quickness and 
 industry, and proved a most valuable servant to 
 his master. It was one of the chief boasts of his 
 hie, that he had gained the confidence of ids 
 employer^ and never betrayed it.
 
 JOSEPH CAPPUR. O 
 
 I 
 
 Being of an enterprising spirit, Mr, Cappur 
 conimencetl business as soon as he was out ot his 
 ap[)rentieeship, in the neighbourliood of Rose- 
 mary-Lane. His old master was his only friend, 
 and recommended him so strongly to the dealers 
 in his line, that credit to a very large amount 
 was given him. In proportion as he became suc- 
 cessful, he embarked in various speculatiens, but 
 in none was so fortunate as in the funds. He 
 at length amassed a sum sufficient to decline all 
 business whatever. 
 
 Mr. Cappur therefore resolved to retire from 
 ihe bustle of lile. This best suited his disposi- 
 tion; for although he possessed many amiable 
 qualities yet he was the most tyrannical and over- 
 bearing man living, and never seemed so happy 
 as when placed by the side of a churlish compa- 
 nion. For several days he walked about the vi- 
 cinity of London, searching for lodgings, with- 
 out being able to please himself. Being one day 
 much fatigued, he called at the Horns at Ken- 
 nington, took a chop and spent the day, and 
 asked for a bed in his usual blunt manner, when 
 he was answered in the same churlish style by 
 the landlord, that he could not have one. Mr. 
 Cappur was resolved to stop, if he could^ all his 
 life, to plague the grou/ing fel/ow, and refused 
 to retire. After some altercation, however, he 
 was accommodated with a bed, and never slept 
 out of it for twenty-five years. During that time 
 he made ho agreement for lodging or eating, but 
 wished to be considered a customer only for the 
 
 K 3
 
 6 
 
 JOSEPH CAPPUR. 
 
 day. For many years he talked about quitting 
 this residence the next day. 
 
 His manner of living was so methodical, that 
 he would not drink his tea out of any other than 
 a favourite cup. He was equally particular with 
 respect to his knives and forks, plates, &c. In 
 winter and summer he rose at the same hour, 
 and when the mornings were dark, he was s© 
 accustomed to the house, that he walked about 
 the apartments without the assistance of any 
 hght. At breakfast he arranged, in a peculiar 
 way, the paraphernalia of the tea-table, but first 
 of all he would read the news-papers. At dinner 
 he also observed a general rule, and invariably 
 drank his pint of wine. His supper was uniform- 
 ly a gill of rum, with sugar, lemon-peel, and 
 porter, mixed together ; the latter he saved frsm 
 the pint he had at dinner. From this oeconomi- 
 cal plan he never deviated. 
 
 He called himself the Champion of Govern- 
 ment, and his greatest glory was certainly his 
 country and king. He joined in all subscrip- 
 tions which tended to the aid of government. 
 He was exceedingly choleric, and nothing raised 
 his anger so soon as declaiming against the Bri- 
 tish Constitution. In the parlour he kept his 
 favourite chair, and there he would often amuse 
 himself with satirising the customers, or the land- 
 lord, if he could make his jokes tell better. It 
 was his maxim never to join in general conversa- 
 tion, but to interrupt it whenever he could say 
 any thing Ulnutured. Mr. Cappur's conduct .to
 
 JOSEPH CAPPUR. 7 
 
 his relations was exceedingly capricious; he ne- 
 ver would see any of them. As tluy were chief- 
 ly in indigent circumstances, he had frequent 
 applications from them to borrow money. " Are 
 they industrious ?" he would enquire; when be- 
 ing answered in the affirmative, he would add, 
 " Tell them I have been deceived already, and ne- 
 ver will advance a sixpence by way of loan, but 
 I will give them the sum they want ; and if ever 
 I hear they make known the circumstance, I 
 will cut them off with a shilling." 
 
 Soon after Mr. Townsend became landlord of 
 the Horns, he had an opportunity of making a 
 few good ready money purchases, and applied to 
 the old man for a temporary loan : — " I wish, 
 " said he, *' to serve you, Townsend ; you seem 
 an industrious fellow; but how is it to be done. 
 I have sworn never to lend, 1 must therefore 
 give it thee ;" which he accordingly did the fol- 
 lowing day. Mr. Townsend proved grateful for 
 this mark of liberality, and never ceased to ad- 
 minister to him every comfort the house would 
 afford ; and what was, perhaps, more gratifying 
 to the old man, he indulged him in his eccentri- 
 cities. 
 
 Mr. Cappur was elected steward of the par- 
 lour fire, and if any persons were daring enough 
 to put a poker in it without his permission, they 
 stood a fair chance of feeling the weight of his 
 cane. In summer time, a favourite diversion of 
 his was killing flies in the parlour with his cane: 
 but as he was sensible of the ill opinion this would
 
 8 Joseph cappur. 
 
 produce among the company present, he would 
 with great ingenuity introduce a story about the 
 rascality of all Frenchmen, " v honi," says he, 
 " I hate and detest, and would knock down just 
 the same as these flies." This was the signal 
 for attack, and presently the killed and wounded 
 were scattered about in all quarrers of the room. 
 JFrora this fly-killing propensity he acquired the 
 name of DomitKui, among tlie customers who 
 frequented the house. 
 
 This truly eccentric character lived to the age 
 of seventy-seven, in excellent health, and it was 
 not until the Tuesday morning before his decease 
 that a visible alteration was perceived in him. 
 Having risen at an earlier period than usual, he 
 was observed to walk about the house, exceed- 
 ingly agitated and convulsed. Mr. Townsend 
 pressed him to suffer medical assistance to be 
 sent for, to which Mr. Cappur then, and at all 
 times, had a great aversion. He asked for a pen 
 and ink, evinced great anxieiy to write, but 
 could not. Mr. Townsend, apprehending his 
 dissolution nigh, endeavoured, but in vain, to get 
 permission to send for Mr. Cappur's relations, 
 and tried to obtain tl>eir address for thatpurpose. 
 He refused, saying that he stiould be better. On 
 the second day, seeing uo hopes of recovery, 
 Mr. Townsend called in four respectable gentle- 
 men of the neighbourhood, and had seals put 
 upon all Mr. Cappur's property. One of the 
 four gentlemen recollected the address of Mr. 
 Cappur'f two nephews, of the name of Dutton,
 
 HARRY PAULET. 9 
 
 who were imnietliatcly sent for. They resided 
 ill the neighbourhood of Rosemary-lane. 
 
 On searching iiis apartment after Ins death, 
 his relaiions found a will curiously worded, and 
 made on the back of a sheet of banker's checks. 
 It was dated five years back, and the bulk of his 
 property, which wastlien upwards of 30,0001. he 
 left equally among his poor relations. He died 
 on the Gth of September 1804. 
 
 HARRY PAULET. 
 
 This singular character, commonly called 
 *< Duke of Bolton, Kii^g of Vine-strtct, and Go- 
 vernor of Lambeth Marsh," died lately in that 
 neighbourhood, and his remains were attended to 
 the grave by a great number of persons whom 
 his bounty had made comfortable. 
 
 Parsons, the comedian, speaking of the sub- 
 ject of the following particulars, frequently de- 
 clared with the greatest gravity, that he would 
 rather expend a crown, to hear Harry Paulet re- 
 late one of Hawke's battles, than sit gratis b}' the 
 most celebrated orator of tlie day. " There was," 
 (said Parsons), " a manner in his heart-felt nar- 
 rations that was certain to bring hk auditors in- 
 to the very scene of action ; and when he de- 
 scfibed the moments of victory, I have seen a 
 dozen labouring-men at the Crown public-house.
 
 10 HARRY PAULET. 
 
 rise together, and moved by an instantaneous 
 it.) pulse, give three cheers, while Harry took 
 breath to recite more of his exploits." 
 
 This man^ whose love for his country cannot 
 be excelled, was, in the yefir 17o8, master of an 
 English vessel in North America, and traded up 
 the river St. Lawrence; but being taken by the 
 enemy, he remained a prisoner under Montcalm 
 at Quebec, who refused to exchange him, ©n ac- 
 count of his extensive knowledge of the coast, 
 the strength of Quebec and Louisburg, with the 
 different soundings. They therefore came to a 
 resolution to send him to France to be kept a 
 prisoner during the war, and with this intent he 
 was embarked on board a vessel ready to sail with 
 dispatches to the French government. Being 
 the on!}' Englishman on board, Harry was ad- 
 mitted to the cabin, where he took notice one 
 day, that the packet hung in an exposed situa- 
 tion in a canvas bag, for the purpose of being- 
 thrown overboard on any danger of being taken: 
 this he marked as the object of a daring enter- 
 prise; and shortly after, in consequence of the 
 vessel being obliged to put into Vigo for provi- 
 sions and intelligence, he put his design into ex- 
 ecution. There were two English men of wai 
 lying at anchor, and Mr. Paulet thought this a 
 proper opportunity to make his meditated at- 
 tempt; he therefore one night, when all but the 
 watch were asleep, took the packet out of the 
 bag, and having fixed it in his mouth silently let 
 himself down to the water, and, to prevent being
 
 HARRY PAULET. 11 
 
 discovered, floate 1 on his back to the bows of 
 one of the English ships, where he secured him- 
 self bv the cables, and callinsf for assistance was 
 immediatel}- taken on board with the packet. 
 
 The captain, charmed with this bold attempt, 
 treated him with great humanity, and gave him a 
 suit of scarlet clothes trimmed with blue velvet 
 and gold, which he retained to the day of his 
 -death. The dispatches being transcribed proved 
 to be of the utmost consequence to our affairs in 
 North America, and Harry was sent with a copy 
 of them post over land to Lisbon, from whence 
 he was brought to Falmouth in a sloop of war, 
 and immediately set out for London. Upon his 
 arrival in town, he was examined by proper per- 
 sons in the administration, and rewarded agree- 
 ably t© the nature of his service; but what is 
 most remarkable, an expedition was instantly 
 formed upon a review of these dispatches, and 
 our successes in North America, under Wolfe, 
 and Saunders, are in some degree to be attri- 
 buted to the attachment of Paulet to the interests 
 of his country. 
 
 For his services the government rewarded him 
 with tlie pay of a lieutenant for life, which, with 
 other advantages, (for Harry had ever been pru- 
 dent) he was enabled to purchase a vessel. Here 
 fame takes some liberty with his character, and 
 asserts that he used to run to the French coast, 
 and then take in a cargo of brandy ; but be that 
 as it may, Harry was one morning returning, 
 when the French fleet had stolen out of Brest 
 under Conflans, while admiral Hawke was hid
 
 12 HARRY PAULET. 
 
 behind the rock of Ushant to watch the motions 
 of the enemy. Mr. Paulet, loving his country 
 better than his cargo, soon ran up to the British 
 admiral, and demanding to speak with him, was 
 ordered to make his vessel iast, and come on 
 board; upon his telling Hawke what he knew of 
 the enemy, the admiral told him, if he was right, 
 be would make his fortune; but if he had de- 
 ceived him, by G— d he would hang him upon 
 the yard-arm. The fleet was instantly under 
 weigh, and upon Paulet's direction to the mas- 
 ter (for he, was an excellent pilot) the British 
 fleet was presently brought between the enemy 
 and their own coast ; and now the admiral or- 
 dered Paulet to make the best of his way; but 
 Harr}' begged of the admiral, as he had discovered 
 the enemies of his country, that he might be al- 
 lowed to assist in beating them. This request 
 was assented to by the commander; and Paulet 
 had his station assigned, at which no man could 
 behave better ; and when the battle was over, 
 this true born Englishman was sent home co- 
 vered with commendations, and rewarded with 
 that which enabled liiui to live happy the remain- 
 der of his life. 
 
 Mr. Paulet possessed a freehold estate in Corn- 
 hill, London: and, respecting the good he did 
 with his income, there is not a poor being in the 
 neighbourhood of Pedlar's Acre, who does not 
 testify with gratitude, some act of benevolence 
 performed for the alleviation of his poverty, by 
 this humane and heroic Englishman.
 
 13 
 
 JOSEPH CLARK. 
 
 iHISinan wasa very extraordinary posture-mas- 
 ter who resided in Pall Mall. Though well-made, 
 and rather gross than thin, he exhibited, in a 
 most natural manner, almost very species of de- 
 formity and dislocation. He frt-quent!}- diver- 
 ted himself with the tailors, by sending for one 
 of them to take measure of him, and would so 
 contrive it as to have a. most immoderate rising 
 in one of the shoulders: when the clothes were 
 brought home, and tried upon him, the deform- 
 ity was removed into the other shoulder ; upon 
 w liich the tailor asked pru'don for the mistake, 
 and altered the garment as expeditiously as pos- 
 sible : but, upon a third trial, lie found him per- 
 fecLly free fronv blemish about the shoulders, 
 though an unfortunate lump appeared upon his 
 back. In short, this wandering tumour puzzled 
 all the workmen about town, u ho found it im- 
 possible to accommodate so changeable a cus- 
 tomer, lie dislocated the vertebrae of his back, 
 and other parts of the body, in such a manner 
 that Molins, the famous surgeon, before whom 
 he appeared as a patient, w as shocked at the sight, 
 and would not even attempt his cure. He often 
 passed fox a cripple among persons with whom lie 
 hod been in company but a icw miiuites before. 
 Upon these occasions he would not only change 
 . VOL. 2. — NO. 14. L
 
 1-i JOSEPH CLARK. 
 
 the position of his limbs, but entirely alter the 
 figure of his couuteiiance. The powers of his 
 face were more extraordinary thun the flexibility 
 of his body. He would assume all the uncouth 
 grimaces that he saw at a quaker's meeting, the 
 theatre, or an^^ other public y^lace. He died 
 about th€ beginning of King A\'illiam'.s reign. 
 It appears from Evelyn's Nuuiisuiata that he was 
 not living in I697. 
 
 j:dav'ard alleyn, esq. 
 
 Edward ALLE^N, a celebrated actor in 
 the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and King James,- 
 and founder of the coliece at Dulwieh in Surrv, 
 was born in London, in the parish of St. Bo- 
 tolph, Sept.. 1, I066, as appears from a memo- 
 randum in his own writing. Dr. Euller says, 
 that he was bred a stage-player ; and that his fa- 
 therwould have given him a liberal education, but 
 that he was averse to a serious course of life. 
 He was, however, a youth of excellent capacity 
 of a chearful temper, a tenacious memor}', a 
 svveet elocution, and in his person of a stately 
 port and a^!})ect, and was a man of great benevo- 
 lence and piety;. so devout, that when he re- 
 ceived his quarterly accounts, he acknowledged 
 il all to be the gift of God, ami-resolved to dedi- 
 cate it to the use of Itis fellow creatures. From 
 various authorities it appears that he must h?i^e 
 
 3
 
 r.nWAUD ALLEYN, ESO. 1.5 
 
 been on tlio stage some time before lof)-; fof 
 lie was then in higii favour with the town, and 
 greatly applunded by the best judges^ pariieular- 
 ]y by Ben Jonson. 
 
 It may seem surprising, liow one of Mr. AI- 
 leyn's profession should be enabled to erect such 
 an edifice as Duhvieh college, and liberally en- 
 dow it for the maintenance of so many persons. 
 But it must be observed that he had some pater- 
 nal fortune, which, though small, might lay a 
 fountlation for his future affluence ; and, it is to 
 be presumed, that tlie profits he received from 
 acting, to one of his provident and managing- 
 disposition, and who by his professional excel- 
 lence drew after him such crowds of spectators, 
 must have considerably improved his fortune. 
 Besides, he was not only an actor, but master of 
 a playhouse in White-Cross-street, built at his 
 own expence, by which he is said to have amas- 
 sed considerable wealth. He was also keeper of 
 the king's wild beasts, or master of the royal 
 bear garden, which was frequented by vast 
 crowds of spectators; and the profits arising 
 from these sports, are said to have amounted to 
 five hundred pounds per annum. He was thrice 
 married ; and the portions of his two first wives, 
 vho left him no issue to inherit, might probably 
 contribute to this benefaction. 
 
 Donations such as Mr. Alleyn's, have been fre- 
 quently thought to proceed more from vanity 
 and ostentation than real piety ; but Mr. Alleyn'< 
 has been ascribed to a very singular cause ; for 
 
 2 L
 
 IG KDWARD ALLEYIM^ ESO. 
 
 the dt'vil is s.iicl to h.ive been the first promoter 
 of it. Mr. Aubrey mentions a tradition, " that 
 Mr. Alle^'n playing a demon with six. others, in 
 one of Shakes[)ear's plays, was, in the midst of 
 the pieee, surprized by an apparition of the devil ; 
 which so worked on bis fancy, that he made a 
 vow, which be performed by building Dulwich 
 c^ liege." He began the foundation of this col- 
 lege, under the direction of the famotis Inigo 
 Jones, in l6l4; and on the buildings, gardens, 
 ijcc. finished 'in iGl,?., he is said to have expend- 
 ed about 10,0001. , ' 
 
 Alter the college was built, he met with some 
 <liiriCulty in obtaining a charter for settling his 
 lands in mortiDuin ; for he proposed to endow it 
 wish 8U0l. per annum, for the maintenance tsf 
 one master, one warden, and four fellows, three 
 of whom were to be clergymen, and the fourth 
 a skilful organist; also six poor men, and as 
 many women; besides twelve poor boys, to be 
 educated till the age of fourteen or sixteen, and 
 then put out to some trade or calling. The ob- 
 struction he met w ilii, arose fron) the lord chan- 
 cellor Bacon, wiio wished King James to settle 
 i)art of those lands for tlie support of two acade- 
 mical lectures; and he wrote a letter to the mar- 
 fjuis of Buckinghan), dated August 18, Jf)16, 
 intreating him to use his interest with his m^ijos- 
 ty for that purpose. Mr. Alleyn's solicitation 
 was however at last complied with, and he ob- 
 tained the royal hcence, giving him full power 
 to lay the foundation of his intended hos])ital
 
 EDWAIiD ALLEVN, tSC>. l7 
 
 at Biilwich, called " The College of God's Gift/ 
 The rules prescribed for this fouiKkition are, that 
 all future benefactions are excluded ; and visitors 
 are 4o be the churchwardens of St. Botolph, 
 Bishopsgate ; St. Giles's, Cripplegate ; and St. 
 Saviour's, SoutKwark ; who, Upoti any difference 
 arising between them, arc to refer the decision 
 of it to the archbishop of Canterbury. He was^ 
 himself the first master of his college, so that to' 
 use the words of Mr. Haywood, one of his con- 
 temporaries, '^ He w^is so mingled with humi- 
 lity and charity, that he became his own pen-, 
 sioner, humbly subntitting liimself to that pro- 
 portion of diet and clothes, which he had be- 
 stowed onoiheyrs." There is no reason to think 
 he ever repented of this distribution of his sub- 
 stance, but on the contrary, that he was entirely 
 satisfied, as appears from the following memori- 
 al in his own writing found ainong his papers : 
 " May 'iG, I62O, m}^ wife and 1 acknowledged 
 the fine at the common pleas bar, of all our lands 
 to the college : blessed be God that he has given 
 us life to do it." His wife died in thejear iGiS, 
 and about two years afterwards he married Con- 
 stance Kinchtoe, who survived him, and receiv- 
 ed remarkable proofs of his affection, if wt iiiay 
 judge of it by his v. ill, in which he left he-r con- 
 siderable property. He died Nov. 25, l6G(>, in 
 the (ilst year of his age, anjl \vas buried in the 
 chapel of his new college. 
 
 In tliis college, Ijy the statutes, the warden 
 succeeds the master^ a!id takes upon Lim the 
 
 . . ._ _. V ^ r. __
 
 18 EDWARD ALLEYN, ESO. 
 
 office immediately on the master's death. The 
 founder directed tliat the master and warden 
 shall both be of the name of Allen, or Alleyn, 
 and every person of that name is eligible to be- 
 come a candidate. Celibacy is a sine qua notu 
 Tlie election is in the surviving fellows, who choose 
 two persons. Two rolls of paper are then put 
 into a box, and each candidate takes one, and 
 tbe person who takes the paper upon which the 
 words " God's Gift" are written, is the warden 
 elected. The late master, William Allen, Esq.. 
 eujoyed his situation upwards of fifty two years.- 
 The revenues of this colleiie are larcre and in- 
 creasing. The master's apartments ia tiie college 
 «er extremely grand ; at his taking possession 
 of theplace^heis obliged to purchase thefurniture-^ 
 which is as elegant as can be imagined; and 
 heing lord of the manor^ helivtsin all the 
 state of a mitred abbot. Notwitljstanding the 
 singular severity of the rules, by which both he 
 and the warden are to remain unmarried, yet 
 there is always a sufficient nvmiber of candidates 
 for tlie office, among those of the name of Alleyn. 
 The library is well furnished, with classical and 
 Hiodern books, and behiird the college is a good 
 garden, where there are j^leasant walks and fruit 
 trees.
 
 19 
 
 JEDEDIAH BUXTOX. 
 
 A MOST extraordinary instance of native genius 
 was aftbrdcdby this man, who was born in 1705 at 
 Elmeton in Derbyshire. His father was a school- 
 master, and yet from some strange neglect or in- 
 fatuation, Jcdediah was taught neither to write 
 nor read. So great, however, were his natural 
 talents for calculation, that he was remarkable 
 for his knowledge of the relative proportions of 
 numbers, their powers and progressive denomi- 
 nations. To these objects he applied all the 
 powers of his mind, and his attention was so con- 
 stantly rivetted upon them, that he was often to- 
 tally abstracted from external objects, and when 
 he did take notice of them, it was only with re- 
 spect to their numbers. If any space of time 
 happened to be mentioned before him, he would 
 presently inform the company that it contained 
 so many muiutes, and if any distance, he would 
 assign the number of hair-breadths in it even 
 though no question were asked him. 
 
 Being required to multiply 456 by 378, he 
 gave the product by mental arithmetic, as soon 
 as a person in company had completed it in 
 the common way. Being requested to work it 
 audibly that his method might be known^ he 
 first multiplied 456 by 5, wbich produced 2280; 
 this he again mulliplied by £0, and found the
 
 t20 JEDKDIATl BUXTON. 
 
 product 45,600, which was the multiplicand mul- 
 tiplied by 100. 'I'his product lie again iijulti- 
 plied by 3,^ which gave 13(3.800, the pioduct ot" 
 llie multiplicand by 300. Jt remained therefore ^ 
 to multiply this by 78^ which he elTected by 
 multiplying 2280, or the pvoduct of the multi- 
 plicand multiplied by 5 by 15, as o times 15 is 
 75. This product being 34,'200, he added to 
 130,800 which gave 171,000, being the amount 
 of 375 times 456. To complete his operation 
 therefore, he multiplied. 456 by 3 which pro- 
 duced 1368, and this being added to 171,000 
 yielded 172,368, as the product of 450 multi- 
 plied by 378. 
 
 From these particulars It appears that Jede- 
 diaii's method of calculation was entirel}' his 
 own, and that he was so little acquainted with the 
 common rules of arithmetic as to multiply first 
 by 5, and the, product by 20, to find the amount 
 when nmltiplied by ICO, w'hich the addition of 
 two cyphers to the multiplicand would have given 
 at once. 
 
 A person who had heard of these astonishing 
 efforts of memory, once meeting with him acci- 
 dentally, proposed the following question, in or- 
 der to tiy his calculating powers. If a field be 
 423 yards long and 383 broad, uhat is the area? 
 After the figures were read to hini distinctly, he 
 gave the true product, 102,009 yards, in the 
 space ol' two minutes ; for the pi-pposer observed 
 by his watch how long each optraiJon took him. - 
 The same person asked, how unary acres the
 
 JEDEDIAH BUxTON. Cl 
 
 said field measured, and in eleven minutes here- 
 plied S3 acres, I rood, 33 perches, 20 yards and 
 a quarter. He was then asked how many bar- 
 ley-corns would reach eight miles. In a minute 
 and a half he answered ],o'i0,6iO. Tlic nex't 
 question was: Supposing the distance between 
 London and York to be G04 miles how many 
 times will acoach-wheel turn round in that space, 
 allowing the circumference of that wheel to be 
 six yards .' In thirteen minutes he answered 
 59,840 times. 
 
 On another occasion a person proposed to him 
 this question : In a body, the three sides of 
 which are 23, 145,789 yards, 5,642,7-^2 yards, 
 and 54,965 yards, how many cubic eighths ofati 
 inch ? In about five hours Jedediah had accu- 
 rately solved this intricate problem, though in the 
 midst of business and surrounded by more than 
 a hundred laborers. 
 
 Though these instances Avhich are well authen- 
 ticated are suflicient proofs of Jedcdlah's strength 
 of mind, yet for the farther satisfaction of the 
 curious, the followinsr facts are subjoined. Bein^ 
 asked how long after the firin<r of one of the 
 cannons at Ketford, the report might be heard 
 at Houghton Park, the distance being five miles, 
 and supposing the sound to move at the rate of 
 1 H2 feet in one second: In a t^uarter of an hoar 
 he replied— in 23 seconds, 7 thirds and that 46 
 rcmain.ed. He was then asked: Admit that 
 3584 brocoli-plants are set in rows, four feet 
 "-;undcT, and the plants 7 feet apart iu a rcctan-
 
 Q.'2 JEDEniAH BUXTON. 
 
 gular plot of ground, how imuh laiTd will thcfic 
 plants occupy? In nearly halt' an hour he said ; 
 2 acres, 1 rood, 8 porches and a half. 
 
 This extraordinary man would stride over a 
 piece of land, or a field, and tell the contents of 
 it as accurately as if he had measured it hy the 
 chain. In this manner he had measured the 
 whole lordship of Elmeton, consisting of some 
 thousands of acres, belonging to Sir John 
 Khodes, and brought him the contents not only 
 in acres, roods, and perches, but even in scpiare 
 inches. After this he reduced them for his own 
 amusement into square hair-breadths, coniputing 
 about 48 to each side of an inch which produced 
 such an astonishing number as a[>pearcd almost 
 incomprehensible. 
 
 Next to figures, the only objects of Jedediah's 
 curiosity were the king and royal family. So 
 strong was his desire to see them, that in the be- 
 ginning of the spring of 1754, lie walked up to 
 London for that purpose, but returned disap- 
 pointed, as his majesty had removed to Kensing- 
 ton just as he arrived in town. He was, how- 
 ever, introduced to the Roval Society, whom he 
 eallofl the Folk of the Sicty comt. The gen tie- 
 iTien present asked him several questions in arith- 
 metic to try his abilities and di::)missed him with 
 a handsome present. 
 
 During his residence in the metropolis he was- 
 taken to see the tra<);edy of Kino; Uichard tlie 
 Third performed at Drury Lane. It was ex- 
 pected that the novelty of every thing in that
 
 JEDEDIAU BUXTON. 2'? 
 
 ^)kcc, together with the splendor of the surround- 
 ing objects would have filled hiin with astonish- 
 ment; or that his passions would have been 
 roused in some degree hy the aetion of the per- 
 formers, even thongli he might not fully com- 
 })rehend the dialogue. This certainly was a ra- 
 tional iilea ; but his thoughts were far otherwise 
 employed. During the dances, his attention 
 was et)g?.ged in reckoning the number of ste{)s ; 
 after a fine piece of music he declared that the 
 innumerable sounds produced by the instruments, 
 perplexed him beyond measure, but he counted 
 the words uttered l)y Mr. Garrick, in the whole 
 •course of the enterfa-iRmeut, and declared that 
 in this part of tlie business he had perfectly suc- 
 ceeded. 
 
 Heir to no fortune and educated to no particu- 
 lar profession, Jedcdiah Buxton supported him- 
 self by the labor of his hands. His talents, had 
 ihev been properly cultivated might have quali- 
 fied iiim for acting a distinguished part on the 
 theatre of life ; he nevertheless pursued the 
 " noiseless tenor of his way," content if he could 
 satisfy the wants of nature, and procure a daily 
 sustenance for himself tmd family. 
 
 When he was asked to calculate a question, he 
 would sit down, take off his old brown hat, and 
 resting upon his stick, which was generally a 
 very crooivcd one, in that attitude he would fall 
 to work. He commonly wore on his head a 
 linen or woollen cap, and had a handkerchief 
 carelessly thrown round his neck.
 
 24 ANTHONY MAGLIABECHI. 
 
 If the enjoyments of this singular man were 
 few, the3' seem at least to have been fully equi- 
 valent to his desires. Though the powers of his 
 rnind raised him far above his humble compa- 
 nions, who earned their bread in like manner by 
 the sweat of their brow, yet ambitious thoughts 
 never interrupted his repose, nor did he, on his 
 return from London, regret the loss ofanyoftiie 
 pleasures he had left behind him. 
 
 Buxton was married and had several children. 
 He died in the year 1775, aged seventy years. 
 
 ANTHONY MAGLIABECHI, 
 
 A LEARNED Florentine, and librarian to. the 
 grand duke of Tuscany, was born in Florence, 
 October the 29> 1033. His parents were of so 
 low and mean a rank, that ihcy were very satis- 
 fied when the\^ had procured him a service with 
 a man who sold herbs and fruit. He had never 
 learned to read, and yet he was perpetualK' por- 
 ing over tho leaves of old books, that were used 
 as waste paper in his master's shop. A booksel- 
 ler wdio lived in the neighbourhood, and who had 
 often observed this, and knew the boy could not 
 read, asked him one day, " What he meant bv 
 staring so much on printed papers?" He said, 
 " That he did not know how it was, but that he 
 loaed it of all things ; that he was very uneasy in 
 the business he was in, and should be the happi-
 
 ANTHONY MAGLIABIiClII. <2^ 
 
 est creature in the world, if he could live mtU 
 liiin, who had always so many books about him.'* 
 The bookseller was astonished, and yet pie:vied 
 will) his answer ; and at last told him, that he 
 should not be disinclined to take him into his 
 shop, if his master would be willing to part with 
 him. Young Magliabechi thanked him with 
 tears of joy ; and his happiness was highly in- 
 creased when his master^ on the bookseller's de- 
 sire, gave him leave to go where he pleased. 
 lie went therefore directly to his new and much 
 desired business ; and had not been long in it, 
 before he could find out any book that was asked 
 for, as readily as the bookseller conld himself. 
 
 Some time after this he learned to read, and, 
 no sooner had he made this accjuisition, than he 
 employed every leisure moment in reading. He 
 seems never to have applied himself to any par- 
 ticular study. A passion for reading was his rul- 
 ing passion ; and a prodigious memory his great 
 talent, lie read every book almost indiscrimi- 
 nately as they happened to come into his hands : 
 he went through thei'n with surprising quickness, 
 and yet retained not only the sense of what he 
 read, but often all the words, and the vevy man- 
 ner of spelling them, if there was any thing pe- 
 culiar of that kind in any author. 
 
 His extraordinary application qnd talents soon 
 recommended him to Brmini, aifd Marmi, libra- 
 rians of the grand duke of Tuscany. He was by 
 them introduced into the conversation of the 
 learned, and made known at court, and began 
 
 VOL. C— NO. 14. M
 
 * £6 ANTHONY MACLIABECHI. 
 
 to be looked upon every where as a prodigy, par- 
 ticularly ior his vast and unbounded memory. 
 It is said, that a trial was made of the force 
 of his memory, which, if true, is very amazing, 
 A gentleman at Florence, who had written a 
 piece which was to be printed, lent the manu- 
 script to Magliabechi ; and, some time after it 
 had been returned with thanks, came to him 
 again with a melancholy face, and told him of 
 some invented accident, by which, he said, he 
 liad lost his manuscript. Tli_e author seemed 
 almost inconsolable for the loss of his work, and 
 intreated Magliabechi, whose character for re- 
 membering what he read was already very great, 
 to try to recollect as much as he possibly could, 
 and write it down for him, against his next visit. 
 Magliabechi assured him he w ould, and, on set- 
 ting about it, wrote down the whole manuscript, 
 without missing a word, or even varying any 
 where from the spelling. 
 
 By treasuring up every thing he read in so 
 strange a manner, or at least the subject, and all 
 the principal parts of all the books he ran over, 
 his head became at last, as one of kis acquaint- 
 ance expressed it, " An universal index both of 
 titles and matter." He was so famous for the 
 \ast extent of his reading, and his amazing re- 
 tention of what he had read, that it began to grow 
 common among the learned to consult him, 
 when they were writing on any subject. lie 
 would tell them not only who had treated of 
 their subject designedly, but of such also as had 
 
 5
 
 ANTHONY MAGLlABECHt. 2? 
 
 touched upon it only accidentally, in writing on 
 other subjects, both which he (\'\d with the great- 
 est exactness, naming the author, the book, the 
 words, and often the very number oFthe page in 
 which their observations were inserted. He did this 
 so often, so readily, and so exactly, thatatlasthe 
 Wiis looked uponalmost as an oracle, for the ready 
 and full answers that he gave to all ([uestionsj 
 that were proposed to him, in any faculty or 
 science whatever. 
 
 It was his great eminence this way, and his- 
 vast knowledge of books, that induced the grand 
 Duke, Cosmo tiie Third, to confer o)i hiin the 
 appointment of librarian: and what a happiness 
 it must have been to Magliabechi, who delight- 
 ed in nothing so much as in reading, to have the 
 supreme command and use of such a collection 
 of books as that in the Great Duke's palace, may 
 be easily conceived. He was also very conver- 
 sant with the books of the Lorenzo library ; and 
 had the keeping of those of Leopold© and Fran- 
 cesco Maria, the two cardinals of Tuscan}'; and 
 yet even all this did not satisfy his extensive ap- 
 petite. 
 
 To read such vast numbers as he did, he lat- 
 terly made use of a method as extraordinary as 
 any thing hitherto mentioned of him. When a 
 book lirst came into his hands, he would look the 
 title-page all over, then dip here and there in the 
 preface, and advertisements, if there were any, 
 and cast his eyes on each of the divisions, the 
 diflcrent sections, or chapters, and then he would 
 
 M 2
 
 G8 ANTHONY MAGLlABEpHI. 
 
 b? able for ever to krow what that book con- 
 tained ; for he remembered as steadily as he con- 
 ceived rapidl}'. It was after he had taken to this 
 Avay of reading, that a priest who had composed 
 a panegyric on one of his favourite saints, brought 
 it to Magliabechi, as a present. He read it over 
 the very way above mentioned, and then thanked 
 him very kindly for his excellent treatise. The 
 author, in some pain, asked him, " Whether 
 that was all he intended to read of his book?" 
 Magliabcchi coolly answered, " Yes, for I know 
 ^eIy well every thing that is in it." 
 
 jS[a^liabeehi had also a local memory of the 
 yjlaces where every book stood, and seems to 
 have carried this farther than onlv in relation to 
 ilse collection ofbook^ with Vvliich he wav: perso- 
 nally acquainted. One day the Grand Duke 
 sent for bin., after he was his librarian, to ask 
 him, whether he could get him a book that was 
 particularly scarce. *' No, sir," answered Magli- 
 abcchi, " It is impossible, for there is but one in 
 the world: that is in the Grand Siarnior's hbrarv 
 at Constantinople, and istheseventh book on the 
 s:cond shelf on the right hand as you go in." 
 Ti)ough jNIagliabechi mast have lived so seden- 
 tary a life, with such an intense and almost per- 
 petual application to books, yet he attained to a 
 good old age. He died in his eighty-first 3'ear, 
 on July 14j 1714. 
 
 By his will he left a very fine library, of his 
 own collcclionj for the use of the public, with a
 
 ANTUGN.^ MAGLIABECIII. 20 
 
 fanxl to maintain it ; aud whatever should remaia 
 to the poor. He was not an ccclesiasticj but 
 chose never to marr^'; and was quite negligent, 
 or rather quite slovenly in his dress. His appear- 
 ance was such, as must have been fur from en- 
 gaging the affection of a lady, had he addressed 
 himself to any; and his face in particular, as ap- 
 pears by the several representations of him, whe- 
 ther in his busts, medals, pictures, or prints, 
 would rather have prejudiced his suit then ad- 
 vanced it. He received his friends, and those 
 who came to consult him on any points of litera- 
 ture, in a civil and obliging manner, though ia 
 general he had almost the air of a savage, and 
 even affected it, together with a cynical or con- 
 temptuous smile, which scr^'cely rendered his look 
 the more ag-reeable. 
 
 In his manner of living, he affected the cha- 
 racter of Diogenes ; three hard eggs, and a^ 
 draught or two of water, were his usual repast. 
 When any visitors w^ent to see him, they usually 
 found him lolling in a sort of fixed wooden cradle, 
 in tiie middle of his study, with a multitude of 
 books, some thrown in heaps, and others scat-- 
 tcred about the floor, all round him ; and this 
 bis cradle,, or bed, w:as attached to the nearest 
 piles of books, ])y a number of cobwebs. At 
 their entratjcc, lie commonly used to call out to 
 them not to hurt his sjjiders. An old cloak 
 served him for a gown in the day, and for bed- 
 clothes at night; he had one straw chair for his- 
 
 U- 3
 
 so GEORGE MANLY. 
 
 table, and another for his bed, in which he con- 
 tinued fixed amonu his booics till he was over- 
 powered by sleep. 
 
 GEORGE MANLY. 
 
 1 HIS wretched culprit, if we may judge from 
 the concluding scene of his life was a man of no 
 ordinary powers of mind and no common way 
 of thinking. He was executed for the crime of 
 murder at Wicklow, in Ireland, in 1738. On this 
 occasion he behaved in a strange but undaunted 
 manner, and just before the sentence of the Jaw- 
 was carried into execution^ be made the follow- - 
 jog remarkable speech : — 
 
 " My friends, you assemble to see — What ? — A 
 man take a leap into the abyss of death. Look, 
 and you shall see me go with as much courage as 
 Curtius when he'leapt into the gulph to save his 
 country from destruction. What then will you 
 &eeof me? — You say that no man without virtue 
 k-an be courageous. You will say, I have killed 
 n man. — Marlborough killed his thousands, and 
 Alexander his millions. Marlborough and Alex- 
 ander, and many others who have done the like, 
 are famous in history for great men: but I killed 
 one solitary man — ay, that's the case — one soli- 
 tary man ! I'm a little murderer^ and must be 
 hanged. Marlborough and Alexander plundered 
 uountrics— they were great men. I ran in debt
 
 GEORGE MANLY. St 
 
 with the ale-wife— 1 must be hanged! Now, my 
 fiiends, I hare drawn a parallel between two of 
 the greatest men that ever lived and myself; but 
 these were men of former days. Now I'll speak. 
 a word of some of the present days. How many 
 men were lost in Italy and upon the Rhine, during' 
 tlie last war, for setting a king in Poland! But 
 both sides could not be in the right: they are 
 great men ; but 1 killed a solitary man, I'm a little 
 fellow. The King of Spain takes our ships, plun- 
 ders our merchants, kills and tortures our men ;, 
 but what of all that ? what he does is good ; he's 
 a great man ; he is cloathed in purple; his in-. 
 struraents of murder are bright and shining, mine 
 was but a rusty gun ; and so much for compa- 
 rison. Now I would fain know, what authority 
 there is in scripture for a rich man. to plunder, tu 
 torture, and ravage whole countries; and what 
 law it is that condemns a poor man to death for 
 killing a solitary man, or for stealing a solitary 
 sheep to feed his family. But bring the matter 
 closer to our own country : what is the difference 
 between running in a poor man's debt, and by 
 the power of gold, or any other privilege, pre- 
 venting him from obtaining his right, and clap- 
 ping a pistol to a man's breast, and taking from 
 him his purse ? yet the one shall thereby obtain a 
 coach, and honours, and titles, 8cc. the other — 
 what?— a cart and a rope. From what I have 
 said, my brethren, you ma}', perhaps, imagine I 
 am hardened;, but believe me, I am fully con-r 
 vinced of my follies^ and acknowledge the juss
 
 52 M. OSTERVALD. 
 
 judgment of God has overtaken rae. I have no 
 hopes but from the merits of my Redeemer,, who 
 i hope will have mercy on me, as he knows that 
 murder was far from my heart, and what I did 
 was througli rage and passion, being provoked 
 thereto by the deceased. - Take warning, my 
 dear comiades : think ! O think !— What would, 
 I now give, that i had lived another life!" 
 
 M. OSTERVALD. 
 
 Mr. Odtervald, a well-l;nown French banker, died 
 at Paris in December 171)0, literally of want. Tliis 
 man, originally of Neufchatcl, felt the violence 
 of the disease of avarice, (For surely it is rather a 
 disease than a passion of the mind) so strongly, 
 that, within. a few days of his death, no impor- 
 tunities could induce him to buy a few pound* 
 of meat for the purpose of making a little soup. 
 '* "Tis true," said he, " I should not dislike 
 the soup, but I have no appetite for the meat ; 
 what then is to become of that?" At the time 
 that he refused this nourishment, for fear of 
 being obliged to give away two or three pounds 
 of meat, there was tied round his neck a silken 
 bag, which contained 800 assignuts of JOOO livres 
 each. At his outset in life, he drank a pint of 
 beer, which servett him for supper, every night 
 at a house much frequented, from which he car- 
 ried home all the bottle-cojks he could come aL.
 
 M. OSTEKVALD. 33 
 
 Of these, ill tlie course of eight years, he had 
 collected as many as sold for I '2 loiiis-d'or, asum 
 that laid the foundation of his fortune, the super- 
 structure of which, was rapidly raised by his un- 
 common success in stock-jobbing. lie died 
 possessed of three millions of Jivres^ or l'25jOOOL 
 sterl in !X. 
 
 Another extraordinary instance of avarice, and 
 of a still more miserable death was exhibited in 
 the same country in the person of M. Foscue. 
 This man . one of the farmers-G;eneral of Langue- 
 doc, under the former government had amassed 
 considerable wealth by grinding the poor within 
 Lis province, and every other means, however 
 low, base or cruel; bv which he rendered him- 
 self universally hated. He w-as one day ordered 
 by the Government to raise a considerable sum : 
 on which, as an excuse for not complying with 
 the demand, he pleaded extreme poverty ; but 
 fearing lest some of the inhabitants of Languedoc 
 should give information to the contrary, and his 
 hou^e should be searched, he resolved to hide 
 his treasure in such a manner, as to escape the 
 most rigid examination. He dug a kind of cave 
 in his wine-cellar, wliich he made so large and 
 deep, that he used to go down with a ladder; at 
 the entrance was a door with a spring lock on it, 
 Avhich, on shutting, w ould fasten of itself. Soon 
 afterwards, Mons. Foscue was missing: diligent 
 search was niade after him in every place; thc- 
 ponds were draw-n, and every method wbich hu- 
 man imagination could suggest, was taken to findj
 
 34 THOMAS ROBERTS. 
 
 him, but in vain. In a short time after his house 
 was sold, and the purchaser beginning either to 
 rebuild, or to make some alterations in it, the 
 workmen discovered a door in the cellar, with a 
 liey in the lock, which he ordered to be opened. 
 On going down they found Mons, Foscue lying 
 dead on the ground, with a candlestick near him,, 
 but the candle he had eaten ; and on searching 
 farther they disco veied the vast wealth that he 
 had amassed. It is supposed, that when Mons, 
 Foscue went into bis cave, the door, by sonieac-' 
 cidentshut after him, and being out of call of any 
 person, he perished for want of food, lie had 
 gnawed the fiesh off both his arms, as is supposed 
 for subsistence. Thus did this miser die of 
 want, in the midst of his useless heaps of hoarded 
 treasure t 
 
 THOMAS ROBERTS. 
 
 1 HIS man, a native of Kirkmond in Lincoln- 
 shire, was a most extraordinary /iisus fiafiircr. He 
 was perfect to his elbows and knees, but w ithout 
 either arms or legs. Above one of his elbows 
 was a short bony substance, like the joint of a 
 thumb, which had some muscular motion, and 
 was of considerable use to him. 
 
 Nature, however, compensated for his want of 
 limbs, by giving him a strong understanding, and 
 bodily health and spirits. When Sir George-
 
 ROBKRT FOBSTKR. 55 
 
 Tki'low, the last baronet of that ancient family, 
 rented of Edmond Turnoiv, Esq. the manor and 
 lordship of Kirkmond, he kept a pack of hare- 
 hounds. Tom was for many years emploved as 
 his huntsman, and used to ride down the hills, 
 which are remarkably steep, with singular cou- 
 rage and dexterity. Hi.-, turn for horses was so 
 great, that, on leaving the service of Sir George 
 Barlow, he became a farrier of considerable re- 
 putation, and, indulging in his propensity to li- 
 quor, seldom came home sober from the neigh- 
 boring markets. He, however, required no other 
 iissistance from the parish, till hebecarae infirm, 
 than a habitation, and the keeping of ahorse and 
 cow. 
 
 What is perhaps more remarkable, he married 
 three wives! By the first, who was an elderly 
 woman, he had no children ; but by the second 
 he left two sons, who at his death were in good 
 situations as farmers' servants, and buried him 
 in a decent manner. He died May IG, 1797, 
 aued 8j. 
 
 ROBERT FORSTER, 
 
 SUIINAMED the F/i/i/ig Barber, of Cambridge, 
 ■»vas many years hair-dresser to Clare-hall. He 
 was eccentric in his manners, but respected as aa 
 honest man. The gentlemen of the University, 
 bought him a silver bason by subscription ; and 
 it was no small honour for a stranger to say, that 
 he had been shaved out of Forster's bason. The
 
 36 ROBERT FORSTEK. 
 
 celerity with which he almost "unnihilated both 
 space and time/' to attend his masters, whicli 
 procured him his title, as well as the dispatch he 
 made with their beards when he got at them, 
 were very extraordinary; and, in fact^ in his 
 walk, or rather run, his feet moved somewhat 
 like the spokes of a chariot wheel. With the 
 utmost glee did* this poor fellow follow a gentle- 
 inan to the rooms of his friend the present Bishop 
 of Cloyne, to shew him the many comical letters 
 that had been sent, but post paid, from London 
 and elsewhere, addressed to Robert Fly Forster, 
 Esq. and replete with fun and drollery, in verse 
 and prose. But more particularly he brought liini 
 his famous silver Mambrino's helmet, decorated 
 in its centre with the barbers arms, which were 
 said to be the device of the late ingenious George 
 "Stevens, Esq. On showing this great curiosity, 
 he said, *•' They tell me, sir, that T am to have a 
 razor set in gold to shave his majesty when he 
 comes to Cambridge; such fun do the gentlemen 
 make of me, sir." His meagre figure, his apo- 
 logy for a wig, his gait and shaving attitude, are 
 adiQirably expressed in a humorous carricaturc 
 print, published at Cambridge some years ago. 
 This print consists of tv.o compartments, which 
 might very properly be intituled '^ Forster pas- 
 sant," and " Forster rampant;" lUe one repre- 
 senting him as scndchng the streets, and the 
 other as in the attitude of levelling the first stroke 
 ata ga itlea a i 's beard. He died at Cambridge 
 January 25, J 800.
 
 ALICE. 
 
 1 HOUGH ihe republicans of America inauifcsi 
 tlie utmost contempt for every other country 
 when placed in the scale with their boasted land 
 of freedom, yet it is well known that Slavery, 
 clad in all her horrors, there brandislies her in- 
 liuman scourge and pollutes this pretended coun- 
 try of liberty and equality with the most barba- 
 rous atrocities. Amonfj; the unfortunate bein^T? 
 whose lot subjected them to her dominion, but 
 who experienced comparatively a small portion 
 of her rigor, was the venerable female known bv 
 the name of Alice. 
 
 Slie was a native of America, being born in 
 Philadelphia, of parents who came from Barba- 
 does^ and lived in that city until she was ten 
 \ears old, when her master removed her to 
 Dunk's Ferry, in which neighbourhood she con- 
 tinued to the end of her days. She remembered 
 the ground on which Philadelphia stands, when 
 it was a wilderness, and when the Indians (ita 
 chief inhabitants) hunted wild game in the woods, 
 while the panther, the wolf, and the beasts of the 
 forest, were prowling about the wigwams and 
 cabins in which they lived. 
 
 Being a sensible, intelligent wotnan, and bar- 
 ing a good memory, which she retained to the 
 last, she would often make judicious remarks ow 
 the j)opulatiou and improvements of the city and 
 VOL. 2. — NO. 13 N
 
 2 ALICE. 
 
 country ; liencc her conversation became pecu- 
 liarly interesting, espcciall}' to the innnediate 
 ' (!c.sccn(huits of ihe first settlers, of whose ances- 
 tors she often related acceptable anecdotes. She 
 remembered \Villiam Penn, the proprietor of 
 Pennsylvania, Thomas Story, James Logan, and 
 several other distinsjuished characters of that 
 day. Duriilg a short visit which she paid to 
 Philadelphia, in 1801, many respectable persons 
 called to sec her, who were all pleased with her 
 innocent cheerfulness, and that dignified deport- 
 ment, for which, though a slave and uninstruct- 
 ed, she was ever remarkable. 
 
 In observing; the increase of the citv. she point- 
 ed out the house next to the episcopal church, 
 to ilie soutliward in Second-street, as the first 
 brick building that was erected in it; and it is 
 more than proba!)le she was right, for it bears 
 evident n)arks of antiquity. The first church, 
 she said, was a small frame that stood where the 
 present building stands, the ceiling of which she 
 could reach with ber hands from the floor. She 
 was a worthy member of the episcopal society, 
 and attended their public worship as long as she 
 lived. Indeed, she was so zealous to perform 
 this duty, in proper season, tliat she has often 
 been met on horseback, in full gallop, to church, 
 at the age of 95 years. The veneration she had 
 for the bible induced her to lament that she was 
 not able to read it; but the deficiency was in 
 part supplied by the kindness of many of her 
 friends, who, at her request, would read it to
 
 ALICE. 3 
 
 her^ when she would listen with great attention, 
 and often make pertinent remarks. 
 
 She was teniperate in her living;, and so care- 
 ful to keep to the truth , that lier veracity was 
 never questioned ; her honesty also was unim- 
 peachcd, for suoli was her master's confidence 
 in it, that she was trusted at all times to receive 
 the icrriage money for upwards of forty years. 
 
 This extraordinary woman retained her hear- 
 iii2; to the etui <jf her lite, hut her siiz;ht bea;an to 
 fail gradually in the ninety-sixth year of her age. 
 At one hundred slie became blind, so that she 
 could not see the sun at noon day. But her last 
 master kindly excused her from her usual labour ; 
 being habituated from her childhood to con- 
 stant employment, she could not be idle, for 
 she afterwards devoted her time to fishing, at 
 which she was very expert, and even at this late 
 period, when her sight had so entirely left her, 
 she would frequently row herself out into the 
 middle of the stream, from which she seldom re- 
 turned without a handsome suppl}^ offish for her 
 master's table. About the one hundred and se- 
 cond year of her age, her sight gradually return- 
 ed, and improved so far, that she could per- 
 ceive objects moving before her, though she 
 could not distinguish persons. Before she died, 
 her hair became perfectly white, and the last of 
 her teeth dropt sound from her head at the age 
 of 1 16 years. At this age she died, in 1801% at 
 Bristol, in Pennsylvania. 
 
 N 2.
 
 MR. AXDRE^^'a 
 
 '1 fl [S gentlctntiii \v;is Iturn to ;iii independent 
 fortune, but ccmtuencing lift; at a time that lie 
 v,T»s incapablt of judging oF the woild, or ot" 
 ht;ni»elf, he was led 63 a sitigle passion, for he \sn^ 
 Tiot actuated bv any other. He devoted himself 
 cntiieiytu tlie blind goddess, and worshipped her 
 iriccsjantiy under the I'orm of two ivory balls. 
 iL« was reiiiarkublv thin, not verv tall, thoufih 
 ubove the midtile size: his face was a perfect 
 \;acuum, with respect to every possible idea ex- 
 cept biilittrcis. So infatuated was he in pursuing 
 this game, that to {ittuin the summit of excel- 
 lence he sacrificed to it days, nights, weeks, 
 n>oiuhs, and years. At length he arrived at such 
 a degree of perfection, as well in the theoretical, 
 as the practical part of the game, that no player 
 in Europe could equal him, except one, who 
 was the celebrated Abraham Carter, who kept 
 the tables at the corner of the Piazzas^ Russel- 
 strcet, Covent Garden. Mr. Andrews was the 
 most devoted adept at this game that ever nature 
 produced: he seemed but to vegetate in a bil- 
 liard-room, and indeed he did little more in any 
 other place. He was a perfect billiard valetudi- 
 niuian, in the most rigid signification of the ex- 
 juvsslon. lie ale, drank, slept, walked, nay, 
 talked but to promote the system of the ballsi. 
 J4is regimen was tea, and toast and butter., fur
 
 MR. ANDREVrS. 5* 
 
 breakfast, for dinner, and for supper. It might 
 reasonably be imagined, that so regular a profes- 
 sor would obtain all the advantages that could 
 result from the scienee. lie won considerable 
 sums, but knew not the value of money ; and 
 when playing for only live or ten pounds, he 
 took no [)ains, but seemed perfectly indifferent 
 about winning or losing. There was a latent 
 finesse in thisj but it did not operate to his ad- 
 vantage : he was laying by for bets, but as they 
 were seldom offered, the strength of his play be- 
 ing very well known, he often lost by repeated- 
 small sums Tery considerable ones. It is gene- 
 rally believed, however, that he has played for 
 more money at billiards than any other person 
 ever did. The followino; is a remarkable circum- 
 
 stance: he one night won of a Colonel W e 
 
 upwards of lOOOl. and the colonel appointed ta 
 meet him the next dav, to s;o uith him into the- 
 city, to transfer stock to him to the amount of 
 the sum lost. Being in a hackney-coach, they 
 tossed up who should pay for it — Andrews lost; 
 and upon tnis small beginning he was excited, 
 to continue, till he lost the whole sum he won the* 
 niirht before at billiards. AA'^hen the coachman 
 stopped to set down, he was ordered to get up 
 again, and drive them back, as ihey had- 
 no occasion to get out Ry these pursuits he, 
 lost very large sums which lie had won at bil- 
 hards ; and in a few years, hazard, and other 
 games of chance, strip})ed him of every shilling, 
 be could command. He had still left a small au?- 
 
 .- o
 
 6 
 
 MR. ANDREtVSi 
 
 iriiity , which he endeavoiirerl to dispose of, buf? 
 ^tvvas so securely settled upon hiins^lF that he 
 could not sell it; otherwise it is probable that it- 
 woiiici soon have been transferred at the ijaniinfj- 
 table. He was living within these few years in a 
 retired manner in Kent, where he declared to an 
 intimate, old acquaintance, tlial he never knew 
 contentinent while he was rollifig in money; but. 
 :^iHce he was obliged to live upon a scanty pit- 
 tance, he thought himself one of the happiest, 
 men in the universe. 
 
 JOSEPH S-1 RONG. 
 
 I HF, propensity of persons who have had the 
 wjist'"orlune to be tienicd the blessincr of slight to 
 cultivate the science of music, is' notorious to 
 every person of the least obse^'vation. With this 
 propensity is not seldom combined an extraordi- 
 nary genius for mechanics, but few have posses- 
 sed both in a greater degree than Mr. Joseph 
 Strong. 
 
 He was a native of Carlisle and was blind from- 
 his birth. Notwithstanding this disadvantage, 
 he displayed even iti his infancy astonishing skill 
 in mechanics. He attached himself early to the 
 study of music, and was a good performer on the- 
 or!2;an. The follovvintr circumstance affords a 
 striking instance of his ingenuity and pcrseve- 
 jancC; by means of nhich lie contrived to pro^
 
 J-OSEPH STRONG. T 
 
 duce every tiling he thought worth possessing : 
 At the age of fifteen he one afternoon concealed' 
 himself in the cathedral of Carlisle, during the 
 tinvcof divine service. AVhen the con2;reiration 
 had retired and the doors were shut, he proceed- 
 ed to the organ-loft, and examined every part 
 of the instrument, tie was thus occupied till 
 about midnight, when, having satisfied himself 
 respecting the general construction, he began to 
 try the tone of the diflerent stops, and the pro- 
 portion they bore to each other. This experi- 
 ment could not however be concluded in so si-- 
 lent a manner as the business which had before 
 en2:a<2;ed his attention. The neighbourhood was 
 alarmed; various were the conjectures as to the 
 cause of the nocturnal music, at length some 
 persons mustered courage sufficient to go and see 
 what was the matter, and Joseph was found plaving 
 the organ. Next day he was sent for by the dcan^ 
 who after reprimanding him lor the method he 
 had taken to gratify his curiosity, gave him per- 
 mission to play whenever he pleased. 
 
 He now set about making himself a chamber* 
 organ, which he completed without any assis- 
 tance whatever. This instrument he sold to a 
 merchant, and it is now in the possession of a gen- 
 tleman of Dublin, who preserves it as a curio- 
 sity. Soon afterwards he made another, on which 
 he used to play both for amusement and devo- 
 tion.\ 
 
 At the age of twenty he could make himself 
 almost. every article of wearing apparel ; and all 
 
 3
 
 d- JOSEPH STRONG. 
 
 his hoiiseliold furniture with few exceptions, was- 
 of his own manufacture. Besides these he con- 
 structed various pieces of machinery, and amoirg 
 the rest a model of a loom, with a figure repre- 
 senting a man working in it. Tlie first pair of 
 shoes he made, was for the })urpose of walking 
 from Carlisle to London, to visit Mr. Stanley, 
 the celebrated blind organist of the Temple 
 Church. This visit he actually paid, and was 
 liighly gratified with the jaunt. 
 
 Though he indulged his fancy in themanneii' 
 described above, vet these amusements did not 
 prevent him from following with great assiduity. 
 the business of a diaper weaver, at which he was 
 accounted a good workman. 
 
 Till within a few months of his death, he was 
 a constant aUendant at tlie cathedral ; but not. 
 being able to accompany the choir in clmuniing 
 the psalms, he con:)posed several hymns which, 
 corresponded with the music, and which he sub^ 
 stituted as an act of private devotion during the 
 performance of that part of the public service. 
 It is not known whether any person was ever at- 
 tentive enough to copy these pious effusions, 
 which were certainly respectable from the motive 
 by which they were dictated, and for the ob- 
 taining of which he afforded ample opportunity 
 as they generally made a part of his musical per- 
 formance before strangers, and indeed that ])art 
 in which he seemed to take the greatest pleasure. 
 
 Mr. Strong was married at the age of twenty 
 five, and had several children. He died at Caiv 
 lisle in March 1798 in his, (JOth. vcar.
 
 9 
 
 JOHN ZEPIIANIAII IIOLM'KLL ESQ. 
 
 l HE name of this gentleman is principally ivii« 
 dered renuu K'able by the sense of distress, ahnost 
 unparalleled, in which lie was involved, and of 
 which he trave to the world a horriblv faith.fui 
 picture. 
 
 AJr. Holwell went from England to the East- 
 Indies in the civil service of the company, and 
 in i7.3() was next in authority, at Fort \\''iUiam^ 
 in Calcutta, to tlie governor Mr. J)rake. The 
 nabob oF Bengal, Siirajah Dowla, was then en- 
 gaged in a war with the Enst-India company, and 
 the conduct of governor Drake, who bad amonjj 
 other things unjustly imprisoned Omychund, 
 a considerable Gentoo merchant of the country, 
 drew his resentment upon the English factory at 
 Calcutta. He marched against it in person, and' 
 laid siege to the fort. Drake, the cause of this 
 misfortune, no sooner beheld it approach, than' 
 he deserted his station, leaving the gentlemea 
 of the factory, and the garrison, to shift for them- 
 
 SClvCfS. 
 
 On the departure of the governor, I\lr. Hol- 
 well took the command upon himself, and resolv- 
 ed to defend the place as long as he was able. 
 This voluntary opposition incensed the nabob 
 atrainst him, and conceiviuG: that he would not from 
 disinterested, motives, have undertaken awork of
 
 10 JOHX ZEPHANIAIl HOLWELL ESO. 
 
 supererogation Jittenrled with such fatigue and 
 danger, he conchided that there were very great 
 treasures in the tort, in which Mr. Holwell .was 
 deeply concerned as u propiietoj. lie therefore 
 j)ushed the siege with great vigor, and on the 'iOth 
 of June 1756, made himself master of the place. 
 Of the events that followed a must interesting 
 account is given by Mr. llolweil in the subjoined 
 letter to his IViend Mr. Davis. 
 
 "DernSlr. 
 
 " Bkfork L conduct you into the Black Hole, 
 I must acquaint you that the Suba, named 
 Surajah Dowla, viceroj* of Bengal Bahar, and 
 Orixa, and his troops were possessed of the fort 
 before six in the evening, with whom I had in 
 all three interviews; the last in durbar, or coun- 
 cil, before seven, when he repeated his assuran- 
 ces to me, on the word of a soldier, that no harm 
 should come to us; and indeed, I believe he 
 only ordered, that we should, for that night, be 
 secured, and that what followed was the result 
 of the revenge of the lower jemmaatdars, or Ser- 
 jeants, to whose custod}' we were delivered, for 
 the number of their order killed during the siege. 
 However this be, as soon as it was dark, we were 
 all, without distinction, directed by our guard to 
 sit down quietly under the arched veranda or 
 piazza, to the wCst of the Black Hole prison, 
 and just over against the windows of the gover- 
 nor's easterly apartments. 
 
 " The factory was at this lime in flames ; to 
 the right of us tlie armory and laboratory, and to
 
 JOHN ZEIMIANIAH HOLWELL ESO. U 
 
 the left the carpenter's yard ; though we now ima- 
 gined it was the cotto, or the coinpanv's, cloth- 
 wareliouscs. Various were our conjectures on 
 this appearance, but it was the general o|)inion 
 that they intended to suffocate i:s between two 
 lires; which was confirmed about half an hour 
 after seven, when some othcers and people with 
 lighted torches in their bands went into all the 
 apartments to the right of us, as was then imagi- 
 ned, to put their scheme in execution. We 
 hereupon, presentl}' resolved to rush u|)on the 
 guard, seize their sc\Mnetars, and attack the 
 troops upon the parade, rather than be tamely 
 roasted to death ; but it was, upon enquiry, dis- 
 covered that they were only searching for a place 
 to confine us in, the last thev eNamined being 
 the barra^'ks of the corrrt of guard behind us. 
 
 Here I cannot omit doing honor to the memo- 
 ry of a man to whom 1 had in many instances 
 been a friend ; tliis was Leech, the company's 
 smith, as well as clerk of the parish; who, having 
 made his escape, when tiie JNhtors entered the 
 tort, returned, as soon as it was dark, to inform 
 me that he had provided a boat, and would en- 
 sure my escape, if \ would follow him through 
 a secret passage, through which he had then en- 
 tered. Having thanked him in the best terms 
 I was able, I told hrm I could not prevail on my- 
 self to take such a step^ as I slu^uld thereby very 
 ill repay the attach tneut the gentlemen and the 
 garrison had shewn to me; but I pressed him to 
 iose no time in securing his own escape; to
 
 1^ JOHN ZEPtlAiNIAlI HOLWELL KSO. 
 
 which he gallantly rej)lied, that he was then de- 
 tcrmiiiod to share my fate and would not leave 
 me. 
 
 " We were no sooner all within the barracks, 
 than the guard advancing to the parapet wall, 
 with their musket?: presented, ordered ns to en- 
 ter the room at the southernmost end of the bar- 
 racks, commonly called the Black liole; while 
 others, from the court of guard, pressed upon 
 those next them, with clubs and drawn scyme- 
 tars in their hands. I'his stroke was so sudden, 
 iind the throng and pressure upon us next the 
 door of this prison so great, that, as one agita- 
 ted wave impels another, we were obliged t« 
 give way and go into the room ; the rest followed 
 like a torrent, few of us, except the soldiers h;iv- 
 ing any idea of the dimensions of a place we 
 liad never acen ; for if we had, we should rather 
 have rushed on the guard, and chosen, as the 
 Jess evil, to be cut to pieces. 
 
 " Among the first that entered were myself, 
 >Iessrs. Bailiie, Jenks, Cook, "i\ Coles, Ensign 
 Scott, Revely, Law^, Buchanan, 5cc. I got pos- 
 session of the window nearest the door, and 
 jMessieurs Coles^ and Scott into the window with 
 me, they being both wounded (the first 1 believe 
 mortally.) The rest of the above mentioned gen- 
 were close round about me. It was now about 
 eight o'clock. 
 
 "^ It is impossible fully to describe tiie situa- 
 tion of a hundred and forty-si.-^ wretches, exhaust- 
 ed by continual fatigue and action, crammed
 
 JOHN ZEPHANIAIl HOL\YELL, ESO. IS 
 
 loffetber in a cube of eiehteen feet, in a close 
 sultry night, in Bengal, shut up to the eastward 
 and southward (the only quarters from whence 
 air could reach us) b}' dead walls, and by a wall 
 and door to the north, open only to the westward 
 bv two windows, strongly barred with iron, from 
 which we could receive scarce any the least cir- 
 culation of fresh air. 
 
 " What must ensue, appeared to me in lively 
 and dreadful colours, the instant I cast my eyes 
 round and saw the size and situation of the room. 
 Many unsuccessful attempts were made to force 
 the door ; for bavins? nothinor but our hands to 
 work with, and the door opening inward, all en- 
 deavours were vain and fruitless. 
 
 " I observed every one giving way to the vio- 
 lence of their passions, wherefore, I entreated 
 in the most pathetic terms, that, as the}' had 
 readily obeyed me in the day, they would now for 
 the sake of themselves, and their friends, regard 
 my advice. I assured them that the return of 
 day would give us air and libert}', and that the 
 only chance we had of surviving the night 
 was a quiet resignation to our fate, earnestly be- 
 seeching them, as much as possible to restrain 
 their passion, the giving a loose to which would 
 only hasten their destruction. This remonstrance 
 produced a short interval of peace, which afford- 
 ed me a few minutes for reflection ; though it 
 was not a lit tie interrupted by the cries and groans 
 of the man^' wounded and especially of my two 
 companions in the window. 
 
 VOL. 2. NO. 15. o
 
 14 JOHN ZKPHANIAII HOLVVELL, ESQ. 
 
 ^^ Among the guards posted at the windows, 
 I observed an old Jeminautdaar near nie, who 
 seemed to carry some eompassion for us in his 
 countenance. T called him to me, and pressed 
 him to endeavour to get us separated, half in one 
 place and luilf in anollier, and' that he should in 
 the morning receive a thousand rupees for this 
 act of tenderness. He withdrew; but in a few 
 minutes returned, and told me it was impossible. 
 I then thought I had been deficient in my offer, 
 and promised him two thousand ; he withdrew^ a 
 second time, but returned soon, and (with, I 
 believe, much real pity aruJ concern) told me, 
 that it could not be done but by ihesuba's order, 
 and that no one dared awake him. 
 
 " We had been but a few minutes confined be- 
 fore every one fell into a perspiration so profuse, 
 you can form no idea of it. This brought on a 
 raging tliirst, which increased in proportion as 
 the body was drained of its moisture. 
 
 " Various expedients were thought of to give 
 more room and air. To obtain the former, it was 
 moved to put off their clothes ; this was approved 
 as a happy motion, and in a few minutes, I be- 
 lieve every man was stripped (myself, Mr. Court, 
 and the two young gentlemen l)y me excepted.) 
 For a little tiuie they flattered themselves with ha- 
 vi'ftg gained a mighty advantage ; every hat was 
 put in motion to produce a circulation of air, 
 and Mr. Baillie proposed that every man shouW 
 sit down on his hams. This expedient was seve- 
 ral times put in practice, and at each lime many
 
 ^OHN ZKFHANMAH HOLWELL, ESQ. }5 
 
 of the poor crecUurcs, whose natural strength was 
 less than that of oiliers, or who had been more 
 exhadsled and could not immediately recover 
 their letis, as others did wlien tlie word was given 
 to rise, it'll to rise no more ; for they were in- 
 stantly trod to death, or sufl'ocated. When the 
 VI hole bofly sat down, they were so closely vved<2;- 
 ed together that they were obliged to use many 
 eflbrts, before they could [)ut themselves in mo- 
 tion to get u|) again. 
 
 " Before nine o'clock every man's thirst grew 
 intolerable, and respiration ditficult. Efforts 
 were made again to force the door, but in vain. 
 ISJany insults were used to the guard to provoke 
 them to fire in upon us; which I afterwards 
 learned, were carried much higiier, when I was 
 no longer sensible of what was transacted. For 
 my own part, I hitherto felt little pain or uneasi- 
 ness, but what resulted from my anxiety for the 
 sufferings of those within. By keeping my face 
 between two of the Lars I obtained air enouuh 
 to give my lungs easy play, though my perspira- 
 tion was excessive, and thirst commencing. At 
 this period, so strong an urinous volatile effluvia 
 came from the prison, that I was not able to 
 turn m) head that way, for more than a few se- 
 conds at a time. 
 
 " Every one, excepting those situated in and 
 near the windows^ began to grow outrageous, 
 and many delirious; Water, zcater, became the 
 general cry. And the old Jemmautdaar before 
 mentioned, taking pity on us, ordered the peonle 
 
 o 2
 
 16 JOHN ZEPHANIAH HOLWEM,, ESQ. 
 
 to bring some skins of water. This was wliat 1 
 dreaded. I foresaw it would prove the ruin of 
 the small chance left us^ and essayed many times 
 to speak to him privately to forbid its being 
 brought: but the clamour was so loud, it became 
 impossible. The water appeared. Words can- 
 not paint to you the universal agitation and ra- 
 ving the sight of it threw us into. I flattered 
 myself that some, by preserving an equal temper 
 oi»'mind, miuht out-live the ni2;ht: but now the 
 reflection, which gave me the greatest pain, was, 
 that I saw no possbility of one escaping to tell 
 the dismal tale. 
 
 " Until the water came, I had myself not suf- 
 fered much from thirst, which instantly grew ex- 
 cessive. We had no means of conveying it into 
 prison, but by hats forced through the bars; and 
 thus myself and Messieurs Coles and Scott (not- 
 withstanding the pains they suffered from their 
 wounds) supplied them as fast as possible. But 
 those who have experienced intense thirst, or 
 are acquainted with the cause and nature of this 
 appetite, will be sufficiently sensible it could re- 
 ceive no more than a momentary alleviation ; the 
 cause subsisted. Though we brought full hats 
 within the bars, there ensued such violent strug- 
 gles, and frequent contests to get at it, that be- 
 fore it reached the lips of any one, there would 
 be scarcely a small tea-cup full left in thcra. 
 These supplies, like sprinkling water on fire, only 
 served to feed and raise the flame. 
 
 " It is out of my power to conve}' to you an
 
 JOHN ZEPIIANIAH HOLWELL, ESQ. 
 
 17 
 
 idea of what I felt when I lieaid the cries and 
 ravings of those in the remoter parts of the prison, 
 who could not entertain a j)robable hope of ob- 
 tainins; a drop, yet could not divest themselves 
 of expectation, however unavailini^; and calling" 
 on me by the tender considerations of friendsiitp 
 and affection, and who knew they were really 
 dear to me ! Think, if possible, what my lieart 
 must have suffered at seeing and hearing their ' 
 distress, without having it in my power to relieve 
 them ; for the confusion now became general 
 and horrid. Several quitted the other window 
 (the only chance they had fgr life) to force their 
 way to the water, and the throng and press upon 
 the window was beyond bearing ; many forcing 
 their passage from the further part of the room, 
 pressed down those in their way who had less 
 strength, and trampled them to death. 
 
 " From about nine to near eleven, I sustained 
 this cruel sense and painful situation, still supply- 
 ing them with water, though my legs were almost 
 broken with the weight againsc them. By this 
 time I myself was nearly pressed to death, and 
 my two companions, with Mr William Parker, 
 (who had forced himself into the window,) were 
 really so* 
 
 " P'or a long time they preserved a respect and 
 regard to me, more than indeed I could well ex- 
 pect, our circumstances considered : but now all 
 distinction was lost. My friend Baillie, Messrs. 
 Jenks, Revely, Law, Buchanan, Simpson, and 
 several others, for whom I had a real esteem aad 
 
 o 3
 
 18 JOHN ZEPHANIAH HOLWELL, ESO. 
 
 affection, had for some time been dead at my feet ; 
 and were now trampled upon by every corporal 
 or common soldier,, who by the help of more ro- 
 bust constitutions, had forced their way to the 
 window, and held fast by the bars over me, till at 
 ]ast I became so pressed and wedged up, that I 
 ■was deprived of all motion. 
 
 *' Determined now to give every thing up, I 
 called to them, and begged, as the last instance 
 ©f their regard, they would remove the pressure 
 upon me, and permit me to retire out of the win- 
 dow, to die in quiet. They gave way ; and with 
 much difficulty I forced a passage into the cen- 
 ter of the prison, where the throng was less by 
 the many dead, (then I believe amounting to one 
 third) and the numbers who flocked to the win- 
 dow ; for by this time they had water also at the 
 other window. 
 
 " In ihe black hole there is a platform corres- 
 ponding witFi that in the barrack. This platform 
 was raised between three and four feet from the 
 fioor, open underneath ; it extended the whole 
 length of the east side -of the prison, and was 
 above six feet wide. I repaired to the further 
 end of it, and seated rnyself between Mr. Dum- 
 bleton, and Captain Stevenson, the former just 
 then expiring. I was still happy in a calmness of 
 mind ; death I expected as unavoidable, and only 
 lamented its slow approach, though the moment 
 1 quitted the window, my breathing grew short 
 and painful. Here my poor friend Mr. Edward 
 Eyre came staggering over the dead to me, and
 
 JOHN ZEPUANIAH nOl.WELLj ESO. 19 
 
 with his usual coohiess and goodnature^ asked 
 nie how I did ; but fell and expired before I bad 
 time to make liim a reply. I laid myself" down 
 on some of the dead behind me^ on the platform; 
 and, recommending myself to heaven, had the 
 conilbrL of thinkini? mv siifferin2,s could have no 
 long duration. 
 
 " My thirst grew now insupportable, and the 
 difficukv of bi^athino; much increased: and I 
 had not remained in this situation, 1 believe, ten 
 minutes, when I was seized with a pain in my 
 breast, and paljjitation of lieart, both to the 
 most exquisite degree. These roused and oblig- 
 ed me to get up again ; but still the pain, palpi- 
 tation, thirst, and difficulty of breathing increas- 
 ed. I retained my senses notwithstanding ; and 
 had the grief to see death not so near me as I 
 hof)ed ; but could no longer bear tlie pains 1 suf- 
 fered witliout attempting a relief, which I knew 
 Iresh air alone would and could give me. I in- 
 stantly determined to pu^sh for the window op- 
 posite to me ; and by an effort of double the 
 strength I had ever before possessed, gained the 
 third rank at it, w ith one hand seized a bar, and 
 by that means gained the second, though I 
 think there were at least six or seven ranks be- 
 tween me and the window. 
 
 "In a few moments the pain, palpitation, and 
 difficulty of breathing ceased ; but my thirst con- 
 tinued intolerable. I called aloud for Water for 
 God's sake. 1 had been concluded dead; but as 
 soon as they found me amongst them^ they still
 
 20 JOHN ZEPHANIAH HOLWELL, E50. 
 
 had the respect and tenderness for me, to cry 
 out, Give Itimzcdfer, give Itim wafer ! nor would 
 one of them at the window atiempl to touch it 
 until 1 had druni<. But from the water I had no re- 
 lief; my thirst was lather increased by it ; so I de- 
 termined to drink no more, but patiently wait the 
 event, and kept my mouth moist from time to 
 time by sucking the perspiration out of my shirt 
 sleeves, and catching the drops as they fell, like 
 heavy rain,from my head and face,- you can hardly 
 imagine how unhappy I was if any of them escaped 
 my mouth. 
 
 " I came into the prison without coat or w aist- 
 coat ; the season was too hot to bear the former, 
 and the latter tempted the avarice of one of the 
 guards, who robbed me of it when we Mere im- 
 der the veranda. Whilst I was at this second 
 window, I was observed by one of my miserable 
 companions on the right of me, in the expedient 
 of allaying my thirst by sucking my shirt-sleeves. 
 He took the hint, and robbed me from time to 
 time of a considerable part of my store; though 
 after I detected him, 1 had the address to begin 
 on that sleeve first, when I thought ni}' reservoirs 
 Avere sufficiently replenished ; and our mouths 
 and noses often met in the contest. This plun- 
 derer I found afterwards was a worthy yoimg 
 gentleman in the service, * iVlr. Lushington, one 
 of the few who escaped from death, and who 
 has since paid me the compliment of assuring me 
 
 • Sir Stcplien Lushington, late one of the Directors of the 
 East India Company, who died in January, 1807,
 
 JOHN ZEPHANIAH HOI.WELL, ESO. 21 
 
 that lie believed he owed his lite to the many 
 comtuitable draughts he had from iny sleeves. 
 Before I hit upon this ha[)py expedient^ 1 had 
 in an ungovernable lit of thirst, attempted drink- 
 ing my urine ; but it was so intensely bitter^ there 
 was no enduring a seeotrd taste, wliereas no 
 Bristol water could be more soft or pleasant than 
 what arose from perspiration. 
 
 " By half an hour past eleven, the much great- 
 er number of the living were in an outrageous 
 delirium, and the others i uite unijovernable ; 
 few retaining any calmness, but the ranks next 
 the windows. They all nov/ found, that water, 
 instead of relieving, rather lieigiuened their un- 
 easinesses ; snid Air, air, was the general cry. 
 Every insult that could be devised against the 
 guard, all the opprobrious names and abuse that 
 the suba, Monickchund, could be loaded with, 
 were repeated to provoke the guard to fire upon 
 us, every man that could, ruslwng tumultuouslv 
 towards the windows, with eager hopes of meet- 
 ing the firstshot. Then a general prayer ascended 
 to heaven to hasten theapproach of the;tiames to 
 the right and left of us, and put a period to our 
 misery. Butthese failing, they whose strength and 
 spirits were quite exhausted, laid themselves down 
 and expired quietly upon their fellows ; others 
 Avho had vet some stren<>;th and vijiour left, made 
 a last effort for thew indows, and several succeed- 
 ed by treading and scrambling over the backs and 
 heads of those in the first ranks ; and got hold of 
 the bars, from which there was no removing them.
 
 22 JOHN ZEPHAMAH HOLWELL, ESQ. 
 
 Many to the right and left sunk with the violent 
 pressure, and were soon suffocated ; for now a 
 steam arose iVoin the living and the dead, which 
 affected us in all its circumstances, as if we were 
 forcibly held by our heads over a bowl of strong 
 volatile spirit of hartshorn, until suffocated ; nor 
 could the effluvia of liic one be distinguished 
 from the other; and frequently, when I was 
 forced by the load upon my head and shoulders, 
 to hold my face down, I wjts obliged, near as I 
 was to the window, instantly to raise it again, to 
 escape suffocation. 
 
 " 1 need not, my dear friend, ask your com- 
 miseration, when I tell you, that in this plight, 
 from half an hour after eleven till near two in the 
 morning, I sustained the weight of a heavy man, 
 with his knees on my back, and the pressure of 
 his whole body on my head ; a Dutch serjeant, 
 who had taken his seat upon my left shoulder, 
 and a Topaz or black christian soldier bearing 
 on my right : all which, nothing could have en- 
 abled me long to support, but the props and pres- 
 sure equally sustaining me all around. The two 
 latter I frequently dislodged, by shifting my 
 liold on the bars, and driving my knuckles into 
 their ribs ; but my friend above stuck fast^ and, 
 as he held by two bars, was immoveable. 
 
 *' When I had endured this conflict above an 
 hour, despairing of relief, my spirit, resolution, 
 and every sentiment of religion gave way. I 
 found 1 could not long stipijort this trial, and ab- 
 horred the dreadful thout-htolretiringinto the in-
 
 JOHN ZEPHANIAH HOLAVELL ESO. 23 
 
 neral part of the prison where 1 had before suffer- 
 ed so much. Some infernal spirit, taking advan- 
 tage of this extremity brought to my remem- 
 brance my liaving a small clasp pen-knife in my 
 pocket, with which I determined instantly to 
 open my arteries to put an end to my misery. 
 I had got it out, when heaven restored me to 
 fresh spirits and resolution, with anabhorrence of 
 the act of cowardice I was just going to commit; 
 but, the repeated eftbrts I made to dislodge this 
 insufferable incumbrance upon me, at last quite 
 exhausted me, and towards two o'clock, finding 
 I must quit the window, or sink where [ was, I 
 resolved on the former, having borne, truly for 
 the sake of others, infinitely more for life, than 
 the best of it is worth. 
 
 '* In the rank close behind me was an officer ' 
 of one of the ships, whose name was Carev, and 
 who behaved with much bravery during the siege, 
 (his wife, a line woman though country born, 
 W'ouldnotquit hmi,but accompanied him into the 
 prison, and was one who survived.) This poor 
 wretch had been long raving for water and air ; 
 I told him I was determined to give up life, and 
 recommended his gaining my station. On my 
 quitting, he made an attempt to get at ray place ; 
 but was supplanted. 
 
 " Poor Carey expressed his thankfulness, and 
 said, he would give up life too ; but it was with 
 the utmost labour we forced our way from the 
 window, several in the inner ranks appearing to 
 
 me dead standing, unable to fall by the thcong 
 
 2
 
 24 JOHN ZF.PHANIAH HOLWELL ESO. 
 
 and equal pressure around. He laid himself down 
 to die : and his death, I believe, was ver}' sudden, 
 for he was a short, full, sanguine man : his 
 strength was great, and 1 imaa;ine had he not 
 retired with me, I should never have been able to 
 have forced my way. 
 
 " I found a stupor coming on apace, and laid 
 myself down by tliat jjallant old man, the reve- 
 rend Mr. Jervas Bellamy, who lay dead with his 
 son the lieutenant, hand in hand, near the 
 southernmost wall of the prison. When I had 
 lain there some little time, [ still had reflection 
 eiioufih to suffer some uneasiness in the thoujjht, 
 that I should be trampled upon, when dead, as I 
 myself had done to others. With some difficulty 
 I raised myself and gained the platform a second 
 time, where I presently lost all sensation : the 
 last trace of sensibility that I have been able to 
 recollect after my h'ing down, was, nvy sash be- 
 . ins: uneasy about my waist, which I untied and 
 threw from me. Of what passed in this interval 
 to the time of my resurrection from this hole of 
 horrors, lean give you no account; and indeed 
 the particulars mentioned b}' some of tl)e gentle- 
 men who survived were so excessively absurd and 
 contradictory as to convince me that very few 
 of them retained their senses; or at least, lost 
 them soon after they came into the open air, 
 by the fever they carried out with them. 
 
 " In ray own escape from death the hand of 
 heaven was manifestly exerted. The manner ef 
 it was as follows:
 
 JOUX ZEPHANIAH HOLWIJLL, ESQ. 'i.V 
 
 " W'lieti the day broke, and tlie gentlemen 
 found that no intreaties could pievuil to get the 
 doorop^ned, it occurred to one of them ([ think 
 to Mr. Secretary Coolie) to make a search tor 
 hie, in hopes I might liave influence enough to 
 gain a release from this scene of misery. Accord- 
 ingly ^lessrs. Lushington and Walcot undertook 
 tlie search, and by my shirt discovered me under 
 the dead upon the platform. They took me from 
 'tlience, and imagining I had some signs of lil'e> 
 brought me towards the window 1 had first poa- 
 scssioa of. 
 
 " But as life was equally deaf to ever}' man, 
 (and the stench arising from the dead bodies was 
 grown so intolerable) no one would give up his 
 station in or near the window : so they wcn^ 
 obhged to carry me back again. But soon after 
 Captain Mills, who was in possession of a scat 
 in the window, had the humanity to offeir to re- 
 sign it. I was a2:ain brouiiht bv the same "en- 
 tlemen and placed in the window. 
 
 " At ihisjunctuve the suba, who had received 
 an account of tliehavock death had made among 
 Us, sent one of his Jemraautdaars to enquire if 
 the Chief survived. They shewed me to him; 
 told him I had some ai)pearance of life remain- 
 ing: and believed I might lecover if the dooc 
 was opened very soon. Tins answer being re- 
 turned to the suba, an order came immediatelv 
 for our release, it being then near six in the 
 morning. 
 
 " The fresh air at the window soon brou^'lit 
 
 Vol, 2.--N0. 15. p
 
 I 
 
 •SG JOHN ZEPHANIAH HOLWELL, ESO. 
 
 me to lifC; ami restored me to ray siglit and 
 senses : but I will not attempt to describe what 
 my soul suffeicd, on the review of the dreadful 
 destructionaroundme; andindeed tears^ a tribute 
 I shall ever pay to the remembrance of these 
 brave and valuable men, restrain my pen. 
 
 '' The little strength remaining among the 
 most robust of the survivors rendered it difficult 
 to remove the dead piled up against the door; so 
 that I believe it was more than twenty minutes 
 before vve obtained a passage out for one at a 
 time. 
 
 '^ I was soon convinced that the particular 
 enquiry made after mc did not result from any 
 dictate of favor, humanity, or contrition. When 
 I came out, being in a high putrid fever and un- 
 able to stand, I threw myself on the wet grass, 
 without the veranda, when a message was brought 
 mc, sinnifvinfiT that I must irnmediatelv attend 
 tlie suba. They were obliged to support nie un- 
 der each arm, and on the way, one of the jem- 
 mautdaars advised me, as a friend, to make a 
 full confession where the treasure was buried in 
 the fort, or that, in half an hour, I should be 
 shot oft" from the mouth of a cannon, a sentence 
 of death, common in Indostan. This intima- ' 
 lion gave me no concern at all, for I should now 
 have esteemed death the greatest favour the ty- 
 rant could have bestowed upon me. 
 
 " Being brought into his presence, he soon ob- 
 served the wretched plight I was in, and ordered 
 ii large folio volume, which lay on a heap ofplun- 
 der, to be brought for me to sit on. Twice or
 
 JOHN ZEPUANIAH HOL^VELL, ESO. 2-7 
 
 iliilcc I endeavored to speak, but my tongue was 
 dry and without any motion, lie ordered me 
 water, and as soon as I could speak, I began to 
 recount the dismal catastrophe of my miserable 
 companions ; but, interruj^tingme, heacquaintcd 
 me that he was well intbraicd of a great treasure 
 being buried or Secreted in the fort, that I wa* 
 ])rivy to it, and must discover it, if I expected 
 iavour. 
 
 " 1 said all I could to convince him there was 
 no truth in t!ie information, or, that if any such 
 thinij had been done, it was without mv know- 
 ledge. 1 reminded him of his repeated assu- 
 riuiccs to me the day before ; but he rcsuuicd 
 the subject of the treasure, and all 1 could urge 
 seeming to gain no credit v.ith him, he gave or- 
 ders for my being a prisoner under Mhir Mud- 
 don, general of the household troops. 
 
 " I was ordered to the camp, to Mhir Mud- 
 don's quartets, within the outward ditch, some- 
 thing short of Omycbund's garden, which is 
 above three miles from the fort; and with me 
 Messrs. Court, ^\ alcot, and Burdet. The rest 
 who survived the fatal night, gained their li- 
 berty, except Mrs. Carey who was loo young 
 and handsome. The dead bodies were promis- 
 cuously thrown into the ditch of anuntinished ra- 
 velin, and covered with the earth. 
 
 " My being treated with this severity, I have 
 sulRcient reason to athrm, proceeded from the 
 suba's resentment, for my defending the fort af- 
 ter the governor liad abandoned it; his preposses- 
 sion touching the treasure ; iUidj thirdly, the ia-
 
 28 JOHN ZEI'HANIAH HOLWELL. ESO. 
 
 stigntions of Oinychund, in revenge for my not 
 releasing him out of prison, as soon as I had the 
 command of the fori ; a circumstance which, in 
 the heat and hnrry of action, never once occurred 
 to me, or I had certainly done it, because I 
 thought his imprisonment unjust. But, that mv 
 I);5rd treatment may be truly attributed in a 
 . great measure t-o his suggestions and insinuations^ 
 I am wcli assured, from the wliole of ' his subse- 
 quent conduct ; which was farther evident from 
 the three gentlemen selected to be my compa- 
 nions, against each of whom he had conceived 
 particular resentment. 
 
 " We were conveyed in a hackery (a coach 
 drjiwn by bxen) to the camp, the 21st of June ia 
 the morning, being so loaded with, fetters, and 
 stowed all four in a seapoy's tent, about four feet 
 long, three wide, and three high ;' so that we 
 were half in and half out. All night it rained 
 severely; but it was, however, a paradise com- 
 pared with our lodging the preceding night. 
 Here 1 became covered from head to foot with 
 large, painful boils, the frrst symptom of my re- 
 covery; for till these appeared my fever did not 
 leave me. 
 
 " On the morning of the 22d, they marched 
 
 us to town in our fetters under the-scorchinir 
 
 o 
 
 beams of an intensely hot sun, and lodged us at 
 the dock-head, in the open small veranda front- 
 ing the river, where we had a strong guard over 
 us, commrmded by Bundo Sing Hazary, an offi- 
 cer under iMhir Muddon; and heie the other 
 gentlemen broke out likewise in boils all over
 
 JOHN 2F.PHANIAH HOLWELL, ESO. 29 
 
 their bodies— a happy circumstance, which, as I 
 afterwards learned, attended every one who came 
 out of the Black Hole. 
 
 " On our arrival here, we were soon informed 
 that we should be sent to Muxadabad ; and ou 
 the 24th, in the afternoon we were embarked in 
 a large boat, which bulged ashore, a little after 
 we set ojft": however, they pushed on, though 
 she made so much water that she could scarcely 
 swim. Our bedstead and bedding were a plat- 
 form of loose, unequal bamboos, laid on the bot- 
 tom timbers: we had scarcely any clothes, and no- 
 thing but a piece of mat, and one or two pieces 
 of old gunny-bag to defend us from the sun, 
 rains and dews. Our only food was rice, and the 
 water alonsj-side. 
 
 " Though our destresses were very deplorable, 
 the grateful consideration of our being so provi- 
 dentially a remnant of the saved, made every 
 thing else appear light to us. Our rice and wa- 
 ter-diet, designed as a grievance, was certainly a 
 preservation ; for, could we have been indulged 
 in flesh and wine, we had undoubtedly djed. 
 
 " When we arrived at Hughly l^'ort, 1 wrote a 
 short letter to Governor Bisdoni, informing him 
 of our miserable plight ; who had the humanity 
 to dispatch three several boats after us wiili fresh 
 provisions, lic^uors, clothes, and money, none of 
 which reached us. But " whatever is, is right;'* 
 our rice and water were more salutary and pro- 
 per for us. 
 " When we came opposite to Santipore, thej 
 
 1? 3
 
 '^O JOHN ZEPttANIAH HOLWELL, ESQ. 
 
 found that the boat would not be able to proceet* 
 for want of water in the river, and one of the 
 guard was sent ashore todetnand of the zemindar 
 of that district, light boats to carry the prisoners 
 of state under their charge to Muxadabad ; but 
 the zemindar, giving no credit to the fellow, drove 
 liin:^a\vay. 
 
 ^' This produced a most terrible commotion; 
 our jemmautdaar ordered his people to arms, in 
 order to take the zemindar andcarrv him bound 
 a prisoner to Muxadabad. Thev accordindv land- 
 ed, when it occurred to a mischievous mortal 
 among them, that the taking me with them would 
 be a proof of their commission, and of the high, 
 o/fcnce of the zemindar. 
 
 " Being immediatelv lugged ashore, I urged 
 the impossibility of my walking, covered as my 
 le2;svvere with boils, and several of them in the 
 way of my fetters: and intreated, if I must go, 
 that the}' would for the time take off my irons, as 
 it was not in my power to escape from them ; but 
 I was constrained to crawl, undera scorching suiu 
 near noon, fou^more than a mile and a half; my . 
 legs running in a stream of blood from the irrita- 
 tion of my irons, and myself ready to drop 
 < verj' step with excessive faintness and unspealc- 
 '^ble pain. 
 
 ^' When we came near the cutcherry of the 
 district, the zemindar was ready to receive lis; 
 but as soon as they presented rhe to him as a pri- 
 soner of state, estimated and valued to tbern at 
 four lacks of rupees (50,0001.) he confessed his. 
 mistake, and wade no' farther resistance. The
 
 JOHf< ZEPHANIAH HOLAVEL h, ESO. 
 
 jcmmautdaar gave orders to have him boiinii 
 and sent to the boat ; but on his farther submis- 
 sion, matters were accommodated J and he was re** 
 leased. 
 
 " I became so very low and weak from this 
 cruel travel, that it was some time before they 
 would venture to march me back : and the stony- 
 hearted villains, for their own sakes, were, at last, 
 obliged to c/irry me part of the way, and support 
 me the rest, covering me from the sun with their 
 shields. 
 
 " We departed immediately in expectation of 
 boats following, but they never came ; and thfe 
 next day, T think the last of June^ they pressed 
 a small open fishing ding}', and embarked us on. 
 it, with two of our guard only ; for in fact any 
 more would have sunk her. Here we had a bed 
 of bamboos something softer, 1 think, than those 
 of the great boat ; but we had so little room, 
 that we could not stir without our fetters bruisins: 
 our own or each othei''s boils, and did not arrive 
 at Muxadabad till the 7th of July in the afternoon. 
 However, by the good-nature of Shaik Bodul, 
 we now and then latterly got a few plantains, 
 onions, parched rice with jaggree (molasses), 
 and the bitter green, called curella; all which 
 made the rice go down deliciously. 
 
 " On the 7lh of July we came in sight of the 
 French factor^^ I had a letter prepared for AJr. 
 Law, the chief; and prevailed on my friend Bo- 
 dul to bring to there. On the receipt of my let- 
 ter, Mr. Law, with much politeness and huma- 
 Jiity^ c:ime down to the water-side^ and rcmainc'd
 
 32 JOHN ZEPHANIAH HOLWELL, ES^. 
 
 near an hour with us ; he gave theshaik a hand- 
 some present for his civilities^ and offered him a 
 considerahle reward and security, if" he would 
 permit us to land for an hour's refreshment; but 
 he replied, that his head would pay for the indul- 
 gence. After Mr. Law had given us a supply of 
 cioihes, linen, provisions, liquors, and cash, we 
 left his factory with grateful hearts. 
 
 *' We could not, as may easily be imagined, 
 long abstain from our stock of provisions: though, 
 however temperate we thought ourselves, we 
 were all more or less disordered by this first in- 
 dulgence. A few hours after, I was seized with 
 a painful inflammation in my right leg and thigh ; 
 but about four in the afternoon we landed at 
 Muxadabad, ajid were deposited in an open sta- 
 ble ; not far from the suba's palace, in the city. 
 
 *' I will freely confess that thus led, like afelon> 
 a spectacle to this populous city, my soul could 
 not support itself with any degree of patience. 
 The pain too, arising from my boils, and the in- 
 flammation of my leg, added not a little, i believe 
 to the depression of my spirits. 
 
 " Here we had a guard of Moors placed on 
 one side of us, and a guard of Gentoos on the 
 other, and being destined to remain here until 
 the suba returned to thecitv, the immense crowd 
 of spectators so blocked us up from morning, till 
 night, that I nuiy truly say, we narrowly escaped 
 a second suffocation, the weather proving e.xceed- 
 ingly sultry. 
 
 " The first night after our arrival in the stable,, 
 1 was attacked by a i>i.^tx : and that night ami;
 
 JOHN ZEPHANIAH HOLAVELL, ESO. .IS 
 
 next day, the inHaiumation of my leg and tliigh 
 greatly increased ; but aiJ terminated the second 
 niglit in a regular fit of the gout in my right foot 
 and ancfe, the first jwid last fit of this kind [ ever 
 had. How my irons agreed with this new visitor, 
 I leave you to judge ; for 1 could not by any in- 
 treafy obtain liberty for so much as that poor leg. 
 
 " Dining our residence here we experienced 
 every act of friendship and humanity fron> 
 Messrs. Law and V^ernet, the French and Dutch 
 chiei's of Cossinibuzar, who left no means unes- 
 sayed to procure our release. Our provisions 
 were regularly sent us from the Dutch tanksall 
 (mint) in Corimabad, and we were daily visited 
 by Messrs. Ross and Ekstone, the chief and se- 
 cond there ; and indeed received such instances 
 of commiseration and affection from the for- 
 Kicr/as will ever claim my most grateful remem- 
 brance. 
 
 " The wiiole body of Armenian merchants too 
 were most kind and friendly to ns^ particularly 
 Aga Manuel Satoor ; and we were not a little in- 
 debted to the obliging behavior of Messrs. Has- 
 tings and Chambers, whogaveusasmuch of their 
 company as tliey could. They had obtained 
 their liberty by the French and Dutch chiefs 
 becoming bail for their appearance, which se- 
 curity was often tendered tor us, but without ef- 
 fect. 
 
 "The llth of .July the suba arrived in the 
 city, and with him Bundoo Sing, to whose house 
 we were removed that aliernoon in a hackery; 
 aind hertj we were confirmed in a report, whiQh,
 
 ,)4 JOHN ZEPHANIAH HOLWF.LL, lisy. 
 
 had belbre n-ached iis, that the suba, on his re- 
 turn to Hiighly made inquiry for us, with ioten-' 
 tiori to release us ; and that he had expressed 
 some resentment at Mhir Muddon, for having so 
 hastily sent us up to Muxadabad. 
 
 " Though we were liere lodged in an open 
 bungulo only, yet we once more breathed th^ 
 fresh aiiv, and were treated with much kindness 
 and respect by Bundoo Sing, who entertained us 
 with hopes of being soon released. 
 
 " The loth, we were conducted in a hackery 
 to the keila or residence of the suba, in order to 
 have an audience, and were kept above an hoi.r 
 in the sun opposite the gate ; but receiving ad-^ 
 vice tiuit we siiould hj^ive no admittance that day, 
 we were remanded to the stable, where we had 
 the mortification of passing another night. 
 
 " Towards five, the shaik waked me with notice 
 that the suba would presently pass by to his pa- 
 lace of Mooteejeel : we roused, and desired the 
 guard would keep the view clear for us. When 
 the suba came in sight, we made him the usual 
 salaam, and when he came opposite to us he or- 
 dered his litter to stop, and directed that we 
 should be called to him. We advanced, and 1 
 addressed him in a short speech, setting forth our 
 sufferings, and petitioned for our liberty. The 
 vvrelclied spectacle we exhibited, must, I think, 
 have made an impression on the most brutal 
 breast; and if his heart were capable of pity or 
 contrition he must have felt it then. He gave 
 nic no reply, but ordered two inferior officers ; 
 immediately to sec our irons cut off, to conduct
 
 THOMAS MILBOURNE. 55 
 
 US wherever we ciiose to go, and to take care we 
 received no molestation or insult. Having re- 
 peated this order distinctly, he directed his re- 
 tinue to proceed. As soon as our legs were free. 
 We took hoat and arrived at the tanksall, where 
 we were received and entertained with real joy 
 and humanity." 
 
 It was prohably the effects of these dreadful 
 sufferings endured by Mr. Holwell that obliged 
 him to leave the East Indies. He returned soon 
 afterwards to England in the Syren sloop, and 
 penned the above account during the passage. 
 
 Mr. Holwell was the author of several pieces 
 on India affairs, and died at an advanced age, in 
 the year 171)8. 
 
 THOMAS MILBOURNE. 
 
 i HIS man, during the early par^ of his life 
 %vas a farmer's servant, in vvhicli honest and la- 
 borious vocation lie contrived to save '200/. With 
 this and a sum which he borrowed he purchased 
 & small farm at Cambridge in Cumberland, and 
 thenceforward resided upon his little estate. He 
 never married, nor hired a servant into his house, 
 but lived alone, and principally cultivated his 
 land with his own hands. 
 
 His great object was to save money; and, to 
 that end, he denied himself not only the conve- 
 niences, but what, by most, are considered the 
 necessaries of life. His food was of the most 
 homely kind, and used sparingly: the contents 
 of his wardrobe were scarcely suilicient to clothe 
 his shivering lanbs, or to hide his nakedness;
 
 36 THOMAS MILBOURNh. 
 
 and, being covered with dirt and vermin, were 
 consigned to the Haines immediately after his 
 death. A razor had not heen apjjlied to his face 
 for many years, nor a brush nor a broom to his 
 house. iJis bed was half iilled with, chaff and 
 straw, and a fleece of wool supplied the place ot 
 a pillo^v. This, w ith a few other miserable arti- 
 cles of household- furniture, when drawn i'rom 
 the wilderness of streaming cobwebs, which had 
 been accumulating for the last twenty years, were 
 sold at a public sale for less than ten shillings. 
 
 By a continued observance of the most rigid 
 parsimony, Miibourne soon cleared himself of his 
 pecuniary incumbrances, and, in the end, had 
 scraped together property in land, money and 
 cattle, to the amount of near 1000/. His love 
 of money did not desert him even on his death- 
 bed; lying in a very languid state, his friends, by 
 his desire, where searching for some concealed 
 treasure. They drew forth a large bunch of 
 promissor^Miotes, on which he exerted his remain- 
 ing strength in a loud exclamation of " There, 
 you 5ee, now I" But, although Thomas was the 
 great banker of the neighbouring villages, he 
 had no idea, of usury ; and few of his neigh- 
 bours, \Vho deserved any credit, asked his assis- 
 tance in pecuniary matters in vain; sometimes even 
 his too great confidence in the honesty of others 
 was imposed on by artful knaves. lie died at 
 Ct.rnbiidge, in the parish of Ciimwhitton, near 
 Cailisle, 1800, aged between 70 and 80.
 
 JANE SHORE. 
 
 But Vane could tell wluit ills from beauty spring, 
 AndSedley curs'd the form thatpleas'd the King. 
 
 1 HESE lines of the great English moralist 
 would lose none of their truth if applied with the 
 alteration of the name, to the interesting Shore, 
 v^^liose personal uceomplishments, added to those 
 of her mind, raised her to an elevation which 
 ni5!st liave rendered her subsequent calamities 
 still more poignant and severe. 
 
 Jane Sliore was the daughter of a citizen of 
 London, who, anxious to obtain an eligible 
 establishment for his daughter, insisted on her 
 marrying a rich jeweller in Lombard St/eet, for 
 whom she felt neither affection nor esteem. Sucli 
 were the charms of her person that their fame 
 reached the ears of King Edward the Fourth, 
 who frequently visited the shop of iier husband, 
 for the purpose of feasting his eyes on her beau- 
 ty. When she was present, he bought any 
 trinkets that were shewn him, but if he did noc 
 see her, hedisiipproved of every article and be- 
 spoke otliers, that he might have a pretext for 
 repeating his visits. 
 
 These interviews at length produced the effcct 
 he desired. Jane, though postessing a most 
 Y«Xi. 2. — mo. 16. Q
 
 2 JAME SHORE. 
 
 amiable disposition^ had not virtue sufficient t« 
 resist the persuasions ol" the King ; and the in- 
 diflerence she felt for her husband led her with 
 less reluctance to throw herself into the arms of 
 the monarch. 
 
 " Frailty thy name is woman !" — exclaims the 
 prince of Denmark. Wlieti we farther recollect 
 the testimony of a contemporary historian, '' that 
 Edward was the goodliest personage that ever 
 his eyes beheld, exceeding tall of stature, fair of 
 complexion, and of the most princely presence/' 
 we shall be the less surprised that Jane Shore was 
 imable to resist the entreaties of her royal sedu- 
 cer. Nor was she the only female of her time, 
 on whom Edward's manly beauty was calculated 
 to make a powerful impression. On this subject 
 the following curious anecdote is recorded by 
 Baker. In the fourteenth year of his reign a 
 contribution was raised among his subjects in aid 
 of the expence incurreti by his wars in Fiance. 
 A rich widow was among others called before 
 him, and he merrily asked wliat she would will- 
 ingly give him towards his great charges. " By 
 my trodi," replied she, " for thy lovely counten- 
 ance thou shall even have twenty pounds." The 
 King, who expected scarcely half that sum, thank- 
 ed her and lovingly kissed her ; which so wrought 
 on the old widow that she immediately protested 
 he should have twenty pounds more, and counted 
 out the sum with the greatest pleasure. 
 
 Edward loved his mistress with unbounded af- 
 fection ; his purse as well as his heart was entirely
 
 JANE SHOKE. 3 
 
 at her command^ but she made no improper use 
 of liis munirieence; her greatest h^ippiness eonsis- 
 ting in feeding the hungry and relieving tlic 
 Mantsot" the cHstressed. Though the power of 
 lier charms was irresistible, yet her courtly be- 
 haviour, laeetious conversation and ready v.it, 
 were far more attractive tluin her person. It is 
 recorded of her that she could read and write, 
 qualifications very uncommon in that age. She 
 employed all her interest with the King in reliev- 
 ing the indigent, redressing wrongs and reward- 
 ing merit. With Edward she contiauedtoshareall 
 the advantages that royalty can bestow, till his 
 death in 1483. The affection slie had felt for the 
 King, naturally attached her to his children. I'hi.s 
 circumstance probably paved the way to that 
 connection, which after his decease was formed 
 between her and the accomplished Lord Hastings. 
 The known partiality of both to the young prin- 
 ces, rendered them equally obnoxious to the am- 
 bitious protector, Glocester, who immediately 
 took measures for removing such powerful obsta- 
 Aes to the attainment of his ambitious views. He 
 accused them at the council-board of witchcraft 
 and conspiring against his life, exposing his wi- 
 hered arm and declaring that it had been re- 
 luced to such a state by the incantations of 
 5l)ore. Hastings was dragged from the council- 
 able by the order of Richard, who swore he 
 rould have his head before he dined. The 
 louncil was held in the apartment still called the' 
 ibuncil-chamber in the Tower, and such was the 
 
 o "
 
 4 JANE SHOHE. . 
 
 Jiasteof the tyrannic Glocester to dispatch a man 
 whose sole crime was his fidelity to his own 
 Dephews, that the unfortunate Hastings had only 
 time to make a short confession to a priest who 
 was accidentally passing, and his head was la- 
 l%en off on a log which happened to lie on the 
 Green, before the Chf.pel. 
 
 Having lost her protector, Jane Shore next 
 fell a helpless victim to the malice of Richard, 
 She was committed by his order, to the Tower, 
 and tried on the jidiculoiis charges he had ad- 
 vanced against her. Being disappointed, by her 
 excellent defence, of convicting her of witch- 
 craft, and confedtrat'ng v\ith her lover to de-, 
 stroy him, he attacked her on the weak side of 
 frailty. Tliis was undeniable. He seized her 
 •house and fortune, and consigned her tp the seve- 
 rity of the church. Site was carried clothed in a 
 white sheet, witii a taper in her hanf", to the pa- 
 late of the bisiiop of London and tiience con- 
 ducted to the catliedial and to St. Paui's. Cross, 
 before v\hich she made a confession of her only 
 fault. ''• Every oiUer virtue," says Mr. -Pennant, 
 in liis Account of London," bloomed in this 
 ill fated fair ill the fullest visior. She could not 
 resist tiie solicitations of a youthful monarch, 
 the handsomest man of his time. On his deatli 
 she uasreduf-ed to necessity, scorned by the 
 v. orid and cast off by her husband, with wlioin 
 she w-a^ paired in her childish years, and forced 
 to fii'ijj, herself into the arms of Hasiiugs." 
 
 Tlie account of her penance is i^iven by Ho-
 
 JANE SHORE. 5 
 
 linslied with all the simplicity and truth which 
 characterize the more early of" our modern histo- 
 rians. " In her penance, " says he" she went, 
 in countenance and pace demure, so womanly, 
 that albeit she were out of all array, save her 
 kirtle only, yet went she so fair and lovely, 
 namely while the wondering of the people cast a 
 comely red in her cheeks, (of which she before 
 had most miss) that her great shame won her 
 much praise among those, who were more amo- 
 rous of her body than curious of her soul. And 
 many good folks who hated her living, and glad 
 were to see sin corrected, yet pilied they more 
 her penance, than rejoiced therein, when they 
 considered that the Protector procured it more 
 of a corrupt intent than any virtuous affection." 
 Rowe wiio has worked up a most interesting 
 piece from her history, has thrown tliis part of it 
 into the following poetical dress: 
 
 Submissive, sad a'ld lovely was her look ^ 
 A burning taper in h' r hand the bore. 
 And on hcrsboulders carelessly coiifus'd, 
 Wiih loose neglect, her lovely tresses hung ; 
 UpoH her clieeis a fainti^h tlusii was spread j 
 FoeLi.e slie seem daiid sorely siuit with pain. 
 While, barefu <t as she trod the flinty pavement. 
 Her footsteps all along wereniark'd with blood. 
 Yet silent still she piss'd and unrepiniug ; 
 Her streaming i-yes bfut ever on the earth. 
 Except when in some bitter pang of sorrow. 
 To heav'n the seem'd in fei vent zeal to raise. 
 And beg that mercy man denied her here. 
 
 The poet has adopted the fable of bei being 
 
 Q 3
 
 6 JANE SHORE. 
 
 denied all sustenance and perishing of hunger. 
 Popular tradition has favoured the idea that she 
 expired in a ditch, and that from this circum- 
 stance the street called Shoreditch derived itsj 
 appellation : but the fallacy of this opinion has 
 been demonstrated by respectable antiquaries. 
 
 All historians agree in asserting that this un- 
 fortunate female lived to a great age,, but in 
 great distress and miserable poverty ; deserted 
 even by those, for whom she had, in prosperity, 
 performed the most essential services. She drag- 
 ged & wretched life even to the time of Sir Tho- 
 mas More, who introduces her story into his life 
 of Edward the Fifth. '' Proper she was and fair;" 
 says the chronicler who has been already quot- 
 ed, " nothing in her body that you would have 
 changed, but you would have wished her some- 
 what higher. Thus say they that knew her in 
 her voiuh. Now is she old, lean, withered and 
 dried up ; nothing left but rivelledskin and hard 
 bone ; and yet, being even snch, whoso well ad- 
 vise her visage, might guess and devise, which 
 parts how filled would make it a fair face." 
 
 The writers v.ho have noticed the extraordi- 
 nary vicissitudes of the life of Jane Shore, are 
 silent with respect to the time and place of her 
 death. It is impossible to peruse the story of the 
 royal favourite without lamenting the severity of 
 the fate she was destined to endure, yet while we 
 svvTijiathizein her misfortunes it must not be for- 
 gotten that they were the consequences of indis- 
 cretions, which cannot fail to call forth the repro- 
 bsition of every virtuous mind.
 
 MATTHEW HOPKINS. 
 
 The frequency of accusations of witchcraft 
 and executions for tliat supposed crime, during 
 the seventeenth century, may be traced baclc to 
 the publication of our weak and-witch-ridden mo- 
 Darch James 1. entitled Ducmonologia or a dis- 
 course on witchcraft. Fortunately for the pre- 
 sent age, the belief in the arts of necromancy, 
 magic, and sorcery is ncTW exploded from the 
 enlightened classes of society, and confined only 
 to individuals the most illiterate and the most cre- 
 dulous. Of the mischiefs resulting from such no- 
 tions, the subjoined account of the liavock com- 
 mitted by one person only, affords ample evi- 
 dence. The reader while he peruses it with aston- 
 ishment and horror, v.ill not fail to discover in it 
 a signal example of the retributive justice of Pro- 
 vidence. 
 
 Matthew Hopkins resided at Manningtree, in 
 Essex, and was witch-finder for the associated 
 counties of Essex, Sufi'olk, Norfolk, and Hunt- 
 ingdonshire. In the years 1644, lG45, and 1646', 
 and accompanied by one John Stern, he brought 
 many to the fatal tree as reputed witches. . He 
 hanged in one year no less than sixty reputed 
 witches of his own county of Essex. The old, 
 the ignorant and the indigent, such as could nei- 
 ther plead their own cause, nor hire an advocate, 
 were the miserable victims of this wretch's ere-
 
 8 MATTHEW HOPKINS. 
 
 dulity, spleen, and avarice. He pretender! to be 
 a great critic in special marks, which were only 
 moles, scorbutic spots, or warts, that frequently 
 grow large and pendulous in old age ; but were 
 absurdly snj)j;)osed to be teats to suckle imps. 
 His ultimate method of proof was by tying toge-- 
 ther the thumbs and toes of the suspected person,' 
 about whose waist was fastened a cord, the ends 
 of which were held on the banks of a river by two 
 men, in whose power it was to strain or slacken 
 it. Swimming, upon this experiment, was deem-- 
 ed a sufficient proof of guilt; for which King 
 James (who is said to have recommended, if he 
 did not invent it) assigned a ridiculous reason ; 
 that " as some persons had renounced their bap- 
 tism by water, so the water refuses to receive 
 them." Sometimes those who were accused of 
 diabolical practices, were tied neck and heels, 
 and tossed into a pond : " if they floated or 
 sv/am they were consequently guilty, and there- 
 fore taken out and burnt ; if they were innocent 
 they were onlij drovvned. The experiment of 
 swimming was at length tried upon Hopkins 
 himself, in liis own way, and he was upon the 
 event condemned, and, as it seems, executed as 
 a wizzard. Dr. Zach. Grey says that he had 
 seen an account of betv/een three and four thous- 
 and ])ersonR, who suffered death for witchcraft in 
 the king's dominions, from l643 to the restora- 
 tion of Charles II. [n a letter from Serjeant Wid- 
 drinton to Lord \Viiit;-locke, mention is made 
 cf another fellow of the saine profession as Hop- 
 
 S N
 
 MATTHEW HOPKINS. 9 
 
 kins. This wretch received twenty shillings a- 
 head for every witch that he discovered, and 
 thereby obtained rewards amounting to thirty 
 pounds. Dr. Grey supposes, with great reason, 
 that Hopkins is the man meant in the following 
 lines by Butler : — 
 
 " Has not the present parliament 
 
 " A ledger to ilie devil sent ? 
 
 " Fully enipower'd to treat about 
 
 " Finding revolted witches out? 
 
 " And has not he>vilhin a year, 
 
 " Hang'd thrctscore ot them in one shire ? 
 
 " Some only Tor net being diown'd: 
 
 "And sonu ibrsilliug above ground 
 
 " Whole days and nip,htii upon their breeches^ 
 
 "And teeliii^ pain were hang'd tor witches j 
 
 " And some lor putting knavish ti'icks 
 
 " Upon green geese and turkey-chicks, 
 
 "Or pigs tiiat suddenly dece;is'd 
 
 " Of griets unnat'ral as he gue^s'd, ' 
 
 " Who alter piov'd hunselt a witch 
 
 " And made a rod lor his own breed). " 
 
 Hudib. P. IT. Cant. 3. 
 
 In an old print of this execrable character he 
 is represented with two witches. One of them 
 named Holt is supposed to say: My Tmpes are 
 1. Ifemauzyr; 2. Pye-wackett; 3. Pecke in the 
 Crown; 4. Giiezell Griediegutt." Four animals 
 aitciid; Jarmara, a black dog; Sacke and Su- 
 gar, a hare; Newts, a ferret; Vinegar Tom, a 
 bull-headed greyhound. This print is in the Pe- 
 pysian library.
 
 10 
 
 BEROXICIUS. 
 
 1 iIE hist or}' of this extraordinary' poqt, which 
 invohes a considerable degree of mystery, affords 
 a singular example of the truth of the observation 
 that genius is not always allied to the more useful 
 qualities of prudence and discretion. 
 
 The origin of Beronicius is buried in pro- 
 found obscuritv, and it is even unknown of what 
 country he was a native. In ]G72^ a small book 
 was printed at Amsterdam, the fourth edition 
 of which appeared in 1716, in l'2mo. '204 j^ages, 
 with five copper-plate engravings, entitled, P. 
 J' Bej'ciiicii, Poett^t: incompatabi/is, qucc extant, P. 
 Rfibiis rece/isuit et Georgarcli.ontomachuc notas acU 
 (I'idit. Edith quarta einendatiiis curata. *' Bat- 
 tle between peasants and magistrates (in 
 1672), or the taking of Middelburg; in heroic 
 Terse, written immediately from the extempore 
 recitation in Latin, and contained in two books, 
 by an eye-witness, (meaning likewise ear-wit- 
 ness); freely translated into Dutch prose, by P. 
 "Rabus." 
 
 Thewhole poem consists of 920 lines ; and at 
 the end are eight odes, and a satire, together with 
 514 lines, likewise in Latin; — two congratula- 
 tory odes on the arrival of the prince of Orange 
 in Vlissingen, I668; on the death of Jacob' 
 Michielse, M. I). 1071 ; one congratulatory on 
 the election of a Burgomaster; on the Polyglot' 
 Bible; an Epithalamium on the nuptials of Pro-
 
 BEaONlCIUS. 11 
 
 fcssor John de Raay ; a Complimentary Ode to 
 "William the 111. Prince of Orange and Nassau; 
 and a Satire on a Philosopher. 
 
 The following account of the author is taken 
 from a small book of Lectures, in Latin, b}'^ Ant. 
 BorremanSj printed at Amsterdam in l67(i; and 
 from a Dutch preface to the Poem^ by P. Rabus. 
 
 Besides this volume, no other works of Bero- 
 nicius are to be found ; because this most won- 
 derful poet, and the most extraordinary ever 
 heard of, never wrote his verses, but recited them 
 extempore ; and when he was once set a going, 
 with such celerity, that a swift writer could with 
 great difficulty keep up with him, and thus a 
 gre:it number of his verses are lost. 
 
 In the year l674, the celebrated Dutch poet, 
 Antonides Vander Goes, (who died in 1584), be- 
 ing in Zealand, happened to be in company with 
 a young gentleman who spoke very highly in 
 praise of the wonderful quickness and incredible 
 memory of hi:s language-master, Beronicius. An- 
 tonides, and ochers who were present, expressed 
 a desire to see such an extraordinary genius. 
 I'liey had scarcely spoken, when there entered a 
 little, biack, round, thick feilow, with hardly 
 a rag to his back, like a blackguard. But on 
 clo.^er examination, something uncommon and 
 lofty appeared in his carriage^ and the expres- 
 sion in his countenance was serious, and blended 
 vith a majestic pcculiarify. His eyes glowed 
 ike fiery^ coals, and his arms and legs were in a 
 perpetual nimble motion Every one eagerly
 
 12 EERONICIUS. 
 
 ejed him, welcomed him, and asked him if it 
 were all true, that his pupil had heen telling 
 them. " True ?" said that singular creature, 
 *^ yes ; 'tis all perfectly true." And when they 
 answered that they could not so lightly believe 
 such incredible things, the man grew angry, and 
 reviled the whole company, telling them they 
 were only a parcel of beasts and asses. 
 
 He had at that time, as was his daily custom, 
 drunk a glass too much, and that was the cause 
 of his bullying them and bragging of his own 
 wonderful powers by which he could make all 
 manner of verses extempore. But those to whom 
 he told this, looked on him as a mad man, 
 out of whose mouth the wine spoke. Upon 
 which he continued to tell them, that he was the 
 man who had added eighi hundred words to the 
 great dictionary of Calepini; that he could im- 
 mediately versify correctly any thing on any sub- 
 ject he had only once heard ; and lastly, that he 
 had many times, standing or walking, translated 
 the weekly newspapers mto Greek or Latin verses. 
 
 Mobody appealing willing to believe him, he 
 ran out of the house, cursing and swearing as if 
 he had been possessed. The same company met 
 the next day at the principal tavern in Middle- 
 burg; and after dinner, the conversation hap- 
 pened to turn on a sea fight which iiad lately 
 been fought by t4ie Hollanders and Zealanders 
 as-ainst the English. Among ofiers who were 
 
 '8 
 
 killed, was a captain de liaze, a Zealand naval 
 
 5
 
 BEKONICIUS. IS 
 
 hero, unci on whom Atitonides had compoised an 
 epitaph, in Dutch verse. 
 
 Tho point turns on the name, de Haze, signi- 
 fying the hare, and the poet says, the Zeahmd 
 hares turned to lions. He had a written copy of 
 this tor one of the company, when Beronicius 
 entered accompanied by his pupil. He excused 
 himself for his extravagances of the day before, 
 and begged pardon, hoping they would attribute 
 liis misbehaviour tO the liquor, and forgive him. 
 He then directly began to talk of his poetical 
 powers, and offered to give thein a specimen if 
 tiicy chose it. 
 
 As they now found that, being sober, he re- 
 peated what he had bragged of when drunk, they 
 undertook to try him so as to get at the truth. — 
 A fair opportunity offered, as Antonides had just 
 shev.n him his verses, and asked his opinion of 
 them. Beronicius read them twice, praised 
 them, and said, " What should hinder me from, 
 turning them into Latin instantly t" They 
 viewed him with wonder, and encouraged him 
 by saying, " well, pray let us see what you can 
 do." In the mean time the man appeared to be 
 startled. He trembled from head to foot as if 
 possessed by Apollo. However, before he began 
 his work, he asked the precise meaning of two or 
 three Dutch words, of which he did not clearly 
 understand the force ; and requested that he 
 might be allowed to Latinize the Captain's name 
 of Hare, in some manner so as not to lose the 
 pun. They agreed; and he immediately said, 
 
 VOL. 2.-»-N0. 10. »
 
 14 BERONICIUS. 
 
 " I have already found it, I shall call him Da- 
 sypusi" which sigiiilies aa animal with rough 
 legs, and is likewise taken by the Greeks for a 
 hare. '^ Now, read a couple of lines at a time 
 to me, and I shall give thein in Latin." Upon 
 which a poet, named Buizero, began to read to 
 him, and Beronicius burst out in the following 
 verses : — 
 
 Ei;ree:ia Dumipus referens virtute leonern 
 In beiJo, adversus Britonas super aeqiiora gesto, 
 Impavidus pelago stetit, aggrediente luoiossura 
 A^iuine, queiu taudein gl.iiis t'eriea misitad astra, 
 Viuditta? cupidum violate jure profundi. 
 Advena, quis(jiiis ades, Zelaudae encomia genlis 
 Ista refer, lepores deiuta quod pclie leoneni 
 Assumant, quoiquot nostro vcrsantur in orbe. 
 Epitapliium Herois Adrian! de Haze, ex Belgico versum. 
 
 When our poet had finished, he began to 
 laugh till his sides shook, jeering and pointing 
 at the persons in company, who appeared sur- 
 prised at his having, contrary to their expecta- 
 tions, acquitted himself so well; every body 
 highly praised him, which elated him so much 
 that he began to scratch his head three or four 
 times; and fixing his fiery eyes on the ground, 
 repealed without hesitation, the same epigram in 
 Gicek verse, calling^ out, "^ There ye have it in 
 Greek." Every one was astonished, which se^ 
 him a laughing and jeering for a quarter of an 
 hour. 
 
 The Greek he repeated so rapidly, that no one
 
 JJEKONlCirS. 1* 
 
 rould write from his recitation. John Frederick 
 (iymiiich^ protessor of the Greek language at 
 Duisburg, was one of the auditors, and said he 
 tfioiight the Greek version surpassed the Latin. 
 Jicronicius was afterwards examined in various 
 ways, and always gave such proofs of his wonder- 
 ful learning as amazed all the audience. 
 
 Beronicius s[)oke several languages so perfectly 
 that each might have passed for his mother 
 tongue; especially Italian, French, and English. 
 As to his Latin, the celebrated Gronovius was 
 fearful of conversing with him in that language. 
 But Greek was his hobby-horse; Greek was the 
 delight of bis life, and he spoke it as correctly 
 and as fluently as if he sucked it in with bis mo- 
 ther's milk. He conversed with the above-named 
 professor Gymnich, in Greek, and ended with 
 these words :" ] am quite weary of talking any 
 longer with you in Greek, for, really, my pupils 
 \vho have been taught a twelvemonth by me, 
 speak it much better than you do." This was 
 not very polite, but he was not to be restrained; 
 and he often spoke his mind so freely, that he 
 vas threatened with a thrashing: on such occa- 
 sions he was the first to step forward and to 
 show that he was not at all averse to a battle. 
 Saying, 
 
 — Age, si quid babes, in me mora non erit ulla. 
 
 He gave excellent accounts of all the ancient 
 Greek and Roman authors; his opinions of 
 
 R 2
 
 l6 JBERONlCIUSk 
 
 whose writings weie always correct^ complete, 
 and delivered \Yith great judgment, and without 
 hesitation. He could immediately distinguish 
 genuine writings, and was a perfect master in the 
 l<nowledge of the various styles, measures, and 
 idioms. His memory was prodigious. He knew 
 by heart the whole of Horace and lirgU, the 
 greatest part of Cicero, and both the Pihiifs; and 
 would immediately, if a line were mentioned, 
 repeat the whole passage, and tell the exact work, 
 book, chapter, and verse, of all t^hese, and many 
 more, especially .poets, As to Juvenal, his works 
 were so interwoven in his brain, that he perfectly 
 retained every word, nay every letter. 
 
 Of the Greek poets he had Homer so strongly 
 imprinted in his memory, together with some of 
 the comedies of Aristophanes, that he could di- 
 rectly turn to any line required, and repeat the 
 whole sentence. — His Latin was full of words se- 
 lected from all the most celebrated writers. 
 
 Ihe reader will probably be desirous of know- 
 ing what countryman our extraordinary poet, Be- 
 lonicius, was ; but this is a secret whicii he never 
 w ould discover. When he was asked which was 
 his country, he always answered, " that the coun- 
 try of every one was that in which he could best 
 live comfortably." Some said he had been a 
 professor in France, others a Jesuit, a Monk; but 
 this was merely conjecture. It was well known 
 that he had wandered about many years in 
 France, England, and particularly the Nether- 
 lands, carrying, hke a second Bias, his whole
 
 BERONICIUS. 17 
 
 property «ibout with him. He was sometimes 
 told he deserved to be a professor of'a college; he 
 replied, that he did not delight in such a worm- 
 like lile. Notwithstanding u hieh, poor man ! he 
 gained his living chieHy by sweeping ciiimnies, 
 tj-rindins; knives and seissars, and other mean oc- 
 ciipations. But his chief delight was in pursuing 
 the [)roi"essioij ofjuggler, mountebank, or merry- 
 andrew, among tlie lowest rabble. He never 
 gave himself any concern about his food or rai- 
 ment; for it was equal to him whether he was 
 dressed like a nobleman or a beggar; nature 
 was always satisfied with very little. His hours 
 of relaxation from his studies were chiefly spent 
 in paltry wi,ne-houses, with ihemeauestcompany, 
 where he would sometimes remain a whole week, 
 or more, drinking without rest or intermission. 
 
 His miserable death afforded reason to believe 
 that he perished whilst intoxicated, for he was 
 found dead at Middleburg, drowned and smo- 
 thered in mud, which circumstance was men- 
 tioned in the epitaph which the before-named 
 poet, Buizero, wrote upon him, as follows Ute- 
 rally translated: — 
 
 Here lies a wonderfuf genius. 
 He liv'd and died like a beast ; 
 He was a most uncommon satyr, 
 He liv'd in wine, and died in water; 
 
 This is all that is known about Beronicius, 
 As to his tramslating, or rather reading, the Dutch 
 ^newspapers off hand in Greek or Latin verse, tlic 
 
 B 3
 
 16 MARY BAKER. 
 
 poel Antonides often witnessed his exertion o^f 
 this wonderful talent; and so did professor John 
 de Ilaav, who was living^ at the time of Bcroni- 
 cius's death, which was in 167^3, and had been 
 acquainted with him above twenty years. There 
 were still living at Rotterdam, in 17^6, two gen- 
 tlemen who knew him in Zealand, one of whom 
 he had taught the French language. 
 
 He is slightly mentioned in Lg Nouveau Dic- 
 tionnire Hiatorique, in a few lines from Borreman's 
 Latin book, from which most part of the above 
 account is taken. He is not mentioned by Bayle. 
 JSIoreri has slightly noticed hiin ; and the new 
 Biographical Dictionary, in 15 vols. 8vo. 1798, 
 lias likewise half a dozen lines about him. 
 
 MARY BAKER. 
 
 I HE inhabitant^ of Connecticut in New En- 
 gland, are to this day remarkable for their ex- 
 terior shew of piety. Here was born and bred 
 Mary Baker. She was the daughter of a repu- 
 table mechanic ; she was soberly and according 
 to the practice of tb.at country, religiously 
 brought up. After receiving at school an education 
 suitable to her rank in life, she was taken home 
 to be instructed in the useful and domestic duties 
 of life. She had given early proofs of a mascu- 
 line understanding, and united with it, what is 
 liot generally the case^ that female grace ai^l
 
 MARY BAKER. ^9 
 
 c;i;>tivating softness of nature which, it is to be 
 feared, too often inctipaeitate the sex for delend- 
 ing thcnisclves against the attacks of their sedu- 
 cers, but " in which tlie cliariHS of a woman 
 duetlv consist." 
 
 With such attractions it was her fate, or rather 
 misfortune, to form an acquaintance with an 
 agreeable young man, the son of one of the prin- 
 cipal magistrates of the town, which intimacy 
 soon grew to a tender attachment. They expe- 
 rienced the usual diiiiculties of love, which are 
 always encreased by inequality of condition. 
 1'he repeated injunctions ami remonstrances of 
 their families, only served to make the young 
 couple more diligent in procurmg interviews, and 
 to enhance the value of those precious moments 
 when procured. It is unnecessary here to dwell 
 upon scenes passed over in rapture, but remem- 
 bered vyith regret; which, to those best acquaint- 
 ed with them, only prove that men are false and 
 women credulous. She was thrown off her 
 s;uard by his promising to marry her, and i<i an 
 incautious moment undone !-—Kejected by her 
 relations — perfidiously forsaken by lier betrayer— .- 
 pregnant — without fame, and without a friend — 
 the pains of child-birth were added to wretched- 
 ness, and loss of reputation. After recovery, 
 those who supported her became clamorous in 
 their demands, and her personal beauty being 
 unimpaired, she became the mistress of a neigh- 
 bouring trader. This Unhappy woman, once the 
 darling of her family— doated on by a lover, who.
 
 £0 MARY BAKER. 
 
 l;ad she been cmel, still would have been hlnd'- 
 looked up to mid respected for virtue, and gooo 
 sense by all her acquaintance, was now a wretch- 
 ed outcast trom society — the ridicule and con- 
 tempt of many with less viriue, but more prudence 
 than herself, and reduced by a strange kind oi 
 base necessity to support herself and a helpless in- 
 fant by illicit practices, to tread the odious, the 
 disgusting path of vice and infamy. 
 
 Such conduct was not to be passed over with- 
 out legal punishment in New England, at that 
 time the hot-house of calvinistic puriianism. In 
 consequence of this and other natural children, 
 she several times suffered stripes, fine, and im- 
 prisonment. On one of these occasions, being 
 brought before a court of justice, in order that 
 sentence might be pronounced against her, she 
 surprised her hearers by the following remarkable 
 address:--- 
 
 " I am a poor unhappy woman, who have no 
 money to fee lawyers to plead for me, and 
 find it very difficult to get a tolerable livelihood, 
 I therefore shall not trouble your honours with 
 a long speech, for I have not the presumption to 
 expect that you will deviate from the sentence 
 of the law in my favour. All that I humbly 
 hope is, that your honours vvould charitably 
 move the governor in ray behalf to remit the 
 fine. It is not, I confess, the first time that I 
 have been dragged before this court on the same 
 account; I have paid heavy fines; I have been 
 brought to public punishment. I do not deny
 
 MARY CAKER. 21 
 
 that this is agreeable to the law; but since some 
 kiusaie repealed horn their being unreasonable, 
 and a power remains of somewhat dispensing 
 uitli others from their bearing too hard on the 
 subject, I take the liberty to say, that the act by 
 ivhich 1 am punished, is both unreasonable, and 
 \n my case particularly severe. 1 have always 
 led an inollensive hfe in the neighbourhood 
 wlR-re 1 was born ; and defy my enemies (if I 
 have any) to say I ever wronged man, woman, or 
 eliild. 1 cannot coriceive my olTence to be of so 
 unpardonable a nature as the law considers it. 
 I liave brought several fine children into the 
 world, at the risk of my life; I have maintained 
 them by my own industry, without burtliening 
 the township: indeed I should have doue it bet- 
 ter but foa" the heavy charges and fines I have 
 paid. Can it be a crime in the nature of things, 
 to add to the number of his majesty's subjects, 
 in a new country tUat really wants peopling? I 
 own, I should think it a praise-worthy, rather 
 than a punishable action. I have deprived no 
 iwoman of her husband — I have not debauched 
 or enticed any apprentice, nor can any parent 
 accuse me of seducing their son. No one has 
 any cause of complaint against me, but the mi- 
 nister and justice, who lose their fees in conse- 
 quence of my having ciiildren out of wedlock. 
 JBiit 1 ap[>eal to your honors if this be a fault of 
 mine. ^ ou have often been pleased to say that 
 I do not want sense ; but 1 must be wretchedly 
 stupid, indeed, not to prefer the honourable stat«
 
 22 MARY BAKER, 
 
 of marriage to that condition in vvliicli I have 
 lived. 1 always zcas and still am willing to enter 
 it ; and I believe most who know me are con- 
 vinced, that I am not deficient in the duties and 
 necessar}' qualifications for a wife as well as a 
 mother, sobriety, industry, cleanliness, and fru- 
 gality. 1 never refused an ofl'er of that sort: on 
 the contrary:, I readily consented to the only pro- 
 posal of marriage that ever was made me. 1 was 
 then a virgin, and confiding too readily in the 
 ^incerity oi' the person who made it, unhappily 
 lost my own honor, by trusting to his. After 
 yielding to him all that woman can give, on my 
 being pregnant, he ungenerously forsook me. He is 
 ^vell known to you all, and since that time is be- 
 come a magistrate. Indeed, i was not without a 
 hope that he would have this day appeared on 
 the bench, to try to moderate the court in my 
 favor. I should then have scorned to niention 
 ii, for I cannot but complain of harsh and un- 
 just usage, that my betrayer and undof r, liie first 
 cause of all mv failings and faults, should be ad- 
 vanced to honor and power by that government 
 which punishes my misfortunes with infamy and 
 stripes. But you will tell me what 1 have been 
 often told, that were there no act of assembly in 
 the case, the precepts of religion are violated by 
 my transgression. If mine then be a religious 
 offence leave it to a religious punishment. You 
 liave already excluded me from the church com- 
 munion ! You believe I have olfended heaven 
 and shall sutler everlastingly! Why then wili
 
 MARY BAKER. €3 
 
 you encreasc my misery by additional fines and 
 whippings ? — 1 own your honors will, I hope, for- 
 give rac it" I speak a little extravagantly — I am 
 no divine, but if gentlemen must be making 
 laws, it would rather become them to take into 
 consideration the great and growing number of 
 bachelon m this countrv, many of whom from 
 the mean fear of the expences of a family, never 
 sincereiv :vm\ honourably courted a woman in 
 their lives! Hy their manner oi' living they leave 
 unpr^duced (whieh is little better than muicler) 
 hundreds of their posterity, to a thousand gene- 
 rations. Is not this a greater offence against the 
 public good than mine ? Compel them by law, 
 either to marry, or to pay double the fine of for- 
 nication every year. What must poor young 
 women do ? Custom forbids their making over- 
 tures to men; thej/ cannot, however heartily they 
 may wish it, get married when they please." 
 
 Her judges, as well as all present, were strong- 
 ly affected by the circumstancesof her case; she. 
 was discharged without punishment, and a hand- 
 same collection made for her in court. The 
 public became interested in her behalf, and her 
 original seducer, either from compunction, or 
 from the latent seeds of affection which had been 
 suppressed but never eradicated, married her 
 shortly after. 
 
 The argnmcuts of our heroine, it must be con- 
 fessed were strong and powerful. Some, how- 
 ever, which we have thought proper to omit, were 
 
 specious; particularly when she endeavoured to 
 
 2
 
 CHARLES DOMERY. 
 
 prove her failings not contraflictory to religion. 
 Let it be however a lesson to parents and sedu- 
 cers, who are gen-erally accountable for the er- 
 rors of weak women. This unfortunate daugh- 
 ter, often tasting the sorrows of repentance — af- 
 ter subjecting herself to difficulty, disgrace, and 
 punishment, was at last married to her original 
 lover. But it is to be hoped,.no woman of com- 
 mon sense will be induced by this rare instance 
 ot tardy justice to imitate her misconduct. 
 
 CHARLES DOMERY. 
 
 Among the instances of voracity which are 
 from time to time recorded, we shall scarcely be 
 able to find any that can equal the following. 
 The reader might perhaps be inclined to doubt 
 the authenticity of these particulars, did they 
 not rest on the credit of persons of the highest 
 respectability. To remove every shadow of sus- 
 picion we shall give them in the .form in which 
 they originally made their appearance. 
 Copy of a Letter from Dr. Johnston, of Somer- 
 
 set Place, Commissioner of Skfc and Wounded 
 
 Seamen, to Dr. Blane. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 Having in Augr.st and September last been 
 engaged in a tourof public duty, for -the purpose 
 of selecting from among the prisoners of war 
 such men as, ftom their infirmities, were fit ob-
 
 nx 
 
 CHARLES nOMERY. 2,5 
 
 j^cts for being yclcusccl without equivalent, I 
 heard, upoa my arrival at l/iverpool, an account 
 of one of these prisoners being endowed with au 
 appetite and digestion so far beyond any thing 
 that had ever occurred to me, either in my ob- 
 servation, reading, or by report, that I was desi- 
 rous of ascertaining the particulars of it by ocular 
 proof, or undeniable testimony. Dw Cochrane, 
 Fellow of the College of physicians at Edinburgh, 
 and our Medical Agent at Liverpool, is fortu- 
 nately a gentleman upon whose fidelity and accu- 
 racy 1 could perfectly depend ; and I requested 
 him to institute an enquiry upon this subject 
 during my stay at that place. 1 inclose you an 
 attested co])y of the result of this ; and as it may 
 probably appear to you, as it does to me, a docu- 
 ment containing facts extremely interesting, both 
 in a natural and medical view, I v»'ill beg you to 
 procure its insertion in some respectable periodi- 
 cal work. 
 
 Some farther points of enquiry concerning this 
 extraordinary person having occurred to me 
 1 Isinec my arrival in town, I sent them in the form 
 of queries to Dr. Cochrane who has obligingly 
 returned satisfactory answers. These 1 send 
 along with the above-mentioned attested state- 
 ent, to which I beg you to subjoin such re* 
 flections as may occur to you on this subject. 
 I am, my dear Sir, 
 Your most obedient humble servant, 
 
 J. JoHNSTON» 
 
 To Gilbert Blane, M.D. F. R. S. and one of the 
 Coinmimoners of Sick and Wounded Seamt.n. 
 
 VOL. 2. — NO. 16. S 
 
 in
 
 fi6 f.HAHLT.S DOM PRY. 
 
 Charles Domorv, o nutivc of IJenrliP, on the 
 IroMiiors of I'olan'.l, .Tj^crl C!l, was brotJtxht to the 
 prison of Liverpool in I'rbniary l7fiM, havinj^ 
 hvtn a poldicr in the I'K-nch service on board 
 ih" firtch*?, paptiiH'd by the sqnn<iron under the 
 (Ottirn.Mui ofSir .1. H. Uanen, oH Ireland. 
 
 Ilf is on<» of nine brothers, tvho, with ihrir 
 futher, hnvf bfcn remark nblr for the voj-ncioii<;- 
 nc«4 of their nppeiites. Thfy t\Trc all placed 
 rjuly ill I'lc nrniy ; and the [lociillnr ctavint^ for 
 tV»od with this younij man began at thirteen 
 vears of aire. 
 
 lie was allowed two rations in the army, and 
 by his earnings, or the induli^ncc of his com- 
 nules, procured an additional supply. 
 
 VVIk'u in the camp, if bread or meat were 
 scaree, he made itp the deficiency, by catinsr four 
 or tive pounds of grass <lnily ; and in one 3*ear 
 'lovourcd 17+ cats (not their skins) dead or alive; 
 luid says, he had several severe conflicts in the 
 act of destroying them, by feeling the etFects oi 
 their torments on his face and hands: sometimi » 
 \\e killed iliem before eatinir, but when very bun- 
 giy, did not wait to perlbrm this humane ofticc. 
 Dogs and rats equally suffered from his merci- 
 less jaws; and if much pinched by fajuine, the 
 entrails of animals indiscriminately became his 
 prey. The above facts are attested by l^icard, a 
 respectable uian, who was his comrade in the same 
 regiment on board the Hoche, and is now present ; 
 and who assures nie he has often seen him feed 
 on those animals. 
 G
 
 CHARLES DOMERY. S7 
 
 When the ship on board of which he was hud 
 snncndered, after an obstinate actioii, fxndinc; 
 himself, as usual, hungry, and nothing else in his 
 way but a man's le4?, which was shot off, lying 
 before him, he attacked it greedily, and was feed- 
 ing heartily, when a sailor snatched it from him, 
 and threw it overboard. 
 
 Since he came to this prison, he has eat one 
 dead cat, and about twenty rats. But what he 
 dehoihts most in is raw meat, beef, or mutton, of 
 which, though plentifully supplied by eating the 
 rations of ten men daily, he complains he has not 
 the same quantity, nor indulged in eating so 
 much as he used to do, when in Fiance. I'be 
 French prisoners of war were at this time main- 
 tained at the expence of their own nation, and 
 were each allowed the following daily ration :— 
 Twenty-six ounces of bread, half a pound of 
 greens, two ounces of butter, or six ounces oif 
 cheese. 
 
 He often devours a bullock's hver raw, three 
 pounds of candles, knd a few pounds of raw beef, 
 in one day, without tasting bread or vegetabiea, 
 Avashing it down with water, if his allowance of 
 beer is expended. 
 
 His subsistence at present, independent of his 
 own rations, arises from the generosity of tiie 
 prisoners, who give him a share of their allow- 
 ance. Nor is his stomach confined to meat; for 
 when in the hospital, where some of the patients 
 refused to take their medicine?, Domery had no 
 objection to perform this for them; \m stomarh 
 
 s 2
 
 ?B CHARLKS DOMKRY. 
 
 lu'vcr rcjccied nuy lliiiiir, us he never voniiu, 
 wliaievtr be the contents, or b<nvever large. 
 
 \\ ishing I'uirly to trv how much he actually 
 could eat in one day ; on the 17th ot'SeptetnlxT 
 17!)!), "t four o'clock in the morning he break- 
 fastid on tour pounds of raw cow's udder; at 
 half past nine, in presence of Dr. Johnston, 
 Coininissioncr of sick and wounded bcanien, ad- 
 miral Child and his son, Mr. I'orster, aijenl for 
 prisoners, and several respect^ible ^enikinen, Ije 
 rxhihited his power as follows: — There was sel 
 before him five pounds of raw beef, anfl twelve 
 tallow candles of a pound weight, and on^ bottle 
 of porter; these he finished by half past ten o'clock. 
 At one o'clock there was again put before him 
 five pounds of beef and one pound of candles, 
 with three bottles of porter; at which time he 
 was locked up in the room, and sentries placed 
 at the windows to prevent his throwing away 
 any of his provisions. At two o'clock when I 
 again saw him with two friends, he had nearly 
 finished the whole of the candles, and a great 
 part of the beef, but had neither evacuation by 
 vomiting, stool, or urine ; his skin was cool atxi 
 pulse regular, and in good spirits. At a quarter 
 past si.x, when he was to be returned to his pri- 
 son, he had devoured the whole, and declared he 
 could have ate more ; but from the prisoners 
 without tellins: him we wished to make some ex- 
 perimeni on him, he began to be alarmed. It is 
 also to be observed, that the day was hot, and 
 not having his usual exercise iu the yard, it may
 
 CHARLES BOMERYi ^0 
 
 he presumec] he would have otherwise had abet- 
 ter appetite. On recapitulating the whole con- 
 sumption of this day, it stands thus : 
 
 Raw cow's udder 41b. 
 
 Raw beef 10 
 
 Candles 2 
 
 Total 10Ib. besides 
 five bottles of porter. 
 
 The eagerness with which he attacks his beef 
 when his stomach is not gorged, resembles tin* 
 voracity of a hungry wolf, tearing ofi' and swal- 
 lowing it with canine greediness. When his 
 throat is dry from continued exercise, he lubri-- 
 cates it by stripping the grease off" the candles 
 between his teeth, which he generally finishes at 
 three mouth fuls, and wrapping th€ wick like a 
 ball, string and all, sends it after at a swallow. 
 He can, when no choice is left, make shift to dine 
 on immense quantities of raw potatoes, or tui- 
 nips; but, from choice, would never desire to 
 laste bread or veijetables. 
 
 He is in every respect healthy, his tongue 
 clean, and his eyes lively. 
 
 After he went to the prison, he danced, 
 stnoaked his pipe, and drank a bottle of porter; 
 and, by four the next morning, he awoke with 
 his usual ravenous appetite ; which he quieted 
 by a few pounds of raw beef. 
 
 He is six feet three inches high, pale com- 
 plexion^ grey eyes, long brown hair, well made 
 
 s 3
 
 r,0 r n A n I. F.s do m f. h v, 
 
 bui iliin, Ins counUiiaiicc rallier pleasant, And M 
 goo(l-tt*mpered. 
 
 The above is written from his own mouth, ia 
 the presence of, and attested hy — 
 
 Deslauban, Tieneh Surgeon. 
 
 Le Foiirnier, Steward of the Hospluil. 
 
 Revet, ('oinmissaire dc la Prison. 
 
 Le Flem, Soldat de la sec Dtn.i Brigade. 
 
 1 homas Cochrane, M. I). Inspector and Sur- 
 geon of the Prison, and Agent, Sec. for Sick and 
 AV^ounded Seamen. 
 
 Liverpool, Sept.S), 1799- 
 
 (A true Copy.) 
 John Bynon, Clerk in the Office for Sick and 
 
 Wounded Seamen. 
 
 Queries //><</ Answers. 
 
 1. What are the circumstances of his sleep 
 aud perspiration r 
 
 He gets to bed about eight o'clock at night, 
 immediately after which he begins to sweat, and 
 that so profusely, as to be obliged to throw off 
 )iis shirt. He feels extremely liot, and in an 
 liour or two after goes to sleep, which lasts until 
 one in the morning, after which he always feels 
 himself hungry, even though he had lain down 
 with a full stomach. He then eats bread or beef, 
 or whatever provision he may have reserved 
 through the day ; and if he has none he beguiles 
 the time in smoaking tobacco. About two 
 o'clock he goes to sleep again, and awakes at 
 tive or six o'clock iij tlie morning, in a violent
 
 CHARLES DOMERY. 31 
 
 perspiration, with great heat. This quits lilm on 
 getting up; and when he lias laid in a fresh cargo 
 of raw meat (to use his own expression) he feels 
 his body in a good state. He sweats while he is 
 eating; and it is probably owing to this constant 
 propensity to exhalation from the surface of the 
 body, that his skin is commonly found to be 
 cool. 
 
 2. What is his heat by the thermometer. 
 
 1 have often tried it, and found it, to be of the 
 standard temperature of the human body. His 
 pulse is now eighty-four; full and regular. 
 
 S. Can this ravenous appetite be traced higher 
 than iiis father.^ 
 
 He knows nothing; of his ancestors bcvond his 
 father. When he left the country, eleven years 
 ago, his father was alive aged about fifty, a tall, 
 stout man, always healthy, and can remember he 
 was a great eater; but was too young to recol- 
 lect the quantity, but that he eat his meat half 
 boiled. He does not recollect that either him- 
 self or his brothers had any ailment, excc{)iing 
 the small-pox, wl>ich ended favom ably with them 
 all. He was then an infant. His face is per- 
 fectly smooth. 
 
 4. Is his muscular strength greater or less than 
 that of other men at his time of life. 
 
 Though his muscles are pretty firm, I do not 
 think they are so full or plump as those of most 
 other men. He has, however, by his own decla- 
 ration, carried a load of three hundred weight
 
 32 CITABLES DOMERT. 
 
 of flour ill rrancc, and niarelied 14 leagues in a 
 tiay. 
 
 5. lit he (lull, or intelliirciii r 
 
 He car> neither read ii<ir write, but is verv intel- 
 ligent and ecnversahle, and ran jrive a distinct and 
 consistent answer to any nnestion put to him. I 
 have put a variety at different times, and mi dif- 
 ferent shapes, tendinir to throw all the liiihl pos- 
 sii)k' on his history, and never found that he va- 
 ried; so that I am inclined to believe that he ad- 
 liercs to trnih. 
 
 C. Under what circumstances did his voracious 
 disposition first come on? 
 
 It came on at the age of thirteen, »% has been 
 already stated. He was then in the serrice of 
 Pnissia at the sie2:c of Thionvillc : they were at 
 that time much straitened for provision, and as 
 lie found this did not suit him, he deserted into 
 the town. He was conducted to the rVencli 
 (j'cncral, who presented him with a large melon, 
 \\hicli he devoured, rind and all, and then an im- 
 mense quantity and variety of other species of 
 food, to the great entertainment of that officer 
 and his suite. From that time he has preferred 
 raw to dressed meat : and w Ircn he eats a mode- 
 rate quantity of what has been either roasted or 
 boiled, he throws it up immediately. A\ hai is 
 staled above, therefore, respecting his never vo- 
 miting, is not to be understood literally, but im- 
 ports merely, that those things which are most 
 nauseous to others had no effect upon his stomachs
 
 CHARLES 6OMERY. S3 
 
 There is nothing farther to remark but that 
 since the attested narrative was drf^wn up he has 
 repeatedly indulged himself in the cruel repasts 
 before described, devouring the whole animal, ex- 
 cept the skin, bones, and bowels : but this has 
 been put a stop to, on account of the scandal 
 which it justly excited. 
 
 In considering this case, it seems to a'Vord 
 some matters for reflection, which are not only 
 objects of considerable novelty and curiosity, but 
 inieresting and important, by throwing light on 
 the process by which th«food is digested and dis- 
 posed of. 
 
 •; Monstrosity and disease, whether in the struc- 
 ture of parts, or in the functions and appetites, il- 
 lustrate particular points of the animal ceconomy, 
 by exhibiting them in certain relations in which 
 they are not to be met with in the common 
 course of nature. The power of the stomach, in 
 so quickly dissolving, assimilating and disposing 
 of the aliment in ordinary cases, must strike 
 every reflecting person with wonder; but the 
 history of tliis case affords a more palpable proof, 
 and more clear conception of these processes, just 
 as objects of sight become more sensible and 
 striking, when viewetl by a magnifying glass, or 
 when exhibited on a larger scale. 
 
 The facts here set forth tend also to place in a 
 strong light the great importance of the discharge 
 by the skin, and to prove that it is by this outlet, 
 more than by the bowels, that the excremeuti' 
 tious parts of the aliment are evacuated ; tliat
 
 S4 11 A I! BIS. 
 
 thcrf is ail atlmiijiUli* ro-()|Kiation c^Nlabli.-*!!* cJ 
 bc'twreii the skii) aiul tlx- stomucli, by iiieuns oi 
 that cuiibcnt of parts so obstrvubltr, unci so neccb- 
 sary to tiie other lunciions of the uaimal (jccoiiu* 
 jiiy : and, that the ]>ur|)Osc of aliment ib not 
 merely to adinniibter to the growth aiiU rejmir 
 of the ho(ir, but by its bulk and {^culiar sitiuiu;' 
 Ills to luaiiitaiu the [>lay of the orguiu cv^ential 
 to Jiff. 
 
 IIAUUIS. 
 
 Tills man was remarkable for a most singular 
 natural defect^ the jncaj>acity of distinguishing 
 colors. All account of him was communicated 
 by Mr. Iluddart to 1)». Priestley, and was in^ 
 troduced into the Philosophical Transactions for 
 
 1*77. 
 
 Harris was a shoemaker and lived at MarjN 
 port in Cumberland. Mr. Iluddart had oitea 
 heard that he could clearlv discern the form 
 and magnitude of all objects, but thai he could 
 not disitinguish their colors. This report exci- 
 ted that gentleman's curiosity and he frefjuent- 
 ly conversed with Harris on the subject. The 
 account he gave was this — that he had reason 
 to believe other persons saw something in ob- 
 jects which he could not see ; that their lan- 
 guage seemed to mark qualities with precision 
 and confidence, which he could only guess at 
 with hesitation and frequently with error. His 
 fiibt suspicion of this arose, when be was about
 
 — HARRIS. 55 
 
 four years old. Having by accident found a 
 child's stocking in the street, he carried it to a 
 neiQ:libourincr house to enouire for the owner; 
 he observed that the people called it a refl stock- 
 iug, though he did not understand why they gave 
 it th;it denomitiation, as he him^^elf thought it 
 completely described by being called a stacking. 
 This circumstanee however remained in his me- 
 mory, and^ together with subsequent observations, 
 led him to the knowlcdcre of his defect. 
 
 O 
 
 He also observed that, when young, other 
 children could discern cherries on a tree, by some 
 pretended difference of color, though he could 
 only distinguish them from the leaves by the dif- 
 I'erence of their size and shape. By means of 
 this difference of color, his companions could 
 sec the cherries at a greater distance than he 
 could, though he could see other objects also at as 
 great a distance as they, tliat is, w here the sight 
 was not assisted by the color. Large objects he 
 could see as well as other persons; and even the 
 smaller ones if they were not enveloped in other 
 things, as in the case of cherries among the 
 leaves. 
 
 There was every reason to believe that he could 
 never do more than guess the name of any color, 
 yet he could distinguish white from black, or 
 black from any light or bright color. Dove or 
 straw color he called white, and different colors 
 he frequently called b}'^ the same name ; yet he 
 could discern a difference between them when 
 placed together. In general colors, of an equal
 
 a 
 
 50 — HARRIS. 
 
 degree of bri.qhlnos, however they might othfp- 
 uise thller, he coiitDunded with each other. \ et 
 ho could ihstinguish a strl[)ed rihbon from 
 plain one; hut he could not tell >^hat the colors 
 ^v ere with any tolerable exactness. Dark colors, 
 in gener.il, he often mistook tor black; but ne- 
 ver imagined white to be a dark color, nor dark 
 to be a white color. 
 
 Harris was an intelligent man and very desi- 
 rous of understanding the nature of light and 
 colors, lor which purpose he iiad attended a 
 course of lectures in natural philosophy. He 
 had two brothers in the same circumstances with 
 respect to sight, and two other brothers and 
 sisters, who, as well as their parents had nothing 
 of this defect. (Jneof the first-mentioned bro- 
 tliers Mr. Iluddart met with at Dublin, and from 
 the experiments he made on his j)owers of sight, 
 he obtained exactly the same results as those 
 above stated.
 
 THOMAS LAUGHER. 
 
 Thomas laugher, better known by the 
 name of Old Tommy, is a living instance of the 
 good effect of temperance on the human consti- 
 tution, for to this cause his venerable age must 
 undoubtedly be in a great measure ascribed. He 
 was born at the village of Markley, in the couil- 
 ty of Worcester, and was baptized as appears by 
 his register in January I'OO. His parents were' 
 natives of Shropshire, and were themselves ex- 
 amples of unusual longevity, his father dying at 
 (be age of 97, and his mother at 108. In the year 
 following that of his birth they removed vith 
 him to London where he has resided ever since. 
 
 In the early part of his life Laugher followed 
 for many years the profession of a liquor-mer- 
 chant in Lpper Thames Street. Though in a 
 line of business in which wines and spirits of every 
 kind presented themselves freely and plentifully, 
 he never drank an}' fermented liquor, during the 
 first fifty years of his life, his chief beverage be- 
 ing milk, milk and water, cofiee and tea. This 
 profession he was at length obliged to relinquish 
 oy some heavy losses which he experienced. 
 
 Laugher remembers most of the principal oc- 
 
 urrences of the last century, but, from his ex- 
 
 :reme age, his memory begins to fail hiui; his 
 
 3(ther faculties he enjoys in a surprizmg degree. 
 
 VOL. ^^.-^NO. 17. T
 
 2 THOMAS LAL'CHF.n. 
 
 His rcsi(lrnr«> is in Kciii Siiect, in ilie r><>roiinli, 
 iVoin which he walks every Sinicla} niortiiuj:, 
 when the weaihcr perinits, lo ihe llev. Mr. Cox- 
 hrad's chapel in Little \\ iKi Siitet, Lincoln'^ 
 inn Iwelds : he even waWvCtllatcly as far as lluck- 
 iK y iiiid hack again. 
 
 To all appearance Old Tommy has heen a r< - 
 inarkably \sell-made man, and rather above the 
 middle stature though now he is somewhat bent 
 by the weight of years. Havini^ lost his teeth, 
 he falters a little in speaking, but his lunj^s ap- 
 ])ear to be very slroni; and sound. It is not Ic^ 
 burprizing than true, that after a severe fit of ill- 
 ness, at the ago of eighty, he had a fresh head 
 of hair and new nails both on his fingcrsand toes; 
 a contraction whiei) took place at the same time 
 in the finirer of eacli hand, has never since left! 
 tlum. His hair is thick and flowing, not tho- 
 roughly while, but grey on the outside and 
 br<jwn underneath, as are also his eye-brows.^ 
 
 This venerable man has been for some time 
 supported by the donations of charitable and 
 well-di«posed persons. From a spirit of inde- 
 pendence, he used for several years, to sell laces J 
 for Slavs, scarters and oihcr little articles of that 
 nature, for which he found customers among \\\^ 
 friends, who always liberaUy encouraged his in- 
 dustry. 
 
 Lauo-lier had a son who died about four years 
 since at the age of eighty. This son, whom he 
 called his " poor Tommy," had the appearance 
 ©f being considerably older than himself, which 
 
 2
 
 THOMAS LAUGHER. 3 
 
 occasionally produced curious mistakes. Among 
 otlicrs the followinii: anecdote is related on this 
 subject: Walking, some years since in Holboni 
 with his son^ the difticulty which the latter found 
 tp keep up with him drew the attention of a gen- 
 Icman, \\ho went to old Laugher and began 
 to expostulate with him for not assisting his fa- 
 ther. When informed of his mistake, he would 
 not give credit to the oki man till convinced by 
 some person who knew them both of the truth of 
 lis testimony. 
 
 This inversion in the order of nature, was at- 
 tributed by the old man to his son's having lived 
 freely. He has been often heard lo say ; " If the 
 young fool had taken as much care of his health 
 ns I have^ he might now have been alive and 
 heart v." 
 
 As far as his meiTiory goes Old Tommy is ex- 
 tremely willing to answer any questions that may 
 be proposed, and has not that austerity and 
 peevishness Avhich so frequently accompany ex- 
 treme age. He is much pleased to hear of Old 
 Jenkins and old Parr, and says his family came 
 from the same county as the latter. His inofi'en- 
 sive manners and uninterrupted cheerfulness, have 
 Ecained him the respect both of old and vounir 
 Ml the neighbourhood of his residence. 
 
 Such are the particulars we have been able to 
 procure concerning this venerable man, of whom 
 Dur engraving, alter a drawing fiom life, will 
 give the reader a correct idea. 
 
 T 2
 
 HENRY WELBY, ESQ. 
 
 In this gentleman we find a rare example ot 
 extraordinary abstinence aud seclusion in the 
 midst of a gay and luxurious city. For the long 
 period of forty-four years he withdrew himself 
 from all society, and during that time never tasted 
 either fish, flesh, fowl, or any strong drink. An 
 account of his remarkable life was published in 
 iG37, the year after his death, under the title of 
 " the Phenix of these late Times." We shall 
 give it to the reader in the somewhat quaint, but 
 yet expressive language of his anonymous bio- 
 grapher. 
 
 This noble and virtuous gentleman, Mr. Hen- 
 ry Welby, born in Lincolnshire, was the eldest 
 son of his father, and inheritor of a fair revenue, 
 amounting to a thousand pounds by the year, 
 and upward, first matriculated at the University, 
 and after made a student at one of the Inns of 
 Court, where, being, accommodated with all the 
 parts of a gentleman, he after retired himself in- 
 to the country, and matched nobly to his own 
 good liking; but thinking with himself tiiat tiic 
 world could not possibly be contained within thiv; 
 island, and that England was but the least ]hcvo 
 und member of the whole body of the universe, 
 iif hud a great mind to travel, as well to j)rofit 
 him inexperience, as bcncfithimself in languages;
 
 KENRY Uni.BY, liSO. 5 
 
 und to that purpose spent some few years in the 
 Lotc Coiintiies, Germantj, France, and Spain, ma- 
 vino; the best use of hi» time. 
 
 But true it is, that tiiere was some difference 
 and menacing words past between bis brother 
 and himself, which he divers times })assed over 
 «ith patience; but this innocent gentleman, 
 measuring the dispositions of others by himself, 
 and not imagining such barbarous cruelty' could 
 be in man of what condition so ever, much> less 
 in a brother, he held them as the rash menaces- 
 of unbridled youth, which by good counsel, or 
 complying with the other's desires, might be 
 easily reclaimed, reckonins^ then as words that 
 would never break into wounds, and doubtful 
 language that could not easily beget danger. 
 He was of opinion, that, on seeing two men re- 
 viling each other with injurious terms, said, he 
 of you nhich ahstaimtk most from tiliainoiis and 
 lezcd speeches, is to be held the most sage and ziisest 
 of the two. And as true innocence goeth still 
 armed with confidence, and he that is guiltless 
 still dreadless, so he neither feared his courase. 
 nor shunned his company, till at last the two 
 brothers meetinc: face to face, the vounsrer drew 
 a pistol charged with a double bullet from his 
 side, and presented upon the elder, which only 
 gave tire, but by one miraculous providence of 
 God no further report ; at which the elder, seiz- 
 ing upon the younger, disarmed him of his pistol, 
 and without any further violence offered, left 
 him, which bearing to his chamber, and desi- 
 
 T 3
 
 6 HENRY WELBY, ESO. 
 
 Tous to find whether it were only a false fire, 
 merely to fright him, or a charge speedily to 
 dispatch him, When he found the bullets and ap- 
 prehended the danger he escaped, he fell into 
 many deepconsiderations, and thereupon ground- 
 ed this his irrevocable resolution, which he kept- 
 to his dying day. 
 
 Which that he might observe the better, he 
 took a very fair house in the lower end of Gnib- 
 drect, near unto Cripple-gate, and having con- 
 tracted a numerous retinue into a small and pri- 
 vate family, having the house before prepared 
 \'oT his purpose, he entered the door, choosing 
 to himself, out of all the rooms, three private 
 chambers best suiting with his intended solitude ; 
 ihe first for his diet, the second for his lodging, 
 and the third for his study, one within another; 
 and the while his diet was set upon the table by 
 one of his servants, an old maid, he retired to 
 his lodging-room, and while his bed was making, 
 into his study, still doing so till all was clear; and 
 irhere he set up his rest, and in forty-four years 
 never upon any occasion how great so ever, issu- 
 ed out of these chambers, till he was borne thence 
 on men's shoulders. Neither in all that time did 
 son-in-law, daughter or grandchild, brother, i 
 sister, or kinsman, stranger, tenant or servant, 
 young or old, rich or poor, of what degree or 
 condition soever, look upon his face, saving] 
 the ancient maid, whose name was Elizabeth,: 
 who made his fire, prepared his bed, provided] 
 his diet, and drest his chamber, which was very i
 
 HENIIY WELBY, ESQ. 7 
 
 ' ](lom, or upon extraordinary necessity that lie 
 ^aw her. 
 
 As touching his abstinence, in all the time of 
 his retirement, henevertasted any flesh nor fish; 
 he never drank either wine or strong drink ; his 
 chief food was oat-meal boiled in water, which 
 .)me call gruel, and in summer now and then 
 , I sallad of some choice cool lierbs for dainties; 
 <■!• when he would feast himself, upon an high 
 !ay, he would eat the yolk of an hen's egg, but 
 Tio part of tlie while ; and what bread lie eat, he 
 cat out of the middle of thp loaf, but of the crust 
 he never tasted ; and his continual drink was 
 four-shilling beer, and no other : and now and 
 then drank red cow's milk, which his maid Eliza- 
 beth fetched for him out of the fields hot from 
 die cow; and yet he kept a bountiful taljje for 
 his servants, with entertainment sufficient for any 
 stranger or tenant, that had any occasion of bu- 
 siness at his house. / 
 
 In Christmas iiolidays, at Easter, and upon 
 all solemn festival days, he had great cheer pro- 
 vided, with a'i dishes seasonable to the times, 
 served up. He himself (after having given thanks) 
 put a clean napkin before, and putting on a pair 
 of white Holland sleeves, which reached to his 
 elbows, would call for his knife, and cutting dish 
 after dish up in order, send one to one poor neigh- 
 bour, the next to another, leaving it in writing 
 how it should be bestowed, whether it was brawn, 
 beef, capon, goose, 8cc. till he had left the table 
 quite empty; then would he again lay by his li-
 
 8 HENRY WELBY, ESO. 
 
 j)eu, put Up Lis knife, and cause the cloth to be 
 taken away ; and thus would he do dinner and 
 supper upon those days, without tasting of any 
 thing whatsoever ; and this custom he kept to his 
 dying day, an abstinence far transcending all the 
 Carthusian clonks or INlendicant Friars that ever 
 vet I read of. 
 
 Now, as touching the solitude of his life, to 
 spend so many summers and winters in one small 
 room, dividing himself not only IVom the society 
 of men, but debarring himself from the benefit of 
 the fresh and wholesome air, not to walk or con- 
 fer with any man, which might either shorten 
 the tediousness of the night, or mitigate the pro- 
 lixness of the day; and if at any time he would 
 speak with any one, there was a wall between 
 them; what retiiement could be more? or what 
 restriction greater? In my opinion, it far surpas- 
 ses all the vestals and votaries, all the anchores- 
 ses and anchorites, that have been memorized ' 
 in any history. 
 
 Now, if any shall ask how he spent his hours 
 and past his time? No doubt, as he kept a kind 
 of j)erpetualfast, so he devoted himself to con- 
 tinual prayer, saving these seasons he dedicated 
 to his study, for he was both a scholar and liii- 
 guist, for he hath left behind him some collec- 
 tions and translatioti of Piiilosophy; neither was 
 there any author worth the reading, either 
 brought over from beyond the sea, or published 
 liere in the kingdom, which he refused to buv at 
 what dear rate so ever; and these were his com-i
 
 IIENHY WELBT, ESO. 9 
 
 panious in the day, and his couiiseliors in the 
 night, insomuch, tlial tlic saying may be veri- 
 fced in him — '* lie was never better accompanied 
 than when alone." 
 
 lie was no Pharisee, to seek the praise and 
 vain ostentation among men; neither did he blow 
 a triimj)et before him when he gave his alms; 
 neither when any impudently clamom'ed at his 
 gjate, were they presently relieved, but he, out 
 of his private chamber which had a prospect 
 kito the street ; if he spyed any, sick, weak, or 
 lame, would presently send after them, comfort, 
 cterish, and strengthen them, and not a trifle to 
 serve them for the present, but so much as would 
 uelieve them for many days after ; he would 
 
 Imoreov^r enquire what neighbours were indus- 
 trious in their callings, and who had great charge 
 of children, and by their labour and industry 
 sould not sufficiently supply their fa<^niiies; these 
 were his cetain pensioners. And now conclud- 
 ing he may not improperly be called a Phenix; 
 for as he in his life may be termed a Bird of 
 Paradise, so in his death he might be compared 
 to that Arabian Monody, who, liaving lived 
 
 Jjx)urscore years, half in the world and half from 
 he world, died in a swoon, the nine and twen- 
 tieth day of October last, (lCi35) as he sat in his 
 •hair, having built his own funeral nest or pile, 
 •omposcd of terebinth and cinnamon, inter- 
 vovcn with onyx and culbanum, with the sweet 
 ind odoriferous smells of myrrh, aloes, and 
 assia, and so made his death- bed an altar; and
 
 \ 
 
 10 FRANCIS CHARTEEIS. 
 
 l)is godly zeal kiiicHing those sweet spices, sent 
 up his soul as an acceptable incense to that sa- 
 cred throne, where a contrite heart and humble 
 spirit were never despised. 
 
 To this account is prefixed a picture of Mr. 
 Welby sitting at a table on which is inscribed: 
 Vanitas vanitutiun, omnia von'u'is. He is repre- 
 sented with a long thick beard, and with a staff 
 in Ills right hand. Tiie Rev. Mr. Granger in his 
 Biographical History of England, says of him 
 that, " his plain garb, his long and silver beard, 
 his mortified and venerable aspect, bespoke him 
 an ancient inhabitant of the desert, rather than 
 a gentleman of fortune in a populous city." The 
 same writer adds that Mr. Welby had a very 
 amiable daughter who married Sir Christopher 
 Hilliard, a Yorkshire gentleman; but neither she, 
 nor any of her family ever saw her father after 
 his retirement from the world. His remains 
 were interred in St. Giles's church near Ciipple- 
 gatc. 
 
 FRANCIS CHARTERIS. 
 
 Francis charteris, was bom at Ams- 
 
 iield, in Scotland, where he was heir to an estate 
 which his ancestors had possessed above 400 
 years; and was related to some of the first fami- 
 lies in the North, by intermarriages with the no-; 
 bilitv. Havinsr. received a liberal education, he
 
 FRANCIS CIIARTERIS. 11 
 
 uKuIe choice of the profession of arms, and first 
 rved under the Duke of Marlborough as an cn- 
 >ign of foot, but was soon advanced to the rank 
 oi' cornet of dragoons. Being a most expert 
 gamester, and of a ihsposition uneommonly avari- 
 cious, he made his knowledge of gambling sub- 
 servient to his love of money ; and while the ar- 
 my was in winter quarters, he stripped many of 
 t!ie officers of all ihcir property by his skill at 
 (iirds and dice. He was, however, as knavish 
 ;;s dexterous ; for when he had defrauded a bro- 
 ther oiiicer of his money, he would lend him a 
 Sinn at the moderate interest of an hundred per 
 cent, and take an assignment of his commission 
 as a security for the payment of the debt. John, 
 <luke of Argyle, and the earl of Stair, were at this 
 lime young men in the array; and being deter- 
 mined that the inconsiderate officers should not 
 be ruined by the artifices of Charteris, they ap- 
 ])lied to the carl of Orkney, who was also in the 
 army, then quartered at Brussels, representing 
 the destruction that must ensue to the young 
 gentlemen in the military line, if Charteris was 
 not stopped in his proceedings. The earl of Ork- 
 ney, anxious for the credit of the army in gene- 
 ral, and his countrymen in particular, represent- 
 ed the state of the case to the duke of Marlbo- 
 .[firough, who gave orders that Charteris should be 
 [put under arrest, and tried by a court-martial. 
 This court was composed of an equal number of 
 English and Scotch officers, that Charteris might 
 have no reason to say he was treated with partial!- 
 
 I 
 
 "1
 
 12 TRANCIS CHARTERIS. 
 
 ty. After a candid hearing of the case, the 
 proofs of his villainy were so strong, that he was 
 sentenced to return the money he had obtained 
 by usurious interest; to be deprived of his com- 
 mission, and to be drummed out of the regiment, 
 bis sword being first broken; which sentence was 
 executed in its fullest extent. 
 
 Thus disgraced, he quitted Brussels, and in 
 the road between that place and Mechlin, threw 
 his breeches into a ditch, and then buttoning his 
 scarlet cloak below his knees, went into an inn 
 to take up his lodgings for the night. It is usual 
 in places w here armies are quartered, for military 
 officers to be treated with all possible respect; 
 and this was the case with Charteris, who had 
 every distinction shewn him that the house could 
 afford, and, after an elegant supper, was left to 
 his repose. Early in the morning he rang the 
 bell violently, and the landlord coming terrified 
 into his room, he swore furiously that he had 
 been robbed of his breeches, containing a dia- 
 mond ring, a gold watch, and money to a con- 
 siderable amount; and having previously broken 
 the window, he intimated that some person must 
 have entered that way, and carried off his pro- 
 perty, and he even insinuated that the Imidlord 
 himself migh'f have been the robber. It was in 
 vain that the inn-keeper solicited mercy in the 
 most humiliating posture. Charteris threatened 
 that he should be sent to Brussels, and suffer 
 death, as an accessaiy to the felony. Terrified 
 at the tliought of approaching disgrace and dan-
 
 FRANCIS C II A UTERIS. H 
 
 i^v-r the landlord of the house seat for some friars 
 tit' nn adjacent convent, to whom he represented 
 liis calamitous situation, and they generously 
 supplied him with u sum sutlieient to reimburse 
 ("Uarteris for the loss he pretended to liave sus- 
 lained. 
 
 This unprincipled and abandoned youth now 
 jHocceded to Holland, whence he embarked for 
 Scotland ; and had not been long iii that kinp:- 
 (lum before his servile submission, and h.s mone}', 
 ] rocuredhim another commission in a regiment 
 I'f horse; and he was afterwards advanced to the 
 ^ank of colonel. The duke of Queensberry was 
 at this time commissioner to the parliament of 
 Scotland, which was assembled at Edinburgh^ to 
 deliberate on the proposed union with England. 
 Charleris, having been invited to a party at cards 
 with the duchess of Queensberry, contrived that 
 her grace should be placed in such a manner, 
 near a large glass, tluit he could see all her cards; 
 and he won three thousand pounds of her by this 
 stratagem. In consequence of this imposition 
 the incensed duke of Queensberry brouglit a bill 
 ntothe house, to prohibit gaming for above a 
 certain sum; and this bill passed into a law. 
 
 Cliarteris still continued his .depredations on 
 the thoughtless till he had acquired considerable 
 iums, and estates in Scotland; he then removed 
 :o London, which, as it was the seat of great 
 :lissipalion, was a place better adapted to the ex- 
 rtion of his abilities. — Here he became a no- 
 ,ed lender of money on mortgages, always re* 
 
 VOL.2. — NO. 17. u
 
 14 FRANCIS CIIARTERIS. 
 
 ceiving a large premium, by which at length he 
 became so rich as to purchase estates in England, 
 particularly in the county of Lancaster. He was 
 equally infamous for his amours, having in pay 
 some women of abandoned character, who, go- 
 ing to inns where the waggons put up, used to 
 prevail on the simple country girls to go to the 
 colonel's house as servants; in consequence of 
 wiiich, their ruin soon folloucd, and they were 
 turned cut of doors, exposed to ail the miseries 
 consequent on poverty and a loss of reputation. 
 His agents did not confine their operations to 
 inns; but wherever they found a handsome girl | 
 they endeavoured to decoy her to the colonel's 
 house; and amongst the rest, one Ann Bond fell 
 a prey to his artifices. 
 
 This young woman had lived in London; but 
 having quitted her service on account of illness, 
 took lodgings at a private house, where she reco- 
 vered herhealth, andwas sittingat thedoorwhen a 
 woman addressed her, saying, she could help 
 her to a place in the family of colonel Hatvev; 
 for the character of Charteris was now so notori- 
 ous, that his agents did not venture to make use 
 of his real name. Bond being hired, the woman 
 conducted her to the colonel's house, who gave 
 her money to redeem some clothes, which she 
 had pledgt'd to support her in her illness, and 
 would iuive bought other clothes for her, but she 
 refused to accept them. He now offered her aj 
 pnrse of gohl, a > annuity for life, and a house,' 
 if she would comply with his wishes; but the vir
 
 JFRANCIS CHARTKRIS. 15 
 
 tiioiis gill resisted the temptation, declining, that 
 she would on ly dischiuge her dut}' as a servant, 
 and that her Lnr.ster niigiit dismiss her, it' lier 
 conduct did not please him. On the day follow- 
 ina:, she lieard a (gentleman askinfjjfor her master 
 by the name of Cli;u;teris, which encreased her 
 tears slili more, as she was not isnanprized of his 
 general character. Slie therefore lold the house- 
 keeper that she musL quit her service, as she was 
 very ill. The house-keeper informing the colo- 
 nel of this circumstance, he sent for the poor 
 girl, and threatened he would shoot her if she 
 left his service. He lii^ewise ordered the servants 
 to keep the door fast, to prevent her making her 
 escape; and when he spoke of her it was in most 
 contemptuous terms. On the following day he 
 directed the clerk of his kitchen to send her into 
 the parlour, and, on her attending him, he bid 
 her stir tlie fire. While she was thus employed, 
 lie forcibly seized and committed violence on her, 
 first stopping her moutli with his night-cap; and 
 afterwards, on her saying that she would prose- 
 cute him, beating her with a horse-whip, and 
 calling her by the most opprobrious names. On, 
 his opening the door the .clerk of the kitchen ap- 
 peared, to whom the colonel pretended, that she 
 had robbed him of thirty guineas, and directed 
 him to turn her oul of the house, which was ac- , 
 cordintjly done. 
 
 The unfortunate girl now went to a gentlewo- 
 man, named Parsons, and inlbrming her of what 
 had happened, asked her advice how to proceed.
 
 16 FRANCIS CHARTER 13. 
 
 Mrs. Parsons recoiumenrleil her to exliibit arii- 
 cles against liim for the assault ; bui when the mat- 
 ter came aftervvarrls to be heard by the grand jury, 
 they found it was not an aironipt, but an actual 
 cominission of tlic fact; and a bill was found ?c- 
 cordingly. When the colonel was committed t6 
 Newgate lie was loaded with heavy fetters; but 
 he soon purchased a lighter pair, and paid for the 
 us5 of a room in the prison, anx\ for a man to 
 aitv nd iiim.Iie had been married to the daush- 
 (vTof Sir Alexander Swinlon of Scotland, who 
 I'Orc hiiVi ont^ dniighter, who was married tathe 
 t;ul of W'einys; and the enrl happening to be in 
 London atahc time of the a!)ove-mentic>ned trans-? 
 '.olirjn, procured a writ of Habeas Corpus, and 
 \he Colonel was accordingly admitted to bail. 
 i>y the law of the land, bail for a capital offence 
 is not admissible. It must, therefore, reflect no 
 small disgrace on those to whom the administra- 
 tion of it was at that time committed, that power 
 and interest should thus triumph over justice. 
 
 His trial came on at the Old Bailey, February 
 (15, 1730, and every art was used to traduce the 
 character of the prosecutrix, in order to destroy 
 the force of her evidence; but, happily, her re- 
 putation was so fair, and there was so little rea- 
 son to think that she had any sinister view in the 
 prosecution, that every artifice failed, and after 
 a long trial, in which the facts were proved to 
 the satisfaction of the jury, a verdict of guilty 
 wasffiven a2;ainst the colonel, who received sen- 
 tcncc to be executed in the accustomed manner.
 
 FRANCIS CHAETERIS. 17 
 
 On this occasion Cliarteris was not a little obli- 
 ged to his son-in-law, lord Wemys, who caused 
 the lord president Forbes to come from Scotland, 
 to plead the cause before the privy-council ; and 
 an estate of 3001. perann.for life, was assigned 
 to the president for this service. At length the 
 king consented to grant the colonel a pardon, on 
 bis settling a handsome annuity on the proseciv- 
 trix. Soon after his conviction, a fine mezzotinto 
 print of him was published, representing him 
 standincr at the bar of the Old Bailev, with his 
 thumbs tied; and under the print v^'as the follow- 
 ing inscription: 
 
 " Blood ! — must a colonel, with a lord'* estate. 
 
 Be thus obnoxious to a scoundrel's fate ;" 
 
 Brouglit to the bar, and sentenc'd froiii tlie bench^ 
 
 Only for ravishing a country wench r — 
 
 Shall men of honour meet no more respect ? 
 
 Shall their diversions thus by laws be check'd? 
 
 .Shall they be accountable to saucy juries. 
 
 For this or t'other pleasure? — hell and furies ! 
 
 What man thro' villainy would run a course, 
 
 And ruin families without remorse. 
 
 To heap up riches — if, when all is done, 
 
 An ignominious dcatii he cannot sliun ?" 
 
 After this narrow escape, fiom a fate wbicli- 
 he had so yvell deserved, he retired' to Edin- 
 burgh, where he lived about two years, and tlien; 
 died in 1731, aged 63, a victim to his irregular 
 course of life. He was buried in the family-vault, 
 in the church-yard of the Grey Friars of Edin- 
 burgh : but bis viced had rendered him so detest:- 
 
 -V 3
 
 JS FRANCIS CHARTERIS. 
 
 ^blc, it was with some difficulty that he was put 
 into the orave: fof thr> mob almost tore the 
 coffin in pirees, and committed a variety of irre- 
 jijulurities, in honest contempt of such an abaii- J 
 dbned character. 
 
 The celebrated Dr. Arbuthnot gave^ severe, 
 but very justj character of Colonel Clrarteris^ iu 
 file following sa'tiriciil epitaph: 
 
 Hep.e lielb the body of 
 
 Colonel Don Francisco ; 
 
 Who, Willi an inflexible constancy. 
 
 And inimitable unilorniity of life. 
 
 Persisted, in spite of age and infirmity, 
 
 Jii tl'.e practice of every himian vice. 
 
 Excepting prodigality and hypocrisy ; 
 
 His insatiable avaiice 
 
 Exempting him from the first, and 
 
 His matchless impudence 
 
 From the latter. 
 
 Nor was he more singular in 
 
 That undeviating viciousness of life, 
 
 Than successful in aecnmulating vveailh ; 
 
 Having, 
 
 Without trust of public money, bribe. 
 
 Worth, service, trade, oi-, profession. 
 
 Acquired, or rather created, 
 
 A ministerial estate. 
 
 Among the singularities of his life and fortune 
 
 Be it likewise commemorated, 
 
 Ihat he was the on!y person in his time. 
 
 Who would cheat without the mask of honesty ; 
 
 W^ho would retain his prirawval meanness. 
 
 After being possessed often thousand pounds a year. 
 
 And who, having done, every day of hislilC, 
 
 Something worthy of a gibbet, 
 
 W^as once condemned to one. 
 
 Think not, in di^jnaiit reader
 
 JAMES NA1LE«. i9 
 
 Hli life useless to mankind ; 
 
 PuoVIDENCIi 
 
 Favored, or rather connived at. 
 
 His execrable designs. 
 
 That he might remain. 
 
 To this ar.d future ages, 
 
 A conspicuous proof and example. 
 
 Of how small estimation 
 
 EiL'jrbitant wealth is held in the sight of th* 
 
 At MIGHTY, 
 
 By his bestowing it on 
 
 The most unworlhy 
 
 Of all the descendants of 
 
 Adam. 
 
 It was reported that he died worlli seven thou- 
 sand pounds a 3'car in landed estates, and about 
 one hundred thousand pounds in money. 
 
 JAMES NAILER. 
 
 The avoiding of a bad example rnay ofleri 
 prove as conducive to happiness as the imitating 
 of a good one. Under this impression we here 
 lay before the reader some particidars of the life 
 of James Nailer, a man notorious in the seven- 
 teenth century for his fa,naticism, and the singu- 
 arity of his religious opinions. 
 
 James Nailer, or Naylei-, was the sdn of a far- 
 mer of some property, and was born in the pa- 
 rish of Ardesley, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire, 
 iibolit the year I616. His education went no 
 farther than English. At the age of tweaty-two
 
 20 JAMES NAILER. 
 
 he married, and removed into Wakefield parish, 
 where he continued till the commencement of 
 the civil war in lG41. He then entered into tl/e 
 parliamentary army, and served eight years, first 
 under Lord Fairfax, and afterwards as quarter- 
 master, under General Lambert ; till, disabled 
 bv sickness in Scotland, he returned home, in 
 1(J48. Hitherto he had professed himself a Pres- 
 byterian and Independent, but in lG5l, lie be- 
 came a convert to the doctrines of George Fox, 
 and joined the persons pretending to new lights, 
 who were afterwards known by the appellation 
 of Quakers. 
 
 Being a man of good natural parts, and strong 
 imagination, he soon commenced preacher: and 
 in the opinion of his followers, acquitted him- 
 self well, both in word and writing, among hii 
 friends. Towards the end of l6o4, or beginning 
 of lG55, he removed to London, and there found 
 a meeting which had been gathered by Edward 
 Burrough and Francis Howgil. He soon dis- 
 tinguished himself among them : so that many, 
 admiring his talents, hegan to esteem him far 
 above his brethren, which occasioned diflerences 
 and disturbances in the society. These were 
 carried to such a height, that some of Nailer's 
 forward and inconsiderate female adherents, I 
 publicly interrupted Howgil and Burrough in I 
 preaching, and disturbed their meetings. Being* 
 reproved by them for their indiscretion, the wo- 
 men complained so loudly and passionately to- 
 Nailer; that as Sewel in iiis "History of the 
 
 5
 
 JAMES NAlLETt. 
 
 21 
 
 o'ascrves: Quakers, " It smote him clown into so 
 much sorrow anti sadness, tliat lie was much 
 dejected in spirit, and disconsolate. Fear and 
 doubtinix then entered into him, so that he came 
 to be cloiulcd in his understanding, bewildered 
 and at a loss in his judgment, and estranged 
 from iiis best friends, because they did not at> 
 prove his conduct; insomuch that be began to 
 give ear to the flattering praises of some whimsi- 
 cal people, which he ought to have abhorred and 
 reproved them for." It will be seen from the 
 subsequent part of this history, that these * flat- 
 tering praises,' of which Sewel speaks, were too 
 pov\erful for the poor man's intclJects, :\x).d pro- 
 duced tijat m-ental intoxicatk>n or derangement, 
 to which alone his frantic conduct can be attri- 
 buted. 
 
 In j6jG, v.e find him in Devonshire, whither 
 he was undoubtedly carried by a zeal for propa- 
 gating his opinions. These were of such an ex- 
 traordinary natvne, that he was apprehended and 
 sent to Exeter goal, where letters, conceived in 
 the most extravagant strain, were sent to hin\ 
 bv his female adn>irers and others. Nay, some 
 women had arrived at such a height of folly^ 
 that, in the prison at Exeter, the}^ knelt before 
 him, and kissed his I'ect. 
 
 We find in Nailer a striking proof that cir- 
 ?umstances, apparcutly the most nivici% operate 
 Tequenlly with irresistibie and fatal force on tlfe 
 iiind of the visionar)' and enthusiast. As his 
 eatures bore a near rtsemblancc to the common 
 )icturcs of Christ, his imagination conceived
 
 22 JAMES NAILER. 
 
 the wild idea that lie was transformed into Christ 
 himself. He assumed ttie character of the Mes- 
 siah^ was acknowledged as such by his deluded ' 
 followers, and accordingly affected to heal the < 
 sick and raise the dead. 
 
 After his release from the prison at Exeter, he 
 intended to return to London ; but taking Bris- 
 tol in his way, as he rode through Glastonbury 
 and Wells, his frantic attendants strewed their 
 garments in his waj'. Arriving on the 24th of 
 October at Bedminster, about a mile from Bris- 
 tol, they' proceeded in mock procession to that 
 city. One man walked before with his hat on, 
 while another, bareheaded, led Nailer's horse. 
 When they came to the suburbs of Bristol, some 
 woiricn spread scarfs and handkerchiefs in his 
 way ; two other women going on each side of 
 his horse. The whole company, knee-deep in 
 dirt, it being very rainy and foul weather, began 
 to sing : " Holy, hoi}', holy, Lord God of Sa- 
 baoth ! Hosanna in the highest ! H0I3', holy, 
 holy. Lord God of Israel !" In this manner they 
 entered the city, to the amazement of some, and" 
 the diversion of others; but the magistrates not 
 thinking it proper to suffer such an indecent 
 mockery of Christ's entrance into Jerusalem to 
 pass nnininished, apprehended Nailer, and corn- 1 
 jiiitted him to prison, with six of his associates. ' 
 15cing searched after iiis apprehension, some 
 letters, which shew the fanaticism of his follow- 
 ers, were found upon hini. Some of these were 
 as follow : —
 
 JAMES NAILER. 23 
 
 " In the pure fear and power of God, ray soul 
 ■aliites thee, thou everlasting son of rlghteous- 
 icss, and prinee of peace. 1 beseech thee wait, 
 rny soul travelletli to see a pure image brought 
 "orth, and the enemy strives to destroy it, that 
 lie may keep nie always sorrovving and ever seek- 
 |ing, and never satisfied, nor ever rejoicing. But 
 e in whom I have believed will shortly tread 
 |5atan under our feet, and then shalt thou and 
 thine return to Zion with everlasting rejoicings, 
 and praises. But till then, better is the house 
 of mourning than rejoicing. O let innocency 
 be thy beloved, and righteousness thy spouse, 
 that thy father's Iambs may rejoice in thy pure 
 and clear unspotted image of holiness and purity 
 which my soul believeih 1 shall see, and so in 
 the faith rest, 
 
 " Han. Stranger." 
 ** From hondon, iGthdai/ 
 of the 7 th viontUr 
 
 " O THOU fairest of ten thousand, thou only 
 begotten son of God, how my heart pantcth 
 after thee. O stay me with flaggons and com- 
 fort me with wine. My well beloved, their art 
 like a roe, or young hart u{)on the mountains of 
 spices, where thy beloved spouse hath long been 
 calling thee to come away, and I am, 
 
 " Hannah Stramger." 
 
 To this blasphemous rhapsody was subjoined 
 the following by the husband of the writer:
 
 24 JAMES NAILER. 
 
 '' Postscript. Remember m}' dear love to tliy 
 master. Thy name is no more to be called 
 James, but Jesus. 
 
 ^'^JoHN Stranger." 
 
 In another letter, from one Jane A\'^oo<;lcock, 
 we find these equivocal expressions :— " O thou 
 beloved of the Lord, the prophet of the most 
 high God, whom the Lord brought to this great 
 city, for to judge and try the cause of his Israel; 
 faithful and just hast thou carried thyself in it, 
 for thou becamest weak to the weak, and tender 
 to the broken-hearted." 
 
 Nor were these raptures confined, as may be 
 imagined, to the weaker sex. From an epistle 
 from one Richard Fairman, it is evident that 
 there were men infected in an equal degree with 
 this ridiculous mania. " Brother in the life 
 which is immortal," savs he,* " dearly beloved, 
 xvho art counted worthy to be made partaker of 
 the everlasting riches, I am filled with joy and 
 rejoicing, when I behold thee in the eternal 
 unit\', where I do embrace thee in the ever- 
 lasting arms of love. O thou dear and pre- 
 cious servant of the Lord, how doth my soul 
 love! 1 am overcoine with that love that is as 
 strong as death. O my soul is melting within 
 me when I behold thy beauty and innocency, 
 dear and precious son of Sion, whose mother is 
 a virgin, and whose birth is immortal." 
 
 The particulars of Nailer's examination previ- 1 
 OU6 to his commitment are too curious to be 
 
 i
 
 JAMES NAILER* 2«; 
 
 omitted* Being asked his name, or whether he 
 was not called James Nailer, he replied — the 
 men of this world call me James Nailer. Q. Art 
 thou the man that rode on horseback into Bris- 
 tol, a woman leading thy horse, and others sing- 
 ing before thee, ' Holy, holy, holy, hosanna, 
 &c. ? — A. I did ride into a town, but what its 
 name was I know not, and by the spirit a woman 
 was commanded to hold my horse's bridle, and 
 some there were that cast down clothes, and sang 
 praises to the Lord, such songs as the Lord put 
 into their hearts; and it is like it might be the 
 song of Holy, holy, holy.— Q. Whether or no 
 didst thou reprove these women? — A. Nay, but' 
 I bade them take heed that they sang nothing 
 but what they were moved to of the Lord. — Q.- 
 Dost thou own this letter which Hannah Stran- 
 ger sent unto thee?-— A. Yea, 1 do own that let- 
 ter. — Q. Art thou, according to that letter, the 
 fairest of ten thousand ? — A. As to the visible, I 
 deny any such attribute to be due to me; but if 
 as to that which the father hath begotten in me, 
 I shall own it. — Q. Art thou the only son of 
 God ? — A. I am the son of God, but I liave 
 many brethren. — Q. Have any called thee by 
 the name of Jesus? — A. Not as unto the visible, 
 but as Jesus, the Christ that is in me. — Q. Dost 
 thou own the name of the king of Israel? — 
 A. Not as a creature, but if they give it Christ 
 within me, I own it, and have a kingdom ; but 
 not of this world,* my kingdom is of another 
 world, of which thou wast not. — Q. Whether or 
 VOL. 2. — NO. 17. X
 
 Q.6 JAMES NAILER. 
 
 no art thou the prophet of the Most lli2;li ?-^' 
 A. Thou hast said 1 am a pro[)het. — Q. i)ost 
 thou own tliat attribute, the judge of Israel? — ■ 
 A. Thejudi^e is but one, and is witnessed in me, 
 and is tiie Christ; there must not be any joined 
 with him. If they speak of the spirit in me, I 
 own it only as God is manifest in tlie flesh, ae- 
 cording as God dvvelleth in me, and judgeth 
 there himself. — Q. Uv whom were vou sent ? — 
 A. By him who liath sent the spirit of his son in 
 nie to try, not as to carnal matters, but belong- 
 ing to the kingdom of God, by the indwelling 
 of the father and the son, to be the judge of all 
 spirits, to be guided by none. — Q. Is not the 
 written word of God the guide .'' — A. The written 
 word declares of it, and what is not according 
 to that, is not true. — Q. Whether art thou more 
 sent than others, or whetlicr others be not sent 
 in that measure. — A. As to that, I have no- 
 thing at present given me of my father to aij- 
 swer. — A. Was your birili mortal or immortal ? 
 — A. Not according to the natural birth, but ac- 
 cording to the spiritual l)!rLh, l)<)rn of the im- 
 mortai seed. — Q. Wert thou ever called the 
 
 Lamb of God:— A. I look not back to thino? 
 
 o 
 
 bchirul, but there might be some such thing in 
 tlie letter; i am a lamb, and have sought it 
 long before I could witness it.— Q. Who is thy 
 Mother, or whether or no is she a virgin r — A. 
 Niiy, according to the natural birth.— Q. Who 
 is thy mother according to the spiritual birth ? — 
 A. No ciunal creature.— Q. Wlio then .? (No an-
 
 JAMES NAILER. CJ7 
 
 gwer.)— Q. Is the hope of Israel in tbec?— A. 
 The hope is in Christ, and as Christ is in me, so 
 far the hope of" Israel stands; Christ is in ine the 
 hope of glory. — Q, What more hope is there in 
 thee than in others ? — A. None can know but 
 them of Israel; and Israel must give an account. 
 — Q. Art thou the everlasting son of God ? — A. 
 Where God is manifest in the flesh, there is the 
 ^everlasting son, and 1 do witness God in the 
 flesh : I am the Son of God, and the Son of 
 God is but one. — Q. Art thou the Prince of 
 Peace? — A. The prince of everlasting peace is 
 begotten in me — Q. Why dost thou not reprove 
 those that give thee those attributes? — A. I have 
 said nothing to them but such things as are virit- 
 t€n. — Q. Is thy name Jesus? — For what space of 
 time hast thou been so called ?— Is there no other 
 Jesus besides thee ? — To these three questions he 
 made no re])ly. — Q. Art thou the everlasting son 
 of God, the king of righteousness? — A. I am; 
 and the everlasting righteousness is Vv'roiight in 
 me; if ye were acquainted with the Fatlier, ye 
 would also be acquainted with me. — Q. Did any 
 kiss thy feet? — A. It might be they did, but I 
 minded them not.— Q, When thou wast called 
 tlie king of Israel, didst thou not answer — thou 
 sayest it ? — A. Yea. — Q. How dost thou provide 
 for a livelihood .''—A. As do the lilies, without 
 care, being maintained by my Father. — Q.^¥honi 
 dost thou call thy father? — A. Him whom thou 
 callest God. — Q. A\'hat business hadst thou in 
 Bristol^ or thai way ? — A. I was guided or di- 
 
 \ —I
 
 €8 JAiFES NAILER. 
 
 rectetl by my Father.— Q. Why wast thou called 
 a judge to try the cause of Israc4 ? (No reply.)— 
 Q. Are any of these sayings blasphemy Or not .'' 
 —A. What is received of the Lord is truth. — 
 Q. ^Vhose letter was that which was \^'ritten to 
 ihee signed T. S. P—A. It was sent to m'€ to 
 Bxeter goal, by one the world calls Thomas Sy- 
 monds.— Q. Diddt thou not say : If ye had 
 known me, >ye>had known the Father ?— A. Yea, 
 for the Father is my life.— Q. Where we'rt thou 
 bora ?— A. At Ardeslow, in Yorkshire.— -Q. 
 Where livefi4hy wife?— A. She whom thou «vH- 
 est my wife lives 4n Wakefield.— Q. Why -dost 
 thou not live with her .' — A. I did tiR I was 
 called to the army.— Q. Doth God in any man- 
 ner sustain thee without any corporeal food i*^- 
 A. Man .dolh not Uve by bread alone> but by 
 every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of 
 the Father. The same life is mine that is in the 
 Ftuher, but not in the same measure. — ^^Q. Hotv 
 p.rt thou cloathed ?— A. I know not.— Q. Dost 
 tiiou live without bread ? — Q. A. As long as my 
 heavenly father will. I have tasted of that bread 
 of which he that eateth shall never die. — Q. HoNt 
 long hast thou hved without any corporeal sus- 
 tenance, having perfect health ? — A. Some fif- 
 teen or sixteen days, sustained without any other 
 food except the word of God. — Q. Was Dorcas 
 Erbury dead in Exeter two days, and dids 
 thou raise her? — Q. I can do nothing of mysell 
 The scripture bcareth witness to the power iti 
 me, which is everlasting i it is the same poweJ-
 
 JAMES NAILER. €9 
 
 MC read of in the scripture.— Q. Art thou the 
 unspotted Lamb of (iod that taketh away ihe 
 sins of the world?— A. Were I not a lamb, 
 W'olve> would not seek to devour me. — Q. Art 
 ihou not guilty of most horrid blasphemy by thy 
 own words ?— A. Who made thee a judge over 
 them .^— Q. AVhoni meant thy companions by 
 Hol^^ hoK'jScc..'' — A. Let them answer for them- 
 'selves, they are at age. — Q. Did not some spread 
 their clothes on the ground before thee, wh.eu 
 thou didst ride through Glastonbury and Wells? 
 — A. I think they did. — Q. Wherefore didst 
 thou call Martha Symonds mother, as George 
 Fox affirms ? — A. George Fox is a liar and a 
 fire-brand of hell; for neither I nor any v.ith me 
 called her so. — Q. Hast thou a wife at this time? 
 — A. A woman I have who by the world is called 
 my wife; and some children I have, which, ac- 
 cording to the flesh, are mine. — Q. Those books 
 which thou hast written, wilt thou maintain them 
 and affirm what is therein. — A. Yea, with my 
 dearest blood. 
 
 The frantic adherents of Nailer were likewise: 
 examined. They uniformly attested their con- 
 viction that he was Jesus, the Sou of God, the 
 Prince of Peace, the everlasting Son of Righte- 
 ousness, and King of Israel, and that in their 
 conduct towards him they had only complied , 
 with the injunctions of the Lord. But the tes-- 
 timony of Dorcas Erbury, mentioned above, and- 
 who was the wido\y of William Erbury, once a 
 
 X 3 .
 
 30 JAMES NAILER. 
 
 minister, is an astonishing compound of blas- 
 phemy and delusion. 
 
 Being asked, Dost thou own him that rode 
 on horseback co be the Holy One of Israel ? — 
 She replied. Yea, I do, and with my blood will 
 seal it.— Q. And dost thou own him for the Son 
 of God. — A. He is the only begotten Son of 
 God. — Q. Wherefore didst thou pull off his 
 stockings, and lay thy clothes beneath his feet ? 
 — A. He is worthy of it, for he is the holy Lord 
 of Israel. — Q. Knowest thou no other Jesus, the 
 only begotten Son of God? — A. I know no other 
 Saviour. — Q. Dost thou believe in James Nai- 
 ler ? — A. Yea, in him w^hom thou callest so I 
 do.— Q. By what name dost thou use to call him ? 
 — A. The Son of God ; but I am to serve him, 
 and to call him Lord and Master. — Q. Jesus was 
 crucified ; but this man you call the Son of God 
 is alive. — A. He hath shaken off his carnal body. 
 — Q. Why what body hath he then ? — A. Say 
 not the scriptures, Thy natural body I will 
 change, and it shall be spiritual. — Q. Hath a. 
 spirit flesh and bones I— A, His flesh and bones 
 aie new. — Q. Chcist raised those that had been 
 dead ; so did not he.^ — A. He raised me. — Q. In 
 what msanner ? — A. He laid his band on my 
 hjead, after 1 had been dead two days, and said, 
 * Dorcas arise !' and I arose and live as thou 
 seest. — Q. Where did be this?— A. In the goal 
 iML Exeter. — Q. Wha.t witoess hast thou for ihis? 
 — A. My mother, wlio was preseiit.— Q.. His
 
 JAMES NA1LEK-. 31 
 
 powei- being so great, m herelbre opened he not 
 the prison-doois, and escaped ?— A. The doors 
 shall open when the Lord's work is done. — 
 Q. What apostles hath he ? — A. Tlicy are scat- 
 tered ; but some are here. — Q. Jesus Christ doth 
 sit on the right-hand of the father, where the 
 world shall be judged by him.— A. He whom 
 thou callest Nailer shall sit at the right-hand 
 of the Father, and shall judge the world in 
 equity. 
 
 Soon after this examination. Nailer and his 
 followers were sent to London, to be dealt with 
 36 parliament should think proper. Having been 
 examined by a committee of the house, which 
 made their report on the oth of December, he 
 was next day summoned to appear, and heard at 
 the bar. On the 8th the house came to this re- 
 solution : 'That James Nailer is guilty of horrid 
 blasphemy, and that he is a grand impostor and' 
 a great seducer of the people.' The subject was 
 resumed from that time both forenoon and after- 
 noon, not without some warm debates, and wa^ 
 proposed the twelfth time on the l6th of De- 
 cember. How much time it took up in the 
 liouse appears from two letters of Secretary 
 Thurloe, dated Dec. the 9th and l6th. In the 
 first he says, " These four OT five last days have 
 been wholly taken up about James Nailer, the 
 quaker, who hath had a charge of blasphemy 
 exhibited against him ; and upon hearing mat- 
 ter of fact, he is voted guilty of blasphemy;; 
 and the consideratioft now i.«, (>\\*i^ch I believe
 
 32 JAMES NAILER. 
 
 inny be determined this evening) what punisli- 
 nient shall be inHicted. Many are of opinion 
 tiiat he ought to be put to death." Tliis point, 
 liouever, was not so soon settled as the scere- 
 tary imagined^ for in the second letter he writes:' 
 " The parliament hath done nothing these ten 
 days but dispute whether James Nailer, the qua- 
 ker, shall be put to death for blasphemy. They 
 are much divided in their opinions. ,\i is possi- 
 ble that they may come to a resolution this day. 
 It is probable that his life may be spared." In the 
 postscript he adds: " The parliament came this 
 day to a vote on Nailer's business^ viz. that he 
 should have his tongue bored^ a brand set on his 
 forehead, be set in the pillory, and whipped, and 
 imprisoned for life. The question for his life 
 was lost by fourteen voices." 
 
 On the 17th, after another long debate, the par- 
 liament, pursuant to their vote, came to the fol- 
 lowing pesolution : — " That James Nailer be set 
 Mj the pillory, in the Palace-Yard, Westminster, 
 during the space of two hours, on Thursday 
 next, and be whipped by the hangman through 
 the streets from Westminster to the Old Ex- 
 change, and there likewise be set in the pillory, 
 wiili his head in the pillory, for the space of 
 two hours, between the hours of eleven and one 
 on Saturday next; in each place wearing a paper 
 containing an inscription of his crimes: and 
 that at the Old Exchange his tongue be bored 
 ihrougli with a hot iron, and that he be there 
 also stigmatized in the forehead with the letter B
 
 •J AM lis NAILER. 3 
 
 <5 
 
 for blasplienier. And that that he afterwards be 
 sent to Bristol, and be conveyed into and through 
 the Said city on horseback, with his face back- 
 ward ; and there also publicly whipped the next 
 market-day after he cdmcs thither. And that 
 from thence he be committed to prison in Bride- 
 well, London, and there restrained from the so- 
 ciety of all people, and there to labor hard till 
 he shall be released by parliament; and during 
 that time be debarred the use of pen, ink, and 
 paper; and shall have no relief but what he earns 
 by his daily labor." 
 
 Cromwell wfts at tliis tirtie protector of the 
 kingdom, and several petitions in behalf of Nai- 
 ler wete plesented to him by persons of different 
 pei-suasibns, but he resolved not to read them 
 until sentrence had h'eeh passed. On the 18th 
 of Decern bei- he suffered the first part of his pu- 
 nishment, which was indicted with such rigor, 
 that some judged his sentence would have 
 been more mild if it had been present death. 
 The other p;lrt, namely, boring his tongue and 
 branding his forehead, should liave been exe- 
 cuted two days afterwards,, biit he was reduced 
 so low by the cruel whipping, that iiis farther 
 punishment was respited for a week. During 
 that interval many persons, lobking upon him 
 rather as a madman, than gUilty of wilful blas- 
 phemy, petitioned the parliaihcnt and Cromwell 
 to remit the remainder of his sentence. On this 
 some of the protector's chaplains went and con- 
 versed tN'itli the culprit, and their report frus^
 
 54 JAMES NAILER. 
 
 tratcd the design of these .'ipplications. The 
 rest of his sentence was executed on the 'J7th of 
 December, after which, being sent to Bristol, 
 he was conducted through tliat city on horse 
 tack, with his face backward, and pubHcly wliip- 
 ptd. Then being remanded to London, he was 
 committed to Bridewell. 
 
 Nailer's sufferings brought him to bis senses, 
 and to some degree of humility. Ke wrote a let- 
 ter to the magistrates of Bristol, expressive of 
 his repentance of his former behavior in that 
 city. During the time of his confinement in 
 Bridewell, which was about two years, he mani- 
 fested unfeigned contrition for his follies and of- 
 fences. Having also, notwitlistanding his sen- 
 tence, obtained pen, ink, and paper, he wrote 
 several small books, in wliich he retracted his 
 past errors. In one of them he says : " Con- 
 demned for ever be all false worships, with which 
 any have idolized my person, in the night cf my 
 temptation, when the power of darkness was 
 above all; their castings of their clothes in the 
 way, their bowing and singings, and all the rest 
 of those wild actions which did any ways tend 
 to dishonor the Lord, or draw the minds of any 
 from the measures of Christ Jesus in themselves 
 to look at ilesh which is as grass, or to ascribe 
 that to the visible which belongs to Christ Jesus. 
 All that I condemn, by which tlic pure name of 
 tlie Lord, has been any ways blasphemed through 
 me, in the time of temptation, or the spirits of 
 any people grieved. And also that letter whicli
 
 JAMES NAtLER. 35 
 
 vas sent nic to Exeter bv 11. Strantjev, when I 
 
 »' CD ^ 
 
 WHS ill prison, with these words : ' Thy name 
 bhali be no more James Nailer, but Jesus.' — this 
 1 judge to be written from the imagination; and 
 a fear struck nic when 1 first saw it, and so 1 
 put it in my pocket close, not intending any 
 should- see it ; which they finding on me, spread 
 it abroad, which the simplicity of my heart never 
 owned. So this I deny also, that the name of 
 Christ Jesus was received instead of James Nai- 
 ler, or ascribed to him. — And all these ranting 
 wild spirits wliich then gathered about me in that 
 time of darkness, and all their wild actions and 
 wicked words against the honor of God, iin.l his 
 pure spirit and people; and deny that bad spirit, 
 the power and the works thereof; and as far as I 
 gave advantage, through want of judgment for 
 that evil spirit in any to arise, I take sliame to 
 myself justi}'. And that report, as though 1 had 
 raised Dorcas Erbury from the dead carnally, 
 this 1 deny also, and condemn that testimony to 
 be out of the truth ; though that power that 
 quickens the dead 1 deny j(ot, which is the word 
 of eternal life." 
 
 "He likewise composed some other pieces, 
 which may be seen in Sewel's History of the 
 Quakers. These people had disowned him dur- 
 ing his extravagant flights, but after his repen- 
 tance, they re-admitted the lost sheep into their 
 societ}'. 
 About the latter end of October, lG60, Nailer 
 
 et out from London towards the north, with an 
 o
 
 |36 JAMES NAILER. 
 
 intention of going homo to his wife and children, 
 who stDl lived at AVukefield. Some miles be- 
 yond Huntingdon he was taken ill, having, as it. 
 was reported, been robbed by the way, and left 
 bound. Whether he received an3' personal in- 
 jury is not recorded, but being found in a field^. 
 by a countryman, towards evening, he was car- 
 ried to a friend's house, at Holm, near King's 
 Ripton, where he expired in November, I66O. 
 
 Such was the end of this enthusiast, who ren- 
 dered himself as miserable as possible, without 
 doing any service to mankind. From him we 
 learn that a most abundant source of error and 
 delusion, and a principle the most mischievous 
 of any in its consequences, is a spirit of enthu- 
 siasm, spurred on by ambition and pride. Tliis 
 blind and ungovernable guide has, at different 
 times, led an incredible number of persons of 
 weak judgment and strong imagination, through 
 a maze of such strange and imaccountable follies, 
 us one would imagine, could never have entered . 
 into the thoughts of a being endowed with rea- 
 son — such follies as have rendered the persons 
 possessed with them a plague to the world, as 
 well as to themselves; while their actions have 
 been a disgrace to human nature, and a scandal 
 to the christian name. It therefore behoves 
 every rational person to take particular care to 
 preclude the access of so disagreeable a guest in- 
 to his bosom, not only for his own sake, but for 
 that of the society of which he is a member.
 
 MRS. MOIS^TAGUE. 
 
 This lady, was daughter of M:ittbe\v "Robinson 
 Esq. late of VV^est Lax'ton in Yorkshire a;ul Hor- 
 ton in Kent, and sister to Lord Rolceby of eccen- 
 tric nieinory. Slie was born about the ve;<r 1730. 
 The care of her education was coinniittcd to her 
 relation, the cclel>rated Dr. Conyers Middleton, 
 the author of the Hie of Cicero, aufl other admir- 
 ed pubfications. Under a tutor of such r.b/diries 
 it is no wonder that Miss lv()hi!wot\ 'Nhould 
 liave displayed an early propciisiiy tor literary 
 pursuits; nay, it is even said that she had trans- 
 cribed the whole of the Spectator at cii;ht vcars 
 of age. This report almost exceeds belief, though 
 it has been attested by the best autlioritv, and 
 was always solemnly affimcd by Dr. Monsev, a 
 particular friend of Dr. Middleton, as well a.» 
 of the lady herself. 
 
 From the respectability of her connexions Miss 
 Robinson was introduced to the acquaintance of 
 many of the most distinguished characters of her 
 time. With the amiable Lord Lyttletonshc was 
 on terms of the greatest intimacy, and hud he 
 been free from matrimonial ties, she might have 
 coinniandedhis title and fortune. It is well known 
 that she assistt-il this nobleman in the composi- 
 tion of his Diiiiugues of llis Dead, and some ol 
 VOL. 0. — NO. 18. Y
 
 2 MTJS. MONTAGUE. 
 
 the best portions of that work were acknowledg 
 edbyliis lordship to haveproeeedetliVom her pen 
 It lias beeu imagined that slu- was at one time at 
 tached to Pultciicy, the celebrated earl of Bath. 
 >>h'e afterwards accompanied tluii nobleman and 
 his lady on a tour through Germany. 
 
 Miss llol)inson conl'erred her hand on Edward 
 aMontague E«.(|. of Denton Castle in Northum- 
 berland, grandson to the Hrst Earl of Sandwich, 
 uhom she survived many years. ^Ve have alrea- 
 dy seen that the early proinise of her literary ge- 
 nius was not disappointed in her maturer years. 
 She was not only a good scholar but possessed u 
 sound judgment and excellent taste. These led 
 her to com pose her Esstn/ on the 1\rit'nigs and Ge- 
 nius of iShiihcspeaie, in answer to the frivolous ob- 
 jections of Vohaire. This performance, the only 
 avowed production of lier pen, must always rank 
 with the best illustrations of the powers of the En- 
 glish bard, his not an elaborate exj)osition of ob- 
 scure passages, but a comprehensive survey of the 
 sublimity of his genius, of his profound knowledge 
 of human nature, and of the wonderful resources 
 of his imagination. The Erench critic with his usu- 
 al as[»erity presuiiies to censure the father of the 
 IJriti^jh drama for defects which he does not [)Os- 
 scss, and exaggerates the im|)roprieties that are 
 lo he fuuiui in his wriiings. The truth is, that the- 
 proihu'tiou"^ of no mortal can hoa-st of perfec- 
 tiijM^ that considerable allowtmce must be iiiiidc 
 for the complexion of the times wnen the poet 
 lived; and, lu^ilv; thni Voilaire, being not tho
 
 MRS. JMON'TAGUE. C 
 
 roughly acqujiiiiled with the English language, 
 was by no nieuns competent to the task he had 
 undertaken, in tliiis sitting in judgment on tlic 
 oinameni and gloiy of our country. 
 
 jNlany able Judges of literary merit have pro- 
 nounced an cLjlogium on Mrs. Montague's per- 
 formance, and even fastidious readers have pe- 
 rused it with pleasiue: there is a neatness in the 
 style, and clearness in theairang«.-ment, and a be* 
 nevolence in the tendency and design of her ob- 
 iservations. But we will ifot conceal from our lea- 
 ders that the colossal Johnson gioicled, and 
 vented his spleen in ill-natured expressions con- 
 cerning it. We cannot, however, deem him 
 an unerring oracle : he reprobated Gray, whose 
 writings have attracted frojn the public iiO small 
 degree of adinjiation. 
 
 The epistolary correspondence of Mrs. Mon- 
 tague possessed much playfulness of fancy; she, 
 in this department, exceeded even her cele- 
 brated female name-sake, whose letters, how- 
 ever doubtful their orgin, were marked for ap- 
 propriateness of spirit and gracefulness of expres- 
 sion. By some, the subject of this memoir had 
 the palm of superiority assigned her. Her. epis- 
 tolary excellence particularly displayed iijcif in 
 her correspondence wiiii Dr. Mousey, physician . 
 to Chelsea Colle2,e, to whotn she wrote duriny; 
 her excursion through Germany. He lived to a , 
 very advanced Bge. The follow ing is an extract 
 of a letter of pleasantry from this lady to Dr. 
 Monsey, dated Jan. J785;— 
 
 V 2
 
 MRS. MONTAGUEi 
 
 *' MY DEAR DOCTOE. 
 
 *• 1 FLATTER myself you do not love me 
 loiis -vehemently at ninety than you did at eighty- 
 nine. Indeed I feel mv passion for vou increase 
 yearly: a miser does not love a new guinea , or 
 aa antiquary an oW one, more than 1 do you ; 
 like a virtuGsOy I admire the verd mitifjne on your 
 character, and set a higher price on your affec- 
 tion every dav if the winter of the year had 
 teen as pleasant as the winter of your age, 1 
 should have calk-d on you at Chelsea before thi« 
 tiflne, buflthas been so harsh and'scvere, that 1 
 dnrst not venture myself abroad under its influ- 
 tnce," &c. 
 
 In private life, Mrs. M. was an example of 
 liberal discretion and rational benevolence. Her 
 hand was extended to the protection of genius 
 and to the relief of distress. Her mansion was 
 the resort of distinguished characters, and all 
 ■\scre ready to pay the homage due to the endovv- 
 ments of her head and to the amiable qualities of 
 her heart. Owe sin-djular instance of lier benevo- 
 lence must not be passed over unnoticed: — for 
 so'qi€ years previous to iier decease, she annually 
 fc.itei.«ii.ied, on the first day of INia}', with roast 
 "h.^f PTld plumb-pudding, the chimnn/szceq.ers 
 of the metropolis, in the court-yard of her house, 
 iu. Portman-square ! It was re[)orted that her pre- 
 dilection for the sooty tribe originated in her hav- 
 ing ortce lost a child, which she found amongst 
 tliein. But this cannot be a fact, for she never had 
 u family. Tiic real cause was, her delight to dc
 
 HON. MRS. GODFREY. O 
 
 good ; and, in imitation of Jonas Ilnnway, sire 
 thought her regards were particularly 'Int.- to this 
 unfortunate class of society. Mrs Montague 
 died at her house in Portnian-squarc, 1800, ha- 
 ving reached an advanced age. 
 
 Notwithstanding the mean opinion of iSIrs. 
 Montague's Pmciication,\\\nc\\ Dr. Johnson pro- 
 fessed to entertain, and which was one of those 
 into which he was souietimcs goaded either by 
 peevishness or the importunity of his friends; we 
 find him on another occasion expressing the tol- 
 iowing, and which were probably his real senti- 
 ments concerning this lady; " She did not make 
 a trade of her wit, but was a veiy extraordinary 
 woman. She had a constant stream of conver- 
 sation, and it was always impregnated ; it had 
 always meaning." 
 
 But whatever pretensions she might have to 
 wit or talents, it is much more pleasing to be 
 able to assert, that her virtues and the goodness 
 of heart which she displayed throughout a long: 
 life, deservedly entitle her to the esteem and imi- 
 tation of posterity. 
 
 HON. MRS. GODFREY. 
 
 The history of this lady serves to shew the dan- 
 ger of too precipitate an interment of persons, 
 in whom life is suddenly to all appearance extin- 
 guished. She was mistress of the Jewel-oflicCj 
 
 Y 3
 
 t> HON. MRS. GODFnEY. 
 
 atul sister to the great duke of Marlborough. 
 During her residence at Tiinbridge, in 172'2, she 
 conceived sucli an esteem for the family of Miss 
 Seal, afterwards, mother of the celebrated Mr?. 
 Bellamy, that she offered to bring her up and 
 have her educated in every respect the same as her 
 own daughter. Miss Godfrey. Mrs. Seal, how- 
 ever, having at this time no reason to doubt that 
 her child was amply provided for, politely de- 
 clined the offer, but agreed, that on Mrs. God- 
 frey's return to town for the winter, she should ac- 
 company, and spend three or four monilis with 
 her. 
 
 That season bein;^ now come, Mrs. Godfrey 
 set out for London, and upon her arrival, beard 
 that her no!)!e brother was given over by his 
 pliysicians; but having been for some time at 
 variance with the duchess, on account of her ex- 
 ])Osing, though reduced to a state of second 
 childhood, the man who had rendered himself 
 so famous— an imprudence which deservedly gave 
 offence to Mrs. Godfrey, she had not the satisfac- 
 tion of seeing him before he died. Here, it must 
 be observed, that the Duchess of Marlborough, 
 much to her discredit, used to take the duke witli 
 her in the coach, whenever she went abroad, 
 even upon the most trivial occasions, exhibiting 
 as a public spectacle the hero who had lately 
 kept nations in awe, and whose talents in the 
 cabinet were equal to his valour and military 
 knowledge in the field. 
 
 Mrs. Godfrey was prevented, by this disa- 
 
 3
 
 HON. MRS. GODrREY. 7 
 
 grcpment, from paying a visit herself at Marl- 
 borough-house, to condole with her sister-in-law 
 on the loss which their family and the nation had 
 sustained. Having, however, an inclination to 
 l<now how things were conducted there, she sent 
 her woman, ]\Jr. Busby's daughter, to make, en- 
 qiiiries: and tlie latter, overcome by the impor- 
 tunities of Miss Seal, who had attended Mrs. 
 Godfrey to town as proposed, accompanied 
 her to see the remains of the duke lie in state. 
 When they arrived at the gate of Marlborough- 
 housethey found it open, but to their infinite 
 •surprise, niet not a living creature during their- 
 passage to the room in which the body was de- 
 posited. So totally was this great man neglected 
 in the last stage of his mortal exhibition, that 
 not a single attendant, or one glimmering taper, 
 remained about him as tokens of respectful at- 
 tention. The ladies were obliged to the day- 
 light alone for the faint view they obtained of 
 the funeral decorations. This melancholy and 
 disrespectful scene was no sooner described to 
 Mrs. Godfrey by her woman, than it had such 
 an eftect upon her as to occasion a long and se- 
 vere illness ; which at length reduced her to such 
 a state, that had she experienced the same neg- 
 lectful treatment her brother hud done, she must 
 have been buried alive. 
 
 One Sunday, fancying herself better than she 
 had been for some time, and able to go to cha- 
 pel, as she was dressing for that purpose she sud- 
 denly fell dowu to all appearance dead. The
 
 S BON. MRS. GODFREY. 
 
 screams of her women brought Colonel Godfrey 
 into tlie room, who having probably seen instan- 
 ces of persons remaining in a state of insensibi- 
 lity for a considerable time, and afterwards reco- 
 vering, directed that his lady should be immedi- 
 ately put into bed, and that two persons should 
 constantly continue with her, till indubitable 
 symptoms appeared of her decease. The conse- 
 quences proved with how much judgment the 
 colonel had acted. 
 
 Notwithstandingtheopinion of the physicians, 
 who all declared that the breath of life was irre- 
 coverably departed; and in opposition to the so- 
 licitations of his friends to have the body interred, 
 he continued resolute in his determination till the 
 Sunday following, when exactly at the same 
 liour on which the change had happened, signs 
 appeared of returning sensibility. So punctual 
 was nature in her operations upon this singular 
 occasion, that Mrs. Godfrey awoke from her 
 trance just as the chapel bell was once more 
 ringing, which so perfect!}' eradicated from her 
 memory every trace of her insensibility, that she 
 blamed her attendants for not waking her in time 
 to go to church, as she had proposed to do. 
 Colonel Godfrey, whose tenderness to his lady 
 was unremitted, takii>g advantage of this inci- 
 dent, prudently gave orders that she should by 
 no means be made acquainted with what had 
 happened, lest it should make a melancholy im- 
 pression on her mind; and to the day of hec 
 death she remained ignorant of the circurastauce,.
 
 GODIVA. 
 
 This lady was the wife of Leofiic, F.arl of 
 JSlercia, and with her husband, founded in 1043 
 a monastery for an abbot and twenty-four Bene- 
 dictine monks, at Coventry, which was dedicated 
 to the Vu-gin Mary, St. Peter, and St. Osburgh. 
 Leofric and his lady, who botli died about the 
 latter end of the reign of Edward the Confessor, 
 were buried in the cliurchof the abbey they had 
 founded. The former seems to have been the 
 first lord of Coventry, and the latter its greatest 
 benefactress, as will appear from the following 
 extraordinary and indeed romantic tradition, 
 \\hich is not only firmly believed at Coventry, 
 but is recorded by many of our historians.: — 
 The earl had granted the convent and city many ^ 
 valuable previleges ,• but the inliabitants havingj, 
 offended him, he imposed on them very heavyy 
 taxes; for the great lords to whom the towns 
 belonged, under che Anglo Saxons, had that pri^,^ 
 vilege, which cannot be exercised at present by!| 
 any but the house of commons. The people 
 complained grievously of the severity of the 
 taxes, and applied to Godiva, the earl's lady, a^. 
 woman of great piety and virtue, to intercede in 
 their favour. She willingly complied with their 
 request, but the earl remained inexorable: he 
 Tuiil his ladv, that weie she .to rid.e nakud through
 
 30 eODivA. 
 
 the streets of the city, lie would remit the tax— - 
 meaning that no persuasion whatever should pre- 
 vail with him, and thinki^ig to silence her hy the 
 strange proposal ; but she, sensibly toiR'hed by 
 the distress of the city, generously accepted the 
 terms. She therefore sent notice to the magis- 
 trates of the town, with the strictest orders that 
 all doors and windows should be shut, and that- 
 no person should attemj)t to look out on pain of' 
 death. These precautions being taken, the lady 
 rode through the city covered only with her fine 
 flowing locks. While riding in this manner 
 through the streets, no one dared to look at her, 
 except a poor taylor, who, as a punishment, it 
 is said, for his violating the injunction of the 
 noble lady, which had been published with so 
 pious and benevolent a design, was struck blind. 
 This taylor has been ever since remembered by 
 the name of Peeping Toni, and in memory of 
 the event, his figure is still kept in the win- 
 dow of the house from whence it is said he grati- 
 fied his curiosity.— The lady having thus dis- 
 charged her engagements, the earl performed his 
 promise, and granted the city a charter, by which 
 they were exempted from all taxes. As a proof 
 of the truth of this circunjstance, in a window 
 of Trinity church are the figures of the carl 
 and his lady, and beneath the following inscrip- 
 tion: — 
 
 " I, Leofric, for tlic love of thee, 
 " Dosef Coioiitry toll free." 
 
 To this day, the benevolent act of Godiva ii
 
 JOHN ORME. H 
 
 snniially coinincnioriitccl on Friday ia Trinity 
 wt't'k, when a valiant t'air-one rides, not literally 
 like the u:ood eonntess, but in silk, closelv iilted 
 to her limbs, and oF c<^lour emulating her com- 
 plexion. The figure oF Peeping Tom, in the 
 great street, is also new dressed on the occa- 
 sion. — Mr. O'Keete has [)roduced a musical en- 
 tertainment on this subject, written with all the 
 delkacij the subject would admit. 
 
 JOHN OIIME. 
 
 JT must be a sidijcct of pain to every liumane 
 mind, that by the admission of circumstantial 
 evidence into the system of the criminal judica- 
 ture of Britain, innocent persons have frequent- 
 ly suffered the punishment due to guilt. The 
 subject before us affords ati instance of as re- 
 markable an escape from this fate as can, per- 
 haps, be produced. 
 
 John Oakes resided at ]Macclcsfield, in Che- 
 shire, where he followed the hmnble occupation 
 of a collier, and by his industry siij)ported a large 
 family. About the year J78-5, two persons, 
 named Lowe and Oakes, chaiiied with coininir. 
 \>Qve apprehended at iSJaeelesfield. Oakes was 
 merely a carrier, and Lowe the aeUiuI maker of 
 the base coin; but as the law acin^iis of no acces- 
 sary, every person assisting being u j)rineijMil, 
 Oakes was convicted and executed. Lowe was
 
 J2 JOHN OIiME. , 
 
 more fortunate ; though found gi illy, and sen- 
 tence passed, in consequence of a flaw in the in- 
 dictment (the omission simply of the particle ov) 
 his case was referred to the opinion of the twelve 
 judges, and his life saved. 
 
 About this period a man, a stranger from 
 Birmingham, arrived at Macclesfield, and took 
 a room in the house of Orme, under the pretext 
 of keeping a school. Here he remained a few 
 ^veeks, till a vacation time came on, when he 
 told his landlord, Orme, he should go and see 
 his friends at Birmingham, and on his return 
 would pay his rent. Stopping, however, longer 
 than he promised, Orme from necessity hroke 
 open his lodger's door; when on entering the 
 room he found a crucible for coining, with a few 
 bnse shillings, the latter of which he put care- 
 lessly into his pocket, but, as he solemnly pro- 
 tested, did not attempt to utter them. 
 
 A few days after this circumstance, some cot- 
 ton having been stolen from a mill in the neigh- 
 bourhood, a search-warrant was granted, when 
 among others, the constables entered Ortne's 
 house, where they found the above article for 
 coining. As might naturally be si-pposed, they 
 concluded that Orme was a party with Lowe and 
 Oakcs, and seized the instrument eagerly carr}'- 
 ing it before a magistrate. A warrant was im- 
 mediately granted to apprehend Orme on a 
 charge of coining, and lie was taken from his 
 employment at the bottom of a coal-pit. On 
 •iheu' way to the magistrate's ofliee, he was in-
 
 JO«N ORME. IS 
 
 formed by the constables of the nature of the 
 charge against him; when, recollecting the base 
 money he hnd in his pockety just as he was en- 
 tering tlie office, his fears got so much the as- 
 cendancy over liis prudence, that he hastily put 
 his hand into his pocket, and taking out the shil- 
 lings, crammed them into his mouth, from wliicn 
 they were taken b}' a constable. A circum- 
 stance apparently so conclusive against the 
 prisoner, could not fail to have its weight \vitli 
 the jury at his trial, and the poor fellow^ was 
 convicted. Judgment of deatli was accord- 
 ingly passed by the late Lord Alvan'ly, thent he 
 Hon. Pepper Arden. 
 
 Ormc was sentenced to die with Oakes, but 
 a few days before that which was appointed to 
 be his last, a brother of Orme's resident in Lon- 
 doi», a cheese-factor and hop-merchant in the 
 Borough, arrived at Chester with a respite for 
 a fortnight. In this interval a gentlemati ac- 
 quainted with the circumstances of the case, 
 drew^ up a petition to the fountain of meroy, iW 
 king, and principally assisted by the Late Kolls 
 Legh, Esq. procured the signatures of a consi- 
 derable part of the grand jury to the same. — 
 Orme's respite expired at one o'clock on IMon- 
 day, the hour that was to terminate his earthly 
 existence. On the Saturday night preceding, 
 his friends waited at the post-ofllce with an anx- 
 iety and solicitude that words can but faintly de- 
 scribe : at the hour of eleven, the unpropitious 
 
 VOL. 2. — NO. 17. z
 
 ]l 
 
 JOHN ORMt:. 
 
 niul niiwelcoiric iii[brii)ation arrived that all had 
 failed. 
 
 This failure had arisen in consequence of the 
 prisoner attemptint^ to break out of gaol after 
 sentence had been passed : and here the rough 
 but honest blnniness of Mr. liolls Legh ought not 
 Lo be forgotten, — On applying to the foreman 
 of the grand jnry to sign the [)etition, the latter 
 objected, saying, ■*' he could not, as Orme had 
 attempted to breakout of the castle." AJ r. 
 Legh exclaimed — " By G — d so would you, 
 if you were under sentence of death," 
 
 Notii ray of hone was now left, and the un- 
 fortunate' prisoner had no expectation of living 
 beyond the; appointed moment. Accordingly 
 the dreadful aceoinpaniments of a public, ig- 
 nominious deaih. were prepared — a hurdle to take 
 his body to the iaral tree (as in cases of petry 
 treason), the sheriif 's ofticers were all summon- 
 ed, and a cortin was made to receive his remains. 
 Supported by conscious innocence, never was a 
 man better prepared to meet so awful an end 
 than Orme; all the Sutiday his mind was serene, 
 placid, and comfortable, not the least emotion, 
 not even a sigh escaped him; and when the news 
 arrived of his deliverance from death, he silently 
 received it with apparent disappointment. Aboui; 
 ten o'clock on that night the king's special nies- 
 sehger arrived with a reprieve, the persevering 
 and fraternal atlcetion of his brother having; ul- 
 t.iu'iately succeeded. He sullered, however, five
 
 • ars incnrceratioii iji the castle, fibm-the time 
 (if Ills- reprieve, and .ti)e governor, the late-Mr.' 
 i .lithf'iil Thomas, has-been heard to say, he did 
 a- much irood in rearlint"; reliuious tracts to. the; 
 ])risoners, as any ordinary could possibly -have 
 'ione in the sanie poricKl. , . . 
 
 He survived 'his liberation (procured by. the 
 late Judge Beareroii) nearly sixteen year^; 
 bi()UG;ht up a lar2:e family bv honest indiisiry, 
 and his memory, we hope, will bo e-mbahue<l 
 with the poor man'-s only meed, next to the sa-, 
 tistaetion oF his own heart — the approbation of 
 l)Ostenty. He died at AJaccleslield in ISOG,- . 
 
 • I\IARY DIXAN Y. 
 
 This lady eminently distinguished for her ingc- 
 
 j nuily, was born at a sukiM country-house of her 
 
 r father's at Coulston in Wiltshire on the 14th of 
 
 I Mivv 1700. • Her deseent and lanfrlv eonne'ctious 
 
 ! \vcre highly honorable, she being the daughter of 
 
 , Bernard, a younger brother oi" George Granville 
 
 I Esq. afterwards Lord Landsdoun, a nobleman 
 
 whose virtues atu! -iibiliti^-'s, ' v» hose friendship 
 
 with Pone and Sw ifi, and oilier eminent writer^s 
 
 of his age, togetiier with liis general patronage 
 
 of men of geniu^^, have been so often reeorrled. 
 
 lielonGfins: to Buch a family Miss Ciranville 
 coiild not fall of receiving the best education. 
 She resided chiefly with her auut Lady Stanley 
 
 z '2 .
 
 16 MARY DELANY. 
 
 at Whitehall, but paid frequent visits tolier un- 
 cle Landsdown in the country. In the society of 
 a nobleman^ who united the accon)|)iishments of 
 the polite courtier, with those of the elegant 
 scholar, her understanding was ranch improved, 
 her taste refined, and she acquired a grace and 
 dignity of manners which she preserved till- the 
 close of her life. 
 
 At Long Leat, the seat of the W^eymouth fa- 
 mily, occupied by Lord Landsdown during the 
 minority of the heir. Miss Granville first saw 
 Alexander Pendarvis Esq, a gentleman of large 
 property at Roscrow in the count}"^ of Cornwall. 
 He immediately paid his addresses to her, and 
 so strenuously were they supported by her uncle, 
 whom she had not the coinage to refuse, that she 
 gave a reluctant consent to the match, and accor- 
 dingly it took place in the course of two or three 
 weeks, she being then in the seventeenth year of 
 her age. 
 
 In consequence of a great disparity of years, 
 and other causes, she was very unhappy dirring 
 the time this connection lasted. She howevei' 
 employed the retirement to which she was con- 
 fined in the farther cultivation of her understand- 
 ing, and particularly made a great proficiency in 
 music. In 17^24 she became a widow, on which oc- 
 casion she quitted Cornwall and fixed her princi 
 pal residence in London. 
 
 Tor several years, between iT.SOaud J73G, she 
 maintained a correspondence wiiii Pcan Swift, 
 and some of her letters arc inserted in his works.
 
 MAPY DF, I.ANT. I 7 
 
 III 1743 after rcmainiri!:^ a widow nineteen years, 
 she was inarried to Dr. Oelany, with whom she 
 hail long been acquainted. This union, whicli in 
 some degree compensated for tli6 unhappiness of 
 the former, was dissolved by the decease of the 
 doctor in May 17^8. 
 
 Mrs. Delany had in her early years formed an 
 intimacy with the duchess dowager of Portland, 
 and which after this event her grace cultivated 
 Avith increased assiduity. In winter scarcely a 
 day passed in which the duchess, unless confined 
 hy illness, did not pass some time with Mrs. De- 
 lany at her house in St. James's IMace. The sum- 
 mer was spent by the latter at Bulstrode, the ele- 
 uant mansion of her friend, or in excursions 
 among ber relations in the counties of Warwick 
 aird Stafford. 
 
 On the death of the duchess, tlie king assigned 
 ber, as a summer-residence, a house at Windsor 
 completely furnished, and to prevent inconveni- 
 ence from this increased establishment, conferred 
 on her a pension of three hundred pounds a year. 
 The manner in which this pension was paid, ad- 
 ded to the gracefulness of the gilt. To prevent 
 the customary deductions, the queen herself, in 
 the most condescending manner, carried to her 
 every half year the baidc-notes in her pocket. 
 Mrs. Delany did not stand in need of this aii'i as 
 an eleemosinary appointment; the munificence 
 of the king proceeded from the esteem jiJ-*^-" 
 their nuv-sties entertained of hej^if-^-^:^"^^''' ^"'\ 
 Ivoin their desire to 'iave near them a lady of 
 
 z 3
 
 IB MARY JbELANY. 
 
 such uncommon merit and endowments. To 
 the latter it is owing that Mrs. Delany has 
 been admitted to a place in this work. She was 
 particularly distinguished for her skill in painting 
 and in other ingenious arts, one of which was 
 entirely of her own invention. With respect to 
 painting, she was late in her application to it. 
 She did not learn to draw till she was more than 
 thirty years of age, when she put herself under 
 the instruction of Goupy, a fashionable master 
 of that time, and much employed by the father 
 of his present majesty. She did not take to oil- 
 painting tiil she was past forty. So strong was 
 her passion for this art, tliat she was frequently 
 known to eiuploy herself in it, day after day, 
 from six o'clock in the morjning tiil dinner-time, 
 allowing only a short interval for breakfast. She 
 was principally a copiest, but a very fine one. 
 The only considerable original work by her iti 
 oil was the raising of Lazarus, which, after her 
 death, came into the possession of her friend 
 Lady Bute. The number of pictures painted by 
 her, considering hov/ late it was in life before 
 she applied to the art, was very great. Her own 
 iiouse was full of them, and others were among 
 the chief ornaments of Calswick, Welsbourn and 
 llara, the respective residences of her nephews 
 Mr. Granville and Mr. Dewes and her niece 
 Mrs. Port. 
 
 Among other accompli&hments Mrs. Delany 
 */" '' -^ in embroidery and shell-wovk; and ia 
 tbecouise oX iic* y.,^ i.vo<luccd many cleguiu
 
 MATIY DELANY. 19 
 
 specimens of her skill in these respects. But 
 what is more remarkable with regard to her is, » 
 that, at the age of seventy-four she invented a 
 new and beautiful mode of exercising her inge- 
 nuity. This was by the construction of" a Flora; 
 of a most singular kind, formed by applying co- 
 lored papers together, and which might not im- 
 properly be called a species of mosaic work. Be- 
 ing perfectly mistress of her scissars, she cut out 
 the planter flowerwhich she purposed to imitate; 
 that is she cut out its various leaves and parts in 
 such colored Chinese paper as suited her subject; 
 and as she could not ahvays meet with a color to 
 correspond with the one she wanted, she then 
 ilyed her paper to answer her wishes. She 
 used a black ground as best calculated to throw 
 out her flower; and not the least astonishing 
 part of her art was, that though she never em- 
 ployed her pencil to trace out the form or shape 
 of the plant, yet when she applied all the pieces 
 of which it was composed, it hung so loosely and 
 gracefully, that every one who saw it was per- 
 suaded it must have been drawn out and repeat- 
 edly corrected by a most judicious hand, before 
 it could have attained the ease and air of truth 
 which, without any impeachment of the honor 
 of this accomplished lady, might justly be called 
 a J'orgery of Nature's works. The effect w as su- 
 perior to what painting could have produced; 
 and so imposing was her art, that she would 
 sometimes put a real leaf of a plant beside one of 
 her own creation, which the eye could not de-
 
 20 MARY DEL A NY. 
 
 detect even when she bcrseU" pointed it out. 
 Mrs. Dclany continued in the prosecution of 
 her design till the eighty-third year of her age 
 when the dimness of her sight obliged iier to lay 
 it aside. However, b}' lier unwearied persever- 
 ance, she became authoress of bv far the most 
 complete Tlora ever executed by the same hand. 
 The number of plants iinislied by her amounted 
 to one hundred and eighty. This invaluable 
 collection she bequeathed to her nephew, Court 
 Dewes, Esq. 
 
 The liberality of Mrs. Delany's mind rendered 
 lier^t all times ready to communicate her art. 
 She frequently pursued her work in company: 
 was desirous of shewing to her friends how easy 
 it was to execute; and was often heard to lament 
 that so few would attempt it. It required, how- 
 ever, two essential requisites to undertake it with 
 success, great patience, and a great knowledge in 
 botanical drawing. 
 
 When Mrs. Delany had entered the eightieth 
 Year of her age, she prefixed to the first volume 
 of her Flora the following lines, having never 
 written, so far as is known, any verses before. 
 
 " Hail to tlic liappy hour when Fancy led 
 My pensive mind Uie flowery path to tread. 
 And gave me emulation to presume 
 With timid Art to trace fair Nature's bloom ; 
 To view wiili awe the great creative power 
 Tliat shines conlost in the minutest flower ; 
 With wonder to ])ursuc the glorious line. 
 And gratefully adore the hand divin»,"
 
 • MARY DEL AN Y. SI 
 
 These lines are succeeded by wlmt follows^ in 
 pn^se: 
 
 " This paper Alosaic work was begun in the se- 
 venty-fourth y(~<u* of my age, which 1 at first only 
 meant as an imitation of an Ilortus siccus, and 
 as an employment and amusement to supply the 
 Joss of those that had fermerly been delightful to 
 me, but had lost their power of pleasing; being 
 deprived of that friend, whose partial approbation 
 was my pride, and had stumped a'valiie on them. 
 Thouu;h the oO'ect of this work was more than I 
 had expected, I thought that a whim of my own 
 fancy might fondly beguile my judgment to 
 think better of it than it deserved; asid I should 
 have dropped the attempt as vain, had not the 
 duchess dowager of Portland looked on it with 
 favourable eyes. Her approbation was such a 
 sanction to my undertaking as made it appear df 
 consequence, and gave mc courage to go on with 
 confidence. To her 1 owe more than I dure ex- 
 press; but my heart will ever feel, with the ut- 
 most gratitude and tenderest affection, the ho- 
 nor and delight 1 have enjoyed in her most gene- 
 rous, steady and delicate friendship, for above 
 forty years. 
 
 " MARY DELANY. 
 
 ,, Tlicsnme desires, tlie same ingenious Hrls 
 l)elin;lit(Ml both. — We owu'd and bics.s'd lliat power 
 ' That juin'd at oiict our siudifs and our lit'art> ! 
 
 Muion, Ehpj 111, 
 
 '•' IJulstrodc 5th Julv, 1779."
 
 212 MARY DRLANY. 
 
 The following pleasing anecdote relative to tl is 
 subject slioiilil not be otnitted : — Mrs. Delanw 
 while in [rclaiid was presented with a citron, the 
 seeds ol" which she ])hinted, and reared to a tree, 
 which. at the time of her leaving that country vvas= 
 in its perfection. A\ hen she was become ena- 
 mored of her new work, she often wished to per- 
 petuate the tree she had lelt behind her, and in- 
 timating this wish to the duchess dowfio;er of 
 ]^ort!and, her noble friend with that benevo- 
 lence which distinguished lier character, contriv- 
 ed to gel the tree sent over to Bulstrode.- As 
 soon as it was recovered from the accidents of 
 so long a journev, it was placed in the gallery,' 
 and when Mrs. Delany admired the beauty of the 
 plant, she was informed by her grace that it was 
 the identical tree she liad so often been desirous 
 of obtaining. I'hc celebrated Mr. Keate hap- 
 pened to pay a visit at Bulstrode, just as Mrs. 
 Delany had finished the portrait of a branch of 
 lier favourite citron-tree: and hearing the history 
 of it, a desire was excited in him, of commemo- 
 rating an •event, which g^ve him an 0[>portunity 
 of recording the abilities of M.rs. Delany, and 
 tlic discerning and attentive frienrls.hip of the 
 duchess. This he accordingly did in an elegant 
 co])V of verses entitled " A I'etition from ]Mrs. 
 ])elany's Citron Tree to lier grace the Duchess 
 ilowagev of Portland." 
 
 In I78G ^Irs. Delany lost her sight, and on 
 Jho l.")lh of .April 1788 she expired, al'ter a short 
 uidisposition, at her housQ in St. James's Plucc,
 
 EDWARD WORTLEY JiONTAGUE. 23 
 
 having nearly coinplcled the eighty eighth year 
 of her age. She was buried in a vauh of St. 
 James's Chureh, and on one of its eohilnns a 
 stone is erceted to her memory brielly recording 
 her descent, niarriatres and character. 
 
 J\] r. VValpole in the hitcr cchtions of hi^ " An- 
 ecdotes of painting," speaking of a particular pic- 
 inrc, uhich was in t!ie possession of the duchess 
 dowager of Portland, expresses himself in a note 
 as follows: " Tliis j)ortrait the duchess, at her 
 death, l)equeathed to her friend, the widow of 
 ]>r. Delany and e(jrrespondeiit of Dr. Sw'ft: a 
 lady of excellent sense and taste, a paintress in 
 oil, who, at the age of seventy-five invented 
 the art lA' jiaper Mosaic, with which material, 
 colored, she in eight years, executed within 
 twenty of a thousand various Howcrs and Hower- 
 it)g shrubs, with a precision and trutli unparallel- 
 ed." 
 
 EDWARD WORTLEY I\IOXTAGUE. 
 
 VA ERE it possible to collect a complete account 
 of the variegated scenes of which the life of this 
 most eccentric person was composed, the work 
 would probably be as entertaining as any in the 
 English language. His father was of the same 
 name as himself, and his mother was Lady Mary 
 Wortlcy Montague celebrated for her accom- 
 pTifihmcnls and her llteiary talents.
 
 24 EDWARD WOETLEY MONTAGUE. 
 
 Their son was placed for educafion at West- 
 minster School, but from that seminary he nm 
 away three several times. Exchanging clotlies 
 with a chimney-sweeper, he followed for some 
 time that disgusting occupation. He then en- 
 gaged with a fisherman and cried flounders at 
 \Rotherliithe. He afterwards sailed as a cabin- 
 boy to Spain, where he had no sooner arrived 
 than he ran away from tlie vessel, and hired him- 
 self a driver ol: mules. 
 
 After leading for some time this vagabond life, 
 he was discovered by the Encjlish consul, who 
 sent him home to his family, by whom he was re- 
 ceived with demonstrations of the most sincere 
 joy. A private tutor was employed to jecover 
 those rudiments of learning, which a life of dis- 
 sipation and vulgarity might have obliterated* 
 He was then sent to the West Indies, where he 
 remained some time, and on his return to England, 
 was chosen a member in two successive parlia- 
 ments. 
 
 Soon after his reconciliation with his father, 
 , the latter cfied very suddenly, without having al- 
 tered his will, as he intended, in favour of his 
 son. Not long afterwards he had the misfortune 
 to offend his mother irreconcileably. The cause of 
 this antipathy was probably an union wliich he is 
 said to have formed with a female who aspired to 
 acharacter no higher than that of a wabherwoman. 
 As the marriai:;e was solemnized in a frolic, he 
 never deemed her sufficiently his wife to cohabit 
 with her, but allowed her a maintenance. Too
 
 tBWAUl* \VOR'i'M:V MO NT AG UK. 2^ 
 
 Too suhtnissive to be troublesome on account of 
 tbe conjiigjil rigius, she lived content on this 
 stipend. 
 
 \\'hatever might have been the cause of his 
 mother's inflexible aversion, certain it is that she 
 cut him off with a shilling from all the inheri- 
 tance she ever had it in her power to leave him. 
 Previous to this event he had quitted liis native 
 country involved in debt, and as if unable to 
 concpier a propensity he had imbibed in early 
 youth, commenced the wandering tiaveller he 
 continued till the time of his dcuth. He was 
 abroad when he received his mother's legacy, 
 which he gave with the utmost gaiety to a friend. 
 By these means a vast estate came to Lord Bute 
 Avho had married the sister of Mr. Montaiiue. 
 Nevertheless, that nobleman v.iih a generosity 
 highly creditable to his heart ceded to his bio- 
 ther-in-law much more than he could possibly 
 have claimed or obtained by litigation. 
 
 Mr. Montague had very accommodating prin- 
 ciples and a fine constitution for travelling. The 
 last fourteen years of his lii'e were entirely spent 
 in foreign parts, where he became enamored of 
 the dress and manners of Arat)ia, to which he 
 conformed to the end of his liie. Before that 
 lime he had. been frequently heard to say that he 
 had long since drunk his full siuue of wine and 
 strong liquors, and that he had never once beea 
 guilty of a small folly in tlie whole course oi" his 
 hfe. 
 
 He was now a perfect patriarch in his manners 
 
 yoL. 2.— NO. 18. 2 a
 
 25 EDWATID MORTLEY MONTAGUfi. 
 
 and had wives of aliuost every nation. Wherr 
 be was with AYi Bey in Egypt, he had his hous- 
 hold of Egyptian females. At Constantinople 
 the Grecian women had charms to captivate this 
 unsettled wanderer. In short lie knew perfectly 
 well how to accommodate his taste to the coun- 
 try in which he was. But, continually shifting 
 his place, he never permitted his wives to 
 attend him, considering them as bad travelling 
 companions. 
 
 The best account of the manners of this sin^u- 
 ]ar man is given by tlie late Dr. Moore in his 
 Travels in Italy, in company with the duke of 
 Hamilton. " Hearing," says • this writer, '^ that 
 Mr. Montague resided at V^enice, the duke had 
 4he curiosity to wait on that extraordinarj' man. 
 He met his Jirace at the stair-head, and led us 
 through some apartments, furnished in the Ve- 
 netian manner, into an inner room in quite a 
 different style. There were no chairs, but he ' 
 desired us to seat ourselves on a sopha while he 
 placed himself on a cushion on the floor, with 
 his le.;s crossed in the Turkish fashion. A vounc: 
 black slave sat by him, and a venerable old man, 
 with a long beard, served us with coffee. 
 
 ** A ftcr this collation some aromatic gums were 
 brought and burned in a little silver vessel. Mr. 
 Montague" held his nose over the steam for some 
 minutes and simffed up the perfume with peculi- 
 ar satisfaction; he afterwards endeavoured to 
 collect the smoke with his hands, spreading and 
 rubbing it carefully along his beard, which hung 
 
 b
 
 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGLE. 2? 
 
 in hoary ringlets to his girdle. Wc had a great 
 deal ot coMveisatiou with this venerable looking 
 person, who is, to the last degree acute, com- 
 municative and enici raining, and in whose dis^ 
 course and manners are blended the vivacity of 
 a Frenchman with the gravity ot a 7\irk. We 
 .found him, however, wonderfully prejudiced ia 
 favour of the Turkish character and manners, 
 v/hich he thinks intiniteiy preferable to the Euro- 
 pean, or those of any other nation. 
 
 " He describes the Turks in general as a peo- 
 ple of great sense and integrity^ the most hospi- 
 table, generous and the happiest of mankind. 
 He talks cf returning as soon as possible to 
 Egypt, which he paints as a perfect paradise; 
 and thinks that, had it not been ether wise or- 
 dered for wise purposes, of which it does not 
 become ns to judge, the children ofIs.vael would 
 certainly have chosen to remain where they were, 
 and have endeavored to drive the Egyptians to 
 the jfind of Canaan. 
 
 "' Though INIr. Montague hardly ever stirs 
 abroad, he returned the duke's visits; nuA as we 
 were not provided with cushions, he sat, while 
 he staid, upon a sophn, witii his legs under him^ 
 as he had done at his own house. This posture 
 by long habit is now become the most agreeable 
 to him, and he insists on its being by far the 
 most natural and converslent; but indeed he 
 sceins to cherish the same opinion with respect 
 to ail the customs which prevail among the Turks. 
 Icould not help mentioning one which I suspect- 
 
 £ A 2
 
 «8 edwaud avortlry montaguit. 
 
 cd would be thought both unnatural and incon- 
 venient by at least one half of the human race; 
 thtit of the men beina: allowed to engross as many 
 ivomen as they can maintain, and conftnino; them 
 to the most insipid of all lives within their ha- 
 rems. ' No doubt/ replied he, ' the women are 
 ail enemies to polygamy and concubinage; and 
 there is reason to imagine that this aversion of 
 theirs, joined to the great influence they have 
 in a!i christian countries has prevented Maho- 
 metanism from making any progress in Europe. 
 'J'he Turkish men, on the other hand/ continued 
 he, ' hiive an aversion to Christianity equal to" 
 thi'.t which the christian women have to the reli- 
 gion t)t' Mahomet. Auricular confession is per- 
 fectly horrible to their imagination. Nc Turk, 
 of any delicacy, would ever allow his wife, par- 
 ticularly if he had but one, to hold private con- 
 ference with a man, on any pretext whatever. 
 
 '' I took notice that this aversion to auricular 
 confession could not be a reason for the Turks' 
 dislike to the protestant religion. ' That is true/ 
 said he, ' but you have other tenets in common, 
 with the catholics, which renders your religion 
 as odious as theirs. You forbid polygamy and 
 concubinage, which, in the eyes of the Turks, 
 who obey the dictates of the religion they em- 
 brace, is considered as an intolerable hardship. 
 Besides, the idea which your religion gives of 
 heaven is by no .means to their taste. ]f they 
 believed your account, they would think it the 
 most tiresome and comfortless place in the uni-
 
 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE. 29 
 
 verse, and not one Turk among a thousarKl 
 would go to the christian heaven if he had his 
 choice. Lastly, the christian religion considers 
 women as creatures upon a level with meji, and 
 equally entitled to every enjoyment both here 
 and hereafter. When the Turks are told this,' 
 added he, ^ they are not surprised at being in- 
 formed also, that women, in general, are bettec 
 christians than men; but they are perfectly asto- 
 nished that an opinion which tliey think contra.- 
 ry to common sense, should subsist among the 
 rational, that is to say, the male part of chris- 
 tians. It is impossible,' added Mr. Montague^ 
 * to drive it out of the head of a raussulmanj 
 that women are creatures of a subordinate spe- 
 cies, created merely to comfort and umuse mesi 
 during their journey through this vain world, 
 but by no means worthy of accompanying be- 
 lievers to Paradise, where females, of a nature 
 ftu" superior to women, wait with impatience 
 to receive all pious mussuhnans into their arras.' 
 ** It is needless to relate to you any more of 
 our conversatiotu A ladv to whom [ was 2;iving» 
 an account of it the day on which it happenerl, 
 could with difficulty allow me to proceed thus far 
 in my narration ; but interrupting me with im- 
 patience, she said, slie was surprised I could re- 
 peat all the nonsensical, detestable, impious 
 maxims of the odious MahonKtans ; and she 
 thought Mr. Montague should be sent back to 
 Egypt with his long beard, and not be allowed 
 iQ propagate opiaiyns, the bare tat:'ntion ofvvhich, 
 
 fi A3
 
 30 EDVARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE. 
 
 however reasonable they might appear to Turks, 
 oucrht not to be tolerated in anv Cliristian land." 
 Tlie concluding transactions oi' the remarkable 
 life of Mr. JMontai^ue have been thus related : 
 X)uring his residence at Venice^ he received in- 
 telligence of the death of the original Mrs. Mon- 
 tague, the washerwoman, and as he had no issue 
 by her, his estate was likely to devolve to the se- 
 cond son of Lord Bute. To prevent this he re- 
 solved to return to England and marry. He ac- 
 Cj'.iainted a I'riend with his intentions, and com- 
 inissioned that friend to advertise for any young 
 decent w oman who might be in a pregnant state. 
 The advertisement was inserted sliortly after in 
 one of the morning papers, and consisted of the 
 following words : — " jNlatrimony. A gentleman 
 wlio hath filled two succeeding seats in parlia- 
 ment, is near sixty years of age, lives in great 
 splendour and hospitality, and from whom a con- 
 siderable estate must pass if he dies without is- 
 sue, hath no objeelion to marry any widow or 
 si'.igle lady, provided the part}"^ be of genteel 
 birtli, polished manners, and live, six, seven, 
 or eight months gone in her pregnancy. Letters 
 
 directed to Brecknock, Esq. at Will's 
 
 Coffee-house, facing the Admiralty, will be ho- 
 noured with due attention, secrec}', and every 
 possible mark of respect." Several ladies an- 
 swered this advertisement, one of whom was se- 
 lected as being the most eligible object. She 
 waited with eagerness for the arrival of her expec- 
 ted brld<>groom from Venice; but^ while he was
 
 JOHN JAMES HEIDEGGER. SI 
 
 on his journey, death arrested hiin in his ca- 
 reer. 
 
 This account, however, has been positively con- 
 tradicted, and if the former statement relative 
 to the generosity of Lord Bute be correct, it cer- 
 tainly appears higiily improbable that Mr. Mon- 
 tague would behave in the manner here describ- 
 ed, towards the family of that nobleman. Cer- 
 tain it is, that, on his return to his native coun- 
 try, in the passage from jNlarseilles to England, 
 he v/as choaked with the bone of a becca-Jigua 
 in J77G. 
 
 iMr. Montague possessed great natural abilities, 
 and an abundant portion of acquired knowledge. 
 ^\"itl^ the Hebrew, tlie Arabic, Chaldean, and 
 Persian languages he was as well acquainted as 
 with his native tongue. He published several 
 pieces ; among the rest, a tract entitled, *' Re- 
 riections on the rise and fall of ancient Repub- 
 lics," and another, " On the Exploration of the 
 Causes of Eartliquakes." 
 
 JOHN JAMES HEIDEGGER. 
 
 Few characters have a jnster claim to a place 
 in our collection than John James Heidegger. 
 He was the son of a clergyman of Zurich, in 
 Switzerland, where he was born about the year 
 Ifi.-jf). Arrived at years of manliood, he marriecJ, 
 but left bis country in consequence of an intrigue.
 
 3<2 JOHN JAMES HEIDEGGER. 
 
 Having visited the principal courts of Europe, 
 ill the humble station of a domestic, he acquired 
 n taste for elegant pleasures ; which, joined to a 
 strong inclination for voluptuousness, by degrees 
 <]ualifiGd him for the management of public 
 •amusements. 
 
 In 1708, Heidegger came to England, where, 
 by his address and ingenuity, he soon obtained 
 the chief direction of the opera house and mas- 
 querades. In this situation he is said to have 
 accumulated a fortune of five thousand pounds 
 per annum. He possessed an extraordinary me- 
 mory, and great facility of writing operas ; but 
 his person, though tall and well made, was un- 
 eomujonly disagrceai)le, from the excessive ug- 
 liness of his face, which wi'.s scarcely human. 
 
 Heidetrsicr was one of the first to joke on his^ 
 own ugliness and once laid a wager with Lord 
 Chesterfield that, within a certain time, his lord- 
 ship would not be able to produce so hideous a 
 face in all London. After a strict search, a wo- 
 man was found whose features were, at first sight, 
 thought even stronger than those of the Count, as 
 he was ludicrously called ; but on clapping her 
 liead-drcss upon him, he was universally allowed 
 iQ be the ugliest. 
 
 This singiar man who, in the twelfth number 
 of the Tatler, is humorously styled a Surgeon, m 
 allusion to his preparing the singers at the Opera 
 house, lived on terms of great familiarity with, 
 the nobility of the lime, who, however sometimca
 
 JOHN JAMES HEIDEGGER. ' 33 
 
 madcliiin j)ay deaily for it. Of tliis the follow- 
 ing curious anecdote is recorded : 
 
 The facetious Duke of Montagvie, (the memo- 
 rable author of tlie Bottle- conjuror at tl)e ] lav- 
 market), gave an entertainment at the Devil 
 Tavern, to several of the nobility and gentry, se- 
 lecting the most convivial, and a few hard drink- 
 ers, who were in the plot. Heidegger was in- 
 vited, and in a few hours after dinner was so 
 drunk, that lie was carried out of the room, and 
 laid insensible upon a bed : a profound sleep ensu- 
 ed, when i\Jrs, Salmon's daughter was introduced, 
 who took a niould from his face in plaister of 
 l^iris : from this a mask was made; and a lew 
 days before ihe next masquerade, at whicli the 
 king promised to be present, with the Countess of 
 Yarmouth, the duke made aj)pIicavion *-" riei- 
 degger's valet de chambrc, to kn'^" what sort of 
 of clothes he was likely tc we^f ; f^"'' '^''en procui;; 
 ing a similcir dress, and a person of tlie same sta- 
 ture, he gave him Wis insiructions. On the even- 
 ing of the masquerade, as soon as Ins majesty 
 was seated (who was always known by the con- 
 ducter of the entertainment, and by the ofHcers 
 of the court, tliough concealed by his dress Iroin 
 the rest of the company), Heidegger, as usual, 
 ordered the music to play ' God save the King ;' 
 but his back was no sooner turned, than the false 
 Heidegger, ordered them to play ' Over the water 
 to Charley.' Tlie whole company were instantly 
 thunder-struck, and all the courtiers, not in the 
 plot, were tluown into a stupid consternation.
 
 34 JOHN JAMES HEIDEGfiER. 
 
 Heidegger flew to the music j^allery, swore, stamp- 
 ed, raved, accused the musicians of drunkenness^ 
 or of being suborned to ruin him. The king and 
 the countess laughed so immoderately, that they 
 1-azaided a discovery. While Heidegger stood 
 in the gallery, ' God save the king' was ilie tune j 
 but when, after setting mafters to rights, he re- 
 tired to ovie of the dancing rooms, to ol>serve if 
 decorum was kept by the company, the counter- 
 feit stepped forward, and placing himself upon 
 the floor of the tneatre, just before the music 
 jrallery, called out i\i an audible voice, imitating 
 H<:idegger, saying tiiey were blockheads, bad not 
 he just told them \o play * Charley over the 
 water r' A pause ensued ; the musicians, who 
 knew his character, in their turn, thought him 
 eiiv.^. fiiutik or mad ; but as he continued his 
 '^^^'^^'"''^^'"^'■^^ Charley was played again. At this 
 repetition of the bo pposed affront, some of the 
 olhcersofthe guards were for ascending the gal- 
 lery, and kicking the musiciajis nut ^ but the then 
 Puke of Cumberland, who could hardly con- 
 tain himself, interposed. The company were 
 thrown into the greatest confusion ;—' Shame ! 
 slit.me !' resounded from all parts, and Heidegger 
 once more flew in a violent rage to that part^'of 
 the theatre facing the gallery. Here the Duke 
 of Montague artfully addressing himself to him, 
 told him ' the king was in a violent passion ; that 
 his best Wily wa^s to go instantly and make an 
 apology, for certainly the musicians were mad 
 mid afterwards distUargc them.' Almost in the
 
 CORNELIUS KETEL. 35 
 
 same instant he ordered the false Heidcsrccr to da 
 
 CO 
 
 tl)e same. Tlie scene now became truly comic 
 before the king. Heidegger had no sooner made 
 a gentle apology for the insolence of his musici- 
 ans, but the false Heidegger advanced, and in fi 
 plaintive tone cried out, " Indeed, sire, it was 
 not my fault, but that devil's in my likeness." 
 Poor Heidegger turned round, stared, staggered, 
 grew pale, and could not utter a word. The 
 duke then humanely whispered in his ear the 
 sum of his plot, and the countericit was ordered 
 to take oSl his mask. Here ended the frolic ; but 
 Heidegger swore he would nevei? attend any pub- 
 lic amusement, if the wax-work woman did not 
 break the mould, and melt down the mask before 
 bis face. 
 
 Whatever mav have been the faults or foibJes 
 of Heidegger, they were far exceeded by his 
 charity, which was abundant. He died in the 
 year 1749, at the advanced age of ninety years. 
 
 CORNELIUS KETEL. 
 
 This whimsical painter was a native of Gouda, 
 irtthe Netherlands. He early prosecutedbis art 
 with great ardor, under the direction of an unckj 
 who was a tolerable proficient in painting, but a 
 better scholar. Ketel after having practised in 
 France and in his o<vn eountry, chibarked in 
 ]57S for England, and was there entert-ained 
 in London by a sculptor and architect, a- friend 
 of liis uncle. Here his works grew into esteem,
 
 36 ' CORNELIUS KETEL. 
 
 and he was much employed by the merchants of 
 the metropolis in painting portraits but was sel- 
 dom engaged on histor}', to which his inclinati- 
 on chiefly led him. Having, however, painted an 
 allegorical piece, of Strength vanquished by Wis- 
 dom, it was purchased by a young merchant and 
 presented to Sir Christopher Hatton. This cir- 
 cumstance led to Kelel's introduction to court, 
 after which he executed portraits of the first cha- 
 racters of the age, and had the honor of painting 
 Queen Elizabeth herself. 
 
 Nothing is so dangerous to persons of weak 
 minds as ])rosperity, and this seems to have been 
 eA'cmplified in Ketel. Not satisfied with the 
 glory he had acquired by his various perform- 
 ances, several of which were of an historical na- 
 ture, he formed a scheme of making himself 
 known by a method of painting entirely new. 
 Laying aside his brush, he painted only with his 
 fingers, and began with his own portrait. The 
 whim took, so that he repeated the practice ; 
 and it is pretended that these fantastic works 
 were executed with great purity and beauty of 
 coloring. 
 
 The foil}' of the artist kept pace with his suc- 
 cess, so that At last his fingers appeared to be 
 tools of too easy a kind, and he undertook to 
 paint with his feet. Even in this ridiculous ca- 
 price he was indulged with the applause of the 
 public. The performances of Ketel are strongly 
 colored, and with a full pencil, and are always as 
 large, or rather larger than nature. He returned 
 to Holland and died in the vear l602.
 
 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 AVE shall introduce our account of this once ce- 
 lehrated female \vith the words, with which she 
 concludes her own history of her life. " Should 
 the relation," says she, " of my errors and their 
 conseq,uences prove a document to my own sex; 
 warn them to shun the paths I have pursued ; 
 and inspire them with a greater degree of pru- 
 dence and reflection than I have been possessed 
 of, I sliall have employed my time to some good 
 purpose. — The certain effects of inattention to a 
 prudential system are poverty, distress, anxiety 
 and every attendant evil as I have most severely 
 experienced." — An awful lesson which cannot be 
 too deeply impressed on the mind of every read- 
 er, but especially of the female sex! 
 
 The mother of Mrs. Bellamy was the daugh- 
 ter of an eminent farmer and hop-planter at 
 Maidstone, whose name was Seal. He was one 
 of the people called Quakers, and grew so opu- 
 lent, as to be enabled to purchase an estate at 
 Tunbridge Wells, called Mount Sion. Dying 
 young and intestate, his whole fortune fell into 
 the hands of his widow, who married a second 
 husband named Busby; a man of supposed pro- 
 geny, but, in fact, so involved in debt, that Mrs. 
 
 VOL. 2. — NO. 19. 2
 
 2 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 Biisby, not having taken the necessary precau- 
 tions to secure a maintenance i'c^ herself and 
 daughter, was left destitute of support. Before 
 this sad reverse of fortune she had furnished her 
 iiouses on Mount Sion, and let them during the 
 season, to persons of the first distinction. One 
 of those who occasionally occupied these houses 
 \vas Mrs. Godfrey, sister to the great Duke of 
 Marlborough, who contracted such a friendship 
 for Mrs. Busby and her daughter that she of- 
 fered to bring up the latter in every respect like 
 her own daughter. This ofler, though declined 
 at first in the prosperous circumstances of Mrs. 
 Busby, was now gratefully accepted. Mrs. God- 
 frey accordingly placed I\Iiss Seal, with her own 
 daughter, at a boarding-school in Queen-square. 
 Here she remained till the age of fourteen, 
 when she unfortunately attracted the notice of 
 Lord Tyrawley, who jwcidentall}' met with her 
 while upon a visit. Young and inexperienced as 
 t^he was, his lordship soon persuaded her to 
 lelope from school, and to give up every hope of 
 her kind patroness. Lord Tyrawle}' carried his 
 fair prize to his own apartments in Somerset- 
 house, where she was treated with the same re- 
 spect as if she had been really Lady Tyrawley ; 
 a name which he had frecjuently promised, be- 
 fore her elopement, to confer upon her, and he 
 still continued to assure her that he would lulfil 
 his engagement. She assumed his name, and 
 lived w ith him for several months, till his lord- 
 ship was ordered to join his regiment in Ireland,
 
 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY, 5 
 
 where, upon his arrival, he found his estates so 
 involved bj the management of his steward, that 
 ootliing could retrieve his affairs but an advanta- 
 geous marriage. 
 
 With this view he paid his addresses to Lady 
 Mary Stewart, daughter of the Earl of Blessing- 
 ton, whose fortune vvjis reputed to be 30,0001. 
 and \vho, though not handsome, had a genteel 
 person and most engaging disposition. During 
 the courtship,, the Earl of Blessington, having 
 heard much of the connection betweea his in- 
 tended son-in-lavr nud Mlsa Seal (thea called 
 Lady Tyrawley) wrote to the latter to desire i art 
 formation concerning the nature of that connec- 
 tion, at the same tinae explaining the motives of 
 his request. This letter was received by Miss, 
 Seal, just after her recovery from her fi-rst liying- 
 ia of a son. In the violenee of iier resentment 
 she enclosed Lord Blessington every letter she 
 had received from her lover. Amonar these waa 
 one she had just received by the same post, antt 
 which she sent unopened. In this ktter. Lord 
 Tyrawley, after explaining the necessity of his 
 marriage, added, that '^ he should stay nolongec 
 with his intended wife, than was necessary to re- 
 ceive her. fortune, when be would immediately 
 fly on the wings of love to share it with her : that 
 he had made choice of Lady Mary Stewart, wha 
 was both ugly and foolish, in preference to one 
 with an equal fortune, who was beautifid and 
 sensible, lest an union with a more agreeable per- 
 
 2 B 2
 
 4 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 5-on miylit be the means of decreasing his affoc- 
 lion for her " 
 
 Lord Blessington^ ^''•'S^i^y initated on the peru- 
 sal of this letter, instantly forbade his daughter 
 ever to see or write again to her perfidious lover. 
 But his injunction came too late; they had been 
 ah'eady privately married. Lord Tyrawley, how- 
 ever, was disappointed of his expected' fortune ; 
 his mistress renounced her connection with him ; 
 a separation from his lady ensued; and his lord- 
 ship, the disappointed victim of his duplicity, 
 was sent, at h;s own solicitation, in a public cha- 
 racter to Lisbon. 
 
 On Rer separation from Lord Tyrawley, Miss 
 Seal embraced the theatrical profession, and 
 going over to L'eland, performed the first charac- 
 ters there, for several years, with some reputa- 
 tion. But a disagreement arising between the 
 proprietors of the theatre and herself, she, on a 
 sudden, took the strange resolution of embarking 
 for Portugal, in order to renew her intimacy 
 with Lord Tyrawley. 
 
 His lordship, who had previously sent her 
 many pressing, but hitherto ineffectual invita- 
 tions, had lately forborne them. He now re- 
 ceived her with open arms; but having recently 
 formed a connection with a Portuguese lady, a 
 circumstance of which he did not care to inform 
 Miss Seal, he placed the latter in the house of an 
 English merchant. In this family she became 
 acquainted with Capt. Bellamy, who having in
 
 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 5 
 
 vaiu solicited her to accept his hand, and sus- 
 pecting that her refusal was occasioned by a se- 
 cret partiality for Lord Tyrawley, who likewise 
 visited at the same house, informed her of his 
 lordship's connection with Donna Anna. Rage 
 accordingly supplied the place of affection; slie 
 immediately married the captain, and set sail 
 with him for Ireland. 
 
 After the arrival of Capt. Bellamy and his new 
 married lady at the place of their destination, our 
 heroine was born on St. George's day, 17-3S, 
 some months too soon for the captain to claim 
 any degree of consanguinity to her. Her mo- 
 ther had so carefully concealed her pregnancy 
 and connection with Lord Tyrawley from her 
 Ijusband, that he had not entertained the least 
 suspicion of her incontinence. Her birth, how- 
 ever, discovered the whole, and so exasperated 
 was the captain at her duplicity, that he imme- 
 diately left the kingdom, and never after either 
 saw or corresponded with her. 
 
 Lord Tyrawley, though greatly displeased at 
 Miss Seal's sudden departure from Lisbon, wrote 
 to his adjutant in Leland, to request, if she 
 proved pregnant in time, to consider the child 
 as his, and to take care of it as soon as born, 
 without, if possible, suffering the mother to see 
 it: for his lordship did not conceive her conr>ec- 
 tion with Capt. Bellamy, to be of an honorable 
 nature. Accordingly, Miss Bellamy was put 
 out to nurse till she was two years old: and, at 
 the age of four, was placed, for her educatioa,^ 
 
 2 B 3
 
 0" GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 at a convent at Boulogne, where she conthiued 
 till she was eleven. On being ordered home, a 
 Mr. Du Vail, who had been a domestic of his 
 lordship's, but now lived in St. James's-street, 
 Tsras directed to meet her at Dover; and with 
 bini she resided till his lordship's- return from 
 Portugal, when he received her in the most pa- 
 rental manner, and soon took her lo a little box 
 he had hired in Bushy-park. Here she wa& in- 
 troduced to all his visitors, who were chiefly the 
 witly and the gay; and who, the more effectual- 
 ly to please Lord Tyrawley, were lavish in their 
 praises of his daughter, and very early tainted 
 her mind with the pernicious influence of flat- 
 tery. 
 
 His lordship being soon after appointed am- 
 bassador to Russia, she was left under the care 
 of a lady of quality, with an annual allowance of 
 lOOl. and under an express injunction not to see 
 her mother. The latter, however, who had mar- 
 ried again, and whose husband, after stripping 
 her of every -thing valuable had deserted her, 
 prevailed upon her daughter to quit her kind 
 protectress, and live with her. In consequence 
 of this, the ample allowance, which had been her 
 mother's inducement lo this imprudent step, was 
 withdrawn, and Miss Bellamy was renounced by 
 her father. 
 
 Soon after, Mr. Bich, of Covent Garden The- 
 atre, having by accident heard her repeat some 
 passages in Othelto, engaged her as a performer. 
 She l)ud perfected herself in the characters of
 
 G n 15 G E A N N E B E L L A M V. 7 
 
 jNIonimia and Atlienais, and the former was 
 fixed on for her first appearance. Mr. Quin, 
 when she was introduced to him, and who go- 
 verned the theatre with a rod of iron, while Mr. 
 Rich^ though proprietor, was, through his indo-. 
 ]ence a mere cypher, insisted on the impropriety 
 of a c/iild's attempting a character of such im- 
 portance, and recommended to her to play Ser/na 
 instead of Monimia. Rich, however, persevered 
 in bringing her forward in her chosen character. 
 A rehearsal was called, when the fair adventurer 
 was treated by the compony with sovereign con- 
 tempt. Mr. Quin who was to play Chamont, 
 was absent, Mr. Hale mnmhled over Castalio, and 
 Mr. Ryan zchhtled Polydore ; but as she had the 
 opportunity of seeing the piece performetl at 
 Drury Lane Theatre the night before her ap- 
 pearance, it gave her a sufficient knowledge of 
 the business of the play. Her performance met 
 with universal approbation, and the congratula- 
 tions of Quin, while Rich expressed as much tri- 
 umph as he usually did on the success of one of 
 his darling pantomimes. 
 
 The talents displayed by Miss Bellamy on her 
 fii-st appearance gained her the friend^hip of 
 Quin, who in order to compervsale for the con- 
 temptwith which he had before treated her, was 
 liow warmer, if possible, in his eulogiums than 
 be had before been severe in his sarcasms. Nor 
 was applause the only tribute he paid to hej* 
 merit; but various circumstances prove that he 
 entertained a real friendship for her. He en-
 
 B GEOI^CEANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 cinii-ed into the circumstances of her fauiily, and 
 ia the uiost delicate manner supplied theiriinme- 
 diate wants. He sent Miss Bellamy a general 
 invTtation to the supper, he usually gave four 
 times a week, enjoining her at the same time ne- 
 ver to come alone : jocularly observing that he 
 was not too old to be censured. 
 
 The natural benevolence of that s:entleman is 
 honorably displayed in the following anecdote. 
 One day after the rehearsal, he desired to speak 
 with Miss Bellamy in his dressing room. As lie 
 liad always carefully avoided seeing her alone, 
 ghe was not a little surprised at such an invita- 
 tion. She was apprehensive that she liad of-" 
 fended a man whom she now loved as a father, 
 but her fears were not of long duration. As 
 soon as she had entered his dressing-room, h& 
 took her by the hand with a smile of inexpressible 
 benignity. " My dear girl," said lie, *' you are 
 vastly foil-owed 1 hear. Do not let the love of 
 finery or any other inducement prevail upon you 
 to commit an indiscretion. Men in general are 
 rascals. You are young and engaging, and there- 
 fore ought to be doubly cautious. If you want 
 any thing in my power, which money can pur- 
 chase, come to me, and say * James Quin, give 
 me such a thing' and my purse shall be always 
 at your service." This noble instance of genero- 
 sity drew tears of gratitude into Miss Bellamy's 
 eyes, w hile drops of humanity, and self-approba- 
 tion, glistened in those of her parental monitor. 
 
 Having thus happily commenced her theatri-
 
 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 9 
 
 cal career, she had the good fortune to acquire the 
 patronage of the first ladies of distinction ; and, 
 at the same time, had among the gentlemen, 
 many professed admirers, among whom was 
 Lord Byron; but as she would listen' to nothing 
 but marriage and a coach, his lordship chagrined 
 at her rejecting his own terms, contrived a plan 
 to be revenged ; in consequence of which a no- 
 ble earl, a friend of his lordship called, one Sun- 
 day evening, to inform her, that Miss B , an 
 
 intimate of hers, was in a coach, at the bottom 
 of Southampton-street, and wished to speak to 
 her: when, on going to the coach-door, without 
 bat or gloves, she was suddenly hoisted into it by 
 his lordship, and carried off as fast as the hordes 
 could gallop. When a little recovered from her 
 astonishment, which at first had deprived her of 
 utterance, she gave free vent to her reproaches. 
 The coach soon stopped in a lonely place at the 
 top of North Audley-?treet, fronting the fields; 
 Oxford-street, at that time, not extending so far 
 as it does at present. Here the earl got out, and 
 took her into his house. He then left her, as he 
 said, to prepare a lodging for her, which he had 
 already seen at a mantuci-maker's in Broad-street, 
 Carnaby-market. He soon -returned: and with 
 him came the person she least expected to soe — 
 her own brother. She instantly f.cw into his 
 arms, but was repulsed so violently, that she fell 
 to theground. The shock of such a repulse from 
 a brother in the moment in which she hoj)ed 
 to find him her protector, deprived her pt her
 
 10 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 senses. Oa her return to sensibility, the only- 
 object that appeared, was an old female servant^ 
 who told her, that she had orders to convey her 
 to the lodgings that had been prepared for her. 
 From this old woman she learned, that her bro- 
 ther had bestowed manual chastisement upon the 
 earl ; but that, as he seemed to suppose that she 
 had consented to the elopement, he had declared 
 he would never see her move. The woman added, 
 that he had threatened the earl and his associate 
 ■with a prosecution, which, had so terrified her 
 master, that he cave orders to have her removed 
 out of the house as soca iis possible, as ber be- 
 inf? found liiere micht malce aa;ainst bun. 
 
 Miss Bellaiay w^s not a little perplexed to ac- 
 coui>t. for the sudden appearance and extraordi- 
 nary behavior of her brother on this occasion. 
 Sli© afterwards leaaned, that he had just retuia- 
 ed from sea, being a lieutenant in th€ navy, an^ 
 by one of those extraordinary accidents whlclt 
 sometimes occur, be reached Southampton-street 
 just at the moment wheu the coach was driving 
 away with her; that little imagining the person 
 thus treated to be bis sister, he ran after the 
 coach to rescue her,, but without effect., on whicU 
 he proceeded to the house where Miss Bcllam}* 
 and her mother resided. There he was informed 
 of what had happened; he was laow convinced 
 that the female whom he had seen carried oii" 
 was his sister, and kaovving that it would be iai- 
 jiossible to overtake the coach, he thought it 
 Uiore prudent to go directly to the earl's house.
 
 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 11 
 
 Not finding him ai. home, he walked about with- 
 in sight of the door, till his lordship returned, 
 when he accosted him in the manner related 
 above : on which he repaired to the house of Lord 
 Bvron whom he accused of being concerned witii 
 the earl in seducing his sister ; but his lordship 
 solemnly denying, upon his honor, any know- 
 ledge of the affair he made no further enquiries. 
 Concluding his sister to be depraved enough to 
 form an illicit connection with an old, unprinci- 
 pled, married man, he immediately set out foi; 
 Portsmouth and left her unprotected. 
 
 Her elopement having been misrepresented in 
 the newspapers, she wrote her mother airue ac- 
 <^ount, in hopes to retrieve her favour; but Mrs. 
 Bellamy, at the instigation of a wicked female 
 relation, who lived with her, returned her daugh- 
 ter's letter unopened. Thus abandoned by her 
 mother, and too much depressed by public scan- 
 dal to attempt a reinstatement in the theatrical 
 line, the anguish of her mind brought on a fe- 
 ver, that had nearly proved fatal, but of which 
 her youth and constitution at length got the bet- 
 ter. On her recovery, she paid a visit to a fe- 
 male relation of her mother, named Claike, at 
 Braintree, in Essex, whose family being qua- 
 kers, it was probable, had not heard of her dis- 
 grace : and here she met with a very cordial re- 
 ception. The remains of recent ilhiess would 
 have appeared a sufficient motive for this visit, 
 had it not been supposed likewise, that she came 
 Xo claim a legacy of 300l. that had been left to
 
 12 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 lier by a sister of Mrs. Clarke, on condition 
 that she never went upon the stage, and which 
 they paid her immediately, without enquiring 
 whether she had forfeited it. The famous Zacha- 
 ry Moore, who from possessing an estate of 
 25,0001. a year, was reduced, by his extravagance, 
 at the age of forty, to the necessity of accepting an 
 cnsigncy in a regiment at Gibraltar, happened to 
 be on a visit in that neighbourhood, and unfor- 
 tunately discovered that this picture of sainted 
 simplicity was no less a personage than Miss 
 Bellamy, the celebrated actress. This discovery 
 put a period to her sojourning with" her quaker 
 relation. 
 
 From Clarke Hall she i-epaired to Ingatestonc, 
 in order to visit Miss White, another quaker re- 
 lation; whose family happening then to be at 
 the yearly meeting at London, she procured ad- 
 mittance into the house of a Roman Catholic 
 farmer, near the town, with whom she boarded 
 for some time. Her account of her residence 
 here, and of the unexpected sight of her mother, 
 has the pleasing air of romance, with the in- 
 teresting charms of truth. All the letters which 
 she had sent to her mother had been unanswer- 
 ed : for they had all been intercepted by the 
 wicked relation before-mentioned ; whose death 
 produced this discovery, and tejminated in a 
 reconciliation between Mrs. Bellamy and her 
 daughter. 
 
 On her return to town in 1 754, she was en- 
 gaged by Mr. Sheridan, to accompany him as a 
 o.
 
 GlfOjrGE ANNE BELLAMY. 13 
 
 theatrical recruit to Ireland. Op. lier arrival ther<?, 
 she was acknowledged by Mrs. O'Hura, lord 
 'J'yrawley's sister, as lier niece ; and she was ia- 
 troduced, in course, into the first circles in Dub- 
 lin. Here she continued for two seasons ; and 
 became acquainted with a Mr. Crump, on who-se 
 account, in the sequel, she suffered much perse- 
 cution. 
 
 On her return to England, she was again en- 
 gaged at Co vent Garden iheatie, and by the 
 kind interposition of Mr. Quin, reconciled ,to 
 lord Tyrawley. This, in the sequel, tenninated 
 iti another elopemant from this theatre ; for his 
 lordship being extremely urgent with her to mar- 
 ry ]\[r. Crump, she suffered herself one evening; 
 to be carried oif from the theatre by Mr. Metham^ 
 while the audience were waiting for her appear- 
 ance in the character of lady Fanciful, ia the 
 fifth act of the Provoked Wife. 
 
 In this part of her narrative she relates a laugh- 
 able incident, that happened at a rehearsal of Co- 
 riolanus, while itwa^ preparing for the benefit 
 oi' Thomson's sisters. Mr. Quin's pronunciation 
 was of the old school. In this Mr. Garrick hael 
 made an alteration. The one pronounced thq 
 Jetleraopen; the other sounded it like an e; 
 which occasioned the following ludicrous mistake. 
 In the piece, when the Roman ladies come in 
 procession to solicit Coriolanus to return to Rome, 
 they are attended by the tribunes, and the cen- 
 turions of the Volscian army bearing fasces^ 
 their ensigns of authority ; ihcy are ordered by. 
 
 VOL. 2.— NO. 19. 2 c
 
 14 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 ihe hero (the part of which was played by Mr. 
 Quin) to lower them as a token of respect. But 
 the men who personated the centurions, imagin- 
 ing, through Mr. Quin'smode of pronunciation, 
 that he said their faces, instead of their fasces, 
 all bowed their heads t02;ethcr. 
 
 Mr. Metham hired an elegant house for her at 
 York, where in a few months she was delivered 
 of a son. In the ensuing season she was again 
 engaged at Covent Garden theatre, and soon af- 
 ter eflectcd another reconciliation with lord Ty- 
 rawley. By a deception of Mr. Lacy, she was 
 engaged the season after at Drury Lane; and, 
 in a subsequent one, again at Covent Garden. 
 Her connection with Mr. Metham did not 
 prove permanent, through jealousy on his part, 
 and resentment on hers. She vowed never to 
 live with him again, either as mistress or wife; 
 and, though he would fain have purchased a re- 
 conciliation by making her the latter, she con- 
 tinued inflexible in her resolution. She determin- 
 ed, moreover, never to form a connection with 
 any other man ; but, through circumstances of 
 persuasion and deception, was induced to Jisten 
 to the proposals of INlr. C;dcraft, then an agent 
 to the late Lord Holland, secretary at war, 
 thousrh she declared him a man it was not in her 
 power to love. With this gentleman she lived 
 about nine years and a half; but a connection, 
 in which, according to her own account, her ex- 
 travagance was boundless, and his meanness in- 
 supportable, could not be permanent.
 
 GEOr.GE ANNE BELLAMY. 15 
 
 During her connection with Mr. Calcraft who 
 iiredin great splendor, a circumstance occurred 
 wiiich does great honor to the goodness of her 
 own heart, and to the humanity oH Mr. Fox, 
 afterwards Lord Holland. AVe shall, relate it 
 in her own words. 
 
 " I had been told/' says she " that a lady, who 
 would not leave her name or any message had 
 called upon me several times, and as she said by 
 my own appointment. As 1 was ])unctilious, 
 even to the very letter of the word, 1 was sur- 
 prized at my having been guilty of such a breach 
 of 2;ood manners: I accordingly f>;ave orders to 
 the porter that the stranger should be admitted 
 whenever she came again. . 
 
 " One morning I had just sat down to break- 
 fast when the person was shewn in. But how 
 >hall I describe to you the figure that entered the 
 room. Picture to yourself a tall, thin, pale, de- 
 jected woman, in whose looks was accumulated 
 every degree of distress and misery. Yet there 
 shone throusih all this wretchedness, something 
 which seemed to declare that site was not bora 
 to suffer indigence. I requested her to sit and 
 enquired her commands. She then informed me, 
 that having lost the use of her hands, slie had 
 been obliged to another to enable her to address 
 me. And as the reason was assigned in the letter 
 which she had sent me, of her nor giving me 
 tlien an explanation, siie reminded me that I 
 had kindly written an answer in which I had de- 
 
 2 c "-2
 
 16 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 sired to see her. As soon as she mentioned thi:» 
 I recollected the circumstance. 
 
 '* Upon my pressing her to drink a dish of 
 chocolate, she requested^ as my maid was in the 
 xoora, she might be permitted to speak with me 
 ulone. As soon as my maid had withdrawn, the 
 stranger threw open a decent cloak that covered 
 her, and displayed such a scene of wretchedpess, 
 as an attempt to describe with minuteness would 
 almost call my veracity in question. Let it sufiicc 
 to say, that her gown, or ilw^ garment which ha<l 
 once been a gown, had no sleeves to it ; two 
 -pieces of cloth were fastened close to her sticks 
 of arms, which, if possible, made them appear 
 thinner than they M^ere. In short the whole of 
 her dress conveyed such an idea of extreme pe- 
 nury, as I had never been a witness to upon any 
 occasion before. This distressful sight awaken- 
 ed within me every compassionate feeling. 
 
 '^ She proceeded to inform me that she was 
 the unfortunate widow of the late Sir James 
 Lindsay, who had been first lieutenant of a num 
 of war, and blown up in her during an engage- 
 ment. She said, as the match between Sir 
 James and herself had been more incited by love 
 than prudence, his father, upon his decease, had 
 kft him a very small estate only, together with- 
 a title which was rather an incumbrance to 
 those who had it not in their power to support 
 the dignity of it. She added that she had live 
 children.
 
 CEORGE ANNE EELLAMY. 17 
 
 "■ He I- eldest son. Sir John, had been taken 
 from her by his uncle, an eminent merchant, 
 and from whom he had expectations of a folure 
 support. Her eldest daughter, during the time 
 she lay in with one of her other children, had, 
 throuKh the carelessness of the servant, fallen 
 out of a window, by which she had broken one 
 of her legs. An amputation followed, and she- 
 was otherwise rendered a cripple. The terror 
 arising from the sad catastrophe of her dear hus- 
 band had thrown her into labor sooner than na-i 
 ture intended, when she was delivered of a boy,, 
 who to all appearance v.'ould prove an idot ; as, 
 at four years of age, lie could not feed himself or 
 speak articulately. 
 
 " These accumulated sorrows, added to the most; 
 pungent distress, had greatly injured her health 
 arid occasioned the loss of the use of her limbs.. 
 Sh6 had, hovvever, recovered the use of all but 
 her' hands, by which alone she could support 
 horscir and four children; her pension, fifteen 
 pounds a year, badly [)aid, being barely sufhcient 
 to procure a habitation I'qi- tlicm. She had been 
 obliged to part with every thing upon which slie 
 could raise money. The hat and cloak she had 
 on, the only decent part of her apparel were 
 borrowed. She concluded with saying that shd 
 had been advised toapi»iy to me, and encourag- 
 ed b}'- the character I boi'e for humanity, she 
 liad takeri that libt>rty. 
 
 *' Some moiii^' Mx. Calcraft had just before left 
 mfi was "still lyiri^ on- liiy dressing-table. I tg>ok 
 
 C c 3
 
 ]8 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 vip what there was and gave it to her. It amount- 
 ed to a few guineas only. But the sum exceed- 
 ing; lier expectations, the poyr woman was ready 
 to faint with transport. As soon as she w^as a 
 little recovered, and had found the power of ut- 
 terance, half-choaked wiih the fluttering emo- 
 tions of her grateful heart, she said, ' I did not 
 mean, madam, to intrude upon your generosity, 
 but,—' 
 
 " She had proceeded thus far, when Mr. Fox 
 entered the room. He saw me so affected that 
 lie was going to retire ; upon which 1 ran to him^ 
 and taking hold ^^ liis hand exclaimed : ' O my 
 dear Sir, you are the very person I want!' As I 
 had never taken the liberty to lay hold of his 
 hand before, and now pressed it most vehement- 
 ly, he imagined from that, and the agitation of 
 jnv whole frame that something of the utmost 
 consequence must occasion it. He therefore en- 
 ouired in what he could oblige me. I repeated 
 the affecting tale, simply as I had just heard it. 
 At the conclusion of it, \ found that I still press- 
 ed his hand between mine and that I kept him 
 standing. 1 was confounded. The earnestness 
 with which I interested myself in my pctitioner'.s 
 woes made me forget the decorum due to the 
 person to whom I was applying in her favor. 
 
 " I had been in many delicate situations be- 
 fore, but never felt myself in so awkward a one 
 as the present. I could not prevent my tears 
 from flowing; and 1 found simplicity to be 
 more efficacious^ in pleading my own cause as
 
 GEORGE ANNE liELLAMY. 19 
 
 as well as that of my supplicant than all the stu- 
 died arts of eloquence. While humanity beam- 
 ed from the countenance of the ivorlhy man, he 
 condoled with the lady on her misfortunes, and 
 bidding her be comforted, told her he would see 
 what was to be done for her. Then taking out 
 his pocket-book he gave her a bank-note. The 
 value of it I did not see. My unfortunate visi- 
 tor was op[>ressed before, but now she was over- 
 whefmed. She fell on her knees. Her stream- 
 ing eyes and grateful looks thanked us with in- 
 expressible energy; but her tongue refused its 
 aid upon the occasion, and she took her leave 
 without being able to utter a syllable. 
 
 '^ I own I felt myself hapffj when Lady Lind- 
 say quitted the room. My sensibility was wound 
 up too high. It became painful. Mr. Fox 
 walked to the window, and by the use he made 
 of his handkerchief, I found that his eyes bore 
 witness to the benevolent emotions of his heart. 
 
 " In the month of !March following, I had the 
 pleasure to inform Lady Lindsay in person, that 
 her lour children were placed upon the compas- 
 sionate list, with an appointment of ten pounds a 
 year each; and farther, that his jNIajesty, in consi- 
 deration of her late husband's having lost his 
 life while he was bravely fighting in his service, 
 had granted her fifty pounds yearly out of the 
 Treasury, in addition to her pension. 
 
 " When I had made her happy with this 
 pleasing intelligence, I asked why I had never 
 seen her siin;e her first application to me. Sh^ 
 
 5
 
 W GEOrtGE ANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 replied that the alteration in her family had ta- 
 ken up all her attention; and as she thought I 
 felt too mueh at her distress when she first 
 made me acquainted with it, and perceived that 
 nothing could hurt me so much as thanks, she 
 had refrained from giving me farther pain. She 
 told me that she supposed, I had been, niade*ac- 
 quainted with Mr. Fox's bounty, who had pro- 
 vided against her v.ants for some time, by nobly 
 giving her in the bill I saw, fifty pounds. 
 
 " Lady Lindsay added, that h.er eldest daugh- 
 ter, the cripple, was luippily released by death 
 from hi^r miserable situation ; and that the child, 
 of whose mental faculties she had been apprehen- 
 sive, was now, to her great coirifort, become one 
 of the most sprightl}' boys of his age. She much - 
 regretted his not being at home to thank me;* 
 ' but,'continued the grateful woman, ' we p^ny for 
 you, and our worthy benefactor every night and 
 morning.' Just as I was taking my- leave the 
 little fellbw came in ; and from the description 
 his mother had, I suppose, given of me, imme- 
 diately knew me ; for he ran to me, and kneeling' 
 dowii> with a graceful ease, kissed my hand. I 
 raised and caressed him ; and desired his motht^r 
 would bring him often to see me. 
 
 ** Never did I feel more real happiness- than m 
 Btfing th^ means of relieving this amiable woman 
 and her family from the extreme distress in whicU 
 they were involved. The sanie pleasini^ reward 
 attended, I doubt not, the great and good man^ 
 to whosfe noble beneficetice that relief priucipall^r
 
 GliOHGIi ANNE BELLAMY. 21 
 
 owed its furtherance. How supremely blest are 
 ♦ hose wlid possess as he did, the power as well as 
 liic iiicliiiation to relieve the unfortunate!" 
 
 The causes to which we have already alluded 
 produced a dissoKition of the connection between 
 Mrs. Bellamy and Mr. Calcratt. Her debts, at 
 this time exceeded ten thousand pounds, the 
 greatest j)art of which sum, was, as she asserts, 
 expended in Mr. Calcraft's housekeeping. That 
 gentleman promised to discharge her debts, but 
 refusing afterwards to fulfil this promise, she was 
 involved during the remainder of her life, in in- 
 extricable difficulties and subjected to frequent 
 arrests. 
 
 Without following Mrs. Bellamy through her 
 Excursions to the continent and her engage- 
 ments in the theatres both at London and Dub- 
 lin, after leaving Mr. Calcraft, we shall briefly 
 touch on the more prominent events of her sub-' 
 sequent chequered life. 
 
 In Ireland she became the wife, as she ima- 
 irined of INir. DiG:s?:es, the actor, who was after- 
 wards discovered, to be, like Mr. Calcraft, a mar- 
 ried man. She next formed a connection with 
 Mr. Woodward, a gentleman of the same pro- 
 fession ; he left her in 1777, all his plate, jewels, 
 and a reversion on the death of his brother of 
 seyen huncred pounds, the whole of which ex- 
 cepting about sixty pounds she lost through the 
 cl'icanery of the law. 
 
 A kind of fatality seemed to pursue her during 
 the last years, of her life. Among other unto-
 
 C2 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY, 
 
 ward circumstances, it appears that a fortune of 
 several thousand pounds, left her by a Mr. Sykes, 
 who died in France, was lost through the villainy 
 of his servant who absconded with his will and 
 effects. Nor should it be forgotten that having 
 incurred the displeasure of Mr. Cohnan, by refu- 
 sing, with some other performers to sign an ap- 
 probation of his conduct as acting manager of 
 Covent Garden theatre, during his dispute with 
 Messrs. Harris and Rutherford, she v,as finally 
 discharged from that liouse. 
 
 At length we find her obliged to take lodgings, 
 under the name of West, at Walcot Place, Lam- 
 beth, and even reduced to such extremity as to 
 be tempted to put a period to her life. Her re- 
 lation of this dreadful circumstance, which is 
 equally affecting and instructive, is as follows: 
 
 " I had now parted with every thing that I 
 could raise a shilling upon \ and poverty with all 
 licr horrid train of evils stared me in the face. 
 In this iheadful situation, worn out with cala- 
 mity, and terrified with the gloomy prospect 
 which presented itself to my view, 1 endeavored 
 to persuade myself that suicide could not be a 
 crime. I had no person to look up to. Every 
 body to whom I was related by the ties of blood 
 was abroad. Sir George Metham had presented 
 nie with a temporary relief; but he, as well as all 
 the nobility, was out of town. Not being pos- 
 sessed, as I thought, of a shilling, nor the expec- 
 tation of getting one; oppressed by debt; wifli- 
 out the common necessaries of life; aa useless
 
 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY, 23 
 
 member of society — I taught myself to believe 
 that it would be a meritorious action, to free my- 
 self from being any longer the burden I was to 
 the world and myself. I accordingly formed the 
 resolution to puit an end to my existence by 
 throwing myself into the Thames. 
 
 " Unhappily in this moment of despair, every 
 spark of confidence in heaven was extinguished 
 in my bosom. Inspired by the black ideas which 
 had taken possession of iny mind, I one night 
 left the house between nine and ten o'clock. As 
 there was a door which led from the garden into 
 the road, I went out unperceived ; for I had not 
 resolution to speak to my faithful attendant, whose 
 anxious e^e might have discovered the direful 
 purpose of my heart impressed upon my counte- 
 nance. 
 
 ^' Having effected, unobserved, my elopement, 
 I wandered about the road and fields, till the 
 clock was on the point of striking eleven, and 
 then made my way towards Westminster Bridge. 
 I continued to rove about till that hour, as there 
 was then a probability that I should not be in- 
 terrupted by any passengers from carrying my 
 desperate design into execution. Indeed I was 
 not without hopes of meeting in St. George's 
 Fields with some freebooters, who would have 
 prevented the deed of desperation, I was about 
 to perpetrate, by taking a life I was weary of. 
 Nor would this have been an improbable expec- 
 tation, had I met with any of those lawless plun- 
 derers tliat oftentimes frequent those parts j for
 
 24 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY, j- 
 
 tlieir tIisap[)ointment on finding me pennyless, 
 might have excited them to murder me. A con- 
 summation I then devoutly wished. 
 
 " Having reached the bridge, I descended the 
 steps of the landing-place with a sad and solemn 
 pace and sat down on the lower stair impatiently 
 waiting for the tide to cover me. My despera- 
 tion, though resolute, was not of such a violent 
 kind, as to urge me to take the fatal plunge. As 
 I sat, [ fervently recommended my spirit to that 
 beinsr 1 was sroins: to offend in so unwarrantable 
 a manner,, by not bearing patiently the afflictions 
 he was pleased I should suffer. I even dared to 
 harbour the thought that a divine impulse had 
 given rise to the idea; as if the * Everlasting had 
 not fixed his cannon against self-slaiighier.' 
 
 " The moon beamed faintly through the 
 clouds, and gave just light enough to distinguish 
 any passenger who might cross the bridge ; but 
 as I was in mournino- there was not any sjreat 
 probability of my being discerned and interrupt- 
 ed. I had taken off my bonnet and apron and 
 laid them beside me on the stairs ; and leaning 
 myhead upon my hands, remained lost in thought, 
 and almost stupified by sorrow and the reflec- 
 tions which crowded upon my mind. 
 
 " Here pause a moment and admire with me 
 the strange vicissitudes of life ! Behold your once 
 lively friend, reduced from the onjoynvent of 
 ease, affluence, esteem and renown in her profes- 
 sion, to the most desperate state that human 
 wretchedness will admit of,— a prey to penury.
 
 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 25 
 
 grlcfj contumely and despair — standing tip-toe 
 on the verge of the world, and impiously daring 
 to rush unbidden, into the presence of her crea- 
 tor ! I shudder at the recollection. Let me draw 
 a veil across it and proceed 
 
 " In the pensive posture just described, did I 
 sit for some minutes, watching the gently swel- 
 ling tide, and blaming its tardy approach, when 
 it pleased 
 
 '- tlie Power 
 
 Unseen that rules tli' illimitable vvor!d» 
 That guides its motions from the brightest star 
 To the least dust of this sin-taiuted mould, 
 
 to interfere and snatch me from destruction. 
 
 " 1 was suddenly rouzed frojn niy awful reve- 
 rie by the voice of a woman at some little dis- 
 tance, addressing her child, as appeared from 
 w hat followed, for they were neither of them vi- 
 •sible. In a soft, plaintive tone, she said : 
 ' How, my dear, can you cry lo me for bread, 
 when you know I have not even a morsel to car- 
 ry your dying father !"' She then exclaimed in 
 «ll the bitterness of woe ; ^' My God, my God, 
 what wretchedness can compare to mine ! But 
 thy almighty will be done !" 
 
 '•' The concluding words of the woman's pa- 
 thetic exclamation communicated instantam.-- 
 ously, like the electric spark, to my desponding 
 Jieart. I felt the full force of the divine admo- 
 nition, and struck with horror at the crjme I had 
 intended to commit, I burst into tears, repeating;, 
 in a sincere ejaculation, the pious sentence she 
 l\'id uttered — 'Thy almighty will be done'' 
 
 VOL. 2. — NO. ly. '2 i)
 
 <2(3 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 "■ As I put my band into my pocket to take out 
 my handkerchief in order to dry my tears, I felt 
 some halfpence there wliieh I did not know I 
 vas possessed of. And now my native humanity* 
 Avhich had been depressed, as well as. every other 
 good propensity by despair, found means to re- 
 sume its power in my mind. Impelled by its 
 pleasing influence, 1 hastily ran up the steps, 
 and having discovered my hitherto invisible mo^ 
 iiitress, gave them to her. I received in return* 
 thousand blessings ; to which I rather thought 
 she had a right from me for having been the 
 means of obstructing my dire intent. 
 
 '' I now returned to the place where the impi- 
 ous scene was to have been acted and humbly 
 adored that being by v.'hom it had been pre- 
 vented. Having done this, I remounted the 
 steps and found my mind inexpressibly relieved. 
 The gloom which had so lately overwhelmed it 
 ■was in an instant cleared away, and atranquillity, 
 I had long been a stranger to, succeeded it. 
 Such a transition from the blackest despair to 
 peace and hope, I was well assured could only 
 have been effected by some invisible agent ; for I 
 never felt such a ray of comfort diffuse itself 
 through my heart, since those blessed days of in- 
 nocence I ?pent in niy much regretted convent. 
 It came over mv mind as the immortal bard de- 
 scribes the power of iiiusic. 
 
 -' like ibe sweet south 
 
 Tliat breathes upon a hank of violets 
 Stealing and givii);^ otior.'
 
 CEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 27 
 
 Tlie i*eader will not be displeased to find in this 
 place a few miscellaneous anecdotes relative to 
 the subject of this memoir, and various persons 
 with whom she was connected, though they 
 ought in strict propriety to have been introduced 
 in ?m earlier part of the narrative. 
 
 It was likewise during Mrs. Bellamy's connec- 
 tion Avith Mr. Calcraft that she became ac- 
 quainted with Lord Digb}^, whose mother and 
 Mr. Fox, afterwards Lord Holland, were twins.' 
 The account she gives of the former nobleman is 
 uncommonly interesting, and from the frequent 
 visits he paid at Mr. Caleraft's she had abundant 
 opportunities of becoming acquainted with his 
 character. Among other things she could not 
 forbear remarking- a sin2;ular alteration in his 
 dress and demeanor, which took j>lace at the two 
 gieat annual festivals of Christendom. At Christ- 
 mas <^^(\ Easter, he was more than usually grave, 
 and always v< ore an old shabby I hie coat. Mrs. 
 I5e}lamy, in common with many others attribut- 
 ed this periodical singularity to some affair of the 
 heart,— a supposition which his great sensibility 
 rendered by no ir^eans improbable. 
 
 Mr. Fox, who had great curiosity, wished 
 much to discover iiis nephew's motive for appear- 
 ing, at times, in this manner, as he v.as, in ge- 
 neral, esteemed more than well-dressed. On c'k^ 
 pressing this desire, two gentlemen, one of v.hom 
 was Major Vaughan, undertook to watch his 
 lordship's motions. They accordingly Set out, 
 and followed him at a distance, to St. Gcorgie's 
 
 2 1) 2 .
 
 28 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 Fields, till they lost sight of him near the Mar- 
 s' alsca Prison. 
 
 Wondering what could carry a person of his 
 lordship's rank and fortmie to such a place, they 
 enquired of the turnkey, if such a gentleman, 
 (describing him) had not entered the prison. 
 '* Yes, masters/' exclaimed tlie fellow with an 
 oath : but he is not a man, he is an angel. For 
 he comes here twice a year, sometimes oftener, 
 and sets a number of prisoners free. And he not" 
 ®nly does this, but he ^ives them sufficient to' 
 support themselves and families, till they can 
 find emplovment. This, " continued the man," 
 is one of his extraordinary visits. He has but a 
 few to take out to day."—'' Do you know who 
 the gentleman is r" enquired the major — " We 
 none of us know him by any other marks/' re- 
 plied the man, " but his humanity and his blue 
 coat. 
 
 Having gained this information, the gentle- 
 men immediately returned and reported it to Mr. 
 Fox. As no man possessed more humanity, the 
 recital afforded him exquisite pleasure; but fear- 
 ing his nephew might be displeased at the illicit 
 n)annpr in which the intelligence had been ob- 
 tained, he requested that the knowledge of it 
 might be kept a profound secret. 
 
 Mrs. Belhuny, however, could not resist her 
 curiosity to make farther eni^uirics concerning an 
 affair u hich aflbrded her extraordinary pleasure. 
 'I'he next time she saw his lordship in his alms- 
 giving coat, she enquired his reason for wearing
 
 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 29 
 
 such a singular dress. With a smile of ineffa- 
 ble sweetness, he replied that hei curiosity should 
 soon be gratified; atlding, tliat as she and liiraself 
 were congenial souls, he would take her with him 
 when he next visited the place to which his coat 
 was adapted. '' A compliment/' says the lady, 
 ** more truly flattering and more acceptable to 
 me than any 1 ever had, or could receive. ' 
 
 The night before his intended visit, his lord- 
 ship, requested her to be in readiness to go with 
 him the next morning. They accordingly pro- 
 ceeded together to that receptacle of misery, 
 which he had so often visited to the consolation 
 -of its inhabitants. rlis lordship would not suf- 
 fer Mrs. Bellamy to enter the gate, lest the noi- 
 someness of the place should prove disagreeable 
 to her; but ordered the coaclimau to drive to the 
 George Inn, in the Borough, where a dinner was' 
 ordered for the poor wretches he was about to li- 
 berate. There she beheld near thirty persons res- 
 cued from a loathsome prison at an inclement 
 season of the year, it being Christmas^ and not 
 only released from confinement, but restored to 
 their families and friends, with some provision 
 from his lordship's bounty for their immediate 
 support. It is impossible to describe the tribute 
 of gratitude iiis-lordship received from these ob- 
 jects of his benelicence, or ihe satisfaction he 
 derived from the generous act. 
 
 Not long was Lord Digby permitted to enjoy 
 on earth the liappiness resulting from the exer- 
 cise of his virtues, A few months after the cir- 
 
 o n «{
 
 ,-50 GEOUGE ANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 ciimstance recorded above, lie went to Ireland t« 
 \isit his estates in that country. Being obliged, 
 by the mistaken hospitalitj' of the natives of that 
 island to drink more tiian he was accnstonied to 
 do, and that, at a time when he was indisposed 
 with a violent cold, a fever, attended with a 
 putrid sore throat was the consequence. This 
 amiable vouns; nobleman was thus soon removed 
 to those realms where alone his expanded heart 
 could obtain the reward of the benevolent pro- 
 pensities in which it indulged. By his death, 
 the poor were deprived of a generous benefactor, 
 iii-i acquaintance of a desirable companion, and 
 the community of one of its "brightest ornaments, 
 Isone felt his loss more severe than major 
 Vaughan, who has been mentioned above, and 
 to whom he was an unknown patron. The major 
 regularly received a benefaction of fifty pounds 
 every quarter, which he concluded to come from 
 Earl Fitzwilliam, that nobleman with whom he 
 had been bred up, having alwa\'s held him in great 
 esteem. But, on the death of Lord Digb^^, the 
 bounty was found to flow from his liberal purse. 
 Mrs. Bellamy, resided at one time at Ciiclsea, 
 and afterwards took a house in Jcrmyn-street ; 
 but while the latter was fitting up, she continued 
 to sleep at Chelsea, though she w"as in town all 
 day. During this interval the upholsterer's man 
 found means to secrete a quantity of damask and 
 chintz and some very fine Dresden china, with 
 which she liad been presented. As his honesty 
 bad been iniore than once suspected by his em-
 
 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. Si 
 
 plover, a search warrant was obtained to exa- 
 mine his lodgings^ wliere the whole of Mrs. Bel- 
 lamy's property was found, but nothing belong- 
 ing to his master. 
 
 The upholsterer was a man of a most implaca- 
 ble disposition. He went to Chelsea in the even- 
 ing while Mrs. Bellam}' was absent, and bjr 
 means of threats, so far intimidated her maid- 
 servant, as to prevail upon her to go before a^ 
 justice and swear to the goods which were found- 
 This she did, and was bound over to prosecute in 
 a penalty of forty pounds. But the offender hav- 
 ing a very large family, the native benevolence 
 of Mrs. Bellam}^ influenced her in his favour to 
 such a degree, that she kept her maid from ap- 
 pearing against him. She then set on foot a sub- 
 scription towards paying the forfeiture of the 
 bond, and in this manner raised thirty guineas 
 towards it. 
 
 As the maid did not appear, the culprit was 
 discharged, and the very same night called at 
 Mrs. Bellamy's house. As she supposed that he 
 had no other business than to return thanks for 
 her lenity, and as she had a particular aversion 
 to such acknowledcments, she directed the ser- 
 vant who brought in his name to say she was 
 busy and could not see him. The fellow then 
 sent in word that he must see Mrs. Bellamy, or 
 it would be worse for her, as she had compound- 
 ed felony, and before a few hours were passed, 
 she might be called to answer for it. 
 
 She was alarmed at the insult, but not being
 
 Sf GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 
 
 conversant with the law, she was at a loss to com- 
 prehend his meaning. Il was therefore necessa- 
 ry to refer to some person for advice, and accordr 
 ingly sent for a cousin of hers, who followed the 
 profession of the law, to settle the affair, while 
 the ungrateful wretch waited at a neighbouring 
 public house. He made a peremptory demand 
 of fifty pounds, which he insisted on being 
 paid immediately, otherwise he would lodge 
 an information against his benefactress. Find- 
 ing from her cousin that there was no re- 
 dress, Mrs Bellamy paid him the money. Thus 
 did she become a victim to her humanity, by 
 means of a monster, who deserved to suffer the 
 severest punishment of the law for his ingratitude, 
 though he had escaped the due deserts of his dis- 
 honest \'. 
 
 On this occasion Mrs. Bellamy makes the fol- 
 lowing judicious reflections: — "This instance," 
 says she, " serves to prove, that however strongly 
 humanity may urge to the contrary, the regular 
 prosecution of an offender against the laws of his 
 country is a duty we owe to ourselves as well as 
 to the community. In such cases lenity ceases 
 to be a virtue. A stronger claim than delicacy of 
 feeling calls for a spirited exertion upon these 
 occasions. The trouble and inconveniences which 
 attend a prosecution ought to be cheerfully sub- 
 mitted to; and though services rendered our 
 country of this kind are not attended with so. 
 much eclat as those where life is exposed in her 
 defence; yet they are a duty incujubeiit oil every 
 
 5?
 
 «EORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 53 
 
 go»d citizen, and as deservino; of a civic crown. 
 Justice, indeed, should ever be tempered by mo- 
 deration, and humanity should always be exerted/ 
 whenever prudence does not forbid.' 
 
 In the course of her narrative, however, Mrs. 
 Bellamy has an opportunity of relating one or two 
 anecdotes of a far more pleasing nature. While 
 she was an -inhabitant of Parliament Street, a 
 period, she says, pregnant with sorrows, she re- 
 commended a person, who wrote a ver}' fine hand, 
 as a clerk to Mr. Caicraft. About two 3^ears 
 afterwards he informed her, that he had an 
 o|)portuwity of going to the East Indies in a very 
 advantageous situation, at the same lime assuring 
 her that he should ever retain a grateful remem- 
 brance of her favors. On his return to England, 
 this gentleman, whose name was Hearne, made 
 many enquiries after Mrs. Bellamy, and hearing 
 of iier distress while at Edinburgh, he generously 
 sent her two hundred pounds. Tliis, she says, ■ 
 was the most acceptable favor she ever received, 
 as it evinced the ^latitude of the donor. 
 
 Another circumstance of a similar kind, which 
 happened about the same time, deserves to be 
 recorded. Mrs. Bellamy once had a servant 
 najned Daniel Douglas, who lived with her about 
 nine years. At length she recommended him as 
 a dt)mestic to Lord Hume, then governor of Gib- 
 raltar. His lordsliij) made him his major-domo, • 
 and Daniel conducted himself so much to his 
 njaster's satisfaction^ that he left him a handsome 
 legacy at his death. When Mrs. Bellamy lived
 
 M OEORGE ANNE TJELI.A M Y. 
 
 at Edinburgh, she was informed that a Mr. 
 ])ou»Ias had called sevend times at her house 
 when she happened not to be at home. One 
 day, walking -up the Castle Hill, she was accosted 
 by a person whose face was familiar to her, 
 thou2:h she could not recollect him. He burst 
 into tears, and having made himself known, 
 begged her to permit him to speak to her the 
 first time she was at leisure, as he was detained 
 at Edinburgh by no other business. She ap- 
 pointed that afternoon to see him at her house, 
 and could not imagine what his Inisiness might 
 he, for thou«;h she had always endeavored to 
 deserve the regard of her domestics, she never 
 had been particularly kind to him. 
 
 When he came, he informed her that he had 
 saved eleven hundred pounds, and that his wife 
 bad taken an inn upon the Dover road, for which 
 they were to pay seven hundred. He then said 
 he hoped Mrs. Bellamy would forgive his pre- 
 sumption., but he feared she was not in such c;ir- 
 cumslances as fortnerly. If she would be so good 
 as to make nse, ibr her own time, of the remain- 
 der of the little fortune she had been the means 
 of his acquiring, it would afibrd him more real 
 pleasure than he could receive iVom disposing of 
 it in anv otiier wav. 
 
 Mrs. Bellamy could scarcely refrain from 
 tears at the manner \u uhich this tender was 
 made. It .seemed railuT as if he hafl been soli- 
 citinij; a loan than oirerin<i; a favor. She thanked 
 him cordially for his intended kindness, but dc-
 
 GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 35 
 
 dined accepting il; assuring liiin at the same 
 time, that she did not do so tVoni beiiig hurt at 
 the ofler, which gave her singular pleasure, but 
 because she had recently received a hberal sup- 
 ply i'roui Afr. Hearne, whom he well krit^v. She 
 added, that she could not tJjink of borrowing the 
 inoney for which lie iiad labored many years, 
 without being certain of repnying it, even wer« 
 she actually distressed, consequently she would 
 not contract a debt of such a nature, when she 
 leally had no immediate occasion. Tlie worthy 
 creature reluctantly acquiesced in this determi- 
 nation, and took his leave, apparently as much 
 mortified at the refusal of his money, as others 
 would have been if they were dunned for it. 
 
 The history of this lady will, it is hoped, ope- 
 rate as a warning to every youthful reader, to 
 shun the first step towards vice. Tliis once taken, 
 the rest of the road leads the unhappy victim by 
 the specious allurements of pleasure, with head- 
 Jong precipitation into the abysses of misery. 
 This is a serious and solemn truth, which cannot 
 be too decpK' impressed upon the mind. No 
 sun e'er rose "r.ith fairer promise on the morning 
 of life than did that of Mrs. Bellamy. With her 
 respectable connections, and with tlie talents she 
 undoubtedly possessed, she might have passed 
 her days in the enjoyment of all ihe comforts 
 and conveniences that affluence can procure. 
 And what is of far greater imj)ortance, the good- 
 ness of heart, the benevolence, and the amiable 
 disposition with which she seems to have been
 
 SG. GEORGE ANNE EELI.AMY. 
 
 gifted, would have diffused their genial iniluence 
 on all around her, and conferred happiness not 
 only on them, but also on b.erself. How melan- 
 choly is the contrast which is presented by her 
 story! In the early stages ot her progress, she 
 was, it is true, attended by the smiles of fortune, 
 but how large a portion of her life was enibillered 
 in consequence of her own indiscretion, by em- 
 barrassments of various kinds, by pecuniary dif- 
 ficulties, and by all those evils which are invari- 
 ably experienced by persons removed from ease 
 and plenty to a state of indigence and penury. 
 How greatly must the sufferings of such be en- 
 hanced also by the reflection that they liave 
 brought all these evils upon themselves by their 
 deviation from the path which virtue pointed 
 out; while the compliance with her .dictates 
 would have ensured them all the approbation of 
 their own consciences, and all the external fe- 
 licity which man is capable of tasting in this sub- 
 lunarv existence. 
 
 Mrs. Bellamy took her leave of the stage in 
 1784, and died oppressed with poverty and dis- 
 ease on the iGth of February,,! 7S8.
 
 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 
 
 Among those characters wliich deserve atten- 
 tion not for any emhience.in virtue on the one 
 hand, or uncommon depravity on the other, but 
 for a certain eccentricity of conduct, which, with 
 the same advantages in Jife, no other person 
 would imitate, Bampfylde Moore Carew deserves 
 a prominent place. Portraits of such persons, 
 with some general traits of their character, are 
 gratifying, not so much from any useful lesson, 
 to be derived from their history and adventures, 
 as for their being objects of curiosity. We turn 
 to them just as the philosopher, who loves to 
 contemplate the beauties of the creation, adverts 
 sometimes to the delineation of any uncommon 
 object, to the sportive productions of nature, in 
 her occasional deviations from her general laws. 
 These human curiosities are by no means with- 
 out their use. When the reader contemplates 
 such characters as that of Edward Wcrtley 
 Montague and Bampfylde Moore Carew, who 
 neglected all the advantages of birth, fortune, 
 and education, to associate with the lowest of 
 mankind, he will perceive instances of a volun- 
 tary self-degradation, that must excite the most 
 mortifying reflections on the inconsistency, and 
 even occasional irrationality of the human cha- 
 racter ; and he may be led to this awful truth, 
 that as the only way to rise in moral excellence, 
 VOL.2.— NO. 20. 2 E
 
 tt BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 
 
 ftnd of course to happiness, is to cultivate our 
 talents and advantages, and to form our minds to 
 habils of virtue in this stage of our existence; so 
 nothing can be more humiliating, than the sight 
 of a man of family, who, by long association with 
 the low, ignorant, and unprincipled, loses sight 
 of the moral principle, unfits himself for the 
 duties of his station, and at length expires with- 
 out having once experienced the soothing con- 
 solation that results from the consciousness of a 
 well-spent life. 
 
 Bamptylde Moore Carew, one of the most ex- 
 traordinary characters on record, was descended 
 from an ancient and honorable famil}' in the west 
 of England. He was born in 1693, at Bickley, 
 in Devonshire, of which place bis father, the 
 Rev. Theodore Carew, was many years rector. 
 Never was there known a more splendid appear- 
 ance of persons of the first distinction at any^ 
 baptism in the county, than were present at his. 
 Hugh Bampfylde, Esq. and Major Moore, of fa- 
 milies equally ancient and respectable as that of 
 Carew, were his godfathers, and from them he 
 received his two chiistian names. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Carew had several other chil- 
 dren, all of whom he educated in a tender and 
 pious manner. At the age of twelve years, his 
 soUj the subject of this article, was sent-to Tiver- 
 ton school, where ha contracted an intimate ac- 
 quaintance with many young gentlemen of the 
 first families in Devonshire and the adjacent 
 counties. 
 
 During the first four years of young Carew's
 
 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 3 
 
 residence at Tiverton school, his close application, 
 to his studies gave his friends great hopes tl>at 
 he might one day appear with distinction in tine 
 profession which his father became so well, and 
 for which he was designed. He actuaify made 
 a very considerable progress in the Latin and 
 Greek lanojuaoes. The Tiverton sch'olars, how ■ 
 ever, lutifing at this time the command of a fine 
 pack of hounds, Carew and three other young 
 gentlemen, his most intimate companions, at- 
 tached themselves w ith such ardor to the sport of 
 hunting, that their studies were soon neglected. 
 One day the pupils, with Carew and his three 
 friends at their head, were engaged in the chase 
 of a deer for many miles, just before the com- 
 mencement of harvest. The damage done to the 
 fields of standing corn was so great, that the 
 neicrhboTinnj centlemen and farmers came vvitb 
 heavy complaints to Mr. llayner, the master of 
 the school, who threatened young Carew and his 
 companions so severely, that through fear they 
 absconded, and joined a gang of gypsies who 
 then happened to be in the neigh borhootl. This 
 society consisted of about eighteen persons of 
 both sexes, who carried with them such an air of 
 mirth and gaiety, that the youngsters were quite 
 delighted with their company, and expressing an 
 inclination to enter into their society, the gypsies 
 admitted them, after the performance of the re- 
 quisite ceremonies, and the administration of the 
 proper oaths ; for these people are subject to a 
 form of government and laws peculiar to them.- 
 
 2 EC
 
 4 BAMPF^LDE MOORE C A U EW. 
 
 selves, and all pay obedience to one chief wlio is 
 styled their kinc". 
 
 Young Carew was soon initiated into some of 
 the arts of the wandering tribe, and with such 
 ^success, that besides several exploits in which 
 he was a party, he himself had the dexterity to 
 defraud a lady near Taunton of twenty guineas, 
 nnd'er the pretext of discovering to her, by his 
 skill in astrology, a hidden treasure. 
 
 His parents meanwhile lamented him as one 
 that was no more, for though they had repeat:- 
 edly advertised his name and person, they could 
 Dot obtain the least intelligence of him. At 
 length, after an interval of a year and a half, 
 hearing of their grief and repeated enquiries 
 .after him^ his heart relented, and he returned to 
 Jiis parents at Bickley. Being greatly disguised 
 both in dress and appearance, he was not known 
 at first by his parents ; but when he discovered 
 himself, a scene followed which no words can 
 describe, and there were great rejoicings both in 
 Bickley and the neighboring parish of Cadley. 
 
 Every thing was done to render his home 
 agreeable, but Carew had contracted such a 
 fondness for the society of the gypsies, that, 
 after various ineffectual struggles with the sug- 
 ,gestions of filial piety, he once more eloped from 
 his parents, and repaired to his former connec- 
 tions. He now began to consider in what man- 
 ner he should employ himself. The first charac- 
 ter he assumed for the purpose of levying con- 
 tributions on the unsuspecting and unwary, was 
 that of^a sl)ipwreckcd seaman, in which he was
 
 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREAV. 5 
 
 very successful. lie next gave himself out to 
 be a fanner, who, living in the isle of Sheppey 
 in Kent, had the misfortune to have all his lands 
 overflowed, and all his cattle drowned. Every 
 scheme which he undertook, he executed with 
 so much skill and dexterity, that he raised con- ' 
 siderable sums. So artful were the disguises of 
 his dress, countenance, and voice, that persons 
 who knew him intimately did not discover the 
 deception, and once, on the same day, he went 
 under three different characters to the house of 
 a respectable baronet, and was successful in them 
 all. 
 
 Some time after Carew's return to the vagrant 
 life, we find him on a voyage to Newfoundland, 
 from motives of mere curiosity. He acquired, 
 during his stay, such a knowledge of that island, 
 as was hi2;hlv useful to him, whenever he thou2;ht 
 proper afterwards to assume the character of the 
 shipwrecked seaman. He returned in the same 
 ship to Dartmouth, where he embarked, bring- 
 ing with him a dog of surprising size and fierce- 
 ness, which he had enticed to follow him, and 
 made as gentle as a lamb by an art peculiar to 
 himself. 
 
 At Newcastle, Carew, pretending to be the 
 mate of a collier, eloped with a young lady, the 
 daughter of an eminent apothecary of that town. 
 They proceeded to Dartmouth, and though he 
 undeceived her with respect to his real character, 
 she was soon afterwards married to him "at Bath. 
 They then visited an uncle of Carew's^ a clergy- 
 
 2 E 3 .
 
 6 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAUEW. 
 
 man of distingiiished abilities, at Dorcliester 
 who received them with great kindness and en- 
 deavoured, but in vain to persuade him to leave 
 'the community of the gN'psies. 
 
 Again associating with them, his disguises 
 were more various and his statagems not less suc- 
 cessful. He first equipped himself in a clerg}'- 
 inan's habit, put on a band, a large white wig, 
 and a broad-brimmed hat. His whole deport- 
 ment was agreeable to his dress; his pace was 
 solemn and slow, his countenance grave and 
 thoughtful, his eyes turned on the ground ; from 
 which, as if employed in secret ejaculations, he 
 would raise them to heaven : every look and ac- 
 tion spoke his want; but at the same time, the 
 livpocrite seemed overwhelmed with that shame 
 which modest merit feels, when obliged to soli- 
 cit the hand of charity. This artful behaviour 
 excite^ the curiosity of many people of fortune 
 to enquire into his circumstances, but it was 
 with much reluctance that he acquainted them, 
 ihat he had for many years exercised the sacred 
 office of a clergyman, at Aberystwith, a parish 
 in Wales, but that the government changing, he 
 kad preferred c^uitting his benefice, (though he 
 had a wife and several small children) to taking 
 an oath contrary to his principles. This relation 
 he accompanied with frequent sighs, and warm 
 expressions of his trust in providence ; and as he 
 perfectly knew those persons it was proper to ap- 
 ply to, this stratagem succeeded beyond his ex- 
 pectations. But hearing that a vessel, on board 
 of which there wcjic many quakcrs; bound foi
 
 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAKEW. 7 
 
 Philadelphia, had been cast away on the coast 
 v'i Irelatidj he laid aside his gown and band, 
 cloathed himself in a plain suit, and with a de- 
 mure countenance^ a[)plied to the quakers, as 
 one of -those unhappy creatures, with great suc- 
 cess, and hearintj; that their was to be a meetius: of 
 them from all parts, at Thorncombe in Devon- 
 shire, he made the best of his way thither, and 
 joining the assembly, with a seeming modest 
 assurance, made his case known, and satisfying 
 them by his behavior, that he was one of the sect, 
 they made a considerable contribution for his re- 
 lief. 
 
 With such wonderful facility did he assume 
 every character, that he often deceived those who 
 knew him best, and were most positive of his not 
 being able to impose upon them. Going one 
 day to Mr. Portman's at Brinson, near Blandford, 
 in the character of a rat-catcher, with a hair-cap 
 on his head, a buti" girdle about his waist, and a 
 tame rat in a little box by his side; he boldly 
 marched up to the house in this disguise, though 
 his person was known to all the family ; and 
 meeting in the court with the Rev, Mr. Bryant, 
 and several other gentlemen, whom he well knew, 
 he asked if their honours had any rats to kill. Mr. 
 Portman asked him if he knew his business, and 
 on his answering in the affirmative, he was sent 
 in to get his dinner, with a promise, that after 
 he had dined they would make a trial of his abi- 
 lities. Dinner being over, he was called into a 
 parlour among a large company of gentlemen
 
 S BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAEEW. 
 
 and krdies. " Well, Mr. Rat-catcher/' said Mr. 
 Portman/'^cariyou lay any scheme to kill the rats 
 without hurting my dogs?" ''Yes, yes," replied Ca- 
 rew, "■ I shall lay my composition where even the 
 rats cannot climb to reach it" — '^ And what coun- 
 tryman are you r" — " A Devonsliire man, an't 
 pleaseyour honour." " What's your name:" Carew 
 perceiving, by some smiles and v/hispers, that he 
 Avas known, replied, by telling the letters of 
 which his name was composed. This occasioned 
 a good deal of mirth, and Mr. Plej'dell, of St. 
 Andrew's Milbourn, who was one of the compa- 
 ny, expressed some pleasure at seeing the famous 
 Bamfylde Moore Carew, whom he said he had 
 never seen before. '' Yes, but you have," said 
 he, " and given me a suit of cloaths." Mr. Pley- 
 dell was surprised, and desired to know when it 
 was; Carew q,sked him if he did not remember 
 being met by a poor wretch, with a stocking 
 round his head instead of a cap, an old woman's 
 ragged mantle on his shoulders, no shirt to his 
 back, nor stockings to his legs, and scarcely any 
 shoes to his feet, who told him thathe was apcor 
 unfortunate man, cast away near the Canaries, 
 and taken up with eight others, by a Frenchman, 
 the rest of the crew, sixteen in number, being 
 drowned ; and that after having asked him some 
 questions, he gave him a guinea and a suit of 
 cloaths. This Mr. Pleydell acknowledged, and 
 Carew replied : " He was no other than the ex- 
 pert rat-catcher now before you." At this the 
 company laughed very heartily; and Mr. Pley-
 
 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 9 
 
 dell, and several others, oircring to lay a guinea 
 that they should know him again, let him eome 
 ill what form he pleased, and others asserting the 
 contrary, Carevv was desired to try his ingenuity ; 
 and some oH the company following him out, let 
 him know that on such a day, the same compa- 
 ny, with several others^ were to he at Mr. Pley- 
 dell's. 
 
 When the day arrived, he got himself close 
 shaved, dressed himself like an old woman, put 
 u high-crowned hat on his head, borrowed a lit- 
 tle hump-backed child of a tinker, and tv/o others 
 'of a beggar, and with the tW'O last at his back, 
 and the former by the hand, . marched to Mr. 
 Pleydell's ; when coming up to the door, he put 
 his hand behind him, and pinching, one of the 
 children, set it a roaring, and gave the alarm to 
 the dogs, who .came out with open throats, so 
 that between the crying of the child, and tlue 
 barking of the dogs, the family was sufficiently 
 annoyed. This brought out the maid, who de- 
 sired the supposed old woman to go about her 
 business, telhng her she disturbed the ladies. 
 "God bless their ladyships," replied Carew," I am 
 the unfortunate grandmother of these poor help- 
 less infants, whose dear mother, and all tliey had 
 was burned at the dreadful fire at Kirton, and 
 hope the good ladies will, for God's sake, bestow 
 something on the poor famished infants." This 
 pitiful tale was accompanied with tears, and the 
 maid going in, sooi\ returned with hall' a crown,, 
 and a mess of broth, which Carew went into the
 
 10 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 
 
 court to eat. It was not long before the gentle- 
 men appeared, and after they had all relieved 
 him, he pretended to go away, when setting up a 
 tantivy, tantivy, and an halloo to the dogs, they 
 turned about, and some of them then recollecting, 
 from his altered voice, that it could be no other 
 than Cifrew, he was called in. On examining 
 his features, they were highly delighted, and re- 
 warded him for the entertainment he had given 
 tl)em. 
 
 Carew so easily entered into every character, 
 and moulded himself into so many diflerent forms, 
 that he gained the highest applauses from that 
 apparently wretched community to which he be- 
 longed, and soon became the favourite of their 
 king, who was very old. Tliis flattered his low 
 ambition, and prompted him to be continually 
 planning new stratagems, among which he exe- 
 cuted a very bold one on the duke of Bol- 
 ton. — Dressing himself in a sailor's ragged 
 habit, and going to his grace's near Basingstoke 
 in Hampshire, he knocked at the gate, and with 
 an assured countenance, desired admittance to 
 the duke, or at least that the porter would give 
 his grace a paper which he held in his hand : but 
 he applied in vain. Not discouraged, he waited 
 till he at last saw a servant come out, and telling 
 him lie was a very unfortunate man, desired he 
 would be so kind as to introduce him where he 
 might speak with his grace. As this servant had 
 no interest in locking up his master, he ver}' rea- 
 dily promised to comply with his request, as
 
 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. U 
 
 soon as the porter was off liis stand ; which he 
 accordingly did, introducing him into a hall 
 through which the duke was to pass. lie had 
 not heen long there, before the duke entered, 
 upon which dropping on one knee he offered 
 him a petition, setting forth, that the unfortu- 
 nate petitioner, Bainpfylde Moore Carew, was 
 supercargo of a vessel that was cast away coming 
 from Sweden, in which were all his effects, none 
 of which he had been able to save. The duke 
 seeing the name of Bampfylde JNloore Carew, 
 and knowing those names to belong to families 
 of the gratest worth and note in the west of En- 
 gland, asked him several questions about his fa- 
 mily and relations, when being surprised that he 
 should apply for relief to any but his own family, 
 who were so well able to assist him, Carew re- 
 plied, that he had disobliged them by some fol- 
 lies of youth, and had not seen them for some 
 years. The duke treated him with the utmost 
 humanity, and calling a servant, had him con- 
 ducted into an inner room, where being shaved 
 by his grace's order, a servant was sent to him 
 with a suit of clothes, a fine Holland shirt, and 
 every thing necessaiy to give him a genteel ap- 
 pearance. He was then called in to the duke, 
 who was sitting with several other persons of 
 quality. They were all taken with his person 
 and behaviour, and presently raised for him a 
 supply of ten guineas. His grace being en- 
 gagedto go out that afternoon, desired him to 
 stay there that nighty and gave orders that he 
 
 2
 
 12 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 
 
 should be handsomely entertained, leaving his 
 gentleman to keep him company. But the duke 
 was scarcely gone, when Carew found an oppor- 
 tunity to set out. unobserved towards Basingstoke, 
 where he went to a house frequented by some of 
 his coinmunity. He treated the company, and 
 informing them of the bold stratagem he had 
 executed, the whole pk:ce resounded with ap- 
 plause, and every one acknowledged that he was 
 most worthy of succeedina; to the throne of the 
 mendicant tribe, on the first vacancy that should 
 occur. 
 
 In the same disguise he imposed upon seve- 
 ral others, and having spent some days in hunt- 
 ing with colonel Sirangeways, at Melbury in 
 Dorset, the conversation happened one day at 
 dinner to turn on Carew's ingenuity; the colonel 
 seemed surprised that several who were so well 
 acquainted with him, should have been so deceiv- 
 ed; asserting, that he thought it impossible for 
 Carew to deceive him, as he had thoroughly 
 observed every feature and line in his counten- 
 ance; on which he modestly replied, it might be 
 so, and some other subject being started, the 
 matter dropped. Early ihe next morning Ca- 
 rew being called upon to go out with the hounds, 
 desired to be excused, which the colonel being 
 informed of, went to the field without him. Soon 
 after, Carew went down stairs, and slightly in- 
 quiring which way the colonel gcnemll}' returned, 
 w alked out, and going to a house frequented by 
 his community, exchanged his clothes for a rag-
 
 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 13 
 
 gcd habit, made a counterfeit wound in his thigh, 
 took a pair of crutciies, and having disguised his 
 face with a venerable pity-moving beard, went in 
 search of the colonel, whom he found in the 
 town of Evershot. His lamentable moans be- 
 gan almost as soon as the colonel was in siglit; 
 his countenance expressed nothing but pain ; his 
 pretended wound was exposed to the colonel's eye, 
 and the tears trickled down his silver beard. An 
 the colonel's heart was not proof against such 
 an affecting sight, he threw him half a crown, 
 uhich Carew received with exuberant gratitude, 
 and then with great submission desired to be iti- 
 formed if colonel Strans-ewavs, a verv charitable 
 gentleman, did not live in that neighbourhood, 
 and begged to be directed the nearest way to liis 
 seat; on which the colonel, filled with compas- 
 sion, shewed him the shortest way to his owri 
 house, and on this he took his leave. Carew 
 returned before the colonel, and pretended to 
 be greatly refreshed with his morning's walk. 
 \\ hen they had sat down to dinner, Carew in- 
 quired what sport they had, and if the colonel had 
 not met a very miserable object. *' I did — a 
 very miserable object indeed," replied the co- 
 lonel. " And he has got liither before you," says 
 Carev/, " and is now at your table."' This oc- 
 casioned a great deal of mirth; but the colonel 
 could not be persuaded of the truth of what Ca-. 
 rcw asserted, till he slipped out, and hopped in 
 again upon his crutches. 
 VOL. 2.— NO. 20. 2 F
 
 14 BAMPIVLDE MCORE CAREW. 
 
 About this time Clause Patch, the king of the 
 mendicants, died, and Carew had the honor of 
 being elected king in his stead; by which dig- 
 nity, as he was provided with every thing neces* 
 sary by the joint contributions of the community, 
 he was under no obligation to go on an^y cruize. 
 Notwiihstandina; this, Carew was as active in his 
 stratagems as ever; but he had not long enjoyed 
 this honor, when he was seized and confined as 
 an idle vagrant, tried at the quarter sessions at 
 Exeter, and transported to Maryland; where 
 being arrived, he took the opportunity, while 
 the captain of the vessel and a person who 
 seemed disposed to buy him, were drinking a 
 bowl of punch in a public house, to give them 
 the slip, and to take with him a piirt of brandy 
 and some biscuits, and then betake himself to 
 the woods. 
 
 Having thus eluded their search, as he was 
 entirely ignorant that none were allowed to tra- 
 vel there without proper passes, or that there 
 was a considerable reward granted for appre- 
 hendina: a runaway, he conoratulated himself on 
 his iiappy escape, and did not doubt but he 
 should find means to get to England ; but going 
 one morning early through a narrow path, he 
 was met by fou^" men, when not being able to 
 produce a pass, he was seized, carried before u 
 justice of peace, and thrown into prison. But 
 here obtaining information, that some captains 
 to whom he was known were lying with their 
 ships in the harbor, be acquainted them \yith his?
 
 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. ' \5 
 
 sitiuition, on which they paid liim a visit, and 
 told liinij that as he had not been sold to a plan- 
 ter, if the captain did not come to demand him, 
 he would be publicly sold the next court-day, 
 and then generously agreed to purchase him 
 among themselves, and to give him his liberty. 
 Carcvv was so struck with their kindness, that h^ 
 could not consent to purchase his liberty nt their ^ 
 exin?nce, and desired them to tell the captain 
 who brought the transports where he wus. 
 The}' at last agreed to his request ; the captJiia 
 received the news with great pleasure, sent round 
 his boat for him, had him severely punish- 
 ed with a cat-of-nine tails, and a heavy iron 
 collar fixed to hib neck, and with this galling 
 yoke he was obliged to perform the greatest 
 drud2;erv. , 
 
 One day/i^'fei^n his spirits were ready to sink 
 with despair!,' he saw the captains Harvey and 
 Hopkins, two of those who havl proposed to 
 purchase his liberty. They were greatly affected 
 with ihe miseries he suffered, and having sound- 
 ed the boatswain and mate, prevailed on them 
 to wink at hifi escape; but the greatest obstacle 
 was the penalty of forty pounds and half a year's 
 imprisonment for any one that took off his iron 
 collar, so that he must be obliged to travel with 
 it on. The captains acquainted him with all the 
 difficulties he would meet with ; but he was far 
 from beino; discourasred, and resolved to set out 
 that night, when directing liim what course to 
 take, they gave him a pocket compass to steec 
 
 2 VZ
 
 16 BAMPFYLDE MOORR CAREW. 
 
 by, fi steel and tinder-box, a bag of biscuits, h 
 cheese, and some rnin. ■ After taking an affec- 
 tionate leave of" his benefactors, he set out; but 
 he had not travelled tar before he began to re- 
 flect on his wretched condition : alone, nnarme<l, 
 unacquainted with the way, galled with a heavy 
 yoke, exposed ever}' moment to the most immi- 
 nent dangers; and a dark tempestuous night 
 approuc[)ing increased his terror; his ears were 
 assaulted by the yt^iU of tlie wild beasts ; but 
 kindling some sticks, he kept them all night at a 
 distance, by constantly swinging a fire-brand 
 r.oiuid his head. When day-light appeared, he 
 had nothing to do but to seek for the thickest 
 tree he could find, and climbing into it, as he 
 hud travelled hard all night, he soon fell asleep. 
 Here he staid all day, eating sparingK' of his bis- 
 cuit and cheese, and night coming ./^n he took a 
 large dram of rum, and again pursu-ed his jour- 
 ne\\ In this manner travelling by night, and 
 concealing himself by day, he went on. till he 
 was out of danger of pursuit, or being stopped 
 for want of a pass, and then travelled by day. 
 IJis journey was frequently interrupted by rivers 
 and rivulets, which he was obliged either to wade 
 throu2;h, or sv.im over. At length he discovered 
 five Indians at a distance; his fear represented 
 them in the most frightful colours ; but as he 
 came nearer, he perceived them clothed in deer- 
 skins, their hair was exceeding long, and to his 
 inexpressible joy, he discovered they had guns 
 in their hands, which was a sure sign of their
 
 BAMPFVLDE MOORE CAKEW. 1? 
 
 being friendly Indians ; and these having accost- 
 ed him with great civility, soon introduced him 
 to their king, who spoke very good Englisli, and 
 made him go to his zcigrcom, or house, when oh- 
 serving that he was much hurt hy his collar, the 
 king immediately set himselt about freeing him 
 from it, and at last effected it by jagging the steel 
 of Carew's tinder-box into a kind of saw, his 
 majesty sweating heartily at the work. This 
 being done, he set before Carew some Indiaa 
 ba-ead and other refreshments. Here he was 
 treated with the greatest hopitality and respect;, 
 and scarcely a day passed, in which he did not 
 go out with some party on a hunting match, and 
 frequently with the king himself. 
 
 One day as they were hunting, they fell lit 
 company with some other Indians near the river 
 Delaware, and when the chace was over, sat 
 down to be merry with them. Carew took this 
 opportunity to slip out, and going to the river 
 side, seized one of their canoes, and though en- 
 tirely unacquainted with the method of managing 
 ihem, boldly pushed from shore, and landed near 
 Newcastle, in Pennsylvania. 
 
 Carew now transformed himself intd aqna-ker,^ 
 ivnd behaved as if he had never seen any other 
 sort of people ; and in this manner travelled tf» 
 Philadelphia, meeting every where with the 
 kindest treatment and the most plentiful supply; 
 from hence he went to New York, where going 
 «n board a vessel belonging to Captain Rogers^ 
 be set sail for England; and after having pre-
 
 ]8 COUNTESS. OF SCinVARZBURO. 
 
 vented his being pressed on board a man of war, 
 by pricking his hands and face, and rubbing 
 ihem with bay-salt and gunpowder, to give him 
 the appearance oT the sniall-pox, safely landed at 
 Bristol, and soon rejoined his wife and begging 
 companions. 
 
 Here terminates the narrative of the adven- 
 tures of this extraordinary person, who, with un- 
 common talents and the greatest advantages, 
 connections, and interest, might have figured in 
 the highest and most respectable walks of life. 
 What became. of him afterwards "is unknown, 
 but he is said to have died about the year 1770, 
 aged 77. 
 
 COUNTESS or SCHWARZBUKG. 
 
 In modern, as well as in ancient historN', we 
 find examples of iiUrei)idity recorded of women, 
 that equal any whicli have been given by the 
 other sex ; and it may also be remarked, that in 
 the latter they more frequently proceed from a 
 virtuous Of praiseworthy motive. Such was the 
 action which acquired celebrity for the Coun- 
 tess-dowager of Schwarzburg, who, b\' the bold- 
 ness and resolution of her conduct, struck terror, 
 on one occasion, into the formidable Duke of 
 Alva. 
 
 When the emperor Charles the Fifth, who was 
 ulso king of Spain^ passed tluough Thuringia,
 
 COUNTESS OF SCII W A RZBURG. IQ 
 
 on his return, in the year 1547f from the battle 
 of Mulilberg, to his camp in Sua^ia, Catherine, 
 countess- dowager of Schwarzburg, born princess 
 of Henneberg, obtained of him a letter of safe- 
 guard, that her subjects might have nothing to 
 fear from the Spanish army on its march through 
 her territories j in return for which she bound 
 herself to allow the Spanish troops that were to 
 cross the river Saale by the bridge at Rudol- 
 stadt, to supply themselves with bread, beer, and 
 other provisions, at a reasonable price, in that 
 place. At the same time she took the precaution 
 to have the bridiie which slood close to the town 
 demolished in all haste, and re- constructed over 
 the river at a considerable distance, that the too 
 great proximity of the city might be no tempta- 
 tion to her rapacious guests. The inhabitants 
 too of all the places through w'.uch the army was 
 to pass, were informed that they might send their 
 most valuable effects to the castle of Rudolstadt, 
 Meanwhile the Spanish general, attended by 
 .jjrince Henry of Brunswick and his sons, ap- 
 proached tiie city. By a messenger whom they 
 dispatched before, they announced their inten- 
 tion of breakfasting with the countess of 
 Schwarzburg. So modest a rccjiiest, made at the 
 head of an army, was not to be rejected. The 
 answer returned was, that they should be sup- 
 plied with what the house afforded ; that his 
 excellency might come, and be assured of a wel- 
 come reception. However, she did not neglect 
 at the same time to remind the Spanish gencrol
 
 90 COUNTESS OF SCnWARZBURG. 
 
 of the safe-guard, and to urge the conscientious 
 observance of it. A friendly reception and a well- 
 furnislied table, welcomed the arrival of the duke 
 at the castle. He was obliged to confess, that 
 the Thuringian ladies had an excellent notion of 
 cookery, and did honor to the laws of hospitality. 
 But scarcely had they taken their seats, when a 
 messenger out of breath called the countess I'rom 
 the hall. He informed her, that the Spanish sol- 
 diers had used violence in some villages on the 
 way, and had driven off the cattle belonging to 
 the peasants. Catherine was a true mother to 
 her people; whatever the poorest of her subjects 
 unjustly suffered, wounded her to the quick. Full 
 of indignation at this breach of faith, yet not 
 forsaken by her presence of mind, she ordered 
 her whole retinue to arm themselves immediately 
 in private, and to bolt and bar all the gates of the 
 castle; which done, she returned to the hall, and 
 rejoined the princes, who were still at table» 
 Here she complained to them, in the most 
 moving terms, of the usage she had met with, 
 and how badly the imperial word was kept. 
 They told her, laughing, that this was the cus* 
 torn in war, and that such trifling disorders of 
 soldiers in marching through a place were not 
 to be minded. " That we shall presently see," 
 replied she, resolutely. " My poor subjects must 
 have their own again, or by G— d !" — raising hei 
 voice in a threatening tone — " princes' blood (of 
 oxen's blootl !" With this emphatic declaration 
 she (piitted the room, which;, iu a few muiacnt9>
 
 COUNTESS OF SCHWARZBURG. 11 
 
 was nlled with armed men, who, sword in hand. 
 Vet with great reverence, planting themselves 
 behind the chairs of the princes, took the places 
 <)[' the waiters. On the entrance of these fierce- 
 looking fellows, the duke of" Alva changed color, 
 and the guests all gazed at one another in silence 
 and alVriiiht. Cut off' from the armv, surrounded 
 by a resolute hody of men, what had they to do, 
 but to summon up their patience, and to appease 
 the offended lady on the best terms they could? 
 ilcnry of Brunswick was the first that collected 
 his spirits; and smothered his feelings by burst- 
 ing into a loud fit of laughter; thus seizing the 
 most reasonable way of coming off, by turning 
 all that had passed into a subject of mirth ; con- 
 cluding with a warm panegyric on the patriotic 
 concern and the determined intrepidity the coun- 
 tess had shewn. He intreated her to make her- 
 self easy, and undertook to prevail on the duke 
 of Alva to consent to whatever should be found 
 reasonable; which he immediately effected by 
 hiducing the latter to dispatch on the spot an 
 order to the army to restore the cattle without 
 delay to the persons from whom they had been 
 stolen. On the return of the courier with a cer- 
 tificate that com[)ensation had been made for all 
 damages, the countess of Schwarzburg politely 
 thanked her guests for the honor they had done 
 her castle; and they, in return, very courteously 
 took their leave. 
 
 It was this transaction, no doubt, that procured
 
 22 COUNTESS OF SCHM ARZBURG. 
 
 for Catherine tlie surname of the Heroic. She 
 is likewise highly extolled for the active forti-. 
 tilde she displayed in promoting the reformation 
 throughout her dominions, which had already 
 been introduced by her husband. Count Henry 
 XXXVI Ith, as well as for her resolute per- 
 severance in suppressing monastic institutions, 
 and improving the system of education. Num- 
 bers of protestant preachers, who had sustained 
 persecution on account of religion, fled to her 
 for protection and support, which she granted 
 them in the fullest extent. Among these was a 
 certain Caspar Aguila, parish-priest at Saalfeld, 
 who, in his younger years, had attended the 
 emperor's army to the Netherlands in quality of 
 chaplain ; and, because he there refused to bap- 
 tize a cannon ball, was fastened to the mouth of 
 a raortar by the licentious soldiers, to be shot 
 into the air; a fate which he happily avoided 
 only b\' the accident of the powder not catching 
 fire. He was now for the second time in immi- 
 nent daiiger of his life, and a price of 5000 flo- 
 rins was set upon his head, because the emperor 
 was enraged against him for having attacked 
 one of his measures from the pulpit. Catherine 
 had him privately brought to her castle, at the 
 request oF the people of Saalfeld, where she kept 
 him many months concealed, and caused him to 
 be attended with the greatest assiduity, till the 
 storm was blown over, and he could venture to 
 ap})ear in public. She died,, universally honored
 
 JAMES CRICIITON. US 
 
 am! lamented, in the 5Sth year of her age, and 
 the C<)th of lier reign. Her remains were depo- 
 sited in the church of Rudolstadt. 
 
 JAMES CRICHTOX. 
 
 This gentleman, was a native of Scotland, ^Yllo 
 in the course of a short life acquired an uncom- 
 mon degree of celebrity, and on account of his 
 extraordinary endowments both of mind and 
 body, obtained the appellation of " the admirable 
 Crichton," by which title he has continued to be 
 distinguished to the present day. The time of 
 his birth is said by the generality of writers to 
 have been in \dd]; but the Earl of Buehan, in a 
 memoir read to the Society of Antiquaries at 
 Edinburgh, asserts that he was born in the month 
 of August, 15G0. His lather was lord advocate 
 of Scotland in Queen Mary's reign from I06I to 
 157'3; and his mother, the daughter of Sir James 
 Stuart, was aijied to the family which then filled 
 the Scottish throne. 
 
 James Grichlon is said to have received his 
 grammatical education at Perth, and to have 
 studied philosophy at the university of St. An- 
 drews. His tutor at that university was Mr. 
 John Rutherford, a professor, at that time famous 
 for Wis learning, and who distinguished himself 
 by writing four books on Aristotle's logic, and »
 
 24 JAMES CRICHTON. 
 
 commentaiy on liis poetics. According to Aldus 
 Manutius, who calls Criciiton first cousin to the 
 king, he was also instructed, with his majesty, 
 by Buclianan, Hepburn, and Robertson, as well 
 as by Rutherford ; and he had scarcely arrived 
 at the twentieth year of his age, when he had 
 scone thronch the whole circle of the sciences, 
 and could speak and write to perfection in ten 
 different lantj;ua2:es. Nor had he neglected the 
 ornamental brandies of education ; for he liad 
 likewise improved himself, to the highest degree, 
 in riding, dancing, and singing, and was a skilful 
 performer on all sorts of instruments. 
 
 Possessing these numerous accomplishments, 
 Grichton went abroad upon his travels, and is 
 said to have first visited Paris. Of his trans- 
 actions at that place, the following account is. 
 given. He caused six placards to be fixed on all 
 the gates of the schools, halls, and colleges 
 of the university, and on all the pillars and 
 posts before the houses belonging to the most 
 renowned literary characters in that city, invit- 
 ing all those who were well versed in any art or 
 science, to dispute with liini in. the college of 
 Navarre, that day six weeks, by nine o'clock in 
 the morning, when he would attend them and be 
 ready to answer to whatever should be ])roposed 
 to him in any art or science, and in any of these 
 twelve languages, Hebrew, Syriac, Arabic, Greek, 
 Latin, Spanish, French, Italian, English, Dutch, 
 Flemish, and Sclavonian; and this either in verse 
 or prose, at the discretion of the disputant. 
 6
 
 JAMES CftKJ*lt(5K. ^3 
 
 Duriasf the whdlc iiitemtwlitafff thne^ instead, 
 of closely appJjniig to Hi's s^toJics, iJs>migiit have 
 been expeeted, he attended to lio'thhig. brft hinit-- 
 ia<X, bawkrng', tiltirug, v;ujlting.,ridii")g.,. tosiin^^tbes 
 pike, handlrng, tlie roiiskel, and other" niHitary 
 i'e«ts; or else he employed lihnstdf in domestic 
 gfftwes, sfich ?P3 bulls, coTiceYts of inusi'Cy vocal and 
 instrumental, cards, dic^,. (ennis.,. and the like 
 diversions of ycmth. This conduct so provoked 
 the studen'is of the mtiversit}:-, that beneath the 
 placard which wa» fioted on the NaVarre gate?y;> 
 they w^rote the following words: " If you wortkl' 
 meet \vith thi* monster of perfection, the readie;^t ' 
 way to find hiiii is to enquire for hini at the 
 tavern, or the bouses of ill fame." 
 
 Nevertlieless, when the day appointed a'riived,- 
 Crichtort appeared in the college of Navarre,' 
 and acquitted himself beyond expression in the 
 dis^nttation, whicb lasted- fioite nifte oclocfc ki 
 the morning till six at night.. At length thi^-' |^rc- 
 sideiiit, after extolling bii4 hi^hi-y foi' tlie HWnv^ 
 rare and excellent endbwmciiits vehich Qod* smt' 
 n:atarc had bestowed upon biirtv y^'so ft'oiii Mw 
 chair, an;d aedonipanied by foui-; of the most 
 eminent professors of the univei'sitV, gave' hi la*^ 
 diamond ring and a puyse full- of gold, fis * teS-' 
 timony of their respect and adm-irati©in. ■I'h'e.- 
 whole ended with the repeated acclamatJiu^Vs iitid 
 li!U'/zai5' of the speotators, and hencefoyward OiVr 
 young disputant was called "^ the adkii'ablc 
 Ciichton.'" It is added^r thcrft $& Intk wrfs he 
 fatigued with his exertioiis on this- occa'ffton,, tbac 
 
 VOL. 2. — NO. to. « G
 
 (26 JAMES CRICIITON.: 
 
 lie went the very next day to the Loiivre, where , 
 lie had a matcli of tilting, an exercise then in 
 great vogue, and in the presence .of a great 
 number of ladies, and of some of the princes of. 
 the Prench court, carried away the ring fifteen 
 times successively.. 
 
 We find him, about two years after this dis- 
 play of his talents., at Rome,. where he affixed a 
 placard in all the conspicuous places of the. city, 
 in the following terms: " We, James Crichton, 
 of Scotland, will answer extempore any question 
 that may be proposed." In a city which abound- ■ 
 ed in wit, this bold challenge could not escape 
 the ridicule. of a pasquinade. It is said, how- 
 ever, that being nowise discouraged, he appeared 
 at the time and place appointed; and that, in the 
 presence of the pope, many cardinals, bishops, 
 doctors of divinity, and professors in all the . 
 sciences, he exhibited such wonderful proofs of 
 his universal knowledge, that he excited no less; 
 surprize thin he had done at Paris. Boccalini, 
 however, who was then at Rome, gives a some- 
 what different account of the matter. According : 
 to that writer, the pasquinade made such an im-< 
 pression upon him, that he left a place where he . 
 had been so grossly affronted, as to be put upon • 
 a level with jugglers and mountebanks. 
 
 From Rome, Crichton proceeded to Venice, 
 where he contracted an intimate friendship with. 
 Aldus Manutius, liaurentius Massa, Speron Spe- 
 ronius, Johannes Donatus, and various other 
 learned persons, to whojnlic presented several
 
 JAMES CRIOHTON. ,27 
 
 poems in commendation of the' city and unii^er- 
 sity. At length he was introduced 10 the doge 
 and senate, in whose pi'esence he made a spetxh, 
 wl)ich was accompanied with such beauty of 
 eloquence, and such grace of person' and manner, 
 that he receiver! the thanks of that illustrious 
 body, and notiiing but this prodigy of nature 
 was talked of through the whole city. He like- 
 wise held disputations on the subjects of the- 
 ology, philosoph}', and mathematics, before the 
 most eminent professors and large multitudes of 
 people. His reputation was so great, that the 
 desire of seeing and hearing him brought to- 
 gether a vast concourse of persons from different 
 quarters to Venice. It may be collected from 
 Manutius, that the time in which Crichton gave 
 these demonstrations of his abilities was in- the 
 year 1580. 
 
 During his residence at Venice, he fell into a 
 bad state of health, which continued for the 
 space of four months. Before he was perfectly 
 recovered, he went, by the advice of his friends, 
 to Padua, the university of which was, at that 
 time, in great reputation. The day after his arri- 
 val, there was an assembly of all the learned men of 
 the place at the house of Jacobus Aloysius Corne- 
 lius, when Crichton opened the meetirig with au 
 extempore poem in praise of the city, the uni- 
 versity, and the company who had honored him 
 with their presence. After this, he disputed for 
 six hours with the most celebrated professors on 
 various subjects of learning; and he exposed, ia 
 
 2<i'l
 
 ■0i .|A*feS i?RlCHTOW. 
 
 .particular; the erron of Aristotle and his com- 
 WiiinVdtoYi, v>jtb so inucl). solidity and acutenesd, 
 aud at the saiwe time, with so much modesty, 
 that he excited uniyer.sal aduiuation. In coxi- 
 clusioji he delivered extempore an oration, in 
 praise, pf i^iorance^ vvjiich was conducted with 
 ,sii.''h ingenuity and eki^ance, that his bearers 
 ,v>cie tigtonibbed. This exinbition of Crichton'a 
 .talents wus on the 14th of March, 1.38]. 
 
 IJe §oon afterwards appointed a iV^y for ano- 
 t}>er disputation, to be lield at the palace of the 
 bishoj^ oi Padua, not for tije purpose of affording 
 hiiiber proofs of his abilities, but in compliance 
 vviih the earnest solicitations of some persons 
 wlio were not present at the former assembly. 
 . According to the account of Manutius, various 
 cjicumstances occurred winch prevented this 
 meeting fVojn taklnj^ place; but Inipcjrialis relates 
 t'tjat he was informed by bis father, why vvris pre- 
 jscnt on the occasion, that Crichton was opposed 
 by Arci)angelus Mei'cenarlus, a famous philo- 
 sopher, and that he acquitted himself sq well as 
 to obtain the approbation of a very honorable 
 company, and even of his antagonist himself. 
 
 Amidst the high applauses that were bestowed" 
 upon thti genius and attainments of the young 
 Scotclnnaa, still there were some who endeavored 
 to detract from his merit. For ever, therefore, 
 to confound these invidious caviiler.>5, lie caused 
 a paper to be fixed on the gate of St. John and 
 J^t. raul's church, iu which he offered to prove 
 before the university, that the errors of Aiistotle,
 
 anr! of all his followers, were alinoS! iiinumcrnble ; 
 and thai the latter had failed both in expla'ining 
 thehr master's meaning, and in treating on theo- 
 logical subjects. He profniy^cd likcuise to nefiite 
 the (h-eams of certain niaiheniatical prbfessrtr?, 
 to dispute in all the sciences, and to ahswer to 
 whatever should be proposed t© him, or objectfcd 
 aoainst him. All this he en£ta2:ed to do, either 
 in the common locrica! \vt\v, or bv numbers and 
 mathematical Hgurcs, or ih one hniidred sorts of 
 verses, at the pleasure of llis opponents. Accord- 
 ing to Manutius, Crrchton su^^taiiicd this contest 
 without fatta:ue for three davs; durinar which 
 time he supported his credit and maintained his 
 propositions with such ^pifit attd ehe'rgy, that he 
 ■<^btaified, from an unusual tcricourse of people, 
 ufibonnd^d praises and acclamations. 
 
 From Fadua Crichton set oat for MantuA, 
 where there happened to be at that time a gladi- 
 ator who had foiled in his travels the most skil- 
 ful fencers in Eitrope, anti had lately killed three 
 who had entered the lists witli him in that city. 
 The duke 6f Mantua Was nluch grieved at having 
 granted this man' his" protectiofi, as he found it 
 to be attended with such fatal consequences. 
 Crichton being informed of his concern, offefed 
 his service to drive the mtii^derer not only fi'ora 
 Mantua, but from Ttalr, and' to fis:ht him for 
 lo(X> pistoles. Though the duke was trawillinrg 
 to expose such an accompiiiihed person to so 
 great a hazard ; yet rclyi'ig on the report he had 
 heard of his martial feats', he agreed to the pj'o- 
 
 2 G 3
 
 .3® JAMES CRICHTO.V. 
 
 posal, and the litne and place being appointed, 
 the whole court atlended to behold the perform- 
 ance. At tlie beginning of the combat Crichton 
 stood only upon his defence; while the Italian 
 jTiade his attack with such eagerness and fury, 
 . that he began to be fatigued. Cricliton now 
 seized tlie opportunity of attacking his antagonist 
 in return, which he did with so much dexterity 
 and vigor, thai he ran him through the body in 
 three different places, so that he immediately 
 . died of the wounds. On this occasion the accla- 
 mations of the spectators were loud and extra- 
 ordinary; and it was acknowledged by all of 
 them, that they had never seen art grace nature, 
 or nature second the precepts of art, in so stri- 
 liing a manner as on that day. To crown the 
 glory of the action, Crichton bestowed the prize 
 of his victory on the widows of the three persons 
 v/ho had lost their lives in fighting with his anta- 
 gonist. 
 
 It is asserted, that in consequence of this and 
 iiis other wonderful performances, the duke of 
 Aiantua made choice of him as preceptor to his 
 son Vincentio de Gonzaga, who is represented as 
 bteing of a riotous temper and a dissolute life. 
 The appointment was highly pleasing to the 
 court. We are told that Crichton, to testify his 
 gratitude to his friends and benefactors, and to 
 c^mtribute to tlieir diversion, composed a come- 
 dy, in which he exposed and ridiculed all the 
 weak and faulty sides of the variou* employments 
 i» which men are engaged. This was regarded 
 
 3
 
 JAMES CRICIITOlf. 31 
 
 .as one of the most ino;enions satires that ever 
 vvas made upon mankind. But tiic most asto- 
 nishing part of the story is, that Crichton sus- 
 tained fifteen characters in the representation of 
 his own play. Among the rest, he acted the 
 divine, the lawyer, the mathematician, the sol- 
 dier, and the pliysician, with such inimitable 
 grace, that every time he appeared upon the 
 theatre he seemed to be a different person. 
 
 From being the principal actor in a comedy, 
 Crichton soon became the subject of a dreadful 
 tragedy. One night, during the carnival, as he 
 was walking through the streets of Mantua, and 
 playing upon his guitar, he was attacked by half 
 a dozen people in masks. The assailants found 
 that they had no ordinary person to deal with, 
 
 -for they were not able to maintain their ground 
 ngainst him. Having at length disarmed the lea- 
 der of the company, the latter pulled ofFhismask, 
 and begged his life, telling him that he was the 
 prince his pupil. Crichton immediately fell 
 upon his knees, and expressed his concern for 
 his mistake; alledging thai what he had done 
 was only in his own defence, and that if Gon- 
 zaga liad any design upon his life, he might 
 always be master of it. Then taking his sword 
 by the point, he presented it to the prince, who 
 was so irritated at being foiled with all his at- 
 tendants, that he instantly ran Crichton through 
 the heart. 
 
 Various have been the conjectures concerning 
 the motives which could induce Vinceutio d«
 
 32 JAMES CRICFITOiV. 
 
 Gonzaga to be guilty of so brutal and ungenerous 
 an action. Some have ascribed it to jealousy, 
 asserting that he suspected Crichton to be more 
 in favour than himself with a lady whom he pas- 
 sionately loved; while others, with greater pro- 
 bability represent the whole transaction as the 
 result of a drunken frolic : and it is uncertain, 
 according to Imperialis whether the meeting of 
 the prince and Crichton was by accident or design. 
 It is, however, agreed by all, that Criehtoii lost 
 his life in this rencounter. The tiuie of his de- 
 cease is said by the generality of his biographers 
 to have been in the beginning of July 1583, but 
 Lord Bnchan fixes it in the same month of the 
 preceding year. The common accounts declare 
 that he was killed in the S2d year of his age, 
 but Imperiafis asserts that he was only in his 
 £^<l year, at the period of that tragical event, 
 and this fact is confirmed by the nobleman just 
 mentioned. 
 
 Crichton's tragical end excited a very great 
 andgeneral lamentation. If Sir Thomas Urqu- 
 hart is to be credited, th'e whole court of Man- 
 t»a went into mourning fer him three quarters 
 of a year ; the epitaphs and elegies composed 
 upon hrg death, would exceed, if collected, the 
 bulk of Homer's works; aad for a long time af- 
 terwards, his picture was to be seen in tnost of 
 the bed-chambei's and galleries of the Italian no- 
 bility, replesenting him on horseback with a lance 
 in one hand and a book in the other. The same 
 author tells us that Crichton ejained the esteem
 
 JAMES CKICIITON. 33 
 
 ef kjflgs and jMinces by his magnanimity and 
 knowlc%c; of noblemen and gentlemen by liis 
 courtliaetib bleeding, and wit; of the rieli by 
 his alio bility and good eompany : of the poor 
 by his munificence and liberality : of the old by 
 his constancy and wisdom ; of the young by his 
 jpirth and gAllantiy .; of the learned by his ani- 
 ver^al iaiovvJedge; of the soldiers by his undaunt- 
 ed valor and courage; of the merchants and dea- 
 Jei-y, by his upright dealing and honesty ; and of 
 the fair sex by his beauty, in which respect he 
 was a master-piece of nature. 
 
 Such are the accounts of the admirable Crich- 
 ton which have been given by a succession of 
 writers. The}' are indeed so wonderful that ma- 
 nv have been dispo:>ed to consider them in a great 
 nieusure, if not aUogctlur fabulous; and the 
 ai'ginneuts to this efleet adduced by Dr. Kippis 
 in the Biographia Britanniea seem to have con- 
 siderable weight. That writer (juestions, and 
 apparently on very just grounds, tlie authority of 
 those by whom those accounts were first cir- 
 culated, and reduces the pretensions of Crich- 
 lon within a much narrower compass. '' I'V'hat 
 then," be asks '^ is the opinion which on the 
 whole we are to form of the admirable Crichton ? 
 ll is evident that he was a youth of such lively 
 ])arts as excited great present aduiiration and 
 high expectations with regard to his future at- 
 tainments. He appears to have had a fine per- 
 son, to have been adroit in his bodily exercises, 
 to have possessed a peculiar facility in learning
 
 S4 JAMES CUICHTON. 
 
 languages, to have enjoyed a remarkably quick 
 and retentive memory, and to have excelled in a 
 power of" declamation, a fluency of speech and 
 a readiness of reply. His knowledge, likewise, 
 Avas probabi}', very uncommon for his years; and 
 this, in conjunction with his other qualities, ena- 
 bled him to shine in public disputation. But 
 whether his knowledge and learning were accu- 
 rate, or profound, may justly be questioned, and 
 it may equally be doubted wether he would have 
 risen to any extraordinary degree of eminence 
 in the literary world. It will always be reflected 
 upon with regret, that his early and untimely 
 death prevented this matter from being brought 
 to tlie test of ex'{)eriment." 
 
 Those who recollect the popular infatuation 
 which very recently prevailed in favour of a cer- 
 tain juvenile theatrical performer, the excessive 
 praises and the extravagant sums that were la- 
 vished o'.i iii5 exhibitions, together with the opi- 
 nion expressed by persons untinctured with the 
 epidemic mania of the day, will not find it very- 
 difficult to reconcile these contradictory state- 
 ments, and will be etpialiy disposed to admit the 
 justice of the sentiments here advanced by the 
 -reverend biographer.
 
 ^5 
 
 JOHN BIGG. 
 
 This maa,. celebrated for the recluse life he led 
 in his latter years, was t;lcrk to Simon Mityne, of 
 Ditiioi), in liiicl-cinglKiinshire, one of the judges 
 who passed sentence of death on King Ciuiiies I. 
 He was not deficieut either in learnina; or under- 
 standing, lived in great respectability and pos- 
 sessed considerable property. Afier the restora- 
 tion of Charles if. he began to k,To'.v melancholy, 
 probably on accoivnt of the ruin entailed by that 
 event on the fortunes of his patro;i and those 
 who had espoused the same cause. He retired 
 from the world and made a cave at Dinton, Ir.i 
 solitary habitation during the remainder of his 
 life. 
 
 In a civilized and populous country, a being 
 who thus separates himself from society cannot 
 fail of being an object of curiositj'. To the cha- 
 ritable donations of visitors who were led to him 
 by this motive, was Bigg indebted for subsistence 
 in his retirement; but it is remarkable that he 
 never asked for any thing but leather, which he 
 would nail or tack to his clothes. He kept three 
 bottles constantly hanging to his girdle; one of 
 these was for strong beer, another lor sm:dl beer, 
 and the third for milk. He died in 1 696, at the 
 advanced age of 97 years. His shoes which were 
 preserved after his defease, were rery knge and
 
 3G ' JOHN Bice. 
 
 composed of about a thousand patches of feather. 
 One of them was placed in the Bodleian reposi- 
 toiy, and the other in the collection of Sir Joha- 
 Vanhatten of Dinton ; who somej'ears after his 
 death had his cave dug up, hi liopes of discover- 
 ing something relative to this singuliir character, 
 but without success. 
 
 J> 
 
 END OF VOL. 1 
 
 James Cuudee, Printer^ 
 
 LuQtioii.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 •A-IJCE, a female negro who lived to tlie age of 1 16 ^ears, at' 
 
 count of her XVI. * 
 
 Allc^n, Edward, account of him, XIV. 14; singular .-mecdote re- 
 lalive to hini 16 ; lie t'ounds Duluich College ibid ; his death 
 17 ; 
 Andrews, Mr. anecdotes of his fondue-s lor play, XV. 4. - 
 Aiiello, Tlioinas, liislory of, XII. 1 ; his peisoiuil appcarRnce and 
 occupation :i ; forms a plan of obiaiuini; a redress of grievances 
 for tlie peo|)le of Naples ibid ; organizes an ar.ny of boys 4 ; 
 harangues the people 5 ; excites a general insurrection C ; is 
 apponiied liu'ir leader by the jieople 7 ; his itilerview vith the 
 vicero\ 9; tie resolves alter tlie completion of his purpose to 
 return to his former occupation 10 ; subsequent inconsistency 
 of ins conduct ibid. 11 ; lie is assassinated ibid ■ alternate in- 
 dignities and honours bestowed on his reiuains 12. 
 Arbuthnot, Dr. liis epitaph on Colonel Charteris, XVII. 18. 
 Aubrey, Mr. singular anecdote of Mr. Allcvu related by hiiB, 
 
 XIV. 16 
 Baker. Mary, account of her early years, XVI. 18 ; her remark- 
 able address in an American court of Justice <?0. 
 Ilellamy, George Ann, life of, XIX. 1 Ther biriU 5 ; her juvenile 
 years 6 ; slPe adopts the stage for a prolession ibid ; she ob- 
 tains the friendjhip of Quin 7 . her adventure with Lord B^von 
 9 : ^he eloiies with Mr. Methaiu I." ; leaves him and becomes 
 tl;e mistress of Mr. Calcraft 14 ; dissolution of her connection 
 Tith him ; '21 ; marries Diggcs, the r.ctor ibid ; her subseepient 
 disire>»es and fatal resolution 'J'.^, S?7 ; miscellaneous anccdotej 
 respecting her '27, 36 ; her death ibid. 
 Bertiaicius, his extraordinary history, X\^I. 10 ; descripticni of 
 his person 11-; anecdotes of his astonishing literary talents I'2, 
 16 ; his propensity to low occupations 17 j'his mi=cjablc dci'tk 
 jVid. 
 
 rcL ir, f u
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Bi?», Jolin, a singular recluse, particulars concerning, liim XX. 
 
 Jjobev, John Riciiardson Piinn-ose, account ot him XI. iS ; re- 
 niarka!>le s;)ots on differenr parts oi his hodv 29 ; born in Ja- 
 niaicaa, ibid ; is seiit to Enghmd oH • is txlubited at I'.xfter 
 Change 3 1 ; fornis collection of animals hiinsellSl; imitates 
 the song of vari .us bitits and the cries of aninjals 33 ; paiticu- 
 lars rcsjifclins; h s per>ou and character ibid. 
 
 Bii'ler, aiitlior of {lud.b.as, li.s lines desciiptive of Hopkins, 
 the uilchlindir, XVI. 9. 
 
 Euxion, JeJediali, his extraordinarv talents at calculation, XIV. 
 19; anecdotes ol his visit to London i;2 ; his death 24. 
 
 Capp.ir, Jo.->e|)ii, account of his c.-irly lite, XIV. 4; his singulari- 
 ties 6 Ins death 8 ; his «ill 9. 
 
 Carew, Bampfylde I\Ioore, account of, XX. 1. his birth and 
 family 2. his education and ciopenicnt tronj school 3; joms a 
 gang of gypsies ibid; hi.s extraordinary and successini arlifices- 
 5, 13 ; is elected king ot the inentlicants 14 ; i-- transported to 
 America ibid ; his adventures in ti'.at countr_)' 14, 17 ; n turng 
 to En-land 17 
 
 C.Uozze, Marc, a remarkah'e dw.irf, description of his figure 
 XII. "27 ; Ins nigenio s i (iiilri\ i.nce to «n])pl_\ the want ol nand» 
 2S ; particulars respecliiig his dispositu.ii .and habits 29 ; his 
 death 30. 
 
 Chariens Francis, account of, XVII. 10 ; his expertness at gamb- 
 liiig Mild avaricious di>p(>sitioii 11 -^ is diiiui.-)>c d Ironi the army 
 will] disiraee 12; Ins idveiiture at Brussels ibid ; his amours 
 14; is coiuieiinnd attlic Old l!;iiley for a rupe 16; obtains a 
 parchni 17 ; his dcaih ibid, epitiiph written for )nui by Dr. 
 Arbuthnot 18. 
 
 Clark, Jo'^eph, his extraordinary faculty of assuming every kind 
 of deformity and dislocation^ XIV. I J. 
 
 Cochrane, Dr. his ac> ount of Charles Duiuery, XVI. <J6. 
 
 Ciichton, James his birth and education, XX. i.'3 ; his extraordi- 
 nary attainments '24 ; his challeiue to the literati of Paris '24 ;. 
 bis feats at Rome '26; his di>piitations at Padua '.^7, lie en- 
 gages and vaaqiii.snes a celebrated tencer at Mantua V9 ; is 
 chosen by the duke of AlanliVa as preceptor tor his son '0 ; 
 liis tragical death 31 ; particulars of him lelated by Uripihart 
 32; doubts concerning the authenticity ot his' history 33. 
 
 Day, Thomas, his birth and educafioi;, XIII. VO; in.--iance of his 
 generosity '21 ; descr;ptinu of his pei.son ibid ; his character 
 22; his singular plan i. r oi lainuig a wife 2.i ; history oi l.u- 
 creiia and S.ibrina 21 ; Mr. Da\'s extracirdiuary ex|.eriiuents 
 ■with the hitler Sfti , his dis.ipp"intmfnts in love 27 ; his mar- 
 ria}'e2') ; his literary works ."lO ; hiv death 31. 
 
 Delaiiy, Mrs. Mary, iier birth and f .mily connectii.ns, X\'ll 15; 
 unhappiu'ss ol her lirst uiar'iaue 2; her union wiili l-)r Oe- 
 lany 17 ; lu r pK/litiencN in painting iiid the ar's i!i ; iter in- 
 TCJUion of the art of tomposing flowers wilh colored paper 19 j
 
 INBLX. 
 
 Vines prefixed by her tu iscr Flora M; anecdote of her citron 
 
 tri'c i."2 ; her doalti ibi'J. 
 Pcssi-asmi, Clitv.ilii;!-, Iiistory o(, X!V. 1; his singularities ?; 
 
 his (ieiith 3. 
 Dijrby LorJj nnecJotes of Iiis benevolence XIX. 2*7. 
 Doiiifcy, Chiirie*:, account ot, XV^I. SJ ; aiiecdi)tes of his Px- 
 
 itssive voracity ^6. 29 ; fartlier parti;:ul<irs of Ina liabils, inaii- 
 
 iii-'i;, uri(t liistory 30. 
 l'>o!iyl«s, l»)a:,!el, anectlole cf his gratitude, XIX. 33. 
 Dulwich Coliogf, ibtiiuied by T-Ir. Alloyii, XiV. 16 ; purticulais 
 
 conccir.ing it 17, IS. 
 
 F.dward 1\'. Jir.ecduie iif him. XVI. 2, 
 
 Forj^ter, Robert, the ilymg barber of Cauibtidge, anecdotes of 
 
 i'.iMi, XIV 35. >. 
 Fosoue, .Mr. his exces.'tive avarice and miverable deatii, XIV. 33. 
 Fox, Mr. (attervvards Lord Holland) anecdote ot Ins benevolence, 
 . XIX. 15. 
 Fuller, Or. hiscliaracter of Mr. .\Ilevn XIV. 11. 
 
 Ij'odl'rey, Hon. ^3rs. anecdote of her narrow escape from prer 
 
 mature iniernseni, XVI [ 5> 
 Godiva, hiitory of, XVII. 9. 
 U.ranger, Rev. Mr. observadotl on lord mayorsj XlV. 4, paffiru* 
 
 lari (.oncevning Henry VVelby> XVII. 10. 
 ttfcen, Ainlej fccctaim or, Xl-. 3J ; h*".; trial itttd ejtf Cntiort tjH ft 
 
 eh-iftjt^ 111 tihiki iLHiidgf r^ j she ret'overii aUer esitiuiion ii^ ; 
 
 her iiiih*e(nieiil liisUny 36, 
 Ilarfii, his inespticity of distinggiiil\inp rnlurs, XVI S4, 
 ljeidt'|»}jer, J. dm .lames, hiitnry kI, XVIll .11; he fonie« Id 
 
 t'.ngliind Hiui obtitiii* tiif diroctioii ol'tlie Uperrt'ltou'-o lu' j hit 
 
 eMireuie iighno»» il»iti"j ludicrous nnccdote of him 3w ; his d^nUi 
 
 ,'i5. 
 tlolinsiied, hii* aceonnt of the penMne? of'. Time Shofi*, XVI. 5, 
 Ili.ilwA'll, Jiihii ii(»plunnali, hiMoiy of XV' !) ; iiftouiil of his suf. 
 
 ft'rinnrs ill the lilack Hoh <tt Calcuti.i 10. 'i6 ; hi> mbaeijuunt 
 
 hdveiKini's in India '2i), .T> ; his do '.lb ;','> 
 Hojjkins, Malihc V, the ^\ i!( ii-fiuder, hi^!()ry ol, XVI. 7; is hiin« 
 
 sell' execnted lor a wizz^ird S j described by Butier in liii Hu- 
 
 dibras, y. 
 JTornc, William .Andrew, hi^ birihand education, XKI 12; he 
 
 exposes the ciiild of one of his sisters iiy bini.self i.i ; cireunj. 
 
 Eianee>lhal led to the <lise!osiire ol tins trars.iction It; hi- Iri-il 
 
 and c<!ndoimi,iiion 17; his smi;iilaro'<sevv.iiiQiis alter convirtiou 
 
 18 ; anecdotes of his penurious disposition and inotli^'aev If. 
 How;Md, llev. Dr. anecrioie->ot Ids eeeenlricitV: Xiil. .S.').' 
 JIvid;l.jrt, Mr. his aeeount of a singular us tance <d' incapacity to 
 
 distinguish colors, XVI. 34. 
 IJiulsoii leilbry, a remarKable rtwarf, Ins history, XIII. 33 ; sir*- 
 
 j;ulat duel in wliich ho iiilU his antagonist 3i ; Uis death 6o.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Jeiikiin, Henr}', account of Iiim, XT. 3 ; tiis extraordinary longt- 
 vity 4 ; iiioiiuiin'iii und iiisciiplion to Iiis iireiiiorv A. 
 
 JuIiiiSDii, Dr. his observalioiis ou a sliij), Xill 7 ; his characier of 
 Airs Moiiliigtie 6. 
 
 Keate, Mr. anecdote of hitn, XVII. 22. 
 
 Kelsey, Joha, iiccount ol, Xlll. 'J ; goes to Constantinople with 
 
 a view to effect the conversion of tiie Grand Sij^nior Id. 
 Ketel, Coriieluis, his whimsical me'lliod of painting, XVIII. 3.^. 
 King, Peter, account of, XI I. 30; liis e.xtruordinarv tbndness for 
 
 dress 31 ; liis renuirkiible attacliiiieiit to his cats, whom he 
 
 dressed up in laced cloihcs3i! ; iii« d;'ath 33. 
 Kippis, Dr observations oa the history oi the admirable Crich- 
 
 toi), XX. 35. 
 
 Laugher, Thoma?!, history of, XVII. 1 ; description of his person 
 
 2 ; anecdote of his son 3. 
 Lindsay, Lady, her affecting history, XTX 15. 
 
 Magiiahcchi, Anthony, meanness of his birth, XlV. 21; lie il 
 taken iiK'Li tlie sei^ice ofa buoksellcr, i.n(l ic..r!is to read 'ib t 
 liis rMfttgfdiiiiiry iiiemory ^(5 j iii a|tj,)>4iiieil hhrHriitn tti tba 
 gruiid d'.ikt' of Flurenct^ ^il ; hi'^ nielliod ol" reading, ibid | «a€G" 
 dole of his memory 28 j etcentrieity of his habits and ninn* 
 ners 'iS). 
 
 Mtiiiy, Goorn'c, rrmarl;;ible speech (lelirered by him previous to 
 his execution for n)urd»r, XIV. 3(i. 
 
 Milbourne, Thomas, his extreme parsimony. XV, 3o. 
 
 Wore, Sir Thomas, his description of the person of Jane Shore, 
 XV(.6. 
 
 Montrtgue, Mrs. her birth and education, XVIII. 1 ; her Ivssbj 
 on the writings and genius oi ShH.kspe*\re H \ her talents at 
 epistolatory composition 3 ; letter written by her to Dr. Morw 
 spy 4 ; lier benevolence and annual treat to the chinmej'- 
 sweepers, itiid ; her ilrath 5. 
 
 Montague, Kduarci \\ ortley, account of, XVIII. 93 ; liis juvenile 
 adventures ^li ; his ramtiling dispoiiition '.^.t ; account of bis 
 nianmrSj-ind seiitiinents, by Dr. JNIoore V6 ; adveriiscujent Xui^ 
 a wife attributed to him 30; his death, ibid; his literary ac« 
 qnireuient.-^, ibid, 
 
 Aloiitague, diike of, anecdote of him, XVIII. 33. 
 
 ICailer, Times, the fanatic, history of, XVII. 19; his military services 
 
 2"; he turns preacher, ibid ; ;'xtravagarice oih.i-- followers 'Jl ; is 
 conducteil by tlicni in procession into Bris'ol 2'2 ; is appre- 
 hended, ibid, ridiculous letters found upon him 'J3, i'4 : sub- 
 stance of his exanunation £.i, ^9 ; te^tiiuouies ol' his adherents 
 29, 31 ; warm del)rileN in the Hoiiku of Comaioiis coucirning 
 hiin 3l ; his sentence "'j!; he recants his errors 34-; hu 
 death 36. 
 iPJokes, Kdward, his parsimonious liabils. Xl I. 2.'' ; method of eon- 
 cealiiiii his money 25, ib; his singular directions respecting hi& 
 funeral 'ZC, %7^
 
 INDEX. 
 
 iransndions 'ektivc lo that suhjcct 2i— 29; defiaudud of fiv» 
 hundred pounds by the uolurioua Trice, VI II. 3. 
 
 Giatils, reflections on, It 26. 
 
 Gib'Oii, Williari!, h veil tau|jht mathematician, history of, \ 111.23. 
 
 Gransjer, Rev. JMr. aiiecaoie ot Old i^irr, related by lum, VII. H. 
 
 CTUy,\liomas, pursuits by whicli he acquiiert liisvast property, 
 X. 22 ; liis penurious habits, ibid ; founds and endows liuy'i 
 Hospital 23 ; his oilier beneiactions and death 24. 
 
 Harvest, Rev. George, his eccentricities, V. 12- ?5. 
 H.istinas, Hon. Mr. anecdotes ol his eccentric character, IV. 12. 
 Hopkins, Vulture, anecdote ot him, X. 22, i;3. 
 How, James, See East. 
 
 Itard. M. appointed to commence a course of medical treatment 
 with the Savage of Avcyron, X. 5 ; endeavors to attach hiai to 
 social life, ibid ; attera;';ts to excite the nervous sensibility 8 ; 
 iiivciits means to attach him to certain nmujcniculs 11 ; endea- 
 vors to lead him to the use of speech 11-; employs methods to 
 develop his uuderfeUiiiding 17 j cures him of his puroxjstn* • 
 of rngo 1 y. 
 
 Jennin},'s, William, anecdotes of his parsimony, IV. iiS — SI. 
 
 Joan d'Arc. her parentage and ynulliiul occupation*, IX. 1 ; lie» 
 lively interest in the state of her native country '2 : pretends to 
 the gill of lieaveniy inspiration, ibid; gives liersell out to ba 
 »he inalruniPnt destined to replace the French king on Ina 
 throne, ihid ; repairs to the king ibid ; wonderfni stories related 
 conceriiiii;:- her, 4 ; her militrry exploits ,") — '.^1 ; is taken pri^ 
 soner niid delivered op to the Kn>;lis-!) y2 ; is tried for sorcery 
 US; slll)^tance of her vari'jus examinations '2o — 40 ;lier con- 
 demnation and recantation of all her pretended revelations 41 ; 
 her execution 4'2. 
 
 Kingston, duche.ss of, her birth and education, VI 1. her intror 
 auction to Air. Pulteney, w'lo obtains her the appointment of 
 maid of honor to the princess of Wales ii \ connnenccment of 
 her connection with the Ho;i iVIr Htrvey, alterwards Karl of 
 Bristol ;>; her secret \!ni'>n wiih him 4; his brutal treatment 
 of her ."). 6 , she travels to the ( ontinent 8 ; persecutions of htr 
 husband 9 : her siral.igem res|)ectiiiu liie register ot her mar- 
 riage U) , her connection with tlie duke of IjLingsl* n 12 ; she is 
 married to Inin 13; iiis deaih, and her machinalii ns respecting 
 Lis will 14 ; sle rejjairs to Rome 16 ; her traiisaclions vvilh Mr. 
 Jenkins, the banker l8 ; her eccentric turn of mind 21 ; her 
 altercation with Foote 2i^ ; her iri 1 in Westminster HhII for 
 Licauiy 32 ; she <ioe> to Frame, ibid ; proceeds to Rome 34 ; 
 purchases a house at Pari Cn', ; turns a dealer in rabliits 37 ; 
 remarkable manner of her deaili 38. 
 
 Lnmhcrt, Mr. Daniel, preliminary observations, I. 1 ; his birth 
 5; hij juvenile liKt>iis4; his apprenticeship .t ; li.dicr'U's re- 
 coutre \vitli dancing bears 6; ha uairovv escape irum iunuiueat
 
 INDEX. 
 
 ift'-trncf'ioii 9 ; commencement of hisexfraordinJirv iiicrcasc !■ 
 fculk ](); his exportiiessin sv.irniBing iliirl ; i^ reiDoved from lii» 
 wppointnieiii of keeper of Leicester goal 11 ; is aiinoYcd by tli« 
 iniriisions o( inipeitinent-^-uriosity 12 ; travels to Londou fur 
 the purpose of exhibiting liimsclf 13; hisinlervicw witli Boriiw- 
 tasks li.e Polisii dwarf 13; anecdotes^ reparlees, b<.c. IT: 
 particulars rebjiecliug liis liHbits am) iniuineis 1S> ; sale of hi* 
 dogs '*'l J his extraordinary Iieallh 2':^ ; his dimensions 3 /. 
 
 tauiburn, Margaret, her plan for murdering quCen Elizabet?), 
 VIII. 34; i(s deirttion ibid ; her bold uddress to tlie queeH 
 ibid ; is pardoiie<l bv her 36. 
 
 Leinsier, duke of, aiiecdole of, II. '22. 
 
 Liancoiirt, duke de, liis acc(iunt of Jemima Vi'ilkinson, VII. 
 1'8— 34. 
 
 Love, Mr. John, his cxtraordiaary corpulence I. 26. 
 
 I.tidwig, Jolni, account of, V. '2.5 ; comniericcment of his ?.c- 
 qiiaintance with Mr HofTinan '2d ; his educalion 27 ; Idsju- 
 tenile pursuits 28 ; he applies himself to the study of arithme* 
 ttc and geometry 30 ; and also to astronomy and nietapliysicJ 
 'o2^ 33; desci'kpl on of hiscottacre and JiTstrnraent't ': j; attach* 
 nient of this sell laiiglit pinloaopher to liis studies 36. 
 
 Magrath, an Irish youth, remarkable particulars coucerning. 
 
 Jimi, 11. J3. 
 ITayoj .John, his r.emnrknble bettrd, ITI ?■ 
 Moiiboddo, Lord, his i>iiigu!t<r opmiaii re»p<'ctiiig tlie e«rly gfl. 
 
 rernticms of the hurnan race, V. 3 ; hi» account of Pclcr Uia 
 
 Wild lioy, 5. 
 llorvillietf;, John dc, anecdote oO III. 6, 
 
 O'Brien. See Cotier. 
 
 Palap;oiiia, Prince of, whimsical decorations of his hpnsc IV, 
 
 31; 
 Palnier, Mr. his extraordinary rorpiilence, I, 27, 
 Parr, 'rhomH.s, aneidotes o| hiin, VIJ J; pHrtlcniars of his 
 
 journey to London i^; his extreme lonpevity 3; his marriages 
 
 .'> ; story of hi- doing peivuice 6 ; his reply to King Charles I. 
 
 1 ; description ol his appoiirance in his old age age ibid ; his 
 
 death 0. 
 T'.lsr the Wild Tjhv, history of, V. ] ; conpht in tlir viofuls of 
 
 ilaiiover and brou<;l.t to Lugland 2 ; Lord jMonhi-ddti's en- 
 
 «j\iiries conceniin'^ him .'5; hi.> appear, mce and niani;ers dss. 
 
 eribed by his loid.sliip ;"' ; f other particulars of him by Mr. 
 
 liiirgess 7 ; his dea h H ' ' 
 
 Powell, i'l.rslcr, account of, IX. 42; his exirnordinary pedesfri.iH 
 
 achievements 4.'3 ; his person, character and habits 43 ; hi» 
 
 de;;th ibid. 
 Trait, Air hi'; account of Henry I.ec 'Wavnfr, Tsq. IV. 2 k 
 Pfire, Cl:ar!e.s, fine.cd'ite ol his juvenile duplicity, VIII. 1; ad- 
 
 Ttftlurcs o[' his ji'utli 2: !i:s dcccptivu ;!ij\ ci (iveuii-'n!*: j;
 
 IN DEX. 
 
 Tftr'ious impostures practised by him 4 ; extraordiuary dis- 
 guises assumed bj him ."> ; coiiimeiiees I'orgcr of b uk notes 6; 
 liis singuiar Ira'.ids and dcccpiioiis 7 — 11 ; is detccud and 
 liatigs himself in [jrisoii 1'^. 
 
 Rol<eby, Lord, account of his life. III 1 ; his birth and jmcnil* 
 Vf^ars 7 ; is elected membei of parliament for Ci:nteibiir\ 8; 
 his eccentricities 9 — 1:3 ; entertains Prince Willu.m ol Olo- 
 cester 13; commences author ibid ; literary turn of his family 
 15; liis virtues 16 ; his dcnth 17. 
 
 Russtl, EhiScibeih, anecdotes ot a man known by that ntime, VII. 
 8; register of his burial 11. 
 
 Sam, Pig, particulars concerning him, IT. 27. 
 
 fecliomoerg, Dr. anecdotes of him, VI. 26, 35. 
 
 Snell, Hannah, history of, Vil(. 14; her marriage and descr- 
 tidn bj' Iier husband 16; goes in quest ol him in man's apparel 
 and enlists for a soldier 16 ; her adventures at Carlisle ibid; 
 she deserts 17 ; adventures on the road to the toiili 
 18 ; enlists as a marine and embarks lor llie Tasl Indies ibid ; 
 harHsliips endured by her wiili the army besiegint; I'ondicherrj 
 20; receives 4 dangerous wound 21 ; sails tor jMi^land 2^; acci- ■ 
 dentally learns the melancholy (ate^of her husband •zo ; arrives 
 in England and appears at the Royalty theatre -^■^ ; receives a 
 pension from government and takes apub.ic-house ibid. 
 
 Taylor, .Tames, his immense property II. .S 4. anecdotes of his 
 avarice 3.'> ; h,s interview with the" Duke of Northumberland 
 37 ; his death .'58. 
 
 Taylor, John, tlie water-poet, extracts from his account of Old 
 P.-irr, VII 1 
 
 Thieihcim, C<ninte5s, anecdote of, TI. 21 
 
 liiorley, Samuel, singular circuuisidiices attending a murder 
 coiuinitted by him, Vlll. yl ; extraordinary reason assigned by 
 hiin fvr the perpetration of the barbarous deed .S3 
 
 Tressan, Count de, his comparison between B6be and Boruwlaski, 
 
 n. 13. 
 
 Victor, .^ee Aveyron, Savage of 
 
 Walker, Dr. anecdote of, II v.".?. 
 
 Warner, Henry Lee, Ksq. hi. character, IV. 23 ; his eccentricities 
 
 ibid his death "2.^. 
 Wilkinson, .leminM, ht r lii-.toij V(I. '26: hecomes the leader of 
 
 a new sect SJ" ; accounc of her tiy the Uuke de Liancourl '^8 
 
 31.. * 
 
 AVood, Mr. Thomas, his extraordinary coipuh nee and method 
 
 ol leducing it I. .■'!— -26. 
 Woodcock, Kiizabel^h, remarkable history • f her bcni" buried 
 
 nnder snow III. 17. her release n^jiu tier diba^veeaoie »uuat,- 
 
 cn ii'l; her death 26.
 
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