Ex Libris 
 C. K. OGDEN ! 

 
 
 (^
 
 I'lwfriwr 
 
 >6.
 
 Wonderful Characters: 
 
 COMPRISING 
 
 MEMOIRS AND ANECDOTES 
 
 OF THE MOST 
 
 OF 
 
 MO 
 
 COLLECTED FROM THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES 
 
 BY HENRY WILSON. 
 
 " Together let us beat this ample field, 
 Try what the open, what the covert, yield ; 
 The latent tracts, the giddy heights explore 
 Of all who blindly creep and sightless soar; 
 Eye Nature's walks, shoot folly as it flics, 
 And catch the manners living as they rise ; 
 Laugh where we must, be candid where we can, 
 But vindicate the ways of God to man." 
 
 FOPK'S ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Uontrou ; 
 
 J. 110B1NS AND CO. ALHION PKESS, IVY-LAM :, 
 1'ATERNOSTER.ROW.
 
 Stack 
 
 Annex 
 
 V,\ 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 IT has been well observed by one of the greatest of 
 British Bards that " the proper study of mankind is 
 man," and the great Lord Bacon has remarked 
 " that it would much conduce to the magnanimity 
 and honour of Man, if a collection were made of 
 the ultimities (as the schools speak) or summities 
 (as Pindar) of human nature, principally out of the 
 faithful reports of history ; that is, what is the last 
 and highest pitch to which man's nature, of itself, 
 hath ever reached in all the perfections both of body 
 and mind." He proceeds to state, that the Wonders 
 of Human Nature should be collected with judg- 
 ment and diligence, on the plan of Valerius Maxi- 
 mus and C. Plinius. 
 
 After adducing these high authorities in favor of 
 a work like the present, it would be quite super- 
 fluous to offer any remarks on its utility. That 
 men are more influenced by example than by 
 precept cannot be doubted, and the most lively in- 
 terest cannot fail to be excited by the singular 
 habits and manners of such persons as have gained 
 celebrity or notoriety, by deviating in a remarkable 
 degree from the ordinary pursuits of life. It will 
 not unfrequently fall to our lot to attract the atten- 
 tion of our readers to those characters, who have 
 been remarkable for avarice and other vices, but 
 their failings will not be held forth as worthy of 
 imitation. We shall also embrace whatever is
 
 iv PREFACE. 
 
 most worthy of remark in the physical organization 
 of man, in various ages and nations, as unusual in- 
 stances of bulk, height, or diminutiveness of stature; 
 strength ; weakness or deformity ; extreme lon- 
 gevity; precocity of talent; and many interesting 
 narratives of the want, famine, distress, and suffering, 
 which human nature has been found capable of 
 sustaining. Of the most extraordinary impostors 
 who have in various ages attracted public attention, 
 some notice will also be given. 
 
 Although the most authentic sources of informa- 
 tion have been carefully and diligently explored, and 
 such characters only as have really existed, and such 
 events as have actually happened, are recorded, 
 the reader who delights in the fictions of romance 
 will find, in many of the narratives which it em- 
 braces, incidents equally astonishing with those 
 which have been wont to charm. 
 
 If the Editor should be successful in directing 
 the " study of mankind" to its proper object 
 " Man," his utmost aim will be abundantly attain- 
 ed his utmost wishes gratified. He feels confident 
 that the many curious and original observations 
 which will be found in the course of the work are 
 calculated to convey much useful and agreeable 
 knowledge, to inform the understanding, to improve 
 the judgment, and to amend the heart; and should 
 any of his anecdotes be thought too marvellous, he 
 begs again to observe that he is not the inventor of 
 them but the reciter, not the framer but the col- 
 lector.

 
 WONDERFUL CHARACTERS. 
 
 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 
 
 AMONG those characters which deserve attention, not 
 for any eminence in virtue on the one hand, or uncom- 
 mon depravity on the other, but for a certain eccentricity 
 of conduct, which, with the same advantages in life, no 
 other person would imitate, Bampfylde Moore Carew 
 deserves a prominent place. Portraits of such persons, 
 with some general traits of their character, are gratify- 
 ing, 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 phi- 
 losopher, 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 without their 
 use. When the reader contemplates such characters as 
 that of Edward Wortley 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 voluntary 
 self-degradation, that must excite the most mortifying 
 reflections on the inconsistency, and even occasional 
 irrationality of the human character; and he may be led 
 to this awful truth, that as the only way to rise in moral, 
 excellence, and of course to happiness, is to cultivate 
 our talents and advantages, and to form our minds to 
 habits of virtue in this stasje of our existence ; so
 
 (J HAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 
 
 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 without having once experienced the 
 soothing consolation that results from the consciousness 
 
 O 
 
 of a well-spent life. 
 
 Bampfylde Moore Carew, one of the most extraordi- 
 nary characters on record, was descended from an 
 ancient and honourable family in the west of England. 
 He was born in 1693, at Bickley, in Devonshire, of 
 which place his father, the Rev. Theodore Carew, was 
 many years rector. Never was there known a more 
 splendid appearance of persons of the first distinction at 
 any baptism in the county, than were present at his. 
 Hugh Bampfylde, Esq. and Miijor Moore, of families 
 equally ancient and respectable as that of Carew, were 
 his godfathers, and from them he received his two 
 Christian names. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Carew had several other children, all of 
 whom he educated in a tender and pious manner. At 
 the age of twelve years, his son, the subject of this 
 article, was sent to Tiverton school, where he con- 
 tracted an intimate acquaintance with many young 
 gentlemen of the first families in Devonshire and the 
 adjacent counties. 
 
 During the first four years of young Carew's residence 
 at Tiverton school, his close application to his studies 
 gave his friends great hopes that he might one day ap- 
 pear with distinction in the profession which his father 
 became so well, and for which he was designed. He 
 actually made a very considerable progress in the Latin 
 and Greek languages. The Tiverton scholars, however, 
 having at this time the command of a fine pack of 
 hounds, Carew and three other young gentlemen, his 
 most intimate companions, attached themselves with 
 such ardour to the sport of hunting, that their studies
 
 KAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 
 
 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 neighbouring 
 gentlemen and farmers came with heavy complaints to 
 Mr. Rayner, 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 neighbourhood. 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 com- 
 pany, and expressing an inclination to enter into their 
 society, the gypsies admitted them, after the perform- 
 ance of the requisite ceremonies, and the administration 
 of the proper oaths; for these people are subject to a 
 form of government and laws peculiar to themselves, and 
 all pay obedience to one chief who is styled their king. 
 
 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 Tauntou 
 of twenty guineas, under 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 repeatedly advertised his 
 name and person, they could not obtain the least intelli- 
 gence of him. At length, after an interval of a year 
 and a half, hearing of their grief and repeated inquiries 
 after him, his heart relented, and he returned to his 
 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 fol- 
 lowed which no words can describe, and there were 
 great rejoicings both in Bickley and the neighbouring 
 parish of Cad ley.
 
 8 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 
 
 Every tiling was done to render his home agreeable, 
 LutCarew had contracted such a fondness for the society 
 of the gypsies, that, after various ineffectual struggles 
 with' the suggestions of filial piety, he once more eloped 
 from his parents, and repaired to his former connexions. 
 He now began to consider in what manner he should 
 employ himself. The first character he assumed for the 
 purpose of levying contributions on the unsuspecting and 
 unwary, was that of a shipwrecked seaman, in which iie 
 was very successful. He next gave himself out to be a 
 farmer, 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 considerable 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. Me acquired, during his stay, such a 
 knowledge of that island, as was highly useful to him, 
 whenever he thought 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 fierceness, 
 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 
 clergyman of distinguished abilities, at Dorchester, who 
 
 i
 
 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 9 
 
 received them with great kindness and endeavoured, but 
 in vaio, to persuade him to leave the community of 
 the gypsies. 
 
 Again associating with them, his disguises were more 
 various and his stratagems not less successful. He first 
 equipped himself in a clergyman's habit, put on a band, 
 a large white wig, and a broad-brimmed hat. His 
 whole deportment was agreeable to his dress; his pace 
 was solemn and slow, his countenance grave and thought- 
 ful, his eyes turned on the ground ; from which, as if em- 
 ployed in secret ejaculations, he would raise them to 
 heaven: every look and action spoke his want; but at 
 the same time, the hypocrite seemed overwhelmed with 
 that shame which modest merit feels, when obliged to 
 solicit the hand of charity. This artful behaviour ex- 
 cited the curiosity of many people of fortune to inquire 
 into his circumstance?, but it was with much reluctance 
 that he acquainted them, that he had for many years 
 exercised the sacred office of a clergyman, at Aberyst- 
 vntb, a parish in Wales, but that the government 
 changing, he had preferred quitting his benefice 
 (though lie had a wife and several small children), to 
 taking an oath contrary to his principles. This relation 
 he accompanied with frequent sighs, and warm expres- 
 sions of his trust in Providence; and as he perfectly 
 knew those persons it was proper to apply to, this strata- 
 gem succeeded beyond his expectations. But hearing 
 that vessel, on board of which there were many 
 quakers, bound for Philadelphia, had been cast away 
 on the coast of Ireland, he laid aside his gown and band, 
 clothed himself in a plain suit, and with a demure coun- 
 tenance, applied to the quakers, as one of those unhappy 
 creatures, with great success, and hearing that there was 
 to be a meeting of them from all parts, at Tboraoombe 
 in Devonshire, 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 helm- 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 10 BAMPFtLDE MOORE CAREW. 
 
 viour, that he was one of the seel, they made a consider- 
 able contribution for his relief. 
 
 With such wonderful facility did he assume every 
 character, that be often deceived those who knew him 
 best, and were most positive of his not being able to im- 
 pose 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 buff girdle 
 about his waist, and a tame rat in a little box by hi 
 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 answer- 
 ing 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 abilities. Dinner being over, he was 
 called into a parlour among a large company of gentle- 
 men and ladies. "Well, Mr. Rat-catcher," said Mr. 
 Portman, " can you lay any scheme to kill the rats 
 without hurting my dogs?" " Yes, yes," replied Carew, 
 t( I shall lay my composition where even the rats cannot 
 climb to reach it" "And what countryman are you ?" 
 "A Devonshire man, an't please your honour." " What's 
 your name ?" Carew perceiving, by some smiles and 
 whispers, that he was known, replied, by telling the 
 letters of which his name was composed. This occa- 
 sioned a good deal of mirth, and Mr. Pleydell of St. 
 Andrew's Milbourn, who was one of the company, ex- 
 pressed some pleasure at seeing the famous Bampfylde 
 Moore Carew, whom he said he had never seen before. 
 *' Yes, but you have," said, he, " and given me a suit of 
 clothes." Mr. Pleydell was surprised, and desired to 
 know when it was; Carew asked him if he did not re- 
 member being met by a poor wretch, with a stocking 
 round his head instead of a cap, au old woman's ragged
 
 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. H 
 
 mantle on his shoulders, no shirt to his hack, nor stock- 
 ings to his legs, and scarcely any shoes to his feet, who 
 told him that he was a poor 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 clothes. 
 This Mr. Pleydell acknowledged, and Carew replied : 
 " He was no other than the expert, rat-catcher now 
 before you." At this the company laughed very heartily ; 
 and Mr. Pleydell, and several others, offering to lay a 
 guinea that they should know him again, let him come 
 in what form he pleased, and others asserting the con- 
 trary, Carew was desired to try his ingenuity ; and some 
 of the company following him out, let him know that on 
 such a day, the same company, with several others, 
 were to be at Mr. Pleydell's. 
 
 When the day arrived, he got himself close shaved, 
 dressed himself like an old woman, put a high-crowned, 
 hat on his head, borrowed a little hump-backed child of 
 a tinker, and two others of a beggar, and with the two 
 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 the barking of the dogs, the family was suf- 
 ficiently annoyed. This brought out the maid, who de- 
 sired the supposed old woman to go about her business, 
 telling her she disturbed the ladies. "God bless their 
 
 O 
 
 ladyships," replied Carew, "I am the unfortunate grand- 
 mother of these poor helpless infants, whose dear 
 mother, and all they 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." Thig 
 pitiful tale was accompanied with tears, and the maid 
 going iu, soon returned with half a crown, and a mess of
 
 12 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 
 
 broth, which Carevv went into the court to eat. It was 
 not long before the gentlemen 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 
 Carew, he was called in. On examining his features, they 
 were highly delighted, and rewarded him for the enter- 
 tainment he had given them. 
 
 Carew so easily entered into every character, and 
 moulded himself into so many different forms, that h<* 
 gained the highest applauses from that apparently 
 wretched community to which he belonged, and soon 
 became the favourite of their king, who was very old. 
 This flattered his low ambition, and prompted him to be 
 continually planning new stratagems, among which he 
 executed a very bold one on the Duke of B'olton. Dress- 
 ing 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 ad- 
 mittance 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 wailed till he 
 at last saw a servant come out, and telling him he 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 
 very readily promised to comply with his request, as soon 
 as the porter was off his stand ; which he accordingly 
 did, introducing him into a hall through which the duke 
 was to pass. He had not been long there, before the 
 duke entered, upon which dropping on one knee he 
 offered him a petition, setting forth that the unfortunate 
 petitioner, Bampfylde 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
 
 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 13 
 
 Moare Carew, and knowing those names to belong to 
 families of the greatest worth and note in the west of 
 England, asked him several questions about his family 
 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 replied, that he had disobliged 
 them by some follies of youth, and had not seen them, 
 for some years. The duke treated him with the utmost 
 humanity, and calling a servant had him conducted 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 necessary to give him a 
 genteel appearance. 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 engaged to go out that afternoon, desired 
 him to stay there that night, and gave orders that he 
 shouFd be handsomely entertained, leaving his gentle- 
 man to keep him company. But the duke was scarcely 
 gone, when Carew found an opportunity to set out un- 
 observed towards Basingstoke, where he went to a house 
 frequented by some of the community. He treated the 
 company, and informing them of the bold stratagem he 
 had executed, the whole place resounded with ipplause, 
 and every one acknowledged that he was most worthy of 
 succeeding to the throne of the mendicant tribe, on the 
 first vacancy that should occur. 
 
 In the same disguise he imposed upon several others, 
 and having spent some days in hunting with Colonel 
 Strangeways, at Melbury in Dorset, the conversation 
 happened one day at dinner to turn on Carew's inge- 
 nuity ; the colonel seemed surprised that several who 
 were so well acquainted with him, should have been so 
 deceived, asserting that he thought it impossible for 
 Carew to deceive him, as he had thoroughly observed 
 every feature and line in his countenance ; on which he
 
 14 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 
 
 modestly replied, it might be so, and some other subject 
 being started, the matter dropped. Early the next 
 morning Carew 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 inquiring which 
 way the colonel generally returned, walked out, and 
 going to a house frequented by his community, ex-* 
 changed his clothes for a ragged habit, made a counter- 
 feit wound on his thigh, took a pair of crutches, 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 began al- 
 most as soon as the colonel was in sight : his countenance 
 expressed nothing but pain ; his pretended wound was 
 exposed to the colonel's eye, and the tears trickled down 
 bis silver beard. As the colonel's heart was not proof 
 against such an affecting sight, he threw him half a 
 crown, which Carew received with exuberant gratitude, 
 and then with great submission desired to be informed if 
 Colonel Strangeways, a very charitable gentleman, did 
 not live in that neighbourhood, and begged to be direct- 
 ed the nearest way to his seat; on which the colonel, 
 filled with compassion, showed him the shortest way 
 to his own house, and on this he took his leave. Carew 
 returned before the colonel, and pretended to be greatly 
 refreshed with his morning's walk. When they had sat 
 down to dinner, Carew inquired what sport they had, 
 and if the colonel had not met a very miserable object, 
 V I did a very miserable object indeed," replied the 
 colonel. " And he has got hither before you," says 
 Carew, ". and is now at your table." This occasioned a 
 great deal of mirth ; but the colonel could not be per- 
 suaded of the truth of what Carew asserted, till he 
 slipped out, and hopped in again upon his crutches. 
 
 About this time Clause Patch, the king of the mendi- 
 cants, died, and Carew had the honor of being elected
 
 BAMPFYXDE MOORE CAREW. 15 
 
 king in his stead ; by which dignity, as he was provided 
 with every thing necessary by the joint contributions of 
 the community, he was under no obligation to go on any 
 cruize. Notwithstanding this,Carew was as active in his 
 stratagems as ever; buthehad notlong enjoyed this honor, 
 when he was seized and confined as an idle Yagrant, 
 tried at the quarter sessions at Exeter, and transported to 
 Maryland ; where being arrived, he look 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 pint 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 travel there without 
 proper passes, or that there was a considerable reward 
 granted for apprehending a runaway, he congratulated 
 himself on his happy 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 
 four men, when not being able to produce a pass, he was 
 seized, carried before a 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 harbour, he acquainted them with his situ- 
 ation, on which they paid him a visit, and told him, that 
 as he had not been sold to a planter, 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. 
 Carew was so struck with their kindness, that he could 
 not consent to purchase his liberty at their expense, and 
 desired ,them to tell the captain who brought the trnna- 
 ports where he was. They at last agreed to his request; 
 the captain received the news with great pleasure, sent 
 round his boat for him, had him severely punished with 
 a cat-ot-ninc tails, uud a heavy iron collar fixed to his
 
 10 BAMPFYU3E MOORE CAREW. 
 
 neck, and with this galling yoke he was obliged to per* 
 form the greatest drudgery. 
 
 One day, when his spirits were ready to sink with 
 despair, he saw the captains Harvey and Hopkins, two 
 of those who had proposed to purchase his liberty. 
 They were greatly affected with the miseries he suffered, 
 and having sounded the boatswain and mate, prevailed 
 on them to wink at his escape ; but the great obstacle 
 Was the penalty of forty pounds and half a year's impri- 
 sonment for any one that took off his iron collar, so 
 that he must be obliged to travel with it on. The cap- 
 tains acquainted him with all the difficulties he would 
 meet with ; but he was far from being discouraged, and 
 resolved to set out that night ; when directing him what 
 course to take, they gave him a pocket compass to steer 
 by, a steel and tinder-box, a bag of biscuits, a cheese, 
 and some rum. After taking an affectionate leave of his 
 benefactors, he set out; but he ha/1 not travelled far be- 
 fore he began to reflect on his wretched condition : 
 
 O 
 
 alone, unarmed, unacquainted with the way, galled 
 with a heavy yoke, exposed every moment to the most 
 imminent dangers ; and a dark tempestuous night ap- 
 proaching increased his terror; his ears were assaulted 
 by the yells of the wild beasts; but kindling some sticks,. 
 he kept them all night at a distance, by constantly 
 swinging a fire-brand round his liead. 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 
 had travelled hard all night, he soon fell asleep. Here 
 lie staid all day, eating sparingly of his biscuit and cheese, 
 and night coming on he took a large dram of rum, and 
 again pursued his journey. 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 n pass, and then travelled by day. His journey 
 was frequently interrupted by rivers and rivulets, which 
 fee was obliged either to wade through or swim over. 
 
 1
 
 BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 1? 
 
 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 exceedingly long, and, to his inex- 
 pressible joy, be discovered they had guns in their hands, 
 which was a sure sign of their being friendly Indians; 
 and these having accosted him with great civility, soon 
 introduced him to their king, who spoke very good 
 English, and made him go lo his wigwam, or house, when 
 observing that he was much hurt by his collar, the king 
 immediately set himself 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 d'onej he set before Carevv 
 some Indian bread and other refreshments. Here he 
 was treated with the greatest hospitality 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 in company 
 with some other Indians near the river Delaware, and 
 when the chace was over, sat down to be merry with 
 them. Carevv took this opportunity to slip out, and going 
 to the river side, seized one of their canoes, and though 
 entirely unacquainted with the method of managing 
 them, boldly pushed from shore, and landed near New- 
 castle, in Pennsylvania. 
 
 Carew now transformed himself into a quake r, and 
 behaved as if he had never seen any othc-r sort of people. 
 In this manner lie travelled to Philadelphia, meeting 
 every where with the kindest treatment and the most 
 plentiful supply. From hence he went to New York, 
 where going on board a vessel belonging to Captain 
 Rogers, he set sail for England ; and after having pre- 
 vented his being pressed on board a man of war, by 
 pricking his hands and face, and rubbing them with 
 bay-salt and gunpowder, to give him the appearance of 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 THOMAS GUY. 
 
 the small-pox, safely landed at Bristol, and soon rejoin- 
 ed his wife and begging companions. 
 
 Here terminates the narrative of the adventures of 
 this extraordinary person, who, with uncommon talents 
 and the greatest advantages, connexions, and interest, 
 might have figured in the highest and most respectable 
 walks of life. What became of him afterwards is un- 
 known, but he is said to have died about the year 1770, 
 aged 77. 
 
 THOMAS GUY. 
 
 THIS celebrated character, who afforded such an ex- 
 traordinary instance of parsimony and generosity, was 
 the son of a lighterman and coal-dealer in Horsely- 
 down, Southwark. He was put apprentice in 1660 to a 
 bookseller, and in the house that forms the angle between 
 Lombard-street and Cornhill, with a stock of only 200?. 
 commenced business in the most parsimonious man- 
 ner, invariably dining alone, and an old newspaper, or 
 a proof sheet, serving as a substitute for his table-cloth. 
 
 At that time the English Bibles being very badly 
 printed, he engaged with others in a scheme for printing 
 them in Holland, and importing them ; but this being 
 stopped, he contracted with the University for their 
 privilege of printing them, and carried on the trade for 
 many years to considerable advantage. The bulk of his 
 fortune, however, was accumulated by purchasing sea- 
 men's tickets, and by South Sea stock, in the memorable 
 year 1?O. 
 
 In proof of his penurious disposition, it is said that 
 one winter evening as he was sitting in his room, me- 
 ditating over a handful of half-lighted embers, confined, 
 within the narrow precincts of a brick stove, and with- 
 out any candle, a person who came to inquire for him
 
 THOMAS GUY. 19 
 
 was introduced, and after the first compliments were 
 passed, and the guest requested to take a seat, Mr. Guy 
 lighted a farthing candle which lay on the table by him, 
 and desired to know the purport of the gentleman's 
 visit. The visitor was the famous Vulture Hopkins, 
 characterized by Pope, in his satires. " I have been 
 told," said Hopkins, " that you, sir, are better versed in 
 the prudent and necessary art of saving, than any man 
 now living, and I therefore wait upon you for a lesson 
 of frugality ; an art in which I used to think I excelled, 
 but I am told by ail who know you, that you are greatly 
 my superior." " And is that all you are come about . ? " 
 said Guy, " why then we can talk this matter over in the 
 dark :" So saying, he with great deliberation extin- 
 guished his new-lighted farthing candle. Struck with, 
 this instance of economy, Hopkins acknowledged him- 
 self convinced of Guy's superior thrift, and took his 
 leave. 
 
 Another instance of his economical disposition is 
 evinced in the following anecdote : Having given orders 
 to the paviors to repair the foot-path before his house, 
 the job was completed whilst he was away from home, 
 and the next stone beyond the boundary marked out 
 being in a very bad stale, the men offered to mend it for 
 a mere trifle, which his maid servant ordered them to do, 
 feeling confident that her master would not be angry 
 with her for it, he having some time promised her mar- 
 riage, being pleased with the extreme economy of her 
 disposition ; but the event proved to the poor girl, the 
 truth of the old adage 
 
 " There's many a slip 
 
 " ' Twixt the cup and the lip," 
 
 for when Guy returned home and found what she had 
 done, he was so enraged with her presumption and pro- 
 digality, that he never afterwards thought of matrimony. 
 In order to do justice to the character of that great
 
 20 THOMAS GUY. 
 
 benefactor to the public, in opposition to the general, 
 but ill founded opinion of his being remarkable only for 
 parsimony and avarice, we shall close this account with 
 a few instances of his extreme generosity and goodness. 
 In 1707, he built and furnished three wards on the 
 north side of the outer court of St. Thomas's Hospital in 
 Southwark, and gave 100/. to it annually for eleven years, 
 preceding the erection of his own hospital; and for 
 some time before his death, he erected the stately iron- 
 gate, with the large houses on each side, at an expense 
 of 300/. He was seventy-six years of age when he 
 formed the design of building the hospital contiguous 
 to that of St. Thomas's, which bears his name, and lived 
 to see it roofed in, dying in 1724. The charge of erect- 
 ing this vast pile amounted to 18,793/. and he left 
 219,49Q/.' to endow it ; a much larger sum than had ever 
 been dedicated to charitable uses in this kingdom by any 
 one man. 
 
 He was a patron of liberty, and the rights of his fel- 
 low subjects, which, to his great honour, he strenuously 
 asserted in the several parliaments of which he was a 
 member for the borough of Tatnworth in Staffordshire 
 (the place of his mother's nativity). To this town he 
 was a great benefactor, and early in life, not only con- 
 tributed towards the relief of private families in distress, 
 but erected an alms-house, with a library, in that 
 borough, for the reception of fourteen poor men and 
 women, to whom he allowed a certain pension during his 
 life, and at his death he bequeathed the annual sum of 
 125/. towards their future support. 
 
 To many of his relations he gave while living a settled 
 allowance of ten or twenty pounds a year, and to others 
 money to advance them in the world. At his death he 
 left to his poor aged relations, the sum of 870/. a year, 
 during their lives, and to his younger relations and ex- 
 ecutors he bequeathed 75,589/. He left the governors 
 of Christ's Hospital, a perpetual annuity of four hun-
 
 HANNAH SNELL. 21 
 
 tired pounds, for taking in four children annually at the 
 nomination of the governors, and bequeathed 1000/. 
 for discharging poor prisoners in the city of London, and 
 in the counties of Middlesex and Surry, by which above 
 six hundred poor persons were set at liberty within the 
 bills of mortality; and lastly, he bequeathed 1COO/. to 
 any one who could prove themselves in any degree re- 
 lated to him. 
 
 Mr. Guy, whose application of his wealth will em- 
 balm his memory with blessings to the remotest posterity, 
 died iu 1724, at the advanced age of eighty-one years. 
 
 HANNAH SNELL. 
 
 J-iiAT the weaker sex is endued with fortitude, courage, 
 and resolution in an equal degree with the stronger, is a 
 position which seems to be confirmed by numberless ex- 
 amples. The history of Portia, daughter of the virtuous 
 Cato, and partner of Brutus the patriot, of Arria, the 
 wife of Thrasea Paetus, must be impressed on the recol- 
 lection of every classical reader. The instances that 
 might be collected from modern writers would furnish 
 materials for many volumes. Among these we have 
 Accounts of women who have been induced by circum- 
 stances or inclinations to disguise their sex, and embrac- 
 ing the military profession, have become familiarized 
 with hardships and perils of every kind, with scenes of 
 carnage and devastation. Truth however compels us to 
 observe, that these heroines, in "overstepping the mo- 
 desty of nature," almpst invariably transgress those 
 limits which are prescribed by virtue and morality; and 
 that while they have the appearance of one sex with the 
 reality of the oilier, they frequently unite in themselves 
 the vices of both. These observations will be found to 
 be verified in the history of the female to the particulars 
 pf whose life we now call the attention of the reader*
 
 22 HANNAH SNEIX. 
 
 Hannah Snell was born in Fryer-street, in the city of 
 Worcester, on the 23d of April, 1723. Her grand- 
 father embracing the military profession, served under 
 William III. and Queen Anne, and terminated his career 
 at the battle of Malplaquet. Her father was a hosier and 
 dyer, and had a family of three sons and six daughters, 
 of whom our heroine was the youngest but one. 
 
 h) the year 1740, having lost her father and mother, 
 Hannah removed to London, where she for some time 
 resided with one of her sisters, the wife of a Mr. Gray, 
 carpenter in Ship-street, Wapping. Soon after her ar- 
 rival in the metropolis, she became acquainted with a 
 .Dutch seaman, named James Sumrns, who paid his ad- 
 dresses to her, and they were married on the 6th of 
 January, 1743. It was not long, however, before she 
 found herself miserably deceived in the opinion she had 
 formed of her husband. He abandoned her company 
 for that of women of the lowest description, with whom 
 he squandered the little property which his wife possess- 
 ed, and having involved himself deeply in debt, he de- 
 serted her entirely, leaving her pregnant, to struggle 
 with all the horrors of poverty. Two months after his 
 departure, she was delivered of a girl, who died at the 
 early age of seven months. 
 
 When her husband abandoned her, she again went to 
 reside with her sister ; but the death of her child, releas- 
 ing her from every tie, she resolved to set out in quest of 
 the man, whom, notwithstanding his ill usage, she still 
 continued to love. In order to execute this design with 
 a better grace, and more chance of success, she put on 
 a suit of her brother-in-law's clothes, assumed his name, 
 James Gray, and set off on the 23d of November, 1743. 
 Having travelled to Coventry, and being unable to pro- 
 cure any intelligence of her husband, she, on the 27th 
 of the same month, enlisted into General Guise's regi- 
 ment, and in the company belonging to Capt. Miller. 
 
 She remained at Coventry about three weeks, during
 
 HANNAH SNELL. 23 
 
 which time she made many fruitless inquiries after her 
 husband. The north being then the seat of war, and her 
 regiment being at Carlisle, she, with seventeen other re- 
 cruits, left Coventry, and joined the regiment after a 
 march of three weeks, which she performed with as 
 much ease as any one of her comrades. 
 
 On her arrival at Carlisle, she was instructed in the 
 military exercise, and was soon able to perform it with 
 great skill and dexterity. She had not been long in that 
 city, when her sergeant, whose name was Davis, having 
 a criminal passion for a young woman in the town, and 
 considering our adventurer as a proper person for pro- 
 moting his design, applied to her to assist him in exe- 
 cuting it. She appeared to acquiesce in his desire, but 
 privately disclosed the whole affair to the intended 
 victim, and warned her of her danger. By this conduct 
 $he gained the young woman's confidence and esteem, 
 and being frequently in each other's company, the jea- 
 lousy of Davis was excited, and he was inflamed with 
 the desire of revenge. He accordingly seized an earlj 
 opportunity of charging his supposed rival before the 
 commanding officer with neglect of duty; and she was 
 sentenced to receive six hundred lashes. Five hundred, 
 we are told, were inflicted, but the remaining hundred 
 were remitted in consequence of the intercession of 
 some of the officers. 
 
 The resentment of the jealous Davis was not yet satis- 
 fied with this cruel punishment; he omitted no oppor- 
 tunity to mortify her, and to put her on such duties as 
 he knew to be difficult or disagreeable. For this treat- 
 ment she however found fome compensation in the in- 
 creased affection of her female friend. 
 
 Not long after the above occurrence, another cause of 
 uneasiness appeared. A fresh recruit, a native of Wor- 
 cester, by trade a carpenter, and who had lodged in the 
 house of her brother-in-law, having joined the regiment, 
 *he became justly apprehensive of a discovery of her
 
 24 HANNAH SNELL. 
 
 sex, and her uneasiness increased to such a degree, that 
 she at length resolved to desert. Having taken every 
 possible precaution, she repaired to her female ac- 
 quaintance, and informed her of her design. The 
 latter endeavoured to dissuade her from such a danger- 
 ous enterprise; but finding her resolution fixed, she 
 furnished her with mone}' ; and Hannah having taken 
 leave of her affectionate friend, immediately commenc- 
 ed her journey on foot for Portsmouth. About a mile 
 from Carlisle, perceiving a number of people employed 
 in picking peas, and their clothes lying at some distance, 
 she exchanged her regimental coat for one of the old 
 coats belonging to the men, and proceeded on her 
 journey. 
 
 Arriving at Liverpool, Hannah stopped at a small 
 public house, where she acted the gallant and rendered 
 Boniface jealous of his wife. A battle was the conse- 
 quence, in which the supposed gallant so completely 
 drubbed her host, that he was obliged to keep his bed 
 next day. From this place she suddenly decamped, and 
 proceeded to Chester, where what she obtained from the 
 landlady at Liverpool enabled her to appear in a more 
 genteel style. 
 
 At Chester she took lodgings in a private house, in 
 which likewise resided a young mantua-maker, with 
 whom she soon contrived to ingratiate herself. She 
 pushed her suit with much ardour, till at length on 
 some pretence she obtained five guineas of the unsus- 
 pecting female, and then thought it time to leave .Ches- 
 ter. In an intrigue in which she engaged with a widow 
 at Winchester, our gallant was not quite so successful^ 
 Here she met, for once, with her match ; the widow 
 had the art to empty her pockets, leaving her lover to 
 ruminate on her folly, and to finish her journey on foot 
 with the few shillings she had remaining. 
 
 Hannah was about a month in travelling from Carlisle 
 to Portsmouth, where she soon enlisted as a marine in 
 
 1
 
 HANNAH SNELL. 25 
 
 Colonel Fraser's regiment. Three weeks afterwards a 
 draft was made from the regiment, for the East Indies, 
 and Hannah among the rest was ordered to embark in 
 the Swallow sloop, one of the ships of Admiral Bos- 
 cawen's fleet. She soon made herself remarkable on 
 board by her dexterity and address in washing, mending, 
 and cooking for her messmates ; and these little good 
 offices obtained her the particular notice of Mr. Wye- 
 gate, one of the lieutenants of the marines, who, in a 
 very friendly manner, requested her to become one of 
 their mess. This offer she readily accepted, and soon 
 became a great favourite with the crew of the sloop. 
 
 The Swallow having sustained considerable damage in 
 a storm, was obliged to put into the port of Lisbon to 
 refit. A month having been occupied with the neces- 
 sary repairs, the Swallow again put to sea, to rejoin the 
 fleet ; but the night after her departure, another tempest 
 equally violent with the former, destroyed the greatest 
 part of the rigging, so that she was reduced to a state 
 very little better than a wreck. Hannah took her turn 
 at the pump, which was kept constantly going, declined 
 no office however dangerous, and established her charac- 
 ter for courage, skill and intrepidity. 
 
 The ship was a second time repaired at Gibraltar, and 
 having touched at Madeira, made the best of her way to 
 the Cape of Good Hope, where having joined the rest of 
 the squadron, they proceeded to make an attack on the 
 Mauritius, which, however, proved unsuccessful. The 
 admiral then bore away for Fort St. David, on the coast 
 of Coromandel, where the fleet soon afterwards arrived. 
 
 The marines being disembarked, joined the English 
 army; encamping before Areacopong they laid siege to 
 the place, which on the tenth day surrendered. This 
 adventure gave our heroine fresh spirits, and afforded her 
 an opportunity of displaying her intrepidity, which sue 
 omitted no opportunity of doing, so that her conduct 
 acquired the commendation of all her officers. 
 
 TOL. I. D
 
 20 HANNAH SNELL. 
 
 The army then proceeded to the attack of Pondi- 
 cherry, and after lying before ihat place eleven weeks, 
 and suffering very great hardships, they were obliged by 
 the rainy season to abandon the siege. Our heroine was 
 in the first party of English foot, who forded the river 
 breast high, under an incessant fire from a French bat- 
 tery. She was likewise on the picket guard, continued 
 on that duty seven nights successively, and laboured 
 very hard about fourteen days at throwing up the trenches. 
 
 During this time she maintained her usual firmness, 
 and her conduct was perfectly consistent with the cha- 
 racter of bravery which has ever distinguished the 
 British soldier. In one of the attacks, however, her 
 career was well nigh terminated. She fired thirty-seven 
 rounds during the engagement, and received, according 
 to her account, six shots in her right leg, five in the 
 left, and what was still more painful, a dangerous 
 wound in the abdomen. The latter gave her great un- 
 easiness, as she feared lest it might lead to a discovery 
 of her sex, which, even at the hazard of her life, she 
 was determined not to reveal. It was therefore neces- 
 sary, that she should conceal the knowledge of her 
 wound from the surgeons, and this she knew it would 
 be in vain to attempt without assistance. Intrusting her 
 secret to a black woman who attended her, and who had 
 access to the surgeon's medicines, the latter procured 
 lint, salve, and other necessaries. The pain became 
 extremely acute, and she endeavoured to extract the 
 ball, which she at length accomplished with no other in- 
 strument than her finger and thumb. Notwithstanding 
 this painful and dangerous operation, she soon made a 
 perfect cure. 
 
 Being removed to the hospital of Cuddalore, during 
 her residence there, the greater part of the fleet sailed. 
 As soon as she was completely cured, she was sent on 
 board the Tartar pink, and continued to do the dutv of 
 a sailor till the return of the fleet from Madras. She
 
 HANNAH SNELI,. 27 
 
 was soon afterwards turned over to the Eliham man of 
 war, commanded by Captain Lloyd, and sailed with that 
 ship to Bombay. Here the vessel, which had sprung a 
 leak on the passage, was heaved down to have her 
 bottom thoroughly cleaned and repaired. 
 
 This operation lasted five weeks; the captain remain- 
 ed on shore, while Hannah, in common with the rest of 
 the crew had her turn on the watch. On one of these 
 occasions the lieutenant who commanded in the captain's 
 absence, desired her to sing a song, but she excused 
 herself saying she was very unwell. The officer, how- 
 ever, being of a haughty and imperious disposition, 
 peremptorily insisted that she should comply, which she 
 as resolutely refused to do. She soon afterwards had oc- 
 casion to regret her non-compliance, for being suspect- 
 ed of making free with a shirt belonging to one of her 
 comrades, though no proof could be adduced, the 
 lieutenant ordered her to be put in irons. After remain- 
 ing in this situation five days, she was ordered to the 
 gangway, and received twelve lashes. The shirt was 
 found in the chest of the man who complained that he 
 had lost it. 
 
 From Bombay the Eltham returned to Fort St. David, 
 and on the 19th of November, 1749, that ship, together 
 with the rest of the fleet, set sail for the Cape of Good 
 Hope. Lieutenant Wyegate, whose friendship for the 
 subject of this narrative has already been mentioned, 
 died the day alter their departure. His loss was a severe 
 stroke to our heroine, as she was greatly attached to 
 him, and he was one of her most sincere friends. 
 
 Soon after the death of Mr. Wyegate, the second lieu- 
 tenant Mr. Kite took her into his service, in which she 
 remained about two months, when having engaged a 
 boy to attend him, he recommended her to Mr. Wallace, 
 third lieutenant of the ship, who treated her with distin- 
 guished kindness during the whole voyage. 
 
 About this time the sailors began to rally her, because
 
 28 HANNAH SNELL. 
 
 she had no beard, and they soon afterwards jocosely 
 christened her Miss Molly Gray. This sneering appel- 
 lation occasioned her considerable alarm, as she feared 
 lest some of the crew might suspect that she was a 
 female, and avail themselves of some favourable oppor- 
 tunity to ascertain the truth. Instead therefore of re- 
 senting this treatment, she resolved to take part in all 
 their scenes of dissipation, and endeavour to pass for as 
 good a man as any on board. Accordingly when the 
 ship arrived at Lisbon, she joined the crew in every 
 party of pleasure on shore, and was one of the foremost 
 to promote every species of joviality. In these scenes 
 she acted her part so naturally that her success far ex- 
 ceeded her expectation ; the name of Miss Molly was 
 buried in oblivion, and Hearty Jemmy was substituted 
 in its stead. 
 
 While the vessel remained at Lisbon, Hannah, being 
 in company with some of her shipmates, chanced to 
 enter a house of entertainment, where they met with an 
 English sailor who had been at Genoa in a Dutch vessel. 
 She took the opportunity of inquiring after her long- 
 lost husband, and was informed that he had been con- 
 fined at Genoa, for murdering a native of that place, a 
 gentleman of some distinction, and that, to expiate his 
 crime, he liad been put into a bag with a quantity of 
 stones, and thus thrown headlong into the sea. Dis- 
 tressing as this information must have been, Hannah had, 
 however, sufficient command over herself to conceal her 
 emotions. 
 
 Leaving Lisbon, our adventurer arrived in safety at 
 Spithead, and proceeded to London to the house of her 
 sister, who, notwithstanding her disguise and long ab- 
 sence, immediately recognised her, and gave her a 
 hearty welcome. 
 
 Having, when her story became known, acquired a 
 considerable degree of popularity, she was advised-, as 
 she had a good voice, to apply for ao engagement to
 
 31 R. MATHEW. 29 
 
 the managers of the Royalty Theatre, Wellclose-square, 
 As they closed with her offer, she appeared before the 
 public in the character of Bill Bobstay, a sailor. She 
 likewise represented Firelock a military character, and 
 in a most masterly and correct manner went through 
 the manual and platoon exercises, &c. 
 
 In this capacity she did not, however, continue many 
 months, but quitted the stage, and as she preferred 
 male attire, she resolved to continue to wear it during 
 the remainder of her life. In consideration of the hard- 
 ships she had endured in the service of her country, go- 
 vernment granted her a pension of 20/. with the assist- 
 ance of which she took a public house in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Wapping. On one side of the sign was 
 painted, the figure of a jolly British tar, and on the 
 other the valiant Marine, underneath was inscribed, the 
 Widow in Masquerade, or the Female Warrior. 
 
 These attractive signs produced the desired effect ; her 
 house was well frequented, and she lived many years in 
 the enjoyment of prosperity, which compensated, in 
 some measure, for the distresses she had experienced irj 
 the early period of her life. 
 
 MR. MATHEW. 
 
 THE circumstance for which this gentleman has ob- 
 tained a place in our collection is probably without a 
 parallel. There are very few men who have not some 
 hobby-horse, but yet it would be extremely difficult to 
 find one who would, like Mr. Mathew, sacrifice the en- 
 joyment of a princely fortune to the pleasure of riding 
 his favorite nag. 
 
 Mr. Mathew inherited a large estate at Thomastown, 
 in the county of Tipperary in Ireland, producing a
 
 30 MR. MATHEW. 
 
 clear rent of eight thousand pounds a year. As he de- 
 lighted in a country life, and possessed in an eminent 
 degree that spirit of hospitality for which the natives of 
 Ireland have ever -been distinguished, he resolved to 
 build a large, commodious house for the reception of 
 visitors, surrounded by fifteen hundred acres of his 
 choicest land, all laid out upon a regular plan of im- 
 provement, according to the newly adopted mode of 
 English gardening, which had supplanted the bad 
 .Dutch taste introduced by King William, and of which 
 Mr. Mathew was the first who set the example in 
 Ireland. 
 
 As this design was formed in early life, in order to 
 accomplish his point without incurring any debt on his 
 estate, he retired to the continent for seven years, and 
 Jived upon six hundred pounds a year, while the re- 
 maining income of his estate was employed in carrying 
 on the great works he had planned there. 
 
 It was towards the conclusion of Queen Ann's reign 
 when Mr. Maihew returned from his long residence 
 abroad. At that time party disputes ran very high, but 
 no where did they rage with such violence as in the Irish 
 metropolis, so that daily duels were the consequence. 
 There happened to be at that time in London two gen- 
 tlemen who valued themselves highly on their skill in 
 fencing; the name of one was Pack and the other 
 Creed ; the former being a major and the latter a cap-? 
 tain in the army. Hearing of these daily exploits in 
 Dublin, they resolved, like two knight-errants, to go 
 over to Ireland in quest of adventures. On inquiry 
 they learned that Mr. Maihew, lately arrived from 
 France, had the character of being one of the first 
 swordsmen in Europe. Pack rejoicing to find an anta- 
 gonist worthy of himself, resolved to pick a quarrel 
 with him the first opportunity ; and meeting him as he 
 was carried along the street in his chair, he jostled the 
 fore-chairman. Mathew, supposing this to be accidental,
 
 ]\IR. MATHEW. 31 
 
 took no notice of the circumstance ; but Pack after- 
 wards boasted of it in a public coffee-house, saying that 
 he had purposely offered this insult to that gentleman 
 who had not the spirit to resent it. 
 
 A particular friend of Mr. Mathew's of the name of 
 Macnamarn, a man of tried courage and reputed the 
 best fencer in Ireland, happened to be present. He 
 immediately took up the quarrel, observing, he was sure 
 Mr. Mathew did wot suppose the affront to be inten- 
 tional, otherwise he would have chastised him on the 
 pot: adding, that if the major would let him know 
 where he was to be found, he should be waited on im- 
 mediately on Mr. Mathew's return, who was to dine 
 that day a little way out of town. The major said that 
 he should be at the tavern opposite, where he and his 
 companion would wait their commands. 
 
 Immediately on his arrival, Mathew, being made ac- 
 quainted with what had passed, went from the coffee- 
 house to the tavern accompanied by Macnamara. 
 Being shown into the room where the two officers were, 
 after securing the door, without any expostulation, 
 Mathew and Pack drew their swords ; but Macnamara 
 stopped them, saying he had something to propose 
 before they proceeded to action. He said, that, in cases 
 of this nature, he never could hear to be a cool spec- 
 tator. " So, Sir," continued he addressing himself to 
 Creed, "if you please I shall have the honour of enter- 
 taining you in the same manner/' Creed, who desired 
 no better sport, made no other reply than that of imme- 
 diately drawing his sword : and to work the four cham- 
 pions fell with the same composure as if it were only a 
 fencing match with foils. 
 
 The conflict was of some duration, and maintained 
 with great obstinacy by the two officers, notwithstand- 
 ing the great effusion of blood from the many wounds 
 which they had received. At length, quite exhausted,
 
 32 MR. MATHEW. 
 
 they both fell, and yielded the victory to the superior 
 kill of their antagonists. 
 
 Upon this occasion Mathew gave a remarkable 
 proof of the perfect composure of his mind during the 
 action. Creed had fallen first, on which Pack exclaim- 
 ed : "Ah, poor Creed, are you goner"" Yes," replied 
 Mathew, with the utmost calmness, " and you shall in- 
 stantly pack after him," at the same time making a home 
 thrust quite through his body, which threw him to the 
 ground. This was the more remarkable as he was never. 
 known in his life, either before or after, to have aimed 
 at a pun. 
 
 The number of wounds received by the vanquished 
 parties was very great; and what seemed almost mira- 
 culous, their opponents were untouched. The surgeons 
 seeing the desperate state of their patients would not 
 suffer them to be removed out of the room where they 
 fought, but had beds immediately conveyed it, on which 
 they lay many hours in a state of insensibility. When 
 they came to themselves and saw where they were, 
 Pack, in a feeble voice, said to his companion : " Creed, 
 I think we are the conquerors, for we have kept the 
 field of battle." For a long time their lives were de- 
 spaired of, but to the astonishment of every one, they 
 both recovered. When they were able to see company, 
 Mathew and his friends attended them daily, and a close 
 intimacy afterwards ensued, as they found them men of 
 probity and of the best dispositions except in this ex- 
 travagant idea of duelling, of which, however, they were 
 now perfectly cured. 
 
 Mr. Mathew spent some time in Dublin, and during 
 bis residence there he availed himself of the opportu- 
 nity to renew the old and cultivate new acquaintance. 
 From his personal accomplishments and large fortune, 
 he found no difficulty to obtain access to all whose 
 
 character or talents rendered him desirous of their 
 
 2
 
 MR. MATHEW. 33 
 
 friendship. Out of these he selected such as were most 
 conformable to his taste, inviting them to pass such 
 leisure time as they might have upon their hands at his 
 seat at Thotnastown, to which he retired to spend the 
 remainder of his days. 
 
 His house had heen chiefly contrived to answer the 
 noble purpose of that constant hospitality which he in- 
 tended to maintain there. It contained forty commo- 
 dious apartments for guests, with suitable accommoda- 
 tions for their servants. Each apartment was com- 
 pletely furnished with ever}' convenience that could be 
 wanted, even to the minutest article. When a guest ar- 
 rived, the hospitable owner showed him his apartment, 
 saying: "This is your castle ; here you are to command 
 as absolutely as in your own house. You may break- 
 fast, dine and sup here whenever you please, and invite 
 such of the guests as may be most agreeable to you." 
 He then showed him the common parlour, where he 
 said a daily ordinary was kept, at which he might dine 
 when it was more agreeable to him to mix in society, 
 adding : " But from this moment you are never to know 
 me as the master of the house, and only to consider me 
 as one of the guests." In order to avoid all ceremony 
 at meals, he took his place at random at the table, and 
 thus all ideas of precedence being laid aside, the 
 guests seated themselves promiscuously, without any re- 
 gard to difference of rank or quality. 
 
 There was a large room fitted up exactly like a coffee- 
 house, where a bar-maid and waiters attended to furnish 
 refreshments at all limes of the day. Here such as 
 diose breakfasted at their own hour. It was provided 
 with chess-boards, backgammon-tables, newspapers, 
 pamphlets, and all other conveniences, that are to be 
 found in a city coiYee-house. But the most extraordi- 
 nary circumstance in his whole domestic arrangement 
 was that of a dt'tached room, in one of the extremities of 
 the housr, called the tavern. As Mr. Mat hew ws him- 
 
 \ or,, j.
 
 oi MR. MATIIEW. 
 
 self a very temperate man, and many of his guest* 
 were of' the same disposition, tjie quantity of wine con- 
 sumed in the common room was very moderate; but a* 
 drinking was much in fashion in those days, in order 
 to indulge such of his guests as had habituated them- 
 selves to that custom, he had recourse to this contriv- 
 ance ; and it was the custom of all who loved a cheer- 
 ful glass to adjourn to the tavern soon after dinner, and 
 leave the more sober part of the company to themselves, 
 Here they were attended by a waiter in a blue apron, as 
 was then the fashion, and all things in the room were 
 so contrived as to favour the illusion. Every one called 
 for what liquor he pleased, with as little restraint as if 
 he had actually been in a public-house and to pay the 
 reckoning. Here too, the midnight orgies of Bacchus 
 were often celebrated with the same noisy mirth as in 
 his city temples, but without in the least disturbing the 
 repose of the more sober part of the family. 
 
 Games of all sorts were allowed, but under such re- 
 strictions as to prevent gambling, and so as to answer 
 their true end, that of amusement, without injury to the 
 purse of the players. There were two billiard tables 
 and a large bowling-green ; ample provision was made 
 for all such as delighted in field sports, with fishing- 
 tackle of all sorts, a variety of guns, 'with proper am- 
 munition, a pack of buck-hounds, another of fox- 
 hounds, and another of harriers ; and twenty choice 
 hunters were kepi in the stables for the use of those who 
 were not properly mounted for the chace. 
 
 The reader may perhaps be ready to imagine that 
 Mr. Mathew's income, considerable as it was, could not 
 he adequate to the support of so extensive an establish- 
 ment ; but when he considers that the value of money 
 was at that time more than double what it is at the pre- 
 sent day ; that his large demesne, in some of the richest 
 so;l in Ireland, furnished the house wiih every necessary 
 except wine, liquors and grocery ; he may suppose it to
 
 33 
 
 be sufficient, if under the Vegulaiion of strict economy, 
 of which no man was a greater master than Mr. Mathew. 
 
 His plan was so well formed, and lie had such checks 
 upon all his domestics, that it was impossible there could 
 be any waste, or that any article from the larder, or a 
 single bottle of wine from the cellar, could have been 
 purloined without immediate detection. This was ac- 
 complished partly by the choice of faithful stewards and 
 clerks of approved integrity, but chiefly by his own 
 superintcndance of the whole, as not a day passed 
 without having all the accounts of the preceding one 
 laid before him. This he was enabled to do by his early 
 rising; and the business being finished before others 
 wen- out of their beds, he always appeared the most 
 disengaged man in the house, and seemed to have as 
 little concern in the conduct of it as any of the guests. 
 
 With a stranger, indeed, he might efisily have passed 
 for a visitor, as he made it a point that no one should 
 consider him in the light of master of the house, or pay 
 him any civilities on that score. 
 
 This he carried so far that he sometimes went abroad 
 without giving any notice, and staid away several days, 
 while things went on as usual at home; and on his re- 
 turn he would not allow any congratulation to be made 
 him, nor any other notice to be taken of him than if he 
 had not been absent during that time. 
 
 The arrangements of every kind were so prudently 
 made, that no number of guests or of their domestics 
 ever occasioned any disorder, and all tilings were con- 
 ducted with the same ease and regularity as in a private 
 family. There was one point which at first it seemed 
 rather difficult to accomplish, namely, the establishing of 
 certain signals, by' which each servant might know when 
 ho was summoned to his master's apartment. For this 
 purpose a great hall was appropriated to the use o! tl < 
 servants, where they always assembled when they wen: 
 cot upon duty. Along the wall, bells were ranged in
 
 36 MR. MATHEW. 
 
 order, one to each apartment, with the number of the 
 chamber marked over it, so that when any of them was 
 rung they had only to turn their eyes to the bell, and to 
 see what servant was called. 
 
 Mr. Mathew was the first that put an end to the inhos- 
 pitable custom of giving vales to servants, by making a 
 suitable addition to their wages; at the same time assur- 
 ing them that if they took any afterwards they should 
 be discharged with disgrace; and to prevent the temp- 
 tation, the guests were informed that he would consider 
 it as the highest affront if any offer of that sort were 
 made. 
 
 The following particulars of a visit of the celebrated 
 Dean Swift to Thoinastown, will enable the reader to 
 form a more precise idea of the interior economy of 
 that establishment. 
 
 Swift had heard much of this place from his friend 
 Dr. Sheridan, who had often been a welcome guest 
 there, both on account of his convivial qualities, and as 
 being the preceptor of the nephew of Mr. Mathew. He 
 at length became desirous of ascertaining with his own 
 eyes the truth of a report, which he could not forbear 
 considering as greatly exaggerated. On receiving an 
 intimation of this from Sheridan, Mr. Mathew wrote a 
 polite letter to the dean, requesting the honour of a 
 visit in company with the doctor, at his next school va- 
 cation. They accordingly set out on horseback, at- 
 tended by a gentleman who was a near relation to Mr. 
 Mathew. They had scarcely reached the inn where 
 they intended to pass the first night, and which, like 
 most of the Irish inns at that time, afforded but miserable 
 entertainment, when they were surprised by the arrival 
 of a couch and six horses, sent to convey them the re- 
 mainder of their journey to Thomastown, and at the 
 same time bringing a supply of the choicest viands, 
 wine and other liquors, for their refreshment. Swift was 
 highly pleased with this uncommon mark of attention
 
 MR. MATHEW. 37 
 
 paid him, and the coach proved particularly acceptable, 
 as he had been a good deal fatigued with his day's 
 journey. 
 
 When they came within sight of the house, the dean, 
 astonished as its magnitude, cried out: "What in the 
 name of God can be the use of such a vast building r ' 
 " Why, Mr. Dean," replied the fellow-traveller before 
 mentioned, " there are no less than forty apartments for 
 guests in that house, and all of them probably occupied 
 at this time, except what are reserved 1'or us." Swittin 
 his usual manner called out to the coachman to stop, 
 and drive him back to Dublin, for rie could not think of 
 mixing with such a crowd. " Well," said he immedi- 
 ately afterwards, "there is no remedy, I must submit; 
 but I have lost a fortnight of my life." 
 
 Mr. Mathew received him at the door with uncommon 
 marks of respect; and then conducting him to his 
 apartment, after some compliments, made his usual 
 speech, acquainting him with the customs of the house, 
 and retired, leaving him in possession of his castle. 
 Soon after the cook appeared with the bill of fare, to 
 receive his directions about supper, and the butler at 
 the same time with a list of wines and other liquors. 
 "And is all this really so f" said Swift. "And may I 
 command here as in my own house?" His companion 
 assured him he might, and that nothing could be more 
 ngreeable to the owner of the mansion, than that all 
 under his roof should live conformably to their own in- 
 clinations, without the least restraint. " \VYI1 then," 
 said Swift, " I invite yon and Dr. Sheridan to be my 
 guests while I stay, for I think I shall scarcely be tempt- 
 ed to mix with the mob below." 
 
 Three days were passed in riding over the demesne, 
 and viewing the various improvements, without ever 
 seeing Mr. Malhew or any of the guests : nor were the 
 company below much concerned at the dean's absence, 
 as his very name usually inspired those who did not
 
 ;38 MR. MATHEW. 
 
 know him with" awe, and they were afraid that his pre- 
 sence would put an end to the ease and cheerfulness 
 which reigned among them. On the fourth day Swift 
 entered the room where the company were assembled 
 before dinner, and addressed Mr. Mathew in a strain of 
 the highest compliment, expatiating on all the beauties 
 of his improvements, with the skill of an artist, and 
 with the taste of a connoisseur. Such an address from 
 a man of Swift's character could not fail of being 
 pleasing to the owner, who was, at the same time, the 
 planner of these improvements ; and so fine an eulogiurn 
 i'rom one who was supposed to deal more largely in 
 satire than panegyric, was likely to remove the preju- 
 dice entertained against his character, and prepossess 
 ihe rest of the company in his favour. He concluded 
 hi> speech by saying : "And now, ladies and gentlemen, 
 1 am come to live among you, and it shall be no fault 
 of mine if we do not pass our time agreeably." 
 
 In a short time all constraint on his account disap- 
 peared. Me entered readily into all the little schemes 
 for promoting mirth, and every day, with the assistance 
 of his coadjutor, produced some new one which afford-* 
 ed a good deal of sport and merriment. In short, never 
 were such joyous scenes known at Thornastown before. 
 When the time came which obliged Sheridan to return 
 to his school, the company were so delighted with the 
 dean, that they earnestly entreated him to remain there 
 some time longer, and Mr. Mathew himself for once 
 broke through his rule of. never soliciting the stay of 
 any guest. Swift found himself so happy, that he 
 readily yielded to their solicitations, and instead of a 
 fortnight, passed four months there, much to his own 
 satisfaction, and that of all those who visited the place 
 during the time. 
 
 How long Mr. Mathew continued to enjoy the plea- 
 sure arising from this establishment, as much the off- 
 spring of a genuine spirit of hospitality as of an ec
 
 H"' 
 
 < /a^^m&fa. & x i ///// ^ ^ //. ^ //
 
 THOMAS HRITTON. 39 
 
 centric disposition, we are unable to state. Nor can 
 we inform the reader whether he derived from the exe- 
 cution of his plan all the gratification which he expect- 
 ed. Certain it is, that his method of spending a fortune 
 was much better calculated to afford happiness and ra- 
 tional enjoyment than that pursued by many, who have 
 thrown away theirs on the turf or at the gaming table; 
 and that it was productive of infinitely greater advan- 
 tage to the community in general, than if, like others, 
 he had locked up the receipts of his estates in his coffers, 
 for the sole purpose of feasting his eyes on his accumu- 
 lated hoards. 
 
 THOMAS BRITTON. 
 
 jV CHARACTER so truly remarkable as that which occu- 
 pies the following memoir is fully entitled to a place in 
 this collection, and the more so, as the singularities for 
 which Britton was distinguished were not, as in the ge- 
 nerality of mankind, the consequences of follies, fail- 
 ings or vices. 
 
 Thomas Britton was born at or near Higham Ferrers, 
 in Northamptonshire. From his native county he went 
 to London, where he bound himself apprentice to a 
 small coal- man. After he had served his full time of 
 s vcn years, his master gave him a sum of money not to 
 set up for himself. On this he went back to Northamp- 
 tonshire, and after he had spent the money, returned 
 to London, where, notwithstanding his master was still 
 living, he set up the small coal-trade, in a building 
 which had been a stable, but which he converted into a 
 house, near Clerkenweli-green. 
 
 What particular circumstance directed Britton's at- 
 tention to subjects totally unconnected with his business 
 we are not informed ; but it i< probable that the ac-
 
 40 THOMAS BR1TTOW. 
 
 quaintance which commenced, soon after he was settled 
 in the above-mentioned situation, between him and his 
 near neighbour Dr. Garanciers, led him to the study of 
 chemistry. He not only became a proficient in that 
 science, but even contrived a moveable laboratory 
 which was universally admired by all of the profession 
 that happened to see it : and a gentleman from Wales 
 was so much taken with it, as to carry Britton with him. 
 into that country to build such another. 
 
 Besides his great skill in chemistry, Britton was not 
 less celebrated for his knowledge of the theory of music, 
 in the practical part of which he was also a considerable 
 adept. What will appear still more extraordinary, is, 
 that notwithstanding the meanness of his profession, a 
 musical concert was held at Britton's house, which was 
 attended by the most distinguished professors, as well as 
 by many persons of the highest rank and fashion. 
 
 Of the origin of Britton's concert we have an account 
 written by a near neighbour of his, the facetious Edward 
 Ward, author of the London Spy, and many doggerel 
 poems, coarse it is true, but not devoid of humour or 
 pleasantry, and who at that time kept a public-house at 
 Clerkenwell. In one of his publications entitled, 
 " Satirical reflections on Clubs," he has bestowed a whole 
 chapter on the small coal-man's club. From the account 
 there given we learn that "this club was first begun, or 
 at least confirmed by Sir Roger L'Estrange, a very mu- 
 sical gentleman, and who had a tolerable perfection on 
 the bass viol." Ward farther says, that " the attach- 
 ment of Sir Roger and other ingenious gentlemen, lovers 
 of the muses, to Britton, arose from the profound re- 
 gard that he had in general to all manner of literature ; 
 that the prudence of his deportment to his betters pro- 
 cured him great respect; and that men of the greatest 
 wit, as well as some of the highest quality, honoured his 
 musical society with their company. Britton was, in- 
 deed, so much distinguished, that when passing along
 
 THOMAS BRITTON. 41 
 
 streets in his blue linen frock, and with his sack of small 
 coal on his back, he was frequently accosted with such 
 expressions as these: "There goes' the famous small 
 coal-man, who is a lover of learning, a performer in 
 music, and a companion for gentlemen." Ward adds, 
 and speaks of it as of his own knowledge, and indeed 
 the fact is indisputable, that Britton had made a very 
 good collection of ancient and modern music by the 
 best masters; that he had also collected a very handsome 
 library, which he had publicly disposed of to very con- 
 siderable advantage: and that he had still in his posses- 
 sion many valuable curiosities. He farther observes 
 that, at the first institution of this concert it was per- 
 formed in Britton's own house, but that sometime after- 
 wards he took a convenient room out of the next to it. 
 What sort of a house Britton's was, and where it stood, 
 shall now be related. 
 
 It was situated on the south side of Aylesbury-street, 
 whicji extends from Clerkenwell-green to St. John's- 
 street, and was the corner-house of the passage leading 
 by the Old Jerusalem Tavern under the gate-way of the 
 Priory into St. John's-square. On the ground-floor was 
 a repository for small coal ; over that was the concert- 
 room, which was very long and narrow, and had a 
 ceiling so low that a tall man could but just stand up- 
 right in it. The stairs to this room were on the outside 
 of the house, and could scarcely he ascended without 
 crawling. The house itself was low and very old, and 
 in every respect so mean as to be a fit habitation only for 
 a very poor man. .Notwithstanding -ill these disad- 
 vantages, this man, despicable as he might seem, at- 
 tracted as polite an audience as ever the opera did, and 
 ladies of the first rank in the kingdom, in the pleasure 
 which they ft It at hearing Britton's concert, forgot the 
 diflieulty with which they ascended the steps that led 
 to it. 
 
 The reader will probably feel some curiosity to knovr 
 
 YOL. I. F
 
 42 THOMAS liRITTON. 
 
 who were the persons that performed in Britton's cop- 
 cert. Perhaps when he is informed that Dr. Pepuseh^ 
 and frequently the celebrated Handel played the harpsi- 
 chord ; Mr. Bannister the first violin ; and that Dubourg, 
 then a child, played his first solo at Britton's, standing 
 on a joint stool, it will be unnecessary to repeat the 
 names of the rest. It has been questioned by some 
 whether Britton had any skill in music or not, but it is 
 certain he could tune a harpsichord, and very frequently 
 played the viol de gamba in his own concert. 
 
 It has been said that Britton found instruments, and 
 the subscription to his concert was ten shillings a year, 
 with coffee at a penny a dish. If so, Briiton had de- 
 parted from his original institution, for at first no coffee 
 was drank there, nor would he receive any gratuity from 
 one of his guests ; on the contrary, he was offended 
 whenever it was offered to him, as was asserted by one 
 of the performers at his concert. 
 
 The following stanza of a song written by Ward, in 
 praise of Britton seems to confirm it. 
 
 Upon Thursdays repair 
 
 To my palace, and there 
 
 Hobble up stair by stair ; 
 
 But I pray ye take care 
 That you break not your shins by a stumble. 
 
 And without e'er a souse, 
 
 Paid to me or my spouse, 
 
 Sit as still as a mouse, 
 
 At the top of the house, 
 And there you shall hear how we fumble. 
 
 Britton's skill in old books and manuscripts is men- 
 tioned by Hearne, who in the preface to his edition of 
 Robert of Gloster, refers to a curious manuscript copy 
 of that historian in Britton's possession. The account of 
 the means used by him and other collectors of ancient 
 books and manuscripts about this time, given by one of 
 that class, includes some intimation of Britton's pur- 
 suits and connexions.
 
 THOMAS BRITTON. 43 
 
 About the beginning of the eighteenth centtiry a pas- 
 sion for collecting old books and manuscripts prevailed 
 among the nobility. The chief of those who sought 
 after them were the Earls of Oxford, Pembroke, Sun- 
 derland, Winchelsea, and the Dukes of Devonshire. 
 These noblemen in the winter season, on Saturdays, the 
 parliament not sitting on that day, used to resort to the 
 city, and dividing themselves, took different routes, some 
 to Little Britain, some to Moorfields, and others to 
 different parts of the town inhabited by booksellers. 
 There they would inquire in the several shops as they 
 passed along for old books and manuscripts; and some 
 time before noon would assemble at the shop of Chris- 
 topher Bateman, a bookseller at the corner of Ave 
 Maria Lane, in Paternoster-row, where they were fre- 
 quently met by other persons engaged, in the same pur- 
 suits. A conversation on the subject of their inquiries 
 ensued, and while they were thus engaged and as near 
 as possible to the hour of twelve by St. Paul's clock, 
 Britton, who by that time had finished his round, arrived 
 clad in his blue frock, and pitching his sack of small 
 coal on the bulk of Mr. Bateman's shop window, would 
 go in and join them. After a conversation which gene- 
 rally lasted about an hour, the above-mentioned noble- 
 men adjourned to the Mourning Bush at Aldersgate, 
 where they dined and spent the remainder of the day. 
 
 The singularity of his character, the course of his 
 studies, and the collections he made induced suspicions 
 that Britton was not the man he appeared to be. Some 
 thought his musical assembly only a cover for seditious 
 meetings, others for magical purposes, and Britton him- 
 self was taken for an atheist, a presbyterian and a Jesuit. 
 These, however, were ill-grounded conjectures; for he 
 was a plain simple honest man, perfectly inoffensive and 
 highly esteemed by all who knew him, and notwith- 
 standing the meanness of his occupation was always 
 called Mr. Britten.
 
 44 THOMAS BRITTON. 
 
 The circumstances of this man's death are not lesa re- 
 markable than those of his life. There resided in Bril- 
 ton's time near Clerkenwell-close, a man named Robe, 
 who frequently played at his concerts, .and who beiin; 
 in the commission of the peace for Middlesex \vs 
 usually denominated Justice Robe. At the same time 
 one Honeyman a blacksmith by trade, who lived in 
 Bear-street near Leicester-square, became very famous 
 for a faculty which he possessed of speaking as if his 
 voice proceeded from some different part of the house 
 from where he stood. He was one of those who are 
 known by the appellation of ventriloquists, and was 
 himself called " the talking smith." The pranks played 
 by this man would, if collected, almost fill a volume, 
 but in this. place the following anecdote may suffice. 
 During the time that Dr. Sacheverell was under censure, 
 and had a great resort of friends to his house near the 
 the church in Holborn, Honeyman had the assurance to 
 get himself admitted under the pretext that he came 
 from a couple who wished to be married by .the doctor. 
 He did not remain long in the room, but made snch 
 good use of his time that the doctor, though one of the 
 stoutest and most athletic men of his time, was almost 
 terrified into fits. 
 
 This man Robe was foolish and wicked enough to 
 introduce to Britton for the sole purpose of frightening 
 him, and he was but too successful. Honeyman, 
 without moving his lips or seeming to speak, announced, 
 as from a distance, the death of poor Britton within 
 a few hours, with an intimation that the only way 
 to avert his doom was for him to fall on his knees imme- 
 diately and say the Lord's prayer. The poor man did as 
 he was bid, went home, took to his bed and died in a 
 few days, leaving his friend Mr. Robe, to enjoy the 
 consequences of his mirth. His death happened in 
 September, 171fl and on the first of October he was 
 buried in the church-yard of Clerkepwell, being attend-
 
 THOMAS BRITTON. 45 
 
 ed to the grave by a great concourse of people, especially 
 by those who had been used to frequent his concerts. 
 At the time of his death he was upwards of sixty year* 
 of agv. 
 
 " He was," says Hearne, the antiquary, "an extraor- 
 dinary and valuable man, much admired by the gentry, 
 even those of the best quality, and by all others of in- 
 fo ior rank, that had any kind of regard for probity, 
 sagacity, diligence and humility. I say humility, because, 
 though he was so much famed for his knowledge, and 
 
 O *j * 
 
 might therefore have livtd very reputably without his 
 trade, yet he continued it to his death, not thinking it to 
 be at all beneath him." 
 
 Britton was in his person a short thick-set man, with 
 a very honest, ingenuous countenance. There are two 
 pictures of him extant, both painted by his friend Mr. 
 Woolaston. One of them is in the British Museum, and 
 the occasion of painting it, as related by the artist him- 
 self, was this: Britton had been out one morning, and 
 having nearly emptied his sack in a shorter time than he 
 expected, had a mind to see his friend Mr. Woolaston. 
 But having always been accustomed to consider himself 
 in two capacities, namely, as one who subsisted by a 
 very mean occupation, and as a companion for persons 
 in a station of life far above his own, he could not, 
 consistently with this distinction, pay Woolaston a visit, 
 dressed as he then was. He, therefore, in his way home, 
 varied his usual round, and passing through Warwick- 
 lane, determined to cry small coal so near the artist's 
 door as to stand a chance of being invited in by him. 
 Accordingly, he had no sooner turned into Warwick- 
 court and cried small coal in his usual tone, than Mr. 
 Woolaston, who had never heard him there before, thre\r 
 up the sash and beckoned him in. Alter some conver- 
 sation Woolaston intimated a desire to paint his picture; 
 Britlon modestly complied; and then and at a few sub- 
 fequent sittings the artist painted him in his blue iVot.k
 
 46 THOMAS BRITTOX. 
 
 and with his small coal measure in his hand. A print was 
 taken from this picture, after which Mr. Hughes wrote 
 the following lines that were inscribed underneath it : 
 
 Tho' mean thy rank, yet in thy humble cell 
 DU1 gentle peace and arts unpurchas'd dwell ; 
 Well pleas' d Apollo thilher led his train, 
 And music warbled in her sweetest strain. 
 Cyllenius so, as fables tell, and Jove 
 Came willing guests to poor Philemon's grove. 
 Let useless potnp behold and blush to find 
 So low a station, such a liberal mind. 
 
 Britton was a married man, and was survived by his 
 wife. He left little behind him, except his books, his 
 collection of manuscripts and printed music and musical 
 instruments, which were afterwards sold by auction. 
 
 Nor did the celebrated Mathew Prior refuse to con- 
 tribute to the memory of poor Britton in the following 
 lines : 
 
 Tho' doom'd to small coal yet to arts allied ; 
 Rich without wealth, and famous without pride 
 Music's best patron, judge of books and men ; 
 Belov'd and honour'd by Apollo's train. 
 In Greece or Rome sure never did appear 
 So bright a genius, in so dark a sphere ! 
 More of the man had probably been say'd 
 Had Kneller painted, and had Vertue grav'd. 
 
 THE REVEREND GEORGE HARVEST. 
 
 THE character of this divine was of such a singular 
 composition, that we shall scarcely fiad its equal. He 
 was one of the most absent men of his time, a lover of 
 good eating almost to gluttony, extremely negligent in 
 his dress, and a believer in ghosts, goblins, and fairies, 
 though he received a classical education in the university 
 of Oxford.
 
 REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 47 
 
 Though he was bred for the church, his fondness for 
 dramatic exhibitions led him early to try his abilities 
 upon the boards of different provincial theatres ; but his 
 yivacity always getting the better of his judgment, and 
 some unlucky impromptu inadvertently popping out, he 
 was constantly upon the minus side of his engagement. 
 Being possessed of a considerable paternal estate, and 
 having a .firm friend in Dr. Compton, Bishop of London, 
 for whose daughter Mr. Harvest had a partiality and re- 
 gard, he, at the age of twenty-four years, bade adieu to 
 the Thespian mania, but not without leaving abundance 
 of anecdotes in the memory of his friends, who have, 
 however, generously sacrificed them to oblivion ; whilst 
 the spirit of detraction has preserved his fame as an ec- 
 centric divine of no common abilities, but of extraordi- 
 nary and singular conduct. 
 
 He had at this time an estate of 300/. per annum ; 
 and had insinuated himself so far into the good graces 
 of the bishop's daughter, that the wedding-day was 
 fixed ; but unluckily, on that day he forgot himself, for 
 being out fishing, he staid beyond the canonical hour - r 
 and the lady, justly offended at his neglect, broke off 
 the match. 
 
 Soon after this he commenced housekeeper, and kept 
 a variety of company. Among others who visited him, 
 was Mr. Arthur Onslow, Speaker of the House of Com- 
 mons, who lived at Ember-court, in the parish of 
 Thames Ditton. This gentleman was very fond of Mr. 
 Harvest's company, insomuch that he procured him the 
 living of Thames Ditton, which he held during life. 
 Lord Onslow, the speaker's son, was likewise so pleased 
 with his company, that he took him to Ember-court, 
 where he lived nfore than he did at his own house. He 
 suffered much from the abuse and dishonesty of his ser- 
 vants in his absence, who ran him so far in debt, that 
 his circumstances became much embarrassed and con- 
 fused. Lt is a fact, related by those who knew the
 
 48 REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 
 
 ~- 
 
 circumstance, that bis maid frequently gave balls to nor 
 friends, and other servants in the neighbourhood, ahd 
 persuaded her masterthat the noise he heard was made 
 in the street, or was the effect of wind. 
 
 His memory, if judged of according to his actions, 
 seems to have been a perfect sieve, for any thing would 
 fall through it : and he has even been tried and found to 
 have forgotten his own name. His ideas were so con- 
 fused sometimes, that he has been known to write a 
 letter to one person, direct it to another, and address it 
 to a third, who could not devise from whom it came/ 
 because he had forgotten to subscribe his name. If a 
 heggar happened to take off his hat to him in the street, 
 in Hiopes of receiving alms, Mr. Harvest made him a 
 low bow, told him he was his most obedient humble 
 servant, and walked on. 
 
 His reveries and distractions were so frequent, that 
 not a day passed but he committed some egregious mis- 
 take. A friend and he walking together in the Temple- 
 gardens, one evening, previous to the meeting of the 
 club called the Beef-steak Club, in Ivy-lane, to which 
 they were going, and to which Smollet, Johnson, and 
 others belonged, Mr. Harvest picked up a small pebble 
 of so odd a make, that he said he would present it to 
 Lord Bute, who was an eminent virtuoso. After thej* 
 had walked some time, his friend asked him what o'clock 
 it was, to which, pulling out his watch, he answered, 
 that they had seven minutes good. They took a turn or 
 two more, when, to his friend's astonishment, he canted 
 his watch away into the Thames, and with great sc- 
 d.steness put up the pebble he had before found, in his 
 fob. 
 
 His notorious heedlessness was so apparent, that no 
 one would lend him a horse, as he frequently lost hi* 
 beast from under him, or, at least, from out of his hands ; 
 it being his frequent practice to dismount and lead the 
 horse, putting the bridle under his arm, which the
 
 REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 49 
 
 liorse sometimes shook off, or the intervention of a post 
 occasioned to fall ; sometimes it was taken off by mis- 
 chievous boys, when the parsoa was seen, drawing his 
 bridle after him; and if any one asked him after the 
 animal, he could not give the least account of it nor 
 how he lost it. 
 
 Being desired to officiate one Sunday morning at St. 
 Mary's, in Oxford, a waggish acquaintance wrote the 
 following burlesque upon the banns of matrimony, and 
 which being duly put forward, was read by Mr. Harvest 
 as follows : 
 
 I publish the marriage banns between 
 Jack Cheshire and the Widow Glo'ster, 
 Both of a parish that is seen 
 'Twixt Oxford here and Paternoster ; 
 Who, to keep out the wind and weather, 
 Hereafter mean to pig together. 
 So if you wish to put in caveat, 
 Now is the time to let us have it. 
 
 Mr. Harvest constantly thought of something else 
 than what he ought immediately to have considered : 
 not only the office of his sacred functions, but every 
 other circumstance was forced to yield to his inadvertent 
 way of acting. His distraction seemed to proceed from 
 a certain vivacity and changeableness of temper, which, 
 while it raised up an infinite numberof ideas in his mind, 
 continually propelled, without allowing it to rest on any 
 particular image. Nothing, therefore, could be more 
 incongruous than the conceptions and thoughts of such 
 a man ; for he was never influenced either by the com- 
 pany he was in, or any of those objects which were 
 placed before him ; and while you might fancy him at- 
 tending to your discourse, he was often, in thought 
 bobbing for eels, or studying the character of Chamont, 
 the young soldier in Orway's Orphan; and it was far 
 from being impossible, but he was building some castle 
 in the air. Yet, amidst all these vagaries, Mr. Harvest 
 
 VOL. j. o
 
 50 REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 
 
 was a man of good sense, and was every daj doing and 
 saying some things, which though a mal-a-propos, and 
 undesigned, denoted his mind to be cast in no common 
 mould. 
 
 His want of attention to the present, led him often 
 into disagreeable as well as ridiculous mistakes. Once, 
 when at a gentleman's house in the city, taking his leave 
 with an intention to go away, in one of his absent fits, 
 he mounted up three pair of stairs into the garret: the 
 maids, who by chance were ironing there, wondered 
 what it could be that kept such a stamping about the 
 rooms ; when one of them taking a light to see, found 
 the Rev. Mr. Harvet, who, in the utmost confusion, 
 told her he fancied he had made some mistake, and 
 begged to know if that was not the way to the street- 
 door. Such was his absence and distraction, that he 
 frequently used to forget the prayer-days, and walk into 
 his church with his gun upon his arm, to see what could 
 have assembled the people there. Wherever he slept, 
 lie used commonly to pervert the use of every utensil : 
 he would wash his mouth and hands in the chamber- 
 pot, wipe himself with the sheets, and not tin frequently 
 go into bed between the sheets with his boots on. In 
 company he never put the bottle round, but always filled 
 when it stood opposite to him, so that he very often took 
 half a dozen glasses running that he alone was intoxi- 
 cated, and the rest of the company sober, is not there- 
 fore to be wondered at. 
 
 It is observed of the passion of love, that it acts like 
 an inundation, turning every thing that stands in hs 
 way topsy-turvy, misleading the judgment, blinding the 
 understanding, punishing the wise man, and tickling the 
 fool; but this powerful incentive to action had no effect 
 upon Mr. Harvest. After his first affair with the bishop's 
 daughter, it might be supposed that he would have taken 
 better care the second time. Mr. Harvest, however, was 
 the same absent man still, and he made himself as ridi-
 
 REV. GEORGE HARVEST. it I 
 
 culous this lime as the first, and lost an amiable female 
 with a handsome fortune. When the appointed day 
 arrived on which he was to become a husband, and the 
 coach called at his door to carry him to breakfast with 
 his intended bride and her father, the gentleman was 
 not to be found. He had set off the same morning 
 about seven o'clock, and nobody could tell what was 
 become of him. It was nearly dusk before he recollect- 
 ed any thing of the affair, when he took to his heels, 
 from the company he was in, and ran like a madman 
 all the way back : and in such a dirty plight did he 
 arrive, that he could scarcely be recognised. The truth 
 was, that, being invited by the fineness of the weather, 
 he had strayed as far as Richmond, where he had been 
 engaged to dine with company; but suddenly recollect- 
 ing the important business fixed for that day, he made 
 all the haste possible to the place of assignation, to 
 apologize for his egregious piece of neglect; but this 
 lady, like the first, thought herself so ill used, that she 
 would never see him afterwards; yet Mr. Harvest used 
 often to mention that day as the pleasantest of his whole 
 life. 
 
 The figure of this divine was one of the most uncouth 
 imaginable; he seldom had a clean shirt; and when he 
 happened to have one, he either wanted shaving, or had 
 dirty boots, or perhaps two odd stockings; and if any 
 one remarked to him the great impropriety of his slo- 
 venliness, he would reply, that, " Indeed he was not 
 very exact." An equestrian expedition to see the above- 
 mentioned lady, during the period of their courtship, 
 ought not to pass unnoticed. Thinking it necessary to 
 go on horseback, as it was winter, and the roads were 
 very dirty, he conceived he might save the time of 
 shifting himself by doing it upon the road upon his Ro- 
 sinante. Providing himself, therefore, with a clean 
 cravat and shirt in his pocket, he proceeded until he 
 came to the lane, at the bottom of which the lady lived,
 
 52 REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 
 
 when, stripping himself, and laying the things before 
 him on the saddle, just as he was attempting to put his 
 shirt on, his horse took fright, and ran with him quite 
 to the door of the lady's house. Here, to the no small 
 astonishment of the family, the Rev. Mr. Harvest made 
 his appearance, without shirt or hat, for all his accou- 
 trements were, like John Gilpin's hat and wig, on the 
 road, where they lay till the doctor and a servant went 
 and collected them together. 
 
 He generally travelled on foot, regardless of all 
 weathers. His shoes and stockings were generally in a 
 beastly condition, for he never cleaned them, nor would 
 suffer them to be cleaned. The Surrey and Kent roads, 
 forty years ago, were not so good as they aie now; 
 some of them were excessively deep then, and if they 
 had been a fathom or more, it would have been just the 
 same to Parson Harvest, for he never picked his steps, 
 but waded through the middle, so that he had nearly 
 been run over once or twice. To have robbed him of 
 money to any amount would have been totally impos- 
 sible, for he very seldom carried any about him, save a 
 few halfpence, to buy shrimps or gingerbread ; a penny- 
 worth of which he would put into his waistcoat pocket, 
 and forget they were there, among tobacco and gun- 
 powder, worms, gentles for fishing, and other articles. 
 This rubbish he often carried about him till itstnelled so 
 as to render his presence almost insufferable. The late 
 dowager Countess of Pembroke once turned out such an 
 heterogeneous mas?, as filled a dust shovel. The inti- 
 macy of Mr. Harvest with the Onslovv family, who 
 lived at Ember-court, in the parish of Thames Ditton, 
 has already been mentioned. This family was so fond 
 of Mr. Harvest's company, that he had a bed there, and 
 resided with them as long as he chose. Here, unre- 
 strained by the rank of his hosts, and regardless of that 
 decorous respect universally paid to the sex, Mr. Har- 
 vest was daily guilty of gross improprieties. The family
 
 REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 53 
 
 had a private mode of warning him when he was falling 
 into any of these inadvertencies: this was by crying 
 Col! Col. which meant fellow of a college; these in- 
 accuracies in his behaviour having been, by Lady Ons- 
 low, called behaving like a mere scholar, or fellow of 
 a college. 
 
 Mr. Harvest making one in a company with Mr.Ons- 
 low, in a punt on the Thames, began to read a favourite 
 passage in a Greek author, with such strange theatrical 
 gestures, that his wig soon fell into the water, when, 
 such was his impatience to regain it, that he jumped into 
 the water to fetch it out, and was with difficulty fished 
 out himself. On returning into the boat, he only ob- 
 served that his Greek had never had such a wetting 
 before. 
 
 His advance in years did not cure him in the least of 
 his thoughtless inadvertency. When Lord Sandwich 
 was canvassing for the vice-chancellorship of Cambridge, 
 Mr. Harvest, who had been his schoolfellow at Eton, 
 went down to give him his vote. One day at dinner 
 there in a large company, his lordship jesting with 
 Harvest on their boyish tricks, the parson suddenly ex- 
 claimed, "Apropos; whence do you, my lord, derive 
 your nick-name of Jemmy Twitcher?" " Why/' an- 
 swered his lordship, "from some foolish fellow." "No," 
 replied Harvest, " it is not from some, but every body 
 calls you so." On which his lordship, to end the dis- 
 agreeable altercation, being near the pudding, put u 
 large slice on the doctor's plate, who immediately seiz- 
 ing it, stopped his mouth for that time. 
 
 On another occasion, having accompanied the same 
 nobleman to Calais, they walked on the ramparts. 
 Musing on some geometrical problem, he lost his com- 
 pany in the midst of the town. He could not speak u 
 word of French; but, recollecting that Lord Sandwich 
 was at the Silver Lion, he put a shilling in his mouth, 
 and set himself in the attitude of a lion rampant. After
 
 0-1 REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 
 
 exciting much admiration, he was led back to the inn 
 by a soldier, under the idea that he was a maniac 
 escaped from his keepers. 
 
 The doctor was a great lover of pudding as well as 
 argument. Once at a visitation, the archdeacon was 
 talking very pathetically on the transitory things of this 
 life, among which he enumerated many particulars, 
 such as health, beauty, riches, and power : the doctor, 
 who listened with great attention, turning about to help 
 himself to a slice of pudding, found it was all gone, on 
 which, turning to the reverend moralist, he begged that 
 Mr. Arqhdeacon, in his future catalogue of transitory 
 things, would not forget to insert spudding. 
 
 His fondness for theatrical performances very much 
 abated in his latter years. Lady Onslow one day invited 
 him to see Garrick play some favourite character; they 
 took their seats in the front row of the front boxes. 
 Mr. Harvest, knowing that he was to sleep in town, 
 literally brought his night-cap in his pocket: it was of 
 striped woollen, and had not been washed full half a 
 year. In pulling out his handkerchief, his cap fell out 
 with it, and dropped into the pit. The person on whom, 
 it fell tossed it from him; the next did the same; and 
 the cap was for some minutes tossed to and fro all over 
 the pit. Harvest, who was afraid of losing his cap, got 
 up, and, after hemming three times to clear his pipe, 
 began to make an oration, signifying to those who were 
 thus amusing themselves with his cap, to restore it 
 when they had had fun enough with it; for, he observed 
 it was a very serious thing to die without a night-cap : 
 adding, "And please to restore it to me, who am the 
 owner of it;" at the same time placing his left hand on 
 his breast, declaring, "I shall be restless to-night if I 
 have not my cap." The people were struck with his 
 manner, the cap was handed to him at the end of a stick, 
 and the doctor was relieved from his apprehension of a 
 restless niht.
 
 REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 55 
 
 Of his impropriety of behaviour in the company of 
 ladies, the following is one of the least censurahle 
 examples. Sitting one day among a company, mostly 
 of the fair sex, at Lady Onslow's, a large fly, which 
 had huzzed about him a long time, at last settled upon 
 the bonnet of one of the ladies, which the doctor ob- 
 serving, got up, and with a grave look and accent, ad- 
 dressed these words aloud to the fly, " May you be 
 married!" and watching his opportunity to kill it, he 
 lifted his hand, and gave the lady such a blow upon the 
 head as quite deranged her attire, and confused the 
 company so much, that had not Lady Onslow entered 
 the room at that moment, and made an apology for the 
 rudeness of the doctor's conduct, the whole company 
 would have retired in affront. But on Mr. Harvest 
 begging pardon of the offended lady, and confessing 
 he did not know what he was doing, the affair termi- 
 nated in a hearty laugh. 
 
 His ideas were sometimes so confused, that he per- 
 formed actions equal to those done in a state of somna- 
 bulism. Once perceiving a friend and his wife in an 
 upper room at the house at Ember-court, he, in joke only, 
 locked them in, and put the key in his pocket; when 
 soon afterwards- being called down upon business, he 
 forgot what he had done, went out with the key in his 
 pocket, and it was near dark before the two prisoners 
 could be set at liberty. On another occasion, in one of 
 his absent fits, he mistook his friend's house, and went 
 into another, the door of which happened to stand open ; 
 and no servant being in the wny, he rambled all over 
 the house, till coming into a middle room, where an 
 old lady was ill in bed of a quinsey, he stumbled over 
 the night-stool, threw down a clothes-horse, and might 
 not have ended there, had not the affrighted patient 
 made a noise at his intrusion which brought up the ser- 
 vants, who, finding Dr. Harvest in the room instead of 
 the apothecary, who was momentarily expected, not only
 
 56 REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 
 
 quieted the old lady's fears, but she was taken with 
 such an immoderate fit of laughter at his confusion, that 
 it broke the quinsey in her throat, and she lived many 
 years afterwards to thank Dr. Harvest for his lucky 
 mistake. 
 
 Having to preach before the clergy at the visitation, 
 he provided himself with three sermons for the purpose, 
 which he had in his pocket. Some wags got possession 
 of them, mixed the leaves, and sewed them all up as 
 one. The doctor began his sermon, and soon lost the 
 thread of the discourse : he grew confused, but still 
 persisted, and actually preached out first, the clergy 
 who had met on the occasion ; next, the churchward- 
 ens; and lastly, the congregation: nor would he yet 
 have ended, had not the sexton and beadle admonished 
 him that all the pews were empty. 
 
 Mr. Harvest's forgetfulness continued with him 
 through life ; yet he was an amusing companion, and if 
 we may judge of him from the sermons which he 
 printed, he was no inelegant scholar; but in his person 
 he was the most beastly sloven alive. He died at Ember- 
 court, in August, 1789, aged 61. 
 
 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 
 
 OF all the passions that reign in the human breast, 
 avarice, under certain circumstances, is one of the most 
 unaccountable. That the man who has once felt the 
 miseries of poverty, should, on the acquisition of wealth, 
 exhibit a disposition somewhat more than frugal, cannot 
 appear surprising. It is but just to ascribe it to solici- 
 tude to prevent a recurrence of the evils to which he was 
 once exposed. But how shall we explain the existence 
 of that inordinate propensity to accumulate, which some- 
 times marks the character of persons, bom in the lap of 
 
 3
 
 
 . 
 
 .
 
 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 57 
 
 riches, and succeeding, without any exertion of their 
 own, to the possession of almost boundless wealth. 
 
 Such was the case of John Elwes a name which has 
 become proverbial in the annals of avarice the circum- 
 stances of whose remarkable life incontestibly prove 
 that not vast heaps of hoarded gold, or wide-extended 
 possessions, can give happiness and content to such as 
 want spirit to make use of them. Who would exchange 
 the feelings with the scanty fortune of the man of Ross, 
 celebrated by Pope, for the feelings of Elwes, even 
 though coupled with his immense property ! 
 
 The history of Mr. Elwes likewise furnishes an ex- 
 ample, as memorable as any recorded in history, of the 
 inconsistency of man. It shows that the most sordid 
 parsimony may be combined with the most extravagant 
 negligence and profusion, and that principles of the 
 purest honour may be associated with a meanness that is 
 degrading to the human character. But we shall cease 
 to anticipate the reflections that will not fail to occur to 
 every intelligent reader while perusing the following 
 pages, and introduce in them this extraordinary com- 
 pound of frailty and excellence. 
 
 The father of Mr. Elwes, whose family name was 
 Meggot, was an eminent brewer in Southwark. He 
 died when his son was only four years old, so that little 
 of the penurious character by which he was afterwards 
 distinguished, can be attributed to his father. The pre- 
 cepts and example of his surviving parent doubtless ex- 
 ercised more influence ; for though she was left nearly 
 one hundred thousand pounds by her husband, it is said 
 that she starved herself to death. Another cause, 
 which will presently be noticed, doubtless contributed to 
 instil into the mind of Mr. Elwes that saving principle 
 by which he was so eminently distinguished. 
 
 At an early period of life he was sent to Westminster- 
 school, where he remained ten or twelve years, and 
 became a good classical scholar; yet it is not a little 
 
 VOL. r. H
 
 58 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 
 
 extraordinary, that at no future period of his life was he 
 ever seen with a book, nor did he leave behind him, at 
 all his different houses, two pounds' worth of literary 
 furniture. Of accounts he had no knowledge whatever, 
 and this may perhaps have been, in part, the cause of 
 Ills total ignorance of his awn concerns. From West- 
 minster-school he removed to Geneva, to complete his 
 education. Here he entered upon pursuits more agree- 
 able to him than study. The riding-master of the 
 academy there had then to boast, perhaps, of three of 
 the boldest riders in Europe, Mr. Worsley, Mr. Elwes, 
 and Sir Sydney Meadows. Of the three, Elwes was 
 reckoned the most courageous ; the yonng horses were 
 always put into his hands, and he was the rough-rider 
 of the other two. After an absence of two or three 
 years he returned to England. 
 
 At this time his uncle, Sir Harvey Elwes, resided at 
 Stoke, in Suffolk, the most perfect picture of penury 
 that perhaps ever existed. To this gentleman he was 
 introduced, and as he was to be his heir, it was of course 
 policy to endeavour to please him. A little disguise 
 was now sometimes necessary even in Mr. Elwes, who, 
 as he mingled with the gay world, dressed like other 
 people. This, however, would not have gained him the 
 favour of Sir Harvey : his hopeful nephew used, there- 
 fore, when he visited him, to stop at a little inn at 
 Chelmsford, where he dressed in a manner more likely 
 to ensure his uncle's approbation. He made his ap- 
 pearance at Stoke in a pair of small iron buckles, darned 
 worsted stockings, an old worn-out coat, and tatter- 
 ed waistcoat, and was contemplated with a miserable 
 satisfaction by Sir Harvey, who was delighted to see his 
 heir bidding fair to rival him in the accumulation of 
 useless wealth. There they would sit, with a single stick 
 on the fire, and indulge occasionally with one glass of 
 wine between them, while they inveighed against the 
 extravagaace of the times; and when night approached
 
 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 59 
 
 they retired to bed, because they thus saved the expense 
 of caudle-light. The nephew, however, had then, what 
 he never lost, a very keen appetit,and this, in the opinion 
 of his uncle, would have been an unpardonable offence. 
 He therefore first partook of a dinner with some country 
 neighbour, and then returned to his uncle with a little 
 diminutive appetite, which quite charmed the old gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 And here we shall take the liberty of digressing a 
 little, for the purpose of introducing to the reader a lew 
 farther particulars of Sir Harvey Elwes, whose portrait 
 alone is worthy of being a companion to that of his pe- 
 nurious nephew. 
 
 Sir Harvey, on succeeding to the family estate, found 
 himself in the nominal possession of some thousands a 
 year, but actually reduced to an income of not more 
 than one hundred. On his arrival at the mansion 
 of Stoke, he declared that he never would leave it, till 
 he had entirely cleared the paternal estate. This he 
 lived to fulfil, and to realize above one hundred thousand 
 pounds in addition. 
 
 But he was formed of the very materials for making 
 an accomplished miser. In his youth he had been given 
 over for a consumption ; so that he had no constitution 
 and no passions. He was timid, shy, and diilident, in 
 the extreme, of a thin, spare habit of body, and with- 
 out a friend in the world. 
 
 Having no acquaintance, no books, no inclination 
 for reading or study, his whole delight consisted iu 
 hoarding up and counting his money. Next to this the 
 highest gratification he could enjoy was partridge setting. 
 Such was his dexterity, and so plentiful was game at 
 that time, that he has been known to take five hundred 
 brace of birds in one season. But ho lived upon par- 
 tridges, with his whole household, compreht nding one- 
 man and two maids. \Vhat they could not eat, he 
 turned out again, as he never gave any thing away.
 
 CO JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 
 
 During the partridge season, Sir Harvey and his man 
 never missed a single day, when the weather was toler- 
 able ; and his breed of dogs being remarkably good, he 
 seldom failed to take great quantities of game. He al- 
 ways wore a black velvet cap much over his face, a 
 threadbare, full-dress suit of clothes, and an old great- 
 coat, with worsted stockings drawn up over his knees. 
 He rode a lean thorough-bred horse, and the horse and 
 his rider looked as if a gust of wind would have blown 
 them away together. When the weather prevented him 
 from going abroad, he would walk backward and forward 
 in his old hall to save the expense of fire. If a farmer 
 of the neighbourhood came in, he would strike a light 
 in a tinder-box which he kept by him, and putting one 
 single stick upon the grate, would not add another till 
 the first was nearly burned out. 
 
 As he had but little connexion with the metropolis, 
 Sir Harvey was never without three or four thousand 
 pounds in his bouse. A set of fellows, afterwards known 
 by the appellation of the Thaxted gang, and who were 
 all hanged, formed a plan to rob him. It was the cus- 
 tom of Sir Harvey to go up at eight o'clock into his bed- 
 chamber, where, after taking a bason of water-gruel by 
 the light of a small fire, he went to bed to save the un- 
 necessary extravagance of a candle. The gang know- 
 ing the hour when his servant went to the stable, left 
 their horses in a small grove on the Essex side of the 
 river, and concealed themselves in the church porch till 
 they saw the man pass by. They then rushed from their 
 hiding-place, and after some struggle, bound and 
 gagged him ; on which they ran toward the house, tied 
 the two maids together, and going up to Sir Harvey, 
 presented their pistols and demanded his money. 
 
 Never did Sir Harvey behave so well as on this occa- 
 sion. He refused to give the robbers any answer, till 
 they had assured him that his servant, who was a great 
 favourite, was safe. He then delivered them the key of
 
 JOHN EIAVES, ESQ. 61 
 
 a drawer in which were fifty guineas. Knowing but too 
 well that he had much more in the house, they again 
 threatened his life, unless he discovered where it was 
 deposited. He, at length, showed them the place, and 
 they turned out a large drawer containing seven hundred 
 and twenty guineas. This sum they packed up in two 
 large baskets and carried off. On quitting Sir Harvey 
 they told him they should leave one of their number 
 behind to dispatch him if he stirred or made the least 
 alarm. With great calmness and simplicit}', he took 
 out his watch, for which they had not asked him, and 
 said: "Gentlemen, I do not want to take any of you ; 
 therefore, upon my honour, I will give you twenty 
 minutes for your escape ; after that time nothing shall 
 prevent me from seeing how my servant does." He was 
 as good as his word ; for, at the expiration of the time, 
 he went and released the man : but though some search 
 was made by the village, the robbers were not discovered. 
 
 Being apprehended some years afterwards for other 
 offences, and found to be the men who robbed Sir 
 Harvey, he refused to appear against them. To his 
 attorney, who pressed him to go to Cheitnsford to iden- 
 tify their persons, lie replied : " No, no; 1 have lost my 
 money, and now you want me to lose my time also." 
 
 Notwithstanding Sir Harvey's dislike of society, he 
 was a member of a club which occasionally met at his 
 own village of Stoke, and to which belonged two baro- 
 nets besides himself, Sir Cordwtll Firebras, and Sir 
 John Barnardiston. In spite of their riches, the reck- 
 oning was always a subject of investigation. One day 
 when they were engaged in Fettling ilns difficult point, 
 a wag, who \v;is a member, called out to a friend that 
 was passing : " For heaven's sake, step up stairs and 
 assist the poor ! Here are three baronets, worth a million, 
 of money, quarrelling about a farihin^." 
 
 In the chastity and abstinence of liis life, Sir Harvey 
 Elwes was a rival to the celebrated JS'ewton ; for he
 
 62 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 
 
 would have held it unpardonable to have given even his 
 affections ; and as he saw no lady whatever, he was under 
 no temptation to barter them matrimonially for money. 
 
 His ordinary annual expenditure was about one hun- 
 dred and ten pounds. His clothes cost him nothing; 
 for he took them out of an old chest, where they had 
 lain ever since the gay days of his grandfather Sir Jer- 
 vaise. His household he kept principally on game, and 
 the fish of his own ponds : while the cows which grazed 
 before his door, supplied them with milk, butter and 
 cheese, and his woods furnished all the fuel that he 
 burned. 
 
 Sir Harvey was a remarkable instance of what tem- 
 perance can effect. Though given over for a consump- 
 tion at an early period of his life, he attained to the age 
 of between eighty and ninety years. At his death, the 
 only tear that was dropped upon his grave fell from the 
 eye of his servant, who had long and faithfully attend- 
 ed him. To that servant, and to his heirs, he bequeath- 
 ed a farm of fifty pounds per annum. 
 
 Previous to his interment, he lay in state, such as it 
 was, at his seat at Stoke, on which occasion some of his 
 tenants, with more humour than decency, observed, 
 that " it was welj Sir Harvey could not see it." 
 
 The contemplation of such a character as that of Sir 
 Harvey Elwes, affords a very mortifying picture of 
 human infirmity. The contrast of so much wealth, and 
 so much abuse of it, is disgusting, but yet it has its uses. 
 Let those who fancy that riches are capable of confer- 
 ring happiness here view all their inability and failure, 
 and acknowledge that the mind alone makes or mars our 
 felicity. In an age when the comforts, if not the lux- 
 uries of life, are almost regarded as inseparable from 
 happiness, and as the foundation of our pleasures, it 
 cannot fail to excite the greatest astonishment, that Sir 
 Harvey Elwes, possessed of two hundred and fifty 
 thousand pounds, should live above sixty years in soli-
 
 JOIIX ELWES, ESa. 63 
 
 tude to avoid the expense of company ; should almost 
 deny himself fire and candle ; should wear the cast-off 
 clothes of his predecessor, and live in a house where the 
 wind was entering at every broken casement, and the 
 rain descending through the roof voluntarily imposing 
 upon himself a condition little better than the pauper of 
 an alms-house ! 
 
 Sir Harvey left his name and his whole property, 
 amounting to at least two hundred and fifty thousand 
 pounds, to his nephew, who at the time possessed a for- 
 tune very little inferior. For fifteen years previous to 
 this event, Mr. Elwes was known in all the fashionable 
 circles of the metropolis. His numerous acquaintance 
 and large fortune conspired to introduce him into every 
 society; he was admitted a member of a club at Ar- 
 thur's, and various other clubs of that period. His pas- 
 sion for play was only exceeded by his avarice, and it 
 was not till late in life that he was cured of the inclina- 
 tion. Few men, according to his own acknowledgment, 
 had played deeper and with more various success. He 
 once played two days and a night without intermission, 
 and the room being small, the party, one of whom 
 was the Duke of Northumberland, were nearly up to 
 the knees in cards. At this sitting Mr. Elwes lost some 
 thousand-!. 
 
 No one will be disposed to deny that avarice is a base 
 passion. It will therefore be the more difficult to con- 
 ceive how a rnind organized like that of Mr. Elwes, 
 could be swayed by principles of such peculiar honour 
 and delicacy as often influenced his conduct: the theory 
 which he professed, that it was impossible to ask a gen- 
 tleman for money, he adhered to in practice, and this 
 feeling he never violated to the last. Had he received 
 all lie won, he would have been richer by many thou- 
 sands, for many sums owing him by persons of very 
 high rank were never liquidated. Nor was this the only 
 pleasing trait in the character of Mr. Elwes; his man-
 
 G4 JOHN El/WES, ESd. 
 
 ners were so gentlemanly, so mild, and so engaging, that 
 rudeness could not ruffle them, nor strong ingratitude 
 oblige him to cease the observance of his usual at- 
 tention. 
 
 After sitting up a whole night at play for thousands, 
 with the most fashionable and profligate men of the time, 
 surrounded with splendour and profusion, he would walk 
 out about four in the morning, not towards home, but 
 to Srnithfield, to meet his own cattle which were coming 
 to market from Theydon Hall, a mansion he possessed 
 in Essex. There, forgetting the scenes he had just left, 
 he would stand in the cold or rain squabbling with a 
 carcase butcher for a shilling. Sometimes, if the beasts 
 had not yet arrived, he would walk on in the mire to meet 
 them ; and more than once he has gone on foot the 
 whole way to his farm, which was seventeen miles 
 from London, without stopping, after sitting up the 
 whole night. 
 
 The principal residence of Mr. Elwes, at this period 
 of his life, was at his seat at Marcham in Berkshire. 
 Here he had two sons born by Elizabeth Moren, his 
 housekeeper; and these natural children, at his death, 
 inherited by will the greatest part of his immense pro- 
 perty. He, however, paid frequent visits to his uncle 
 Sir Harvey, and used to attend him in his favourite 
 amusement of partridge-setting. He always travelled 
 on horseback, and to see him preparing for a journey 
 was a matter truly curious. His first care was to put two 
 or three eggs, boiled hard, into his great-coat pocket, 
 together with a few scraps of bread ; then mounting one 
 of his hunters, his next care was to get out of London 
 into that road where there were the fewest turnpikes. 
 Stopping on these occasions, under any hedge where 
 grass presented itself for his horse, and a little water 
 for himself, he would sit down and refresh himself and 
 his beast together. 
 
 On the death of his uncle, Mr. Elwes went to reside
 
 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. (J<3 
 
 at Stoke, in Suffolk. Bad as was the mansion-house he 
 found there, he left one still worse behind him at Mar- 
 chain, of which his nephew, the late Colonel Tim ins, 
 used to relate the following anecdote: A few days after 
 he went thither, a great quantity of rain falling in the 
 night, he had not been long in bed before he found him- 
 self wet through, and perceived that the rain was drop- 
 ping from the ceiling on the bed. He rose and moved 
 the bed ; but he had not lain long before he found 
 that he was just as much exposed as before. At length, 
 after making the tour of the room with his bed, he re- 
 tired into a corner vvheie the ceiling was better secured, 
 and there he slept till morning. At breakfast he told 
 Elwes what had happened. " Aye, aye," said the old 
 man, seriously, " I don't mind it myself; but to those 
 that do, that's a nice corner in the rain." 
 
 On his removal into Suffolk Mr. Elwes first began lo 
 keep fox hounds, and his stable of hunters was, at that 
 time, considered the best in the kingdom. This was the 
 only instance of his ever sacrificing money to pleasure; 
 but even here every thing was managed in the most 
 frugal manner. His huntsman led by no means an idle 
 life: he rose at four every morning, and after milking 
 the cows, prepared breakfast for his master and any 
 friends he might happen to have with him ; then slip- 
 ping on a green coat, he hurried into the stable, saddled 
 the horses, got the hounds out of the kennel, and away 
 they went into the field. After the fatigues of hunting, 
 he refreshed himself by rubbing down two or three 
 horses as quickly as possible; then running into the 
 house he would lay the cloth and wait at dinner. This 
 business being dispatched, he again hurried into the 
 stable to feed the horses, and the evening was diversified 
 with an interlude of the cows again to milk, the dogs to 
 feed, and eight horses to litter down for the night. It 
 may, perhaps, appear extraordinary, that this man should 
 live in his place some years, though his master often 
 
 VOL. i. i
 
 66 JOHX ELWES, ESQ. 
 
 used to call him an idle dog, and say, the rascal wanted 
 to be paid for doing nothing. Thus the whole fox- 
 hunting establishment of Mr. Elvves, huntsman, dogs, 
 and horses, did not cost him. three hundred pounds a 
 year. In the summer, the dogs always passed their lives 
 with the different tenants, where they had more meat 
 and less work, and were collected together a few days 
 before the season began. 
 
 While he kept hounds, which was for a period of 
 nearly fourteen years, Mr. Elwes resided almost entirely 
 at Stoke in Suffolk. He sometimes made excursions to 
 Newmarket, but never engaged on the turf. A kindness 
 which he performed on one of these occasions ought 
 not to pass unnoticed. Lord Abingdon, who was slightly 
 known to him, in Berkshire, had made a match for 
 7COO/. which it was supposed he would be obliged to 
 forfeit, from inability to produce the sum, though the 
 odds were greatly in his favour. Unasked and unsoli- 
 cited, Mr. Elwes made him an offer of the money, which 
 he accepted, and won his engagement. 
 
 On the day when this match was to take place, a cler- 
 gyman agreed to accompany Mr. Elwes, to see the issue 
 of it. They went on horseback ; and as they were to set 
 off at seven in the morning, the gentleman took no re- 
 freshment, imagining that they were to breakfast at New- 
 market. About eleven they reached that place, where 
 Mr. Elwes was occupied in inquiries and conversation 
 till twelve, when the match was decided in favour of 
 Lord Abingdon. His companion now expected they 
 should move off to the town, to take some breakfast, but 
 Elwes still continued to ride about. The hour of four at 
 length arrived, at which time the gentleman became so 
 impatient, that he mentioned something of the keen air 
 of Newmarket Heath, and the comforts of a good dinner. 
 " Very true," said old Elwes, " very true. So here do as 
 I do," at the same time offering him from his great coat 
 pocket a piece of an old crushed pancake, which he
 
 JOHN 5LLWES, ESQ. 07 
 
 Said be had brought from his house at Murcham two 
 months before, but that il was as good as new. It was 
 nine in the evening before they reached home, when the 
 gentleman was so fatigued, that he could think of no re- 
 i'rcshinent but rest ; and Elwes, who in the morning had 
 risked seven thousand pounds, went to bed happy ifi the 
 reflection that he had saved three shillings. 
 
 He had brought with him his two sons out of Berkshire, 
 to his seat at Stoke, and if he ever manifested a fondness 
 for any thing, it was for those boys. But he would lavish 
 no money on their education, often declaring, tint 
 " putting things into people's heads was taking money 
 out of their pockets." That he was not, however, over- 
 burthened with natural affection, the following anecdote 
 appears to prove. One day he had sent his eldest boy 
 up a ladder, to get some grapes for the table, when, the 
 ladder slipping, he fell down and hurt his side against 
 the end of it. The boy took the precaution to go up to 
 the village to the barber and get blooded. On his re- 
 turn, being asked where he had been, and what was the 
 matter with his arm, he informed his father that he had 
 got bled. "Bled! bled!" cried the old gentleman; 
 " but what did you give?" "A shilling," answered the 
 boy. "Pshaw!" returned the father, "you are a block- 
 head ; never part with your blood !" 
 
 An inn upon the road, and an apothecary's bill, were 
 equal objects of Mr. Elwes's aversion. The words "give" 
 and "pay" were not found in his vocabulary; and 
 therefore, when he once received a very dangerous kick 
 from one of his horses, who fell in going over a leap, 
 nothing could persuade him to have any assistance. He 
 rode the chase through, with his leg cut to the bone ; 
 and it was only some days afterwards, when it was 
 feared an amputation would be necessary, that he con- 
 sented to go up to London, and, hard day ! part with 
 some money fur ad v ire. 
 
 I ; rom the parsimonious manner in which he livrd, nn<l
 
 68 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 
 
 the two large fortunes of which he was possessed, riches 
 rolled in upon him like a torrent ; but as he knew 
 scarcely any thing of accounts, and never reduced his 
 affairs to writing, he was obliged, in the disposal of his 
 money, to trust much to memory, and still more to 
 the suggestions of others. Every person who had a 
 want or a scheme with an apparently high interest, ad- 
 venturer or honest, it signified not, was prey to him. 
 He caught at every bait, and to this cause must be 
 ascribed visions of distant property in America, phan- 
 toms of annuities on lives that could never pay, and 
 bureaus filled with bonds of promising peers and senators. 
 In this manner Mr. Elwes lost at least one hundred and 
 fifty thousand pounds. 
 
 Thus there was a reflux of some portion of that 
 wealth which he was denying himself every comfort to 
 amass. All earthly enjoyments he voluntarily renounced. 
 When in London, he would walk home in the rain 
 rather than pay a shilling for a coach ; and would sit in 
 wet clothes rather than have a fire to dry them. He 
 would eat his provisions in the last stage of putrefaction, 
 rather than have a fresh joint from the butcher; and at 
 one time he wore a wig above a fortnight which he 
 picked up out of a rut in a lane, and which had, appa- 
 rently, been thrown away by some beggar. The day on 
 which he first appeared in this ornament, he had torn an 
 old brown coat which he generally wore, and had there- 
 fore been obliged to have recourse to the old chest of 
 Sir Jervaise, (his uncle's father,) from which he select- 
 ed a full-dress green velvet coat, with slash sleeves; and 
 there he sat at dinner in boots, the above-mentioned 
 green velvet, his own white hair appearing round his 
 face, and the black stray wig at the top of all. 
 
 Mr. Elwes had inherited from his father some pro- 
 perty in houses in London, particularly about the Hay- 
 market. To this he began to add by engagements for 
 building, which he increased from year to year, to a
 
 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. GO 
 
 very great extent. He was the founder of great part of 
 Marybone; Portman-place, Portman-square, and many 
 of the adjacent streets rose out of his pocket: and had 
 not the fatal American war put a stop to his rage for 
 building, much of the property he then possessed would 
 have been laid out in bricks and mortar. He judiciously 
 became his own insurer, and stood to all his losses by 
 conflagrations. He soon became a philosopher upon 
 fire ; and, on a public house which belonged to him 
 being consumed, he said, with .great composure, "Well, 
 there is no great harm done; the tenant never paid me, 
 and I should not have got rid of him so quickly in any 
 other way." 
 
 It was the custom of Mr. Elwes, whenever he came 
 to town, to occupy any of his premises that might then 
 chance to be vacant. In this manner he travelled from 
 street to street, and whenever any person wished to take 
 the house in which he was, the owner was instantly 
 ready to move into any other. A couple of beds, the 
 same number of chairs, a table, and an old woman, 
 comprised all his furniture, and he moved them about at 
 a minute's warning. Of all these moveables, the old 
 woman was the only one that gave him any trouble ; for 
 she was afflicted with a lameness that made it difficult 
 to get her about quite so fast as he chose ; and besides, 
 the colds she took were amazing ; for sometimes she was 
 in a small house in the Ilaymai ket, at another in a great 
 house in Portland-place; sometimes in a little room with 
 a coal fire, at other times with a few chips which the 
 carpenters had left, in rooms of most splendid, but fri- 
 gid dimensions, and with a little oiled paper in the win- 
 dows for glass. It might with truth be said of the old 
 woman, that she was " here to-dny, and gone to-mor- 
 row ;" and the scene which terminated her life is not 
 the least singular of the anecdotes recorded of Mr. 
 EUves. 
 
 He had come to town, and as usual had taken up his
 
 70 . JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 
 
 abode in one of his empty houses. Colonel Timms, who 
 wished much to see him, accidentally learned that his 
 uncle was in London ; but how to find him was the dif- 
 ficulty. In vain he inquired at his banker's and at 
 other places ; some days elapsed, and he at length 
 learned, from a person whom he met by chance in the 
 street, that Mr. Elwes had been seen going into an un- 
 inhabited house, in Great Marlborough-street. This was 
 some clue to the colonel, who immediately posted to the 
 spot. As the best mode of gaining intelligence he ap- 
 plied to a chairman, but he could obtain no information 
 of a gentleman called Mr. Elwes. Colonel Timms then 
 described his person, but no gentleman had been seen. 
 A pot-boy, however, recollected that he had seen a poor 
 old man opening the door of the stable, and locking it 
 after him, and from the description it agreed with the 
 person of Mr. Elwes ; the colonel proceeded to the 
 house, and knocked very loudly at the door, but could 
 obtain no answer, though some of the neighbours said 
 they had seen such a man. He now sent fora person to 
 open the stable door, which being done, they entered the 
 house together. In the lower part all was shut and 
 silent ; but on ascending the staircase they heard the 
 moans of a person seemingly in distress. They went to 
 the chamber, and there, on an old pallet bed, they found 
 Mr. Elwes apparently in the agonies of death. For 
 some time he seemed quite insensible ; but on some cor- 
 dials being administered by a neighbouring apothecary 
 who was sent for, he recovered sufficiently to say that 
 he believed he had been ill two or three days, " that an 
 old woman who was in the house, for some reason or 
 other had not been near him ; that she had herself been 
 ill ; but he supposed she had got well and was gone away." 
 The poor old woman, the partner of all his journeys, 
 was, however, found lifeless on a rug upon the floor, in 
 one of the garrets, and had to all appearance beea 
 dead about two days. Thus died the servant, and thuj,
 
 JOHN ELWRS, ESQ. 71 
 
 bad il not been for his providential discovery, would 
 have perished her master, Mr. Elwes ; who, though 
 worth at least half a million sterling, was near expiring 
 in his own house of absolute want. 
 
 Mr. Elwes had resided thirteen years in Suffolk, when, 
 on the dissolution of parliament, a contest appeared 
 likely to take place for Berkshire ; but, to preserve the 
 peace of the county, he was nominated by Lord Craven. 
 Mr. Elwes consented, only on the express stipulation, that 
 he was to be brought in for nothing. All he did was to 
 dine at the ordinary at Abingdon, so that he actually 
 obtained a seat in parliament for the moderate sum of 
 eighteen pence. He now left Suffolk, and again went to 
 his seat at Marcham. He took his foxhounds with him, 
 but finding that his time was likely to be much employed, 
 he resolved to part with them, and thev were soon after- 
 wards given away to some farmers in the neighbourhood. 
 He was chosen for Berkshire in three successive parlia- 
 ments, and sat as a member of the House of Commons 
 about twelve years. Though a new man, Mr. Elwes 
 could not be called a young member, for he was at this 
 time nearly sixty years of age. But he was in posses- 
 sion of all his activity; and preparatory to his appear- 
 ance on the boards of St. Stephen's chapel, he used to 
 attend constantly during the races and other public 
 meetings in all the great towns where his voters resided. 
 At the different assemblies, he would dance amongst 
 
 ' O 
 
 the youngest to the last, after riding on horseback, fre- 
 quently in the rain, to the place of meeting. 
 
 The honour of parliament made no alteration in the 
 dress of Mr. Elwes ; on the contrary, it seemed to have- 
 attained additional meanness, and nearly to have reached 
 that happy climax of poverty, which has more than 
 once drawn on him the compassion of those who passed 
 him in the street. Tor the speaker's dinners, however, lie 
 had one suit, with which the speaker, in the eoiuse of 
 the session, became very familiar. The minister like-
 
 72 JOHN ELWES, ES. 
 
 wise was well acquainted with it ; and at any dinner of 
 opposition, still was his apparel die same. The wits of 
 the minority used to say, " that they had full as much 
 reason as the minister to be satisfied with Mr. Eiwes, as 
 he never turned his coat." At this period of his life 
 Mr. Elwes wore a wig. Much about the time when his 
 parliamentary life ceased, that wig became worn out ; 
 and then, being older and wiser as to expense, he wore 
 his own hair, which, like his expenses, was very small. 
 All this time the income of Mr. Elwes was increasing 
 hourly, and his presentexpenditure was next to nothing; 
 for the little pleasures he had once engaged in he had 
 now given up. He kept no house, and only one servant, 
 the huntsman, and a couple of horses, and resided with 
 his nephew ; his two sons he had stationed in Suffolk and 
 Berkshire, to look after his respective estates ; and his 
 dress certainly was no expense to him ; for had not other 
 people been more careful than himself, he would not 
 have had it even mended. 
 
 As Mr. Elwes came into parliament without expense, 
 he performed his duty as a member would have done in 
 the pure days of our constitution. What he had not 
 bought, he never attempted to sell ; and he went for- 
 ward in that straight and direct path which can alone 
 satisfy a reflecting mind. Amongst the smaller memo- 
 rials of the parliamentary life of Mr. Elwes may be 
 noted, that he did not follow the custom or' members in 
 general, by sitting on any particular side of the house, 
 but sat as occasion presented itself, on either indiscri- 
 minately; and he voted much in the same manner, but 
 never rose to speak. 
 
 In his attendance on his senatorial duties, Mr. Elwes 
 was extremely punctual ; he always staid out the whole 
 debate, and let the weather be what it might, he used to 
 walk from the House of Commons to the Mount Coffee- 
 house. In one of these pedestrian returns, a circum- 
 stance occurred which furnished him a whimsical oppor- 
 
 4
 
 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 73 
 
 tunity of displaying his disregard of his person. The 
 night was extremely dark, and hurrying along, he ran 
 with such violence against the pole of a sedan-chair, 
 that he cut both his legs very deeply. He, as usual, 
 never thought of having any medical assistance, hut 
 Colonel Timms, at whose house he then was, insisted on 
 some one being called in. At length he submitted, and 
 an apothecary was sent for, who immediately began to 
 expatiate on the ill consequences of breaking the skin, 
 the good fortune of his being sent for, and the peculi- 
 arly bad appearance of the wounds. " Very probable," 
 
 replied Mr. Elvves ; " but Mr. I have one thing to 
 
 say to you. In my opinion my legs are not much hurt ; 
 now you think they are; so I will make this agreement : 
 I will take one leg and you shall take the other; you 
 shall do what you please with your's, I will do nothing 
 to mine; and I will wager your bill that my leg gets well 
 before your's." He exultingly beat the apothecary by 
 a fortnight. 
 
 Mr. Elwes, when he conceived that he had obtained 
 a seat in parliament for nothing, had not taken into ac- 
 count the inside of the house; for he often declared that 
 three contested elections could not have cost him more 
 than he lost by loans to his brother representatives, 
 which were never repaid. But this passion for lending 
 wasin time conquered, and an unfortunate proposal which 
 was made him of vesting twenty-five thousand pounds in 
 some iron works in America, gave at last a fatal blow to 
 his various speculations. The plan had been so plausibly 
 laid before him that he had not the least doubt of its 
 success; but he had the disappointment never more to 
 hear of his iron or bis gold. His parsimony was the 
 chief cause of his quitting parliament, for surh was the 
 opinion his constituents entertained of his integrity, that 
 a very small expense would have restored him to his 
 seat. He therefore voluntarily retired from a parlia- 
 mentary life. 
 
 He was however now, in the common phrase, " a (Mi 
 VOL. j. K
 
 74 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 
 
 out of water!'' The style of Mr. Elwes's life had left 
 liitn no domestic scenes to which he could retire ; hi? 
 Lome was dreary and poor; his rooms received no cheer- 
 fulness from fire; and while the outside had all the ap- 
 pearance of a " house to be let," the interior was a 
 desert; but he had his penury alone to thank for this, 
 and for the want of all the little comforts, and consola- 
 tions which should attend old age, and smooth the pas- 
 sage of declining life. 
 
 Mr. Elwes frequently declared " that, after the ex- 
 perience he had had of public speakers, and members 
 of parliament, there was only one man, he thought, 
 could now talk him out of his money, and that was 
 young Pill !" 
 
 About ihis time he lost his famous servant of all work. 
 He died as he was following his master on a hard tiot- 
 ting horse into Berkshire, and he died empty and poor; 
 for his yearly wages were not above live pounds, and he 
 had fasted the whole day on which he expired. The life 
 of this extraordinary domestic certainly verified this 
 saying, which Air. Elwes often used : " If you keep one 
 servant your work is done; if you keep two it is half 
 done; but if you keep three you may do it yourself." 
 
 For some years Mr. Elwes had been a member of a 
 card club at the Mount Coffee-house ; and by a constant 
 attendance on this meeting, he, for a time, consoled 
 himself for the loss of parliament. The play was mode- 
 rate, and he had an opportunity of meeting many of 
 his old acquaintances in the House of Commons; and 
 he experienced a pleasure, which, however trivial it 
 may appear, was not less satisfactory that of enjoying 
 iire and caudle at the general expense. 
 
 Mr. Elwes therefore passed much of his time in the 
 Mount Coftee-house. But fortune seemed resolved, on 
 some occasion, to disappoint his hopes, and to force 
 away that money from him which no power could per- 
 suade him to bestow. He still retained some fondness 
 fur play, and imagined he had no small skill at picquet.
 
 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 75 
 
 ft was his ill luck, however, to meet with a gentleman 
 *vho thought the same, and on much better grounds ; 
 for after a contest of two clays and a night, in which 
 Mr. Elwes continued with a perseverance which avarice 
 will inspire, he rose a loser of a sum which he always 
 endeavoured to conceal though there is reason to be- 
 lieve, that it was not Jess than three thousand pounds. 
 Some part of it was paid by a large draft on Messrs. 
 Hoares, and was received very early the next morning. 
 This was the last folly, of the kind, of which Mr. Elwes 
 was ever guilty; and it is but justice to the members of 
 the club to say, that they ever after endeavoured to dis- 
 courage any wish to play with him. Thus, while by 
 every art of human mortification he was saving shillings 
 and sixpences, he would kick down in one moment the 
 heap he had raised. Though the benefit of this consi- 
 deration was thrown away upon him, for his maxim, 
 which he frequently repeated, always was, "That all 
 great fortunes were made by saving : for of that a man 
 could be sure." 
 
 Among the sums which Mr. Elwes injudiciously vested 
 in the hands of others, some solitary instances of gene- 
 rosity are upon record. When his sou was in the guards 
 he was in the habit of dining frequently at -the officers' 
 table. The politeness of his manners rendered him ge- 
 nerally agreeable, and in time he became acquainted 
 with every officer of the corps. Among these was 
 Captain Tempest, whose good humour was almost pro- 
 verbial. A vacancy happening in a majority, it fell to 
 ibis gentleman to purchase, but as money cannot always 
 be raised immediately on landed property, it was 
 imagined that he would have been obliged to suffer some 
 other otlicer to purchase over his head. Mr. Elwes one 
 day hc.iring of the circumstance, sent him the money 
 the next morning, without asking any security. He 
 had seen Captain Tempest and liked his manners; and 
 T.ice spoke to him afterwards concerning the
 
 7tf JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 
 
 payment; baton the death of that officer, which soon 
 followed, the money was replaced. At this time he was 
 in possession of seven hundred thousand pounds, and 
 lived upon fifty pounds a year. 
 
 Ac the close of the spring of 1785, he again wished to 
 sec his seat at Stoke, which he had not visited for some 
 years; but the journey was now a serious object. The 
 famous old servant was dead ; out of his whole stud he 
 had remaining only a couple of worn-out brood mares ; 
 and he himself no longer possessed such vigour of body 
 as to ride sixty or seventy miles, with two boiled eggs. 
 The mention of a post-chaise, indeed ! "where was he 
 to get the money r" At length, to his no small satisfac- 
 tion, he was carried into the country, as he had been 
 into parliament, free of expense, by a gentleman who 
 was certainly not quite so rich as himself. When he 
 reached Stoke, once the scene of more active life 
 and where his fox hounds had spread somewhat like 
 vivacity around, he remarked, " he had expended a 
 great deal of money once very foolishly; but that a man 
 grew wiser by time." On his arrival he found fault with 
 the expensive furniture of the rooms, which would have 
 fallen in but for his son John Elwes, Esq. who had re- 
 sided there. If a window was broken there was to be 
 no repair, but that of a little brown paper, or piecing 
 in a bit of broken glass; and to save fire he would walk 
 about the remains of an old green-house, or sit with a 
 servant in the kitchen. During the harvest, he would 
 amuse himself with going into the fields, to glean the 
 corn on the grounds of his own tenants; and they used 
 to leave a little more than common to please the old 
 gentleman, who was as eager after it as any pauper in 
 the parish. 
 
 When the season was still farther advanced, his morn- 
 ing employment was, to pick up any straw, chips, bones 
 or other things, to carry to the fire in his pocket; and 
 he was one day surprised by a neighbouring gentleman
 
 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 77 
 
 in the act of pulling down, with some difficulty, a crow's 
 nest for this purpose. The gentleman expressed his 
 wonder why he gave himself this trouble, to which he 
 replied, " O Sir, it is really a shame that these creatures 
 should do so. Only see what waste they make." 
 
 As no gleam of favourite passion, or any ray of amuse- 
 ment, broke through this gloom of penury, his insati- 
 able desire of saving was now become uniform and sys- 
 tematic. He used still to ride about the country on one 
 of the brood mares ; but then he rode her very economi- 
 cally, on the soft turf, adjoining the road, without 
 putting himself to the expense of shoes, as he observed 
 " The turf was so pleasant to a horse's foot !" And 
 when any gentleman called to pay him a visit, and the 
 boy who attended in the stables was profuse enough to 
 put a little hay before his horse, old Elwes would slily 
 steal back into the stable, and take the hay very care- 
 fully away. That very strong appetite which Mr. 
 Elwes had in some measure restrained during the long 
 sitting of parliament, he now indulged most voraciously, 
 and on every thing he could find. To save the expense 
 of going to a butcher, he would have a whole sheep 
 killed, and so eat mutton to the end of the chapter. 
 When he occasionally had his river drawn, though 
 sometimes horse-loads of fish were taken, he would not 
 suffer one to be thrown in again, observing that if he did, 
 he should never see them more. Game in the last stage 
 of putrefaction, and meat that walked about his plate, 
 he would continue to eat, rather than have new things 
 killed before the old provisions were exhausted. With 
 his diet his dress kept pace. When any friends who 
 might happen to visit him were absent, he would care- 
 fully put out his own fire, and walk to the house of a 
 neighbour, making one fire serve both. Sometimes he 
 would walk about in a tattered brown coloured hat, and 
 sometimes in a red and white woollen cap, like a pri- 
 soner confined for debt. His shoes he never would
 
 78 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 
 
 suffer to be cleaned, lest they should be worn out the 
 sooner. When he went to bed, he would put five or ten 
 guineas into a bureau, and would rise sometimes in the 
 middle of the night, to go down stairs and see if they 
 were safe. There was nothing but the common neces- 
 saries of life which he did not deny himself, and it would 
 have admitted of a douht whether, if he had not held in 
 his own hands manors and grounds which furnished him 
 a subsistence, he would not have starved rather than 
 have bought any thing. He one day dined on the rem- 
 nant of a moor-hen, which had been brought out of 
 the river by a rat, and at another ate the undigested 
 part of a pike, which had been swallowed by a larger 
 one taken in this state in a net. On the latter occasion, 
 he observed, with great satisfaction: "Aye! this is 
 killing two birds with one stone." 
 
 But still, with all this self-denial, that penury of life 
 to which the inhabitant of an alms-house is not doomed, 
 still did he think he was profuse, and frequently say, 
 " He must be a little more careful of his property." 
 
 When seventy-three, he walked out a shooting with 
 his friends, to see whether a pointer, one of them at 
 that time valued much, was as good a dog as some he 
 had had in the time of Sir Harvey. After walking for 
 some hours, much unfatigued, he determined against 
 the dog, but with all due ceremony. One of the gen- 
 tlemen who was a very indifferent shot, by firing at ran- 
 dom, lodged two pellets in the cheek of Mr. Elwes; the 
 blood appeared, and the shot certainly gave him pain ; 
 but when the gentleman came to make him his apology 
 and profess his sorrow "My dear sir," said the old. 
 man, " I give you joy on your improvement, I knew 
 you would hit something by and by." 
 
 Mr. Elwes passed the spring of 1786 alone, at Stoke, 
 iind hud it not been for some little daily scheme of 
 avarice, he would have passed it without one consola- 
 tory moment. His temper began to giye way ; his
 
 JOHN ELWES, EStt. 79 
 
 thoughts were incessantly occupied with money, and he 
 saw no person but what, as he imagined, was deceiving 
 and defrauding him. As lie would not allow himself 
 any fire by day, so he retired to bed at it's close, to save 
 candle; and even began to deny himself the luxury of 
 sheets. In short, he had now nearly brought to a cli- 
 max the moral of his whole life, the perfect vanity of 
 wealth ! 
 
 On mnoving from Stoke, he went to his farm at They- 
 don-hall, a scene of greater ruin and desolation, if pos- 
 sible, than either of his other houses in Suffolk or Berk- 
 shire. It stood alone on the borders of Epping Forest, 
 and an old man and woman, his tenants, were the only 
 persons with whom he coukl hold any converse. Here 
 he fell ill, and as he refused all assistance, and had not 
 even a servant, he lay, unattended, and almost forgot- 
 ten, indulging, even in the prospect of death, that 
 avarice which nothing could subdue. It was at this 
 period he began to think of making his will; as he was 
 probably sensible that his sons could not be entitled by 
 )aw to any part of his property, should he die intestate. 
 On his arrival iu London, he put his design in execution, 
 and devised all 1m real and personal estates to his two 
 sons, who were to share the whole of his vast property 
 equally between them. 
 
 Soon after this Mr. Elwes gave, by letter of attorney, 
 the power of managing all his concerns into the hands 
 of Mr. Ingraham, his attorney, and his youngest son, 
 who had been his chief, age At lor sometime. This strp 
 had become highly necessary, for he entirely forgot all 
 recent occurrences, and as he never committed any 
 thing to writing, tbo confusion he made was inexpres- 
 sible. Of this the following anecdote may serve as art 
 instance : lie had one evening given a draft on M. 
 Hoare's, his bankers, for twenty pounds, and having 
 taken it into his head during the night, that he had 
 overdrawn his account, his anxiety was unceasing. He
 
 80 JOHN EL WES, 
 
 left his bed, and walked about his room with that fe- 
 verish irritation that always distinguished him, waiting 
 with the utmost impatience for the morning; when, on 
 going to the banker, with an apology for the great li- 
 berty he had taken, he was assured there was no occa- 
 sion to apologize, as he happened to have in his hands 
 at that time, the small balance of fourteen thousand 
 seven hundred pounds. 
 
 However singular this act of forgetfulness may appear, 
 it serves to mark that extreme conscientiousness which, 
 amidst all his anxiety about money, did honour to his 
 character. If accident placed him in debt to any person, 
 even in the most trivial manner, he was never easy till 
 it was paid, and he was never known on any occasion to 
 fail in what he said. Of the punctuality of his word he 
 was so scrupulously tenacious, that no person ever re- 
 quested better security. 
 
 Mr. Elwes passed the summer of 1788 at his house in 
 Welbeck-street, London, without any other society than 
 that of two maid-servants. His chief employment used 
 to be that of getting up early in the morning, to visit his 
 houses in Mary-le-bone, which were repairing. As he was 
 there generally at four o'clock in the morning, and of 
 course long before the workmen, he used to sit down 
 contentedly on the steps before the door, to scold them 
 when they did come. The neighbours, who used to see 
 him appear so regularly every morning, and concluded 
 from his apparel that he was one of the workmen, ob- 
 served, that " there never was such a punctual man as 
 the Old Carpenter!" 
 
 During the whole of the morning he would continue 
 to run up and down stairs to see the men were not idle 
 for an instant, with the same anxiety as if his whole 
 happiness in life had been centered in the finishing this 
 house, regardless of the greater property he had at stake 
 in various places, and for ever employed in the minutia 
 of affairs. 
 
 4
 
 JOHX ELWES, 
 
 Mr. Ehves had now attained the age of seventy-six, 
 and began, for the first time, to feel some bodily infirmi- 
 ties from age. He experienced some occasional attacks 
 of the gout; on which, with his accustomed persever- 
 ance and antipathy to apothecaries and their bills, he 
 would set out to walk as far, and as fast as he could. 
 While engaged in this painful mode of cure, he fre- 
 quently lost himself in the streets, the names of which 
 he no longer remembered, and was as often brought home 
 by some errand-boy or stranger of whom he had in- 
 quired his way. On these occasions, he would bow, and 
 thank them with great politeness, at the door, but never 
 indulged them with a sight of the interior of the 
 house. 
 
 Another singularity was reserved for the close of Mr. 
 Elwes's life, which, considering his disposition and ad- 
 vanced age, was not less extraordinary than many al- 
 ready recorded. He who had, during his whole life, 
 been such an enemy to giving, now gave away his affec- 
 tions. One of the maid-servants, with whom he had 
 for some time been accustomed to pass his hours in 
 the kitchen, had the art to induce him to fall in love 
 with her, and had it not been discovered, it is doubtful 
 whether she would not have prevailed upon him to 
 marry her. From such an act of madness, he was how- 
 ever saved by good fortune, and the attention of his 
 friends. 
 
 During the winter of 1788, the last Mr. Elwes was 
 fated to see, his memory visibly weakened everyday; 
 and from his unceasing wish to save money, he now 
 began to apprehend he should die in want of it. Mr. 
 Gibson had been appointed his builder in the room of 
 Mr. Adam ; and one day, when this gentleman waited 
 upon him, he said, with apparent concern, " Sir, pray 
 consider in what a wretched state I am; you see in what 
 a good house I am living, and here are five guineas, 
 which is all I have at present; and how 1 shall go on 
 
 VOL. i. L
 
 82 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 
 
 with such a sum of money, puzzles ine to death I dare 
 say you thought I was rich ; now you see how it is !" 
 
 About this time Mr. George Elwes, his elder son, 
 married a young lady, not less distinguished for her en- 
 gaging manners than for her beauty. She was a Miss 
 Alt, of Northamptonshire, a lady of whom any father 
 might be proud ; but pride, or even concern, in these 
 matters, were not passions likely to affect Mr. Elwes : 
 as a circumstance which happened a few years before, 
 in a case not dissimilar, will prove. 
 
 His son at that time had paid his addresses to a niece 
 of Dr. Noel, of Oxford, who, of course, thought proper 
 to wait upon old Mr. Elwes, to apprize of the circum- 
 stance, and to ask his consent. He had not the least 
 objection to the match. Doctor Noel was very happy 
 to hear it, as a marriage between the young people 
 might be productive of happiness to both. Old Mr. 
 Elwes had not the least objection to any body marrying 
 whatever. "This ready acquiescence is so obliging !" 
 said the doctor (< But doubtless you feel for the mutual 
 wishes of the parties." "I dare say I do," replied the 
 old gentleman. " Then, sir," said Doctor Noel, "you 
 have no objection to an immediate union ? you see I talk 
 freely on the subject." Old Mr. Elwes had not the least 
 objection to any thing. "Now then, sir," observed Doctor 
 Noel, " we have only one thing to settle ; and you are 
 so kind, there can be no difficulty about the matter; as 
 I shall behave liberally to my niece what do you mean 
 to give your son ?" " Give /" said Elwes, " sure I did 
 not say any thing about giving ; but, if you wish it so 
 much, I \v\\\ give my consent." 
 
 Mr. George Elwes, having now married and settled at 
 his seat at Marcham, was naturally desirous that in the 
 assiduities of his wife, his father might at length find a 
 comfortable home. A journey with any expense an- 
 nexed to it was, however, an insurmountable obstacle. 
 This was fortunately removed, by an offer from Mr.
 
 JOHN JEIAVES, ESQ. 8'J 
 
 Partis, a gentleman of the law, to take him to his 
 ancient seat in Berkshire, with his purse perfectly whole. 
 Still there was another circumstance not a little distress- 
 ing; the old gentleman had now nearly worn out his 
 last coat, and could not afford to buy a nevf one. His 
 son therefore, with pious fraud, requested Mr. Partis to 
 buy him a coat, and make him a present of it. Thus 
 formerly having had a good coat, then a bad one, and 
 at last no coat at all, he was glad to accept one of a 
 neighbour. 
 
 On the arrival of the old gentleman, his son and his 
 wife neglected nothing that was likely to render the 
 country a scene of quiet to him. But he carried that 
 within his bosom which baffled every effort of the kind. 
 His mind, cast away on the vast and troubled ocean of 
 his property, extending beyond the bounds of his cal- 
 culation, amused itself with fetching and carrying a few 
 guineas, which in that ocean were indeed but a drop. 
 
 The first symptom of more immediate decay, was his 
 inability to enjoy his rest at night. He was frequently 
 heard at midnight, as if struggling with some one in his 
 chamber, and crying out, " I will keep my money, I 
 will; nobody shall rob me of my property!" If any 
 one of the family entered the room, he would start 
 from his fever of anxiety, and as if waking from a 
 troubled dream, hurry into bed again, and seem uncon- 
 scious of what had happened. In the muscular frame 
 of Mr. Elwes, there was every thing that promised ex- 
 treme length of life ; and he lived to above seventy 
 years of age, without any natural disorder attacking 
 him ; but, as Lord Bacon has well observed, " the minds 
 of some men are a lamp that is continually burning;" 
 and such was the mind of Mr. Elwes. Removed from 
 those occasional public avocations which had once en- 
 gaged his attention, money was now his only thought. 
 He rose upon money upon money he lay down to irst; 
 and as his capacity sunk away from him by degree.-, he
 
 81 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 
 
 dwindled from the real cares of his property into the 
 puerile concealment of a few guineas. This little store 
 he would carefully wrap in various papers, and deposit- 
 ing them in different corners, would amuse himself 
 with running from one to the other, to see whether they 
 were safe. Then forgetting, perhaps, where he had 
 concealed some of them, he would become as seriously 
 afflicted as a man might be who had lost all his property. 
 Nor was the day alone thus spent; he would frequently 
 rise in the middle of the night, and be heard walking 
 about different parts of the house, looking .after what 
 he had thus hidden and forgot. 
 
 One night, while in this walking state, he missed the 
 sum which he had carried with him into Berkshire, 
 amounting to five guineas and a half, and half-a-crown. 
 He had wrapped it up in various folds of paper that no 
 part of his treasure might be lost. The circumstances of 
 his loss were these. His attorney, who had accompa- 
 nied and still remained with him at his house in Berk- 
 shire, was waked one morning about two o'clock by the 
 step of some one walking barefoot about his chamber 
 with great caution. Somewhat alarmed at this unex- 
 pected intrusion, he naturally asked, " Who is there?" 
 The person, coming up towards his bed, replied, with 
 great civility, " Sir, my name is Elwes; I have been 
 unfortunate enough to be robbed in this house, which I 
 believe is mine, of all the money I have in the world* 
 of five guineas and a half, and half-a-crown." " Dear 
 sir," replied Mr. Partis, " I hope you are mistaken ; do 
 not make yourself uneasy." " Oh ! no, no," rejoined 
 the old gentleman ; " its all true ; and really, Mr. Partis, 
 with such a sum I should have liked to have seen the 
 end of it." This unfortunate sum was a few days after- 
 wards found in a corner behind the window-shutter. 
 
 When Mr. Elwes was at Marcham, two very ancient 
 maiden ladies, in his neighbourhood, had, for some 
 neglect, incurred the displeasure of the spiritual court,
 
 JOHN ELWES, ESU. 85 
 
 and were threatened with immediate " excommunica- 
 tion !'' The whole import of the word they did not 
 perfectly understand, but they had heard something 
 ahout standing in a church, and a penance ; and their 
 ideas immediately ran upon a white sheet. They con- 
 cluded, if they once got into that, it was all over with 
 them ; and as the excommunication was to take place 
 the next day, away they hurried to Mr. Elwes, to know 
 how they could make submission, and how the sen- 
 tence might he prevented. No time was to be lost. 
 Mr. Elwes, never wanting in a good action, ordered 
 his horse to be saddled, and putting, according to usual 
 custom, a couple of hard eggs in his pocket, he set 
 out for London that evening, and reached it early 
 enough the next morning to notify the submission of 
 the culprit damsels. Riding sixty miles in the night to 
 confer a favour on two antiquated virgins to whom he 
 had no particular obligation, was really what not 
 one man in five thousand would have dune; but 
 where personal fatigue could serve, Mr. Elwes never 
 wanted alacrity. 
 
 The ladies were so overjoyed so thankful so much 
 trouble and expense ! What returns could they make? 
 An old Irish gentleman, their neighbour, who knew 
 Mr. Elwes's mode of travelling, wrote these words to 
 them by way of consolation <( My dears, is it expense 
 you are talking of ? send him sixpence, and he then 
 gains two-pence by the journey." 
 
 In the autumn of 1789, his memory was gone entirely, 
 his senses sunk rapidly into decay, his mind became 
 unsettled, and gusts of the most violent passion began 
 to usurp the place of his former command of temper. 
 For six weeks previous to his death, he would go to rest 
 in his clothes, as perfectly dressed as during the day. 
 He was one morning found last asleep between the sheets 
 with his shoes on his fVt-t, his stick in his hand, and an 
 old torn hat on his head.
 
 86 JOHN EI/VVES, EStt. 
 
 On this circumstance being discovered, a servant was 
 set to watch, and take care that he undressed himself; 
 yet so desirous was lie of continuing this custom, that 
 he told the servant, with his usual providence about 
 money, that if he would not take any notice of him, he 
 would leave him something in his will. 
 
 His singular appetite he retained till within a few days 
 of his dissolution, and walked on foot twelve miles only 
 a fortnight before he died. 
 
 On the 18th of November, he manifested signs of 
 that total debility which carried him to his grave in 
 eight days. On the evening of the first day he was 
 conveyed to bed, from which he rose no more. His 
 appetite was gone; he had but a faint recollection of 
 every thing about him, and the last intelligible words he 
 uttered were addressed to his son John, hoping " he 
 had left him what he wished." On the morning of the 
 26th of November he expired without a sigh ; leaving 
 property to the amount of above 800,000/. The value 
 of that which he had bequeathed to his two sons, was 
 estimated at half a million, and the remainder, consist- 
 ing of entailed estates, devolved to Mr. Tirnms, son of 
 the late Lieutenant-colonel Timms, of the second troop 
 of Horse-guards. 
 
 One strange circumstance should not be omitted. 
 Some days previous to the death of his father, Mr. John 
 Elwes was returning from an estate he had just purchas- 
 ed in Gloucestershire, with a clergyman, to whom he 
 had given the living. On his journey a strange presen- 
 timent came across his mind, that he should see .his 
 father but once again. The idea was so strongly im- 
 pressed upon his thoughts, that he set out in the middle 
 of the night to reach Marcham : he did reach it, and 
 was in time to be a witness of that sight which most af- 
 flicts a good son, on the subject of a father he beheld 
 him expire. 
 The following epitaph on Mr. Elwes is copied from
 
 JOHN ELWES, ESQ. 87 
 
 the Chelmsford Chronicle. Its beauties, and the strik- 
 ing picture of the man whose memoryit is intended to 
 perpetuate, will be a sufficient apology for introducing it. 
 
 Here, to man's honour, or to man's disgrace, 
 
 Lies a strong picture of the human race 
 
 In ELWES' form ; whose spirit, heart, and mind, 
 
 Virtue and vice in firmest tints combin'd ; 
 
 Rough was the rock, but blended deep witli ore, 
 
 And base the mass that many a diamond bore: 
 
 Meanness to grandeur, folly join'd to sense, 
 
 And av'rice coupled with benevolence : 
 
 Whose lips ne'er broke a truth, nor hands a trust, 
 
 Were sometimes warmly kind and always just : 
 
 With power to reach Ambition's highest birth, 
 
 He sunk a mortal groveling to the earth ; 
 
 Lost in the lust of adding pelf to pelf, 
 
 Poor to the poor still poorer to himself: 
 
 Whose wants, that nearly bent to all but stealth, 
 
 Ne'er in his country's plunder dug for wealth ; 
 
 Call'd by her voice but call' d with out expense, 
 
 His noble nature rous'd in her defence ; 
 
 And in the Senate labouring in her cause, 
 
 The firmest guardian of the fairest laws 
 
 He stood ; and each instinctive taint above, 
 
 To every bribe preferr'd a people's love ; 
 
 Yet still with no stern patriotism fir'd, 
 
 Wrapt up in wealth, to wealth again retir'd. 
 
 By Penury guarded from Pride's sickly train, 
 
 Living a length of days witnout a pain, 
 
 And adding to the millions never tried, 
 
 Lov'd pitied scorn'd and honour'd ELWES died ! 
 
 Learn from this proof, that in life's tempting scene, 
 
 Man is a compound of the great and mean; 
 
 Discordant qualities together tied, 
 
 Virtues in him and vices are allied : 
 
 The sport of follies, or of crimes the heir, 
 
 We all the mixtures of an ELWES share. 
 
 Pondering his faults then ne'er his worth disown, 
 
 But in his nature recollect thine on-n ; 
 
 And think for life and pardon where (o trust, 
 
 Were God not MERCY, when his creature's dust.
 
 ss 
 
 JEFFERY HUDSON. 
 
 J.HIS celebrated dwarf, was born at Oakham in Rut- 
 landshire, in 1619, and about the age of seven or eight 
 years, being then but eighteen inches high, was retained 
 in the service of the Dukeof Buckingham who resided at 
 Burleigh on the Hill. Soon after the marriage of 
 Charles I. the king and queen being entertained at Bur- 
 leigh, little Jeffery was served up at table in a cold pie, 
 which, when cut open, presented to the astonished royal 
 visitors the dimunitive Jeffery armed cap-a-pee. This 
 pie was purposely constructed to hold our little hero, 
 who, when the duchess made an incision in his castle of 
 paste, shifted his situation until sufficient room was 
 made for his appearance. The queen expressing herself 
 greatly pleased with his person and manners, the duchess 
 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. 
 
 Jeffery became "a considerable part of the entertain- 
 ment of the court, and Sir William Davenant wrote a 
 poem called " Jejfreidos" 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 1638, was published a very small and curious book, 
 called "The New Year's Gift," presented at court from 
 the Lady Parvula to the Lord Minimus (commonly 
 called Little Jeffery), her mnjesty's servant, &c. written 
 by Microphius, with a portrait of Jeffery prefixed. 
 
 Before this period, our hero was employed in a nego- 
 tiation of great importance. This was, to procure a 
 midwife for the queen, but on his return with a lady of 
 that profession and her majesty's dancing master, with 
 many rich presents to the queen from her mother, Mary 
 de Medicis, he was taken by the Dunkirkers; and be-
 
 . 
 
 
 
 . A 

 
 JEFFERY HUDSON. 89 
 
 sides what be 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 account, from the queen's 
 mother, and ladies of that court. This happened in the 
 year 1630. 
 
 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 description ; his temper was by no 
 means calculated to put up with repeated affronts, and 
 at last being greatly provoked by Mr. Crofts, a young 
 gentleman of family, a challenge ensued. Mr. Crofts 
 coming to the rendezvous armed only with a squirt, the 
 little creature was so enraged, that a real duel ensued ; 
 and the appointment being on horseback with pistols, to 
 put them more on a level, Jeffery, at the first fire, shot 
 his antagonist dead. This happened in France, whither 
 he had attended his mistress in the troubles. 
 
 He was afterwards taken prisoner by a Turkish rover, 
 and sold for a slave in Barbary ; but he did not remain 
 long in captivity, for at the beginning of the civil war 
 he was made captain in the royal army ; and in 1644, 
 attended the queen again into France, where he remained 
 till the restoration. At last, upon suspicion of his being 
 privy to the Popish Plot, he was taken up in K)()4, and 
 confined in the Gate-house, Westminster, where he 
 ended his life, at the age of 63. 
 
 MARIA LE BLANC. 
 
 AN 1731, as a nobleman was shooting at Songi, nenr 
 Chalons, in Champagne, he saw something at a distance 
 in the water, which he took for a couple of birds, and 
 at which he fired. The supposed birds avoided the shot 
 by diving instantly under the water, and rising at 
 VOL. i. M
 
 90 MARIA LE BLANC. 
 
 another place they made to the shore, when it appeared 
 that they were two children, ahout nine or ten years of 
 age. They carried ashore with them several fishes, 
 which they tore in pieces with their fore-teeth, and 
 swallowed without chewing: as they were going from 
 the shore, one of them found a rosary, probahly drop- 
 ped by some traveller, at which she testified great joj 
 by screaming and jumping about. In order to keep it to 
 herself she covered it with her hand, but her companion, 
 who perceived this, gave her such a blow upon the hand 
 with a sort of club that she could not move k with her 
 oiher; however, she struck her companion in return a 
 blow upon the head, with a similar club, that brought her 
 to the ground with a loud shriek. The victor made her- 
 self a bracelet with the rosary, but she still had so much 
 pity on her companion that she covered her wound with 
 the skin of a fish, which she stripped off, and bound it 
 up with the slip of the bark of a tree. They then 
 parted, the girl that had been wounded returned to the 
 river and was never after seen ; the other went to the 
 village of Songi. The ignorant peo-ple were frightened 
 at her singular appearance, for her colour was black, 
 and she hadfon a scanty covering of rags and skins of 
 animals. They set a great dog at her, but she waited 
 his attack without stirring from her place, and as soon 
 as he was within reach, gave him such a blow on the 
 head with her club as laid him dead on the spot. Un- 
 able to gain admission into any house, for every door 
 was shut against her, she returned into the fields, 
 climbed up a tree, and there took her repose. The Vis- 
 count d'Epinoy, who was then at his seat at Songi, offered 
 a reward to any one who would catch this wild girl. At 
 it was supposed she would be thirsty, a bucket of water" 
 was placed under the tree to entice her down ; on awak- 
 ing she looked cautiously around, came down and drank, 
 but immediately ascended to the summit of the tree, as 
 if she thought herself not otherwise secure. At leagth
 
 MARIA LE BLANC. 91 
 
 she was allured to come down by a woman who walked 
 undi-r the tree with a child in her arms, and offered her 
 fish and fruits. When she had descended, some persons 
 lying in wait seized her, and conveyed her to the vis- 
 count's seat. At first she was taken into the kitchen, 
 where she fell upon some wild fowl, and ate them up 
 before the cook missed them. A rabbit being offered her, 
 she immediately stripped off the skin and devoured the 
 flesh. An opportunity of observing her with more ease 
 was now obtained, and it was found that the black 
 colour of her skin was accidental, for after she bad 
 been repeatedly washed, her naturally fair complexion 
 appeared. Her hands were upon the whole well formed, 
 only the fingers and the thumb in particular were uncom- 
 monly strong, which was undoubtedly ascribable to her 
 frequently climbing trees, as she would fling herself 
 from one to another like a squirrel. The Viscount 
 d'Epinoy delivered her to the care of a shepherd, recom- 
 mending him to be extremely attentive to her, under a 
 promise of paying him well for his trouble. On ac- 
 count of her wildness she was commonfy known by 
 the name of the shepherd's beast. It cost a great deal 
 of trouble to render her a little tame. She was very 
 dexterous at making holes in the walls or roofs, and 
 would creep through an aperture so small that an eye 
 witness could not conceive how it was possible. Once 
 she eloped in a severe frost during a heavy fall of snow, 
 and after a long search was found silting on a tree in 
 the open fields. Nothing was more astonishing than the 
 swiftness and agility with which she ran, though lat- 
 terly long illness and want of exercise diminished her 
 speed. It WHS always surprising she did not take long 
 steps like other people, but her run was rather a flying 
 trip, which waa more like gliding than walking, her feet 
 moved with such quickness that their motion was scarcely 
 discernible. 
 Several years after she had been caught she was
 
 1)2 MAHIA LE BLANC. 
 
 capable of outstripping wild animals, as she proved to 
 the Queen of Poland in 1737, for being taken out on a 
 hunting party, she ran after rabbits and hares that 
 were started, caught them presently, and brought 
 them to the queen. The quickness of her eyes was 
 equally astonishing: in a moment she would look 
 every way round her, with scarcely turning her 
 head, which was very necessary for her security, and 
 procuring her food in her wild state. Both the girls 
 used to spend their nights on trees. They laid down 
 on a bough, held themselves fast with one hand and 
 rested their heads on the other. In this situation, 
 according to our maiden's account, they slept very 
 soundly. 
 
 In her savage state she had no language, but a sort of 
 wild scream, which sounded frightfully when she was 
 in anger, and particularly when a stranger attempted to 
 take hold of her; long afterwards her speech had some- 
 thing wild, abrupt, and childish, but when she was a 
 little civilized she appeared to be a quick lively girl. 
 There was nothing from which she was more difficult to 
 be weaned than eating flesh and vegetables raw ; her 
 stomach could not bear dressed victuals, so that she fell 
 into one disease after another, though raw food was al- 
 lowed her occasionally; perhaps the change was attempt- 
 ed with too little caution. At first she was led by this 
 propensity to play some laughable tricks. Once the 
 viscount had a great deal of company, and she ate at 
 table with them. None of the thoroughly dressed and 
 high seasoned dishes being to her taste, she started up 
 vanished like lightning filled her apron with live frogs 
 from the nearest pool, hastened back, and bestowed them 
 among the company with a liberal hand, joyfully ex- 
 claiming, as she distributed her agreeable present, here, 
 here, take some. It is easily to imagine how the com- 
 pany were delighted with the frogs hopping over all the 
 plates and dishes, while the little wild girl, astonished at
 
 JOHN METCALP. 93 
 
 the slight estimation in which they seemed to hold her de- 
 licious morsels, busied herself in catching the frogs that 
 leaped about the floor and replacing them on the table. 
 
 In the year 173*2, this remarkable maiden was bap- 
 tized by the name of Maria le Blanc. On account of 
 the change in her mode of life she was often ill, and 
 after the death of her patron, speut the remainder of 
 her days in a convent. 
 
 How this child came in that wild state, and in what 
 country she was born, were circumstances which could 
 never be known with certainty ; it was conjectured, 
 however, that she was by birth an Esquimaux, and 
 brought to Europe in some ship, for when she had 
 learned to talk, she said she had twice crossed the sea, 
 gave a description of boats resembling those of the Es- 
 quimaux, and once when she wus shown a series of 
 delineations of people of different countries, she seem- 
 ed agreeably surprised on coming to that in which the 
 Esquimaux were represented. 
 
 JOHN METCALF. 
 
 almost invariably find that nature, in withholding 
 from man the benefit of one sense, compensates the de- 
 ficiency by the superior perfection in which she bestows 
 others. The extraordinary particulars related in the fol- 
 lowing pages strikingly exemplify this observation, and 
 show to what a degree the power of habit, and a good 
 understanding, are capable of overcoming impediments 
 apparently insurmountable. For instance, who would 
 expect to find a man, totally blind from his infancy, su- 
 perintending the building of bridges and the construc- 
 tion of high roads, an occupation for which his defect 
 would seem to have wholly disqualified him. These, 
 however, were undertakings that Metcalf successfully
 
 94 vJOHN 31 ETC ALP. 
 
 executed, and that, with many singular adventures in 
 which he engaged, cannot fail to excite no small degree 
 of astonishment and admiration. 
 
 John Metcalf was born in I7I7> at Knaresborough, in 
 Yorkshire. At the age of four years, his parents, who 
 were labouring people, put him to school, where he 
 continued two years, when he was seized with the small- 
 pox, which deprived him of his sight in spite of all the 
 means that were employed for its preservation. 
 
 About six months after his recovery, he was able to 
 go from his father's house to the end of the street, and 
 lo return without a guide ; and in about three years he 
 could find his way alone to any part of Knaresborough. 
 About this period he began to associate with boys of his 
 own age, among whom he acted a distinguished part in 
 the juvenile pranks of taking birds' nests, and robbing 
 orchards. As his father kept horses, he learned to ride, 
 and soon became a good horseman, a gallop being his 
 favourite pace. At the age of thirteen he was taught 
 music, in which he made great proficiency, though the 
 cry of a hound or a harrier was more congenial to his 
 taste than the sound of an instrument. He kept hounds 
 of his own, and frequently hunted with Mr. Woodburn 
 of Knaresborough, who kept a pack, and was always 
 very desirous of MetcalPs company in the chase. 
 
 When about fourteen years old, his activity, and the 
 success with which his enterprises were usually attended, 
 led him to imagine that he might undertake any thing 
 without danger, and greatly consoled him for the want 
 of sight; but he was taught to regret that defect by a 
 severe wound he received in consequence of a fall into 
 a gravel-pit, while making his retreat from a plumb-tree, 
 in which he had been surprised by th owner. 
 
 About this period, 1731, he learned to swim, and soon 
 became so very expert, that his companions did not 
 Hioose to come near him in the water, it being his 
 custom to seize, plunge them to the bottom, and swim
 
 JOHN METCALF. 9;> 
 
 yer them by way of diversion. In this year two men 
 being drowned in the deeps of the river Nidd, Metcalf 
 was employed to seek for their bodies, and succeeded in 
 bringing up one of them. 
 
 A friend of his, named Barker, having carried two 
 packs of yarn to wash at that river, they were swept 
 away by a sudden swelling of the current, and carried 
 through the arches of the bridge which stands on a rock. 
 A little below there is a piece of still water, supposed to 
 be about twenty-one feet in depth : as soon as the yarn 
 came to this place it sunk. Metcalf promised his friend 
 to recover his yarn, but the latter smiled at the supposed 
 fibsurdity of the attempt. He, however, procured some 
 long cart-rope?, fixed a hook at one end, and leaving 
 ihe other to be held by some persons on the high bridge, 
 he descended, and by degrees recovered the whole of 
 the yarn. 
 
 He continued to practise on the violin till he was 
 able to play country dances. During the winter season 
 he performed as a waiter at Knaresborough, with three 
 others; he likewise attended the assemblies which were 
 held every fortnight, and frequented many other places 
 where there was public dancing. 
 
 Notwithstanding this application, he found opportu- 
 nity for playing his neighbours a number of mischievous 
 tricks, and for a long time escaped suspicion. At length, 
 however, his expertness became known, and when any 
 arch trick had been played, it was always the first in^ 
 quiry where Metcalf was at the time. 
 
 Though he was fully engaged he still retained his 
 fondness for hunting, and also began to keep game cocks. 
 Whenever he went to a cock-pit, it was his custom to 
 place himself on the lowest seat, near some friend who 
 was a good judge, and who, by certain motions, enabled 
 him to bet, hedge, Sec. 
 
 In 1732, he was invited lo Harrowgate, to piny at the 
 assembly, as successor to a poor old man, who, borne
 
 96 JOHN METCALF. 
 
 down by the weight of one hundred years, began to play 
 too slow for country dances. Here he was well received 
 by the visiting nobility and gentry. In this employ- 
 ment he passed his evenings, and the mornings he spent 
 in cocking, hunting, and coursing. About this period, 
 also, he bought a horse, and often ran him for small 
 plates ; and his engagements increasing, he took a 
 partner, who was likewise a good performer. 
 
 In summer he often played at bowls, and, singular as 
 it may seem, was frequently the winner ; cards likewise 
 began to engage his attention, and he generally won 
 the majority of the games. But these achievements 
 were far from being the limits of his ambition or capacity, 
 for he now began to attend the races at York, and other 
 places ; at the race ground he commonly rode in among 
 the crowd, and was often successful in his bets, in which 
 he was however assisted by several gentlemen to whom, 
 he was known. 
 
 Having once matched one of his horses to run three 
 miles for a considerable wager, and the parties agreeing 
 each to ride his own horse, they set up posts at certain 
 distances on the Forest Moor, describing a circle of one 
 mile; having consequently to go three times round the 
 course. Under the idea that Metcalf would be unable 
 to keep the course, great odds were laid against him. 
 His ingenuity furnished him with an expedient in this 
 dilemma. He procured some bells, and placing a man 
 with one of them at each post, was enabled by the 
 ringing to judge when to turn. By this contrivance, 
 and the superior speed of his horse, he came in winner, 
 amidst the applause of all present, excepting those who 
 had betted against him. 
 
 At different times he bought horses to sell them again, 
 which he often did with a large profit, so accurate was 
 hisjadgment. 
 
 In 1733, Metcalf attained the age of twenty-one: he 
 was extremely robust, and six feet one inch and a half 
 
 5
 
 JOHN METCALF. 97 
 
 in height. He about this time acquired considerable 
 celebrity as a pugilist from the following circumstance. 
 A friend of his being insulted in a public-house b} 7 a 
 man, who, from his ferocious temper and great strength, 
 was the general dread of the neighbourhood, Metcalf 
 bestowed on him such discipline as soon extorted a cry 
 of mercy. 
 
 Returning one day on foot from Harrowgate, be had 
 proceeded about a mile, when lie was overtaken by a 
 Knaresborough man on horseback, who proposed for 
 two shillings worth of punch to let. him ride in turn, 
 dividing the distances equally. Metcalt agreed, upon 
 condition that he should have the first ride, to which 
 his townsman assented, on these terms : that he should 
 ride a little beyond Poppleton Field, where on his right 
 hand he would see a gate, to which he should fasten the 
 horse. Metcalf, however, rode forward to Knaresbo- 
 rough, which was seventeen miles from the place where 
 he left his fellow traveller. The latter was greatly en- 
 raged at being obliged to walk so far, but Metcalf plead- 
 ing in excuse that he never saw the gate, the man found 
 it his interest to join in the laugh. 
 
 He was now in the prime of life, and possessed a 
 peculiar archness of disposition, with an uncommon 
 flow of spirits, and an unparalleled contempt of danger; 
 and though his conduct was long marked by a variety of 
 mischievous tricks, yet he afterwards planned and 
 brought to perfection several schemes, both of private 
 and public utility. 
 
 When the Harrowgate season was over, Metcalf al- 
 ways remained a few days, and passed his evening at 
 one or other of the different inns. At the Koynl Oak, 
 now the Granby, he attracted the notice of Miss Benson, 
 the landlady's daughter, whose constant ai >nt; ni and 
 kindness soon inspired him with a reciprocal afieclion. 
 Knowing, however, that her mother would oppose their 
 union, varioussuccessful devices were employed tocoueeui 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 08 ^OHX METCALF. 
 
 their mutual partiality and frequent meetings. An event, 
 however, occurred which obliged Metcalf to quit not 
 only the object of his attachment, but likewise that part 
 of the country. 
 
 Among MetcalPs acquaintances were two young men, 
 whose sister lived with them as housekeeper. One even- 
 ing, in her usual jocular way, she apprized Metcalf of 
 her intention to pay him a visit in the night, desiring 
 him to leave his door unlocked. Knowing the mirthful 
 propensity of this female, he was inclined to consider 
 this as a joke, but on the other hand thinking it possible 
 that a real assignation might be intended, and being too 
 giillant to disappoint a lady, he told her lie would 
 obey her orders. The lady was punctual to her appo-nt- 
 ment, and the consequence of her imprudence \vus evi- 
 dent in a few months. She intreated Metcalf to marry 
 her, but she having made the first advances, he did not 
 feel his conscience interested, and refused. Her only 
 resource was to apply to the parish, which finding she 
 had done, he with some difficulty obtained an interview 
 with Miss Benson, proceeded to Whitby, and went on, 
 hoard an alum-ship bound to London. 
 
 After an absence of seven months, he returned to 
 Knaresborough, where he found the woman who had 
 been the cause of his journey comfortably situated, and 
 not inclined to trouble him. During his absence a Mr. 
 Dickinson had paid his addresses to Miss Benson, and 
 now urged his suit with such ardour, that the banns 
 were published, and the wedding day appointed to the 
 no small mortification of Metcalf, who thought himself 
 secure of her affection. Though he loved her tenderly,. 
 his pride prevented him from manifesting his feelings, or 
 attempting to prevent the match. 
 
 On the day preceding that on which the nuptials were 
 to be solemnized, Metcalf riding past the Royal Oak, waa 
 accosted with, " one wants to speak with you." He im- 
 mediately turned towards the stables of the Oak, and
 
 JOHN METCALF. 99 
 
 there, to his joy and surprise, he found the object of his 
 love, who had sent her mother's servant to call him. 
 After some explanation an elopement was resolved 
 upon, which Metoalf, with the assistance of a friend, 
 effected that night, and the next morning they were 
 united. The confusion of his rival, who had provided 
 an entertainment for two hundred people, may easily be 
 conceived. 
 
 Mrs. Benson being much enraged at her daughter's 
 conduct, refused either to see her or to give up her 
 clothes ; nor was she reconciled to her till she was de- 
 livered of her second child, on which occasion she 
 stood sponsor to it, and presented Metcalf with twenty 
 guineas. 
 
 He now purchased a house at Knaresborough, and 
 continued to play atHarrowgate during the season. He 
 likewise set up a four-wheeled chaise, and a one-horse 
 chair, for public accommodation, which were the first 
 of the kind kept there. These vehicles he kept two 
 summers, but the inn-keepers beginning to run chaises, 
 he relinquished that scheme, and with it racing and 
 hunting. He then bought horses and went to the 
 coast for fish, which he took to Leeds and Man- 
 chester, and was so indefatigable, that he would fre- 
 quently walk for two nights aud a day with little or 
 no rest. But the profits of this business being small, 
 and the fatigue excessive, he soon abandoned that 
 Jijkewi&e. 
 
 At the commencement of the rebellion in 1745, he 
 exchanged his situation as violin player at Harrowgate, 
 for the profession of arms. This singular event was 
 brought about in the following manner : 
 
 William Thornton, Esq. of Thornville, having re- 
 solved to raise a company at his own expense, asked 
 Metcalf, who was well known to him, whether he 
 would join the company about to be raised, and whether 
 he knew of any spirited fellows likely to make good
 
 100 JOHN METCALF. 
 
 soldiers. Upon his replying in the affirmative, he was 
 appointed assistant to a sergeant, and in two days raised 
 one hundred and forty men, out of whom the captain 
 drafted sixty-four, the number of privates he wanted. 
 
 With this company, among whom was Metcalf, as 
 musician, Captain Thornton joined the army under Ge- 
 neral Wade. In the first battle in which they were en- 
 gaged, twenty of the men, the lieutenant and ensign 
 were made prisoners, and the captain himself very 
 narrowly escaped. 
 
 Metcalf, after a variety of adventures, rejoined his 
 patron, and was always in the field during the different 
 engagements which succeeded. After the battle of 
 Culloden, he returned to his family at Knaresborough. 
 
 Being again at liberty to choose his occupation, he 
 attended Hanowgate as usual. During his Scotch ex- 
 pedition he had become acquainted with various articles 
 manufactured in that country, and judging that he 
 might dispose of some of them to advantage in Eng- 
 land, he repaired in the spring to Scotland, and fur- 
 nished himself with a variety of cotton and worsted ar- 
 ticles, for which he found a ready sale in his native 
 country. Among a thousand articles he knew what each 
 cost him, for a particular mode of marking them. He 
 also dealt in horses, directing his choice, by feeling the 
 animal ; and engaged pretty deeply in the contraband 
 trade, the profits of which were then much more con- 
 siderable than the risk. 
 
 In the year 1751, he commenced a new employ; he 
 set up a stage-waggon between York and Knaresborough, 
 bring the fust on that road, and drove it himself twice 
 a week in the summer, and once in winter. This busi- 
 ness, with the occasional conveyance of army baggage, 
 employed his attention till the period for his first con- 
 tracting for the making of roads; which suiting him 
 better, he relinquished every other pursuit. 
 
 During his leisure hours he had studied mensuration
 
 JOHN METCALF. 101 
 
 in a way peculiar to himself; and when ceituiri of the 
 {>iith and length of any piece of timber, he was able 
 accurately to reduce iis contents to feet and inches, and 
 could bring the dimensions of any building into yards 
 and feet. 
 
 The first piece of road' he made was about three miles 
 of that between Fearnsby and Minskip. The materials 
 for the whole were to be procured from one gravel-pit; 
 he therefore provided deal boards, and erected a tem- 
 porary house at the pit, took a dozen horses to the 
 place, fixed ra<-ks and mangers, find hired a house for 
 his men at Minskip. He often walked from Knaresbo- 
 rough in the morning with tour or five stone of meat on 
 liis shoulders, and joined his men by six o'clock. He 
 completed the road much sooner than was expected to 
 the entire satisfaction of the surveyor and trustees. 
 
 Soon after this he contracted for building a bridge at 
 
 *_ O 
 
 Boroughbridge, which he completed with great credit to 
 his abilities. The business of making roads, and build- 
 ing and repairing bridges in Yorkshire, Lancashire, 
 Derbyshire, and Cheshire, he continued with great suc- 
 cess till the year 1792, when he returned to his native 
 county. 
 
 In the summer of 1788, he lost his wife in the sixty- 
 first year of her age, and the fortieth of their union, 
 leaving lour children. She was interred in the church- 
 yard of Slockport, in Cheshire, where she then resided. 
 
 After some unsuccessful speculations in the cotton 
 trade, Metcalf returned to Yorkshire, and for want of 
 other engagements, hf bought hay to sell again, measur- 
 ing the stacks with his arms, and having learned the 
 height, he could readily tell what number of square 
 yards were contained in a stack of any value between 
 five and one hundred pounds. Sometimes he bought a 
 little wood standing, and if he could get the girth and 
 height, would calculate the solid contents. 
 
 In addition to this brief history of the life of this
 
 102 JOHN METCALF. 
 
 singular character, the reader will not be displeased to 
 find the following anecdotes, which are of a nature too 
 extraordinary to be omitted : 
 
 Metcalf had learned to walk and ride very readily 
 through most of the streets of York ; and being once in 
 that city, as he was passing the George, the landlord 
 called to him, and informed him that a gentleman in the 
 house wanted a guide to Harrowgate, adding, "I know 
 you can do as well as anyone." To this proposal Met- 
 calf agreed upon condition that his situation should be 
 kept secret from the gentleman, who might otherwise be 
 afraid to trust him. The stranger was soon ready, and 
 they set off on horseback, Metcalf taking the lead. 
 When they came to Allerton-Mauleverer, the gentle- 
 man inquired whose large house that was on the right, 
 to which Metcalf replied without the least hesitation. 
 A little farther the road is crossed by that from Wetherby 
 to Boroughbridge, and runs along by the lofty brick 
 wall of Allerton-park. A road led out of the park op- 
 posite to the gate upon Knaresborough road, which 
 Metcalf was afraid of missing; but perceiving the cur- 
 rent of wind that came through the park gate, he readily 
 turned his horse towards the opposite one. Here he 
 found some difficulty in opening the gate, in conse- 
 quence, as he imagined, of some alteration that had 
 been made in the hanging of it, as he had not been that 
 way for several months. Therefore, backing his horse, 
 he exclaimed, " Confound thee, thou always goes to the 
 heel of the gate instead of the head." The gentleman 
 observed that his horse was rather awkward, but that his 
 own mare was good at coming up to a gate, on which 
 Metcalf cheerfully permitted him to perform that office. 
 Passing through Knaresborough, they entered the forest 
 which was then uninclosed, nor was there as yet any 
 Turnpike road upon it. Having proceeded a little way 
 upon the forest, the gentleman observed a light, and 
 asked what it was, Metcalf took it for granted that his
 
 JOHN METCALF. 103 
 
 companion had seen what is called a Will-o'-the-Wisp, 
 which frequently appears in a low and swampy spot,, 
 near the road ; but fearful of betraying himself, did not 
 ask in what direction the light lay. To divert his at- 
 tention from this object, he asked him if he did not see 
 two lights, one to the right, the other to the left. The 
 stranger replied that he saw but one, on the right. 
 " Well then, sir," says Metcalf, " that is Harrowgate/ 
 Having arrived at their journey's end, they stopped at 
 the house now called the G ran by, where Metcalf, being 
 well acquainted with the place, led both the horses into 
 the stable, and then went into the house, where he 
 found his fellow traveller comfortably seated over a 
 tankard of negus, in which he pledged his guide. Met- 
 calf took it of him very readily the first time, but the 
 second time he was rather wide of his mark. He there- 
 fore withdrew, leaving the landlord to explain what his 
 companion was yet ignorant of. The latter hinted to 
 the landlord his suspicion that his guide must have taken 
 a great quantity of spirits since their arrival, upon 
 which the landlord inquired his reason for entertaining 
 such an opinion" I judge so," replied the traveller, 
 ' from the appearance of his eyes."" Eyes ! bless you 
 sir ! do not you know that he is blind :" " What do you 
 mean by that r" " 1 mean, sir, that he cannot see !" 
 " Blind ! gracious God !" " Yes, sir, as blind as a 
 stone, by heaven !" The stranger desired Metcalf to be 
 called, and upon his confirming the landlord's account: 
 " Had I known that," said he, " I would not have ven- 
 tured with you for a hundred pounds.** "And f, sir," 
 said Metcalf, " would not have lost my way for a thou- 
 sand." The services of the evening were rewarded with 
 two guineas, and a plentiful entertainment the next day 
 by the gentleman, who considered this circumstance 
 as the most extraordinary adventure he had ever met 
 with. 
 
 During Metcalf's residence in London, be found out
 
 104 JOHN METCALF. 
 
 several gentlemen who were in the habit of visiting 
 Harrowgate, and among the rest Colonel Liddell, mem- 
 ber of parliament for Berwick, who gave him a genera! 
 invitation to the house. This gentleman on his return 
 from London to the North, was accustomed to make a 
 stay of a few weeks at Harrowgate, and before his de- 
 parture he proposed to Metcalf to take him down, either 
 on the top of his carriage, or behind it. Metcalf de- 
 clined the offer with thanks, assuring the colonel, that 
 he could with ease walk as far in a day, as he would 
 choose to travel. They accordingly started on Monday 
 at noon, and he actually arrived at the end of every 
 stage before the colonel, with whom he stopped during 
 the night. On coming to Wetherby, he, as usual, ar- 
 rived at the inn before the colonel, informing the land- 
 lord that he might expect the latter. This being Satur- 
 day-night the colonel proposed halting at Wetherby till 
 Monday, but Metcalf continued his route to Knaresbo- 
 rough that night, and on the Monday he met him, 
 according to promise, at Harrowgate. 
 
 Metcalf happened once to be at Scriven, at the house 
 of one Green, an innkeeper, where two persons had a 
 dispute concerning some sheep, which one of them had 
 put into the pen-fold. The owner of the sheep, a 
 townsman of Metcalf's, appeared to be ill-treated by 
 the other party, who wished to take an unfair advantage. 
 Metcalf perceiving that they were not likely to agree 
 about the damages, departed. It being about midnight, 
 he resolved to perform a good turn for his friend before 
 he went home. The pen-fold being walled round, he 
 climbed over, and laying hold of the sheep one after 
 the other, he fairly threw them over the wall. The dif- 
 ficulty of the undertaking increased as the number di- 
 minished, as they were not so ready to catch ; but not 
 deterred by that circumstance, he completed the busi- 
 ness. On the return of day, when the pen-fold was found 
 untenanted, though the door was fast locked, a con-
 
 JOHN METCALF. 105 
 
 siderable degree of surprise was excited, and various 
 conjectures were formed relative to the rogues who had 
 liberated the sheep : but Metcalf passed unsuspected, 
 aud enjoyed the joke in silence. 
 
 Passing once through Halifax, he stopped at an inn 
 called the Broad Stone. The landlord's son, and some 
 others who frequented Harrowgaie, having heard of 
 Metcalf's exploits, expressed a wish to play at cards 
 with him. He consented, and a pack was sent for, which 
 he requested permission to examine ; but as the landlord 
 was his friend, he could rely upon him to prevent any 
 deception. They began, and Metcalf beat four of them, 
 in turn, playing for liquor only. Not satisfied with this, 
 some of the company proposed to play for money, and 
 at shilling whist Metcalf won fifteen shillings. The 
 losing party then proposed to play double or quit, but 
 he declined playing for more than half-a-guinea points. 
 At length yielding to their importunity, he engaged for 
 guineas, and being favoured by fortune, he won ten, 
 and a shilling for liquor each game. The loser taking 
 up the cards, went out, and soon returned with eight 
 guineas more, which soon followed the other ten. 
 
 Among the numerous roads which Metcalf contracted 
 to make, was part of the Manchester road from Black- 
 moor to Standish-foot. As it was not marked out, the 
 surveyor, contrary to expectation, took it over deep 
 marshes, out of which it was the opinion of the trustees, 
 that it would be necessary to dig the earth till they came 
 to a solid bottom. This plan appeared to Metcalf ex- 
 tremely tedious and expensive, and liable to other dis- 
 advantages. He therefore argued the point privately 
 with the surveyor, and several other gentlemen, but 
 they were all immoveable in their former opinion. At 
 their next meeting Metcalf attended, and addressed 
 them in the following manner: "Gentlemen, I propose 
 10 make the road over the marshes after my own plan, 
 and if it does not answer, I will be at the expense of 
 
 VOL. i. o
 
 100 JOHN METCALF. 
 
 making it over again after yoiu's." To this proposal 
 they assented. Having engaged to complete nine miles 
 in ten months, he began in six different parts, having 
 nearly four hundred men employed. One of the places 
 was Pule and Standish Common, which was a deep bog, 
 and over which it was thought impracticable to make 
 any road. Here he cast it fourteen yards wide, and 
 raised it in a circular form. The water, which in many 
 places ran across the road, he carried off by drains; but 
 found the greatest difficulty in conveying stones to the 
 spot on account of the softness of the ground. Those 
 who passed that way la Huddersfield-market, were not 
 sparing of their censure of the undertaking, and even 
 doubled whether it would ever be completed. Having, 
 however, levelled the piece to the end, he ordered his 
 men to coUect heather or ling, and bind it it round 
 bundles which they could span with their hands. These 
 bundles were placed close together, and another row 
 laid over them, upon which they wexe well pressed 
 down and covered with stone and gravel. This piece, 
 being about half a mile in length when completed, was 
 so remarkably fine, that any person might have gone 
 over in winter unshod without being wet; and though 
 other parts of the road soon wanted repairs, this needed 
 none for twelve years. 
 
 These particulars concerning this extraordinary man, 
 and useful member of society, are taken from a narrative 
 published by himself, since his jeturn to his native 
 country. He there fixed his residence at SpofTorth near 
 Wetherby, with a daughter and son-in-law who kept his 
 house. Happy in the enjoyment of the fruits of his in- 
 dustry, he declined engaging again in the more active 
 occupations to which he had been accustomed. He died 
 in the year 1810, at the advanced ageof 94.
 
 '. ''/'>/ /V///"v /////.
 
 107 
 
 DANIEL LAMBERT. 
 
 OUR immortal bard, in delineating the character of 
 FalstafiT, has rendered the corpulent knight remarkable 
 lor wit and ingenuity, in direct contradiction to the 
 prevalent opinion, thai excessive bulkiness in the hu- 
 man form is a general sign of weakness and stupidity. 
 Notwithstanding the physical reason assigned for this 
 opinion, we have many instances that the mind is not 
 always affected by a more than ordinary wejghl of body. 
 Quin, who some years ago personated the above-men- 
 tioned character, was remarkably facetious though re- 
 markably corpulent. The subject of this memoir, how- 
 ever, is perhaps the most extraordinary instance ever 
 heard of, where an uncommon magnitude in the cor- 
 poreal system was united with a greater portion of in- 
 tellectual capacity than commonly falls to the lot of 
 many. 
 
 Daniel Lambert was born on the 13th of March, 
 1770, in the parish of St. Margaret, at Leicester. From 
 the extraordinary bulk to which he had attained, the 
 reader may naturally be disposed to inquire, whether his 
 parents were persons of remarkable dimensions. This 
 was not the case, nor was any of his family inclined to 
 corpulence, excepting an uncle and an aunt on the 
 father's side, who were both very heavy. The former 
 died during the infancy of Lambert, in the capacity of 
 game-keeper to the Earl of Stamford, to whose prede- 
 r his fnther had been huntsman in early life. The 
 family of Mr. Lambert, senior, consisted, besides Daniel, 
 of another son, who died young, and two daughters of 
 ;he common size. 
 
 The habits of young Lambert were not in any respect 
 different from those of other young persons till tin 
 of fourteen. Even at that early period be was strongly 
 !icd to all the sports of the field. This, however,
 
 108 DANIEL LAMBERT. 
 
 was only the natural effect of a very obvious cause, 
 aided probably by an innate propensity to those diver- 
 sions. We have already mentioned the professsion of 
 his father and his uncle, and have yet to observe, that 
 his maternal grandfather was a great cock-fighter. Born 
 and bred, as it were, among horses, dogs, cocks, and 
 all the other appendages of sporting, in the pursuits of 
 which he was encouraged, even in his childhood, it 
 cannot be matter of wonder that he should he passion- 
 ately fond of all those exercises and amusements which 
 are comprehended under the denomination of field-sports, 
 as well as of racing, cocking, and fishing. 
 
 Brought up under the eye of his parents till the age 
 of fourteen, he was then placed with Mr. Benjamin 
 Patrick, in the manufactory of Taylor and Co. at Bir- 
 mingham, to learn the business of a die-sinker and en- 
 graver. This establishment, then one of the most flou- 
 rishing in that opulent town, was afterwards destroyed 
 in the riots of 1795. 
 
 Owing to the fluctuations to which all those manufac- 
 tures that administer to the luxuries of the community 
 are liable from the caprices of fashion, the wares con- 
 nected with the profession which had been chosen for 
 young Lambert ceased to be in request. Buckles were 
 all at once proscribed, and a total revolution took place 
 at the same period in the public taste with respect to 
 buttons. The consequence was, that a numerous class 
 of artisans were thrown out of employment, and obliged 
 to seek a subsistence in a different occupation. Among 
 these was Lambert, who had then served only four years 
 of his apprenticeship. 
 
 Leaving Birmingham, he returned to Leicester to his 
 father, who held the situation of keeper of the prison in 
 that town. Soon afterwards, at the age of nineteen, he 
 began to imagine that he should be a heavy man, but 
 had not previously perceived any indications that could 
 lead him to suppose he should ever attain the excessive
 
 DANIEL LAMBERT. 109 
 
 corpulence for which he was distinguished. He always 
 possessed extraordinary muscular power, and at the time 
 we are speaking of, could lift great weights, and carry 
 five hundred weight with ease. Had his habits been 
 such as to bring his strength into action, he would doubt- 
 less have been an uncommonly powerful man. 
 
 That he was not deficient either in physical strength, 
 or in courage, is demonstrated by the following adven- 
 ture, in which he was about this period engaged. 
 
 Standing one day in his father's house at Leicester, his 
 attention was attracted by a company of Savoyards with 
 their dancing dogs and bears, surrounded by an im- 
 mense concourse or' spectators. While they were ex- 
 hibiting, a dog which had formerly been accustomed to 
 travel with a similar company of these grotesque per- 
 formers, and now belonged to the county gaoler, hear- 
 ing the sound flew furiously upon a very large bear, 
 whose overbearing force and weight soon crushed him to 
 the ground. " Give her tooth," said the Savoyards, irri- 
 tated at the interruption of their exhibition, and making 
 preparations to take off the muxzle of the bear. Lam- 
 bert being acquainted with the master of the dog, and 
 knowing that, in this case, the animal would be ex- 
 posed to certain destruction, went out and addressed 
 the people, with the intention of pacifying them, and 
 prevailing upon them to suffer the dog to be taken away. 
 Deaf to all his remonstrances, one of the Savoyards 
 still persisted in pulling off the muzzle, the dog being 
 all this time underneath, ;md in the grasp of the bear. 
 Enraged at the fellow's obstinacy, he protested he would 
 kill the bear if it lay in his power, and snatching from 
 the man's hand the paddle or pole with which they 
 qianage these animals, at the moment when the muzzle 
 was removed, he struck the bear with all his force, fully 
 intending to dispatch her if possible. Bruin was for a 
 moment completely stunned with the blow, and the dog 
 seized that opportunity of disengaging himself from her
 
 110 DANIEL LAMBERT. 
 
 clutches. Enraged at this fresh attack, she turned to- 
 wards her new antagonist, who kept repeating his 
 strokes, but without being able to hit her head, which 
 she protected from his blows with all the dexterity of 
 the most accomplished pugilist. During these succes- 
 sive attacks, the dog, faithful to the friend who had so 
 opportunely stepped to his aid, continued to exhibit the 
 most astonishing proofs of undaunted intrepidity, till 
 he was at length caught up by one or' the by-standdrs. 
 The weather was frosty, and the pavement was slightly 
 glazed from the trundling of a mop. Here, while thus 
 busily engaged in belabouring his formidable foe, Lam- 
 bert fell, but rose again with the greatest agility. Bruin 
 was now close to him ; he had a full view of her tre- 
 mendous teeth, and felt the heat from her breath. The 
 danger became pressing, and as his shaggy foe was too 
 near to admit of his using the weapon, he struck her with 
 his lefc hand such a violent blow on the skull, as brought 
 her to the ground, on which she declined the contest, 
 and "yelling fled." During the fray, a smaller bear 
 had been standing upright against a wall, with a cocked 
 hat on his head; in consequence of the retreat of his 
 companion, this ludicrous figure now appeared full in 
 front of the victorious champion, who brandished in 
 his hand the up-lifted pole. The beast, as if aware of 
 his danger, and expecting to be attacked in his turn, in- 
 stantly took off the hat, and, apparently in token of 
 submission, tumbled heels over head at the feet of the 
 conqueror. Meanwhile the populace, terrified at the 
 approach of ursa major, began to Tetire in a backward 
 direction, still keeping the unsuccessful combatant in 
 view, till they tumbled one after another over some 
 loads of coal that happened to lie in the way. The 
 scene now became truly ludicrous ; forty people were 
 down at a time, and there was not one but what imagined 
 himself already in the gripe of the irritated animal, and 
 vociferated murder with all his might. The Savoyards,
 
 DAN1KL LAMBERT. Ill 
 
 who were, after all, the greatest sufferers by this tragi- 
 comic representation, applied to the mayor, and de- 
 manded redress. The magistrate inquired where the fray 
 happened, and was informed that it took place in Blue 
 Boar-lane, in the parish of St. Nicholas the inhabitants 
 of which have for many years been distinguished by the 
 appellation of Nick's RuJ's. " Oh !" said he, " the 
 people of that parish do just as they please, they are 
 out of my jurisdiction ;" and gravely dismissed the dis- 
 appointed complainants. It was two years before this 
 company of itinerant performers again ventured to make 
 their appearance in Blue Boar-lane. On this occasion 
 one who happened to be rather before the rest, perceiv- 
 ing Lambert sitting at bis door, gave notice to tbe others, 
 who, dreading a repetition of the treatment they had 
 before experienced, instantly retreated by the way they 
 Lad come. 
 
 ft was not very long after the above adventure, that 
 Lambert experienced an escape from a danger infinitely 
 more alarming, and from the consequences of which no 
 human exertions could possibly have preserved him. 
 He was one of the numerous inhabitants of Leicester, 
 whom the memorable conflagration at the house of a 
 well-known bookseller, now resident in the metropolis, 
 attracted to the spot. It was dark, and the fire was 
 raging in the utmost fury, when Lambert passed along 
 under a wall, which, from the falling of the others to 
 which it had once been joined, now stood completely 
 detached. Just as he had reached the extremity, an ac- 
 quaintance whom he accidentally found there, congra- 
 tulated him on his narrow escape, at the same time 
 pointing to the wall. Totally unconscious of the risk to 
 which he had been exposed, and now standing iu a line 
 with the wall, he observed with horror that it rocked 
 to and fro like corn in the breeze, and not many 
 moments elapsed, ere it fell with a most tremendous 
 crash.
 
 DANIEL LAMBERT. 
 
 His father having resigned the office of keeper of the 
 prison, young Lambert succeeded to the situation. It 
 was within a year after this appointment that his bulk re- 
 ceived the greatest and most rapid increase. This he 
 attributed to the confinement and sedentary life to which 
 he was obliged to submit, which produced an effect so 
 much the more striking, as, from his attachment to 
 sporting, he had previously been in the habit of taking 
 a good deal of exercise. Though he never possessed any 
 extraordinary agility, he was still able to kick to the 
 height of seven feet, standing on one leg. 
 
 About the year 1793, when Lambert weighed thirty- 
 two stone, he had occasion to visit Woolwich in com- 
 pany with the keeper of the county gaol of Leicester. 
 As the tide did not serve to bring them up again to Lon- 
 don, he walked from Woolwich to the metropolis with 
 much less apparent fatige than several middle-sized men 
 who were of the party. 
 
 The inhabitants of Leicester are remarkable for their 
 expertness in swimming, an art which they are encou- 
 raged to practise by their vicinity to the river Soar. 
 From the age of eight years Lambert was an excellent 
 swimmer; and such was his celebrity, that for many 
 years all the young people in his native town, who 
 were learning to swim, resorted to him for instruction. 
 His power of floating, owing to his uncommon bulk, was 
 so great, that he could swim with two men of ordinary 
 size upon his back. He used to relate, that on these 
 occasions, when any of his young pupils manifested any 
 timidity he would convey them to the opposite bank of 
 the river from that on which they had laid their clothes, 
 and there leave them to h'nd their way back as well as 
 they could. By these means they soon acquired that 
 courage which is so indispensably necessary to the at- 
 tainment of excellence in the art of swimming. 
 
 Lambert's father died about five years after his son's 
 appointment to be keeper of the prison, which office he 
 
 6
 
 DANIEL LAMBERT. 
 
 held till Easier 1805. In this situation he manifested a 
 disposition fraught with humanity and benevolence. 
 Whatever severity he might he under the necessity of 
 exercising towards the unhappy objects committed to his 
 care during their confinement, he never forebore to 
 make the greatest exertions to assist them at the time of 
 their trials. Few left the prison without testifying their 
 gratitude, and tears often bespoke the sincerity of the 
 feelings they expressed. His removal from the office 
 was in consequence of a wish, on the part of the magis- 
 trates, to employ the prisoners in the manufacture of the 
 town. As a proof of the approbation which his con- 
 duct had merited, they settled upon him an annuity of 
 50/. for life, without any solicitation whatever; and, 
 what was still more gratifying to his feelings, this grant 
 was accompanied with a declaration, that it was a 
 mark of their esteem, and of the universal satisfaction 
 which he had given in the discharge of the duties of his 
 office. 
 
 Such were the feelings of Mr. Lambert that he ab- 
 horred the very idea of exhibiting himself. Though he 
 lived exceedingly retired at Leicester, the fame of his 
 uncommon corpulence spread over the adjacent county 
 to such a degree, that he frequently found himself not 
 a little incommoded by the curiosity of the people, 
 which it was impossible to repress, and which they 
 were continually devising the means of gratifying ia 
 spite of his reluctance. 
 
 A gentleman travelling through Leicester conceived 
 a strong desire to see this extraordinary phenomenon; 
 but, being at a loss for a pretext to introduce himself, 
 he first took care to inquire what were his particular 
 propensities. Being informed that he was a great 
 cocker, the traveller thought himself sure of success. 
 He accordingly went to his house, knocked at the door, 
 and inquired for Mr. Lambert. The servant answered 
 that he was at home, but that he never saw strangers. 
 voi. i. F
 
 114 DANIEL LAMBERT. 
 
 " Let him know," replied the curious traveller, "that I 
 called about some cocks." Lambert, who chanced to be 
 in a situation to overhear what passed, immediately re- 
 joined : " Tell the gentleman that I am a shy cock." 
 
 On another occasion, a gentleman from Nottingham 
 was extremely importunate to see him, pretending that 
 he had a particular favour to ask. After considerable 
 hesitation, Lambert directed him to be admitted. On 
 being introduced, he said he wished to inquire the 
 pedigree of a certain mare. " Oh ! if that's all," replied 
 Lambert, perceiving from his manner the real nature 
 of his errand, "she was got by Impertinence out of 
 Curiosity." 
 
 Finding, at length, that he must either submit to be a 
 close prisoner in his own house, or endure all the incon- 
 venieucies without receiving any of the profits of an 
 exhibition, he wisely strove to overcome his repugnance, 
 and determined to visit the metropolis for that purpose. 
 As it was impossible to procure a carriage large enough, 
 he had a vehicle constructed expressly to convey him to 
 London, where he arrived, for the twenty-second time, 
 in the spring of 180(3, and fixed his residence in Pic- 
 cadilly. 
 
 His apartments there had more the air of a place of 
 fashionable resort, than of an exhibition; and, as long 
 as the town continued full, he was visited by a great 
 deal of the best company. The dread he felt on coming 
 to London, lest he should be exposed to indignity and 
 insult from, the curiosity of some of his visitors, was 
 soon removed by the politeness and attention which he 
 universally experienced. There was not a gentleman in 
 town from his own county, but went to see him, not 
 merely gazing at him as a spectacle, but treating him in 
 the most friendly and soothing manner, which he de- 
 clared was too deeply impressed upon his mind ever to 
 be forgotten. 
 
 The spirit of politeness which always prevailed in the
 
 DANIEL LAMBERT. 
 
 presence of Lambert, was such as was, perhaps, never 
 observed on a similar occasion, and it was a custom with 
 his visitors to take off their hats. It is, however, but 
 natural to suppose that among the numbers who chose to 
 gratify their curiosity, some lew exceptions should oc- 
 cur. Thus one day a person perceiving, previous to 
 entering the room, that the company were uncovered, 
 observed to the attendant, that he would not take off his 
 hat, even if the king were present. This rude remark 
 being uttered in the hearing of Lambert, he immedi- 
 ately replied, as the stranger entered : "Then by G , 
 sir, you must instantly quit this room, as I do not consi- 
 der it as a mark of respect due to myself, but to the 
 ladies and gentlemen who honour me with their com- 
 pany." 
 
 Many of those visitors seemed incapable of gratify- 
 ing their curiosity to its full extent, and called again 
 and again to behold to what an immense magnitude the 
 human figure is capable of attaining ; nay, one gentle- 
 man, a banker in the city, jocosely observed, that he 
 had fairly had a pound's worth. 
 
 This great personage had the pleasure of receiving 
 people of all descriptions and of aJl nations. He was 
 one day visited by a party of fourteen, eight ladies and 
 six gentlemen, who expressed their joy at not being too 
 late, as it was near the time of closing the door for the 
 day. They assured him that they had come from 
 Guernsey on purpose to convince themselves of the ex- 
 istence of such a prodigy as he had been described to be 
 by one of their neighbours who had seen him ; adding, 
 that they had not even one single friend or acquaintance 
 in London, so that they had no other motive whatever 
 for their voyage. A striking illustration of the power of 
 curiosity over the human mind. 
 
 Great numbers of foreigners were gratified with 
 the contemplation of a spectacle, unequalled, perhaps, 
 in any other cguntry. Among these a Frenct jan,
 
 116 DANIEL LAMBERT. 
 
 accompanied by a Jew, seemed extremely desirous, from 
 motives best known to himself, of persuading Lambert 
 to make an excursion to the continent, and insinuating 
 that under his guidance and management he could uot 
 fail of obtaining the greatest success. " Vy you not go 
 to France?" said he, "I am sure Buonaparte vil make 
 your fortune." Supposing that such an inducement 
 must prove irresistible, he added, " Den vont you go to 
 Paris?" Lambert, who had too much good sense, to be 
 the dupe of a designing monsieur, rejoined in an em- 
 phatic style "If I do, I'll be damned." "Vat you 
 link of dat now?" cried the astonished Jew to his mor- 
 tified and disappointed companion. 
 
 Among the numerous foreigners who anxiously wit- 
 nessed this unequalled spectacle, was Count Borulawski, 
 the celebrated Polish dwarf, who had acquired an ample 
 fortune by exhibiting his own person. The great con- 
 trast of these figures afforded high entertainment to the 
 spectators. During Lambert's apprenticeship at Bir- 
 mingham he went several times to see Borulawski, and 
 such was the strength of the count's memory, that he 
 had scarcely fixed his eyes upon him in Piccadilly be- 
 fore he recollected his face. After reflecting a moment, 
 he exclaimed, that he had seen his face twenty years 
 ago in Birmingham, but it was not surely the same 
 body. This unexpected meeting of the largest and 
 smallest man seemed to realize the fabled history of the 
 inhabitants of Lilliput and Brobdignag, particularly 
 when Lambert rose for the purpose of affording the di- 
 minutive count a full view of his prodigious dimensions. 
 In the course of conversation, Lambert asked what 
 quantity of cloth the count required for a coat, and how 
 many he thought his would make him. " Not many ;" 
 answered Borulawski. " I take goot large piece cloth 
 myself almost tree quarters of yard." At this rate one 
 of Lambert's sleeves was abundantly sufficient for the 
 purpose. The count felt one of his legs: "Ah mine
 
 DANIEL LAMBERT. 117 
 
 Got !" he exclaimed : " pure flesh and blood. 1 feel de 
 warm. No deception ! I am pleased : for I did hear it 
 was deception." Lambert asked if his lady was alive; 
 on which he replied: tf No, she is dead, and (putting 
 his finger significantly to his nose) I am not very sorry, 
 for when I affronted her, she put me on the mantle-shelf 
 for punishment." 
 
 The many characters that introduced themselves to 
 Lambert's observation in the metropolis furnished him 
 with a great number of anecdotes, which a retentive 
 memory enabled him to relate with good effect. 
 
 One day, the room being rather crowded with com- 
 pany, a young man in the front made incessant use of- 
 one of those indispensable appendages of a modern 
 beau, called a quizzing-glass. The conversation turned 
 on the changes of the weather, and in what manner 
 Mr. Lambert felt himself affected by them. " What do 
 you dislike most?" asked the beau " To be bored with 
 a quizzing-glass" was the reply. 
 
 A person asking him in a very rude way the cost of 
 one of his coats, he returned him no answer. The man 
 repeated the question with the observation, that he 
 thought he had a right to demand any information, 
 having contributed his shilling, which would help to 
 pay for Mr. Lambert's coat as well as the rest. "Sir," 
 rejoined Lambert, "if [ knew what part of my next 
 co;it your shilling would pay for, I can assure you I 
 would cut out the piece." 
 
 On another occasion a lady was particularly solicitous 
 to have the same question resolved. " Indeed, madam/' 
 answered Lambert, "I cannot pretend to charge my 
 memory with the price, but I can put you into a method 
 of obtaining the information you want. If you think 
 proper to make me a present of a new coat, you will 
 then know exactly what it costs." 
 
 A person, who had the appearance of a gentleman, 
 one day took the liberty of asking eeveral impertinent
 
 118 DANIEL LAMBERT. 
 
 questions. Lambert looked him sternly in his face, but 
 without making any reply. A lady now entered the 
 room, and Lambert entered into conversation with her, 
 on which the same person observed that he was more 
 polite to ladies than to gentlemen. " I can assure you, 
 sir," answered Lambert, " that I consider it my duty to 
 treat with equal politeness all those whose behaviour 
 convinces me that they are gentlemen." " I suppose," 
 rejoined the querist, " you mean to infer that I am no 
 gentleman." "That I certainly did," was the reply. 
 Not yet abashed by this reproof, he soon afterwards 
 ventured to ask another question, of a similar nature 
 with the preceding. Irritated at these repeated viola- 
 tions of decency, which bespoke a deficiency of good 
 sense as well as good manners, Lambert fixed his eyes 
 full upon the stranger : " You came into this room, sir, 
 by the door, but " " You mean to say," con- 
 tinued the other, looking at the window, " that I may pos- 
 sibly make my exit by some other way." " Begone this 
 moment," thundered Lambert, " or by G d I'll throw 
 you into Piccadilly." No second injunction was neces- 
 sary to rid him of this obnoxious guest. 
 
 After a residence of about five months in the metro- 
 polis, Mr. Lambert returned in September, 1806, to his 
 native town. 
 
 From that period to his death he had been chiefly en- 
 gaged in travelling to the principal towns, where many 
 thousands beheld with admiration his astonishing bulk. 
 He was a cheerful companion; possessed a generous 
 heart; and was as fond of rural sports as any man in 
 England. His game chickens and his dogs, when he 
 was at home, were his chief amusement, and the Racing 
 Calendar his study. He died on the 21st of June, 1809, 
 at Stamford in Lincolnshire, to which place he had tra- 
 velled the day preceeding his death from Huntingdon ; 
 and on his arrival in the evening he sent a message to the 
 office of the Stamford News, requesting that, as " the
 
 DANIEL LAMBERT. 119 
 
 mountain could not wait on Mahomet, Mahomet would 
 go to the mountain ;*' or in other words that the printer 
 would call upon him, and receive an order for executing 
 some hand bills, announcing Mr. Lambert's arrival, and 
 his desire to see company. The orders he gave upon 
 that occasion were delivered without any presentiment 
 that they were to be his last, and with his usual cheer- 
 fulness. He was in bed, fatigued with his journey; 
 but was anxious that the bills might be quickly printed, 
 in order to his seeing company next morning. Before 
 nine o'clock on that morning, however, he was a corpse. 
 He was in his 40th year, and upon being weighed a few 
 days before his death, by the Caledonian balance, was 
 found to be 52 stone lllbs. in weight (14lb. to the stone), 
 which is 10 stone lllbs. more than the celebrated Bright 
 of Essex ever weighed. He had apartments at the 
 Waggon and Horses Inn, St. Martin's, on the ground 
 floor, for he had long been incapable of walking up 
 stairs. Nor is this to be wondered at, when it is known 
 that he measured three yards four inches round the body, 
 and one yard one inch round the leg, and that a suit of 
 clothes cost about twenty pounds. 
 
 His coffin, in which there was a great difficulty to 
 place him, was six feet, four inches long, four feet, 
 four inches wide, and two feet four inches deep; the 
 immense substance of his legs made it necessarily a 
 square case. This coffin, which consisted of 112 super- 
 ficial feet of elm, was built on two axle-trees, and four 
 cog-wheels. Upon these his remains were rolled into 
 his grave, which was in the new burial ground at the 
 back of St. Martin's church. A regular descent was 
 made, by sloping it for some distance. It was found ne- 
 cessary to take down the window and wall of the room 
 in which he lay to allow his being taken away. 
 
 A tomb-stone, with the following epitaph, has been 
 erected in St. Martin's burying ground, Stamford.
 
 120 >ANIEL LAMBERT. 
 
 " In remembrance of that prodigy in nature, Daniel 
 Lambert, a native of Leicester, who was possessed 
 of an excellent and convivial rninri, and in personal 
 greatness, he had no competitor. He measured 
 three feet one inch round' the leg, nine feet four 
 inchcsround the body, and weighed 52 stone, 1 libs. 
 (I4!b. to the stone.) He departed this life on 
 the 21st of June, 1809, aged 39 years. As a testi- 
 mony of respect, this stone was erected by his 
 friends in Leicester." 
 
 We shall now proceed to state a few observations 
 relative to the habits, manners, and propensities, of this 
 extraordinary man. 
 
 It is not improbable that incessant exercise in the open 
 air, in the early part of his life, laid the foundation of 
 an uncommonly healthy constitution. Lambert scarcely 
 knew what it was to be ailing or indisposed. His tem- 
 perance, no doubt, contributed towards this uninterrupt- 
 ed flow of health. His food differed in no respect from 
 that of other people : he ate with moderation, and of 
 one dish only at a time. He never drank any other 
 beverage than water, and though at one period of his 
 life he seldom spent an evening at home, but with con- 
 vivial parlies, he never could be prevailed upon to join 
 his companions in their libations to the jolly god. 
 He possessed in an eminent degree one of the qualifica- 
 tions that strongly tended to promote harmony and con- 
 viviality, having a fine, powerful, melodious voice. It 
 was a strong tenor, unlike that of a fat man, light and 
 unembarrassed, and the articulation perfectly clear. 
 
 Lambert's height was five feet eleven inches, and in 
 June 1805, he had attained the enormous weight of fifty 
 stone, four pounds. He never felt any pain in his pro- 
 gress towards his greatest bulk, but increased gradually 
 and imperceptibly. Before he grew bulky he never 
 knew what it was to be out of wind. It was evident to 
 all who were acquainted with him, that he had no 
 
 6
 
 DANIEL LAMBERT. 
 
 oppression on the lungs from fat, or any other cause ; 
 and Dr. Heaviside expressed his opinion that his life was 
 as good as that of any other healthy man. He conceived 
 himself that he could walk a quarter of a mile, and 
 notwithstanding His excessive corpulence, could not only 
 stoop without trouble to write, but even kept tip an ex- 
 tensive correspondence, insomuch that his writing table 
 resembled the desk of a merchant's counting-house. 
 
 He slept less than the generality of mankind, being 
 never more than eight hours in bed. He was never in- 
 clined to drowsiness, either after dinner, or in any other 
 part of the day; and such was the vivacity of his dispo- 
 sition, that he was always the last person to retire to rest, 
 'which he never did before one o'clock. He slept with- 
 out having his head raised more than is usual with other 
 men, and always with the window open. His respira- 
 tion was so perfectly free and unobstructed, that he 
 never snored, and what is not a little extraordinary, he 
 could awake within five minutes of any time he pleased. 
 
 We have already adverted to Lambert's fondness for 
 hunting, coursing, racing, fishing, and cocking. He 
 was likewise well known in his neighbourhood as a great 
 otter-hunter, and until within a few years of his death was 
 extremely active in all the sports of the field, and though 
 he was prevented by his corpulence from partaking in 
 them, he still bred cocks, setters, and pointers, which 
 he brought to as great, or perhaps greater, perfection 
 than any other sporting character of the day. At 
 the time when terriers were the vogue, he possessed no 
 less than thirty of them at once. The high estimation 
 in which the animals of his breeding were held by 
 sporting amateurs, was fully evinced in the sale of the 
 dogs which lie brought with him to London, and which 
 were disposed of at Tattersal's at the following prices! 
 Peg, a black setter bitch, forty-one guineas; Punch, 
 a setter dog, twenty-six guineas; Brush, ditto, seven- 
 teen guineas; Bob, ditto, twenty guineas; Bounce, 
 
 VOL. i.
 
 DANIEL LAMBERT. 
 
 ditto, twenty- two guineas; Sam, ditto, twenty -six 
 guineas; Bell, ditto, thirty-two guineas ; Charlotte, a 
 pointer bitch, twenty-two guineas ; Lucy, ditto, twelve 
 guineas. Total 218 guineas. Mr. Hellish was the 
 purchaser of the seven setters, and Lord Kinnaird of 
 the two pointers. 
 
 If Lambert had a greater attachment to one kind of 
 sport than another, it was to racing, for which he al- 
 ways manifested a peculiar preference. He was fond of 
 riding himself, before his weight prevented him from 
 enjoying that exercise; and it was his opinion, founded 
 on experience, that the more blood, and the better a 
 horse was bred, the better he carried him. 
 
 During his residence in London he found himself in 
 nowise affected by the change of air, unless he ought 
 to have attributed to that cause an occasional, momen- 
 tary, trifling depression of spirits in a morning, such as 
 he had felt on his recovery from inflammatory attacks, 
 which were the only kind of indisposition he ever re- 
 membered to have experienced. 
 
 The extraordinary share of health he enjoyed was not 
 the result of any unusual precaution on his part, as he 
 had in many instances accustomed himself to the total 
 neglect of those means by which men in general endea- 
 vour to preserve that inestimable blessing. As a proof 
 of this the following fact is related from his own lips : 
 Before his increasing size prevented his partaking in the 
 sports of the field, he never could be prevailed upon, 
 when he returned home at night from these excursions, 
 to change any part of his clothes, however wet they 
 might be; and he put them on again the next morning, 
 though they were perhaps sothoroughlysoaked, as toleave 
 behind them their mark on the floor. Notwithstanding 
 this, he never knew what it was to take cold. On one of 
 these occasions he was engaged with a party of young 
 men in a boat, in drawing a pond. Knowing that a prin- 
 cipal UMi't of this diversion always consists in sousing
 
 DANIEL LAMBERT. 123 
 
 each other as much as possible, Lambert, before he en- 
 tered the boat, walked, in his clothes, up to his chin 
 into the water. He remained the whole ot the day in 
 this comlition, which to any other man must have 
 proved intolerably irksome* At night, on retiring to 
 bed, he stripped off shirr and all, and the next morning, 
 puttingon his clothes aeam, wet as they were, he resumed 
 the diversion with the rest of his companions. Nor was 
 this all; for lying down in the bottom of the boat, he 
 took a comfortable nap for a couple of hours, and 
 though the weather was rather severe, he experienced no 
 kind of inconvenience from what might justly be con- 
 sidered as extreme indiscretion. 
 
 It would have been an interesting speculation to try 
 how far a certain regimen might have tended to reduce 
 Lambert's excessive bulk, which, however healthy he 
 might be, could but be productive of some inconvenience, 
 besides depriving him of enjoyments to which he \va> 
 passionately attached. 
 
 SIXTHS THE FIFTH. 
 
 SIXTUS V. was born the 13th of December, 
 1521, in the province of La Marca d'Ancona, at a vil- 
 lage called Le Grotte, in the signiory of Montalto; his 
 father's name was Francis Peretti, who, for his faithful 
 service to a country gentleman in that neighbourhood, 
 with whom he lived as a gardener, was rewarded with 
 his master's favourite servant maid for a wife. These 
 were the parents of that pontiff, who, from the instant 
 of his accession to the papacy, even to the hour of his 
 death, made himself obeyed and feared, not only by his 
 own subjects, but by all who had any concern with him. 
 Our pope was their eldest child, and named I-Vlix. 
 Though he very early discovered a fitness and iiuliua-
 
 121 S1XTUS THE FIFTH.. 
 
 tipn for learning, the poverty of his parents prevented 
 their indulging it; wherefore, at about nine years of age, 
 his father hired him to an inhabitant of the same town, 
 to look after his sheep: but his master, being on some 
 occasion disobliged, removed him to a less honourable 
 employ, and gave him the care of his hogs. 
 
 Providence, however, soon released him from this dis- 
 agreeable occupation : he had ever manifested a parti- 
 cular respect for all ecclesiastics, and one day, in the 
 beginning of February, 1531, as Father Michael Angelo 
 Selleri, a Franciscan friar, was going to preach during 
 the Lent season at Ascoli, a considerable town in that 
 province, he lost his way near Le Grotte, and coming to 
 four lane ends, could not tell which to take, but was 
 looking round for somebody to direct him ; when little 
 Felix', who was attending his hogs just by, saw Father 
 Michael in distress, he ran to salute him, making him, 
 at the same lime, a tender of his service: the friar 
 carefully accepted it, and asked him the road to Ascoli ; 
 I'll soon show you the way thither, said he, and immedi- 
 ately began to run before him ; as they went along, the 
 answers he gave to Father Michael's questions were so 
 smart and pertinent, and accompanied with so much 
 good humour, that every time the child turned his face 
 to listen more attentively to what was said, he was 
 charmed with him, and could not conceive whence a 
 child that had no higher employment than looking 
 after hogs, should have such a shave of sense and good 
 manners. 
 
 When Father Michael had got into his road again, 
 he thanked Felix for the trouble he had given him, and 
 would have dismissed him with an alms ; but he kept 
 running forwards, without seeming to take any notice 
 of what he said, which obliged the friar to ask him, in a 
 jocose manner, whether he designed to go with him quite 
 into the town. " Yes/' says Felix, " not only to Ascoli, 
 hut to the end of the world, with a great deal of pleasure,"
 
 SIXTUS THE FIFTH. 
 
 and upon this took occasion to tell him, that the poor 
 circumstances of his parents would not allow them to 
 send him to school, as he desired; that he earnestly 
 wished somebody belonging to a convent would take 
 him. as a waiting boy, and he would serve him to the 
 utmost of his power, provided he would teach him to 
 read. 
 
 To try the boy a little farther, he asked him if he 
 would take upon him the habit of the order? Felix, who 
 was in very good earnest, answered that he would ; and 
 though the oilier set forth to him, in a long detail, and 
 very frightful colours, all the mortifications and auste- 
 rities he would be obliged to undergo in that course of 
 life, he boldly replied, he would suffer the pains of pur- 
 gatory itself, if he would make him a scholar: the priest, 
 surprised at his courage and resolution, thought there 
 must he something extraordinary in such a call, and re- 
 solved to take him along with him. This he accord- 
 ingly did, and presented him to the fraternity he wag 
 going to; at the same time acquainting them by what 
 accident he had picked him up, and with what extraor- 
 dinary zeal he had followed him thither : upon which 
 the warden uf the convent sent for him, and asked him 
 several questions, his answers to which were no less 
 pleasing and amazing to the warden than they had been 
 to Father Michael; insomuch, that with the unanimous 
 approbation of the community, he was received among 
 them, and invested with the habit of a lay-brother, and 
 was placed under the sacristan, to assist in sweeping 
 the church, lighting the candles, and such little offices, 
 who, in return for his services, was to teach him the re- 
 sponses, and rudiments of grammar. 
 
 Such was Felix's introduction to greatness. By a 
 ready comprehension, strong memory, and unwearied 
 .-implication, he made such a surprising progress in 
 learning, that on the <2Jth of September, 1534, he 
 was thought fit to receive the cowl, and enter upon his
 
 l'2t> SJXTUS THE FIFTH. 
 
 noviciate; and on the 1st of 'November, 1535, was ad- 
 mitted to make his profession, being no more than four- 
 teen years old : when, contrary to the usual practice or 
 the religious, he refused to change his baptismal name, 
 and desired he might be called brother Felix. He pur- 
 sued his studies with so much assiduity, that in the year 
 1539 he was accounted equal to the best disputants. 
 Having been admitted to deacon's orders, he preached 
 his first sermon on the day of the annunciation, before 
 an uncommonly numerous congregation, in which were 
 many prelates; one of the most eminent of whom was 
 so well pleased with his discourse, that he sent for him 
 after dinner, and entering into a long conversation upon 
 the subject of his sermon, said to him at his going away, 
 "if 1 was pope, you should soon be a cardinal." 
 
 In June 1545, he was ordained priest and assumed the 
 name of Father Montalto; in the same year he took his 
 bachelor's degree, and in about two years after was 
 created doctor, and was pitched upon to keep a divinity 
 act before the whole chapter of the order, that was soon 
 to be assembled at Assise : at this time he so effectually 
 recommended himself to Cardinal Di Carpi, and culti- 
 vated so close an intimacy with Bossius, his secretary, 
 that they were both of them ever after his steady friends. 
 
 Frequent were the occasions he had for their interpo- 
 sition on his behalf, for the impetuosity of his temper, 
 and his impatience of contradiction, had already sub- 
 jected him to several inconveniencies, and in the subse- 
 quent part of his life involved him in many more diffi- 
 culties. While all Italy was delighted with his elo- 
 quence, he was perpetually embroiled in quarrels with 
 hie monastic brethren: however, he had the good for- 
 tune to form two new friendships at Rome, which were 
 afterwards of signal service to him ; one with the 
 Colonna family, who thereby became his protectors; 
 the other with Father Ghisilieri, by whose recommenda- 
 tion he was appointed inquisitor-general at Venice, by
 
 S1XTUS THE FIFTH. 127 
 
 Paul IV. soon after his accession to the papacy in 1555. 
 But the severity with which he executed his office wag 
 so offensive to a people jealous of their liberties, as the 
 Venetians were, that he was obliged to be indebted for 
 his preservation to a precipitate flight from that city. 
 
 After his retreat from Venice, we find him acting in 
 many public affairs at Rome, and as often engaged in 
 disputes with the conventuals of his order, till he waa 
 appointed to attend, as chaplain and consukor of the 
 inquisition, Cardinal Buon Compagnon, afterwards Gre- 
 gory XIII. who was then legate de latere to Spain. 
 Here MontaUo had great honours paid him ; he was 
 offered to be made one of the royal chaplains, with a 
 table and au apartment in the palace, also a stipend of 
 one hundred pistoles a year, if he would stay there ; 
 but having centered his views at Rome, he declined ac- 
 cepting these favours, and only asked the honour of 
 bearing the titleof his majesty'schaplain wherever he went. 
 While things were thus circumstanced at Madrid, 
 news was brought of the death of Pius IV. and the ele- 
 vation of Cardinal Alexandrine to the holy see, with the 
 title of Pius V. Montalto was greatly transported at 
 this news, the new pontiff having ever been his steady 
 friend and patron, viz. the above-mentioned Father Ghi- 
 tilieri, who had been promoted to the purple by Paul 
 IV. predecessor to the deceased pope. 
 
 Montalto's joy at the promotion of his friend was not 
 ill founded, nor were his expectations disappointed ; for 
 the new pope, even in the first week of his pontificate, 
 appointed him general of his order, an office that he ex- 
 ecuted with his accustomed severity. In 1568 he was 
 made bishop of St. Agatha, and on the 1?th of May, 
 1570, was honoured with a red hat and a pension. 
 During this reign he had likewise the chief direction of 
 the papal councils, and particularly was employed to 
 draw up the bull of excommunication against our Queen 
 Elizabeth.
 
 128 SIXTUS THE FIFTH. 
 
 Being now in possession of the purple, he began to 
 aspire to the papacy. With this view he became 
 humble, patient, and affable, so artfully concealing the 
 natural impetuosity of his temper, that one would have 
 sworn this gentleness and moderation was born with him. 
 There was such a change in his dress, his air, his words, 
 and all his actions, that his nearest friends and ac- 
 quaintance said he was not the same man. A greater 
 alteration, or a more absolute victory over his passions, 
 was never seen in anyone; nor is there an instance, 
 perhaps, in all history, of a person supporting a ficti- 
 tious character in so uniform and consistent a manner, 
 or so artfully disguising his foibles and imperfections for 
 such a number of years. To which may be added, 
 that while he endeavoured to court the friendship of the 
 ambassadors of every foreign power, he very carefully 
 avoided attaching himself to the particular interest of 
 any one, nor would he accept favours that might be pre- 
 sumed to lay him under peculiar obligations. 
 
 He was not less singular in his conduct to his rela- 
 tions, to whom he had heretofore expressed himself 
 with the utmost tenderness ; but as soon as he was in- 
 vested with his new dignity, he behaved very differently, 
 knowing that disinterestedness in that point was one 
 of the kevs to the papacy; so that when his brother 
 Antony came to see him at Rome, he lodged him in an 
 inn, and sent him back again the next day, with only a 
 present of sixty crowns, strictly charging him to return 
 immediately to the care of his family, and tell them, 
 "that his spiritual cares increased upon him, and he was 
 now dead to his relations and the world ; but as he found 
 old age and infirmities began to approach, he might, 
 perhaps, in a while, send for one of his nephews to wait 
 on him." 
 
 Upon the death of Pius V. which happened in March 
 >o7 c 2, he entered the conclave with the rest of the car- 
 dinals; but, appealing to give himself no trouble about
 
 SIXTHS THE FIFTH. 
 
 the election, he kept altogether in his apartment, without 
 ever stirring from it, except to his devotions. He af- 
 fected a total ignorance of the intrigues of the several 
 factions, and if he was asked to engage in any party, he 
 would reply with seeming indifference, " that for his part 
 he was of no manner of consequence ; that as he had 
 never been in the conclave before, he was afraid of 
 making some false step, and should leave the affair to 
 be conducted wholly by people of greater knowledge 
 and experience." If any one asked his opinion, whom he 
 thought the fittest person to succeed as pope, he would 
 answer, " they were all so worthy men, and so thoroughly 
 well qualified to govern the church, that, upon his con- 
 science, he could not tell ; but wished he had as many 
 voices as there were cardinals, that he might vote for 
 every one of them." Nevertheless, this behaviour did 
 not prevent the more discerning from suspecting his af- 
 fection for the papacy, and Cardinal Farnese one day, 
 when he was talking in this strain, plainly said to him, 
 "other people may swallow this, sir, but it wont go down 
 with me." 
 
 The election being determined, the 13th of May, 1572, 
 in favour of Cardinal Bnon Compagnon, who assumed 
 the name of Gregory XIII. Montalto did not neglect 
 assuring him, " that he had never wished for any thing 
 so much in his life, and that he should always remem- 
 ber his goodness, and the favours he received from him 
 in Spain." However, the new pope not only showed 
 very little regard to his compliment, but during his pon- 
 tificate treated him with the utmost contempt, and de- 
 prived him of the pension which had been granted to 
 him by Pius V. Nor was he held in greater esteem by 
 the generality of the cardinals, who considered him as a 
 poor, old, doating fellow, incapable of doing either 
 good or harm, and who, by wuy of ridicule, they were 
 used frequently to style, " the ass of La, Marca." 
 
 Mont alt o*a own conduct contributed much towards 
 
 VOL. I. 1C
 
 130 SIXTUS THE FIFTH. 
 
 this despicable opinion that many had conceived of him ; 
 for after the indifferent reception his first address to 
 Gregory met with, he bought a small house near St. 
 Maria Maggiore, where he lived in a very obscure 
 manner, with a slender attendance, suitable to the 
 modesty and humility he professed. When he went to 
 any consistory or congregation, which was but very 
 seldom, his behaviour was always meek and submissive; 
 and so far was he from resenting the indignities offered 
 him, that he appeared even thankful for them : his pa- 
 tience and clemency were in nothing more conspicuous, 
 than in his never complaining of, or prosecuting, the 
 murderers of a nephew he had lately sent for to Home, 
 and whom he tenderly loved. He extended his com- 
 plaisance to every body, but more particularly to those 
 among the religious who had formerly used him worst; 
 these he would treat with such tenderness, that many of 
 them, after having taken leave of him, were wont to say, 
 tf certainly Cardinal Montalto is one of the best of Chris- 
 tians, that can so easily forget we were once his invete- 
 rate enemies." 
 
 He seldom interfered in, or was present at, any public 
 transactions; the chief part of his time was employed 
 in works of piety and devotion, and his benevolence to 
 the indigent was so .remarkable, that when a terrible 
 famine prevailed at Rome, the poor said openly of him, 
 " that Cardinal Montalto, who lived upon charity him- 
 self, gave with one hand what he received with the 
 other ; while the rest of the cardinals, who wallowed in 
 abundance, contented themselves with showing them the 
 way to the hospital." 
 
 However, notwithstanding this affected indifference to 
 what passed in the world, he was never without able 
 spies, who informed him from time to time of every the 
 most minute particular; and having established an uni- 
 versal character of great sanctity, as he was before 
 esteemed a very learned divine, he had now an oppor-
 
 SIXTHS THE FIFTH. 131 
 
 tanity of making even religion subservient to his de- 
 signs. To this purpose he attended two hours after 
 morning, and as long afier evening service, to hear 
 confessions; the resort to him was very numerous, of all 
 ages, ranks, and sexes, from whom he had the address 
 to draw, not only their own private sin?, but every thing 
 that passed amongst their acquaintance, with whatever 
 else they knew of public concerns. 
 
 He had assumed great appearance of imbecility and all 
 the infirmities of old age, for some years before the death 
 of Gregory XIII. in April 1585 ; when it was not without 
 much seeming reluctance, that Montalto accompanied 
 the rest of the cardinals into the conclave, where he 
 maintained the same uniformity of behaviour in which 
 he had so long persisted. He kept himself close shut 
 up in his chamber, and was no more thought or spoke of, 
 than if he had not been there. He very seldom stirred 
 out, and when he went to mass, or any of the scrutinies, 
 appeared so little concerned, that one would have 
 thought he had no manner of interest in any thing that 
 happened within those walls; and without promising 
 any thing he flattered every body. 
 
 This method of proceeding was judiciously calculated 
 to serve his ambition. He was early apprized that there 
 Mould be great contests or divisions in the conclave, and 
 Ue knew it was no uncommon case, that when the chiefs 
 of the respective parties met with a strenuous opposition 
 to the person they were desirous of electing, they would 
 all willingly concur in the choice of some very old and 
 infirm cardinal, whose life would last only long enough 
 to prepare themselves with more strength against another 
 vacancy. 
 
 These views directed his conduct, nor was he mistaken 
 in his expectations of success. Three cardinals, who 
 were the heads of potent factions, finding themselves 
 unable to secure the election to the particular |>LI 
 they respectively favoured, all concurred to < li
 
 132 S1XTUS THE FIFTH. 
 
 Moutalto. As it was not yet necessary for him to dis- 
 cover himself, when they came to acquaint him with 
 their intention, he fell into such a violent fit of cough- 
 ing, that they thought he would have expired upon the 
 spot. When he recovered himself, he told them, 
 " that his reign would he but a few days; that besides 
 the continual difficulty with which he drew his breath, 
 he had not strength enough to support such a weight ; 
 and that his small experience in affairs made him alto- 
 gether unfit for a charge of so important a nature, 
 without he could depend on the assistance of others :" 
 Nor would he be prevailed on to accept it on any other 
 terms than that " they should all three promise not to 
 abandon him, but take the greatest part of the weight 
 off his shoulders, as he was neiiher able, nor could in 
 conscience pretend to take the whole of it upon himself." 
 The cardinals giving a ready assent to his proposal, he 
 added, " If you are resolved to make me pope, it will 
 only be placing yourselves on the throne ; we must share 
 the pontificate ; for my part, I shall be content with the 
 bare title; let them call me pope, and you are heartily 
 welcome to the power and authority." 
 
 The bait was swallowed, and in confidence of engross- 
 ing the administration, they exerted their joint interests 
 so effectually, that Montalto was elected. Having thus 
 compassed his favourite point, he immediately threw oft 
 the mask he had worn for near fourteen years, with an 
 amazing steadiness and uniformity. A soon as ever he 
 found a sufficient number of votes to secure his election, 
 he threw the staff with which he used to support him- 
 self into the middle of the chapel, and appeared taller 
 by almost a foot than he had done for several years, 
 hawking and spitting with as much strength as a man of 
 thirty years old : being asked, according to custom, 
 " Whether he would please to accept of the papacy," he 
 replied somewhat sharply, " It is trifling and impertinent 
 to ask whether I wiU accept, what I have already ac-
 
 SIXTUS THE FIFTH. l&i 
 
 cepted ; however, to satisfy auy scruple that may arise, 
 I tell you, that I accept it with great pleasure, and would 
 accept another, if I could get it; for I find myself 
 strong enough, by the Divine assistance, to manage two 
 papacies." 
 
 Nor was the change in his manners less remarkable 
 than in his person; he immediately divested himself of 
 the humility he had so long professed, and laying aside 
 his accustomed civility and complaisance, he treated 
 every body with reserve and haughtiness, but more par- 
 ticularly those who had been most instrumental to his 
 exaltation. These were more especially astonished at 
 the sudden alteration ; but as dissimulation could be of 
 no further service to him, the new pope very soon con- 
 vinced them that he did not intend to divide his power 
 with any of them ; for when one of the cardinals, who 
 had very earnestly interested himself iu Montalto's pre- 
 ferment, reminded him of his former professions, that 
 he should want their assistance, his answer was, " Very 
 true, I believe I might say so, and 1 thought so at that 
 time; but now I perceive myself strong enough, by 
 God's assistance, to govern without any other help. If 
 I told you a story, you must e'en make the best of it. I 
 shall give ray confessor a power to absolve me from that 
 sin. You made me pope for your own interests, and I 
 accept that honour to do the church a service." 
 
 The deluded cardinals were no less vexed at their dis- 
 appointment, than at their being made dupes to the dis- 
 simulaiion of Montalto; who from hence must be dis- 
 tinguished by the name of Sixtus V. They were sin- 
 cerely sorry for their determination, and frequently ex- 
 pressed their discontent and resentment in mutual up- 
 bratdings of each other ; which coining to the ears of 
 our newly exalted pope, he sent for them, and .sharply 
 said, " We are informed that you repent of your choice 
 we would have you to know, that we do not think 
 ourselves in the least obliged to you for the papacy,
 
 134 SIXTUS THE FIFTH. 
 
 but to Divine Providence alone, and our own prudent 
 conduct." 
 
 The lenity of Gregory's government had introduced a 
 general licentiousness among all ranks of people ; which, 
 though somewhat restrained from appearing publicly 
 while he lived, broke out into open violence the very 
 day after his death. Riots, rapes, robberies, and mur- 
 ders, were, during the vacancy of the see, daily com- 
 mitted in every part of the ecclesiastical state; the ban- 
 ditti, not content with plundering all the neighbouring 
 country and villages, entered into the towns and cities, 
 where they lived in the greatest security, in a continued 
 scene of rapine and debauchery; and being frequently 
 made subservient to the pleasures or resentment of the 
 rich, they were assisted and supported by the governors 
 and magistrates, who ought to have suppressed them. 
 The religious were not less abandoned than the laity ; 
 nor was even the city of Rome free from these flagrant 
 outrages. 
 
 The reformation of abuses, both in church and state, 
 was the first and principal care of Sixtus: this he very 
 early signified ; for when, in his passage from the con- 
 clave immediately after his election, the people cried 
 out, " Long live the pope/' and added, according to cus- 
 tom, "plenty, holy father, plenty and justice," he replied, 
 " Pray to God for plenty, and I'll give you justice." To 
 this purpose he was so impatient to exercise the sove- 
 reignty, that he ordered the crown to be brought di- 
 rectly; nor was it without the utmost difficulty that he 
 was prevailed on to defer his coronation a few days : 
 nothing but an assurance that his authority was as full 
 and extensive before as after that ceremony, could have 
 procured his consent to the delaying it. 
 
 The first days of his pontificate were employed in re- 
 ceiving the congratulations of the Roman nobility, and 
 in giving audience to foreign ministers; and though he 
 received them with seeming cheerfulness and complai-
 
 S1XTUS THE FIFTH. l:j r "> 
 
 sauce, yet he soon dismissed them, desiring to be ex- 
 cused, " for he had something else to do than to attend 
 to compliments." 
 
 It having been customary with many preceding popes 
 to order the prison doors to be set open, for the release 
 of prisoners, on the day of their coronation, many of 
 the banditti and other delinquents were wont to surren- 
 der themselves after the pope was chosen ; several offen- 
 ders, judging of Montalto's disposition by his humane 
 behaviour while he was cardinal, came voluntarily to 
 the prisons, not making the least doubt of a pardon : 
 but they were fatally disappointed; for when the gover- 
 nor of Rome, and the keeper of St. Angelo's castle, 
 waited on his holiness to know his intention upon this 
 matter, Sixtus replied, in an angry manner, " You cer- 
 tainly either do not know your proper distance, or are 
 very impertinent. What have you to do with pardons, 
 and acts of grace, and releasing of prisoners ? Don't 
 you think it sufficient, that our predecessor has suffered 
 the judges to lie idle and unemployed these thirteen 
 years.' Would you have us likewise stain our pontificate 
 with the same neglect of justice ? We have too long 
 seen, with inexpressible concern, the prodigious degree 
 of wickedness that reigns in the ecclesiastical state, to 
 think of granting any pardon. God forbid we should 
 entertain such a design. So far from releasing any pri- 
 soners, it is our express command, that they be more 
 closely confined. Let them be brought to a speedy trial, 
 and punished as they deserve, that the prisons may be 
 emptied, and room made for others; and that the world 
 may see, that Divine Providence has called us to the 
 chair of St. Peter to reward the good and to chastise the 
 wicked ; ' that we bear not the sword in vain, but are 
 the minister of G'od, and a revenger to execute wrath 
 upon them that do evil.' It is our pleasure, therefore, 
 that four of the most notorious of them be tried 10- 
 inorrow, a n .'I publicly executed at different places, two
 
 13B SIXTUS THE FIFTH. 
 
 by the axe, and two by the halter, at the very time of 
 our coronation ; which will likewise take offmost of those 
 disorderly people that always occasion so much tumult 
 and disturbances at that ceremony." 
 
 As a proof that he was in earnest in the orders that he 
 gave, he sent word about two hours after, by a master of 
 the ceremonies, to the governor and keeper of the castle, 
 " that it behoved them to look well to their prisoners; 
 for if any escaped, they themselves should be punished 
 in their stead ; that he expected to hear of at least four 
 of them being condemned the next day, and to have a 
 particular account of all the rest as soon as possible; 
 that they ought now, by their diligence, to make amends 
 for the shameful neglect of their duty in the late reign, 
 out of complaisance, as he supposed, to the childish 
 and ill-timed mercy of his predecessor." 
 
 Many of the cardinals, ambassadors, and nobles, 
 having either relations, friends or dependants, that had 
 fled for the commission of some crime, or had associated 
 with the banditti, they had advised them to surrender, 
 upon assurance of their being pardoned; but when the 
 pope's order came to be promulgated, such of the car- 
 dinals, &c. as interested themselves in the preservation 
 of thoso offenders, went immediately to his holiness, and 
 demanded an audience of him, in the name of the 
 whole college; when, being admitted, they represented 
 the indecency of so sanguinary a proceeding, especially 
 on so solemn a day, which had always been devoted to 
 mirth and rejoicing, and used every argument to prevail 
 on him to retract his resolution ; but so far were their 
 endeavours from succeeding, that the pope plainly told 
 them, " he was above measure surprised at the insolence 
 of their representations ; for that when Jesus Christ 
 committed the government of his church to St. Peter, 
 he could not any where find that he had appointed the 
 apostles to be his tutors and pedagogues; and that if 
 they thought to be so to him, who was called by Divine 
 
 '7
 
 SIXTUS THE FIFTH. 137 
 
 Providence to preside over the faithful, as he hoped, for 
 their good, they would find themselves egregiously mis- 
 taken." To which he afterwards added, that he was 
 determined not only to punish the criminals themselves 
 with the utmost severity, but to make a strict inquiry 
 after all their encoiiragers, and treat them in the same 
 manner: and in a few days afterwards he acquainted 
 them, that it would be in vain to solicit him for any 
 man's pardon. 
 
 In order to hinder all contests between foreign mi- 
 nisters, and other persons of superior rank, concerning 
 precedency, as well as to prevent tumults and disorders 
 among the lower sort of people, both which had been 
 usual at former coronations, Sixtus published some well 
 judged orders to be observed on that day ; and to show 
 that he was resolved to he obeyed, he directed the go- 
 vernor to provide twelve executioners, of different na- 
 tions, whom he commanded to parade round the city 
 the day before, and the very morning of the coronation, 
 and once a week afterwards, two by two, with each of 
 them an axe in one hand and an halter in the other. A 
 baker happening to throw a stone, which hit one of 
 them upon the head as they walked their rounds that 
 day, Sixtus ordered him to be severely whipped on the 
 spot, and sent to the gallies, but the latter part of his 
 sentence was afterwards remitted. In consequence of 
 these regulations, though the spectators were as nume- 
 rous as had been known, and the procession the most 
 splendid that had ever been seen, every thing was con- 
 ducted with decency and order; no disturbance of any 
 kind was attempted, not an abusive word heard, nor a 
 blow in veil. 
 
 O 
 
 Ln conformity to the resolution he had taken of put- 
 ting an eaily stop to the prevailing profligacy of the 
 people, his first attention was directed to the punishment 
 of offenders; in which he conducted himself with an un- 
 exampled -cverity, without the least respect to persons. 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 138 SIXTUS THE FIFTH. 
 
 The following instance may serve as a specimen of our 
 pontiff's disposition with respect to this particular. 
 
 As the pope was going one day to his devotions, 
 there was, according to custom, so great a crowd to see 
 him, that nobody could pass, which obliged the Swiss 
 guards, that always attended upon his holiness, when he 
 stirs out, to make way with their halberts. There was 
 unluckily among the crowd a Spanish gentleman, lately 
 arrived at Rome, wilh his uncle, who was a learned and 
 eminent divine. This unfortunate person being one of 
 the foremost, was pushed back a little roughly by one of 
 the guard, with the staff of his halbert, which lie thought 
 so great an affront that he vowed revenge. The poor 
 Swiss, going one day soon after to mass at St. Peter's, 
 had quite forgot the affair, when the Spaniard, whojust 
 came in, perceiving him upon his knees before the altar, 
 thought it a proper opportunity to gratify his resent- 
 ment; and taking up a pilgrim's staff that reared against 
 one of the pillars, gave him so violent a stroke on the 
 head, that he immediately dropped down dead, without 
 speaking a word. The murderer endeavoured to make 
 his escape, by flying to the Spanish ambassador's house, 
 who had a friendship for him, upon his uncle's account; 
 but was stopped by two other Swiss, that were witnesses 
 of the fact. 
 
 When Sixlus heard of it he was extremely enraged, 
 and said, " We thought our character had been too well 
 known for any one to piesume to commit so flagrant an 
 action ; but if it is not, we will soon make it." And im- 
 mediately sent for the governor of the city, vvho having 
 been informed of the transaction, was already come on 
 foot to inquire into it, to show his zeal and diligence in 
 the execution of his office. As soon as he appeared, the 
 pope accosted him in this manner: " Well, sir, what 
 do you think of a murder committed in the house of God, 
 and almost before our face? It is your business to see 
 that strict justice be done directly, and a proper punish-
 
 SIXTUS THE FIFTH. 130 
 
 ment inflicted upon the offender, for so daring an insult 
 on our authority." The governor answered, " he had 
 given orders, as lie cmne into the palace, to have infor- 
 mations taken, and a process to he commenced against 
 him speedily." " A process," said Sixtus, " what occa- 
 sion is there for a process in such a case as this?" The 
 governor happening to say, " that lie thought it had 
 heen necessary to observe the usual forms of the law, as 
 the criminal was nephew to a person of consideration, 
 and under the protection of his catholic majesty's am- 
 bassador," the pope answered, in a very furious manner, 
 "Do not talk to us of forms and ceremonies; it is our 
 pleasure that he shall be hanged before we sit down to 
 dinner, and we intend to dine early to-day, being some- 
 what hungry." 
 
 As soon as the governor knew his holiness'* pleasure, 
 he immediately gave directions to hasten the execution ; 
 nnd as he went out, the pope ordered him to have 
 the gallows erected where he himself could see him 
 hanged out of his window, from which he never stirred 
 till he saw him quite dead; and then, turning round to 
 those in the room with him, said, " Let them serve up 
 dinner, we shall eat heartily now, for this piece of jus- 
 tice has served for a whet to our appetite." 
 
 Whilst dinner was coming up, he entertained the com- 
 pany with a discourse concerning the necessity of doing 
 prompt justice in such cases, and seemed much pleased 
 at his morning's work ; repeating, with great satisfaction, 
 that passage in the Psalms, " 1 shall soon destroy all the 
 ungodly that are in the laud, that I may root out ull ihe 
 wicked doers from the city of the Lord." Alter dinner 
 was over, he said grace himself, and rising from the 
 table, added " thanks be to God, we have eat very 
 heartily to-day." 
 
 In the place of such judges as were inclined to lenity 
 he substituted others of a more austere disposition, and 
 appointed commissaries to examine not only their con-
 
 140 SJXTUS THE FIFTH. 
 
 duct, but also that of other governors and judges for 
 many years past ; promising rewards to those who could 
 convict them of corruption, or of having denied justice 
 to any one at the instance or request of men in power. 
 An advocate of Orvieto, who was privy to a piece of in- 
 justice which the governor of that town had been guilty 
 of, for the sake of a sum of money, and would not in- 
 form against him, because he was his particular friend, 
 and had been out of office five years, was not only ex 
 communicated, but sent to prison, and put in irons, 
 where he lay for a long time, and was not released till 
 he had paid a considerable fine. 
 
 All the nobility and persons of the highest quality 
 were strictly forbid, on pain of displeasure, to ask the 
 judges any thing in behalf of their nearest friends or 
 dependants ; at the same time the judges were to be fined 
 , in case they listened to any solicitation. He further 
 commanded every body, on pain of death, not to terrify 
 witnesses by threats, or tempt them by hopes or pro- 
 mises. He ordered the syndics and mayors of every town 
 and signiory, as well those that were actually in office, 
 as those who had been for the last ten years, to send 
 him a list of all the vagrants, common debauchees, 
 loose and disorderly people in their districts, threatening 
 them with the strapado and imprisonment if they 
 omitted or concealed any one. In consequence of which 
 ordinance, the syndic of Albano, leaving his nephew, 
 who was an incorrigible libertine, out of the list, under- 
 went the strapado in the public market-place, though 
 the Spanish ambassador interceded strongly for him. 
 
 He particularly directed the legates and governors of 
 the ecclesiastical state to be expeditious in carrying on all 
 criminal processes, declaring, " he had rather have the 
 gibbets and gallies full, than the prisons." He also in- 
 tended to have shortened all other proceedings in law. 
 
 It had been usual, and was pleasing to the people, as 
 often as his holiness passed by, to cry out "long live the
 
 SIXTUS THE FIFTH. 141 
 
 pope ;" but Sixtus, having a mind to go often unexpect- 
 edly to the tribunals of justice, convents, and other pub- 
 lic places, forbad this custom in regard to himself, and 
 punished two persons, who were ignorant of this edict, 
 with imprisonment, for crying out, " long live Pope 
 Sixtus." 
 
 Adultery he punished with death, nor was he less 
 severe to those who voluntarily permitted prostitution of 
 their wives, a custom at that lime very common in Rome. 
 
 The female sex, especially the younger part, attracted, 
 in a very particular manner, the attention of Sixtus : 
 not only the debauching any of them, whether by force 
 or artifice, but even attempting it, or offering the least 
 offence against modesty, was very severely punished. 
 
 It has already been observed in what manner Sixtus 
 rendered the communications he received in confessions 
 useful to his exaltation : no sooner was he in possession 
 of the pontificate, than several of his former penitents 
 became early examples of his justice, for crimes ihev 
 had themselves acknowledged under that presumed seal 
 of secrecy ; and not content with the discoveries he had 
 himself made by this means, he obliged the oldest con- 
 fessors, and such as were most followed, to acquaint him 
 with any thing extraordinary that had or should be im- 
 parted to them ; whereby many poor wretches were 
 brought to punishment, for offences, the memory of 
 which they imagined totally obliterated. 
 
 For the more effectual prevention, as well of private 
 assassinations, as public quarrels, he forbad all persons, 
 on pain of death, to draw a sword, or to carry arms 
 specified in the edict; nor would he be prevailed on to 
 spare any who transgressed this order : even to threaten 
 another with an intended injury, was sufficient to entitle 
 the menacer to a whipping and the gallies; especially if 
 the nature of their profession furnished the- means of 
 carrying their threats into execution. The punishment 
 of a barber, who in a quarrel had lifted up his fist at
 
 142 SIXTUS THE FIFTH. 
 
 another man in a threatening manner, nnd said, " if ever 
 you come under my hands, I'll do your husiness for you,** 
 was somewhat singular. All the harbers in Rome were 
 obliged to appear (on a penalty of being fined one hun- 
 dred crowns, and banished the city) on a certain day, 
 and at a particular place for that purpose appointed ; 
 when being placed in two rows, the offender was whipped 
 three times through them, and was also ordered to the 
 gallies for three years ; but the latter part of the sentence 
 was afterwards remitted. 
 
 The banditti, who were very numerous when Sixtus 
 was advanced to the papacy, were rendered still more so 
 by the junction of many loose and disorderly people, 
 who, conscious of their demerits, and terrified at the 
 severities they daily saw practised, had fled from justice. 
 Their insolence increased with their numbers, insomuch, 
 that no one could live in the ecclesiastical state with 
 safety to his person or fortune, nor could strangers travel 
 without imminent danger of being robbed or murdered. 
 The public security more especially required the extir- 
 pation of these plunderers, which, by the prudence, vigi- 
 lance, and resolution of our pope, was so effectually 
 performed, that, in less than six months, they were all 
 either taken or disappeared, and such a terror struck 
 into the people, that every one, being afraid any little 
 particular quarrel might make him pass for a disturber of 
 the peace, made haste to agree with his adversary ; dif- 
 ferences that had passed for many years were composed 
 in a moment ; and people that had long been the bit- 
 terest enemies now lived in friendship and amity. 
 
 He obliged the nobility of Rome, and the country 
 round it, to an exact payment of their debts. A gentle- 
 man, who had for a considerable time stood indebted to 
 a draper in a large sum of money, and, instead of dis- 
 charging it, upon application to him for that purpose, 
 was wont to say to his creditor, " that gentlemen never 
 paid their debts, but when they pleased," was sent for
 
 SIXTUS THE FIFTH. 
 
 by liii holiness, together with the draper; when Sixtus 
 not only compelled him lo pay the money down imme- 
 diately, but sent him to prison, and ordered a process 
 against him, for having neglected doing it before. He 
 ui the saniii time commanded all the merchants and 
 tradesmen to bring him in a list of their debts, with the 
 names of the people that owed them, which he paid off, 
 and took upon himself. This gave such an alarm, that 
 uianv who were indebted to the merchants went to pay 
 them that very night, begging of them, for God's sake, 
 to cross iheir names uut of their books, and give them 
 such receipts as might show as if they had been paid 
 long ago, list the pope should come to know it. 
 
 Among other measures of our pontiff, we must not 
 omit his abolition of quarters and other immunities, in 
 the houses of ambassadors, cardinals, nobles or prelates. 
 To this purpose, he sent for all the ambassadors then at 
 Home, and ordered them to acquaint their respective 
 masU-i s, ' that he was determined nobody should reign in 
 Home but himself; that there should be no privilege or 
 immunity of any kind there but what belonged to the 
 pope, nor any sanctuary or asylum but the churches, 
 and that only at such limes and upon such occasions 
 a* he should think proper ; that his intention was to have 
 justice strictly observed, and rigorously executed, in all 
 places, as well in the palaces of princes, cardinals, and 
 ambassadors, a the houses of private persons:" and 
 very soon altet waids he published a bull to the same ef- 
 fect, signifying that all such offenders "should be deemed 
 usurpers of the sovereign authority, guilty of laasa: 
 maje&tattSf ipsj facto excommunicated, and not to be 
 absolved by any but the pope himself, except in the 
 article of death." The same attempt had been made by 
 his predecessors, and was imitated by some of his suc- 
 cessors, but ineffectually ; they wanted this pope's reso- 
 lution : Sixtus would be obeyed. 
 
 Thu* far we have beheld his holiness acting in his civil
 
 144 SIXTUS THE FIFTH. 
 
 capacity, and if we take a view of his conduct as a poli- 
 tician : in liis transactions with foreig powers, we find 
 him maintaining the same degree of firmness as in his 
 treatment of his own subjects. Before he had been pope 
 two months, he quarrelled with Philip II. of Spain, 
 Henry III. of France, and Henry king of Navarre. His 
 intrigues in some measure may be said to have influ- 
 enced, in his day, all the councils of Europe. 
 
 Sixtus he.d caused the vulgate Latin edition of the 
 Bible to be published, which occasioned a good deal of 
 clamour: but nothing like what there was upon his 
 printing an Italian version of it. This set all the Roman 
 Catholic part of Christendom in an uproar. Count 
 Olivares, and some of the cardinals, ventured to expos- 
 tulate with him pretty freely upon it, and said, " It was 
 a scandalous as well as a dangerous thing, and bordered 
 vry nearly upon heresy." But he treated them with con- 
 tempt, and only said " We do it for the benefit of you 
 that do not understand Latin," 
 
 Though our pope's behaviour, in some particulars, may 
 not command an universal applause, yet it is certain 
 the holy see was under very great obligations to him : 
 his impartial, though rigorous administration of justice, 
 had a very happy effect ; he strenuously defended the 
 rights of the poor, the widow, and the orphan ; he re- 
 fused audience to nobody, ordering his masters of the 
 ceremonies to introduce the poorest to him first : but was 
 more particularly ready to hear any accusation against 
 the magistrates; the same conduct he observed between 
 the clergy and their superiors, always applying quick 
 and effectual, though mostly severe remedies. In short, 
 he had wrought such a reformation, that the governor 
 told him one day, the place of a judge was now become 
 a perfect sinecure. 
 
 At his accession to the papacy he found the apostolic 
 chamber, or treasury, not only exhausted, but in debt; 
 he left it not only clear but enriched it with five 
 
 7
 
 SIXTTJS THE FIFTH. 145 
 
 millions of gold ; he also augmented the revenue to 
 double ils former amount. 
 
 To him the city of Rome was obliged for several of its 
 greatest embellishments, particularly the Vatican library ; 
 and to him its citizens were indebted for the introduction 
 of trade into the ecclesiastical state. 
 
 Though he was naturally an enemy to profusion, he 
 was never sparing in expense, to relieve such as were 
 really necessitous, especially those whose modesty would 
 not let them make their wants known ; and among many 
 other nobie charities, his appropriation of three thousand 
 crowns a year for the redemption of Christian slaves out 
 of the hands of the infidels, will hardly be reckoned the 
 least meritorious. 
 
 In respect to his private character, it appears, from 
 several instances, that he was, as well in his habit as 
 diet, generally temperate and frugal ; that he remem- 
 bered, and gratefully rewarded, every service that was 
 conferred upon him when he was in an inferior station; 
 nor did his elevation make him unmindful of his former 
 poverty: his sister once intimating that it was unbe- 
 coming his dignity to wear patched linen, he said to her, 
 "though we are exalted through the Divine Providence 
 to this high station, we ought not to forget, that shreds 
 and patches are the only coat of arms our family has any 
 title to." 
 
 The behaviour of Sixtus to his relations, previous to 
 his exaltation, has been already taken notice of; soon 
 after his accession to the pontificate, he sent for his fa- 
 mily to Koine, with express orders that they should 
 appear in a decent and modest manner. Accordingly 
 his sister Camilla, accompanied by her daughter and two 
 grandsons, and a niece, came thither. Our pope's re- 
 ception of them was as singular as any other part of his 
 conduct, for some of the cardinals, to ingratiate them- 
 selves with his holiness, went out to meet her, dressed 
 her in a very superb manner, and introduced her with 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 li>> SIX T US THE FIFTH. 
 
 great ctTPmony to the Vatican. When Sixtus saw her, 
 he pretended nol to know her, and asked two or three 
 times who she was, upou which one or' the cardinals, 
 who handed her in, said, *' it is your sister, hoi}' father." 
 " My sister !" replied Sixlus with a frown, " I have but 
 one sister, and she is a poor woman at Le Grotte : if 
 you have introduced her in this disguise, I declare I do 
 not know her; and yet I think I should know her again, 
 if I was to see her in such clothes as she used to wear.'* 
 After which he retired immediately, and left the cardi- 
 nals in great confusion, one of whom said to another, 
 lie was sure something was amiss, and thai it was well 
 if they were not in a wrong box. 
 
 Their conductors now thought it expedient to send the 
 pope's relations to a common inn, where they were dis- 
 robcdof their finery. When this was done,Sixtus sent two- 
 of his ordinary coaches for them, and being introduced a 
 second time, the pope embraced them tenderly, and said 
 to Camilla, " Now we see it is our sister indeed : nobody 
 shall make a princess of you but ourselves." 
 
 The terms Sixtus stipulated with his sister, as the con- 
 ditions of her advancement, were, not to ask any favour 
 in matters of government, or make the least intercession 
 for criminals, or otherwise interfere in the administra- 
 tion of justice, assuring her that every suit of that kind 
 would meet with a refusal not less mortifying to her than 
 painful to himself. 
 
 Tiiis being settled, he made, indeed, a princely provi- 
 sion, not only for his sister, who took care punctually to 
 obey his orders, but also for all the family. Upon bis 
 eldest nephew, who had already been invested with the 
 purple, he also settled one hundred thousand crowns 
 a year, in estate and ecclesiastical benefices,besid<.'S two 
 hundred and fifty thousand crowns in houses, rich furni- 
 ture, plate, and jewels. For his other nephew he pur- 
 chased a principality, and gave him an estate of sixty 
 thousand crowns n year, with two superb palaces, oue in.
 
 SIXTUS THE FIFTH. 147 
 
 the country, and the other at Rome : and it was com- 
 puted that, at the death of his uncle, he was worth, in 
 ready money and jewels, three hundred thousand crowns. 
 To his two nieces he gave very large fortunes, and mar- 
 ried them into two of the noblest, as well as most opulent 
 families in Italy. 
 
 Our pope's severity could not exempt him from seve- 
 ral poignant satires, though we have only one instance 
 wherein he thought them worth his resentment, and that 
 related to his sister. Pasquin was dressed one morning 
 in a very nasty shirt, and being asked by Marforio, why 
 he wore such dirty linen, answered, He could get 
 no other, for the pope had made his washerwoman a 
 princess : meaning Camilla, who had formerly been a 
 laundress. 
 
 His holiness ordered strict search to be made for the 
 author, and promised to give him one thousand pistoles, 
 arid his life, provided he would discover himself; but 
 threatened to hang him, if he v/as found out by any 
 body else; and- offered the thousand pistoles to the 
 informer. 
 
 The author, though he had trusted no other person 
 with the secret, was so tempted with the promise of a 
 thousand pistoles, that he was simple enough to make a 
 full confession of it to the pope, demanding the money, 
 and to have his life spared. Sixtus was so astonished at 
 his folly and impudence, that he could not speak for 
 some time, and at last said, " It is true, we did make such 
 a promise, and we shall not be worse than our word ; 
 we give you your life, and you shall have the money 
 immediately;" ordering the money to be instantly paid 
 down. 
 
 When he had received the money, Sixtus asked him if 
 he was satisfied? and he answering that he was, Sixtus said 
 " We promised you your life, and one thousand pistoles ; 
 you have received both, and say you are satisfied : but 
 we reserved to ourselves the power of cutting off your
 
 118 HENRY WELBY. 
 
 bands, aud boring your tongue through, to prevent your 
 being so witty for the future :" which was directly exe- 
 cuted, Sixtus declaring, that he did not deserve the 
 punishment so much for the pasquinade, as for being so 
 audacious to avow it. 
 
 This great man, who was an encourager of arts as well 
 as arms, died, not without a suspicion of having been 
 poisoned by the Spaniards, on Monday the 27th of Au- 
 gust, 1590, having enjoyed the papacy little more than 
 five years. 
 
 HENRY WELBY. 
 
 AN this gentleman we find a rare example of extraordi- 
 nary abstinence and seclusion, in the midst of a gay and 
 luxuriant city. For the long period of forty-four years 
 he withdrew himself from all society, and during that 
 time never tasted either fish, flesh, or fowl, or any 'strong 
 drink. An account of his remarkable life was published 
 in 1637, the year after his death, under the title of the 
 P/ianix of these late times. 
 
 The noble and virtuous Henry Welby, a native of 
 Lincolnshire, was born in 1552, and inherited a clear 
 estate of more than 1000/. a year. He was regularly 
 bred at the University, and studied some time in one of 
 the Inns of Court. He afterwards spent several years in 
 the Low Countries, Germany, France and Spain. When 
 he returned he settled on his paternal estate, and lived 
 with great hospitality, respected by the rich, prayed for 
 by the poor, and honoured and beloved by all. Here 
 he married, and had a daughter, who was afterwards led 
 to the hymeneal altar by Sir Christopher Hilliard, a 
 baronet in Yorkshire. 
 
 At the age of forty, a younger brother, with whom he 
 had some difference of opinion, meeting him in the field,
 
 HENRY WELBY. 149 
 
 snapped a pistol at him, which fortunately, however, 
 flashed in the pan. Thinking this was only done to 
 frighten him, he coolly disarmed the ruffian, and putting 
 the weapon carelessly into his pocket, thoughtfully re- 
 turned home : on examination, he discovered that the 
 pistol was charged with more than one bullet, and this 
 circumstance had such an effect on his mind, that he 
 instantly formed the extraordinary resolution of retiring 
 entirely from the world, in which he inflexibly persisted 
 till the end of his life. 
 
 In the year 159 C 2 he accordingly came to London, 
 and took a neat house at the lower end of Grub-street, 
 near Cripplegate. This house he prepared for the pur- 
 pose, and contracting a numerous retinue into a small 
 family, he selected three chambers for himself, one for 
 eating, another for sleeping, and the other for a study. 
 As they were one within another, while his repast was 
 set on the table by an old maid, he retired into his bed- 
 chamber, when his bed was making, into his study, till 
 the rooms were clear. From these chambers he never 
 issued till he was carried out, forty-four years afterwards, 
 to his grave; during which time, no person ever saw 
 him, except his servant Elizabeth, and she only in cases 
 of necessity, although she cleaned his rooms and pro- 
 vided his food. 
 
 During the whole time of his retirement, his chief 
 food was oat-meal gruel, or occasionally in summer a 
 sallad of cool herbs, or the yolk of a hen's egg, but not 
 the white, and what bread he eat he cut out of the 
 middle, never tasting the crust. His constant drink was 
 beer, excepting at times his servant Elizabeth fetched 
 him some milk hot from the cow : yet he kept a bounti- 
 ful table for his servants, and sufficient entertainment 
 for any stranger or tenant who had business at his house. 
 Every book that was printed was bought for him, but 
 such as related to controversy he laid uside and never 
 read.
 
 J50 HENRY WELBY. 
 
 At Christmas, Easter, and other holidays, he had all 
 tlishes in season provided and served up in his own 
 chamber, when, having returned thanks to God, he 
 would put a clean napkin before him, and putting on a 
 pair of white holland sleeves, which reached to his 
 elbows, and cutting them up dish after dish, would send 
 them to different poor neighbours, till the table was 
 quite empty ; and then, without tasting any thing what- 
 ever himself, caused the cloth to be taken away. This 
 formality he invariably practised, both dinner and 
 supper, on those days. As he kept a kind of perpetual 
 fast, he no doubt devoted himself to continual prayer, 
 Excepting what he dedicated to study, for he was both a 
 scholar and a linguist, and left behind him some collec- 
 tions and translations of philosophy. 
 
 When any persons clamoured impudently at the gate, 
 they were not, on that account, immediately relieved ; 
 but when from his private chamber, which looked into 
 the street, he perceived any sick, infirm, or lame, he 
 sent after them with relief enough for several days. 
 He likewise inquired what neighbours were industrious, 
 and which had the largest families ; and if their labour 
 and industry could not abundantly supply their wants, 
 he used liberally to relieve them according to their ne* 
 cessities. 
 
 This singular, but benevolent and exemplary charac- 
 ter, died while sitting in a chair, at his house in Grub-* 
 street, after a confinement of forty-four years, October 
 the 29th, 1636, aged eighty-four years. At his death, 
 his hair and beard were so overgrown, that he appeared 
 rather like a hermit of the wilderness, than the inhabit- 
 ant of one of the first cities in the world. His remains 
 were interred in St. Giles's-church, Cripplegate. 
 
 The following lines are from the pen of the cele- 
 brated John Taylor, better known by the appellation of 
 the Water Poet.
 
 JOHN EARL OP ROCHESTER. 151 
 
 Old Henry Welby, well be thou for ever, 
 
 Thy purgatory's past, thy heaven ends never. 
 
 Of eighty-four years life, full forty-four 
 
 Men saw thee not, nor e'er shall see thee more ' 
 
 'Twas piety and patience caused thee 
 
 So long a prisoner (to thyself) to be. 
 
 Thy bounteous house, within, express'*! thy mind \ 
 
 Thy charity, without, the poor did find. 
 
 From wine thou wast a duteous Jftcliabite, 
 
 And tlesh so long time shunu'd thy appetite: 
 
 Small beer, a caudle, milk, or water gruel, 
 
 Strengthen'd thy grace, maintain'cl thy daily duel 
 
 'Gainst the bewitching world, the flesh, and fiend ; 
 
 Which made thee live and die well. There's au end. 
 
 JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 1 HIS nobleman, though qualified by his talents and 
 knowledge to have been one of the most extraordinary 
 men, not only of the nation, but of the age in which he 
 lived, rendered himself remarkable only for his unex- 
 ampled extravagance of conduct, which tarnished all his 
 brilliant qualities, and at length, to the astonishment of 
 the world, ended in a death-bed repentance almost as 
 unexampled. 
 
 John VVilmot, son of Henry the first Earl of Roches- 
 ter, who distinguished himself by his loyalty and attach- 
 ment to Charles I. and II. was born in April, lf>48, at his 
 father's seat nea/ Woodstock, in Oxfordshire. His edu- 
 cation was commenced at the free school of Burford, 
 where he made an extraordinary proficiency in his 
 studies, and began to display those shining parts which 
 afterwards appear*. -d with so much lustre. He acquired 
 the Latin language to great perfection, and, to the la-t 
 tlay of his life, retained an uncommon relish for the 
 beauties of that tongue, and was well skilled in the au- 
 thors of the Augustan age, whom he read with peculiar 
 delight.
 
 152 JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 In 1657, his father, who had followed the fortunes of 
 the house of Stuart, died abroad in his attendance on 
 Charles II. and his son of course succeeded to his titles. 
 Two years afterwards the young Lord Rochester was 
 admitted into Wadham College, Oxford. Here he con- 
 tinued to make a considerable progress in his literary 
 pursuits, from which he was, however, unfortunately 
 diverted by falling into company with a set of aban- 
 doned young men, who corrupted his morals. He was 
 still very young when he set out to make the tour of 
 Europe, accompanied by Dr. Balfour, a learned phy- 
 sician, who artfully enticed him to read such pieces as 
 were most likely to amend his morals and improve his 
 heart. The laudable artifices of this gentleman to ex- 
 cite in his pupil a thirst of knowledge, and a love of 
 books, were often afterwards acknowledged with grati- 
 tude by Lord Rochester, who used to read much in the 
 intervals between the woeful extravagancies to which he 
 was addicted : and though the time in general was but 
 indifferently employed, for the choice of the subjects 
 of his studies was not always good, yet the habitual 
 love of knowledge, together with these studious fits, 
 had much awakened his understanding and prepared him 
 for better things, when his mind was so far changed as 
 to relish them. 
 
 He returned from his travels in the eighteenth year of 
 his age, and appeared at the court of Charles II. with as 
 great advantages as any nobleman ever did. He was 
 well-shaped, tall, slender, and graceful ; he was exactly 
 well-bred, and his conversation was easy and obliging. 
 He had uncommon vivacity of thought and vigour of 
 expression, and his wit was equally subtle and sublime. 
 His style was clear and strong ; when he used meta- 
 phors, they were very lively, and yet far enough out of 
 the common road. It could not be surprising that a 
 nobleman who had received such accomplishments from 
 nature and education should be very acceptable in a 
 
 8
 
 JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 153 
 
 court, where pleasure appeared to be the primary 
 pursuit. 
 
 The court of England was, at that time, a court of 
 libertinism in which Lord Rochester became an adept. 
 The debauchery of his manners, which commenced at 
 College, increased in France and Italy, was completed 
 in London, and he became a perfect atheist in principle. 
 Soon after his return from his travels, he went to sea, in 
 the winter of 1665, us a volunteer in the armament 
 commanded by the Earl of Sandwich, .and equipped lor 
 the purpose of intercepting the Dutch East India fleet. 
 He was in the Revenge, commanded by Sir Thomas 
 Tiddiman, in the attack made on the port of Bergen in 
 Norway, in which the Dutch ships had taken refuge. 
 
 " It was," says Bishop Burnet, " as desperate an at- 
 tempt as ever was made; and during the whole action 
 the Earl of Rochester showed as brave and resolute a 
 courage as possible. A person of honour told me he 
 heard the Lord Clifford, who was in the same ship, often 
 magnify h,s courage very highly; nor did the rigour of 
 the season, the hardness of the voyage, and the extreme 
 danger he had been in, deter him from running the like 
 risk the very next occasion, for the summer following 
 lie went to sea again, without communicating his design 
 to ins rirurest relations. He went on board the ship 
 commiirded by Sir Edward Spragg. , the day before the 
 gn-Ht sea-right of that year, in which almost all the 
 volunteers who went in that ship were hilled. During 
 the action, Sir Edward being dissatisfied with the be- 
 haviour of one of the captains, could not easily find a 
 person that would undertake to venture through so 
 much danger to carry his command to the captain, 
 when Lord Rochester offered himself for the seiviee, 
 and went in a little boat through all the shot and deli- 
 vered his message, and returned back to Sir Edward ; 
 which action was commended by all who saw it." 
 
 Notwithstanding these early instances of intrepidity 
 VOL, i. U
 
 154 JOHN" KARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 evinced by Lord Rochester, his courage was afterwards 
 impeached by the timid and pusillanimous spirit which 
 he discovered in many private broils, but particularly in 
 an adventure with the Earl of Mulgrave. This affair o 
 honour is related by the latter nobleman in his works; 
 and as it is a curious anecdote, and serves to illustrate 
 the spirit of the age, we shall give it in his lordship's 
 own words. 
 
 " I was informed," says he, " that the Earl of Roches- 
 ter had said something of me, which, according to his 
 custom, was very malicious; I therefore sent Colonel 
 Aston, a very mettled friend of mine, to call him to ac- 
 count lor it. He denied the words, and indeed I was 
 soon convinced he had never said them ; but the mere 
 report, though I found it to be false, obliged me, as I 
 then foolishly thought, to go on with the quarrel ; and 
 the next day was appointed for us to fight on horseback, 
 a way in England a little unusual ; but it was his part to 
 choose. Accordingly I and my second lay the night be- 
 fore at Knightsbridge privately, to avoid the being 
 secured at London on any suspicion ; and in the morn- 
 ing, at the place appointed, we met the Lord Rochester, 
 who instead of James Porter, whom he assured Aston 
 he would make his second, brought an arrant lifeguard- 
 man whom nobody knew. To this Mr. Aston took ex- 
 ception, upon the account of his being no suitable 
 adversary ; especially considering how extremely well 
 he was mounted ; whereas we had only a couple of pads : 
 upon which we all agreed to fight on foot. But, as my 
 Lord Rochester and I were riding into the next field 
 in order to it, he told me that he had at first chosen to 
 light on horseback, because he was so weak with a certain 
 distemper, that he found himself unfit at all any way, 
 much less on foot. I was extremely surprised, because, 
 at that time, no man had a better reputation for courage; 
 and I took the liberty of representing what a ridiculous 
 story it would make, if we returned without fighting ;
 
 JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 and therefore advised him for both our sakes, especially 
 for his own, to consider better of it, since I must be 
 obliged, in my own defence, to lay the fault on him by 
 telling the truth of the matter. His answer was that he 
 submitted to it, and hoped that I would not desire the 
 advantage of having to do with any man in so weak a 
 condition. I replied that, by such an argument, he had 
 sufficiently tied my hands, upon condition that I mi.uht 
 call our seconds to be witnesses of the whole business ; 
 which he consented to, and so we parted. When we 
 returned to London, we found it full of this quarrel, 
 upon our being absent so long ; and therefore Mr. Aston 
 thought himself obliged to write down every word and 
 circumstance of this whole matter, in order to spread 
 every where the true reason of our returning without 
 having fought. This being never in the least contra- 
 dicted by Lord Rochester, entirely ruined his reputation 
 as to courage (of which I was really sorry to be the oc- 
 casion) though nobody had still a greater as to wit ; 
 which supported him pretty well in the world, notwith- 
 standing some other accidents of the same kind, th.it 
 never fail to succeed one another when once people 
 know of a man's weakness." 
 
 The circumstance contributed i,n a great measure to re- 
 call him to order and decency, and for some time he 
 conducted himself agreeably to the dictates of propriety, 
 but he soon relapsed. Before his travels, he 'had entered 
 into the disorderly and intemperate way of living, which 
 the joy of the whole kingdom upon the Restoration h;id 
 introduced ; and afterwards, continually keeping what 
 was called polite company, where those excesses wero 
 constantly practised, again habituated himself to them ; 
 and the natural hent of his fancy being inflamed with 
 wine, made him so extravagantly pleasant, that many, 
 in order to be the more diverted with his humour, strove 
 to immerse him deeper and deeper in intemperance. 
 
 He acknowledged to Bishop Bui net, that, lor five
 
 156 JOHN EARL OP ROCHESTER. 
 
 years together, 1 was continually intoxicated ; not liv- 
 ing the whole time under the visihle effect of liquor, but 
 never cool enough to be master of himself. There were, 
 in fact, two principles in the temper of this lively and 
 witty nobleman, which carried him into great excesses, 
 namely, a violent pleasure and a disposition to extrava- 
 gant mirth. One involved him in sensuality, an$ the 
 other led him into many strange adventures and frolics. 
 He was often known to run into the most eccentric pa- 
 roxysms of dissipation. He once disguised himself in 
 such a manner tiiat his nearest friends could not know 
 hiu , and set up for an Italian mountebank on Tower- 
 hill, where he practised quackery for several weeks. 
 He often disfigured himself as a beggar or a porter, to 
 follow some low amours, which he affected to give, as 
 he said, a variety to his life. At other times, to indulge 
 his humour, he would wander about in odd shapes, in 
 which he acted his part so naturally, that even those 
 who knew the secret, and saw him under those metamor- 
 phoses, could perceive nothing by which he might be 
 discovered. In his sober moments he was generous and 
 good-natured, but in his irregularities would go farther 
 than most of his companions after any thing that might 
 turn out a jest or matter of diversion. The celebrated 
 Andrew Marvel, who was himself a great wit, used to 
 say, that Rochester was the only man in England, who 
 had the true vein of satire! 
 
 The speech which he first made upon the occasion of 
 his first turning itinerant doctor, has often been printed. 
 It Las a true spirit of satire and a keenness of lampoon 
 perfectly conformable to the character of Rochester, 
 who certainly had an original turn for satirical composi- 
 tion. Against this talent majesty itself was not secure; 
 he more than once lampooned the king, who, being a 
 man of wit and pleasure as well as Rochester, took 
 these effusions for the sallies of genius, and the ebulli- 
 tion* of an exuberant fancy, rather than the efforts of
 
 JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 157 
 
 malice; yet, either from a too frequent repetition, or 
 from the loo close and poignant virulence of one of his 
 satirical coin positions. Charles at length banished him 
 the court. This piece was entitled The Restoration ; or, 
 the History of the Insipids; and contains the keenest 
 reflections OB the political conduct and private character 
 of the prince. 
 
 About the same time, the Duke of Buckingham was 
 in disgrace for an offence of a different nature; and 
 being disengaged from any particular attachment in 
 town, he and Lord Rochester resolved to set out in quest 
 of adventures. After disguising themselves in a proper 
 manner for supporting the characters they intended to 
 assume, they jointly took an inn which was to be let on 
 the Newmarket road, where each in his turn officiated as 
 master. Here they were concerned in many ludicrous 
 arid still more scandalous transactions. 
 
 Having carefully observed the handsomest women in 
 their vicinity, they invited such of their neighbours as 
 had wives and daughters of that description to frequent 
 leasts, where the men were plied hard with good liquor, 
 and ihe women sufficiently warmed to make as little re- 
 sistance as would be agreeable to their inclinations. 
 By this stratagem they were frequently enabled to effect 
 their guilty purpose, and it is uiliicult to say whether it 
 be possible for two men to live to a worse end. 
 
 it is natural to imagine that this kind of life could not 
 be of long duration. Entertainments so frequently re- 
 peated, and for which no payment was ever required or 
 accepted, could not fail to excite a strong suspicion 
 either that the innkeepers would not be long able to 
 keep their house open, or that their circumstances were 
 greatly superior to the occupation they h;td adopted. 
 Of this the two profligate noblemen were fully sensible, 
 but they were not much concerned about it, as they had 
 jio intention long to pursue the same kind of adventures, 
 variety being the life of their enjoyments. It was
 
 ]"<8 JOHN EARL OP ROCHESTER. 
 
 besides, near the time of his Majesty's regular visit to 
 Newmarket, when they designed that the discovery of 
 their real plots should clear them from the imputation of 
 being concerned in any more pernicious to the govern- 
 ment. Before this time should arrive, they however re- 
 solved to accomplish one favourite object. 
 
 In the neighbourhood lived an old miser who had a 
 very pretty, young wife. He watched her with as much 
 care as he did his money, and never trusted her out of 
 his sight but under the protection of an old maiden 
 sister, who had never herself experienced the joys of 
 iove, and bore no great affection to such of her sex as 
 were young and handsome. The noble innkeepers had 
 no doubt that he would accept a treat like many others, 
 especially as he was fond of good living when it cost 
 him nothing; and except on such occasions, he was the 
 most temperate and abstemious man alive. But when 
 they could never prevail upon him to bring his wife, 
 notwithstanding they urged the presence of so many 
 females of character in the neighbourhood to keep her 
 company, their only study then was how to deceive the 
 old sister at home; this difficulty they soon found the 
 means of overcoming. For this purpose it was agreed 
 that Rochester should disguise himself in woman's 
 clothes, and that while the husband was feasting with the 
 duke, he should make trial of his skill upon the old 
 woman at home. . He had learned that she had no aver- 
 sion to the bottle, when she could come secretly and 
 conveniently at it. Equipped like a country lass, and 
 furnished with a bottle of liquor, he proceeded to the 
 house of the old miser. It was with difficulty he found 
 means to speak to the old woman, but at la^st obtained 
 the favour. He began to tell the occasion of his com- 
 ing, in hopes of being invited into the house, but could 
 not gain admittance farther than the porch, with the 
 door ajar. He was now obliged to -have recourse to his 
 lust expedient, and pretending to be suddenly taken ill,
 
 JOHN EARL OP ROCHESTER. l/>9 
 
 fell down upon the threshold. The noise brought out 
 the young wife, who with some trouble persuaded her 
 keeper to help the stranger into the house, from the re- 
 gard to the decorum of her sex, and the unhappy con- 
 dition she was in. The door had not been long shut be- 
 fore the impostor by degrees recovered, and being 
 placed on a chair, canted a very religious thanksgiving 
 to the old gentlewoman for her kindness, observing how 
 deplorable it was to be subject to such fits, which often 
 took her in the street and exposed her to many accidents j 
 but every now and then she took a sip at the bottle, re- 
 commending it also to the old duenna, who was sure to 
 drink a hearty dram. Rochester had in his pocket 
 another bottle qualified with opium, which he presented 
 to the woman, who drinking of it with greediness, soon 
 Jell fast asleep. Overjoyed by his success, and inflamed 
 with desire, his countenance changed colour, which 
 made the artless victim of his base passion imagine that 
 the fit was returning. He took advantage of her appre- 
 hension to ask if she would be so charitable as to let him 
 Jie down on the bed. The good-natured creature showed 
 him the way, and staying by him at his request, he began 
 to make some indirect inquiries concerning her husband, 
 whom she painted in his true colours, as a surly, jealous, 
 old tyrant. Under the idea that she was speaking to a 
 female, she was the less reserved in her behaviour and 
 expressions, and his lordship found that a tale of love 
 would not be disagreeable to her. In shoit he revealed 
 his sex, and without much opposition overcame her 
 scruples and satisfied his desire. iSot content with this, 
 lie prevailed on the unfortunate dupe of Ins artifices to 
 embrace this favourable opportunity of releasing herself 
 from the tyranny of her keeper, whom she robbed of a 
 considerable sum of money, and leaving the old woman 
 still asleep, went off with Rochester about midnight to 
 tho inn. The old man on his return home, finding his 
 sister asleep, his wife fied, and his money gone, w.-i>
 
 160 JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 thrown into a state of madness and hanged himself. 
 Rochester was soon cloyed with the possession of his 
 victim, on which he relinquished her to the duke, who 
 being in his turn weary of her, advised her to go to 
 London, where a life of infamy, and a miserable death, 
 were probably the reward of the crimes which she was 
 thus instigated to commit. This complicated villany 
 was one of those burdens which lay so heavy on Roches- 
 ter's mind when oppressed with the horrors of a death- 
 bed repentance. 
 
 Soon after this infamous adventure, the king, coming 
 that way, found these two profligate noblemen in their 
 posts at the inn, restored them to favour, and permitted 
 them to accompany him to Newmarket. 
 
 Rochester now continued the same extravagant pursuit 
 of pleasure as before, and would even indulge in free- 
 doms with thai prince whom he had once so highly of- 
 fended. He is supposed to have contrived with one of 
 Charles's mistresses the following stratagem, to cure that 
 monarch of the nocturnal rambles to which he was ad- 
 dicted. He one night proposed to accompany him to a 
 celebrated house of intrigue, where the king had heard 
 ih at the finest women in England were to be found. 
 The king made no scruple to assume his usual disguise, 
 and to go with him. While he was engaged with one of 
 the ladies, she, having been previously instructed by 
 Rochester, picked his pocket of all his money and watch, 
 which the king did not immediately miss. Neither the 
 people of the house, nor the girl herself, knew or had the 
 least suspicion of the quality of their visitor. After 
 some time he inquired for Rochester, but was told that 
 he had quilted the house without taking leave; but what 
 was his embarrassment when, on searching his pockets, 
 in order to discharge i!>e reckoning, he discovered that 
 his money was gone. He was then reduced to ask the 
 favour of the mistress of the house to give him credit till 
 the uext day, as the gentleman who had come in with 
 
 8
 
 JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. l6l 
 
 him and had not returned was to have paid for both; 
 the consequence of this request was that he was much 
 abused and laughed at ; the old woman plainly told him 
 that she had often been served such dirty tricks, and 
 would not permit him to stir tiii the reckoning was paid. 
 She then called one of her bullies to take care of him. 
 In this ridiculous dilemma stood the British monarch, 
 the prisoner of a bawd ; and the life on which were 
 fixed a nation's hopes was thus put in the power of a 
 ruffian. After much altercation, the king, at length, 
 proposed that she should accept a ring which he then 
 took off his finger, in pledge for her money, which she 
 likewise refused, telling him, that as she was.no judge 
 of the value of the ring, she did not choose to accept 
 such pledges. The monarch then desired that a jeweller 
 might be called to give his opinion of the value of it; 
 but he was answered that the expedient was impracti- 
 cable, as no jeweller could then be supposed to be out 
 of bed. After much entreaty his majesty at last pre- 
 vailed on the fellow to knock up a jeweller and show 
 him the ring. No sooner had he inspected it, than he 
 inquired, with eyes fixed on the man, whom he had got 
 in his house : on which the other answered that it was a 
 black-looking, ugly rake, who had no money in his 
 pocket, and was obliged to pawn his ring. The jeweller 
 found the ring so immensely rich that he exclaimed, 
 " But one man in the nation can afford to wear it, and 
 that one is the king." Astonished at the circumstance, 
 he went out with the messenger, in order to be fully 
 satisfied of so extraordinary an all'air; and, as soon as 
 he entered the room, he fell upon his knees, and with the 
 utmost respect presented the ring to his majesty. The 
 people of the house, finding the extraordinary quality 
 of their guest, were confounded, and asked pardon in the 
 most submissive manner. The king with great good 
 humour forgave them, and, laughing, asked whether the 
 ring would not beat another bottle. Thus endeti this ad- 
 VOL. J. x
 
 IG'2 JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 venture, in which Charles was taught how dangerous it' 
 was to risk his person in nocturnal frolics; and he could 
 not but severely reprove Rochester for having acted 
 such a part towards him. 
 
 The excesses of the earl's life were not always pleasant 
 to him; in the midst of his indiscretions he often expe- 
 rienced very melancholy intervals, and a number of 
 severe reflections occurred which gave him uneasiness;. 
 but he always endeavoured to secure and fortify his 
 mind against the fears of a future state, his disbelief of 
 which, he used to say, was considerably strengthened by. 
 the following circumstance : 
 
 In the early part of his life, when he was at sea, Mr. 
 Montague, and another young man of quality, happened 
 to be iu the same ship with him. In a very serious con- 
 versation between these dissipated characters, a few 
 nights previous to the engagement, Mr. Montague ex- 
 pressed his persuasion that he should never return to 
 England, and the other was possessed with the like opi- 
 nion with respect to himself, but was not so positive as 
 Montague, who declared he was certain he should not 
 outlive the battle. The Earl of Rochester and the other 
 youth then entered into a formal engagement, not 
 without ceremonies of religion, that if either of them 
 died, he should appear and acquaint the survivor with 
 his situation in a future state, if there was any. Mon- 
 tague was requested to enter into the same agreement 
 but refused. On the day the English attacked the 
 Dutch fleet at Bergen, Montague, though he had a. 
 strong presentiment of his approaching death, yet nobly 
 staid all the time upon deck in the place of the greatest 
 danger. The other gentleman signalized his courage in 
 a most undaunted manner till the end of the action, 
 when he suddenly fell into such a trembling that he 
 could scarcely stand ; and Montague going to support 
 hi:n, as they were in each other's arras, a cannon ball 
 killed him on the spot, and wounded Montague so ter-
 
 JOttN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 163 
 
 ribly in the belly that he died within an hour. Roches- 
 ter afterwards acknowledged that these presages made 
 some impression upon him, that there were separated 
 beings, and that the soul, either by a natural sagacity, 
 or some secret notice communicated to it, had a sort of 
 divination; but that the gentleman's not appearing to 
 him greatly misled him with respect to his belief of a 
 future state. 
 
 By constant indulgence in every kind of licentious- 
 ness and irregularity, Rochester wore out an excellent 
 constitution before lie had completed his thirtieth year. 
 In October, 1679, when he was in a convalescent state, 
 having been afflicted with some severe disorders, he be- 
 came intimately acquainted with Dr. Burnet, to whom 
 he opened all his thoughts, and gave him a full view of 
 his past life. They canvassed at various times the prin- 
 ciples of morality, of natural and revealed religion, and 
 of Christianity in particular. The result was, thai 
 though the earl had lived the life of an atheist and a 
 libertine, he became on his death-bed a good Christian 
 and most sincere penitent. 
 
 The philosophers of the present age will naturally 
 suppose that his contrition and conviction were purely 
 the effects of weakness and low spirits, which scarcely 
 suffer a man to continue in his senses, and certainly not 
 to be master of himself; but Dr. Burnet affirms him to 
 have been under no such decay, as either darkened or 
 weakened bis understanding, nor troubled with the 
 spleen or vapours, or under the power of melancholy. 
 The following letter from the earl to Dr. Burnet, dated 
 Woodstock-park, June 25, iGSO, will sufficiently prove 
 the sincerity of his heart. 
 
 ' My most lt'1/ioarcd Dr. Burnet, 
 
 " My spirits and body decay so equally together, that I shall write 
 you a letter as weak as I am in person. I begin to value church mm 
 above all men in the world, &rc. If God be yet pleased to spare me 
 longer in this world, I hope in your conversation to be exalted to that
 
 164 JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 degree of piety ; that the world may see how much I abhor what I so 
 long loved, and how much I glory in repentance, and in God's service. 
 Bestow your prayers upon me, that God would spare me, if it be his 
 good will, to show a true repentance and amendment of life for the time 
 to come: or else if the Lord pleaseth (o put an end to my worldly 
 being now, that he would mercifully accept of my death-bed repent- 
 ance, and perform that promise he hath been pleased <o make, that at 
 what time soever a sinner doth repent, he would receive him. Put up 
 these prayers, most dear doctor, to Almighty God, for 
 
 Your most obedient, and languishing servant, 
 
 ROCHESTER." 
 
 The above is a literal copy of the letter, with the ex- 
 ception of some personal compliments to the doctor, 
 which are of course omitted. 
 
 Some time before his death, the earl declared that he 
 had been ruined and driven to such dreadful excesses by 
 reading the works of that old sinner Hobbes.* 
 
 He expired on the 26th of July, 1680, at the lodge at 
 Woodstock-park, of which he was ranger, without con- 
 vulsion, or even a groan ; for though he had not com- 
 pleted his 33d year, yet nature was so entirely exhausted 
 as to be unable to make the least effort. Thus died a 
 man who was truly, as the Rev. Mr. Simpson says, " a 
 great man every way ; a great wit, a great scholar, a 
 great poet, a great sinner, and a great penitent." 
 
 His poems have been often printed, but it is not easy 
 
 * Mr. Hobbes was a celebrated infidel in the last age, who, in bra- 
 vado, would sometimes speak very unbecoming things of GOD and 
 his word. Yet, when alone, he was haunted with the, tormenting re- 
 flections, and would awake in great terror, if his candle happened 
 only to go out in the night. He could never bear any discourse of 
 death, and seemed to cast off all thought of it. He lived to be up- 
 wards of ninety. His last sensible words were, when he found he 
 could live no longer, " I shall be glad then to find a hole to creep out 
 of the world at." And, notwithstanding all his high pretensions to 
 learning and philosophy, his uneasiness constrained him to confess, 
 when he drew near to the grave, that " he was about to take a leap in 
 the dark." Simpson's Plea for Religion.
 
 JOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. 165 
 
 to say what are his ; for after he had once obtained the 
 character of a lewd and obscene writer, every thing in 
 that strain was fathered upon him, and many things not 
 his crept into various editions of his works. His charac- 
 ter has been thus given by that great biographer and 
 critic, Dr. Johnson. " Lord Rochester was eminent fbr 
 many wild pranks and sallies of extravagance. The 
 glare of his general character diffused itself upon his 
 writings. The compositions of a man, whose name had 
 been heard so often, were certain of attention, and from 
 many readers certain of applause. This blaze of repu- 
 tation is not yet extinguished ; and his poetry still 
 retains some splendour beyond that which genius has 
 bestowed." 
 
 The author of the Catalogue of Royal and Noble 
 Authors calls him, "a. man whom the Muses were fond 
 to inspire, and ashamed to avow; and who practised 
 without the least reserve that secret, which can make 
 verses more read for their defects, than for their merits. 
 The art, continues he, is neither commendable nor dif- 
 ficult. Moralists proclaim loudly, that there is no wit 
 in indecency: it is very true: indecency is far from 
 conferring wit; but it does not destroy it neither. Lord 
 Rochester's poems have much more wit than poetry, 
 more poetry than politeness." 
 
 Mrs. Wharton, in an Elegy on the Earl of Rochester, 
 has thus immortalized his memory : 
 
 He civiliz'd the rude, and taught the young, 
 Made fools grow wise, such artful magic hung, 
 Upon his useful, kind, instructing tongue. 
 His lively wit was of himself a part, 
 Not, as in other men, the work of art ; 
 For though his learning like his wit was great, 
 Yet sure his learning came below his wit, 
 As God's immediate gifts are better far 
 Than those we borrow from our likeness here ; 
 
 He was but I want words, and ne'er can tell ; 
 
 Vet this I know, he did mankind excel.
 
 166 
 
 NATHANIEL BENTLEY. 
 
 .A. GERMAN traveller, in describing the national charac- 
 ter of the inhabitants of our island, observes " What 
 particularly astonishes a stranger at the first sight of an 
 English town, and commands his admiration, is the 
 pleasing appearance which is so universally exhibited in 
 the exterior as well as the interior of their habitations, 
 as to convey a high idea of the prosperity of this country, 
 and the happiness of iis inhabitants. No where do you 
 observe any thing that bespeaks poverty, any thing dirty, 
 neglected or decayed; wealth and good management 
 are evinced in the high degree of order, cleanliness, 
 neatness, excellence, and preservation of every object, 
 fhe inside as well as the outside of the houses in Eng- 
 land betray, in these respects, the prevailing disposition 
 of this people. This peculiarity in the national charac- 
 ter of the English commands our highest esteem, and 
 deserves to be held up as a pattern for the imitation of 
 all other nations." He then proceeds to remark on the 
 cjress of the people who crowd the streets of London, 
 spd says : " In all other places of the kind that ever I 
 saw, the great majority of the pedestrians consisted of 
 people, who, if not dirtily^ were, however, shabbily 
 dressed ; here on the contrary, persons in squalid and 
 shabby apparel belong to the exceptions." Of these ex- 
 ceptions, a most conspicuous one is the subject of the 
 following pages. 
 
 Naihauiel Bentley, late the proprietor of a hardware 
 shop in Leadenhail-street, known by the characteristic 
 appellation of the Dirty Warehouse, and himself distin- 
 guished by that of Dirty Dick, was the son of a gentle- 
 man of the same name, who carried on the same busi- 
 ness in those premises. The elder Bentley here lived in 
 considerable style, keeping his carriage, and also a 
 country-house. He gave his son u good education, but
 
 ) 
 
 -/// . '
 
 NATHANIEL BENTLEY. 167 
 
 being of a tyrannical disposition, treated him, as well 
 as his servants, in the most unreasonable manner, in con- 
 sequence of which young Bentley ran away from his 
 father, and was absent several years; daring which 
 time it is supposed that he contracted that peculiar turn 
 of mind which afterwards manifested itself in such an 
 eccentric manner. 
 
 His frugality seems to have been an hereditary en- 
 dowment, for his father, who possessed considerable 
 property in houses at Islington, married a lady for the 
 sake of her fortune, which enabled him to save his own 
 money; and laid down his own coach, making use of 
 hi-i's. Though a dissenter, he gave a bell to the church 
 of Si. Catherine Cree, in which parish he resided, on 
 condition that a pe;sl should be rung on his birth-day, as 
 long as he lived. 
 
 Jientley's father died about the year 1760, leaving all 
 his property to his son, who, perhaps, desirous at that 
 time to relinquish business, at first intended to dispose 
 of the stock, trade and lease of the premises, for which 
 he was in treaty with a Mr. Bliss, of Pall-mall. The 
 latter proposed to pay half the purchase money and to 
 give undeniable security for the remainder, but these 
 terms were rejected by Bentley. At that time the pre- 
 mises formed two distinct shops ; these he now threw 
 into one, and in 1/64 set out for Paris. During his 
 absence he left a person to attend to his business, who 
 being a cleanly and industrious man, placed every article 
 in proper order, little thinking it would be the last time 
 that some of thorn would ever be cleaned and dusted. 
 
 Previous to the death of his father, and for some 
 years after that event, young Bentley was called the beau 
 of Leadenhail-strect, and was seen at all public places 
 dressed as a man of fashion. At this period his favourite 
 suit was bine and silver, with his hair dressed in the 
 highest style of fashionable extravagance. lie paid 
 :;1 visiis^to Paris, and was present at the coronation 
 

 
 168 NATHANIEL BENTLEY. 
 
 of Louis XVI. to whom he was personally introduced, 
 and was considered one of the most accomplished 
 English gentlemen then at the French court. He spoke 
 several languages, particularly French and Italian, with 
 great fluency, and associated with characters of the 
 highest respectability. The last time he went to Paris, 
 he committed the care of his shop to two persons whom 
 he thought he could trust, and on his return paid their 
 demands, without requiring any vouchers, observing he 
 was most likely to obtain correct accounts by having 
 none. 
 
 At what time he began to assume that appearance 
 from which he derived the familiar appellation of Dirty 
 Dick, is uncertain. Though he occasionally appeared 
 at masquerades, assemblies, and other public places, in 
 the most elegant attire, yet his appearance at home was 
 such as fully to justify the above epithet. He generally 
 attended in his shop without a coat, while the remainder 
 of his dress and his whole person exactly corresponded 
 with the appearance of his warehouse. A gentleman 
 once venturing to give him some advice respecting the 
 propriety of a little more attention to personal cleanli- 
 ness, he replied, "It is of no use, sir; if I wash my 
 hands to-day they will be dirty again to-morrow." On 
 returning from any place of public entertainment, his 
 .elegant attire was immediately thrown aside for his shop 
 .clothing, which he mended himself; and it was also 
 said that he made no secret of washing and mending 
 his own linen, and of purchasing his shoes at Rag-fair. 
 Before the hair-powder tax was introduced Bentley, fre- 
 quently paid a shilling for dressing that head whictrhe 
 afterwards seemed to think unworthy even of a comb. On 
 oneoccasion he sentfor a puff, but would not have it when 
 told that the price was sixpence. "Why!" cried he, 
 " they used to be two shillings a dozen, and that's only 
 two-pence a piece," and rather than give the sum de- 
 manded he made shift with the foot of an old stocking^ 
 
 8
 
 NATHANIEL BENTLEY. 169 
 
 Formerly he did not go out more than once or twice 
 in a year, on account of his being so tormented by the 
 gaping multitude, who were all in uproar after him, that 
 he has frequently been obliged to have the assistance of 
 the beadle, or a constable to disperse them. He once 
 played these idle folks a curious trick, by placing a 
 lighted candle in one of his windows, and slipping out 
 unperceived, while the expecting throng remained 
 several hours opposite the house in hopes of seeing him, 
 but were obliged at last to disperse without satisfying 
 their curiosity. He, however, latterly appeared very 
 often in the street, and frequently went to market for 
 himself, carrying the provision home in his pocket, 
 which he always cooked himself. 
 
 He once bought a live goose for the sake of the wings 
 to clean his goods, on which occasion he employed a 
 woman to go to market for him, with a particular charge 
 to buy a young one, and gave her three-pence for her 
 trouble. The goose, however, proved to be old, which 
 he did not discover while eating the flesh, but by en- 
 deavouring to crack the breast-bone, on which besought 
 the woman, in order to recover the three-pence he had 
 paid her. He often sent in the name of Dirty Dick for 
 very small quantities of vegetables, and was seldom 
 known to have any fresh meat, though he would occa- 
 sionally indulge himself with small pieces, called cutting?. 
 His chief diet was lean bacon, us he remarked that far 
 was wasteful; and allowed himself half a gallon ot 
 table beer every three days. In his living, it is reported 
 that he never exceeded eighteen-pence a day, 1< r h< ob- 
 served that if he had followed the examples ot many 
 other people, or even his own former custom ot living, 
 he should inevitably have involved himself in a state of 
 bankruptcy or have spent the remainder of his day* in 
 prison. When told that other people could not live as 
 he did, he would reply : " Every one can that pleases" 
 insisting that it was no hardship to him, though, in his 
 
 VOT. i. Y
 
 170 NATHANIEL BENTLEY. 
 
 early days, he had seven dishes on his table at a time, 
 and three servants to attend h:m. 
 
 Being applied to for his vote during the contest of Sir 
 Francis Burdett and Main waring, for Middlesex, he re- 
 fused it for either, as he had never taken an oath in his 
 life, and declined even the affirmation of a Quaker, 
 alleging the hurry of business as his excuse. 
 
 It seems that Mr. Beutley was the only one in his 
 family that was governed by these strange pr : -nsities ; 
 he had a sister, a very accomplished lady, wi <> for ele- 
 gance and neatness was quite the contrast of himself; 
 she was the wife of a Mr. Lindegreen, a considerable mer- 
 chant of Mincing-lane, after whose decease she took up 
 her residence at Durham-place, Chelsea, near the Hos- 
 pital. She once paid her brother a visit, and bespoke 
 some articles, which she requested him to send her. 
 Bentley desired a person in his neighbourhood to take 
 them home, observing, that if he went himself, he 
 should not get payment on delivery of the goods. The 
 messenger was surprised at the respectable appearance 
 and polite behaviour of his sister, who desired him to 
 give her love to her brother, that she would call to see 
 him, and then settle with him ; on this message being 
 communicated to Bentley, he exclaimed " Aye, aye 
 I was afraid how it would be." She often visited her 
 brother in her chariot, but never alighted, in conse- 
 quence of the extreme filthiness of the shop. 
 
 Having once invited some persons of high respecta- 
 bility to supper, after transacting business with them to 
 a considerable amount, they came to appointment, and 
 found him in his shop. He received them with great 
 politeness, requesting them to excuse him a few minutes, 
 and went out. He soon returned with a pound of cheese, 
 a loaf, and two pots of porter, which he placed on his 
 dirty counters, saying: "There, gentlemen, is your 
 supper, and it is the best which the business we have 
 been transacting will afford." He thought they would
 
 NATHANIEL BENTLEY. 171 
 
 have partaken of it just as it was ; but with equal polite- 
 ness they declined his offer. 
 
 At one time he had the misfortune to hurt his leg, 
 while rummaging about his mass of goods id his shop in 
 search of an article ; having undertaken his cure he en- 
 gaged with an old woman, at fourpence a day, to supply 
 him with poultices, &c. but his leg getting worse, a 
 surgeon was called in, who declared a mortification must 
 ensue, if proper remedies were not applied ; to which he, 
 after great hesitation, consented, and his removal to ihe 
 doctor's house in Houndsditch being deemed expedient, 
 the shop was shut up, and a poor woman commissioned 
 to watch it by day, and a man by night. 
 
 Bentley's house, which was of a large size, had origi- 
 nally a front of white plaster, which time had con- 
 verted into a dingy black. Its outside perfectly corre- 
 sponded with the interior, and both with the figure of iis 
 extraordinary inhabitant. The windows were literally 
 as black, and covered as thickly with dirt and smoke, a* 
 the back of a chimney which has not been swept for 
 many years. Of the windows scarcely a pane was left, 
 whole, to remedy which several of the window shutter* 
 long remained unopened, and the other vacancies were 
 repaired with japanned waiters, and 4ea-trays, which 
 were always chained to the window frames. Though 
 this method of proceeding may appear to have arisen 
 from parsimony, yet notoriety, rather than avarice, 
 seemed to be his ruling principle. By the adoption of 
 this dirty system lie found, by experience, that he excited 
 much curiosity, and attracted considerable notice. lie 
 has been heard himself to relate, thai a lady came pur- 
 posely from Yorkshire to see him as the most remark- 
 able character she had ever heard of, and it is certain 
 that other ladies have been equally curious. Several of 
 his neighbours, especially those on the opposite side of 
 the street, frequently offered to defray the expense of 
 painting and jrpjiirmg the front of his house, but
 
 172 NATHANIEL BENTLEY. 
 
 be constantly refused, alleging that his shop was so 
 well known abroad, as well as at home, by the denomi- 
 nation of the Dirty Warehouse of Leadenhall-street, 
 that to alter its appearance would ruin his trade with 
 the Levant and other foreign parts. 
 
 The appearance of this extraordinary place, and its 
 no less extraordinary inhabitant, is described with much 
 spirit in the following lines, which appeared in the Eu- 
 ropean Magazine for January, 1801. 
 
 " Who but has seen (if he can see at all) 
 'Twixt Aldgate's well-known pump and Leadenhal!, 
 A curious hard-ware shop, in general full 
 Of wares from Birmingham and Pontipool ! 
 Begrim'd with dirt, behold its ample front, 
 With thirty years' collected filth upon't ; 
 See festoon'd cobwebs pendant o'er the door, 
 While boxes, bales, and trunks, are strew'd around the floor. 
 
 " Behold how whistling winds and driving rain, 
 Gain free admission to each broken pane, 
 Save where the dingy tenant keeps them out 
 With urn or tray, knife-case, or dirty clout ! 
 Here snuffers, waiters, patent screws for corks ; 
 There castors, card-racks, cheese-trays, knives and forks! 
 Here empty cases pil'd in heaps on high; 
 There packthread, papers, rope, in wild disorder lie. 
 
 " O say, thou enemy to soap and towels ! 
 Hast no compassion lurking in thy bowels ? 
 Think what the neighbours suffer by thy whim 
 Of keeping self and house in such a trim ! 
 The officers of health should view the scene, 
 And put thy shop and thee in quarantine. 
 Consider thou, in summer's ardent heat, 
 When various means are tried to cool the street, 
 What must each decent neighbour suffer then 
 From noxious vapours issuing from thy den ? 
 
 " When fell disease with all her horrid train 
 Spreads her dark pinions o'er ill-fated Spain, 
 That Britain may not witness such a scene 
 Behoves us doubly now to keep our dwelling clean.
 
 NATHANIEL BENTLEY. 173 
 
 " Say, if within the street where thou dost dwell, 
 Each house were kept exactly like thy cell ; 
 O say, thou enemy to brooms and mops ! 
 How long thy neighbours could keep open shops. 
 If, following thee in taste, each wretched elf, 
 Unshav'd, unwash'd, and squalid like thyself, 
 Resolv'd to live? The answer's very plain, 
 One year would be the utmost of their reign : 
 Victims to filth, each vot'ry soon would fall, 
 And one grand gaol-distemper kill them all. 
 
 " Persons there are, who say tlioit hast been seen 
 Some years ago, wth hands and face wash'd clean; 
 And would'st thou quit this most unseemly plan, 
 Thou art, 'tis said, a very comely man : 
 Of polish'd language, partial to the fair, 
 Then why not wash thy face, and comb thy matted hair; 
 Clear from thy house accumulated dirt, 
 New paint the front, and wear a cleaner shirt!" 
 
 The confusion which prevailed in the interior of this 
 place was not less remarkable than its ruinous appear- 
 ance without. Gold ear-rings, trinkets, and other valu- 
 able articles, lay buried among his goods in various parts 
 of ilie house. Nothing perhaps can convey a better 
 idea of the disorder of Bentley's shop and business than 
 the following anecdote. The traveller of a mercantile 
 house at Birmingham called upon him, and obtained an 
 order to a considerable amount which was duly executed. 
 About two years afterwards he waited upon him for pay- 
 ment for the goods,, when Bentley, not recollecting his 
 person, was astonished at the demand, and declared 
 his total ignorance of the transaction. The traveller afu-r 
 repeated applications, attributing the cause to the appa- 
 rent confusion of the place, requested permission to 
 search for the goods, which he thought he should know. 
 After spending much time and trouble, he at length dis- 
 covered the bale of goods, unpacked, exactly as it waa 
 icnt from Birmingham, and Bentley, being convinced, 
 immediately settled the account.
 
 174 NATHANIEL BENTLEY. 
 
 The ignorant circulated a report that he had in his house 
 a blue room, for the same purpose as that mentioned in the 
 popular story of Blue-beard ; but this is thought to have 
 been set on foot by himself for the purpose of checking im- 
 pertinent curiosity. It is, however, a fact, that he had a 
 room which had remained locked up without being ever 
 opened for a great number of years. Of this singular fancy 
 the following circumstance is said to have been the cause. 
 Bentley was engaged to be married to a young lady, and 
 previous to the performance of the ceremony, he invited 
 her and several of her relatives to partake of a sumptu- 
 ous entertainment. Having prepared every thing for 
 their reception, he anxiously awaited in this apartment 
 the arrival of his intended bride, when a messenger 
 entered, bringing the melancholy intelligence of her 
 sudden death. This unexpected event had such an 
 effect upon him, that he closed up the room, with the 
 resolution that it should never again be opened. 
 
 In this capacious habitation Bentley lived alone, witb 
 out servant or domestic of any kind. For more than 
 twenty years before he quitted business, he had not 
 kept a servant of either sex, and if asked the reason he 
 would reply that he was once robbed by a servant, and 
 was therefore determined never to keep one again. 
 To a person who inquired whether he kept a dog or cat 
 to destroy any vermin he might have in the house, he 
 answered with a smile: " No sir, they only make more 
 dirt and spoil more goods than their services are worth. 
 And as to rats and mice" added he, " how can they live 
 in my house when I take care to leave them nothing 
 10 eat r" 
 
 Though he kept no servant in his house, he employed 
 a poor man by the hour to watch his door, to prevent 
 the intrusion of impertinent people, carry out his goodfc 
 occasionally, buy provisions, and hand the shutters, 
 which he himself put up and took down every night and 
 looming. This man liad directions when Bentley was
 
 NATHANIEL BENTLEY. 175 
 
 above, shaving or otherwise employed, to call him on 
 ihe entrance of any customer, when he would come 
 down just as he was, half shaved, or perhaps half naked. 
 Notwithstanding his oddities he was remarkably polite to 
 his customers, and the ladies in particular were loud in 
 their praises of the elegance of his manners. 
 
 Amid the mass of h'lth which a long series of years 
 had accumulated in his habitation, Bentley led the kind 
 of life we have already described, till his lease of the pre- 
 mises expired, and in February, 1804, he quitted them 
 with great reluctance, being under articles to his succes- 
 sor, Mr. Gosling, to relinquish business in his favour. 
 For thirty ye^rs he had invariably refused admittance to 
 every one, the ground landlord not excepted, declaring 
 that he would not suffer a saint from heaven to go over 
 his house. His lease terminated at Christmas, 1802, and 
 during the next year he was the tenant of Mr. Gosling, 
 and to him also he denied access till he could no longer 
 withhold it. 
 
 Mr. Gosling, on obtaining possession of the premises, 
 indulged the curious wilh a view of the apartments. 
 This permission attracted a great number of visitors, by 
 one of whom the following description of the interior of 
 this extraordinary mansion is given. 
 
 The first objects that attracted attention were the 
 ponderous folding-doors of the shop, and the rusty bolts, 
 bars and chains for securing them. The ceiling in the 
 hall exhibited trace* of former elegance, and the stair- 
 case displayed much workmanship. On the first flight 
 of stairs hung the remains of a long extinguished lamp. 
 The first room on the first floor had been a kitchen, 
 where was seen a jack, spit, &,c. the rusty condition of 
 which demonstrated that it had not moved for many 
 years. It had long been .deprived of its chain, with 
 which Bentley secured the tea-trays placed against the 
 broken panes of his shop-windows. Here also was a 
 clock, which was once handsome, and no doubt regu-
 
 176 NATHANIEL BENTLEY. 
 
 Uted the movements of his father's family, but now so 
 disguised with dirt, as to be much better calculated to 
 inform the spectator how many years' filth it had accu- 
 mulated, than to point out the fleeting hours and mi- 
 nutes. The kitchen range, once equally good and use- 
 ful, had only been used to support a frying-pan without 
 4i handle, curiously mended with pegs, in which Bentley 
 used to burn a mixture of small-coal and charcoal for 
 cooking his provisions. The furniture of this place 
 consisted of a dirty round table, and a bottomless chair 
 made useful by the cover of a packing-box. Except a 
 few articles of broken earthenware, the shelves and 
 dressers exhibited nothing but old shoes, a masquerade 
 wig, cocked hat and sword. Beside the tin flour-vessel, 
 the cleanest article in the house, stood a chemist's pipkin 
 supplied with soap for shaving, a brush of his own ma- 
 nufacture, and a piece of broken looking-glass curiously 
 inlaid in wood. This was evidently the only dressing 
 and sitting room, and here also its extraordinary inha- 
 bitant reposed, wrapping himself up in an old coat, and 
 lying upon the floor, which from the accumulated dirt 
 and rubbish must have been softer than the bare boards. 
 
 Next to the kitchen was a small study apparently long 
 inhabited by spiders. The closet was full of dirty bottles, 
 from which it was conjectured that Bentley had for- 
 merly been engaged in chemical pursuits. The ceiling 
 of this room had been elegant, and the ground being 
 blue, he gave it the name of the blue room, by which 
 it has already been mentioned in this narrative. The 
 secretary and book-case contained some valuable works; 
 the counter-part was his jewelry casket, from which he 
 used to indulge his female customers with little orna- 
 ments as presents, which never failed to be very pro- 
 ductive in his way of busines?. . 
 
 The dining room contained a large round mahogany 
 table, at which, as Bentley related, the company were 
 entertained at his christening. Here the looking glasses
 
 NATHANIEL BENT1YEY. 177 
 
 nnd pictures could not be distinguished from the sahle 
 walls. The antiquated grate, once of highly polished 
 steel, but for many years a prey to consuming rust, con- 
 tained nothing combustible, but seemed to groan under 
 an immense burden of mortar and rubbish blown down 
 the chimney. The marble sideboard, relics of chairs, 
 the chimney-piece elegantly carved, and the shades of 
 lustres hung round the ceiling, indicated the former re- 
 spectability of the place. The carpet in this room was 
 a curiosity, for except the corner was turned up, the 
 visitor imagined that he was treading on dirty boards. 
 One of the closets was full of pipkins and phials, of 
 which Bentley charged his successor to be particularly 
 careful as they contained poison enough to destroy half 
 London. 
 
 The second floor was truly a repository of rubbish and 
 filth. In one of the rooms was a heap of feathers, 
 which had been the contents of a bed that had fallen to 
 pieces on being moved, and adjoining to this was a 
 small apartment, once his mother's favourite dressing- 
 room, but long converted into a workshop, and which 
 contained the remains of a forge, work-bench, tools for 
 jewellery, smith's work, japanning and other opera- 
 tions. In the passage lay all the accompt books of his 
 father, who no doubt would have been equally mortified 
 and irritated could he have returned to witness his 
 son's proceedings. In one of the garrets were found 
 fragments of a four-post bedstead, relics of blankets, 
 pillows, and bedding, but no description can convey any 
 idea of their rotten and filthy condition. This had evi- 
 dently once been Bentley 's chamb-.'r. It also contained 
 a heap of old shoes and several baskets of foul cast-off 
 linen. In another of the garrets was a table covered 
 with globes and astronomical instrnmrnts, u-lescopes, 
 compasses, and book*, and here; Bentley is said to have- 
 spent much time in the- study of the heavens. 
 
 Such was the appearance of the inleiior ot this builu- 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 178 NATHANIEL BENTLEY. 
 
 ing, which remained for twenty years the wonder of 
 every spectator. Bentley, before lie quitted the pre- 
 mises, was at length obliged to submit to the disagree- 
 able necessity of putting them in repair. To avoid any 
 legal discussion on the subject of dilapidations, he paid 
 down without hesitation the sum at which the surveyor 
 estimated the expense of the repairs; but in this busi- 
 ness he manifested his accustomed singularity, not suffer- 
 ing the labourers to enter the ground floor but compel- 
 ling them to descend into the cellar through its window, 
 and to go up to the top and other parts by a ladder 
 raised against the front, so as not to interrupt the busi- 
 ness of his shop. 
 
 In February, 1804, as we have already mentioned, 
 Bentley finally quitted that house, in which for forty 
 years he had conducted business in a manner so truly 
 extraordinary. He then took a house in Jewry-street, 
 Aldgate, where he lived for three years, but the land- 
 lord, not willing that it should fall a sacrifice to his filth, 
 declined the renewal of the lease, and Bentley was again 
 compelled to find another abode. 
 
 From Jewry-street he removed to Leonard-street, 
 Shoreditch, taking with him a stock of spoiled goods to 
 the amount of 10,000/. which he soon afterwards sold in 
 the lot for only 1000/. With this added to 400/. which 
 he then had in the Bank, he might have secured an 
 income fully adequate to his wants for the remainder of 
 his life, but of this prospect he was soon deprived, 
 being robbed of a considerable sum by a woman of 
 loose character, with whom he was imprudent enough to 
 form a connexion in his old age, after having, for up- 
 wards of forty years, not even allowed himself a female 
 servant. Here he lived for about twelve months, when, 
 probably to divert his mind from the contemplation of 
 his misfortune, he quitted it, and commenced a per- 
 ambulation from one country place to another, more in 
 the habit of a beggar than a traveller for pleasure. In
 
 NATHANIEL BENTLEY. 179 
 
 this pedestrian excursion he journeyed as far as Mussel- 
 burgh in Scotland, and put tip at a small inn, where he 
 was seized with a fever. After some time, finding his 
 disorder relax, he proceeded to Haddington, a distance 
 of ten miles from Musselburgh, through the exertion of 
 which a relapse ensued. Quite pennyless, and suffering 
 severely from his indisposition, he took his abode at the 
 Crown Inn, where he wrote a letter to a friend at Shef- 
 field, requesting a remittance of 5l. which he soon after 
 received. 
 
 Although getting worse and worse he refused any me- 
 dical aid, till the landlord, fearing his disorder might 
 prove fatal, called in assistance; but it was too late, for 
 after lingering some time he expired, about the close of 
 the year 1809, and was buried at Haddington church, 
 under the superintendence of the magistrates, by part of 
 whom, together with the landlord of the Crown, and 
 several of the inhabitants, his remains were attended to 
 the grave. 
 
 The whole of the expenses, including lodging, medi- 
 cal attendance, and burial, did not amount to 10/. His 
 400/. was administered to soon after his death. 
 
 The following lines of sympathy and advice were 
 addressed to Bentley by Mr. John Dobinson : 
 
 Bentley, oft times I've wondered at thy plan, 
 That in the unsocial being hides the man ; 
 To unfold the mystic cause, perplex'd my brain, 
 But still I find the arduous task is vain ; 
 In learning's mazy path, 'tis said, thou'st trod, 
 And wandered through fair science thorny road ; 
 That thou hast travers'd fam'd Italia's plains, 
 Great school of arts, where Raphael, Titian reigns; 
 The social throne; thou'st led to festive glee ; 
 \Vlio more refined more eloquent than thee ? 
 Ev'n wealth had wished thy pleasures then to share, 
 For pleasure then was all thy thought and can-. 
 Then why this sad reverse ? For ah ! thy mind, 
 Is grown disgusted weary of mankind. 
 Strange and mysterious is the hidden c.iuise, 
 That make's thee turn from nature's social lav.- ;
 
 180 NATHANIEL BENTLEY. 
 
 For from the world retired almost alone, 
 Thy life is useless and thy worth unknown. 
 Say, art thou sickened at the world's deceit, 
 The courtier's smile, and subtle statesman's cheat? 
 Or has declining merit droop'd her head, 
 And Vice exulting reign' d in Virtue's stead? 
 Perhaps imperious love usurped thy soul, 
 Hag'd at thy heart and o'er thy bosom stole ; 
 To some false fair perhaps thou'st bent the knee, 
 Who scorn'd, alike, thy tender suit and thee, 
 And to some worthless fool her honour gave 
 The son of fashion, or base lucre's slave : 
 If so, I know thy pangs, for I have lov'd, 
 And through the Elysian paths of beauty rov'd. 
 Kind was Maria gentle lovely fair 
 And I was bless' d for all my heaven was there : 
 But ah ! the Eternal pow'r that rules the earth, 
 1 hat guides, directs, and gave creation birth, 
 Snatch'd from these longing arms their only love, 
 And bore her to the realms of bliss above. 
 The woes I felt what language can impart? 
 Cold was the blood that trickled from my heart 
 Distraction, wild on every thought was borne, 
 My hopes were blasted and my bosom torn. 
 Sudden I sought dark melancholy shade 
 To mourn in secret o'er the ravish'd maid, 
 Thus sympathy has taught me now to frame 
 A cause for that which other's harshly blame. 
 But ah ! unknown to thee the bard who sings, 
 Who tunes to gentle strains his humble strings ; 
 , Though void of fortune and obscure his name, 
 He scorns the venal path that leads to fame ; 
 ImpelPd by other's good, he grieves to find 
 Those virtues hid which might improve mankind: 
 And, Bentley, think on life's uncertain span, 
 Few are, at most, the days allow'd to man : 
 Some thankless heir shall riot in thy gains 
 The fruits of labour, solitary pains ; 
 Who, while he quaffs the purple liquor down, 
 Perhaps thy mem'ry in the juice shall drown. 
 Then be advised rejoin the festive throng, 
 Let mirth and joy the fleeting hours prolong; 
 Let pleasure round thy brows her wreath entwine, 
 And rosy love, and careless mirth be lliine.
 
 181 
 
 JOSEPH CAPPEU. 
 
 No place can afford a fairer field for the exertion of 
 talents, or honest industry, than the capital of the 
 British empire. How many instances might be adduced 
 of persons there raising themselves by those recommen- 
 dations, from the most abject indigence to prosperity and 
 wealth! Of many of these, 1 however, it is to be re- 
 gretted that so little is known. " It would be amusing," 
 says the Rev. 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 informed with 
 what difficulty he got the first hundred pounds, with 
 how much less lie made it a thousand, and with what 
 care he rounded his plumb." Though the subject of 
 this memoir did not attain to such honours or such opu- 
 plence, it affords, however, an example of the truth of 
 these observations. 
 
 Joseph Cupper was born in Cheshire,of humble parents; 
 his family being numerous, he came to London at an 
 early age, to shift for himself, as he used to say, and was 
 bound apprentice to a grocer. He soon manifested 
 great quickness and industry, and proved a most valu- 
 able servant to his master. It was one of the chief 
 boasts of his life, that he had gained the confidence of 
 his employer, and never betrayed it. 
 
 Being of an enterprising spirit, he commenced business 
 as soon as he was out of his apprenticeship, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Rosemary-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 successful, 
 he embarked in various speculations, but in none was 
 so fortunate as in the funds. He at length amassed a 
 sum suilicient to decline all business whatever. 
 
 Capper therefore resolved to retire from the bustle of
 
 182 JOSEPH CAPPER. 
 
 life. This best suited his disposition ; for although he 
 possessed many amiable qualities, yet he was the most 
 tyrannical and overbearing man living, and never 
 seemed so happy as when placed by the side of a churl- 
 ish companion. For several days he walked about the 
 vicinity of London, searching for lodgings, without 
 being able to please himself. Being one day much 
 fatigued, lie called at the Horns at Kenninglon, took a 
 chop and spent the day, and asked for a bed in his usual 
 blunt manner, when he was answered in the same churl- 
 ish style by the landlord, that he could not have one. 
 Capper was resolved to stop, if he could, all his life, to 
 plague the growling fellow, 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 no agreement for lodging or 
 eating, but wished to be considered a customer only for 
 the 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 
 so accustomed to the house, that he walked about the 
 apartments without the assistance of any light. At 
 breakfast he arranged, in a peculiar way, the parapher- 
 nalia 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 uniformly a gill of rum, with sugar, lemon-peel, 
 and porter, mixed together; the latter he saved from 
 the pint he had at dinner. From this economical plau 
 lie never deviated. 
 
 .He called himself the champion of government, and 
 his greatest glory was certainly his country and king. 
 He joined in all subscriptions which tended to the aid oi
 
 JOSEPH CAPPER, 183 
 
 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 ihere he would often amuse himself with satir- 
 izing the customers, or the landlord, if he could make 
 his jokes tell belter. It was his maxim never to join in 
 general conversation, but to interrupt it whenever he 
 could say any thing ill-natured. His conduct to his re- 
 lations was exceedingly capricious ; lie never would see 
 any of them. As they were chiefly in indigent circum- 
 stances, he had frequently applications from them to 
 borrow money. "Are they industrious?" he would in- 
 quire ; when being answered in the affirmative, he would 
 add, "Tell them I have been deceived already, and 
 never 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, f 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, I must there- 
 fore give it thee;" which he accordingly did the follow- 
 ing day. Mr. Townsend proved grateful for this mark of 
 liberality, and never ceased to administer to him every 
 comfort the house would afford ; and what was, perhaps, 
 more gratifying to the old man, he indulged him in his 
 eccentricities. 
 
 Being elected steward of the parlour fire, if any per- 
 son 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 produce 
 among the company present," he would, with great in^e-
 
 1S1 JOSEPH CAPPER. 
 
 nuity, introduce a story about the rascality of all French- 
 men, " whom," 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 quarters of the room. From 
 this fly-killing propensity he acquired the name of 
 Domitiatif* among the 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, exceedingly agitated and convulsed, Mr. 
 Townsend pressed him to suffer medical assistance to be 
 sent for, to which Capper, then, and at all times, had. a 
 great aversion. He asked for a pen and ink, evinced 
 great anxiety to write, but could not. Mr. Townsend, 
 apprehending his dissolution nigh, endeavoured, but in 
 vain, to get permission to send for his relations, and tried 
 to obtain their address for that purpose. He refused, 
 saying, that he should be better. On the second day, 
 seeing no hopes of recovery, Mr. Townsend called in 
 four respectable gentlemen of the neighbourhood, and 
 had seals put upon all his property. One of the four 
 gentlemen recollected the address of his two nephews, of 
 the name of Dutton, who were immediately sent for. 
 They resided in the neighbourhood of Rosemary-lane. 
 
 On searching the apartment after his death, his rela- 
 tions found a will curiously worded, and made on the 
 
 * Domitianus, the Emperor, the son of Vespatianus and Domicilla, 
 while he held the empire, was so given up to sloth and idleness, that he 
 spent most part of his time in pricking flies to death with the point of 
 a needle or bodkin : so that when it was demanded of one who was 
 come out from him, " Who was with the Emperor?" his answer was, 
 Ne musca quidem ; " Not so much as a fly." fFanley* 
 the little IJ'orld, vol.ii. book iv. tluip. C-i. 
 
 9
 
 MADAME LA MAUP1N. 185 
 
 back of a sheet of bankers' checks. It was dated five 
 years back, and the bulk of his property, which was 
 then upwards of 30,000 /. he left equally among his poor 
 relations. The two nephews were nominated executors, 
 and were bequeathed between them 8000/. in the 3 per 
 cents. He died on Thursday the 6th of September, 
 1804, and on the 13th his remains were interred, by the 
 side of his sister, in a vault in the church of St. Botolph 
 Aldgate. 
 
 MADAME LA MAUPIN. 
 
 JLHIS female who acquired extraordinary celebrity, as 
 a singer in France, in the 17th century, was one of the 
 numerous instances in which a stage heroine, fortified by 
 public favour, and presuming on the magic of a melodi- 
 ous voice, defied the laws and institutions of a country 
 by which she was supported ; and committed, with 
 impunity, crimes which would have doomed a common 
 unaccomplished desperado to ignominious death. 
 
 This romantic and indecorous adventurer, who dressed, 
 fought, made love, and conquered, like a man, havin" 
 been married at an early age, fortunately for her hus- 
 band Mons. Maupin, quitted him a few months after 
 their nuptials, for the superior attractions of a fencing 
 master, who taught her the use of the small-sword, a 
 weapon which she afterwards handled with destructive 
 dexterity against many antagonists. In an excursion 
 from Paris to Marseilles, her performance in the cha- 
 racter of a man in a favourite piece was received with 
 admiration, and the most extravagant applause; and, 
 she won the affections of a beautiful young lady, the 
 only child of a wealthy merchant in the latter city, 
 prevailed on the infatuated girl to elope will) her in the 
 night from her father's house, and being pursued, took 
 
 VOL. i. 2 A
 
 186 MADAME LA MAUPIX. 
 
 refuge in a convent. The discipline and correct inter- 
 course of such a society, did not suit the views and 
 temper of La Maupin; she was also alarmed by certain 
 religious doubts and scruples, suggested by the fair fugi- 
 tive, who began to repent of her rash and unwarrant- 
 able conduct, in quitting her father's house, with all that 
 was decent and respectable in society, for a female 
 bravo, whom she dreaded and submitted to, rather than 
 loved. Interrupted in her designs, and irritated by the 
 opposition, this theatrical miscreant set fire at mich* 
 night to the building which had so hospitably sheltered 
 her, and, in the general confusion, secured by force her 
 unhappy victim, and fled to a sequestered village, where 
 they were concealed for several weeks; but the country 
 being alarmed by such flagrant enormity, a diligent 
 search took place, the offender was traced to her retreat, 
 and seized after an obstinate resistance, in which she 
 killed one of the officers of justice, and dangerously 
 wounded two others. The fair but frail young lady was 
 restored to her afflicted parents, and La Maupin, this 
 notorious murderer, this seducer of innocence and in- 
 cendiary, was condemned to be burnt alive ; but the 
 syren, whose tones enchanted every hearer, while the 
 poison of asps was within her lips, had secured such 
 powerful intercessors, that the execution of her sentence 
 was delayed, and this abominable and profligate womau 
 escaped the punishment she deserved. 
 
 From infamy and fetters she hurried to Paris, was re- 
 ceived with raptures at the opera, but could not shake 
 off the characteristic audacity of her former deportment. 
 Jn a crowded theatre, conceiving herself affronted by 
 Dumeuil, a favourite actor, remarkable for mild temper 
 and inoffensive manners, she rushed on the stage, poured 
 forth a torrent of abuse on the poor man, interrupted the 
 entertainment, and actually caned him before all the 
 audience ! This indignity was submitted to without a 
 murmur i and basking in the warm sunshine of public
 
 MADAME LA MAUPIN. 187 
 
 patronage, she exercised, for several years, a capricious 
 and insulting tyranny over princes, magistrates, mana- 
 gers and people. At a ball given by a prince of the 
 blood, in the reign of Louis XIV. La Maupin insolently 
 paraded the rooms in men's clothes, and treating a 
 lady of distinction with indecency, was called out at 
 different times by three gentlemen, each of whom she 
 ran thiough the body; yet, such was the public infatu- 
 ation, or so polluted at that period the fountain of jus- 
 tice in France, that this infamous woman was again, 
 pardoned ! 
 
 Under the impulse of prevalent fashion, peculiar taste, 
 vicious caprice, or a combination of appetite and curiosity, 
 the Elector of Bavaria made her proposals which she ac- 
 cepted, and for a short time insulted the inhabitants of 
 Brussels as an appendage to the loose pleasures of the 
 sovereign; but her reign, which could only have been 
 prolonged by discreet management, and gentle conduct, 
 was by her eccentricities rapidly shortened. The satiated 
 elector^ with a mixture of cruelty and kindness, sent this 
 virago a purse of forty thousand livres, by the husband of 
 a new mistress, who informed her that a carriage was at 
 the door, in which she must immediately quit Brussels. 
 The enraged courtezan threw the purse at the messen- 
 gers head, abused him as a cuckold and a scoundrel, told 
 him liis insignificance protected him, that she would not 
 disgrace her sword with the blood of such a contemp- 
 tible rascal, and kicked him down stairs ! 
 
 The applause of a Parisian circle again soothed her 
 chagrin ; as old age and infirmity came on she quitted 
 the stage, aad associated with her forsaken husband, 
 who in her ace um illation of wealth, overlooked his do- 
 mestic disgrace. After a life of impudence and vice, 
 llrs extraordinary character was comforted in her last 
 moments by an indulgent priest, who, from gratitude or 
 conviction, thus replied to certain doubts and questions, 
 naturally arising in the breast of so great a sinner:
 
 188 MAHOMET. 
 
 " Your peace is made with heaven and although you 
 have been a late labourer in the vineyard, you shall 
 sleep in Abraham's bosom." 
 
 MAHOMET. 
 
 IVAHOMET, or more properly Mohammed, a celebrated 
 impostor, and founder of a religion, was born in the 
 year 571, at Mecca, a city of Arabia, of the tribe of 
 theKorashiies, which was reckoned the noblest in all that 
 country ; and was descended in a direct line from Pher 
 Koraish, the founder of it. In the beginning of his 
 life, notwithstanding he was in a very poor and despi- 
 cable condition ; for his father dying before he was two 
 years old, and while his grandfather -was still living, all 
 the power and wealth of his family devolved to his 
 uncles, especially to Abu Taleb. Abu Taleb, after the 
 death of his father, bore the chief sway in Mecca, as 
 long as he lived, which was to a very great age ; and it 
 was under his protection chiefly, that Mahomet, when 
 he first broached his imposture, was sufficiently support- 
 ed against all opposers, so as to be able, after his death, 
 to carry it on, and establish it, as he did, through all 
 Arabia, by his own power. 
 
 After his father's death, he continued under the tuition 
 of his mother, till the eighth year of his age ; when she 
 also dying, he was taken home to his grandfather, who 
 at his death, which happened the year after, committed 
 him to the care of his uncle Abu Taleb, to be educated 
 by him out of charity. Abu Taleb, being a merchant, 
 took him into business, and as soon as he was old enough, 
 sent him with his camels into Syria; in which employ- 
 ment he continued under his uncle, till the twenty-fifth 
 year of his age : then one of the chief men of the city 
 dying, and his widow, whose name was Cadigha, want-
 
 MAHOMET. 189 
 
 ing a factor to manage her stock, she invited Mahomet 
 into her service. He accepted her terms, traded three 
 years for her at Damascus and other places, and ac- 
 quitted himself in this charge so much to her satisfaction, 
 that about the twenty-eighth year of his age, she gave 
 herself to him in marriage, although she was twelve 
 years older. From being her servant, he was now ad- 
 vanced to be master of both her person and fortune ; 
 and finding himself equal in wealth to the best men of 
 the city, he began to entertain ambitious thoughts of 
 possessing himself of the sovereignty over it. 
 
 Among the various means to effect this, none pleased 
 him so much, as the framing of that imposture, which he 
 afterwards published with so much success, and so much 
 mischief to the world. For the course of trade, which 
 he drove into Egypt, Palestine, and Syria, having made 
 him well acquainted with both Christians and Jews, and 
 having given him an opportunity of observing with what 
 eagerness as well they, as the several sects into which 
 the Christians of the east were then miserably divided, 
 engaged againsteach other, he concluded, that nothing 
 would be more likely to gain a party firm to him for the 
 attaining the ends he aimed at, than the making of a 
 new religion. In this, however, he proceeded leisurely; 
 for it was not till the thirty-eighth year of his age, that 
 lie began to put his project in execution. Then he 
 withdrew himself from his former way of living, which, 
 it is said, was very licentious and wicked ; and affecting 
 an hermetical life, used every morning to retire into a 
 solitary cave near Mecca, called the Cave of Hira, and 
 there continue all day, exercising himself, as he pre- 
 tended, in prayers, fastings, and holy meditations. Thus 
 he went on for two years, during which lime he gained 
 over his wife Cadigha, who was his first proselyte, by 
 pretences of visions which he had seen, and voices 
 which he had heard, in his retirement. 
 
 It is to be observed, says Dr. Prideaux, that Mahomet
 
 100 MAHOMET. 
 
 began (his imposture about the same time that the 
 Bishop of Rome, by virtue of n grant from the wicked 
 tyrant Phocas, first assumed the title of universal pastor. 
 Pliocas made this grant in the year (>06, and Mahomet 
 in the very same year retired to his cave to forge that 
 imposture there, which he began in COS to propagate at 
 Mecca. And from this time, both having conspired to 
 found to themselves an empire in imposture, their fol- 
 lowers have been fever since endeavouring, by the same 
 methods, that is, by those of fire and sword, to propa- 
 gate it among mankind ; so that anti-christ seems at this 
 time to have fixed both his feet upon Christendom 
 tog'ether, the one in the east, and the other in the west ; 
 and how much each hath trampled upon the church of 
 Christ, the ages ever since succeeding have experienced 
 abundantly. 
 
 In the fortieth year of his age, Mahomet began to 
 take upon him the style of the apost!e of God, and 
 under that character to propagate the imposture, which 
 he had now concerted : but for four years he did it only 
 in private, and among such, as he either had most con- 
 fidence in, or thought most likely to gain. After he had 
 gotten a few disciples, some of which however were the 
 principal men of the city, he began to publish it to the 
 people at Mecca, in the forty-fourth year of his age > 
 and openly to declare himself a prophet sent by God, to 
 reduce them from the error of paganism, and to teach 
 them the true religion. On his first appearance, he was 
 treated with derision and contempt; and called by the 
 people, a sorcerer, inogiciaii, liar, impostor, and teller 
 of fables, of which he frequently complains in his Al- 
 coran ; so that for the first year he made little or no 
 progress. Bui persevering in his design, which he 
 managed with great address, he afterwards gained many 
 new proselytes, among which were, as we have observed, 
 some of the'most considerable men of the city ; so that, 
 in the fiffii year of his pretended mission, he had.
 
 MAJ3OMET. 191 
 
 increased his party to the number of nine and thirty, 
 himself making the fortieth. People now began to be 
 alarmed at the progress he made. Those who were ad- 
 dicted to the idolatry of their forefathers, stood up to 
 oppose him as an enemy of their gods, and a dangerous 
 innovator in their religion. Others, who saw farther 
 into his designs, thought it time to put a stop thereto, 
 for the sake of preserving the government, which would 
 manifestly be undermined by him ; and therefore they 
 combined together against him, and intended to have 
 cut him off with the sword. But Abu Taleb, his uncle, 
 being informed thereof, defeated the design ; and by his 
 power, as being chief of the tribe, preserved him from 
 many other attempts of the same nature, which were 
 contrived against him. For though Abu Taleb himself 
 persisted in the paganism of his ancestors, yet he had 
 that affection for the impostor, as being his kinsman, 
 and one that was bred up in his house, and under his 
 care, that he firmly stood by him against all his enemies, 
 and would suffer no one to do him hurt, as long as he 
 Jived. 
 
 The main arguments which Mahomet used to delude 
 men into a belief of this imposture, were his promises 
 and his threats, as being those which he knew would 
 work the easiest on the affections of the vulgar. His 
 promises were chiefly of Paradise, which with great art 
 he framed agreeably to the gust of the Arabians: for 
 they, lying within the torrid zone, were, through the na- 
 ture of their climate, as well as the then excessive corrup- 
 tion of their manners, exceedingly given to the love of 
 women ; and the scorching heat and dryness of the 
 country making rivers of water, cooling drinks, shaded 
 gardens, and pleasant fruits, most refreshing and de- 
 lightful unto them, they were from hence apt to place 
 their highest enjoyment in things of this nature. And 
 therefore to answer the height of their carnal desires, 
 he made the joys of heaven to consist totally in these
 
 192 MAHOMET 
 
 particulars; which he promises them abundantly in 
 many places in his Alcoran. On the contrary, he de- 
 scribed the punishments of hell, which he threatened to 
 all who would not believe in him, to consist of such 
 torments, as would appear to them the most afflicting 
 and grievous to be borne; as, "that they should drink 
 nothing but boiling and stinking water, nor breathe any 
 thing else but exceeding hot winds, things most terrible 
 in Arabia; that -they should dwell for ever in continual 
 fire, excessively burning, and be surrounded with a black 
 hoi salt smoke, as with a coverlid, &c." And that he 
 might ornit nothing which could work on their fears, he 
 terrified them with the threats of grievous punishments 
 in this life. To which purpose he set forth upon all oc- 
 casions, what terrible calamities had fallen upon the 
 heads of such as would not be instructed by the pro- 
 phets that were sent before him, viz. how the old 
 world was destroyed by water, for not being reformed at 
 the preaching of Noah; how Sodom was consurrfed by 
 fire from heaven, for not hearkening to Lot when sent 
 unto them ; and how the Egyptians were plagued for 
 despising Moses : for he allowed the divinity of both the 
 Old and New Testament, and that Moses and Jesus 
 Christ were prophets sent from God ; but that the Jews 
 and Christians had corrupted those sacred books, and 
 that he was sent to purge them from those corruptions, 
 and to restore the law of God to that original purity, in 
 which it was first delivered. And this is the reason that 
 most of ihe passages, which he takes out of the Old and 
 ISew Testaments, appear different in the Alcoran, from 
 what we find them in those sacred books. 
 
 He pretended to receive all his revelations from the 
 angel Gabriel, who, he said, was sent from God, on 
 purpose to deliver them unto him. He was, it seems, 
 subject to the falling-sickness; so that whenever the fit 
 was upon him, he pretended it to be a trance, and that 
 then the angel Gabrie^was'cotue from. God, with some 
 
 9
 
 MAHOMET. 193 
 
 new revelations unto him. His pretended revelations he 
 put into several chapters, the collection of which makes 
 up his Alcoran, which is the bible of the Mahometans. 
 The original of this book was laid up, as he taught his 
 followers, in the archives of Heaven, and the angel Ga- 
 briel brought him the copy of it, chapter by chapter, 
 according as occasion required that they should be pub- 
 lished to the people : that is, as often as any new thing 
 was to be set on foot, any objection against him or his 
 religion to be answered, any difficulty to be solved, any 
 discontent among his people to be quieted, any offence 
 to be removed, or any thing else done for the further- 
 ance of his grand scheme, his constant recourse was to 
 the angel Gabriel for a new revelation ; and out came 
 some addition to the Alcoran, to serve his turn therein. 
 But what gravelled him most was, that his opposers de- 
 manded to see a miracle from him ; for, said they, 
 " Moses and Jesus and the rest of the prophets, accord- 
 ing to thy own doctrine, worked miracles to prove their 
 mission from God ; and therefore, if thou be a prophet, 
 and greater than any that were sent before thee, as thou 
 boasted thyself to be, do thou work the like miracles to 
 manifest it unto, us." This objection he endeavoured to 
 evade by several answers; all of which amount only to 
 this, that God had sent Moses and Jesus with miracles, 
 and yet men would not be obedient to their word ; and 
 therefore he had now sent him in the last place without 
 miracles, to force them by the power of the sword to do 
 his will. And from hence it hath become the universal 
 doctrine of tne Mahometans, that their religion is to be 
 propagated by the sword, and that all true mussulmen 
 are bound to tiirht for it. For which reason it hath been 
 
 vJ 
 
 a custom among them for their preachers, while they 
 deliver their sermons, to have a drawn sword placed by 
 them, to denote thereby, that the doctrines they teach 
 are to bo defended and propagated by the sword. Many 
 minifies in the mean time are reckoned up, winch Ma- 
 
 '01,1. tt Tt
 
 191 MAHOMET. 
 
 hornet is said to have wrought; as, " That he clave the 
 moon in two; that trees went forth to meet him, ScC.SvC.:'' 
 but those who relate them are only such as ate ranked 
 among their fabulous and legendary writers: their 
 learned doctors renounce them all ; and when they are 
 questioned, how without miracles they can prove his 
 mission, their common answer is, that instead of all 
 miracles is the Alcoran ; for that Mahomet, who was 
 an illiterate person, that could neither write nor read, or 
 that any man else, by human wisdom alone, should be 
 able to compose such a book, is, they think, impossible. 
 And on this Mahomet himself often insists, challenging 
 in several places of the Alcoran both men and devils, by 
 their united skill, to compose any thing equal to it, 01 
 to any part of it. From all which they conclude, and 
 as they think infallibly, that this book could come from 
 none other but God himself; and that Mahomet, from 
 whom they received it, was his messenger to bring it 
 unto them. 
 
 That the Alcoran, as to style and language, is the 
 standard of elegancy in the Arabian tongue, and that 
 Mahomet was in truth, what they affirm him to have 
 been, a rude and illiterate barbarian, who could neither 
 write nor read, are points agreed on all sides. A ques- 
 tion therefore will arise among those who are not so sure 
 that this book was brought by the angel Gabriel from 
 Heaven, by whose help it was compiled, and the impos- 
 ture framed? And there will be the more reason to 
 ask this, because the book itself contains so many par- 
 ticulars of the Jewish and Christian religions, as neces- 
 sarily supp.ose the authors of it to have been well skilled 
 in both ; which Mahomet, who was bred an idolater, 
 and lived so for the first forty years of his life, among 
 a people totally illiterate, for such his tribe was by prin- 
 ciple and profession, cannot be supposed to have beer. : 
 but this is a question not so easily to be answered, be- 
 cause the nature of the thing required it to have been
 
 MAHOMET. 11)0 
 
 transacted very secretly. And besides, the scene oFthis 
 imposture being at least six hundred miles within the 
 country of Arabia, amid those barbarous nations, who 
 iall immediately embraced it, and would not permit-^ny 
 of another religion, so much as to live among them; it 
 could not at thai distance be so well searched into by 
 those, who were most concerned to discov.-r Ehe I'mud. 
 That Mahomet composed the Alcoran by the help of 
 others, was a thing well known at Mecca, when he first 
 broached his imposture there : and it was often finng in 
 his teeth by his opposers, as he himself more than once 
 compl^aineth. In the twenty-fifth chapter of the Alco- 
 ran, his words are: "They say, that the Alcoran is 
 nothing but a lie of thy own invention, and others 
 have been assisting to thee herein." And what he says 
 in the sixteenth chapter, particularly points at one of 
 those, who was then looked upon to have had a princi- 
 pal hand in this matter : " I know they will say, that a 
 man hath taught him the Alcoran ; but whom they pre- 
 sume to have taught him is a Persian by nation, and 
 speaketh the Persian language. But the Alcoran is in 
 the Arabic tongue, full of instruction and eloquence." 
 The person here pointed at, was one Abdia Ben Salon, a 
 Persian Jew, whose name he afterwards chunked into 
 
 O 
 
 Abdollah Ebn Salem, to make it correspond with the 
 Arabic dialect; and almost all, who have written of this 
 imposture, have mentioned him as ihr cliu-r architect, 
 used by Mahomet in the framing of it : for he was a very 
 cunning fellow, thoroughly skilled in till the learning of 
 the Jews ; and therefore Mahomet seems to have re- 
 ceived from him, whatsoever of the rites and customs 
 of the Jews he hath ingrafted into his religion. Besides 
 thi> Jew, the impostor had also a Christian monk for his 
 assistant : and the rrtany particulars in his Alcoran, re- 
 lating to the Christian religion, plainly prove him to 
 have had such an helper. He was a monk of Syria, of 
 the sect of the Nestoriuns* His ntuvie Sergius ; that, I
 
 196 MAHOMET. 
 
 mean, which he had in his monastery, and which he 
 has since retained among the western writers ; though 
 Bahira was that which he afterwards assumed in Arabia, 
 and by which he hath ever since been mentioned in those 
 eastern parts, by all that there write or speak of him. 
 Mahomet, as it is related, became acquainted with this 
 Bahira, in one of his journeys into Syria, either at Bostra 
 as some say, or at Jerusalem as others ; and receiving 
 great satisfaction from him in many of those points, 
 which he desired to be informed in, did thereupon con- 
 tract a particular friendship with him ; so that this 
 monk not long after, being for some great crime excom- 
 municated, and expelled his monastery, fled to Mecca 
 to him, was entertained in his house by him, and became 
 his assistant in the framing of that imposture, and con- 
 tinued with him ever after; till Mahomet having, as it 
 is reported, no further occasion for him, to secure the 
 secret put him to death. 
 
 Many other particulars are recorded in ancient writers ; 
 both as to the coining of this forgery, and also as to the 
 manner of its first propagation; as, that the impostor 
 taught a bull to bring him the Alcoran on his horns in a 
 public assembly, as if it had been this way sent to him 
 from God ; that he bred up pigeons to come to his ears, 
 to make it appear, as if the Holy Ghost conversed with 
 him; and many other stories, which have no foundation 
 at all in truth, although they have been credited by 
 great and learned men. Grotius in particular, in that 
 part of his excellent book of the truth of the Christian 
 religion, which contains a refutation of Mahometism, 
 relates the story of the pigeon : upon which our famous 
 orientalist Pocock, who undertook an Arabic version of 
 that performance, asked Grotius, " Where he had 
 picked up this story, whether among the Arabians, or 
 the Christians: to which Grotius replied, " that he had 
 not indeed met with it in any Arabian author, but de- 
 pended entirely upon the authority of the Christian
 
 MAHOMET. 197 
 
 writers for the truth of it." Pocock thought fit therefore 
 to omit it in his version, for fear we should expose our- 
 selves to the contempt and scorn of the Arabians, by not 
 being able to distinguish the religion of Mahomet from 
 the tales and fictions which its enemies have fastened on 
 it; and by pretending to confute and overthrow the 
 Alcoran, without knowing the grounds and foundation 
 on which its authority stands.* 
 
 But lo go on with Mahomet. In the eighth year of 
 his 'pretended mission, his party growing formidable at 
 Mecca, the city passed a decree, by which they forbad 
 any more to join themselves with him. This however 
 did not affect him much, while his uncle Abu Taleb 
 lived to protect him : but he dying two years after, and 
 the government of the city then falling into the hands 
 of his most violent enemies, a fresh opposition was re- 
 uewed against him, and a stop soon put to the further, 
 progress of his imposture at Mecca. Mahomet, there- 
 fore, seeing all his hopes in a manner crushed here, 
 began to think of settling elsewhere; and as his uncle 
 Abbas lived for the most part at Tayif, a town sixty 
 miles distant from Mecca towards the east, and had a 
 
 * Besides the Koran (or Alcoran) which is the written law to the 
 Mahometans, alike as to the belief and practice of religion, and the 
 administration of public justice, there is the Sunnah, or Oral Law, 
 which was selected two hundred years after the death of Mahomet, 
 from a vast number of precepts and injunctions which had been handed 
 down from age to age, as bearing the stamp of his authority. In this 
 work the rite of circumcision is enjoined, concerning which the Koran 
 was silent, nor was it necessary to be there commanded, as the Ara- 
 bians adhered to it before tins establishment. Hy the express com- 
 mand of their founder, the Mahometans set apart Friday in each 
 week for the especial worship of God. They are ever assiduous to 
 make converts of their faith, nor can they rt'jrct the most abject or 
 profligate wretch, who declares his desire of becoming a true believer, 
 even although they know him to be ignorant alike of their language 
 and the principles of their religion. Encyclopedia Londincnsis, 
 vol. ii. p. 24.
 
 MAHOMET. 
 
 great interest there ; he took a journey thither under hi* 
 protection, in order to propagate his imposture there. 
 But after a month's stay, finding himself unable to gain 
 even one proselyte, he returned to Mecca, with a reso- 
 lution to wait for such further advantages, us time and 
 opportunity might offer. And now his wile Cadigha 
 being dead, after she had lived two and twenty years 
 with him, he took two other wives in her stead, Ayesha 
 the daughter of Abubeker, and Lewda the daughter of 
 Zama; adding awhile after to them a third, named 
 Haphsa, the daughter of Omar: and by thus making 
 himself son-in-law to three of the principal men of his 
 party, he did by that alliance strengthen his interest 
 considerably. Ayesha was then but six years old ; and 
 therefore he did not bed her till two years after, when 
 she was full eight years old : for it is usual in those hot 
 Countries, as it is all India over, which is in the same 
 clime with Arabia, for women to be ripe for marriage at 
 that age, and also to bear children the year following. 
 
 In the twelfth year of his pretended mission, is placed 
 the mesra, that is, his famous night journey from Mecca 
 to Jerusalem, and from thence to Heaven ; of which h<? 
 tells us, in the 1.7th chapter of his Alcoran. For the 
 people calling on him for miracles to prove his mission 
 and finding himself unable to feign any, to solve the 
 matter, he invents this story of his journey to Heaven ; 
 which must be acknowledged to have miracle enough in 
 it, by all those who have faith to believe it. The story, 
 as it is related in the Alcoran, and believed by the Ma- 
 hometans, is this. At night as he lay in his bed with his 
 best beloved wife Ayesha, he neard a knocking at his 
 door ; upon which arising, he found there the angel 
 Gabriel, with seventy pair of wings expanded from his 
 sides, whiter than snow, and clearer than crystal, and 
 the beast Alborak standing by him ; which, they say, is 
 the beast on which the prophets used to ride, when they 
 were carried from one place to another, upon the exe-
 
 MAHOMET. 199; 
 
 cution of any divine command- Mahomet describes it 
 to be a beast as white as milk, and of a mixed nature, 
 between an ass and a mule, and also of a size between 
 both ; but of such extraordinary swiftness, as to equal 
 even lightning itself. 
 
 As soon as Mahomet appeared at the door, the angel 
 Gabriel kindly embraced him, saluted him in the name 
 of God, and told him, that he was sent to bring him 
 unto God into Heaven ; where he should see strange 
 mysteries, which were not lawful to be seen by any 
 other man. He prayed him then to get upon Alborak; 
 but the beast, it seerns, having lain idle and. unemployed 
 iVom the time of Christ to Mahomet, was grown so met- 
 tlesome and skittish, that he would not stand still for 
 Mahomet to mount him, till at length he was forced to 
 bribe him to it, by promising him a place in Paradise, 
 When he was firmly seated upon him, the angel Gabriel 
 ied the way with the bridle of the beast in his hand, and 
 carried the prophet from Mecca to Jerusalem in the 
 twinkling of an eje. On his coming thither, all the 
 departed prophets and saints appeared at the gate of the 
 temple to salute him; and from thence attending him 
 into the chief oratory, desired him to pray for them, 
 and thn withdrew. After this, Mahomet went out of 
 the temple with the angel Gabriel, and found a ladder 
 of light ready fixed for them, which they immediately 
 ascended, leaving Alborak tied to a rock till their 
 return. 
 
 On their arrival at the first Heaven, the angel knock- 
 ed at the gate; and informing the porter who he was, 
 andfthat he had brought Mahomet the friend of God, he 
 was immediately admitted. This first Heaven, he tells 
 us, was all of pure silver; from whence he saw the 
 stars hanging from it by chains of gold, each as big as 
 mount Noho near Mecca, in Arabia. On his c-nti aix-c, 
 he met a decrepit old man, who it seems was our first 
 father Adam ; and as he advanced, he saw a multitude
 
 200 MAHOMET. 
 
 of angels of all manner of shapes; in the shape of 
 birds, beasts, and men. We must not forget to observe, 
 that Adam had the piety immediately to embrace the 
 prophet, giving God thanks for so great a son; and 
 then recommended himself to his prayers. From this 
 first Heaven, the impostor tells us, he ascent! d into the 
 second, which was at the distance of 500 years journey 
 above it; and this he makes to be the distance of every 
 one of the seven Heavens, each above the other. Here 
 the gates being opened to him as before, at his entrance 
 he met Noah, who, rejoicing much at the sight of him, 
 recommended himself to his prayers. This Heaven was 
 all of pure gold, and there were twice as many angels 
 in it as in the former ; for it seems the number of angels 
 increased in every Heaven as he advanced. From this 
 second Heaven he ascended into the third, which was 
 made of precious stones, where he met Abraham, who 
 also recommended himself to his prayers; Joseph the 
 son of Jacob did the same in the fourth Heaven, which 
 was all of emerald ; Moses in the fifth, which was all of 
 adamant; and John the baptist in the sixth, which 
 was all of carbuncle : from whence he ascended into 
 the seventh, which was all of Divine light, and here he 
 found Jesus Christ. However, it is observable, that he 
 alters his style here; for he does not say, that Jesus Christ 
 recommended himself to his prayers, but that he recom- 
 mended himself to the prayers of Jesus Christ. 
 
 The angel Gabriel having brought him thus far, told 
 him, that he was not permitted to attend him any 
 further; and therefore directed him to ascend the rest of 
 the way to the throne of God by himself. This he per- 
 formed with great difficulty, passing through rough and 
 dangerous places, till he came where he heard a voice, 
 saying unto him, "O Mahomet, salute thy Creator;" 
 from whence ascending higher, he came into a place, 
 where he saw a vast expansion of light, so exceedingly- 
 bright, that his eyes could not bear it. This, it seems, 
 
 10
 
 MAHOMET. 201 
 
 was the habitation of the Almighty, where his throne 
 was placed ; on the right side of which, lie says, God's 
 name and his own were written in these Arabic words, 
 " La ellah ellallah Mohammed resul ollahj" that is, 
 "There is no God but God, and Mahomet is his prophet," 
 which is at this day the creed of the Mahometans. 
 Being approached to the Divine presence, he tells us, 
 that God entered into a familiar converse with him, re- 
 vealed to him many hidden mysteries, made him under- 
 stand the whole of his law, gave him many things in 
 charge concerning his instructing men in the knowledge 
 of it; and, in conclusion, bestowed on him several 
 privileges above the rest of mankind. He then returned 
 and found the angel Gabriel waiting for him in the 
 place where he left him. The angel led him back along* 
 the seven Heavens, through which he had brought him; 
 and set him again upon the beast Alborak, which stood 
 tied at the rock near Jerusalem. Then he conducted 
 him back to Mecca in the same manner as he brought 
 him from thence; and all this within the space of the 
 tenth part of one night. 
 
 On his relating this extravagant fiction to the people, 
 the next morning after he pretended the thing to have 
 happened, it was received by them as it deserve d^srith 
 a general hoot; and the imposture was never in greater 
 danger of being totally blasted, than by this ridiculous 
 fable. But how ridiculous soever the story may appear, 
 Mahomet had a farther design in it than barely telling 
 such a miraculous adventure of himself to the people. 
 Hitherto he had only given them the Alcoran, which 
 was his written law ; and had pretended to be nothing 
 more than barely the messenger of God in publishing it, 
 as it was delivered to him by the angel Gabriel. But 
 now learning from his friend Abdullah, that the Jews, 
 besides the written law dictated by God himself, had also 
 another law, called the oral law, given with it, as they 
 pretend, to Moses himself while in the mount ; anl uu- 
 
 voi.. i. '1 c
 
 202 MAHOMET. 
 
 demanding that this law, which had its whole founda-* 
 tion iti the sayings and dictates of Moses, was in as 
 great veneration with them as the other, he had a mind 
 for the future to advance his authority to the same pitch, 
 and make all his sayings and dictates go for oracles 
 among his mussulmen, as those, which were pretended lo 
 be from Moses, did among the Jews. And for this end 
 chiefly it was that he invented this story of his journey 
 to Heaven. 
 
 The story however, whatever advantages he might 
 gain by it when his imposture became more firmly esta- 
 blished, and then actually did gain all he aimed at, was 
 deemed at present so grossly ridiculous, that it occa- 
 sioned the revolt of many of his disciples, and made bis 
 stay at Mecca no longer practicable. But what he lost 
 at Mecca, he gained at Medina, then called Yathreb, a 
 city lying 270 miles distant from Mecca; which was in- 
 habited , the one part by Jews, the other by heretical 
 Christians. These two parties, it seems, did not agree 
 at all ; and feuds and factions rose at length so high 
 among them, that one party, out of spite, went over to 
 Mahomet. Thus we are told, that on the thirteenth 
 year of his pretended mission, there came to him from 
 thence seventy-three men and two women. Twelve of 
 these he retained a while with him at Mecca, to instruct 
 them in his new religion ; then sent them back to 
 Yathreb, as his twelve apostles, there lo propajjaie it 
 in that town. In this they laboured abundantly, and 
 with such success, that, in a very short time, they drew 
 over the greatest part of the inhabitants; of which Ma- 
 homet, receiving an account, resolved to go thither im- 
 mediately, finding it unsafe to continue any longer in 
 Mecca. 
 
 On the 12th day of the month which the Arabs call 
 the Former Rabia, that is, on the 24th of our Septem- 
 ber, he came to Yathreb, and was received with great 
 acclamations bv the party which called him thither.
 
 MAHOMET. 203 
 
 This parly are supposed to have been the Christians ; and 
 this supposition is confirmed hy what he says of each of 
 them in the fifth chapter of the Alcoran, which is one of 
 the first he published after his coming to Yalhreb. His 
 words are these : " Thou shall find the Jews to be very 
 great enemies to the true believers, and the Christians to 
 have great inclination and amity towards them." By 
 which we may see, what a deplorable decay the many 
 divisions and distractions which then reigned in the 
 eastern church had there brought the Christian religion 
 into, when its professors could so easily desert it for that 
 gross imposture, which an illiterate barbarian proposed 
 unto them. On Mahomet's first coming to Yathreb, he 
 lodged in the house of Chalid Abu Job, one of the chief 
 men of the party that called him thither, till he had 
 built himself a house of his own. This he immediately 
 set about, and erected a mosque at the same time, for 
 the exercise of his new invented religion : and having 
 thus settled himself in this town, he continued there 
 ever after, to the time of his death. 
 
 From this flight of Mahomet, the Hegira, which is 
 the sera of the Mahometans, begins its computation. 
 Hegira in the Arabic language signifies flight. It was 
 first appointed by Omar, the third emperor of the Sa- 
 racens, and takes its beginning from the 16th of July, in 
 the year 622. Indeed, the day that Mahomet left 
 Mecca, was on the first of the former Rabia, and he 
 came to Medina on the 12ih of the same month, that is, 
 on the 24th of our September. But the Hegira begins 
 two months before, from the first of Moharratu ; for that 
 being the first month of the Arabian year, Omar would 
 make no alteration as to that, but anticipated the com- 
 pulation fifty-nine days, that he might begin his a-.r.i 
 from the beginning of that year, in which the Ilighi of 
 the impostor happened, from which it tool; its name. 
 
 The" first thing th:u Mahomet did after he luul settled 
 UimscJf at Medina, was to marry his daughter Faluna to
 
 204 MAHOMET. 
 
 his cousin Ali. She was the only child then living of 
 six, which were born to him of Cadigha, his first wife; 
 and indeed the only one which he had, notwithstanding 
 the multitude of Ins wives, which survived him. And 
 now the impostor having obtained the end he had long 
 been driving at, that is, a town at his command, he 
 enters upon a scheme entirely new. Hitherto he had 
 been preaching up his religion for thirteen years toge- 
 ther; for the remaining ten years of his life, he takes 
 the sword and lights for it. He had long been teazed 
 and perplexed at Mecca with questions, and objections, 
 and disputes, about what he had preached, by which 
 he was often gravelled, and put to silence; henceforth 
 he forbids all manner of disputing, telling his disciples, 
 that his religion was to be propagated not by disputing, 
 hut by fighting. He commanded them therefore to ana 
 themselves, and slay with the sword all that would not 
 embrace it, unless they submitted to pay a yearly tribute, 
 for the redemption of their lives: and accordingly to 
 this injunction, even unto this day, all who live under any 
 Mahometan government, and are not of their religion, 
 pay an annual tax for a mulct of their infidelity; and 
 are sure to be punished with death, if they contradictor 
 oppose any doctrine that is received among them to have 
 been taught by Mahomet. After the impostor had suf- 
 ficiently infused this doctrine into his disciples, he next 
 proceeded to put it in practice; and, having erected his 
 standard, called them all to come armed thereto. His 
 first expeditions were against the trading caravans, in 
 their journeys between Mecca and Syria, which he at- 
 tacked with various success; and, if we except the 
 establishing and adjusting a few particulars relating to 
 his grand scheme, as occasion required, his time, for the 
 two first years after his flight, was wholly spent in pre- 
 datory excursions upon his neighbours, in robbing, 
 plundering, and destroying all those that lived near 
 Medina, who would not come in and embrace his 
 religion.
 
 MAHOMET. '20-3 
 
 In the third year of the Hegira, A. D. 6*24, he made 
 war upon those tribes of the Arabs which were of the 
 Jewish religion near him; and having taken their 
 castles, and reduced them under his power, he sold 
 them all for slaves, and divided their goods among his 
 followers. But the battle of Ohud, which happened 
 towards the end of this year, had like to have proved 
 fatal to the impostor : for his uncle Hamza, who bore 
 his standard, was slain, himself grievously wounded, 
 nay, and had been slain, if one of his companions had 
 not come to his assistance. This defeat gave rise to 
 many objections against him : some asked, how a pro- 
 phet of God could be overthrown in a battle by the 
 infidels ? Others murmured as much for the loss of their 
 friends and relations who were slain. To satisfy the 
 former, he laid the cause of the overthrow on the sins 
 of some that followed him ; and said, that lor this rea- 
 son God suffered them to be overthrown, that so the 
 good might be distinguished from the bad, and that 
 those, who were true believers, might on this occasion 
 be discerned from those who were not. And to still the 
 complaints of the latter, he invented his doctrine of 
 fate and destiny ; telling them, that those who were 
 slain in the battle, though they had tarried at home in 
 their houses, must nevertheless have died at that mo- 
 ment, the time of every man's life being predetermined 
 by God ; but in that they died righting for the faith, 
 they gained the advantage of the crown of martyrdom, 
 and the rewards which were due to it in Paradise : both 
 which doctrines served his turn so well, that he propa- 
 gated them on all occasions after. And they have been 
 ihe favourite notions of the Mahometans ever since, 
 and enforced especially in tlicir wars; where, it must be 
 owned, nothing can be more conducive to make them 
 flight valiantly, than a settled opinion, that, whatever 
 dangers they expose themselves to, they cannot die 
 either sooner or later than is predestinated by God ; and
 
 206 MAHOMET. 
 
 that in case this predestinated time be come, they shall, 
 by dying martyrs for their religion, immediately enter 
 into Paradise as ihe reward of it. 
 
 In the fourth year of the Hegira, A. D. 625, he waged 
 war with the Nadirftes, a tribe of the Jewish Arabs in 
 the neighbourhood; and the same year fought the battle 
 of Beder, and had many other skirmishes, with those 
 who refused to submit to it; in all which he had some- 
 times prosperous and sometimes dubious success. But 
 while his army was abroad on these expeditions, some of 
 his principal men engaging at play and drinking, in the 
 heat of their cups fell a quarrelling, which raised such a 
 disturbance among the rest, that they had like to have 
 endangered his whole scheme : and therefore, to prevent 
 any mischief of this kind for the future, he forbad the 
 use of wine, and all games of chance. In the fifth and 
 sixth years, he was engaged in several wars, and sub- 
 dued several tribes of the Arabs. And now the impostor, 
 after so many advantages obtained, being much increas- 
 ed in strength, marched his arm}' against Mecca, and 
 fought a battle near it; the consequence of which was, 
 that, neither side gaining any victory, they agreed on a 
 truce for ten years. The conditions of it were, that all 
 within Mecca, who were for Mahomet, might have 
 liberty to join themselves to him ; and, on the other side, 
 those with Mahomet, who had a mind to leave him, 
 might also have the liberty to return to Mecca. By this 
 truce Mahomet being very much confirmed in his power, 
 took on him thenceforth the authority of a king, and 
 was inaugurated as such by the chief men of his army. 
 
 On Mahomet's having thus made a truce with the men 
 of Mecca, and thereby obtained free access for any of 
 his party to come into thai city, he henceforth ordained 
 them to make pilgrimages thither, which hate ever since 
 with so much religion been observed by all his followers 
 once every year. And now being thus established in the 
 sovereignty, which he had so long been aiming at, lit;
 
 MAHOMET. 207 
 
 Assumed all the insignia belonging thereto, still retaining 
 the sacred character of chief pontiff of his religion, as 
 well as the royal, with which he was invested. He 
 transmitted them both together to all his successors, who, 
 by the title of caliphs, reigned after him : so that lik-e 
 the Jewish princes of the race of the Maccabees, they 
 were kings and chief-priests of their people at the same 
 time. Their pontifical authority consisted chiefly in 
 giving the interpretation of the Mahometan law, in 
 ordering all matters of religion, arrd in praying and 
 preaching in their public mosques. And this pontifical, 
 at length, was all the authority the caliphs had left ; 
 being totally stripped of the rest, first by the governors 
 of the provinces, who, about the 325ih year of the 
 Hegira, assumed the regal authority to themselves, and 
 afterwards by others, who gradually usurped upon them ; 
 till at length, after a succession of age*, the Tartars cauie 
 in, and, in that deluge of destruction with which they 
 overran all the east, put a total end not only to their 
 authority, but to their very name and being. Ever 
 since that time, most Mahometan princes have a par- 
 ticular officer appointed in their respective dominions, 
 who sustains this sacred authority, formerly invested in 
 their caliphs ; who in Turkey is called the mufti, and in 
 Persia the sad re. But they, being under the power of 
 the princes that appoint them, are in reality nothing but 
 tools of state, who make the law of Mahomet speak 
 just such language as is necessary to support the mea- 
 surcs of the government, how wicked and unjust soever 
 those measures may happen to be. 
 
 In the seventh year of the Hegira, A. D. 628, the im- 
 postor led forth his army against Caibar, a city inhabit- 
 ed by Arabs of the Jewish religion; and, after routing 
 them in buttle, he besieged their city, and took it by 
 storm. Having entered the town, he took up his quar- 
 ters in the house of llareth, one of the principal inha- 
 bitants of the place; whose dangler Zainoh, preparing
 
 208 MAHOMET. 
 
 a shoulder of mutton for his supper, poisoned it. And 
 here those, who would ascribe miracles to Mahomet, tell 
 us, that the shoulder of mutton spake to him, and dis- 
 covered that it was poisoned ; but if it did so, it was, it 
 seems, too late to do him any good : for Basher, one of 
 his companions, falling on too greedily to eat it, fell 
 down dead on the place. And although Mahomet had 
 not immediately the same fate, because, not liking the 
 taste, he spit out again what he had taken into his mouth, 
 yet he let down enough to do his business ; for he was 
 never well after this supper, and at three years end died 
 of it. The meid being asked why she did this, answered, 
 " that she had a mind to make trial, whether he were a 
 prophet or no : for were he a prophet," said she, " he 
 would certainly know that the meat was poisoned, and 
 therefore would receive no harm from it; but if he were 
 not a prophet, she thought she should do the world good 
 service in ridding it of so wicked a tyrant." 
 
 After this, he reduced under his subjection Beder, 
 Watiha, and Selalima, which were also towns belonging 
 to the Jewish Arabs ; then, having increased his strength 
 by these acquisitions to an army of 10,000 men, he re- 
 solved to make himself master of Mecca. For this pur- 
 pose, pretending that thev had broken the truce> he 
 marched suddenly upon them, before they were aware 
 of his design: upon which, being utterly incapable of 
 putting themselves into any posture of defence against 
 him, they found themselves necessitated to surrender 
 immediately. As soon as it was heard among the 
 neighbouring Arabs, that Mahomet had made himself 
 master of Mecca, several other tribes made head against 
 him, and, in the first encounter, routed his army, 
 though greatly superior to theirs in number : but the 
 impostor having gathered up his scattered forces, and 
 rallied them again into a body, acted more cautiously in 
 the second conflict, and gave his enemies such a total 
 defeat, that he took from them all their baggage, with 
 
 10
 
 MAHOMET. 
 
 their wives and children, and all their substance. And 
 now the power of the impostor being much increased, 
 the fame of it so terrified the rest of the Arabs, which 
 had not yet felt his arms, that they all came in, and sub- 
 mitted to him. So that this year, which is the 10th of 
 the Hegira, and the ()31st of our Lord, his -empire and 
 his religion became established together through all 
 Arabia. 
 
 He spent the remainder of the year in sending lieu- 
 tenants into all his provinces, to govern in his name, to 
 destroy the idol temples, and all the other remains of the 
 Arabian idolatry, and to set up his religion in its stead. 
 Towards the end of it, he took a journey in pilgrimage 
 to Mecca, where a great concourse of people resorted to 
 him from all parts of Arabia, whom he instructed in his 
 law, and then returned to Medina. This pilgrimage is 
 called by his followers, the pilgrimage of valediction, 
 because it was the last which he made : for, after his 
 return to Medina, he began daily to decline, through 
 the force of that poison which he had taken three years 
 before at Caibar. It had been working in him all the 
 while, and had at length brought him so low, that he 
 was forced on the 28th day of Saphar, the second month 
 of their year, to take to his bed ; and on the l'2th day 
 of the following month, it put an end to his life, after 
 a sickness of thirteen days. During his sickness, he 
 much complained of the bit which he had taken at 
 Caibar ; telling those that came to visit him, that he had 
 felt the torments of it in his budv ever since : so that it 
 seems, notwithstanding the intimacy he pretended with 
 the angel Gabriel, and the continual revelation! he re- 
 ceived from him, he could not be preserved from thus 
 perishing by the snares of a silly girl. 
 
 The death of Mahomet occasioned such a consterna- 
 tion in Mecca, that the governor hid himself, fearing to 
 be called in question for his former conduct; and the 
 inhabitants 'considered themselves destitute of all pro- 
 
 VOL. i. 2 D
 
 210 MAHOMET. 
 
 tection. They now began to meditate a revolt; but 
 were prevented by Sohail Ebn Amru, a principal man of 
 the Koreish. The tumults of Medina, however, were 
 mot so easily appeased : the news of this event was no 
 sooner published there, than a number of people assem- 
 bled before the prophet's door, crying out, " How can 
 our apostle be dead? Our intercessor, our mediator, has 
 not entirely left us ! He is taken up into Heaven, as was 
 Isa (Jesus) ; therefore he shall not be buried." This was 
 confirmed by Omar; who drew his sword, and swore, 
 that, if any person affirmed Mahomet to be dead, he 
 would cut off his hands and feet. "The apostle of 
 God," said he, " is not dead ; he is only gone for a 
 season, as Moses the son of Amran was gone from the 
 people of Israel for forty days, and then returned to 
 them again." The populace therefore kept the body 
 above ground, even after the belly had began to swell. 
 Upon hearing of these transactions, Abu Beer immedi- 
 ately posted from Al Souah, and expostulated with him 
 in the following manner : " Do you worship Mahomet, 
 or the God of Mahomet? If the latter, he is immortal, 
 and liveth for ever ; but, if the former, you are in a 
 manifest error, for he is certainly dead !" The truth of 
 this question he immediately evinced from several pas- 
 sages of the Koran, in so clear and conclusive a manner, 
 that he not only satisfied Omar, but calmed the minds of 
 the people. 
 
 He was buried in the place where he died, which was 
 in the chamber of his best-beloved wife, at Medina; 
 and there he lies to this day. For as to what numbers 
 of persons have said and believed, that Mahomet's tomb 
 being of iron, is suspended in the air, under a vault of 
 loadstones, it is all a fable; and the Mahometans laugh 
 when they know that the Christians relate it, as they do 
 other stories of him, for a certain matter of fact. Indeed 
 a king of Egypt formerly attempted to do this, when he 
 had a mind to procure the same advantage to a statue of
 
 -MAHOMET. -2\\ 
 
 his wile: thus " Dinocrates the architect/' says Pliny, 
 " had begun to roof the temple of Arsinoe, at Alexandria, 
 with load-stone, that her image, made of iron, might 
 seem to hang there in the air." But there was no such 
 attempts ever made in regard to Mahomet; who still lies 
 where he was huried. A stately mosque has been erected, 
 which is supported by 400 pillars, and furnished with 
 300 silver lamps, which are continually burning. It is 
 called the Most Holy, from its containing the coffin of 
 Mahomet/ which is covered with cloth of gold, under a 
 canopy of silver tissue, which the bashaw of Egypt, by 
 order of the grand signior, renews every year. The 
 camel which carries it derives a sort of sanctity from 
 this office, and is never used in any drudgery afterwards. 
 Over the foot of the coffin is a rich golden crescent, so 
 curiously wrought and adorned with precious stones, that 
 it is esteemed a master-piece of great value. Thither u 
 great number of pilgrims constantly resort. 
 
 At Mecca, the birth-place of Mahomet, is another 
 truly magnificent mosque; its lofty roof being raised in 
 fashion of a dome, and covered with gold, with two 
 beautiful towers at the end, of extraordinary height and 
 architecture; they make a delightful appearance, and 
 are conspicuous at a great distance. The mosque hath 
 a hundred gates, and a window over each, and the whole 
 building within is decorated with the finest gildings and 
 tapestry. The number of pilgrims who yearly visit this 
 place is nlinost incredible, every mussulman being oblig- 
 ed by his religion to come hither once in his life, or 
 send a deputy. 
 
 And thus ended the life of this famous impostor, who 
 was full sixty-three years old on the clay in which he 
 died ; that is, according to the Arabian account, which 
 makes only sixty-one of our years. For twenty-three 
 years he had taken upon him to be a prophet, of 
 which lie lived thirteen at Mecca, and ten at Medina. 
 During which time, by his great address and manage-
 
 MAHOMET. 
 
 ment, he rose from the meanest beginnings to that 
 height of power, as to be able to make one of the 
 greatest revolutions that ever happened in the world : 
 and this revolution immediately gave birth to an empire, 
 which, in eighty years time, extended its dominions 
 over more kingdoms and countries than ever the Romans 
 could in eight hundred. And although it continued in 
 its flourishing condition not much above three hundred 
 years, yet out of its ashes have sprung up many other 
 kingdoms and empires, of which there are three at this 
 day, the largest and most potent upon the face of the 
 earth, viz. the empire of Turkey, the empire of Persia, 
 and the empire of the mogul in India. Mahomet was a 
 man of proper stature and a comely aspect, and affected 
 much to he thought like Abraham. He had a piercing 
 and sagacious wit, and was extremely well versed in all 
 those arts which are necessary to lead mankind. In the 
 first part of his life he was wicked and licentious, much 
 delighting in rapine, plunder, and bloodshed, according 
 to the usage of the Arabs, who generally followed this 
 kind of life, and were almost continually in arms one 
 tribe against another, to plunder and take from each all 
 they could. The Mahometans, however, would per- 
 suade us that he was a saint from the fourth year of his 
 age : for then, they say, the angel Gabriel separated him 
 from his fellows, while he was at play with them ; and 
 rallying him aside, cut open his breast, took out his 
 heart, and wrung out of it that black drop of blood, in 
 which they imagine was contained the fames peccati ; 
 so that he had none of it ever after. His two predomi- 
 nant passions were ambition and lust. The course which 
 he took to gain empire, abundantly shows the former; 
 and the multitude of women which he had to do with 
 proves the latter. While Cadigha lived, which was till 
 the fiftieth year of his age, it does not appear that he 
 had any other wile: lor she being the origin and foun- 
 dation of all his loitunes and grandeur, it is probable he
 
 MAHOMET. -213 
 
 durst not displease her, by bringing in another wife upon 
 her. But she was no sooner dead, than he multiplied 
 them to a great number, besides several concubines 
 which he had. They that reckon the fewest, allow him 
 to have married fifteen ; but others reckon them to have 
 been one and twenty: of which, five died before him, 
 six he divorced, and ten were alive at his death. 
 
 But of all his wives, Ayesha, the daughter of Abube- 
 ker, who succeeded him, was by far his best beloved. 
 He married her, as we have said before, very young, and 
 took care to have her bred up in all the learning of 
 Arabia, especially in the elegancy of their language* 
 and the knowledge of their antiquities; so that she be- 
 came at length, one of the most accomplished ladies of 
 her time. She was a bitter enemy to Ali, he being the 
 person who discovered her inconlinency to Mahomet? 
 and therefore employed all her interest, upon every va- 
 cancy, to hinder him from being chosen caliph, although, 
 as son-in-law to the impostor, he had the fairest pre- 
 tence to it; and when at last, after having been thrice 
 put by, he attained that dignity, she appeared in arms 
 against him ; and, if she did not prevail, yet she caused 
 such a defection from him as ended in his ruin. She 
 lived forty-eight years after the death of Mahomet, and 
 was in great reputation with her sect, being called by 
 them the prophetess, and the mother of the faithful. 
 One of the main arguments which the followers of Ma- 
 homet use to salve his having had so many wives, is, 
 that he might beget young prophets: however, he left 
 neither prophet nor prophetess long behind him of all 
 his wives. The six children which he had by CecUgha, 
 his first wife, all died before him, except Futitna, the 
 wife of Ali, who only survived him sixty days ; and he 
 had no child by any of the rest. 
 
 As the gratifying of his ambition and his lust was the 
 main end of his imposture, so they both coul'rnually 
 appeal through the whole contexture of it. At first his
 
 214 MAHOMKT. 
 
 ambition bad the predominancy; but, when thai began 
 to be somewhat satisfied by the power he had attained 
 to, his lust grew upon him with his age: so that at 
 length lie seemed to be totally dissolved in it. In the 
 mean time, notwithstanding his constant attachment to 
 the female sex, and immoderate love of women, nothing 
 can be severer than his laws against them. He allowed 
 men not only to have many wives, but also to whip them, 
 when they were not obedient, and to divorce them upon 
 any dislike. He denied women the liberty of having 
 more husbands than one; neither would he allow them 
 to quit him, though never so troublesome to them, wiih- 
 out his consent. He ordained, that a woman divorced 
 should marry again but twice ; and that, if she was di- 
 vorced from the third husband, and the first would not 
 take her again, she should never marry afterwards. He 
 was so far from permitting them to show their breasts, 
 or even their necks, that he would not suffer their feet 
 to be seen, but only by their husband. He set no bounds 
 to the number of concubines ; so that the Turks may 
 have as many as they are capable of maintaining. 
 
 We must therefore confess, that Mahomet did not use 
 the sex well: for he did not only make women miserable 
 in this world, but deprived them also of the joys of Pa- 
 radise. He did farther, not only exclude from that 
 place, but made it an occasion of sorrow to them : for it 
 is pretended he taught, that the pleasures of marriage, 
 which men shall enjoy after this life, shall be furnished 
 them by virgins of a ravishing beauty, which God has 
 created in Heaven, and which are destined for them 
 from eternity : and as to women, that they shall not 
 enter into Paradise, nor approach nearer to it than is 
 necessary to discover, through the palisadoes, what shall 
 be done there. What can be more grievous ? The 
 sight of a happiness of which- they are deprived, must 
 needs aillict them; and so much the more, as well be- 
 cause it will discover the pleasures which another enjoys,
 
 MAHOMET. 215 
 
 as because they will see that happiness whirl) they them- 
 selves want: for the torment of jealousy proceeds not so 
 much from the want of a thing, as from knowing that 
 others enjoy it. 
 
 Mahomet allowed the Divinity of the Old and New 
 Testament, and the texts which are used to defend his 
 cause are Deuteronomy, chap, xxxiii. ver. 2. Psalms, 
 chap. i. ver. 2. Isaiah, chap. xxi. ver. 7. and St. John, 
 cap. xvi. ver. 7. 
 
 After the death of this impostor, his religion spread 
 over a far greater extent of territory than even Christi- 
 anity itself. At present this religion prevails throughout 
 the Turkish dominions in Europe, Asia, and Africa : the 
 eastern coast of Africa, and the island of Madagascar; 
 in Arabia, the Persian states;, the Russian states of Little 
 Tartary, Astracan, Kazan, Kirghis, Razaks, Sec. amongst 
 the independent Tartars ; in a great part of Uindoostan; 
 man}' of the eastern islands; as Malaga, Sumatra, Java, 
 &c. &,c. There are also many Mahometans in China 
 and other countries.* 
 
 * The following statement, supposing the world to contain 
 800,000,000 inhabitants, will show to what length the delusion of M;i- 
 hometanism has extended. 
 
 I. CHRISTIANS. 
 
 Roman Catholics 100,000,000 
 
 Greek, and Eastern Churches 3(>,00(>,0()0 
 
 Protestant, Lutheran and Calvinistic Churches 50,000,000 
 
 u. JK\VS. 
 Damage states the Jews at about 3,000,000 
 
 III. MAUO.MKTANS. 
 
 Of the varioib tribes of persons follow mg the doctrines 
 
 of lihmism, there is about 143,000,000 
 
 IV. HINDOOS. 
 
 Hindoos and other Pagans ' 468,000,000 
 
 800, ()()(). i>n > 
 
 f, l>. >.
 
 JEFFREY DUNSTAN. 
 
 DUNSTAN, or as he was significantly called 
 since his appointment to the mayoralty of Garratt, Sir 
 Jeffrey Dunstan, was found in the year 1759, wrapped 
 up in a cloth, at the door of a church-warden of the 
 Parish of St. Dunstan in the East; and from the supe- 
 riority of the mantle he had on, it is likely he was the 
 child of some respectable person who did not choose to 
 own him, which is most probably the case ; but certain 
 it is, no one did ever father him. When honour and 
 fortune smiled on Sir Jeffrey, he never troubled himself, 
 to search into the secrets of the Herald's Office, for 
 family arms ; but in opposition to them, formed his own 
 armorial bearings; which were four wigs, and his crest, 
 a quart pot, emblematic of his pursuits of life; for he 
 could not resist, at times, the temptations of London; 
 and he seemed to agree with a late learned senator, that 
 the publicans in London, seemed to show their pots in 
 the streets, as much as to say " come and steal me !" 
 Whether our hero ever heard that sound vibrate in his 
 ears, we are not informed ; but sure it is, he unwarrant- 
 edly made rather too free with them ; and for which of- 
 fence he was kept in durance vile: hence the meaning 
 of his crest ; old wigs being his favourite cry through 
 the streets, it was his wish that they should fill each 
 quarter of his arms. 
 
 Sir Jeffrey was reared in the work-house of the above 
 parish till of the age of 12 years, when he was appren- 
 ticed for the term of nine years to a gieen grocer ; which 
 time he did not serve out ; but ran away to Birmingham, 
 where he worked in several factories ; and the hard 
 labour there, contributed to add to his peculiar de- 
 formity. 
 
 Our hero again appeared in London, in the year 1776; 
 
 H
 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 JflEU 
 

 
 JEFFREY DUNSTAX. 217 
 
 and we believe soon after entered the holy bands of ma- 
 trimony, with a fair nymph of the purlieus of St. Giles's, 
 by whom he had two daughters, who were really fine 
 women; Sir Jeffrey was fond of his progeny, whom he 
 called Miss Polly and Miss Nancy ; and ihey always re- 
 turned the compliment, by calling him Papa. He was 
 remarkably dirty in his person, and always had his shirt 
 thrown open, which exposed his breast to public view ; 
 and often accompanied by his daughters. He had a 
 filthy habit, when he saw a number of girls around him, 
 to spit in their faces, saying, " there, go about your 
 business." 
 
 The Court Kalendar does not inform us when Mr. 
 Dunstan received the honour of knighthood ; but we 
 believe it was on the death of Sir John Harper ; which 
 was about the time of the celebrated contest for West- 
 minster in 1784, between Hood, Fox, and Wray ; for 
 in the spring following he was unanimously elected 
 Mayor of Garrat;* which seat he kept till his death ; 
 
 * The origin of the mayor and members of Garrat was thus: 
 About 1750, several persons who lived near that part of Wandsworth 
 which adjoins to Garrat Lane, had formed a kind of club, not merely 
 to eat and drink, but to concert measures for removing the encroach- 
 ments made on that part of the common, and to prevent any others 
 being made for the future. As the members were most of them per- 
 sons in low circumstances, they agreed, at every meeting, to contribute 
 a trifle in order to make up a purse for the defence of their collective 
 rights. When a sufficient sum of money was subscribed, they applied 
 to a worthy attorney in that neighbourhood, who brought an action 
 against the encroachers, in the name of the president, (or as they 
 called him, the Mayor,) of the club. They gained their suit with 
 costs ; the encroachments were destroyed ; and ever after, the presi- 
 dent, who lived many years, was called "The Mayor of Garrat." 
 This event happening at the time of a general election, the ceremony, 
 upon every new parliament, of choosing out-door members for the 
 borough of Garrat, has been constantly kept up, and is still continued 
 to the great emolument of all the publicans at Wandsworth, who annu- 
 ally subscribe to all the incidental expenses attending thi* mock clec. 
 lion. Dr. /Iiiulitoa's London and its Environs, vol. v. p. 396. 
 VOL. 1. 2 E
 
 218 JEFFREY DUNSTAN. 
 
 he neither bought the votes of his constituents, nor sold 
 them ; he was pure in politics virtuous in his official 
 capacity! 
 
 The cavalcade on his first election was grand in the 
 extreme, he was drawn in a phseton, decorated in all the 
 gaudy splendour of magnificence : in which order they 
 arrived at Garrat Lane, an insignificant dirty village in 
 the parish of Wandsworth ; a place that has had the 
 honour of giving the title of mayor to the most deformed 
 and stupid of John Bull's children: the place well ac- 
 cords with the title. 
 
 The money spent during these elections is very great; 
 according to Grose, the qualification of voting, is in 
 being able to swear on a brick-bat, that he has had an 
 amour in the open air in the fields round Garrat Lane. 
 
 It is usually expected that the candidates should 
 speechify a. little; in order, therefore, to qualify them, 
 they are taught an oration, which is always full of po- 
 pular sentiments and promises. The following is the 
 speed, of Sir Jeffrey Dunstan: 
 
 THE WORTHY ELECTORS OF THE ANCIENT 
 BOROUGH OF GARRAT. 
 
 My Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen, 
 
 A landed property being the only unexceptionable qualification 
 that entitles me to a seat in the august parliament of Great Britain, 1 
 presume my estate in the isle of Mud will, in point of propriety, secure 
 to me your .voles and interests, to represent you in the ensuing parlia- 
 ment. Now ladies and gem'men, I propose, for the good of mankind, 
 to anticipate a few promises like other great men, but which I will 
 strictly adhere to, that is, as long as I find it my interest so to do. 
 First, in regard to his Majesty's want of money., I am determined to 
 inake him easy on that point, (God bless him) by abolishing the use of 
 it entirely, and reducing the price of gold, it being the worst canker 
 to the soul of man, and the only expedient I can think of to prevent 
 bribery and corruption, an evil which all the great big ivigs of West- 
 minster cannot prevent, notwithstanding all their gravity and know- 
 ledge, as the late proceedings against governor Green Peas can fully 
 testify. Noiv, as my worthy constituents may be assured, [ shall use 
 a!! my honest endeavours to get a majority in the house, I shall ahva\s
 
 JEFFREY DUNSTAX. 4 21!) 
 
 take (he popular side of the question, and yet to do all I can to oblige 
 that jewel of a man, Sugar Plumb Billy, particularly to assist him in 
 paying off the national debt, without wetting a sponge. My scheme 
 for this, ladies and gem'men, is to unmarry all those who choose it, 
 on such terms as the minister shall think fit. This being a glorious op- 
 portunity for women of spirit to exert themselves, and regain (heir 
 long lost empire over their husband*, whom they could only cuckold 
 now and then ; I hope they will use all their coaxing arts to get me 
 elected in their husband's place ; and this will greatly increase the in- 
 fluence of the crown, arul vastly lower India bonds. 
 
 As I detest the idea of a placeman, I pledge myself not to accept of 
 any thing less than the government of Duck Island, or the bishopric of 
 Durham, for I am very fond of a clean shirt, and lawn sleeves I think 
 look well ; besides, the sine qua non is the thing I aim at, like other 
 great men. The India Company too I will convey from Leadenhall- 
 street to Westminster, and according to my own wig principles, I will 
 create all the directors and nabob's titles, and, besides, show them the 
 way to get what they have been long aiming at the way to Botany 
 Bay. And then I shall prove the Excise Office to be the greater 
 smuggle in the nation, for they smuggled the ground from the public 
 on which their office stands, and for which I shall conjure up Old G re- 
 sham's ghost, to read them a lecture upon thieving. 
 
 Like other great men, I pledge my hono-.ir, life, .and fortune, that I 
 will remove all heavy taxes by substitution, placing them upon the 
 ladies of the town, whom I will incorporate into one body, under the 
 name of the SISTERS, and every time they retire into their private 
 apartments they shall pay six-pence to an officer placed at the door for 
 that purpose, and this, I think, will create a greater revenue than was 
 ever yet brought into the Exchequer. 
 
 By another glorious scheme, contrived by me and my friend Lord 
 George Gordon, I shall, by a philosophical, aristocrat ical thermometer, 
 or such like hydraulics, discover the longitude; yes, it will at last be 
 discovered among the Jews of Duke's Place: and the secret of Ma- 
 sonry by the ladies of King's Place. 
 
 City honours I never coveted, nor would I give an OLD WIG tol>e 
 drawn in idle state through Cheapside's foggy air on a 9th of Novem- 
 ber. No, I would rather sit by the side of my mat friend Nir. Fox 
 in the Duke of Devonshire's coach, and make another coalition, or gu 
 with him to India, and be a governor's great man ; for, 
 
 Hated by fools, and fools to hale, 
 Was always Jelln-y Duii'.Ui.i's tale. 
 
 Though my Lord Gcor^i: lia> turned Jew, and weais a broom about
 
 220 -JEFFREY DUJXSTAN. 
 
 his chin,* I never intend to do so until his informer is dead, or the time 
 elapsed of his imprisonment in the county castle, and then we shall 
 both go into Duke's Place, and be sworn true friends, as David and 
 Jonathan were ; then woe be to the informing busy bookseller of Spi- 
 lalfields, who was lately turned out of the Snogo for keeping a blowing, 
 and eating pork with the rind on. Depend upon it his windows will 
 then chatter more Hebrew then he ever understood. And all this 
 shall be done by me, in spite of him. Yes, by me, your humble 
 servant. 
 
 SIR JEFFREY DUNSTAN, M. P. 
 
 Sir Jeffrey in liis perambulations had always a sack 
 thrown across his shoulders, his cry being " Old Wigs j" 
 hence he was more known in London by the appellation 
 of " Old Wigs," than that of the Mayor of Garrat. 
 
 He used to sell his portrait with his speech, about the 
 streets, of which he was very proud. Another print of 
 him was published in the character of Dr. Last, which 
 character he performed at the Haymarket Theatre. 
 
 Sir Jeffrey formed many a good subject for the print 
 shops; as a ridicule on the politicians and orators of his 
 day. He was represented standing on a stool, asking 
 this question, " How far was it from the first of August 
 to Westminster Bridge ?" 
 
 His death was sudden ; for in the year 1797, being at 
 a jovial meeting near Saltpetre Bank, and drinking 
 rather more than his usual quantity of juniper, his com- 
 panions placed him in a wheel-barrow, and conveyed 
 him to his lady, in Plough-street, and in a few hours 
 after, he died, smothered with liquor. 
 
 * The Hon. George Gordon, commonly called Lord George Gor- 
 don, who rendered himself so conspicuous during the riols in 1780, 
 adopted in his latter days the habit and manners of a Jew. He died 
 November 1, 1793, in Newgate, where he had been confined two 
 years, for a libel on the moral and political conduct of the Queen of 
 France ; three years more for a libel on the Empress of Russia ; and 
 ten months longer for not procuring the necessary security for enlarge- 
 ment. His last moments are said to have been embittered by the 
 knowledge that he could not be buiied among the Jews ; to whose re- 
 Kgion he was warmly attached.
 
 
 
 _ 
 
 
 'W x >
 
 221 
 
 HENRY DIMSDALE. 
 
 i HIS poor idiot was born in Shug-lane, Hay-market, 
 in the year 1758. Of his early pursuits little is known ; 
 but we find him, in 1788, receiving parochial relief from 
 St. Martin's parish : his trade at that time was "vending 
 bobbins, thread, and stay-laces for the ladies :" he next 
 commenced muffin dealer; by which, he rendered 
 himself very conspicuous about the streets of London. 
 His harmless behaviour gained him many customers, and 
 life rolled on gaily and smoothly, till " ambition fired his 
 soul ;" and he aspired to the honour of representing the 
 borough of Garrat, on the death of the celebrated Sir 
 Jeffrey Dunslan ; and in which he was successful. Sir 
 Harry was elected to fill the important station of Mayor 
 of Garrat, during four parliaments; though not without 
 experiencing violent opposition in the persons of Squire 
 Jobson the bill-slicker, Lord Goring the ministerial 
 barber, and others. The following is a copy of his ad- 
 dress to his constituents, at the general election 1807 : 
 
 To the Worthy, Free, and Independent Electors of the 
 Ancient Borough of Garrat. 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 Once more you are called on to exercise your invaluable rights, the 
 Elective Franchise, for your ancient and honourable borough, and 
 once more your faithful representative, for the three last parliaments, 
 offers himself a candidate. 
 
 Gentlemen As all the Talents were lately dismissed, disgracefully, 
 it is requisite I should declare to you, I held no place under them. I 
 am, Gentlemen, no milk and water patriot I am no summer insect 
 I have always been a champion for the rights and privileges of my 
 constituents and as \vc have now an entire change of men, I hope, as 
 they are called by many all the blocks, they will see the necessity of 
 palling to their aid and assistance, men who have long been hid in ob- 
 scurity men, whox: virtue and integrity may shine at this awful 
 crisis And, Gentlemen, should ihey at lengfctce tlic-ir interest so 
 clear, as to call into action my abilities, I declare I am ready lo accept
 
 222 HENRY DIMSDALE. 
 
 any place under them, but I am determined to act on independent 
 principles, as my worthy colleague, Lord Cochrane, so loudly and so 
 often swore on the hustings, at Covent Garden. 
 
 Gentlemen I congratulate you on the defeat of Sixpenny Jack,* 
 he was obliged to hop off and leave the laurel of victory to Sir Fran- 
 cis Burdett and my worthy colleague, Lord Cochrane, and should any 
 Quixotic candidate be hardy enough to contest with me, the high 
 honour of representing your ancient borough, I have no doubt, by 
 your manly exertions, you will completely triumph over my opponent. 
 In times past, you have had confidence in my wisdom and integrity 
 you have looked up to me as your guardian angel and I hope you 
 have not been deceived, for, believe me, when I repeat what I so 
 often have done, I am ready to sacrifice life, health, and fortune, in 
 defence of the invaluable rights, privileges, and immunities of your 
 ancient and honourable borough. 
 
 I am, Gentlemen, 
 
 Your most obedient, humble Servant, 
 
 SIR HENRY DIMSDALE. 
 from my Attic Chamber, 
 
 The dirt'j end of Monmoutk-street, 
 June 10, 1807. 
 
 In this contest, Sir Harry was again successful, and 
 his procession to Garrat Lane, exceeded any thing of 
 the kind ever seen in London. He was placed (or rather, 
 tied) on an eminence in a carriage somewhat resem- 
 bling a triumphal car, drawn by four horses, which 
 were profusely decorated with dyed wood shavings a 
 substitute for ribands. The dress of Sir Harry was per- 
 fectly en suife ; and the tout ensemble a rare display of 
 eccentric magnificence. Solomon, in all his glory, was 
 not more sumptuously arrayed than the Mayor of Gar- 
 rat on this memorable day. His hat alone cost his 
 committee the enormous sum of 3/. 10s. 
 
 And now, for a short time, all was sun-shine with Sir 
 Harry ; yet, he found something was wanting to com- 
 plete his happiness, and he resolved on taking to his 
 bosom a wife ; a suitable object presenting herself in the 
 
 * Alluding to John Elliot, Esq. brewer, who was a candidate 
 with Sir F. Burdi-lt and Lord Cochrane for the city of Westminster 
 at which lime porli r was sixpence a pot.
 
 HENRY DIMSDALE. 223 
 
 person of an inmate of St. Ann's workhouse. In a few 
 weeks after the consummation of their nuptials, his 
 rib, with the utmost good-nature, presented him witli a 
 son and heir, of which he was very proud. 
 
 In Garral Lane is a small house, which it is said 
 should be occupied by the elected member for the time 
 being; but this is ordered otherwise. Sir Harry, how- 
 ever, used to say, that the matter ought to be inquired 
 into, but he died before he was able to bring it forward 
 in parliament. 
 
 In addition to his office of mayor, he was nominated 
 as a proper person to be opposed to the then all-power- 
 ful Buonaparte, whereupon he was elected Emperor. 
 His garb now assumed all the show of royalty ; but un- 
 like most monarchs, he carried his crown in his hand ; 
 it not being correct, he said, for him to wear it till he 
 had ousted his more powerful rival. In this character, 
 Sir Harry levied pretty handsome contributions on the 
 good people of London; but the novelty of his person 
 at length lost most of its attractions ; he became neg- 
 lected ; illness seized him ; and he died intheyear 1811, 
 in the 53d year of his age. 
 
 By his death, the boys were deprived of an object of 
 ridicule, and the compassionate man spared the painful 
 task of witnessing so harmless a being tormented and 
 ill-used by the unfeeling and the heedless. 
 
 On the demise of Sir Harry, the mayoralty of Garrat 
 was invested 'on Sir John Coke, a well known and ec- 
 centric costar-mouger, of Toihill-fields, Westminster. 
 
 The greatest acquirement, necessary to qualify a can- 
 didate for the representation of this most noble and an- 
 cient borough, appears to be some great deformity, idiot- 
 ism, or a professed bacchanalian, for at a late election 
 we observed in a hand-bill o.f one of the candidates, that 
 his principal recommendation was his being " The tried 
 friend of Hodges' Jlest ! ! !" and in another " The 
 friend f Barclay and Coovibt's ! .' .'"
 
 224 
 
 GEORGE MORLAND. 
 
 IN a work, the professed object of which is to delineate 
 the lives and actions of eccentric and remarkable cha- 
 racters, few persons can more justly claim a place than 
 the celebrated artist, George Morland. Though blest 
 with talents, which, if prudently applied, might have 
 raised him to affluence and distinction, such was the un- 
 fortunate bent of his disposition, that he associated only 
 with the meanest of mankind, and a life of alternate 
 extravagance and distress was terminated by his death 
 in a spunging-house. 
 
 George Morland was born in the year 1763. His 
 father was a portrait painter in crayons ; and his talents, 
 though respectable, were not of the first order. In 
 early life he had made a considerable figure, but having 
 lost much property by engaging in schemes not con- 
 ducted with prudence, he retired from the world in dis- 
 gust, and educated his family in that obscurity to which 
 the narrowness of his circumstances confined him. 
 
 George in his infancy is said to have manifested a 
 predilection for the art; and it is certain, that in the ex- 
 hibitions of the society of artists, to which his father 
 belonged, were shown drawings by his son, when 
 only four, five, and six years old, which would have 
 done credit to youths who were learning the art as a 
 profession. From this time his fatherlSbliged him to 
 study, without intermission, the practice of every depart- 
 ment of the art. 
 
 He was at this period confined to an upper room, 
 copying drawings or pictures, and drawing from plaister 
 casts. Being almost entirely restricted from society, all 
 the opportunities he had for amusement were obtained 
 by stealth, and his associates were a few boys in the 
 neighbourhood. The means of enjoyment were obtained 
 
 11
 
 
 '//,- ,vvv/. 

 
 GEORGE MORLAND. 225 
 
 by such close application to his business as to pro- 
 duce a few drawings or pictures more than his father 
 imagined he could complete in a given time. These he 
 lowered by a string from the window of his apartment 
 to his youthful companions, by whom they were con- 
 verted into money, which they spent in common when 
 opportunities offered. In this manner passed the first 
 seventeen years of the life of George Morland, and to 
 this unremitted diligence and application he was indebt- 
 ed for the extraordinary power he possessed over the im- 
 plements of his art. Avarice was the ruling passion of 
 his father; and this passion was so insatiable, that he 
 kept his son incessantly at work, and gave him little, if 
 any, other education. To this cause must doubtless be 
 attributed all the irregularities of his subsequent life. 
 
 Muiland's first original compositions were dictated by 
 his father. They were small pictures of two or three 
 figures taken from the ballads of the day. These his 
 father put into frames, and sold at different prices, from 
 one guinea to three, according to the pockets of his 
 customers. These, though infinitely inferior to his later 
 productions, were much admired ; many fell into the 
 hands of engravers, and the engravings made from them 
 first brought Morland into notice. , 
 
 Some gentlemen, to whom the elder Morlanrl was 
 known, wished to patronize the youthful artist : from 
 one he borrowed two capital pieces by Vt-rnet, which 
 George copied in an admirable style. Mr. Angersteiii 
 permitted him to take a copy of Sir Joshua Reynolda's 
 celebrated picture of Garrick between Tragedy and 
 Comedy, and on this occasion the unfortunate peculi- 
 arity of his disposition was strikingly displayed. The 
 original was at Blackheath, whither the two MorlancU 
 went to copy it. Mr. Angerstein wished to notice the 
 youth, and to observe the progress of the work ; but he 
 refused to begin his picture till he had obtained a soltmi> 
 promise that h should be overlooked by no person 
 
 VOL. i. 2 F
 
 L'-JG GEORGE MORLANIX. 
 
 whatever. The promise was given; lie painted the 
 picture; associated with the servants while lie remained 
 in the house, and no encouragement or entreaties could 
 bring him into the company of the generous and public- 
 spirited proprietor. 
 
 A friend, who was going, to pass the summer at Mar- 
 gate, advised old Morland to send his son to that place 
 to paint portraits. The plan appeared a good one, and 
 was adopted. George, with his picture of Garrick and 
 some others, took lodgings for the season ; customers 
 flocked to him, his portraits pleased, and he began a 
 great number. Unfortunately, the society of accom- 
 plished women or rational men made him feel his own 
 ignorance and insignificance; hence every one who sat 
 to him was an object of disgust. The pig-races, and 
 other elegant amusements projected for the lower order 
 of visitors at Margate, engaged the whole of his atten- 
 tion, and the portraits were thrown aside to be com- 
 pleted in town. Instead of returning home with his 
 pockets full of money, he only brought a large cargo of 
 unfinished canvasses; and as the engagements of the 
 watering place are forgotten in the capital, very few of 
 them were after wards completed. 
 
 Though, in this expedition, he obtained very little 
 pecuniary advantage, he gained several points that were 
 of considerable consequence. He acquired the repu- 
 tation of being an artist who possessed considerable 
 talents; he emancipated himself from paternal authority; 
 and instead of handing a sketch slily out of the window 
 to raise a few shillings, he did what he pleased, and 
 fixed what price lie thought proper on his labours. By 
 means of the money thus obtained, he was enabled to 
 make many acquaintances, who unfortunately contri- 
 buted to fix his character for life. The lowest among 
 the professors of his art now became the companions of 
 .Morland. To these he was equal in intellect, and su- 
 perior in talent; he was likewise superior to them in a
 
 GEORGS MORLAND. 227 
 
 circumstance which will always obtain from such per- 
 sons what ignorant men covet, the adulation of their as- 
 sociates, A ride into the country to a smock-race or a 
 grinning-match, a jolly dinner, and a drinking-bout 
 after it, a mad scamper home with a flounce into the 
 mud, and two or three other et ceteras, formed the sum 
 of their enjoyments. Of these Moi land had as much as 
 he desired, and as he was the richest of the sect, by the 
 community of property among such jolly dogs, he com- 
 inunlv paid for them more lhau his share. 
 
 About this time Morland married, ajid became ac- 
 quainted with J. R. Smith the engraver, who then dealt 
 largely in prints, for whom he painted many pictures of 
 subjects from the familiar scenes of life. Every one was 
 acquainted with the subjects, and felt the sentiments 
 they conveyed, so that the prints which Mr. Smith 
 made from those paintings had an unprecedented sale, 
 and extended Morland's fame, not only throughout this 
 kingdom, but even over the continent. The subjects 
 were probably suggested by Smith, as the}' displayed 
 more sentiment than Alorland ever seemed to possess. 
 His peculiar talent, as it now burst forth with full splen- 
 dour, was landscape, such s it is found in sequestered 
 situations, and with appropriate animals and figures. 
 He was extremely fond of visiting the Isle of Wight, 
 and there is scarcely an object to be met with along the 
 shore, at the back of the island, that his pencil has not 
 delineated. His best pictures are replete with scenes 
 drawn from that spot. A fine rocky shore, with fisher- 
 men mending their nets, careening their boats, or send- 
 ing their fish to the neighbouring market-towns, were 
 scenes he most delighted in, when he attempted sea- 
 shore pieces ; and the Isle of Wight afforded him abun- 
 dant opportunities to gratify his taste and fancy. In 
 this, his constant summer excursion, he was once recog- 
 nised at a place called Fresh-water Gate, in a low pub- 
 lic house, known by the name of the Cabin. A num-
 
 228 GEORGE MORLAND. 
 
 her of fishermen, a few sailors, and three or four rustics 
 formed the homely group : he was in the midst of them, 
 contributing his joke, and partaking of their noisy mer- 
 riment, when his friend called him aside, and eutreated 
 his company for an hour. Morland, with some reluc- 
 tance withdrew from the Cabin ; and the next day, when 
 his friend began to remonstrate on his keeping such 
 company, he took from his pocket a sketch-book, and 
 asked him where he was to find a true picture of hum- 
 ble life, unless in such a place as that from which his 
 friend had taken him. The sketch was a correct deline- 
 ation of every thing in the Cabin t;ip-room, even to a 
 countenance, a stool, a settee, or the position of a figure. 
 This representation his memory had supplied after leav- 
 ing the house, and one of his best pictures is the very 
 scene he then sketched; a proof that his mind was still 
 intent on its favourite pursuit, the delineation of nature 
 in her homeliest attire, though his manners at the moment 
 betrayed nothing farther than an eagerness to partake of 
 the vulgar sensualities of his surrounding companions. 
 
 During one of these excursions, a friend at whose 
 house he resided, having gone to London, left an order 
 at his departure with an acquaintance at Cowes, to 
 give Morland his own price for such drawings or pictures 
 as he should think proper to send. The gentleman in- 
 trusted with this commission, though highly respectable 
 both in his moral and professional character, had, ne- 
 vertheless, a very incompetent knowledge of, and as little 
 true relish for the tine arts. Morland's pictures were 
 always sent in with an accompanying solicitation for 
 cash according to the nature of the subject. These de- 
 mands were regularly complied with, until at length a 
 small but highly finished drawing was transmitted with 
 a demand, as usual, for a sum proportionate to its merit. 
 Struck with the apparent disparity between the size of 
 the drawing and the sum required, which seemed out 
 of all proportion, the conscientious agent positively re-
 
 GEORGE MORLAND. 229 
 
 fused to advance a shilling until he had transmitted the 
 drawing to his friend, who was then in London. This 
 was accordingly done, and instructions were immedi- 
 ately sent back to take the drawing and as many 
 others as the artist might offVr at the same price. 
 On the receipt of this liberal and explicit order, the 
 assent at Cowes hastened to find out Morland and in- 
 stantly paid the money, but not without observing that 
 he thought his friend deranged in his intellects. 
 
 During Morhnd's stay at Yarmouth, in the Isle of 
 Wight, he and his fellow travellers were apprehended 
 as spies, when the former in his vindication produced 
 several drawings which he had just finished at Cowes, 
 but (hese the officers ingeniously construed into confir- 
 ma'ions of their guilt. They were accordingly escorted 
 by a numerous body of soldiers and constables to New- 
 port, where, after being separately examined before th 
 bench of justices, they were at length discharged with a 
 strict injunction to paint and draw no more during their 
 stay in the island. 
 
 The manner in which he painted rural subjects ob- 
 tained so much notice, that his fortune might now have 
 been made; purchasers appeared who would have taken 
 any number of pictures he could have painted, and paid 
 any price for them he could have demanded, but here 
 the low-bred dealers in pictures stepped in, and com- 
 pleted that ruin the low-bred artists had begun. His 
 unfortunate peculiarity assisted them much in this plan; 
 the dislike he had for the society of gentlemen made 
 him averse to speak to one who only wished to purchase 
 his pictures. This peculiarity, his friends, the dealers, 
 took care to encourage to such a degree, that men of 
 rank and fortune were often denied admittance to him 
 when he was surrounded by a gang of harpies who 
 pushed the glass and the joke apparently at the quiz who 
 was refused admittance, but in reality at the fool who 
 wus the dupe of their artifices. They, in the character
 
 230 GEORGE MORLAND. 
 
 
 
 of friends, purchased of him all his pictures, which they 
 afterwards sold at very advanced prices. This was 
 carried to such an extent, that gentlemen who wished to 
 obtain Morland's pictures teased to apply to him for 
 them, but applied to such of his friends as had any to 
 sell; so thai he was entirely cut off from all connexion 
 with the real admirers of his works, and a competition 
 took place among those by whom he was surrounded, 
 each striving to obtain possession, arid to exclude all the 
 rest from a share in the prey. 
 
 For this reason all were anxious to join in his country 
 excursions and his drinking-parties, and to haunt his 
 painting-room in the morning, glass in hand, to obtain 
 his friendship. Thus his original failing was increased, 
 his health and his talents were injured, and by the 
 united efforts of the crew, his gross debauchery pro- 
 duced idleness and a consequent embarrassment of his 
 circumstances, when he was sure to become a prey to 
 some of this honest set. It frequently happened, that 
 when a picture had been bespoken by one of his friends 
 who advanced some money to induce him to work, if the 
 purchaser did not stand by to see it finished, and carry 
 it away with him, some other person, who was lurking 
 about for the purpose, and know the state of Morland's 
 pocket, by the temptation of a few guineas, obtained 
 the picture, and carried it off, leaving the intended pur- 
 chaser to lament his loss, and to seek his remedy by 
 prevailing on Morland to paint him another picture ; 
 that is, when he was in the humour to work for money 
 he had already spent; in making which satisfaction he 
 certainly was not very alert. Thus all were served in 
 their turn, and though each exulted in the success of 
 the trick, when he was so lucky as to obtain a picture in 
 this way, yet they all joined in exclaiming against 
 Morland's want of honesty in not keeping his promises. 
 
 Mr. Hassell, himself an artist and the biographer of 
 Morland, had once sqld one of his pictures to a gentle-
 
 GEORGE MORLAND. 231 
 
 man, who it was stipulated should have the companion 
 within a given lime. Xutv. iihbtanding half the price of 
 the latter was paid in ad.vance, and the subject had 
 been dead-coloured, yet convinced that all remonstrances 
 on the necessity of honour and punctuality in his en- 
 gagements would have been ineffectual, the following 
 stratagem was employed. Morlnnd was an early riser, 
 and in summer would frequently be at his easel by six in 
 the morning and sometimes even sooner. Aware of this, 
 Mr. Hassell procured two of his acquaintances to per- 
 sonate sheriff's officers, whom he stationed at the White 
 Lion, opposite to Borland's house at Paddington, with 
 instructions that they should take their breakfast in a 
 room of the inn directly facing his painting-room, and 
 occasionally walk to and fro before the door. This 
 plan being arranged, he obtained admission into the 
 artist's study, where he found him as he expected, 
 already at work, and requested he would then finish 
 what he had so repeatedly promised ; but so far from 
 producing any effect by his entreaties, the more he 
 urged them, the mere jocular Morland became on the 
 occasion. After waiting some lime Has&ell carelessly 
 opened a part of the shutter, as if to see the state of 
 the weather, and pretended to express some surprise at 
 two men who appeared to be watching the door of 
 Morland's house. The artist, who was easily alarmed, 
 and perhaps, at that moment, had sufficient cause for 
 apprehension, now went to the window himself to re- 
 connoitre, a:id instantly affirmed that they were waiting 
 for him. lie was deeply impressed with this idea, which 
 his companion endeavoured to confirm ; and accord- 
 ingly recommended that the door should be kept closely 
 shut, till it was ascertained whether these persons were 
 actually waiting for him, or there was some probability 
 of their going away. He then renewed his solicitation'; 
 that Morland would finish the picture, which he en- 
 forced by showing him the other moiety of the price in
 
 232 GEORGE MORLAND. 
 
 hard cash, care having been previously taken to secure 
 the entrance of the house, and orders given that all 
 comers should be answered by the servant out of a two 
 pair of stairs window, that Morland had not been at 
 home all night. This had the desired effect. No inter- 
 ruption occurred, and all supplies for that day being 
 apparently cut off, the artist made a virtue of necessity, 
 and finished a landscape and figures, one of the best 
 pictures he ever painted, in less than six hours after he 
 had dead-coloured it. Having now succeeded, Hassell, 
 in order to remove his friend's apprehensions, pretended 
 to recollect the countenance of one of the persons in 
 waiting, and in a few minutes demonstrated to Morland 
 the truth of his observations, by taking the picture, wet 
 as it was, and transferring it to one of them to carry 
 home. 
 
 About the year 1790, Morland lived in the neighbour- 
 hood of Paddington. At this period he had reached 
 the very summitof his merit and also of his extravagance. 
 He kept at one time no less than eight saddle horses at 
 livery, at the sign of the White Lion opposite to his 
 house, and was absurd enough to wish to be considered 
 as a horse-dealer. Frequently horses for which one day 
 he would give thirty or forty guineas, he would sell the 
 next for less than half that sum ; but as the honest fra- 
 ternity of horse-dealers knew their man, and would take 
 his note at two months, he could the more easily indulge 
 this propensity, and appear for a short time in cash, 
 until the day or payment came, when a picture was pro- 
 duced as a douceur for the renewal of the notes. 
 
 This was one source of calamity which neither his in- 
 dustry, for which he was remarkable, nor his talents 
 were by any means adequate to counterpoise. His wine 
 merchant, who was also a gentleman in the discounting 
 line, would sometimes obtain a picture worth fifty 
 pounds for the r nevval of a bill. By this conduct he 
 heaped folly upon folly to such a degree, that a fortune 
 
 11
 
 GEORGE: MORLAND. 
 
 of ten thousand u year would have proved insufficient 
 for the support of his waste and prodigality. 
 
 No man was more accessible to flattery than Morland, 
 and the more gross was the mode in which it was served 
 up, the more highly was it relished. If an ostler or 
 post-boy applauded his observations lie was sure to be 
 touched in the palm with half-a-crown, or perhaps t'o 
 receive a pair of leather breeches little the worse for 
 wear. His acquaintances of this cast were so numerous, 
 that there was scarcely a driver on the north road, 
 within fifty miles of London, that was not known to him ; 
 nor was there a blood-horse of anv note whose pedigree 
 and performances he. could not relate with astonishing- 
 facility. 
 
 An inn at Highgate, where the sovereign judges of 
 the whip generally stopped on their return to the coun- 
 try, to refresh themselves and their horses, was a 
 favourite resort of Morland's. There lie used to take 
 his stand, and there indeed he was completely at home; 
 receiving the compliments of every one that offered 
 them, in return for which he always considered it his 
 duty to pay the reckoning. With a pipe in his mouth 
 he would frequently parade before the door of this 
 house, and hail the carriages ;\s they passed in succes- 
 sion before him ; and from being so well known he was 
 generally greeted in reiurn with a familiar salute from 
 the postillion. The consequence he attached to this 
 species of homage, as an illustration of his great merit, 
 was such as almost to exceed belief. 
 
 Among other instances of his tccentricity the follow- 
 ing is given by Mr. Hassell. " A lady, whose sister the 
 writer afterwards married, went with her husband, in 
 consequence of ill health, to reside at Paddington, and 
 had been promised a sucking pig Ijy Moriand, who \vns 
 intimate with the family. As the writer was walking 
 towards Paddmgton, one summer's morning, i<> inquire 
 concerning tho health of his relative, hr observed a IIKUI 
 
 vol.. i. -
 
 2,'J4 GEORGE MORLAND. 
 
 posting before him with a pig, which he held in his 
 c\nm as if it had been a child. The piteous squeaks of 
 the little animal, unaccustomed to such a mode of con- 
 Teyance, attracted the notice of numerous spectators, 
 boih from the doors and windows as he passed along. 
 Struck with the laughable conduct of the bearer of the 
 pig, the writer determined to follow him, as the adven- 
 ture promised some humour, and the more so as the pig- 
 bearer would set the pig down to every dog that barked, 
 and there were not a few, and pitt him against the dog. 
 From this a chace would sometimes ensue, and the pig- 
 hunter having overtaken the 'animal, would hastily 
 snatch it up and jog on as before. In this manner he 
 pursued his course through several of the streets of 
 Mary-le-bone till he reached the house of the writer's 
 friend, where to his no small surprise, the man with the 
 pig knocked and readily obtained admittance. Con- 
 ceiving him to be some person connected with the peo- 
 ple of the house, the writer thought of nothing but 
 creating a laugh by reciting the singularity of the ad- 
 venture ; but how great was his astonishment upon en- 
 tering the dining-room to find this original character, 
 with the pig yet under his arm, introduced to him as 
 Mr. Morland the painter." 
 
 It was about the year 1790 that our artist, who was 
 lineally descended from Sir Samuel Morland, an emi- 
 nent mathematician of the seventeenth century, was 
 assured by his solicitor that he was the undoubted heir 
 to the dormant baronetage, and was advised to assert 
 his claim. He, however, sagaciously remarked, that 
 plain George Morland would always sell his pictures as 
 well, and obtain him as much respect, as if Sir was 
 prefixed to it; for there was more honour in being 
 a fine painter than in being a fine gentleman. George's 
 aversion to fashionable life was probably a strong motive 
 for his renouwcing this honour. 
 
 Mr. Ifassell, in his memoirs of the life of this emi-
 
 GEORGi: MORLAKD. 236 
 
 nt artist, relates two circumstances in which his love 
 of low company subjected Morland's pride lo sensible 
 mortification. 
 
 One day Mr. J. R. Smith, by whom Morland was 
 then employed, called in company with Mr. J. Ban- 
 nister to see what progress he had made in a picture 
 which was upon the easel. Satisfied with what he saw, 
 Mr. Smith was about to take his leave, when Morland 
 proposed to accompany him in his morning's ride, which 
 Mr. Smith declined, saying, in an abrupt and empha- 
 tical tone, " I have an appointment with a gentleman 
 who is waiting for me." Morland immediately felt the 
 keenness of the shaft levelled at him, and understood 
 the insinuation that he was not a fit companion for 
 Mr. 'Smith or Mr. Bannister, and gave vent to his 
 splenetic humour in the most vulgar and . indecent 
 language. 
 
 The other was a more humorous occurrence, and ori- 
 ginated in an invitation which Morland had received 
 .from a gentleman who resided at Hadley, and who 
 agreed to meet him at Highgate. There were some 
 other gentlemen in company, and among the rest Mr. 
 Hassell, who relates the anecdote. On their way to 
 Barnet they had reached the turnpike-gate at Whet- 
 stone, when a kind of lumber or jocky cart intercepted 
 their progress, and two persons sealed in the vehicle 
 were eeen disputing with the gate-keeper about the toll. 
 In consequence of this interruption there was only room 
 for one horse to pass at aJime. Morland was c-ndca- 
 vouring to make good his way, when one of the gtn- 
 tlemen in the cart, looking up, vociferated : " J'at Mr. 
 Morland vont you speak to a body?" It was particularly 
 observed that the artist endeavoured to shun this grrri- 
 ing, and wished to pass on in silence ; but his old friend 
 was not to be put o(Y so rasily. nnd still continued bawl- 
 ing out to him until al length he was obligrd to K.-CO-.:- 
 uisc his companion and cruny Mr. Uuoper, the tinman
 
 230 KEORKU MORLAND. 
 
 and celebrated pugilist, who by this time had extended 
 his hand to give Mori and a hearty fraternal shake. He 
 had nosooner done this, than turning to his comrade, the 
 charioteer, he introduced a chimney-sweeper to Mor- 
 land's notice, calling out, " I'y, Dick, don't you know 
 ihis litre gemman? Tis my friend Mr. Morland" The 
 sooty knight instantly put out his hand and forced the 
 officious welcome upon Morland, -notwithstanding the 
 latter made many awkward attempts to avoid the squeeze. 
 The chagrin he manifested upon this occasion cleaily 
 evinced that his pride was very sensibly hurt ; if, indeed, 
 he ever possessed what may be termed virtuous and com- 
 mendable' pride ; for he always endeavoured to clear 
 himself from the imputation of this rencontre with his 
 brother of the brush, by declaring that the tinman had 
 forced his company upon him, and that the chimney- 
 sweeper was a perfect stranger to him ; which, however, 
 considering Morland's habits, was not a very probable 
 case, nor was it easily accredited. 
 
 Morland's dress and equipage at this period were com- 
 pletely changed from the affectation of excessive foppery 
 lo the appearance of extreme neatness. Scarcely a 
 week elapsed but he sported a pair of new gloves and 
 leather breeches; so that on the last-mentioned occa- 
 sion, it was ludicrous to observe him with a clean glove 
 on one hand and the marks of the sooty squeeze on the 
 other. This was a joke which he never liked to hear 
 repeated, though, for a considerable time afterwards, 
 sweeps, your honour, was a standing jest among his 
 Iriencis and never failed to make the laugh go round. 
 
 In one of Morland's excursions from London, he was 
 surprised by a friend seated in the midst of the smug- 
 gling crew of the celebrated Johnson. In the centre of 
 this motley group was placed a half anker of gin, into 
 xvhich each of the company, dipping a glass tumbler, 
 drank oft his quota and then pas&ed it to his neighbour. 
 Morland also, when it came to his turn, quaffed his por-
 
 GEORGE MORLAND. 237 
 
 tion with us much pleasure as any of the rest, nor \v;is 
 it till the keg was drained that he left his associates. It 
 was a sort of hobby-horse that led him into this low 
 company. He was extremely vain when he could be 
 thought a person of consequence among such rabble; 
 but in the -end he smarted for his weakness. He endea- 
 voured to assume the same character as his associates, 
 and the liberty and coarse freedom with which he was 
 in consequence greeted, frequently made him ridiculous. 
 
 In the course of the years 1790, 1791, and 1792, when 
 Morland's best pictures were produced, a host of ad- 
 miring dealers were complaisant enough to offer him 
 any pecuniary assistance he might deem it expedient to 
 accept. Morland, who had a wonderful alacrity at bor- 
 rowing without scruple or hesitation, embraced their 
 offers indiscriminately; for there was scarcely one of 
 these liberal friends whose purse he did not make free 
 with, and that too, almost at the time, and on the same 
 occasion. 
 
 Having received an invitation from Claude Lorrain 
 Smith, Esq. to visit him at his seat at Enderby, in Lei- 
 cestershire, the purse he had thus collected very oppor- 
 tunely served his purpose. Accompanied by one of his 
 trusty friends, commonly known by the appellation of 
 Dirty Brookes, a notorious debauchee, who fell a sacri- 
 fice to his excess, away he set out upon this rural ex- 
 cursion. This journey was kept a profound secret from, 
 his Accommodating friends the picture dealers; and his 
 absence consequently excited a considerable deal of 
 alarm, which vv;is not a little augmented by a report 
 industriously circulated, as a good joke, by one of his 
 waggish companions, that he was gone to France. The 
 sudden shock which this intelligence occasioned, pro- 
 ceeded less from the apprehension of losing the sums 
 they had lent him, than from the disappointment of 
 their speculative schemes. It would rcquire'the spirit 
 >.)t Hogarth's pencil, correctly to depict the
 
 -238 GEORGE BORLAND. 
 
 countenances of these outwitted speculators when thev 
 Hrst compared notes together. It was however unani- 
 mously agreed to make all possible inquiries about the 
 artist, who meanwhile was priding himself on having 
 thus taken in the knowing ones. 
 
 No sooner had he returned from this excursion, than 
 he found his picture and horse-dealing friends ^very soli- 
 citous to renew their visits. This, however, he would 
 not encourage, but from this moment studiously avoided 
 all society, and with only a single crony to hawk his 
 pictures about the town, was invisible for months 
 together. 
 
 So strongly was the mind of this ill-fated artist im- 
 pressed with the idea that he should become an inhabit- 
 ant of a gaol, that he actually visited the King's Bench 
 prison incog, to ascertain how he should like confine- 
 ment; yet, so great was his dread of the apprehended 
 evil, that he declared nothing but absolute necessity 
 should ever compel him to a surrender of his liberty. 
 
 It was now that he began to feel the ill effects of 
 having involved himself in debt. If he walked the 
 streets, he was sure to be dogged, or to imagine himself 
 dogged by some lurking creditor, before he could reach 
 his habitation, where, notwithstanding all his precau- 
 tions, he was frequently discovered. Whenever he sur- 
 mised this to be the case, he would suddenly decamp, 
 and in a lew days his trusty dependants would be dis- 
 patched to fetch away his implements. 
 
 The consequences attendant on the imprudence of 
 Morland's conduct were frequent distress, the spunging 
 house and the gaol, except he had the good fortune to 
 escape into a retirement unknown to all but some trusty 
 dealer, who, for the time, took all his works, and paid 
 him a stipulated sum for his support. On one occasio-n, 
 to avoid his creditors, he retired from public observa- 
 tion, and lived in great obscurity near Hackney. Some 
 of the neighbours, from his extreme privacy and other
 
 GEORGE MORLAM). 239 
 
 circumstances, entertained a notion that he was either 
 a coiner or a fabricator of forged bank notes; which 
 suspicion being communicated to the Bank, the direc- 
 tors sent some police-officers to search the house, and 
 if any indications of guilt should appear, to take the 
 offender into custody. As they approached they were 
 observed by Morland, who, naturally concluding them 
 to be a bailiff and followers in quest of himself, imme- 
 diately retreated into the garden, went out at a back 
 door, and ran over the brick fields towards Hoxton, and 
 then to London. Mrs. Morland, trembling, opened 
 the front door, when the police officers entered, and 
 began to search the house. An explanation took place; 
 she assured them, with unaffected simplicity, evidently 
 the result of truth, that they were mistaken, and in- 
 formed them of the cause of his flight. As they dis- 
 covered in the house little more than some excellent un- 
 finished pictures, which excited in them some respect 
 and admiration, they said they were convinced of the 
 mistake, and retired. On communicating the result of 
 their search to the directors, and informing them that 
 they had made no discovery of bank notes, but that it 
 was the retreat of Morland the painter, and giving them 
 an account of his flight to avoid them as balifls 
 
 O ' 
 
 the directors commiserating the pecuniary embarrass- 
 ment of this unfortunate genius, and to compensate the 
 trouble they had unintentionally given, generously pre- 
 sented him with forty pounds. 
 
 It has been related that at another time he was found 
 in a lodging in Somers-town, in the following extra- 
 ordinary circumstances. His infant child, that had 
 been dead nearly three weeks, lay in its coffin in one 
 corner of the room ; an ass and her foal stood munching 
 barley-straw out of the cradle; a sow and pigs were 
 solacing themselves in the recess of an old cupboard, 
 and he himself was whistling over a beautiful picture 
 that he was finishing at his easel, with a bottle of gin
 
 240 GEORGE MORLAND. 
 
 hung up on one side, and a live mouse sitting, or rather 
 kicking, for his portrait on the other. This story has, 
 however, been positively contradicted by his biogra- 
 pher, who says: " As for that part of it which relates 
 to the child, we can positively assert that he never had 
 one ; the rest of the story may in some parts be true; 
 for when he lived in the Lambeth road, he had an in- 
 mate of the long-eared tribe, and a few other singular 
 lodgers: but that any person who ever knew Morland 
 could have supposed him bold enough to stay in a room 
 \\iih a corpse by himself is perfectly ridiculous. He 
 was remarkably timid, and so nervous that he never at- 
 tempted to exercise his professions till he hail drank 
 sufficient to subdue the irritabilitv resulting: from his 
 
 * o 
 
 over-night's excess. 
 
 The department of his art in which Morlnnd shone 
 forth in all his glory, was picturesque landscape. For 
 about seven years that he painted such subjects he was 
 in his prime, and though the figures he introduced were 
 of the lower order, yet they were consistent with the 
 scenes, and had nothing that created disgust ; but when 
 his increasing irregularities led him from the wocdside 
 to the ale-house, his subjects assumed a meaner cast, as 
 the}' partook of the meanness of his society, for he 
 still painted what he saw. Stage-coachmen, postillions, 
 and drovers drinking, were honoured by his pencil; 
 his sheep were changed for pigs; and at last, with the 
 true feeling of a disciple of Circe, he 'forsook the pic- 
 turesque cottage, and the woodland scenery, and never'' 
 seemed happy but in a pig-stye. At this time one of his 
 most favourite resorts was the top of Gray's-lnn-Lane, 
 where it opens into the fields; there he might be seen 
 for hours together, amidst the accumulations of ashes 
 and filth, quaffing copious draughts of his ordinary 
 beverage, and sketching the picturesque forms of night- 
 men, dustmen and cinder-wenches, pigs, half-starved 
 asses, and hacks in training for the slaughter-house.
 
 GEORGE MORLAND. ^Jl 
 
 . Morland's embarrassments were far from producing 
 any change of his conduct, and at length conducted 
 him, through the hands of a bailiff, into that confine- 
 ment of which lie had entertained such well-grounded 
 apprehensions. This, however, did not render him un- 
 happy, but rather afforded him an opportunity of indulg- 
 ing, without control, all his favourite propensities. 
 There he could mingle with such companions as were 
 best adapted to his taste, there, in his own way, he 
 could reign and revel surrounded by the very lowest of 
 the low. His constant companion in this theatre of in- 
 dolence and dissipation was a person who went under 
 the familiar appellation of My Dicky. Tins. Dicky, a 
 waterman by occupation, was his confidant and picture 
 salesman. If accident detained the purchaser of a 
 bespoke picture beyond the time he had stipulated to 
 send for it, My Dicky was always at hand to carry it 
 forthwith to the pawnbroker's. To one of these places 
 Morland once dispatched this man with the picture of a 
 farm-yard, on which he demanded three guineas, and 
 as the picture was wet from the easel, he requested that 
 particular care should be taken not to injure it. Too 
 much care sometimes defeats its intention; this might 
 possibly have been the case in the present instance, for 
 while the pawnbroker was going up stairs to convey the 
 picture to a place of security, his foot unfortunately 
 slipped, and his clothes coming in contact with the can- 
 vas, totally obliterated the head and fore-part of a hog. 
 The dealer in money, unable to remedy this accident, re- 
 turned the painting with a polite note, apologizing for 
 the accident, and requesting the artist to restore the 
 head of the animal and retouch the damaged paris. 
 This, to use Morland's language upon the occasion, was 
 a good one. No sooner was the picture again in IIK 
 possession, than he made a peremptory demand of tive 
 guineas for complying with the r< qurM of the pawn- 
 broker, accompanying this demand \\iih an intimation 
 
 VOL. I. '1 \\
 
 242 GEORGE MORLAND. 
 
 that if the picture was not returned in as perfect a state 
 as when it was sent, he should commence an action 
 against the pawnbroker for the recovery of thirty 
 pounds, the value at which he estimated it. In 
 this dilemma, the latter thought it most prudent to 
 comply with the demand, and in less than an hour the 
 whole business was adjusted to their mutual satisfaction. 
 Morland, when distressed, was never barren in expe- 
 dients, as the following whimsical circumstance will 
 serve to demonstrate. He had been making sketches of 
 the coast near Deal, and was returning to town on foot, 
 accompanied by his brother-in-law, Mr. Ward, the 
 engraver. The extravagant humours of the preceding 
 evening had drained their exchequer of every shilling. 
 Morland began to feel the calls of nature for refresh- 
 ment, but the difficulty was how to procure it. Ob- 
 serving a low-built house by the road side, over which 
 was placed an animal intended for a bull, our artist, 
 who was seldom at a loss for a pretext to enter a public- 
 house, went in, and under the plea of inquiring the 
 way, expressed his surprise to the landlord that he did 
 not renew his sign, which time had nearly defaced. 
 Boniface alleged his inability to get it repaired on ac- 
 count of the charge, observing that it was good enough 
 for his humble dwelling ; but Morland offering to paint 
 him a new one for five shillings, he immediately acqui- 
 esced, and commissioned him to make a trial of his 
 skill. A new difficulty now. occurred. Morland was 
 without implements, which could not be procured at a 
 smaller distance than Canterbury, to which place the 
 landlord was, with some difficulty, prevailed upon to 
 send. In the mean time the travellers had bespoken a 
 dinner, exhausted several pitchers of good ale, and 
 taken at least a quantum sufficit of spirits, all which 
 could not be paid for but by painting the sign. Instead 
 of five shillings, the sum contracted for, the reckoning 
 amounted, before the bull was finished, to ten, and the
 
 GEORGE MORLAND. 
 
 chagrined landlord reluctantly suffered the travellers to 
 depart on Morland's explaining who he was, and pro- 
 mising to call and pay on a future day. Their host had, 
 however, no reason to repent of his bargain ; for Mor- 
 lancl, on his arrival in London, having related this ad- 
 venture at one of his usual places of resort, the singu- 
 larity of the story induced a gentleman, who entertained 
 the highest opinion of his performances, to set off pri- 
 vately in quest of the Bull, which he purchased of the 
 landlord for ten guineas. 
 
 About three years before his death Morland received 
 a severe stroke from the palsy, which gave so rude a 
 shock to his whole frame, intellectual and corporeal, 
 that, sometimes while in the act of painting he would 
 fall back senseless in his chair, or sleep for hours 
 together. 
 
 When in confinement, and even sometimes when he was 
 at liberty, it was common for him to have four guineas a 
 day and his drink, an object of no small consequence, 
 as he began to drink before he began to paint, and con- 
 tinued to do both alternately till he had painted as much 
 as he pleased, or till the liquor had completely overcome 
 him, when he claimed his money, and business was at 
 an end for that day. This laid his employer under the 
 necessity of passing his whole time with him, to keep 
 him in a state fit for work, and to carry off the day's 
 work when it was done ; otherwise some eaves-dropper 
 snapped up his picture, and he was left to obtain what 
 redress he could. 
 
 By this conduct, steadily pursued for many years, he 
 ruined his constitution, diminished his powers, and sunk 
 himself into general contempt. He had no society, nor 
 did he wish for any, but that of the lowest of those 
 beings whose only enjoyment is gin and ribaldry, 
 and from which he was taken by a Marshalsea writ 
 
 for a triflino: sum. \\ iu-u removed to a. place ol 
 o 
 
 confinement, he called for a large quantity of pints,
 
 214 v POPE JOAN. 
 
 which he hastily swallowed, and soon hecame delirious, 
 in which state he lay some days, raving violently, and 
 the subject of his exclamation was his deep regret for 
 his domestic misconduct. In this dreadful state, indeed, 
 few knew of his situation, and he expired in agony on the 
 29lh October, 1804, in the fortieth year of his age. His 
 remains were removed to the house of Mr. W. Ward, who, 
 with Mr. J. Ward, at the request of his relations, ac- 
 companied them to the grave, all of whom had often 
 witnessed his declaring for " a short life and a merry 
 one." A short life he had, but merriment was by far its 
 smallest portion ; his death was such as such a life com- 
 monly ensures. 
 
 The death of the amiable and unfortunate Mrs. Mor- 
 land was not less afflictive. She had been used to sav, 
 " I know my friends wish George dead, and think that 
 I shall be happy, but they do not know what they wish 
 for : whenever that happens I shall not live three days 
 after." A prediction which was but too completely 
 realized. 
 
 Thus perished George Morland, whose best works will 
 command esteem so long as any taste for the art remains; 
 whose ordinary productions will please so long as any love 
 for a just representation of what is natural can be found ; 
 and whose talents might have ensured him happiness and 
 merited distinction, if his entrance into life had been 
 guided by those who were able and willing to caution 
 him against the snares which are continually preparing 
 by interested knavery i'or the inexperience of youth. 
 
 POPE JOAN. 
 
 X OPE JOAN, according to numerous orthodox writers, 
 was of English extraction, arid born at Mentz, where 
 she went by the name of English John, but whose real 
 name was Gilberts. As she showed from her infancy a
 
 POPE JOAN. 215 
 
 strong inclination to learning, her father, who was a 
 man of considerable erudition, encouraged her in pur- 
 suing the bent of her mind, and under his instructions 
 she made an astonishing progress in the different branch- 
 es of literature. While she was very young, a monk 
 of the monastery of Fulda conceived a violent passion 
 for her, and succeeded in inspiring her with similar sen- 
 timents. For the purpose of enjoying an unrestrained 
 intercourse with each other, it was agreed between them, 
 that she should privately withdraw from her father's 
 house, assume the male attire, and in that disguise apply 
 to the abbot for admission into the monastery of Fulda. 
 This stratagem she put in practice, and was received by 
 the abbot; in consequence of which, the two lovers had 
 the opportunity of indulging their mutual passion, un- 
 disturbed and unsuspected. Not long afterwards, for 
 reasons which are not mentioned, they eloped together 
 from the monastery, and came over to England, of 
 which country the monk was a native. Here they pur- 
 sued their studies together, with uncommon application. 
 From England they went to France, from France to 
 Italy, and from Italy to Greece ; availing themselves of 
 the instructions of the ablest masters and professors in 
 the different countries through which they passed. In 
 Greece they took up their abode at Athens, for the sake 
 of perfecting themselves in the knowledge of the Greek- 
 tongue. They had not been long in that place before 
 the monk died; when Joan resolved, under the same 
 disguise, to repair to Rome. In that metropolis, her 
 extraordinary endowments soon raised her into notice, 
 and her modesty, address, and engaging behaviour, 
 gained her general esteem and affection. To display her 
 talents, she commenced public professor, and discovered 
 so much knowledge and learning in her lectures and 
 disputations, that persons of the first rank and distinc- 
 tion, and the most learned men at that time in UOUH , 
 enlisted in the number of her disciples. She thus con-
 
 210 POPE JOAN. 
 
 tinned daily to gain fresh reputation and credit, not by 
 lier knowledge and learning alone, but by her exem- 
 plariness of conduct, and all the outward appearances 
 of extraordinary sanctity. Upon the death of Pope 
 Leo IV. in 855, so universal was the opinion entertained 
 of her pre-eminent merit, that she was unanimously 
 raised by the people and clergy to the pontifical throne. 
 So ably and prudently did she for some time discharge 
 the functions of her high station, that the Romans had 
 every reason to congratulate themselves on her election ; 
 till, possessing no longer any resolution to withstand 
 that inclination to unchastity which she had formerly 
 indulged, she disclosed her sex to one of her domestics 
 in whom she could confide, and took him to supply the 
 place of her former lover. The consequence was, that 
 she proved with child ; and when advanced in her preg- 
 nancy, not thinking herself so near her time as she 
 really was, she ventured to assist in the fatiguing cere- 
 monies attending the annual procession of the rogation- 
 week. Having set out on foot from the Vatican towards 
 the Lateran, according to custom, attended by the body 
 of the clergy, the senate, and immense crowds of peo- 
 ple, she proceeded without difficulty till she came into 
 the street between the Colosseum, and the church of St. 
 Clement. Being there suddenly seized with the pains 
 of labour, she fell on the ground overcome by their 
 violence, and, while her attendants were endeavouring 
 to raise her up, was delivered of a child in the presence 
 of the surrounding multitude, and died upon the spot. 
 The writers, who concur in relating the circumstances 
 above mentioned, state that Joan held the pontifical 
 dignity two years and more than five months. Some of 
 them add, that, to perpetuate the memory of such an 
 extraordinary adventure, a statue was erected on the 
 place where it happened ; and that, in abhorrence of 
 her crime, the pope and clergy, ia their subsequent an- 
 nual procxsskiiii iVuni the Vatican to the Lateran, have
 
 POPE JOAX. 2<J7 
 
 turned off from that street. Oihers tell us, that, to 
 prevent the possibility of a similar imposition, an inde- 
 licate custom was then introduced of placing the newly- 
 elected pope, before his consecration, in a perforated 
 chair, where he was obliged to submit to an examination, 
 in order to ascertain whether the person chosen was a 
 man or woman. 
 
 Such as we have related are the principal circum- 
 stances of a story, which was published to the world by 
 the priests and monks of the Catholic church, and for 
 some centuries generally believed by its members. We 
 do not find that the truth of it was doubted by any 
 Catholics till after the commencement of the refor- 
 mation undertaken by Luther, when the Protestants re- 
 proached them with it, as reflecting great dishonour on 
 the see of St. Peter. ./Eneas Sylvius, afterwards Pope 
 under the name of Pius II. was the first who questioned 
 the truth of it, about the middle of the fifteenth century; 
 but he " passed it over very slightly, and as it were with 
 fear," says Bayle, only observing, " that the story was 
 not certain." In the early part of the sixteenth century 
 Aventine, who was a Lutheran in his heart, resolutely 
 denied it; and he was soon followed, on the same side 
 of the question, by Onufrius Panvinius, and other Ca- 
 tholic writers. But the story was more particularly 
 canvassed in the seventeenth century, when the eleva- 
 tion, and indeed the existence, of this female pontifi', 
 Ix raine the subject of a keen and learned controversy. 
 Moieri, however, says that more than seventy orthodox 
 writers, among whom are several monks, and even 
 canonical saints, have given to the story of Pope Joan 
 a place in the history of those who have held the ponti- 
 fical dignity, and we cannot conceive why that, which 
 for six hundred years was never a subject of suspicion, 
 should now be doubted, for no other reason than that ;i 
 few modern writers have thought it discreditable to the 
 pontifical chair.
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE. 
 
 Jims gentleman has numerous claims upon our notice; 
 for, whether we consider him as a dramatic writer, a wit, 
 an eccentric character, or a lively companion, we cannot 
 withhold this testimony that he was a most extraordi- 
 nary man. 
 
 Samuel Foote was born about the year \~ C 27, at Truro 
 in Cornwall, of which county his father was a useful 
 magistrate, a commissioner in the Prize-office, and 
 sometime member of parliament for Tiverton, in De- 
 vonshire. His mother, by an unhappy quarrel between 
 her two brothers, Sir John Dinely Goodere, Bart, and 
 Sir Samuel Goodere, captain of the Ruby man of war, 
 in which they both fell, became heiress of the Goodere 
 family. Foote's early talent for wit and humour mani- 
 fested itself before he quitted the paternal roof, and he 
 has been heard to say that he was the father of many 
 that were then called good things, when he was but a 
 mere child. 
 
 He commenced his education at one of the three 
 principal grammar schools at Worcester, under the care 
 of Dr. Miles, a particular friend of his father's. Many 
 stories are related of the freaks of young Foote while 
 he resided at this school, such as his being the leader 
 and contriver of a celebrated barring out, blacking his 
 master's face while asleep, forming artificial earthquakes 
 under his chair, and others of the like kind. 
 
 Though these frolics marked the general eccentricity 
 of his mind, the following circumstance first unfolded 
 those peculiar talents for mimicry ,<by which he was 
 afterwards so much distinguished. Being at his father's 
 house during the Christmas recess, a man in the parish 
 had been charged with a bastard child. The family 
 were conversing about this affair alter dinner, the day 
 before it was to be heard by the justices, and making 
 
 12
 
 SAMUEL FOOTS. 
 
 various observations. S;inu.icl, then a boy between 
 eleven and twelve years of age, was silent for SOUK.- 
 time; at last he drily observed: "Well, I for see how 
 this business will end as well as what the justices will 
 say upon, it." "Aye/' said his father, somewhat sur- 
 prised at the boy's observation, " well Sam, let us hear 
 It." On this the young mimic, dressing up his face 
 
 in a strong caricature likeness of Justice D , thn* 
 
 proceeded : 
 
 " Hem ! hem ! here's a fine job of work broke out 
 indeed! A feller begetting bastards under our very 
 noses, (and let me tell you, good people, a common 
 labouring rascal too,) when our taxes are so great and 
 our poor rates so high why, 'tis an abomination. We 
 shall not have "an honest servant maid in the whole 
 neighbourhood, and the whole parish will swarm with 
 bastards ; therefore I say let him be fined for his pranks 
 very severely. And if the rascal has not money (as in- 
 deed hosv should he have it?) or can't find security, (as 
 indeed how should such a feller find security ?) let him 
 be clapped up in prison till he pays it." 
 
 "Justice A will be milder, and say: Well, well, 
 
 brother, this is not a new case, bastards have been be- 
 gotten before now, and bastards will be begotten tu the 
 end of the chapter ; therefore though the man has com- 
 mitted a crime and indeed I must say, a crime that 
 holds out a very bad example to a neighbourhood like 
 this yet let us not ruin the poor fellow for this one 
 fault. He may do belter another time and amend his 
 life. Therefore, as the man is poor, let him be obliged 
 to provide for the child according to the best of his 
 abilities, giving two honest neighbours as security for 
 the payment." 
 
 The youngster mimicked these two justices with so 
 much humour and discrimination, as to set the table in 
 a roar, and among the rest his father, who asked why 
 he was left out, as he was also one of the quorum. 
 
 VOL. I. '2 I
 
 230 SAMUELr FOOTE. 
 
 Samuel for some time hesitated, but his father and the 
 rest of the company earnestly requesting it, he again- 
 began : 
 
 " Why, upon my word, in respect to this here bns'r- 
 ness, to be sure it is rather an awkward affair, and to be 
 sure it ought not to be ; that is to say, the justices of the 
 peace should not suffer such things to be done with im- 
 punity. However, on the whole, 1 am rather of my 
 
 brother A 's opinion, which is, that the man should 
 
 pay according to his circumstances and be admonished 
 I say admonished not to commit so flagrant an offence 
 for the future." 
 
 So correct was the picture which he drew of the justice, 
 that it obtained the warmest approbation of the whole 
 company, and even of his father, who, so far from 
 being offended, rewarded him for his good humour and 
 pleasantry. 
 
 After passing through his school with the character of 
 an arch, clever lad, Foote went out in the course of 
 election for Worcester college, Oxford, where he was 
 put under the care of the provost, Dr. Gower. The doc- 
 tor was a man of considerable learning, but rather of a 
 grave, pedantic turn of mind, and pedantry was to 
 Foole an irresistible object of satire. He studied the 
 ridiculous in every character, and having once enter- 
 tained it, he filled the canvass by means of his own lux- 
 uriant imagination. 
 
 It cannot appear surprising that i'uole's conduct 
 should subject him to frequent lectures, which the doc- 
 tor delivered in asour, dogmatical, and pedantic manner, 
 accompanied with a number of hard words and quaint 
 phrases. The pupil being prepared for these, would in- 
 terrupt him, and after begging pardon with great for- 
 mality, would take from under his arm a large folio dic- 
 tionary, with which he was always provided on these oc- 
 casions, and pretending to find the meaning of a word, 
 would say, " Very well, sir, now please to 30 on."
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE. 
 
 Notwithstanding his fondness for fun and pleasure, 
 l ; oote was not idle in respect to study; ambition fre- 
 quently induced him to turn his attention to his books, 
 and thus, besides rendering himself a very competent 
 Greek and Latin scholar, he pursued a course of belles 
 Itttrcs, reading very rare in young men of his description. 
 
 On quitting college, Foote entered himself of the 
 Temple, with a view, as his friends hoped, of becoming 
 a member of that society, but the study of the law was 
 little suited to the eccentricities of such a character. 
 During his continuance in the Temple he was one of 
 the greatest beaux, even in those days of general dress, 
 as well as one of the most distinguished wits that fre- 
 quented the Grecian and Bedford Coffee-houses. 
 
 Foote continued in the Temple but a very few years, 
 and yet this period was long enough to exhaust a con- 
 siderable fortune, which, with economy, might have en- 
 abled him to live independent of any profession. But 
 lie was incapable of the ordinary restraints of life; he 
 dashed into all the prevailing dissipations of the time, 
 and what the extravagance of dress and living had not 
 dune, the gaming-table finally accomplished. For some 
 time he struggled with embarrassments and at length di- 
 rected his attention to the stage. 
 
 His first theatrical attempts were inauspicious. They 
 taught him that tragedy was Hot his forte, and he after- 
 wards appeared in various comic characters with success. 
 Still he was not satisfied with himself; he thought he 
 could employ his powers to greater advantage, and, 
 alter long meditation, he at length struck out a new and 
 untrodden path, by appearing in the double character 
 of author and performer. Accordingly in these capaci- 
 ties he opened the Haymarket theatre, in the spring of 
 J747, with a dramatic piece of his own composition, en- 
 titled "The Diversions of :i Morning." 
 
 This piece consisted of nothing more than tli i intro- 
 duction of several well known character in real lili,
 
 2-52 SAMUEL FOOTE. 
 
 \vliuse manner of expression and conversation the 
 author had very happily hit off in the diction of his 
 drama, and still more happily represented on the stage, 
 by an exact imitation, not only of the manner and tone 
 of voice, but even of the very persons of those whom he 
 intended to delineate. Among these characters there 
 was a certain physician, who was much better known by 
 the singularity of his manners, appearance, and conver- 
 sation, than by his eminence rn his profession. A cele- 
 brated oculist, then in the meridian of his popularity, 
 was another subject of his satire ; and in the later part 
 of the piece, under the character of a theatrical direc- 
 tor, he took off, with great humour and accuracy, the 
 several styles of acting of the performers of both theatres. 
 In this career Foote was checked by the interference 
 of the magistrates of Westminster, instigated by Mr. 
 Lacey, the patentee of .Drury-lane Theatre. Foote, 
 however, had discovered that his plan was too good to 
 be abandoned ; he was sensible that he had nothing to 
 do but to evade the act of parliament limiting the num- 
 ber of play-houses, and then every thing was likely to 
 How in the same prosperous channel as before. Instead, 
 therefore, of advertising his exhibition by its former 
 title, he now only issued the following card : 
 
 " Mr. Foote's compliments to his friends and the public, and hopes 
 lor the honour of their drinking tea with him, at the little theatre, in 
 the Ilaymurket, every morning at play-house prices." 
 
 The whim and novelty of this card drew crowds of 
 people of all descriptions, some in expectation of a real 
 dish of tea, and all, except a few who were in the secret, 
 ignorant of the real species of entertainment. While 
 the audience were on the tiptoe of expectation, the 
 manager came forward and acquainted them, that as he 
 was training some young performers for the stage, he 
 would, with their permission, while lea was getting ready 
 proceed with his instruction^ before them.
 
 SAMUEL POOTE. 
 
 The joke was successful, and he not only proceeded 
 without molestation that morning, hut through a course 
 of forty others, that season, in thus giving tea to crowd- 
 ed and splendid audiences. 
 
 In the ensuing spring he produced another piece of 
 the same kind, which he called " An Auction of Pic- 
 tures," in which he introduced several popular characters, 
 particularly Sir Thomas de Veil, then the acting justice 
 of peace for Westminster; Cock, the celebrated auc- 
 tioneer, and the equally famous orator Henley. This, as 
 well as a subsequent production, entitled "The Knights," 
 had a considerable run. What, pei haps, gave the highest 
 y.est to the latter was the conclusion, which consisted of 
 a feigned concert of vocal music between two cats, in 
 burlesque of the Italian opera. The principal performer 
 in this novel species of entertainment was a man well 
 known at that time by the appellation of Cat Harris, of 
 whom the following curious anecdote is related. 
 
 Harris, being engaged by Foote for this purpose, had 
 attended several rehearsals, at which his mewing gave 
 infinite satisfaction to the manager and the performers. 
 At the last rehearsal, however, Harris was missing; and 
 s nobody knew where he lived, Shuter was prevailed 
 upon to find him out if possible. He inquired in 
 vain for some time, and was at length informed that he 
 lived in a certain court in the Minories. This in- 
 formation was sufhcient for a man of congenial talents 
 like Shuter; for, the moment he entered the court, he 
 set up a cat solo, which instantly roused his brother mu- 
 sician in his garret, who answered him in the same tune. 
 " llo ! ho! are you there my friend:" cried Shuter: 
 "come away; the stage waits lor us, and we cannot 
 begin the opera without yon." 
 
 About the close of the season of 1748, Foole had a 
 considerable fortune left him by a relation of his mother, 
 which enabled him once more to move in all ilia! splen- 
 dour of dissipation which was so congenial lo his temper.
 
 254 SAMUEL POOTE. 
 
 This being the third fortune left him, he set up a dash- 
 ing carriage, and chose the following motto, as emble- 
 matical of the event: Iterum, iterum, itenimque. He 
 remained some time in London, in order to accustom 
 liis friends to this great change of fortune, and the'n 
 repaired to the continent to add one more English dupe 
 to the intrigues and fripperies of the French nation. 
 
 As he kept up no correspondence with any of his 
 friends, during his continuance abroad, the public knew 
 nothing about him; their invention, however, was not 
 idle. Some said that he had been killed in a duel ; 
 others that he died of a fever in consequence of his in- 
 temperance, and not a few positively reported that he 
 was hanged. He contradicted all these reports by his 
 appearance in London in 1752. From this period till 
 1761, he continued to perform at one of the theatres as 
 fancy or interest directed his choice, generally for u 
 stated number of nights, and in these engagements he 
 usually brought out a new piece. 
 
 In 1760 he again opened the Hay market theatre, 
 with such a company as he could hastily collect. The 
 success of this attempt suggested to him the idea of oc- 
 cupying that theatre when the others were shut up, and 
 i'roin 17f)'2 till the season before his death he regularly 
 performed there and acquired a very considerable income. 
 
 At that place, in the summer of the last-mentioned 
 year, he brought forward a new piece, in three acts, 
 called " The Orators," the design of which was 
 to expose the prevailing passion for oratory, the af- 
 J';iir of the supposed Cock-lane ghost, and the debaU 
 ing society held at the Robin Hood. In working up 
 these materials, some real characters were as usual to be 
 sacrificed, and as Dr. Johnson was said to be a believer 
 in ihe Cock-lane ghost, he was looked upon as a proper 
 object for the purpose. This secret was not so well kept 
 as to prevent it from coining to the ears of Johnson, 
 xv ho came u> an immediate determination. He tm~
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE. 355 
 
 ployed a friend to buy for him one of the stoutest oak 
 cudgels that could be procured in town, and at the same 
 lime caused it to be made known, both to the author and 
 the public, that he intended to plant himself in the first 
 row of the stage-box on the first night of representation, 
 and if any buffoon attempted to take him off, or treat 
 him with any degree of personal ridicule, to spring for- 
 ward on the stage, knock him down in the face of the 
 audience, and then appeal to their common feelings and 
 protection. 
 
 This rough declaration, and the well known character 
 of Johnson for keeping his word, soltened the rigour of 
 Foote. He now thought it safer to relinquish the tiger 
 for the lamb, and therefore took up in exchange the 
 late George Faulkner, printer of the Dublin Journal, a 
 man who had nothing to recommend him to the finger 
 of scorn, but along life of industry, integrity, and hos- 
 pitality, unoffending manners, and the misfortune of 
 having lost a leg. It is true he had about him some tri- 
 fling peculiarities of manner, but as these were attended 
 with no vices, they ought to have been considered as 
 pardonable weaknesses, demanding indulgence rather 
 than reprobation. Such, however, is the propensity of 
 human nature for personal scandal, that the comedy w;is 
 principally supported by this character; and crowded 
 audiences were found repeatedly roaring at a few com- 
 mon place stories, told in a ridiculous manner by a man 
 hopping on one leg. 
 
 Faulkner soon found ample revenge in the dispensa- 
 tion of Providence, for in a very short time Foote was 
 himself reduced to the condition of the person whom In- 
 held up to ridicule lor this accidental misfortune. liarlf 
 in the year 17t(), he was on a visit at Lord Mexborough's, 
 accompanied by the late Duke of York, Lord Delaval, 
 Sir Francis Blake Delaval, and other gentlemen, when 
 some of the party, wishing to have some fun with this 
 prince of all fun and humour, pnrpn-Hy <lie\v him into
 
 2oO SAMUEL FOOTE. 
 
 a conversation on horsemanship. Foote, who had on 
 moat occasions a strong spice of vanity about him, 
 roundly asserted, that though he generally preferred the 
 luxury of a post-chaise, he could ride as well as most 
 men he ever knew. They urged him to a trial next 
 morning at the chace, and mounting a high-spirted 
 horse of the duke's, he had scarcely set spurs to the 
 sides of the animal, when he was thrown with such vio- 
 lence as to fracture one of his legs in two places. He 
 was obliged to submit to amputation, which was per- 
 formed so skilfully, that, except the necessity of using 
 ncork leg, he felt ever afterwards as little inconvenience 
 ns could possibly result from such an accident. He was 
 the first to advise amputation, and both before and after 
 it was performed, turned his jokes upon his own situ- 
 ation, as he observed, " he was then prevented from 
 jesting with other people." 
 
 The .Duke of York, to alleviate this accident by every 
 instance of kindness in his power, obtained for Foote a 
 .royal patent to erect a theatre in the city of Westmin- 
 ster, with a privilege of exhibiting dramatic pieces there, 
 from the 14th of May to the 14th of September, during 
 his natural life. 
 
 Here money flowed plentifully intoFoote's pocket, and 
 was lavished, as usual, with no less extravagance. . In 
 1768, he produced his well known comedy of " The 
 Devil upon Two Sticks," the receipts from which ex- 
 ceeded his most sanguine expectations. There was little 
 or no demand for any variation in. the theatrical bill of 
 fare during the whole season; so that it alone was said 
 f;o have produced him between three and four thousand 
 pounds. Twelve hundred pounds of this sum he lodged 
 at his banker's, as a deposit for future contingencies; 
 besides five hundred in cash, which he intended to take 
 vver with him to Ireland, where he was engaged for the 
 ensuing winter. 
 
 His usual demon of extravagance, however, slill 
 
 13
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE. 
 
 haunted him; for, taking Bath in his way td Holyhead, 
 he fell in with a nest of gamblers, the usual attendants 
 on this fashionable place of resort, who, finding him with 
 full pockets and high spirits, availed themselves of their 
 superior dexterity with considerable success. Several 
 of the frequenters of the rooms saw this, but it was too 
 common a case for private interference; besides, friend- 
 ship is not the usual commerce of watering places. At 
 last his friend Righy, then paymaster of the forces, 
 who happened just then to be at Bath, took an oppor- 
 tunity to tell him how grossly he was plundered ; and 
 farther remarked, "that from his careless manner of 
 playing and betting, and his habit of telling stories 
 when he should be minding his game, he must, in 
 the long run, be ruined, let him play with whom he 
 would." 
 
 Foote, who perhaps by this time had partly seen his 
 error, but was too proud to take a lesson in the charac- 
 ter of a dupe, very ridiculously and ungratefully re- 
 sented this advice. He told his friend, with an unbe- 
 coming sharpness, " that although he was no politician 
 by profession, he could see as well as another into any 
 sinister design laid against him : that he was too old to 
 be schooled : and that as to any distinction of rank be- 
 tween them to warrant this liberty, he saw none : they 
 were both the king's servants, with this difference in his 
 favour, that he could always draw upon his talents 
 for independence, when, perhaps, a courtier could not 
 find the king's treasury always open to him for 
 support." 
 
 On receiving this return, Rigby, as may be well 
 imagined, made his bow, and walked off; while the 
 dupe went on, and not only lost the five hundred 
 pounds which he had about him, but the twelve hun- 
 dred at his banker's, and thus, stripped of his last guinea, 
 was obliged to borrow a hundred pounds to carry him 
 to Ireland. 
 
 vol.. 1. 2K
 
 '258 SAMUEL FOOTE. 
 
 Foote continued actively engaged in writing and 
 acting till his propensity to personalities, unfortunately 
 for himaelf, involved him in the altercation with the 
 Duchess of Kingston, concerning a production of his 
 pen, entitled "The Trip to Calais," an account of which 
 will be found in the life of that lady, in this volume, 
 it will, therefore, be unnecessary to give a detail of 
 the circumstances in this place. 
 
 From the first report of Foote's Trip to Calais being 
 in contemplation, obscure hints and inuendoes appeared 
 occasionally in the newspapers, relative to his private 
 character ; which, from various circumstances, as from 
 their particularly appearing in the newspaper, of which 
 Jackson, the adviser of the Duchess of Kingston, was 
 editor, the public unanimously attributed to this man. 
 Soon afterwards this plan of calumny began to assume 
 a more settled form; and a report was industriously 
 circulated about the town, that a charge would soon be 
 brought forward in a judicial form against the manager 
 of the Haymarket theatre, for an attempt to commit a 
 very odious assault. 
 
 Scarcely had the dispute subsided, when those foul 
 imputations were renewed in a legal charge against 
 Foote, brought forward by a drunken coachman whom 
 he had dismissed, but the accusation clearly appearing 
 to originate in malice^ he was honourably acquitted. 
 
 Though he had many respectable persons much in- 
 terested in his behalf, none seemed more anxious than 
 his old friend, and fellow labourer in the dramatic vine- 
 yard, the late Mr. Murphy ; who, as soon as the trial 
 was over, took a coach, and drove to Foote's house in 
 Suffolk-street, Charing-cross, to be the first messenger 
 of the good tidings. Foote had been looking out of 
 the window, in anxious expectation of such a message. 
 Murphy, as soon as he perceived him, waved his hat in 
 token of victory; and jumping out of the coach ran up 
 stairs to pay his personal congratulations: but alas!
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE. 259 
 
 instead of meeting his old friend in all the exulta- 
 tion of high spirits on this occasion, he saw him ex- 
 tended on the floor, in strong hysterics ; in which 
 state he continued near an hour before he could be 
 recovered to any kind of recollection of himself, or 
 the object of his friend's visit. On the return of his 
 senses, finding himself honourably acquitted, he re- 
 ceived the congratulations of his friends and numerous 
 acquaintances, and seemed to be relieved fr<^ , those 
 pangs of uncertainty and suspense which must have 
 weighed down the firmest spints on so trying an occa- 
 won. But the stigma of the charge still lingered in his 
 mind ; and one or two illiberal allusions to it, which 
 were made by some unfeeling people, preyed upon his 
 mind. The man who for so many years had basked in 
 public favour, who was to live in a round of wir and 
 gaiety, " or not to live at all," was ill calculated to be 
 at the mercy of every coarse fool, or inhuman enemy. 
 
 This scandalous prosecution gave such a shock to 
 Foote's spirits as he never recovered. He was the first 
 to perceive the change in his constitution, which long 
 anxiety had produced, and resolved to secure an an- 
 nuity for his life independent of' his professional labours. 
 This design he accomplished by disposing of his pro- 
 perty in the Haymarket theatre, to Mr. Colman, in 
 January 1777. A few months afterwards he was seized 
 with a paralytic stroke while on the stage, but recovered 
 sufficiently to spend the summer at Brighthelmstone. 
 
 Having regained some portion of his health and 
 spirits, he was advised by his physicians to try the 
 south of France during the winter, rfe accordingly 
 proceeded to Dover, where he arrived on the 20th 
 of October, on his way to Calais. The wind proving 
 unfavourable that day, und his spirits recovering a little 
 of their usual tone, he played off a number o/'whimsical 
 sajlies of humour, of which the following may serve as 
 an instance.
 
 060 SAMUEL FOOTE. 
 
 Goin^ into the kitchen of the inn to order a particu- 
 lar dish for dinner, the cook, understanding that he was 
 about to emhark for France, ana perhaps willing to have 
 a satirical stroke at the fashionable mania of visiting that 
 kingdom, boasted that, for her part, she had never once 
 been out of her own country. Foote, who had humour 
 of every kind ready for all occasions, instantly replied, 
 "Why cookey, that's very extraordinary, as they tell 
 uie, above stairs, that you have been several times all 
 over grease," (Greece)" They may say what they 
 please, above stairs," replied the cook, " but 1 was never 
 ten miles from Dover in all my life." " Nay, now, that 
 must be a fib," answered Foote, " for J have myself 
 seen you at Spit-head." The servants, by this time, 
 caught the joke, and a roar of laughter ran round the 
 kitchen. In this Foote joined as heartily as any of them, 
 and concluded with giving them a crown to drink his 
 health and a good voyage. 
 
 This flash of merriment was, however, but the last 
 blaze in the socket. The very next morning, while at 
 break.'ast, he was seized with a shivering fit, which 
 obliged him to return to his bed. Another fit succeeded, 
 and lasted three hours. He then seemed composed and 
 inclined to sleep, but soon began to breathe low, till at 
 length, with a deep sigh, he expired, on the 21st of 
 October, 1777, in the fifty-seventh year of his age. 
 His remains were removed to his house in Suffolk- street, 
 and were interred in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 Foote married in early life, but had no children by 
 this union. Soon after this marriage, the following re- 
 markable circumstance occurred. He and his wife were 
 invited to spend a month in Cornwall ; when, to their 
 great surprise, on the first night, as they were retiring to 
 bed, they were entertained with a concert of music, 
 seemingly under their window, and executed in a capi- 
 tal style. It lasted about twenty minutes. On relating 
 the circumstance next morning to his father, and com-
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE. 261 
 
 Alimenting him on his gallantry, he absolutely denied 
 any knowledge of the affair, and doubted the possibility 
 of iis occurring. The young couple, however, were 
 positive as to what they had heard, and Foote was so 
 impressed by it, that he made a memorandum of the 
 time, which turned out to be the very night on which 
 his maternal uncle, Sir John Dinely Goodere, was 
 murdered by his unnatural brother Captain Goodere. 
 
 Mrs. Foote was kept so much in the back ground by 
 the gay, licentious, eccentric life of her husband, that 
 Little is known of her history, except that she was the 
 very reverse of him. Implicated, however, as she was 
 in the fate of her husband, she furnishes the following 
 anecdotes, in which his singularity is not the least re- 
 markable feature. 
 
 Dr. Nash, of Worcester, being in town one spring, 
 not long after Foote's marriage, intended to pay a visit 
 to his old fellow-collegian, but was much surprised on 
 hearing that he was in the Fleet prison. Thither he 
 hastened, and found him in a dirty two pair of stairs 
 back room with furniture every way suitable to such an 
 apartment. The doctor, shocked at this circumstance, 
 began to condole with him ; when Foote cut him short 
 by turning the whole into raillery, " Why, is not this 
 better," said he, " than the gout, the fever, the small- 
 pox, and the thousand various ills that flesh is heir to? 
 This is a mere temporary confinement, without pain, 
 and not very uncongenial, let me tell you, to this sharp 
 biting weather; whereas the above disorders would not 
 only give pain and confinement for a lime, but perhaps 
 ultimately prevent a man from ever going into the world 
 again." He continued laughing in this manner, till the 
 doctor heard something stir behind him in the bed, on 
 which he rose, and said he would call another time. 
 "No, no," said the other, " sit down ; 'iis nothing but 
 my Foot." "Your foot!" replied the doctor; "well, I 
 want no apologies; I shall call another time." " J tejl
 
 262 SAMUEL, FOOTE. 
 
 you again," said his friend, " 'tis nothing but my Foot } 
 and to convince you of its being no more, it shall speak 
 to you directly." On this his poor wife put her head from 
 under the bed-clothes; and, with much confusion and 
 embarrassment, apologized for her distressed situation. 
 
 A connexion, formed on such discordant principles as 
 Foote's, could not be supposed to be either very endear- 
 ing or very permanent. Accordingly, at one time, in 
 order, as he said, to make Mrs. Foote's life more com- 
 fortable, he took it into his head to part from her. 
 After an absence of some months, his friends remon- 
 strating on this injustice to a woman who had never of- 
 fended him, an accommodation was brought about, and 
 Costello, a friend of Foote's, was commissioned to es- 
 cort the lady to Blackheath, w.here her husband then re- 
 sided. They were to travel from town in a one horse- 
 chaise, and Costello, who always piqued himself on his 
 driving, ran so close to a broad-wheeled waggon, as to 
 throw them both into the middle of a ditch ; where they 
 were not only beplastered with dirt, but the lady ha<J 
 her face much bruised and disfigured. Murphy, who 
 was to be one of the party at this dinner of reconcilia- 
 tion, soon afterwards came in. Meeting Foote in the 
 back parlour, he inquired if the lady had yet arrived. 
 " O yes," said Foote; "you will find her above in the 
 drawing-room : and there yon may learn geography 
 from her face, as it is a complete map of the world. 
 On one side you may see the Plue Mountains, on the 
 other the Black Forests; here the Red Sea, and here 
 (pointing to his forehead) you may evidently behold the 
 rocks of Silly.'* 
 
 A man of Fqote's volatile disposition was ill calculated 
 for the sober pleasures of matrimony. His wife died in 
 good time for both parties, before age came on to excite 
 still more distaste in her husband ; and before, as might 
 probably have been the case, he had disgraced himself 
 Vy adding ill treatment to neglect.
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE, 203 
 
 Foote's mother, who brought a large fortune to her 
 husband as heiress of the Goodere estates, was, toward 
 the end of her life, from a carelessness and dissipation 
 so peculiar to this famil y, in a great measure a dependant 
 on the bounty of her son; who allowed her a pension 
 of one hundred pounds a year. Under one of her tem- 
 porary embarrassments she wrote the following laconic 
 epistle to Foote : 
 
 " DEAR SAM, 
 
 " I am in prison for debt ; come and assist your loving mother, 
 
 E. FOOTE." 
 
 His answer, scarcely less laconic, was as follows : 
 
 " DEAR MOTHER, 
 
 " So am I ; which prevents his duty being paid to his loving mother 
 by her affectionate son, 
 
 SAM. FOOTE." 
 
 " P. S. I have sent my attorney to assist you ; in the mean time 
 let us hope for better days." 
 
 Foote's more familiar days were passed with a few 
 friends, and one or two needy actors or authors who 
 constantly hung upon him, and to whom he was kind 
 jn his purse, his table, and advice. Yet, as no mam 
 is a hero to his valet de chambre, so these intimates were 
 witnesses occasionally to great dejection of spirits. 
 Foote would suddenly fall from the height of mirth to 
 the lowest note of " moping, musing melancholy," then 
 burst into a flood of tears, exclaiming that his follies 
 had made him many enemies, and his extravagance 
 would bring him to a workhouse. These, however, 
 seemed to be but momentary fits of despondence, oc- 
 casioned by a previous waste of animal spirits; for he 
 instantly seized the first object of ridicule that presented 
 itself, and with a spring of fancy, that seemed to re- 
 bound in proportion as it had been compressed, he again 
 blazed out in all his meridian brightness.
 
 264 SAMTJEL POOTE. 
 
 A striking illustration of this versatility of disposition 
 is afforded by the following anecdote : Foote, at a verr 
 early period of his life, formed an acquaintance with 
 Sir Francis Blake Delaval, which continued with unin- 
 terrupted friendship till the sudden death of the latter. 
 The sorrow of Foote, on receiving intelligence of thia 
 event, was pungent and sincere. He burst into a flood 
 of tears, retired to his room, and saw no company for 
 three days. On the fourth, Jewel, his treasurer, calling 
 on him for the arrangement of some urgent business, 
 be, with swoln eyes and a faultering voice, inquired 
 when Sir Francis was to be buried. " Not till the latter 
 end of next week, sir," replied Jewel : " as I hear the 
 surgeons intend first to dissect his head." This last ex- 
 pression, as in instances of madness, striking the chord 
 of his ruling passion, he suddenly exclaimed: "And 
 what will they get there ? I'm sure I have known poof 
 Frank these five and twenty years, and I never could 
 find any thing in it !" 
 
 A similar instance of the predominance of Foote's 
 favourite passion was afforded by the death of Holland, 
 of Drury-Lane theatre, who was the son of a baker at 
 Chiswick. Foote had a long intimacy with Holland 
 and a sincere regard for him. He died of the small- 
 pox, about the year 17^8, leaving Foote a legacy, and 
 appointing him one of the bearers at his funeral, which 
 office he performed with sincere sorrow. Looking in at 
 the Bedford Coffee-house the same evening, he was 
 asked, whether he had attended the remains of his old 
 friend to Chiswick. " O yes, poor fellow," replied he, 
 the tears scarcely dry upon his cheeks; "I have just 
 seen him shoved into the family oven." 
 
 Of Foote's readiness at bon-mots and repartee, we 
 shall now present the reader with a few examples from 
 among the numbers that might be adduced. Baron 
 Newman, the celebrated gambler, being detected in the 
 rooms at Bath, in the act of secreting a card, the com- 
 
 13
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE. xMft 
 
 pany, in the warmth of their resentment, threw hint 
 out of the window of a one pair of stairs room where 
 they were playing. The baron meeting Foote some 
 time afterwards, loudly complained of the usage, and 
 asked him what he should do to repair his injured 
 honour. "Do," said the wit, "why, tis a plain case, 
 never play so high again as long as you live." 
 
 Mrs. Reddish, playing the queen in Richard III. one 
 evening at Drury-lan-j, and being of a very coarse mas- 
 culine make, a gentleman asked Foote who she was. 
 Being told that her name was Reddish, he exclaimed, 
 "Reddish! Reddish! pray what Reddish ?" " Why 
 zounds, sir," said Foote, "don't you see? Horse-Red- 
 dish, to be sure." 
 
 Foote, who lived in habits of intimacy with Lord 
 Kellie, took as many liberties with his face, which 
 somewhat resembled in appearance a meridian sun, as 
 ever Falstaff did with his friend Bardolph's. His lord- 
 ship having cracked some jokes upon one of his friends 
 rather too coarsely, an Irish gentleman, who heard of 
 it, said, if he had treated him so, he would have pulled 
 him by the nose. " Pnll him by the nose!" returned 
 Foote, " you might as well thrust your hand into a 
 furnace." 
 
 The same nobleman coming into the club one hot 
 summer night, dressed in a somewhat tarnished suit of 
 laced clothes, the waiter announced "Lord Kellie." 
 "Lord Kellie!" repeated Foote, looking him full in th.- 
 face at the same time, " I thought it was all Monmoutli- 
 streel in flames." 
 
 When a celebrated empiric first set up his chariot, 
 he consulted Foote about the choice of a motto. " \V lint- 
 is your crest r" asked the wit. "Three mallards," an- 
 swered the doctor. "Why then the motto 1 would ie- 
 commend to you is, Quack, (/ uncle, (/nark" 
 
 Being at dinner, in a mi\--d company, soon afier tl,- 
 bankruptcy of onr fii.'nd, and the death of iinolher, the 
 
 \ OL. I. -J L
 
 >(>(; SAMUEL FOOTE. 
 
 conversation naturally turned on the mutability of the 
 world. "Can you account for this?" said a master 
 builder, who happened to sit next to Foote. " Why, 
 not very clearly," rejoined the latter, "except we could 
 suppose the world was built by contract." 
 
 Rich, the patentee of Covent-garden theatre, had 
 many eccentricities of character; and one of the number 
 was his constant forgetful ness of the names of his per- 
 formers, as well as those of his most intimate friends. 
 In a conversation one day with Foote, he called him 
 Muster Footy. The other looking grave upon this, 
 liich made an apology, and said, t( he was so unfortu- 
 nately absent in that respect, that it was no unusual 
 thing for him to forget his own name." "Why that is 
 singular enough," said Foote; " for though I knew 
 you could never write it, I did not think you could 
 forget it." 
 
 A person talking of an acquaintance of his who was 
 so avaricious as to lament the prospect of his funeral 
 expenses, though a short time before he had been cen~ 
 suring one of his relatives for a parsimonious temper, 
 observed, " Now is it not strange that this man would 
 not take the beam out of his own eye, before he at- 
 tempted the mote in other people's ?'' " Why, so I dare 
 say he would," cried Foote, "if he was sure of selling 
 the timber." 
 
 A gentleman in the country, having just buried a rich 
 relative, who was an attorney, was complaining to Foote, 
 who happened to be on a visit with him, of the very 
 great expenses of a country funeral, in respect to car- 
 riages, hatbands, and other incidents. " Why, do you 
 bury your attornies here?" asked Foote gravely. "Yes 
 to be sure we do : how else ?" " Oh ! we never do that 
 in London." "No !" said the other, much surprised : 
 how do you manage?" "Why, when the patient hap- 
 pens to die, we lay him out in a room over night by him- 
 . self, lock the door, throw open the sash, and in the
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE. -2()7 
 
 morning lie is entirely off." " Indeed !" said the other, 
 in allurement; "what becomes of him?" "Why, 
 that we cannot exactly tell, not being acquainted with 
 supernatural causes. All that we know of the matter, 
 is, that there's a strong smell of brimstone in the room 
 the next morning." 
 
 Though no man could discover the failings of others 
 more readily than Foote, yet, as it often happens, his 
 eyes were not always open to his own. Soon after 
 the publication of his comedy of " The Author," his 
 friends were laughing at the absurdity of persons piquing 
 themselves on the antiquity of their family; when one 
 of the company, who knew Foote's weakness in this 
 point, observed, that however people might laugh at 
 family, he believed there never was a man well descend- 
 ed who was not proud of it. Foote, catching the bait, 
 instantly replied: "No doubt, no doubt: for instance 
 now, though I trust I may be considered far from a vain 
 man, yet, being descended from as ancient a family as 
 any in Cornwall, I am not a little proud of it, as in- 
 deed you shall see I may be." Here the servant was 
 ordered to bring down the family pedigree; which he 
 began elucidating with all the vanity and folly he so 
 successfully ridiculed in his Cadwallader. 
 
 A person one day making some reflections before 
 Foote, on the pleasure of paying our debts, he, with 
 that air of ridicule and promptitude of mind for which 
 he was so eminently distinguished, begged the company 
 would hear the other side of the question, namely, the 
 advantages of not paying our debts. "This," con- 
 tinued he, " presupposes a person to be a man of fortune, 
 otherwise he \vould not gain credit. It is the art of 
 living without money. It saves the trouble and expense 
 of keeping accounts; and makes other people work in 
 order to give ourselves repose. It prevents the cares 
 and embarrassments of riches. It cherks avarice and 
 encourages generosity ; as people arc most commonly
 
 "20S SAMUEL FOOTE. 
 
 more liberal of other's goods than of their own : while 
 it possesses that genuine spark of primitive Christianity 
 which would inculcate a constant communion of all 
 property. In short it draws on us the inquiries and at- 
 tention of the world while we live, and makes us sincerely 
 regretted when we die." 
 
 Foote added one more to the melancholy catalogue of 
 men of genius whose inadvertencies have involved them 
 
 w 
 
 in continual embarrassments. Though the heir and pos- 
 sessor of three successive fortunes, and the natural in- 
 heritor of as much wit and humour as ever fell to the lot 
 of one man, yet was he so thoughtless ahout pecuniary 
 affairs, that he was often at a loss for the supply of the 
 day which was passing over him ; and, except the income 
 which he derived from the sale of his theatre, and 
 which died with him, he did not leave as much behind 
 him as discharged his funeral expenses. 
 
 The wit and humour of Foote, in private conversa- 
 tion, were equal to his comic powers on the stage, of 
 which the following account, given by Mr. Boswell 
 in the life of Johnson, affords a striking instance. 
 Dr. Johnson is said to have related it himself: "The 
 first time I was in company with Foote was at Filzher- 
 bcrt's. Having no good opinion of the fellow, I was 
 resolved not to be pleased : and it is very difficult to 
 please a man against his will. I went on eating my 
 dinner pretty sullenly, affecting not to mind him ; but 
 the clog was so very comical; that I was obliged to lay 
 down my knife and fork, throw myself back in my chair, 
 and fairly laugh it out. Sir, he was irresistible." In- 
 numerable other stories prove the lively and ready wit 
 of this eccentric genius. He was a man of competent 
 classic learning, and much various reading, and no less 
 a rational and instructive companion, in a serious hour 
 with a single friend, than an entertaining one in mixed 
 society. 
 
 As a dramatic writer, though he was deficient in many
 
 SAMUEL FOOTE. 209 
 
 parts of the perfect comedian, yet he possessed a large 
 share of that essential, in which so many modern com- 
 posers fail, the true vis comica. Scarcely Moliere has 
 surpassed him in the force and nature of his comic de- 
 lineations, many of which stand apart from personal pe- 
 culiarities, and therefore may be relished without the aid 
 of partial imitation. His dialogue is easy, and the copy 
 of real conversation. He has obtained the name of the 
 English Aristophanes;* but the circumstance of bringing 
 living characters upon the stage seems to be the only 
 point in which he resembles the Greek. He may be 
 considered as an original in the comic theatre of his 
 country, and certainly has had no successor. 
 
 Some of the best specimens of moral satire and 
 English style are to be found in Foote's dramas, but 
 the personal eccentricities upon which many of the 
 characters depend have, perhaps, ultimately been their 
 greatest injury. 
 
 * Aristophanes, a celebrated comic poet of Athens, contemporary 
 with Plato, Socrates, and Euripides: most of his plays were written 
 tkiring the Peloponnesian war. His imagination was warm and lively, 
 mid liis genius particularly turned to raillery. He had also great spirit 
 and resolution; and was a declared enemy to slavery, and to all who 
 wished to oppress their country. When Dionysius, king of Syracuse, 
 desired to learn the state and language of Athens, Plato sent him the 
 comedies of Aristophanes, telling him, these were the best represen- 
 tations of them, lie wrote above 50 comedies : but only 11 are ex- 
 tant, which are complete, viz. Plutus, the Clouds, the Frogs, Equilcs, 
 the At ariienses, the Wasps, Peace, the Birds, the Ecclesiazusx or Fe- 
 male Orators, the Thesmophosiazusx or Priestesses of Ceres, and 
 Lysislrata. The Clouds, which lie wrote in ridicule of Socrates, is 
 the most celebrated of all his comedies. He invented a peculiar kind 
 of verse, which was called by his name, and is mentioned by Cicero, 
 in his Brutus; and Suidas says, he was also the inventor of rhe tetra- 
 meter and octameter verse. Aristophanes was greatly admired among 
 the ancients, especially for the true Attic elegance , of his style. Tie 
 time of bis death is unknown ; but he was living alter the expulsion 
 of the tyrants by Thrasybulus, whom lie mention* in his L'lulus and 
 comedies. Imperial Enhfchpedut t '\vH, i. p. Z
 
 270 
 
 MARTHA DROSSIER. 
 
 JTIARTHA BROSSIER, a very remarkable woman, who 
 pretended to be possessed by the devil, and had like to 
 have occasioned great disorders in France, towards the 
 latter end of the sixteenth century. The French his- 
 torians have given an account of her; and Thuanus has 
 been very particular. Her father was a weaver at Romo- 
 rantin ; but, as Martha had the art of making a thousand 
 distortions, he found it more convenient and profitable to 
 ramble about with her, than to stay at home and mind 
 his trade. Going from town to town, therefore, and 
 showing his daughter Martha, as a woman possessed by 
 the devil, and needing the exorcism of the church, a 
 prodigious multitude of people resorted to him. The 
 cheat was found out at Orleans ; and for that reason, in 
 the year 1598, all the priests of the diocese were forbid 
 to proceed to exorcisms, on pain of excommunication. 
 Nor was the Bishop of Angers more easy to be imposed 
 upon, but quickly detected the cheat : for, having in- 
 vited Martha to dinner, he caused some holy water to 
 be brought her instead of common water, and common 
 water instead of holy water. Martha was caught : she 
 was not at all affected when she drank the holy water, 
 but made a great many distortions, when the common 
 water was presented to her. Upon this the prelate called 
 for the book of Exorcisms, and read the beginning of 
 the ^Eneid. Martha was caught again : for, supposing 
 those Latin verses of Virgil to be the beginning of the 
 exorcism, she put herself into violent postures, as if she 
 had been tormented by the devil. The bishop, convinc- 
 ed that she was an impostor, only reproved her father 
 in private, and advised him to go back to Romorantin 
 will) his daughter. The knave did not care to do that; 
 on the contrary, he curried -her to Paris, as a more
 
 MARTHA BROSSIER. 271 
 
 proper theatre for her to act on, where he hoped to be 
 supported by credulous and ill-affected people, and by 
 those whom the edict of Nantz had lately exasperated 
 against the king. He pitched upon St. Genevieve's 
 church to act his farce in; and it succeeded mightily. 
 The capuchins, who immediately took up the business, 
 lost no time; but quickly exorcised the wicked spirit of 
 Martha without any previous inquiry, though it is 
 ordered by the church. The postures she made, while 
 the exorcists performed their function, easily persuad- 
 ed the common people that she was a real demoniac ; 
 and the thing was quickly noised all over the town. 
 The bishop, willing to proceed orderly in the matter, ap- 
 pointed five of the most famous physicians in Paris to 
 examine into it, who unanimously reported, " that the 
 devil had no hand in the matter, but that there was u 
 great deal of imposture, and some distemper in it." 
 
 Two days after, two of those physicians seemed to 
 waver; and, before they answered the bishop, desired 
 the three others might be sent for, and time granted 
 them till the next day. On the 1st of April, 15Q9, the 
 thing was to be tried; when father Seraphin, on the one 
 side, renewed his exorcisms, and Martha, on the other, her 
 convulsions. She rolled her eyes, lolled out her tongue, 
 quaked all over her body ; and when the father came to 
 these words, el homo factm est, " and was made man," 
 she fell down, and tossed herself about from the altar to 
 the door of the chapel. Upon this, the exorcist cried 
 out, that if any one persisted still in his incredulity, he 
 need only to fight that devil, and try to conquer him, if 
 he durst venture his life. Marescol, one of the live 
 physicians, answered that he accepted the challenge ; 
 and immediately took Martha by the throat, and bid her 
 stop. She obeyed, and alleged for an excuse, that the 
 evil spirit had left her, which father Seraphin confirmed : 
 but Marescot insisted, that he had frightened the devil 
 away. People remained divided in their opinions, of this
 
 272 MARTHA BROSSIER. 
 
 woman ; and though these and other notorious proofs 
 of imposture were produced, yet many believed her to 
 be an actual demoniac. At length, there being reason 
 to fear that some answers might be suggested to her, 
 which might raise a sedition under pretence of the edict 
 granted to the Protestants, Henry IV. was advised not 
 to neglect the matter. He enjoined the parliament of 
 Paris to use their authority ; upon which the parliament 
 ordered her to be confined. She was so for forty days; 
 during which time they showed her to the be.st phy- 
 sicians, who asserted, that there was nothing supernatu- 
 ral in her case. In the mean time the preachers gave 
 themselves a prodigious liberty; crying out, that the 
 privileges of the church were encroached upon, and that 
 such proceedings were suggested by the heretics. They 
 were silenced, however, after much ado; and, on the 
 24th of May, 15Q9, James Drossier was ordered to be 
 carried, with his daughter Martha, to Romorantin, and 
 forbid to let her go abroad, without leave from the judge, 
 on pain of corporal punishment. Notwithstanding that 
 prohibition, the father and his daughter went, and under 
 the sanction and protection of Alexander cle la Roche- 
 foucaud, abbot of St. Martins, into Auverne, and then 
 to Avignon. The parliament of Paris summoned the 
 abbot twice, and ordered at last that the revenues of his 
 benefices should be seized for contempt of the court: 
 nevertheless this crew proceeded in their journey, and 
 went to Rome; thinking, says Thuanus, that Martha 
 would act her part much better on that great stage, and 
 \find more credulous people in that place, which is the 
 fountain of belief. The Bishop of Clermont, brother to 
 the abbot, and afterwards a cardinal, was so much sus- 
 pected of having suggested this foolish design to his 
 brother, that he was likewise deprived of his ecclesias- 
 tical revenues. Henry IV. well informed of what was 
 going forward, countermined them at Home ; so that 
 the pope, who was forewarned, did nothing contrary to 
 
 14
 
 FOSTER POWELL. 273 
 
 the sentence given by the parliament of Paris against 
 that pretended demoniac. Not long after the abbot fell 
 sick, and died, it is said, of grief, for having under- 
 taken so long a journey to make himself despised : and 
 Martha and her father, being forsaken by every body, 
 took sanctuary in the hospitals. 
 
 Mr. Bayle, after he had run over the principal circum- 
 stances of this affair, makes the following remarkable ob- 
 servation : " When I think," says he, "that the wretched 
 daughter of a weaver, carried from town to town like a 
 bear, and at last engrossed by two or three monks, who 
 pretended she was a demoniac, made Henry IV. the 
 parliament of Paris, and all honest Frenchmen very 
 uneasy; when I think that such a creature gave occa- 
 sion to fear that a large kingdom would fall again into 
 a combustion, which was but just quenched; when I 
 think that, upon the news of her going to Rome, the 
 agents of the French court were directed to omit nothing 
 with the pope, in order to ward off that blow : I say, 
 when I consider all these things, I cannot but pity the 
 fate of sovereigns, and their unavoidable dependance 
 upon the clergy. Whether they be devout or not, they 
 will always be obliged to have a regard for them, and to 
 fear them. They are a true imperium in imperio. tt is 
 true, the kingdom of Jesus Christ is not of this world"; 
 he says so himself: but those who pretend to represent 
 him are frequently masters of the kings of the earth, and 
 will give or take away crowns;" as it is notorious that 
 the pope and his agents have often done. 
 
 POWELL. 
 
 THIS celebrated pedestrian was born in 1734, at Horse- 
 forth, near Leeds in Yorkshire. In 1762, he came to 
 London and articled himself to an attorney in theTemple. 
 VOL. i. 2 M
 
 274 1USTE1V POWELL. 
 
 After the expiration of his clerkship he retrained with 
 his uncle, Mr. Powell, of the New Inn, and when he 
 died, engaged himself with a Mr. Stokes, and after his 
 decease with a Mr. Bingley, both of the same place. 
 
 Before his engagement with Stokes, he undertook, in 
 the year 1764, not for any wager, to walk 50 miles on 
 the Bath road in seven hours, which he accomplished in 
 the time, having gone the first ten miles in one hour, 
 although encumbered with a great coat and leather 
 breeches. 
 
 PC visited several parts of Switzerland and France, 
 and gained much praise there for his pedestrianism ; 
 but in the year 177 o, he walked from London to York 
 and back again, a distance of 400 miles, in five days 
 and eighteen hours: this was his first match for a 
 wager. 
 
 In November, 1778, Powell attempted to run two miles 
 in ten minutes for a wager; he started from Lea Bridge, 
 and lost it only by half a minute. 
 
 In 1786', he undertook to walk 100 miles on the Bath 
 road in 24 hours 50 miles out and 50 miles in he co.m- 
 pleted this journey three quarters of an hour within the 
 time agreed on. 
 
 In 1787, he undertook to walk from Canterbury to 
 London-bridge and back; again ip 24 hours, the distance 
 being 12 miles more than his former journey ; this he 
 accomplished to the great astonishment of thousands of 
 anxious spectators, who were assembled to witness the 
 completion of his task. 
 
 The following year, 1788, he. engaged to go his fa- 
 vourite journey from London to York and back again in 
 six days, which he executed in five days and 2O hours. 
 After this he did not undertake any journey till the year 
 1790, when he set off to walk from London to York; and 
 back again in six days, but which he accomplished in 
 five days and 18 hours. 
 
 In i792, he determined to repeat his journey to York
 
 ['*. 
 
 P B.2LS,
 
 FOSTER 1'OWELI.. 27/i 
 
 mid back again, fur the last time of his life, and convince 
 the world he could do it in a shorter time than ever he 
 had, though now at the advanced age of 58 years. Ac- 
 cordingly he set out from Shoreditch church to York 
 Minster and back again; which he completed in five 
 days, 15 hours, and one quarter. On his return he was 
 saluted with the loud huzzas of the astonished and 
 anxious spectators. 
 
 In the same year he walked, for a bet of twenty guineas, 
 six miles in 5j minutes and a half on the Clapham-road. 
 Shortly afterwards he went down to Brighthelinstone, 
 and engaged to walk one mile and run another in fifteen 
 miuutes; he walked the mile in nine minutes and twenty 
 seconds, and ran the other mile in five minutes and 
 twenty-three seconds, by which he was seventeen seconds 
 less than the time allowed him. 
 
 Previous to this he undertook a journey to Canterbury, 
 but, by unfortunately mistaking the road from J31ack 
 healU to London, he unavoidably lost the wager ; yet he 
 gained more money by this accident than all' the jour- 
 neys he accomplished; for his friends, feeling for the 
 great disappointment he experienced, made a subscrip- 
 tion, and Collected for him a good present. 
 
 Powell despised wealth, and notwithstanding his niaiijr 
 opportunities of acquiring money, ten pounds was the 
 largest sum he ever made, which was at the time of the 
 before-mentioned subscription. He was always content 
 with a little for himself, and happy in winning much for 
 others. He seems to have considered his wonderful agi- 
 lity as a circumstance from which he derived great glory. 
 In person he was tall and thin, about five feel nine 
 inches high, very strong downwards, well calculated for 
 walking, and rather of a sallow complexion; in dispo- 
 sition he was mild and gentle, and possessed many 
 valuable qualifications. In diet he was somewhat par- 
 ticular, as he preferred light food ; he abstained from 
 liquor, but on his journey made use of brandy; and
 
 276 MARY EAST. 
 
 when travelling, the delay he met with at the inns, for 
 he hail particular hours for taking refreshment, often 
 chagrined him. No wonder, indeed, if, on this account, 
 he h,ad often lost his wagers. He allowed himself but 
 five hours rest, which took place from eleven o'clock at 
 night. 
 
 In 1793* be was suddenly taken ill, and died on the 
 15th of April, at his apartments in New-inn, in rather 
 indigent circumstances, for, notwithstanding hjs won- 
 derful feats, and the means he had of attaining wealth, 
 poverty was the constant companion of his travels 
 through life, even to the hour of his death. The 
 faculty attributed the cause of his sudden dissolution to 
 the great exertions of his last journey to York, for being 
 determined to complete it in less time than ever, he 
 probably exceeded and forced his strength. In the af- 
 ternoon of the 22d his remains were brought, according 
 to his own request, to the burying ground of St. Faith, 
 St. Paul's Church-yard. The funeral was characteristi- 
 cally a walking one, from New-inn through Fleet-street, 
 and up Ludgate-hill. The followers were twenty, on 
 foot, in black gowns, and after them came three mourning 
 coaches. The attendants were all men of respectability, 
 the ceremony was conducted with much decency, and 
 a very great concourse of people attended. He was 
 buried nearly under the only tree in the church-yard. 
 His age, which was fifty-nine years, was inscribed on his 
 coffin. 
 
 MARY EAST. 
 
 XHE subject of this article is among the numerous fe- 
 
 * males that might be mentioned, who have, for a long 
 
 series of years, sustained the characters, and devoted 
 
 themselves to the occupations and pursuits of men.
 
 MARY EAST. 277 
 
 We have seen them attaining the highest distinction, in 
 the republic of letters, intrusted with important diplo- 
 matic commissions, and arriving at deserved eminence in 
 the military career. Their examples seem to prove that, 
 with the same education, women might be enahled to 
 acquit themselves with equal credit in the professions ex- 
 clusively assigned to the other sex. 
 
 Mary East was horn ahout the year \1\5, and when 
 very young was courted hy a man for whom she con- 
 ceived the strongest affection. This man, afterwards 
 falling into had courses, resolved to try his fortune on the 
 highway ; hut it was not long before he was apprehend- 
 ed for a robbery, for which he was tried and condemned 
 to die ; the sentence, however, was changed to trans- 
 portation. This circumstance, which happened about 
 the year 1731, so deeply affected the mind of Mary 
 East, that she determined ever after to remain single. 
 In the neighbourhood of her residence lived another 
 young woman, who, having likewise met with several 
 disappointments in the tender passion, had formed a 
 similar resolution. As they were intimate, they com- 
 municated their intentions to each other, and at length, 
 concluded to live together. Having consulted on the 
 most prudent method of proceeding, it was proposed 
 that one of them should put on man's apparel, and that 
 they should live as man and wife, in some place where 
 they were not known. The only difficulty now was, 
 who should be the man, which was decided by lot in 
 favour of Mary East, who was then about sixteen yearsi 
 of age, and her partner seventeen. The sum of money 
 they possessed between them was about thirty pounds, 
 with which they set out; and Mary, after purchasing'.a 
 man's habit, assumed the name of James How, by which 
 we shall be obliged, for a while, to distinguish her. lu 
 their progress the}' chanced to stop at a small publfc 
 house at Epping, which was to be let; this house tbey, 
 took, and lived in it for some time.
 
 27 ivlAnr EAST. 
 
 About this period a quarrel, of the cause of which 
 we are not informed, took place between James How 
 and a young gentleman, against whom James, however, 
 entered an action, and obtained a verdict for five hun- 
 dred pounds damages. With this sum our couple sought 
 h place in a better situation, and took a very good pub- 
 lic house in Limehoiise-hole, where they lived many 
 years as man and wife, in good credit and esteem ; and, 
 by their industry and frugality, contrived to save a con- 
 siderable sum of iiioney. Leaving the last-mentioned 
 situation, they removed to the White Horse at Poplar, 
 which, as well as several other houses, they afterwards 
 purchased. 
 
 In this manner they had lived about eighteen years, 
 when a woman who was acquainted with Mary East in 
 her youth, and was in the secret of her metamorphosis, 
 knowing in what creditable circumstances she now lived, 
 thought this a favourable opportunity to turn her know- 
 ledge to her own advantage. She accordingly sent to 
 Mr. How for ten pounds, at the same time intimating 
 that, in case of a refusal, she would disclose all she 
 knew concerning the affair. Fearful of her executing 
 this threat, James, in compliance with her demand, sent 
 her the money. 
 
 For a considerable time they remained free from any 
 farther demands of a similar nature. How, with her 
 supposed wife, continued to live in good credit till the 
 year 1764; she had served all the parish offices in 
 Poplar, excepting that of a constable and churchwarden, 
 from the former of which she was excused by a lame- 
 ness in her hand, occasioned by the quarrel above-men- 
 tioned, and the functions of the latter she was to have 
 performed the following year. She had been several 
 times foreman of juries, though her effeminacy was fre- 
 quently remarked. At length, about Christmas, 1764, 
 the woman who had practised the former piece of ex- 
 tortion, resolved again to have recourse to the same ex-
 
 EAST. 
 
 t, and with the like menaces obtained ten pounds 
 more. Flushed with her success, and emboldened to 
 prosecute her system of depredatipn, a fortnight had 
 not elapsetl before she repeated her demand for tb>e 
 same sum, which James happened not to have in th<? 
 house ; but, s\ill fearing a discovery, sent her back fiv-e 
 pounds. 
 
 About this time the suppose^ wife of James low 
 taken ill and died, and the wpmau now formed a 
 to increase her depreciations. For this purpose sb# 
 procured two fellows to assist her in its execution : one 
 of these, a mulatto, passed for a police officer, and the 
 other was equipped with a pocket staff, as a constable. 
 In these characters they repaired to the White Horse, 
 and inqu|v^ fof J\lr. HOW, who answered to the name. 
 They informed her tluit tb,ey \yere come from Justice 
 Fielding, to apprehend her for a robbery, committed 
 thirty years before, and that they were acquainted with 
 the secret of her sex. She was, terrified to the highest 
 degree on account of the discovery, but conscious of 
 her innocence \yith regard to tbe robbery; and an inti- 
 mate acquaintance, Mr. Williams a pawnbroker, hap- 
 peuing to pass by, she called him in, and acquainted 
 him with the bushier, of the two men, adding that she 
 was really a woman, but was innocent of the crime with 
 which she was charged. Mr. Williams, as soon as he 
 had recovered from the surprise occasioned by this dis- 
 closu.r,e, tol^l her she should not be carried before Sir 
 John Fielding, but before her own bench of justices, 
 adding, tha^ he would just step home, and return in a 
 few minutes to accompany her. On his departure, the 
 ruffians renewed their threats, but at the same time told 
 her, if she would give them one. hundred pounds, they 
 would cause her no farther trouble, if not, she should 
 be hauled in six days, and they should receive tuny 
 pounds a-piece for bringing her to justice. Notwith- 
 standing their menaces, she firmly resisted their demand,
 
 280 , HARY EAST. 
 
 waiting \vith the utmost impatience for the return of Mr. 
 Williams. Persisting in her refusal, they at length 
 forced hsr out of the house, carried her through the 
 fields, mid conveyed her to Garlick-hill, to the house of 
 their employer ; where, with threats, they obliged her to 
 give, a draft at a short date on Mr. Williams. She was 
 then set at liberty. When Williams came back, he was 
 surprised to find her gone, and immediately set off to 
 the bench of justices to see if she was there ; not finding 
 her, he immediately went to Sir John Fielding, not 
 succeeding there he went home, when James soon after 
 returned, and related what had happened. 
 
 It was now the month of July, 1 763. On Monday 
 the 14th, the woman in whose favour the draft was 
 given, went to Mr. Williams with it to inquire if he 
 would pay it, as it would be due the following Wed- 
 nesday ; he replied, that if she would bring it when due 
 he should know better what to say. In the mean time 
 lie applied to the bench of justices for advice, and on 
 the Wednesday a constable was sent, with orders to be 
 in readiness in his house. The woman punctually at- 
 tended with the draft, bringing the mulatto with her; 
 they were both immediately taken into custody, and 
 carried before the justices, sitting at the angel, in White- 
 chapel, whither Mr. Williams repaired, attended by 
 Mary East, in the proper habit of her sex. The awk- 
 wardness of her behaviour, occasioned by the altera- 
 tion of her dress, was such as to afford considerable 
 diversion. 
 
 In the course of the examination the woman denied 
 having sent for the sum of one hundred pounds, which 
 the men had demanded, but the mulatto declared that if 
 she had not sent him on such an errand, he should never 
 have gone. By their numerous contradictions they com- 
 pletely unfolded the villany of their designs; and the 
 strongest proof being adduced of the extortion and as- 
 sault, they were both committed to Clerkenwell till the 
 ' 14
 
 MARY EAST. 
 
 sessions, to be tried for the offence. The other man, 
 who was engaged in this nefarious transaction, would 
 have been included in their punishment, had he not, by 
 flight, evaded the arm of justice. 
 
 It should have been observed, that before the sup- 
 posed wife of James How died, finding herself indis- 
 posed, she went to her brother's in Essex, for the benefit 
 of the air, and after some stay, perceiving that she was 
 near her end, she sent for her supposed husband to come 
 down to her. As How neglected to comply with her re- 
 quest, she informed her brother that the person with 
 whom she had cohabited was not her husband, but a 
 woman; that they were partners in the business, by 
 which they had acquired between three and four thou- 
 sand pounds, part of which had been laid out in the 
 purchase of Bank Stock. As soon as the supposed wife 
 was dead and buried, her relations set out for Poplar to 
 claim her share of the property, which was accordingly 
 delivered to hem by Mary East. 
 
 It is remarkable, that during the thirty-four years in 
 which they lived together, neither the husband nor the 
 wife was ever observed to dress a joint of meat, nor had 
 thi-y ever any meetings, or the like, at their house. 
 They never kept any maid or boy, but the husband, 
 Mary East, used always to draw beer, serve, fetch, and 
 carry out the pots, so extremely solicitous were they 
 that their secret might not be discovered. 
 
 After she had disposed of her house, and settled her 
 affairs, Mary East retired into another part of Poplar, 
 to enjoy, with quiet and pleasure, that property she had 
 acquired by fair and honest means, and with an un- 
 blemished character. She died in January, 17S1, aged 
 sixty-four years, and left her fortune to a friend in the 
 country, and a young woman who lived with her during 
 her retirement as a servant, except 10/. a year to the 
 poor of Poplar, 50/. to a working gardener, and her gold 
 watch to Mr. Curry, an eminent distiller at Poplar. 
 
 VOL. i. '2 N
 
 LOUISA, 
 
 THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK. 
 
 ASSUMING as a fact, that the origin of this daughter 
 of misery was such as is rendered extremely probable bv 
 the circumstances detailed in the following pages, her 
 melancholy history holds out an awful and important 
 lesson to all those whose hearts are not dead to the ten- 
 der feelings of natural affection. It may operate on the 
 one hand as a warning to the giddy and the gay, against 
 the indulgence of unhallowed love, or at least it should 
 induce them to make a suitable provision, while they 
 are able, for the innocent fruits of illicit passion. It is 
 impossible to foresee the afflictions that Providence may 
 have mingled in the cup of any individual, and it is 
 consequently out of the power of man to provide against 
 them : but it is the sacred duty of every parent to 
 smooth, as far as he is capable, the path of life to his 
 offspring, whether legitimate or otherwise, and to neglect 
 nothing which may contribute to render them useful and 
 respectable members of society. We now proceed to 
 the truly remarkable history of the unfortunate Louisa. 
 
 In the year 1776, a young woman stopped at the vil- 
 lage of Bourton, near Bristol, and begged the refresh- 
 ment of a little milk. In her whole appearance there, 
 was something that irresistibly engaged the attention of 
 every one who beheld her. She was young and beauti- 
 ful, and to a countenance highly interesting, she added 
 graceful and elegant manners. She was alone, a stranger, 
 and in extreme distress, yet she uttered no complaint, 
 and used no arts to excite compassion. Her whole de- 
 portment exhibited visible signs of superior breeding; 
 but a certain wildness and want of consistency marked 
 all her words and actions. As she could not be induced 
 to make known even her name, she was distinguished by 
 that of Louisa.
 
 LOUISA. . 
 
 All day she wandered about in search of a place to 
 lay her wretched head, and at night took up her lodging 
 under a hay-stack. In vain the neighbouring ladies re- 
 monstrated with her on the danger of such an exposed 
 situation. Their bounty supplied her with the neces- 
 saries of life, but neither threats nor entreaties could 
 prevail upon, her to sleep in a house. As she at times 
 discovered symptoms of insanity, she was conveyed to 
 Bristol, and confined in St. Peter's hospital, in that city. 
 When she was released, with all the speed her small re- 
 mains of strength allowed, she hastened to her favourite 
 hay-stack, though six miles distant from the place of 
 her confinement. Her rapture was inexpressible on 
 finding herself again at liberty, and once more safe be- 
 neath this miserable shelter. 
 
 Four years this forlorn creature devoted herself to 
 this desolate life, without knowing the comfort of a 
 bed, or the protection of a roof. Hardship, sickness, 
 cold, and misery, gradually impaired her health, and 
 injured her beauty; but still she was an interesting 
 figure, and had an uncommon sweetness in her air and 
 manner. She was above the vanity so common to her 
 sex ; for she would neither wear nor accept of any finery 
 or ornaments, but hung them on the bushes as unworthy 
 of her attention. Her way of life was the most harm- 
 less and inoffensive ; every fine morning she walked 
 about the village, conversed with the poor children, 
 made them presents of such things as were given her, 
 and received others in return, but would lake no food 
 except milk, tea, and the most simple diet. 
 
 No means were left untried by the neighbouring ladies 
 to prevail on her to live in a house, but her constant 
 reply was, "that trouble and misery dwelt in houses, 
 and that there was no happiness but in liberty and fresh 
 air." From a certain peculiarity of expression, and ;i 
 slight foreign tincture in her pronunciation, and in the 
 construction of some sentences, it was conjectured that
 
 284 LOUISA. 
 
 she was not a native of England ; and various attempts 
 were made, but in vain, to draw from her some know- 
 ledge of her origin. A gentleman who went to see her, 
 addressed her in the languages of the continent, at 
 which she appeared uneasy, restless and embarrassed ; 
 but when he spoke in German, her emotion was too 
 great to be suppressed; she turned from him and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 At length, but not without great reluctance on her 
 part, the unfortunate Louisa was removed to the village 
 of Bitton, in Gloucestershire. Here she was placed 
 under the care of Mr. Henderson, the keeper of a pri- 
 vate mad-house, and supported by a subscription under 
 the management of the benevolent Miss Hannah More, 
 and her sisters. By the attentions of a.skilful physician, 
 her health improved, but her intellects became more 
 and more impaired ; and she displayed more of idiotism 
 than lunacy in her manners and behaviour. 
 
 As it had been concluded, from her accent, that she 
 was of German origin, all the particulars that could be 
 collected concerning her were translated into that lan- 
 guage, and transmitted to the newspapers of Vienna, 
 and of other large cities in Germany, in the hope that 
 they might lead to some discovery. The narrative 
 was likewise published in most of the great towns of 
 France. 
 
 These precautions, however, reflected no certain light 
 on the history of poor Louisa: but in the year 1785, a 
 pamphlet, without either name or place, appeared iti 
 the French language, under the title of " The Stranger, 
 a true history." It was supposed to have been originally 
 published in some part of the Austrian dominions. By 
 way of introduction, the author gives an affecting re- 
 cital of the sufferings of the poor female stranger, in 
 the neighbourhood of Bristol, translated from the ac- 
 count published in the English newspapers, leaving it 
 to the public to determine, whether the unhappy Louisa
 
 LOUISA. 285 
 
 and the subject of his narrative, were or were not one 
 and the same person. The same question we shall 
 leave to the decision of our readers, after they have 
 made themselves acquainted with the circumstances of 
 this extraordinary history, which we shall now present 
 them. 
 
 In the summer of the year 1?68, Count Cobenzel, the 
 Austrian minister at Brussels, received a letter from a 
 lady at Bourdeaux; in which the writer requested him 
 not to think it strange, if his friendship and advice 
 were eagerly sought, adding, that " the universal re- 
 spect which his talents and his interest at court com- 
 manded, induced her to address herself to him ; that he 
 should soon know who it was that had presumed to 
 solicit his good offices ; and that he would perhaps not 
 repent of having attended to .her." This letter was 
 written in very indifferent French, and signed La 
 Friilen. The count was requested to return an answer 
 to Mademoiselle La Friilen, at Bourdeaux. 
 
 Not long afterwards, he received a letter from Prague, 
 signed Count J. von Weissendorf, in which he was en- 
 treated to give the best advice in his power to Made- 
 moiselle La Fru'len, to interest himself warmly in her 
 behalf, to write to Bourdeaux in her favour, and even 
 to advance her money to the amount of a thousand 
 ducats if she wanted it. The letter concluded thus: 
 "when you shall know, sir, who tins stranger is, you 
 will be delighted to think you have served* her, and 
 grateful to those who have given you an opportunity of 
 doing it." 
 
 In his reply to the lady, the count assured her that 
 he was highly sensible of her good opinion; that he 
 should be proud or assisting her with his advice, and of 
 serving her to the utmost of his power, but that it w;,s 
 absolutely necessary he should, in the first iiK-tance, be 
 informed of her real name. 
 
 Alter this, the count received a letter from Vienna.
 
 286 LOUISA. 
 
 signed Count Dietrichstein, in which he was likewise 
 requested to pay every possible attention to Mademoi- 
 selle La Friilen, and in particular to recommend to her 
 the practice of frugality. This, as well as the letter 
 from Prague, was answered by the count, but no notice 
 was taken of the reply to either. 
 
 In the mean time, his correspondence with the 
 young lady at Bourdeaux continued. Towards the end 
 of the year, Madame 1'Englume, the wile of a trades- 
 man of Bourdeaux, went on business to Brussels, 
 and that business having introduced her to Count 
 Cobenzel, she spoke to him in terms of the highest 
 praise of his young unknown correspondent. She 
 extolled her beauty, her elegance, and above all, that 
 prudence and propriety of conduct, which did so 
 much honour to a person left at such a tender age, at 
 her own disposal. She added, that the young lady had 
 a house of her own; that she was generous, expensive, 
 and even magnificent; that she had been ihree years at 
 Bourdeaux; that the distinguished attention with which 
 she was treated by the Marshal de Richelieu, the great 
 resemblance of her features to those of the late emperor 
 Francis, and the entire ignorance of the world concern- 
 ing her birth, had given occasion to strange conjectures; 
 and that though the young lady had often been ques- 
 tioned concerning her family, she persisted in observing 
 the most scrupulous silence on that subject. 
 
 In one of her letters to Count Cobenzel, Mademoi- 
 selle La Friilen declared her readiness to inform him of 
 every particular concerning herself; but as the secret 
 was too important to be trusted to chance, she intended 
 to visit the Austrian Netherlands, and acquaint him 
 with her history. She meanwhile sent him her picture, 
 which she desired him attentively to examine, as it 
 might lead him to some conjectures concerning what 
 she had to relate. The count saw in it nothing more 
 than the features of a. lovely woman, hut Prince Charles
 
 LOUISA. 287 
 
 of Lorraine thought the portrait bore a strong resem- 
 blance to the late emperor, his brother. 
 
 Count Cobenzel continued to answer her letters in a 
 polite, and even an affectionate manner, but was par- 
 ticularly guarded in his expressions. On one occasion 
 she informed him, that she would send him two more 
 pictures, with one of which she requested him to com- 
 pare her own. Soon afterwards, he received the por- 
 traits of the emperor and empress ; the former of which 
 was known by Prince Charles to have been painted by 
 Liotard. 
 
 In the month of December, the count received an 
 extraordinary letter, dated "Vienna From my bed, 
 two in the morning;" in which he was highly com- 
 mended for the good advice he had given the young 
 stranger, and requested to continue his attentions. He 
 was likewise desired to inculcate economy, and parti- 
 cularly admonished of the importance of the secret. 
 This letter was without signature. 
 
 In the beginning of the year 1?69, Count Cobenzel 
 received dispatches from Vienna, containing several ex- 
 traordinary circumstances relative to the stranger. The 
 court of Vienna had applied to that of Versailles to 
 apprehend Mademoiselle la Friilen, and to send her to 
 Brussels to be examined by Count Cobenxel, and the 
 first president M. de Neny. At the same time Prince 
 Charles received a letter from the empress, enjoining 
 him to be careful that the prisoner should 1 not escape, 
 and concluding with these words : " This wretch wishes 
 to pass for the daughter of oor late royal master. If 
 there was the least probability in the story, I would love 
 her, and treat her like one of my own children; but I 
 am convinced she is an impostor. I wish every possible 
 effort to be made to prevent this unhappy creature from 
 profaning any longer the dear and venerable name of 
 our departed lord." Her majesty recommended the 
 strictest secrecy, adding, that the adventure had ah
 
 238 LOUISA. 
 
 made too much noise, and that all Europe would soon 
 ring of it. 
 
 The manner in which the affair had come to the 
 knowledge of the court of Vienna was as follows. While 
 
 O 
 
 Joseph II. was on his travels in Italy, the King of Spain 
 received a letter purporting'to have been written by his 
 imperial majesty, informing him, in confidence, that his 
 father had left a natural daughter, wliose history was 
 known only to his sister, the Archduchess Marianne, 
 himself, and a few intimate friends; that she had been 
 most earnestly recommended to him by his father, and 
 resided at Bourdeaux. The king was entreated to send 
 for her, to place her with some lady of rank at Madrid 
 or in a convent, where she might be treated with the 
 respect due to her birth, till some plan should be adopted 
 for the future happiness of her life. This mark of 
 friendship he requested of his catholic majesty, because 
 he himself durst not undertake the office, lest the affair 
 should come to the ears of his mother, the empress,, 
 whom he wished to remain in perpetual ignorance of 
 the story. The King of Spain thought this letter so 
 extraordinary, that he transmitted it to the emperor, 
 requesting some explanation. Joseph, who had not 
 written it, and was totally ignorant of the affair, sent it 
 to his mother, who made immediate inquiries concern- 
 ing the stranger, and dispatched a messenger to Bor- 
 deaux to seize her. She was arrested in her own house 
 in August, 1769, by M. de Ferand, lieutenant of the 
 marechaussce of the province. 
 
 Fear and distress greatly impaired La Friilen's beauty. 
 Continual spasms, attended with a spitting of blood, 
 obliged her to travel very slowly. Just before she quitted 
 the French dominions, a stranger, in the habit of a 
 courier, put a note into her hand at the coach window, 
 and retired with the utmost precipitation. She begged 
 the officer by whom she was accompanied to read the 
 note, which contained only these words: "My dear 
 
 14
 
 LOLISA. 289 
 
 girl, every thing has been done to save you : keep up 
 your spirits, and do not despair." She afterwards de- 
 clared, that she neither knew the courier, nor the hand- 
 writing. 
 
 On her arrival at Brussels, she was immediate]}' taken 
 to Count CobenzePs hotel. Her person was sufficient to 
 interest the hardest heart in her favour. She was tall and 
 of an elegant figure, her air was simple and majestic ; her. 
 complexion fair ; her aVms were delicately turned ; her 
 hair was brown, and calculated to display the embellish- 
 ments of art to the greatest advantage. She had a 
 freshness of colour, which art cannot imitate, fine dark 
 eyes, and a look that expressed every emotion of her soul. 
 She spoke French with a German accent, and appeared 
 much confused, but betrayed no particular symptoms of 
 female weakness. 
 
 Her alarm was soon dissipated by that confidence 
 which the count well knew how to inspire. In her 
 letters she had always called him father, and still con- 
 tinued to address him by the same endearing name. He 
 told her to make herself perfectly easy, as she should 
 experience the kindest treatment, if she would strictly 
 adhere to the truth. All her distress appeared to arise 
 from the circumstance of the debts she had contracted 
 at Bourdcaux, which she considered as the sole cause of 
 her being apprehended. She expressed no concern at 
 being a prisoner, and only asked the count whether she 
 might not remain at his house. This he frankly told her 
 was impossible, at the same time, assuring her, that she 
 should bo treated with the highest respect, in an apart- 
 ment he had prepared for her at the fortress of Monte- 
 re 1, where she should he supplied with every thin:- 
 wanted. He promised to wait on her the next day; uti 
 which she took her leave, and was conducted to the fort 
 hv Major de Camerhng, and M. de Neny provided for 
 her a female attendant. 
 
 The next day the count found hei in "".H) Spirit*; 
 VOL. i. <2 u
 
 290 LOUISA. 
 
 seemed delighted with her apartment, and the treatment 
 of those about her. The count offered her the use of any 
 books from his library. She thanked him, but said, she 
 never had a moment that hung heavy on her hands, so 
 much was her time taken up with visionary projects for 
 her future life. The fact was, she could neither read nor 
 write, as M. de Camerlang taught her to sign her name 
 while she was in confinement. 
 
 The following day her examination commenced. 
 Count Cobenzel and M. de Neny repaired to the fort, 
 and the latter, who had not before seen the prisoner, was 
 extremely struck with her resemblance to the late em- 
 peror. They asked were she was born. She answered, 
 that she knew not, but had been told the place where 
 she had been brought up was called Bohemia. She 
 was asked if that place was a town, and what was the 
 earliest circumstance of her life that she could recollect. 
 She said the place where she was brought up was a small 
 sequestered house in the country, with neither a town or 
 a village near it, and that before she inhabited this 
 house, she had no recollection of any thing that had 
 happened to her. In infancy she had been under the 
 care of two women, one about fifty years old, the other 
 about thirty : the former she called mamma, and the 
 latter Catharine. She slept in the apartment of the first, 
 and both treated her with great kindness and affection. 
 An ecclesiastic came from time to time to say mass in an. 
 apartment of the house, and to teach her the catechism: 
 and the person whom she called mamma had begun to 
 instruct her in reading and writing ; but no sooner did 
 the priest know of this, than he opposed it, and she was 
 taught no more. He, however, always treated her with 
 very great respect. 
 
 She said that about a year afterwards a handsome man 
 in a hunting suit, accompanied by a gentleman dressed 
 in the same manner, came to the house where she lived. 
 She was called, the stranger placed her on his knee,
 
 LOUISA. -2 l .)[ 
 
 caressed her, and exhorted her to be good and obedient. 
 She supposed that this person had seen her before, as 
 she recollected that he thought her grown taller and 
 altered, but she did not remember to have ever seen him 
 at any former time. In about a year and a half he re- 
 turned, with the same attendant, and in the same kind 
 of dress. At this second interview the features of her 
 unknown Visitor made such an impression on her mind, 
 that, had she never seen him more, she should not have 
 forgotten them. He was of the middling stature, rather 
 corpulent, had an open countenance, a ruddy com- 
 plexion, dark beard, and a small white spot on one of 
 his temples. She observed that M. de Neny bore a 
 distant resemblance to this person, particularly in the 
 lower part of his face. At this second visit, she remarked 
 something red about the stranger's neck, under his rid- 
 ing coat ; she inquired what it was ; he replied, " that it 
 was a mark of distinction worn by officers." Ignorant in 
 every particular, she inquired what he meant by officers. 
 He answered, " They are men of honour, gallantry and 
 spirit, whom you must love, because you are yourself the 
 daughter of an officer." She added, that at this visit 
 she felt a strong attachment to the stranger, and when he 
 took leave, she burst into tears, at which he appeared 
 much affected, and promised to return soon. 
 
 It was not, however, till two years afterwards that he 
 returned, and when she reproached him for his long ab- 
 sence, he told her, that at the time he had fixed for 
 coming to see her, he was very ill in consequence of 
 over-heating himself in the chace. Prince Charles re- 
 collected, that, at a time corresponding with that above- 
 mentioned, the emperor was actually taken ill on his 
 return from hunting. 
 
 At the third interview, the stranger desired to be kit 
 alone with lirr. When h<: informed h<-r of his illness, 
 she shed tears. He was himself moved, and inquirrd 
 why she wept ; on which she replied, " Because 1 love
 
 202 i .oi ISA. 
 
 you." lie declared he likewise loved her, that he-would 
 take care of her, make her rich and happy, and give her 
 a palace, money, and attendants, who should wear 
 yellow and blue liveries. He afterwards asked her if she 
 should not like to see the queen, adding, "You would 
 love her much if you knew her, but that, for her peace 
 of mind, you must never do." He then presented her 
 with the two pictures she had sent from Bourdeaux to 
 Count Cobenzel. She told the stranger, that one was 
 his own picture, which he allowed, and bade her keep it 
 as long as she lived, as well as that of the empress, and 
 a third picture, which he afterwards gave her, of a 
 female whose features were partly concealed by a veil. 
 This he informed her was her own mother. The pictures 
 were in a blue silk purse, which contained a great quan- 
 tity of ducats. On quitting her, the stranger assured 
 her that she should soon be happy, and all her wishes 
 should be gratified ; but she must promise him never to 
 marry, and always keep that vow in her remembrance. 
 He then took leave of her with the utmost tenderness, 
 and she was herself extremely affected. 
 
 She related that, in the interval between the first and 
 second visit of this stranger, a lady, accompanied by 
 two men, came one day to see her. She was dressed 
 with great simplicity, was of middling stature, fair, of a 
 pleasing countenance, and rather inclining to corpulence. 
 This lady looked at her very earnestly, and began to 
 weep : she asked her several indifferent questions, and 
 then kissing her twice or three times, said, " My child, 
 you are indeed unfortunate !" Her emotion was so great, 
 that she called for a glass of water to keep herself from 
 fainting; and after drinking it, immediately departed. 
 She could not positively say whether the picture the 
 stranger gave her at his last visit, bore any resemblance 
 to this lady or not. 
 
 When the examination had proceeded thus far, it was 
 found that the young prisoner began to prevaricate about
 
 LOUISA. -J!);> 
 
 the circumstances of her history. Yet, even after this 
 was discovered, she persisted in solemnly declaring, that 
 her narrative of the events, previous to her quitting the 
 house in which she was educated, was faithful in everv 
 particular; and though questions were put to her in 
 every possible form, she always repeated the above facts 
 with the same circumstances and the same simplicity. 
 
 She then related the story of her departure from the 
 place of her education, to the following effect: Soon 
 after the stranger's last visit, the ecclesiastic who had 
 attended her from her infancy, came to inform her that 
 her protector was no more, and that before he expired, 
 he had ordered her to be conducted to some convent in 
 France, adding, that she must set out on her journey in 
 :i few days. A week afterwards he returned in a post- 
 chaise, into which he handed her and Catharine, and 
 then got into it again himself. She wept much at part- 
 ing with the woman she called mamma ; not entirely on 
 account of the pain she felt at the separation, but like- 
 wise because she was terribly afraid of the convent; for 
 the inquiries she had made in the week preceding her de- 
 parture had given her the most frightful ideas of the life 
 to which she thought herself condemned. She could not 
 tell what towns she passed through ; but, on her arrival 
 at Hamburgh, the priest dismissed her attendant, and 
 made her embark on board a vessel freighted for Bour- 
 deaux. The moment she took ship, a man, apparently 
 about fifty years old, offered her his services, and said 
 that he would take care of her during the voyage. Ou 
 their arrival at Bourdeau.v, this man took her to the 
 house of a Gorman merchant ; his wife placed her with 
 _Madume Guillnumot with whom she had lived during the 
 whole of her residence at Bourdeaux. A fortnight al'irr 
 her removal to that. lady's house, a letter was brought to 
 her, addressed to. Mademoiselle Felicia .Juliana dr Sdm- 
 naii, which name the priest, on her leaving Bohemia, told
 
 294 LOUISA. 
 
 her she was in future to consider as her own. This letter 
 Madame G. read to her by her desire. It contained di- 
 rections for her conduct, and assurances that she should 
 be amply supplied with money ; she was advised to re- 
 main with Madame Guillanmot, and to persuade her to 
 dismiss all her other boarders, and to devote her whole 
 attention to her alone. This letter had neither date nor 
 signature, and enjoined her to forbear making too curi- 
 ous inquiries. Some days afterwards, a gentleman called 
 upon her, and without any preface, put into her hand a 
 purse of a thousand louis-d'ors, which, he said, he was 
 directed to advance her for the purchase of furniture. 
 She asked whence the money came, on which he begged 
 her to make herself easy, and not to be inquisitive. She 
 now took a house, and furnished it; Madame Guillau- 
 mot went with her as her companion, and she lived at 
 Bourdeaux among the people of the first consequence, 
 till the day of her confinement. 
 
 The manner in which she related the circumstances of 
 her embarkation at Hamburgh appearing improbable, 
 Count Cobenzel told her, it was evident her story was 
 untrue. He bade her to remember what lie had before 
 told her, that the only way to obtain the favour and pro- 
 tection of the empress, was to be ingenuous and sincere. 
 On this condition alone, he had offered her his best ser- 
 vices, but having deceived him, he would now abandon 
 her to the consequences of her imposture. She was 
 much confused, and the count having risen as if to de- 
 part, she held him by his clothes, threw herself at his 
 feet, and, with many tears, said she had much to relate, 
 but could not proceed in the presence of M. de Neny's 
 secretary. When that gentleman had withdrawn, she 
 again fell on her knees, and entreated the count to take 
 compassion on her, confessed that she had deceived him 
 in the account of her embarkation at Hamburgh, but 
 called Heaven to witness, that all she had said concern-
 
 LOUISA. 29-* 
 
 ing her residence in Bohemia, was true to the minutest 
 circumstance. She then told anew the story of her de- 
 parture, in the following manner: 
 
 When the priest came to take her from her house in 
 Bohemia, he said he was going to conduct her to a con- 
 vent in France. The little which she had heard from 
 Catharine and her mamma, taught her to consider a con- 
 vent as a frightful prison from which there was no 
 escape ; with such force did this idea operate on her 
 mind, that she formed the design of delivering herself 
 by flight from this captivity. No opportunity for exe- 
 cuting this plan occurred, till her arrival at Hamburgh, 
 where her alarm was so much increased by the sii^ht of 
 the sea and the ships, that the night preceding the das- 
 fixed for her departure, she rose from Catharine's side as 
 she slept, made a small parcel of some linen, took the 
 blue purse with the three pictures, and one hundred 
 ducats given her by the stranger, and at day-break, left 
 the city. She walked a long time, till, exhausted with 
 fatigue, she took refuge in the barn of a farmer, and fell 
 asleep. Here she was discovered by the owner, who, 
 struck with her youth and figure, civilly offered her the 
 use of his best bed, and a small room, which she 
 accepted. 
 
 Her fears not suffering her to continue so near Ham- 
 burgh, she quilted her host, who refused to accept any 
 remuneration for his kindness. Mounting a wretched 
 carriage, she then took the road towards Sweden, but, 
 the third day of her journey, she fell from the vehicle, 
 and received such a dangerous wound in her head, that 
 it was found necessary to take her to a neighbouring inn, 
 and to procure the assistance of a surgeon. A Dutch 
 family happened to stop at this inn on their way to 
 Pomerania and Sweden. These people defrayed the 
 expenses of her cure, and permitted her to join their 
 party. She mentioned their names and likewise that c f 
 a Lutheran clergyman, who was with them, and who,
 
 2i;f LOUISA. 
 
 wh-en tliis narrative made its appearance, was tutor to 
 the children of a merchant at Hamburgh. Proceeding 
 to Stockholm, she quitted her fellow-travellers, and took 
 a lodging: at the house of a German woman, whose hus- 
 
 t_) O x 
 
 band held a small post under the government. Fortu- 
 nately, this woman was a person of great integrity, and 
 conceived the strongest attachment for her. During 
 
 O 
 
 Mademoiselle la Friilen's residence here, she was one 
 clay informed by her hair-dresser, that the Count Bel- 
 gioioso, the imperial ambassador at Stockholm, was 
 making strict inquiries after a young lady who had 
 eloped from Hamburgh. La Friilen, who began to form 
 some idea of the consequences of her flight, and was 
 more terrified by the apprehensions of poverty than the 
 thoughts of a convent, declared that she was the person, 
 and permitted her informant to make this discovery lo 
 the ambassador. The following day she received a note 
 from the count, inviting her to his house. This note was 
 read to her by a girl who attended on her, named Sophia, 
 and she hesitated not a moment to comply with the 
 count's invitation. He received her with great respect, 
 inquired the circumstances of her departure from Ham- 
 burgh, and, conceiving from her replies that she must 
 be the person of whom he was in search, he told her 
 that he was instructed to take the greatest care of her, 
 and would call upon her to see whether she was In con- 
 venient lodgings. He offered her money, which she ac- 
 cepted, for the blue purse was empty; and visited her 
 the next day, when he told her that he would procure 
 her more commodious apartments near his own house. 
 Two days afterwards she took possession of these apart- 
 ments, which were in the house of a tradesman. Sophia 
 continued with her, and the count sent a lackey, and 
 furnished her with provisions from his own table. Not 
 long after this, she removed, by his desire, to his own 
 house, having, as he in formed her, born f\\\\ MUMP 
 strongly recommended to his protection.
 
 LOUISA. 297 
 
 She farther said, that while she was at the house of 
 the Count Belgioioso, she was so affected at the sight of 
 a picture resembling the stranger, whom she had seen in 
 Bohemia, that she instantly swooned. (This circum- 
 stance was confirmed in a letter by the count, who like- 
 wise mentioned, that it was the picture of the Emperor 
 Francis.) She was with difficulty brought to herself, 
 when a violent fever succeeded, and nearly proved fatal. 
 Her illness lasted six weeks, dur.ng which she grew 
 taller, and was so much altered, that she appeared to be 
 thirty years old, though she could not have been more 
 than sixteen. 
 
 About the time of her elopement from Hamburgh, the 
 daughter of a merchant of that city had gone off with, 
 a young Englishman. This adventure, coming to the ears 
 of Count Belgioioso, excited suspicions in his mind of 
 the truth of her story, and led him to believe that she 
 might be the merchant's daughter, and not the young 
 lady who had been so earnestly recommended to his 
 care. Accordingly, on her recovery, he told her he had 
 received advice from Hamburgh, that she had quitted 
 that city in the company of a young Englishman. She 
 most solemnly denied the charge, but the count per- 
 sisted in his accusation, till, being wearied out with 
 constant persecution on the subject, she confessed her- 
 self guilty of what she knew to be falsely laid to her 
 charge. The consequence of this imprudence was such as 
 might naturally be expected. The count told her he was 
 mistaken as to her person, and advised her to return to 
 Hamburgh. He-gave her twenty-five louis-d'ors, to de- 
 fray the expenses of her journey, and intrusted her to 
 the care of a merchant, who was returning to that city. 
 On her arrival at Hamburgh, she anxiously inquired 
 after the persons whom she had so abruptly quilted, and 
 walked every day on the quay, and in the most ire- 
 queiited part of the town. In one of these we!' 
 man, who appeared to be about fifty years old, and had 
 VOL. i. 2 P
 
 298 LOUISA. 
 
 followed her at a distance for several days, at length ac- 
 costed her, and proposed to her to go to Bourdeaux. 
 She consented the mure readily, as this was the plate for 
 which the priest had wished her to embark, and she con- 
 ceived that by following the plan originally laid down 
 for her, she should the more easily meet with those who 
 interested themselves in her fate. The man embarked 
 with her, and attended her during the voyage, in the 
 manner she had at first related. The prisoner always 
 persisted in declaring, that every circumstance she had 
 mentioned, concerning her arrival and residence at Bour- 
 deaux, was strictly true. 
 
 She then continued her history as follows; SOOR 
 after she had taken a house of her own, to which she 
 was accompanied by Madame Guillaumot, she received 
 an anonymous letter, in which she was directed to go to 
 the Duke de Richelieu, and ask that protection of which 
 she stood so much in need. This the writer pressed her 
 the more earnestly to do, as the duke was already ac- 
 quainted with her history. She accordingly repaired to 
 that nobleman, who informed her that he had received 
 a letter from the Princess of Auersbert!;, recommending 
 
 C? O 
 
 Mademoiselle de Schonau, in the strongest terms, to 
 his protection. He made her a thousand oflers of ser- 
 vice, and, according to his custom, said more than a 
 virtuous female ought to hear. She burst into tears, and 
 on her knees implored his compassion ; when the duke, 
 on his part, apologized for his imprudence. 
 
 A few days afterwards he called upon her, and ear- 
 nestly recommended her to learn the French language. 
 He paid her several other visits, and always treated her 
 with the highest respect. She was a constant guest at 
 all his entertainments, and when questioned concerning 
 her, he invariably replied, "She is a lady of great dis- 
 tinction." 
 
 During her residence at Bourdeaux, she had two t very 
 advantageous oflers oi' marriage, one of which was from
 
 LOUISA. 299 
 
 the nephew of M. de Ferrand, a counsellor of the par- 
 liamentof Bourdeaux ; but she refused both, conceiving 
 herself bound to perpetual celibacy by the promise she 
 had made to the stranger in Bohemia. As to her pecu- 
 niary circumstances, it has already been observed, that a 
 person unknown presented her with a purse containing a 
 thousand louis-d'ors. Through the same channel she at 
 different times received about one hundred and fifty 
 thousand livres (6250/. sterling) without being able to 
 discover to whom she was indebted for this munificent 
 allowance. These circumstances corroborated her sup- 
 position, that she belonged to a very wealthy family, and 
 she spent the money as fast as she received it. Her re- 
 mittances suddenly stopped, and as she made no altera- 
 tion in her style of living, she soon contracted debts to 
 the amount of sixty thousand livres, which remained 
 unpaid at the time ot her being arrested. 
 
 In the distress to which the threats of her creditors re- 
 duced her, she took the resolution of fabricating several 
 letters, which, wheu read at her examination, she ac- 
 knowledged to have been dictated by herself. These 
 were, the letter to Count Cobenzel, dated " Vienna 
 from my bed two in the morning;" that signed Count 
 J. de VVeisscncloriF; another to the emperor, directed to 
 him at Florence; another to the Bavarian minister at 
 Paris, and lastly the letter to the king of Spain, which 
 had led to her apprehension. Though she frankly con- 
 fessed that she had sent all these letters, she at the same 
 time declared her perfect ignorance of that signed 
 "Count Dietrichstein," and of several others which the 
 Counts Cobenzel and Neny had received concerning her. 
 
 Such was her simplicity, that it was impossible to 
 make her sensible how highly criminal she had been, in 
 procuring letters to be forged on a subject of such im- 
 portance. Nay, she even persisted in declaring that she 
 thought she had acted right, and defended her conduct 
 on the following grounds. The extraordinary manner
 
 300 LOUISA. 
 
 in which she had been brought up, the conjectures she 
 had formed concerning her parentage, the portraits 
 which gave such weight to those conjectures, and the 
 considerable suras that had been remitted to her, natu- 
 rally tended to excite anil confirm the suspicion, that 
 she actually was the emperor's daughter. This suspicion 
 she had never communicated to any person^ but finding 
 herself all at once entirely forsaken, she concluded that 
 the person who had been commissioned to furnish her 
 with money was dead, and that her supplies ceased only 
 because her residence was not known, as he alone might 
 probably have been acquainted with the place of her 
 abode. As she, however, conjectured that her father 
 might have intrusted more than one person with the 
 secret of her birth, she hoped that by writing to all the 
 most illustrious servants of the house of Austria, she 
 should meet wiih some one acquainted with her history, 
 by whom she might be placed in the situation originally 
 designed for her by her father. These letters she did 
 not write in her own name, being unwilling to expose 
 herself to the troublesome curiosity of those, who, not 
 being in the secret, would immediately make inquiries 
 concerning her birth. She concluded that if only one of 
 these letters should fall into the hands of any person ac- 
 quainted with her history, that person would know more 
 particulars of her life than she possibly could; but in 
 the mean time, as her suspicions were unsupported by 
 positive proof, all she could say would not prevent her 
 being considered an impostor. She added, that a strong 
 argument of her conscious innocence, and of her firm 
 persuasion that she was the emperor's daughter, might 
 be drawn from the circumstance of her having pointed 
 out the place of her abode in all her letters ; that all of 
 them tended to put her in the power of the court of 
 Vienna, which alone was interested in punishing any de_ 
 ception. She declared that she had never consulted any 
 person concerning the steps she had taken, and particu-
 
 LOUISA. 301 
 
 larly denied having sent the letter to the Duke de Riche- 
 lieu, signed " The Princess ot Auersberg." 
 
 It should he observed, that immediately on the receipt 
 of this letter, the duke returned an answer to the prin- 
 cess, stating, " that in consequence of her recommen- 
 dation, he would treat Mademoiselle.de Schonau with 
 all possible respect, and would render her every service 
 in his power." M. de Chatelet, the French ambassador 
 at Vienna, delivered this letter to the princess, by wl.om 
 it was not answered. Had she not written to the duke, 
 it is natural to suppose that she would have immediately 
 replied, she knew no such person as Mademoiselle de 
 Schonau. Hence it may be justly concluded, that the 
 princess did write the letter of recommendation, and 
 was consequently acquainted with the mystery of the 
 stranger's birth. The presumption is confirmed by the 
 subsequent conduct of the empress, who expressly en- 
 joined her ministers to ask the Princess of Auersberg 
 no questions whatever on the subject. 
 
 The information given by the prisoner in the course 
 of her examinations, concerning the late Duke of York, 
 is likewise of considerable importance. On his arrival 
 at Bourdeaux, his royal highness sent to inform Made- 
 moiselle de Schonau, that he had something of great 
 consequence to communicate to her, requesting her to 
 appoint some time when he might see her without the 
 knowledge of any other person. She replied, that as 
 he wished for secrecy, she thought the most suitable 
 hour would be at six in the morning, after a ball that 
 was to be given by the Duke de Richelieu. His royal 
 highness came at tiie appointed time, and told her that 
 the object of his visit was to inquire the amount of her 
 debts, as he was commanded by a lady of distinction to 
 give her a sum of money. She acknowledged that her 
 creditors importuned her greatly for sixty thousand 
 livres. He desired her to make herself easy, and the 
 same day sent her seven hundred louis-d'ors; informing
 
 502 LOUISA. 
 
 her that he would soon furnish her with a sura sufficient 
 to discharge all her debts. The next day the duke left 
 Bourdeaus. 
 
 Saoti after this she fell sick: one morning, while her 
 secretary, M. St. Ger, was by her bed-side, a letter was 
 brought from the Duke of York, dated " Monaco." St. 
 Ger 'began to read as follows " I was about to send 
 you the remainder of the money; but after I had left 
 your house, L received a letter which strictly enjoined 
 roe to give you only a part. I have written to the Prin- 
 cess of Au ," here she snatched the letter from the 
 
 hand of her secretary, and would not suffer him to pro- 
 ceed. Being asked the reason of her conduct on this 
 occasion, and who was the princess mentioned in the 
 letter, she replied, it was the Princess of Auersberg, that 
 she herself did not know her, but the Duke of York had 
 told her that the princess interested herself greatly in 
 her behalf, and was acquainted with the secret of her 
 birth. VV 7 hen she heard the first syllable of her name, 
 she was apprehensive lest there might be something in 
 the remainder of the letter more immediately concerning 
 the princess, or lest it might betray her own story, with 
 which she wished St. Ger to remain unacquainted. 
 
 She then took from her pocket the Duke. of York's 
 letter, which M. de Neny read aloud. The remainder 
 was as follows : " I have written to the Princess of 
 Auersberg, and have requested permission, at leas to 
 remit you the sum you want, to relieve you from the 
 importunities of your creditors, but " Here the letter 
 abruptly terminated. A few days after she received it 
 she was informed of the duke's death. She sent to the 
 persons appointed to examine his papers, requesting that 
 her picture and her letters might be returned. One 
 letter only was found ; it was transmitted to her, together 
 with the picture, and a portrait, which she afterwards 
 presented to M.de Camerlang. 
 
 Such was the substance of the information obtained
 
 LOUISA. 303 
 
 in the twenty-four sittings occupied by the examination^ 
 The Counts Cobeiizel and Neny now seriously considered 
 what steps were to be taken, and they agreed that it 
 would be most prudent to place the unfortunate girl in 
 a convent, till time should throw some light on tbis 
 mysterious affair. This opinion they were about to 
 transmit to Vienna, when Count Neny received a letter 
 from his father, who was private secretary to the em- 
 press, stating, that from the particulars of the exami- 
 nation, her imperial majesty had formed a very disad- 
 vantageous idea of the stranger, and was determined to 
 treat her with tiie utmost severity. 
 
 Soon after this, Count- Cobenzel was attacked by ah 
 illness which proved fat.-.l. The day before his death, 
 after he had received the sacrament, he told a friend; 
 who had been made acquainted with all the circum- 
 stances relating to the stranger, that he had just re- 
 ceived dispatches from Vienna, charging him to acquaint 
 the court with the prisoner's whole history, by no means 
 to dismiss her, and not to take any step without fresh 
 orders. He alluded to a letter he had received from 
 Prince Kauniiz, which after he had read he immediately 
 burned, adding, "You see an honest man's opinion 
 will sometimes prevail." 
 
 The following day the count expired, and had it not 
 been for this eve,nl, the aHair would probably have 
 taken a different turn. If' similar orders were sent to 
 any other person, they arrived too late, for four days 
 after the count's death, the stranger \vas taken out of 
 prison, and conducted by a sub-lieutenant of the mare- 
 chaitssee of Brabant to Quievraing, a small town between 
 Mons and Valenciennes; fifty louis-d'ors were put into 
 her hands, and she was abandoned to her destiny. 
 Such was the account communicated to the author bv 
 the Count Coroniny, nephew to Count Cobenzel, who 
 was present at the twenty-four exarmnitlionsj of which 
 it is a faithful abstract. This narrative brings down the
 
 304 LOUISA. 
 
 history of Mademoiselle la Friilen to the year 1769: if 
 we suppose her to have been the same person as Louisa, 
 there is a chasm of seven years till her discovery near 
 Bristol, in the year 17?6, which it is more than probable 
 will never be filled up. 
 
 Louisa, as we have already stated, was placed under 
 the care of Mr. Henderson, the keeper of a private 
 mad-house at Bitton, near Bristol. From the accounts 
 of different persons who visited her, the following par- 
 ticulars are collected. They contain sa many striking 
 coincidences with the foregoing narrative, as scarcely 
 to leave a doubt that the female who is the subject of 
 it was the same afterwards known by the name of Louisa. 
 If this first conclusion be correct, a second which results 
 from it is, that in all probability the wretched Louisa 
 was a natural daughter of Francis I. emperor of 
 Germany. 
 
 A gentlewoman, a native of Altona, and wife to the 
 captain of a Danish ship, once went to see Louisa when 
 she was under the hay-stack. With her she conversed 
 in German, and told her she had lived at Sleswick, and 
 had been in a convent, from which she had escaped 
 with her lover. This foreigner, who was a genteel, well- 
 bred woman, was by misfortune reduced to be a super- 
 intending servant in the very house where Louisa was 
 confined, and had the chief care of her. Louisa, recol- 
 lecting the former confidence she had reposed in her, 
 was offended at the sight of her, and could never be 
 prevailed upon to renew the conversation, though she 
 would frequently speak short sentences to her in Ger- 
 man, particularly if she had any favours to ask 
 
 She never could be persuaded to look in a book. 
 Being once presstii to it, she exclaimed, " No, reading 
 is study, and study makes me mad." Books were often 
 left in her room, and though narrowly watched, yet she 
 never wss observed to open any of them. 
 
 Louisa had a particular passion for bracelets and 
 
 15
 
 LOUISA. :JO/J 
 
 * 
 
 miniature pictures, but showed the utmost contellipt for 
 every other ornament. Of a Queen Anne's half crown 
 she was extremely fond ; she sometimes desired 1 to have 
 one sewed on a black ribbon, said that it inueh re- 
 sembled her mamma, would wear it on her arm, and 
 kiss it with great delight. After the appearance of the 
 translation of the French narrative, more particular at- 
 tention was paid to search her person for the scars de- 
 scribed in the account of Mademoiselle la Friilcn. It 
 was found that she had a very large one on the lower 
 part of her head behind her ear. Another on her breast, 
 which appeared to have been occasioned by a very con- 
 siderable wound, was suspected to have been a mark of 
 violence. 
 
 She seldom rose from her bed of straw, on which she 
 lay very quietly, and was perfectly harmless and stupid, 
 except on any attempt to dress her, or to put her on a 
 comfortable bed. She did not require to be treated with 
 harshness, the utmost of her violence amounting only 
 to short fits of resentment, when disturbed from her re- 
 pose. She frequently amused herself with shaping her 
 blankets into the imitation of a royal robe. 
 
 Notwithstanding the injuries which her situation and 
 mode of life must have occasioned to her looks, she had 
 still a very pleasing and interesting countenance. She 
 had fine, expressive black eyes, and eye-brows; her 
 complexion was wan, but not sickly; her tinder-jaw 
 projected a little, ami some even fancied they could 
 distinguish something of the Austrian lip, but it was 
 not decidedly marked. Her nose had nothing particular, 
 being neither aquiline nor retrousse ; her hair was very 
 dark, if not black ; not thick, but coming down on her 
 forehead ; her arm and hand were delicate, and her lin- 
 gers small and long. 
 
 On being addressed, says a gentleman who went to 
 visit her, she raised tier eyes, and having uttered a iV-.v 
 incoherent words, again ^otnposed her-- H'. Being told 
 
 vor, i. Co
 
 :300 LOUISA. 
 
 that we were friends who had come to see her, she 
 smiled, and moved her under lip for some time without 
 pronouncing a word. This action, which exhibited 
 more of the idiot than any other part of her behaviour, 
 she soon left off, when we began to draw her into a kind 
 of conversation. 
 
 We first requested her to reach out her hand, that we 
 might have an opportunity of observing the grace with 
 which she had been said to move it. Her manner of 
 giving it was attended with a certain delicacy, and we 
 had likewise occasion to remark, that as far as her pos- 
 ture would permit, her motions and attitude were those 
 of a person of a superior rank in life. 
 
 Instead of giving a direct answer to the questions that 
 were asked, she more usually talked of mamma's com- 
 ing to take her away, and used other expressions which 
 we were informed she was in the habit of uttering. 
 Some other questions, with her replies, were as follow : 
 
 " We are your friends ; we are come to take you from 
 this place; will you go with us:" Louisa. "Yes; 
 (with emotion,) but mamma must come and bring me 
 clothes, and I must be dressed," (pointing towards her 
 neck and shoulders, and moving her fingers about, as if 
 describing the finery of female dress.) 
 
 "We shall go in a couch with four horses, and we 
 will make them gallop, and the people shall admire us 
 as we pass." At this she burst into a fit of laughter, 
 and manifested a kind of exultation, as if enjoying the 
 idea of parade. 
 
 " And we shall let all the glasses down." Louisa. 
 " No, that will be too cold." From this answer, and 
 other minute circumstances, she seemed to have a cor- 
 rect notion of a carriage, and to have been accustomed 
 to one. 
 
 " But where shall we drive tor" Louisa. " Home." 
 " 13ut where; to what home ?" Louisa. "O\ here, and 
 there, backwards and forwards, all round about/'
 
 LOUISA. 307 
 
 (waving her Ijutul.) " SliaJI we, Louisa, (pointedly,) 
 shall \ve drive to Bohemia?" Louisa. "That is papa's 
 own country." It is worthy of remark, that this answer 
 came from her in a perfectly fair and direct manner, 
 after she had been talking and laughing, and when she 
 might be supposed to be off her guard. We joined in 
 her laugh, and seized the opportunity of asking other 
 questions before her spirits should subside, or her wari- 
 ness return ; but our design was not successful. When- 
 ever she thought our inquiries impertinent, she would 
 instantly assume a grave, and even a sullen look. She 
 talked much about a sister, whom we offered to call, 
 and asked, "But how shall we address her? What is 
 her name?" Louisa. "She will tell you when she comes," 
 (with a significant air.) " Is your sister like you, 
 Louisa? (she laughed.) If she is like you, she is very 
 pretty." A kind of blush overspread her cheek, and 
 casting clown her eyes with a coquettish smile, she en- 
 deavoured to conceal her face in the straw of her bed. 
 
 When we spoke to her in French, she seemed to un- 
 derstand that language; at any rate, she did not give 
 less signs of intelligence than when addressed in English, 
 nor did her countenance express any surprise at the 
 change of language. She did not herself speak a word 
 of French. 1 spoke a few words in German, at which 
 she burst into violent fits of laughter, as if at my awk- 
 ward pronunciation or misapplication of words. The 
 same effect was not produced by any French phrase 
 that we addressed to her. 
 
 She applied the term papa in a vague and incoherent 
 manner, sometimes to Mr. Henderson, and at others to 
 some unknown person, to whom she talked of going. 
 There was a peculiarity in her enunciation, approaching 
 to a lisp. Her voice was soft and feminine, and I never 
 heard her loud, except in her (in of laughicr. Her 
 humours were said to be various, but to us she was good- 
 natured, and I might almost say affable. Alter the door
 
 :.508 LOUISA. 
 
 was locked on her we could hear her laughing, and in 
 spite of her miserable condition, she seemed not to be 
 unhappy. 
 
 Having remained for a considerable time under the 
 care of Mr. Henderson, Louisa was removed, as in- 
 curable, to Guy's Hospital, Southwark, where she con- 
 tinued to exhibit the same kind and much the same de- 
 gree of mental derangement to the last. The contraction 
 of her limbs from exposure to cold in the fields, and 
 from her constant propensity to remain inactive, ren- 
 dered her an object of the strongest compassion. During 
 her abode in the hospital, Miss Hannah More and her 
 sisters, having lost 'the pecuniary assistance of most 
 others, still continued to supply the extra wants and 
 accommodations of the poor solitary stranger, at the 
 expense of more than ten pounds per annum, till her 
 decease. This event took place rather suddenly, after 
 an illness of some duration, on the 18th of December, 
 1801, and on the 23d, her remains were interred in the 
 ground belonging to the hospital ; the expenses of her 
 funeral being defrayed by her former benefactress. 
 
 After perusing this narrative, the intelligent reader 
 will not fail to admire the bountiful dispensation of 
 Providence, in withdrawing from the unfortunate Louisa 
 the gift of reason. Had she retained the faculties of 
 her mind unimpaired, the acuteness of her reflections 
 on the vicissitudes she was destined to undergo, must 
 have embittered her days, and rendered her life almost 
 insupportable. Compared with such sufferings, the poor 
 maniac enjoyed a state of comparative felicity in the 
 indulgence of her childish fancies, and in her insen- 
 sibility to the woes of her condition. Peace to thine 
 ashes, thou daughter of misfortune, and may thy spirit, 
 freed from the encumbrance and the frailties of mor- 
 tality, taste uninterrupted bliss in those regions where 
 the care of an all-seeing Father provides for the happi- 
 ness even of the meanest of his children !.
 
 THOMAS TOPHAM. 
 
 " IT is curious," observes the venerable and ingenious 
 Mr. William Hutton, in his account of the extraordi- 
 nary subject of this article, "to observe Nature step 
 out of the common road, and enter the precincts of the 
 marvellous. To march in her usual track excites no ad- 
 miration ; but when, in her wanton moods, she forms an 
 O'Brien of eight feet, and a Borulawski of three, an 
 admirable Crichton with every accomplishment, and a 
 thousand other men with none, it is by these deviations 
 that she raises astonishment." 
 
 Thomas Topham, a man whose feats of strength might 
 have figured beside those of Homer's heroes, was born 
 in London about the year 1710. His father, who was a 
 carpenter, brought him up to the same profession. 
 Though his stature was not remarkable, being, at his full 
 growth, five feet ten inches in height, yet he was en- 
 dowed by nature with muscular powers so extraordinary 
 as to exceed any thing of the kind on record. 
 
 He followed the profession of his father till he had 
 attained the ^ge of twenty-four years, when he ex- 
 changed it for the less laborious employment of a pub- 
 lican. That Topham was fond of athletic exercises, 
 and that the practice of them contributed to give him 
 that superior strength for which he was so icmarkable, 
 can scarcely be doubted; for we find that the house he 
 first took was the lied Lion, at the corner of the Cit}'- 
 road, neaily opposite St. Luke's hospital, in order that 
 he might be near the ring in Moorlields, at that time 
 trie theatre of gymnastic exhibitions, such as cudgelling, 
 wrestling, back-sword, and boxing. 
 
 It was here that he gave the first public: display of his 
 astonishing corporeal powers, by polling against a limse, 
 with his feet placed against a low wall, which divided
 
 310 THOMAS TOPHAM. 
 
 upper and lower Moorfields. He next tried his strength 
 against two horses, but his legs not being properly 
 placed, he received an injury in one of his knees from a 
 jerk. But the most extraordinary feat in point of mag- 
 nitude was that which he performed in Bath-street, Cold- 
 buth-fields, on the 28th of May, 1741, when lie lifted 
 three hogsheads of water, weighing 1836 pounds, in 
 the presence of thousands of spectators, assembled to 
 witness this uncommon exertion. This feat he per- 
 formed in honour of Admiral Vernon, or rather, in com- 
 memoration of his taking Porto Bello with only six 
 ships. 
 
 The various performances of this prodigy of strength 
 are of such a nature as almost to exceed credibility, 
 were they not attested by persons of undoubted veracity, 
 and who were themselves eye-witnesses of the facts they 
 relate. Dr. Desaguliers assures us, that he saw him per- 
 form the following feats. With his fingers he rolled up 
 a very large and strong pewter dish. Thrusting the bowl 
 of a strong tobacco-pipe under his garter, his legs being 
 bent, he broke it to pieces with the tendons of his ham. 
 He broke another bowl of the same kind between his 
 first and second finger, by pressing them together side- 
 ways. A table, six-feet long, with half a hundred 
 weight fastened to the end of it, he lifted with his teeth, 
 and held a considerable time in a horizontal position. 
 He struck an iron poker, a yard long and three inches 
 thick, against his bare left arm, between the elbow 
 and wrist, till the instrument was bent so as nearly to 
 form a right angle. Taking another poker of the same 
 kind, he held the ends of it in his hands, and placing the 
 middle against the back of his neck, made both ends 
 meet before him, after which he pulled it almost straight 
 again. He broke a rope two inches in circumference, 
 though he was obliged to exert four times the strength 
 that was requisite lor the purpose, in consequence of the 
 awkward uuimnjr which he adopted, lie lifted a blunt
 
 THOMAS TOPHAM. ol I 
 
 roller, weighing eight hundred pounds, by a chain to 
 which it was fastened, with his hands only, and standing 
 on a frame above it. 
 
 These exhibitions, probably, took up Topham's time, 
 and drew his attention from his business, for we find that 
 he failed at the Red Lion ; after which he took another 
 house in the same line at Islington. His fame for 
 strength now began to spread all over the country, and 
 he visited various provincial towns for the purpose of 
 exhibiting his wonderful feats. His performances at 
 Derby are thus described by Mr. Hutton of Birmingham, 
 who, at that time, was an inhabitant of the frrmer 
 place. 
 
 " We learnt," says he, "from private accounts well at- 
 tested, that Thomas Topham, a man who kept a public 
 house at Islington, performed surprising feats of strength, 
 such as breaking a broomstick of the largest size bv 
 striking it against his bare arm ; lifting two hogsheads of 
 water; heaving his horse over a turnpike-gate ; carrying 
 the beam of a house, as a soldier his firelock ; and others 
 of a similar description. However belief might at first 
 be staggered, all doubt was soon removed when this 
 second Sampson appeared at Derby, as a performer iu 
 public, and that at the rate of a shilling for each spec- 
 tator. On application to Alderman Cooper for per- 
 mission to exhibit, the magistrate was surprised at the 
 feats he proposed, and as his appearance resembled that 
 of other men, he requested him to strip that he might 
 examine whether he was made like them. He was found 
 to be extremely muscular; what were hollows under the 
 arms and hams of others were filled up with ligaments 
 in him. 
 
 "He appeared to be nearly live feet ten in dies in height, 
 upwards of thirty years of age, well made but without 
 any singularity. He walked with a small limp. lie had 
 formerly laid a wager, the usual deeider of disputes, 
 that three horses could not draw him from a post, uliirh
 
 312 THOMAS TOPHAM. 
 
 be should clasp with his feet : but the driver giving them 
 a sudden lash, turned them aside, and the unexpected 
 jerk broke his thigh. 
 
 "The performances of this wonderful man, in whom 
 were united the strength of twelve, consisted in rolling 
 up a pewter-dish of seven pounds, as a man rolls up a 
 sheet of paper holding a pewter quart at arm's length 
 and squeezing the sides together like an egg-shell lift- 
 ing two hundred weight with his little finger and mov- 
 ing it gently over his head. The bodies he touched 
 seemed to have lost their power of gravitation He also 
 broke a rope fastened to the floor, that would sustain 
 twenty-hundred weight; lifted an oak-table six feet 
 lon^ with his teeth, though half a hundred weight was 
 
 i O O O 
 
 hung to the extremity : a piece of leather was fixed to 
 one end for his teeth to hold, two of the feet stood upon 
 bis knees, and he raised the end with the weight higher 
 than that in his mouth. He took Mr. Chambers, yicar 
 of All Saints, who weighed twenty. seven sioue, and 
 raised him with one hand; his head being laid on one 
 chair and his feet on another, four people, of fourteen 
 stone each, sat upon his body, which he heaved at 
 pleasure. He struck a round bar of iron one inch in 
 diameter against his naked arm, and at one stroke 
 bent it like a bow. Weakness and feeling seemed fled 
 togetl>er. 
 
 " Being a master of music, he entertained the company 
 with Mad Tom. I heard him sing a solo to the organ in 
 St. Werburgh's church, then the only one in Derby ; 
 but though he might perform with judgment, yet the 
 voice, more terrible than sweet, seemed scarcely human. 
 
 "Though of a pacific temper, and with the appearance 
 of a gentleman, yet he was liable to the insults of the 
 rude. The ostler at the Virgin's Inn, where he resided, 
 having given him some cause of displeasure, he took 
 one of the kitchen spits from the mantle-niece, and 
 bent it, round his neck like a handkerchief; but as he 
 
 15
 
 THOMAS TOLIIAM. 313 
 
 did not choose to tuck the ends in the ostler's bosom, 
 the cumbrous ornament excited the laughter of the com- 
 pany, till he condescended to untie his cravat. Had 
 he not abounded with good-nature, the men might huve 
 been in fear for the safety of their persons, and the 
 women for that of their pewter-shelves, as he could in- 
 stantly roll up both. One blow with his fist, would for 
 ever have silenced those heroes of the bear-garden, 
 Johnson and Mendoza." 
 
 These, however, were only the usual performances of 
 Topham, when he went about for the purpose of show- 
 ing his powers. Many other occasional demonstrations 
 of them are related by persons who knew him. One 
 night perceiving a watchman asleep in his box, he 
 raised them both from the ground, and carrying the 
 load with the greatest ease, at length dropped the wooden 
 tenement with its inhabitant over the wall of Tindall's 
 burying-ground. The consternation of the watchman on 
 awaking from his nap, may be more easily conceived 
 than described. 
 
 At another time, thinking to enjoy a little sport with 
 some bricklayers, by removing part of a scaffold, just 
 before they intended to strike it, from a small build- 
 ing, his grasp was so rude, that a part of the front wall 
 following the timber, the fellows conceived it to be the 
 effects of an earthquake, and immediately ran, without 
 looking behind them, into an adjoining field. Here, 
 however, T^oham was near paying dearly for the jest, 
 as one of the poles struck him on his side, by which he 
 was severely injured. 
 
 Sitting one day at the window of a low public house 
 in Chiswell-street, a butcher passed by tottering under 
 the burden of nearly half an ox. Of this Topham 
 relieved him willi so much e.'i:-c find dexterity, that tin* 
 fellow swore thai nothing hut tho devil could havr down 
 away with his load. 
 
 VOL. l. '1 11
 
 314 THOMAS TOPHAM. 
 
 On another occasion, having gone on board a West- 
 Indiaman lying in the river, he was presented with a 
 cocoa-nut, which, to the no small astonishment of the 
 crew, he cracked close to the ear of one of the sailors, 
 with the same facility as an ordinary person would 
 crack an egg-shell. The mate having made some re- 
 mark displeasing to Topham, the latter observed, that 
 if he had pleased, he could have cracked the bowsprit 
 over his head. 
 
 Topham having one day gone to witness a race that was 
 run on the Hackney road, the spectators were greatly 
 annoyed by a man in a cart, who endeavoured to keep 
 close to the contending parties. Topham at length re- 
 solved to stop the career of this disagreeable intruder, 
 and laying hold of the tail of the cart, drew it back with 
 the greatest ease, in spite of all the exertions of the 
 driver to make his horse advance. The rage of the 
 latter was equalled only by the delight and astonishment 
 of the beholders; while nothing but the fear of being 
 crushed or torn to pieces prevented the fellow from 
 exercising his whip on the formidable cause of his 
 mortification. 
 
 Notwithstanding his superiority, Topham seems to 
 have been a man of a quiet and peaceable disposition, 
 and never to have made a wanton or improper use of his 
 extraordinary strength, to the detriment of his fellow- 
 creatures. He even possessed a greater share of pa- 
 tience than falls to the lot of the generality of people. 
 While he kept a public-house he was visited by two men 
 who were so exceedingly quarrelsome, that though Top- 
 ham quietly put up with their humour for a considerable 
 time, yet, at last, nothing would satisfy them but fight- 
 ing the landlord. They probably mistook his forbear- 
 ance for cowardice, but they were scon undeceived, for 
 Topham, finding it impossible to appease them in any 
 other way, seized them both by the neck as if they had
 
 THOMAS WOOD. 3i;~> 
 
 been children and knocked their heads together, till they 
 asked pardon with as much abject submission as they had 
 before shown of insolence in giving offence. 
 
 Topham however was not endued with fortitude of 
 mind equal to his strength of body. A faithless woman 
 embittered the concluding portion of his life, as it did 
 that of his prototype of old. Unable to endure the re- 
 flections occasioned by his wife's inconstancy, Topham 
 at length embraced the desperate resolution of putting 
 an end to his life in the flower of his age. 
 
 THOMAS WOOD. 
 
 THOMAS WOOD was born on the 30th of November, 
 1719, of parents who were apt to be intemperate in their 
 manner of living ; he was subject to various disorders, 
 particularly the rheumatism, until he attained the age of 
 thirteen years. He then had the small pox ; and from 
 that time became healthy, to the age of about forty- 
 three years. From his attaining the state of manhood 
 to this period, but especially during the latter part of 
 the time, he indulged himself, even to excess, in fat 
 meat, of which he used to eat voraciously three times a 
 day, together with large quantities of butter and cheese. 
 Nor was he more cautious with respect to strong ale, 
 which was his common drink. About his fortieth year, 
 he began to grow very fat; but finding he had a good 
 appetite, and digested his food without difficulty, and 
 that his sleep was undisturbed, he made no alteration in 
 his diet. It was in his forty-fourth year when he first 
 began to complain of the heart-burn, want of sleep, 
 frequent sickness at Jiis stomach, pains in his head, Sec. 
 He had now almost a constant thiist, a great lowness of 
 spirits, violent rheumatism, and frequent attacks of the 
 KOXU. lie had likewise two epileptic fits : but the svmp-
 
 THOMAS WOOD. 
 
 torn which appeared to him to be the most formidable, 
 was A sense of suffocation, which often came on him, 
 particularly after his meals. Under such a complication 
 of diseases, every day increasing, he continued till the 
 month of August, 1764. At this time, -the Rev. Mr. 
 Powley, a worthy clergyman in the neighbourhood, 
 observing his very ill state of health, and the extreme 
 corpulence of his person, recommended to him an 
 exact regimen ; and pointed out the Life of Comoro, 
 as a book likely to suggest to him a salutary course of 
 living. This work convinced him, that intemperance 
 was the principal cause of all his complaints; and he 
 therefore determined to try, whether the cause being 
 removed, the effects might not cease. However, he 
 thought it prudent, not to make a total change in his 
 diet suddenly : accordingly, he, at first, confined himself 
 to one pint only of his ale every day, and used animal 
 food sparingly. This method he soon f und to answer 
 to his Satisfaction ; for he felt easier and lighter, and 
 his spirits became less oppressed. These good effects 
 encouraged him to proceed in his experiment; and 
 therefore after he had pursued the regimen before men- 
 tioned, during two months, he deducted from his allow- 
 ance half the former quantity of ale, and was still 
 more sparing of gross animal food. In this course he 
 continued till the 4th of January, 1765, when he entirely 
 left off all malt liquor; and in the following month, lie 
 1/egan to drink only water, and to cat none, except the 
 lighter meats. Under this degree of abstinence, although 
 some of his complaints were relieved, yel some of them 
 remained in full force. The rheumatism tormented 
 him; he then used the cold bath; and next the dumb 
 bell, in which he persevered. Water was his only 
 drink from the beginning of January, 176.5, to the '25l\i 
 of the following October. From this day he -Irank no 
 more, until the 9th of May, 17^6, when lie diatik two 
 Classes and a half of water; after that period, he drank
 
 THOMAS WOOD. 317 
 
 no more of any liquor whatever, except only what he 
 took in the form of medicine. He then avoided cheese, 
 then butter, and on the 51st of July, in the same year, 
 was the last time he tasted animal flesh. From that 
 period, he principally confined himself to pudding, 
 made of sea biscuit. He allowed himself very little 
 sleep, generally going to bed at eight o'clock in the 
 evening, sometimes even earlier, and generally rising 
 about one o'clock in the morning, but being very rarely 
 in bed after two. 
 
 Under this strict course of abstinence, he continued 
 to live; and he expressed, in the highest terms, the 
 great pleasure and tranquillity of mind which he enjoyed 
 in consequence of it. The poor diet, to which he ac- 
 customed himself, was as agreeable to his palate, as his 
 former food used to be; and he had the additional satis- 
 faction to find his health established ; his spirits lively; 
 his sleep no longer disturbed by frightful dreams; and 
 the strength of muscles so far improved, that he could 
 carry a quarter of a ton weight, which weight he in 
 vain attempted to carry when he was about the age of 
 30 years. His voice, which was entirely lost for several 
 years, became clear and strong. In short, to use his 
 own expression, he was metamorphosed from a monster 
 to a person of a moderate size; from the conduion of a 
 decrepit old man, to perfect health, and to the vigour 
 and activity of youth. His flesh became firm; and his 
 complexion well coloured. 
 
 Prejudiced by a commonly prevailing superstition, 
 Mr. Wood never suffered himself to be weighed, either 
 during the state of his extreme corpulence, or alter his 
 reduction ; but it is conjectured, that he lost ten or per- 
 haps eleven stone weight. 
 
 On being asked why he submitted to such verv strut 
 rules of diet, he answered, th.it as he was ten v< j iii* 
 older than Cornaro was, when he be^aii his regimen, 
 he thought that, on that account, ;i nvir \ \>- ;iu<!
 
 THOMAS WOOD. 
 
 abstemious course was necessary for him; and thai he 
 was greatly influenced by Dr. Cheyne's opinion, " that 
 Cornaro would probably have lived longer, had his re- 
 gimen been more strict." 
 
 To the question, what first induced him to abstain 
 from all drink, he answered, that it happened one day 
 that the servant had forgotten to bring his water at 
 dinner, as usual; that, being then, full of business, he 
 did not think of calling for any ; and that, having found 
 himself easier and less oppressed by that meal, than 
 common ; and determined to try, whether a total omis- 
 sion of liquids might not be an improvement to his 
 diet; he soon found the experiment to answer. He 
 added, that he was further encouraged to abstain from 
 liquids, by an observation he had made in feeding hogs. 
 He never allowed those animals to drink; and to this 
 he attributed the excellence of his pork, it being 
 greatly valued on account of the whiteness and firmness 
 of the flesh. 
 
 Mr. Wood was a great enemy to all fermented liquors, 
 to butter, and to salt. Nay, he even doubted of the 
 wholesomeness of common bread, meaning bread uhiirh 
 had undergone the process of fermentation. 
 
 The pudding, which was his sole support during two 
 years, was made -as follows: three pints of skimmed 
 milk, boiling, were poured on one pound of the best 
 sea biscuit, broken into pieces this was done over 
 night; and these ingredients were left to stand together 
 until the following morning, when two eggs were 
 added. This compound, being boiled in a cloth about 
 the space of an hour, became a pudding of sufficient 
 consistency to be cut with a knife. Of this, his quantity 
 used to be one pound and a half, at four or five o'clock 
 in the morning, as his breakfast, and the same at noon, 
 fts his dinner ; after which, he abstained from food until 
 the next day. 
 
 The case of Thomas Wood, was attested as truth by
 
 MARIA ELEONORA SCHONlNti. 319 
 
 two clergymen, a churchwarden, a physician, and an 
 apothecary of the place he lived in. 
 
 An account of him was likewise drawn up by Sir 
 George Baker, and inserted in. the second volume of the 
 Medical Transactions. 
 
 Thus, by extreme abstinence and regularity, he pro- 
 longed an impaired constitution, and died in the year 
 178J, aged 63. 
 
 MARIA ELEONORA SCHONING. 
 
 ELEONORA SCHONING was the daughter of a 
 mechanic at iSiirnberg, in Germany. The life 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 seduc- 
 tion employs all its arts to destroy their innocence and 
 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 use of his limbs, 
 confined to his bed. This 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 abroad for medicines or food. She had 
 not entered a place of divine worship since the clay she 
 was confirmed. The duties of a nurse occupied all her 
 time. She fomented his aching limbs, lifted the helpless 
 old man in her yet feeble arms to and from his sick-bed; 
 and had to attend to all the domestic concerns. Day 
 after day Maria manifested the same patience, willing- 
 ness, and indefatigable assiduity, and watched during 
 many a tedious night, in which ihe groans of the suf- 
 ferer called her to his bed. Her youth was spent in
 
 320 MARIA ELEONORA SCHON1NG. 
 
 grief; she grew up in tears, a stranger to the pleasures 
 of childhood and the harmless sports of youth. The last 
 words pronounced by her expiring father were addressed 
 to his confessor. " My dear Maria/' said he, " has 
 treated me like an angel, during my whole long afflic- 
 tion ; the most disagreeable offices never extorted 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," he exclaimed, "will reward 
 my excellent girl for her dutiful attention to me !" He 
 said and closed his lips for ever. His wish may be ful- 
 filled in eternity, in this world the confident hope of the 
 expiring parent remained unaccomplished. 
 
 Maria still sat weeping after the bier, on which 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 lamenta- 
 tions, when two tax-officers, entered the house, and de- 
 manded the papers of the deceased, that they might 
 ascertain whether he had always paid a sum conformable 
 to his oath and his property.* 
 
 After the few documents had been examined and 
 compared with the registers of taxes, the spies of justice 
 declared they had found facts sufficient to prove, that 
 the deceased had not paid a sum proportionate to his 
 
 * The taxes paid by the inhabitants of Nurnberg were originally a 
 voluntary contribution, each giving according to his inclination and 
 circumstances. At the beginning of the fifteenth century a certain 
 standard was fixed, and at present each citizen is annually obliged to 
 laRe an oath that the sum paid by him is duly proportionate to his 
 property. At his death the tax-office has a right to inspect his books, 
 and to examine whether his contribution was always in proportion to 
 his real property. If they find the contrary, if the deceased was not 
 scrupulously exact, even to the merest trifle, all that he leaves behind 
 is confiscated ; ami in spite of wife or family, the city exchequer bc- 
 hU hen. 
 
 16
 
 MARIA ELEQNORA SCHONING. >'J'2l 
 
 circumstances; which consequently imposed on them 
 the duty of placing all the property he had left behind 
 under lock and seal, and requesting the young lad}' 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 they could find. 
 
 Night came on, when Maria, exhausted with fatigue 
 and weeping, sought a place of repose. 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 exchequer, 
 as it had been proved that her father had defrauded the 
 city in the payment of his taxes, and had not contri- 
 buted in proportion to his circumstances. The de- 
 ceased, before his illness, was by no means rich, but he 
 lived in good repute, had no debts, and was able to pay 
 in ready money for the raw materials which he wanted 
 for his business. Three years of indisposition had in- 
 deed consumed the greatest part of the fruits of his in- 
 dustry; 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 she was accustomed, 
 till she should obtain some situation or other, and have 
 become better acquainted with the world. Such was the 
 idea that :ulm 'mistered consolation to her expiring father. 
 A being who.sc past existence had consisted of a series of 
 sorrows and painful privations, whose lift- had bet M an 
 uninterrupted scene of affliction, was incapable of [>'. 
 ing in her own behalf. Struck dumb with terror and 
 astonishment, like a dove driven from ihf maternal nest, 
 ua found liei-t-U thrust out of h< r i':.t h i'- house, and 
 
 VOL. I. 2S
 
 322 MATUA ELEONORA iSCHONlNG. 
 
 the door shut against her. AH her riches consisted in 
 the clothes she had on ; her pocket afforded not one 
 solitary penny. She had no relations to whom she could 
 apply; i'or those of her mother had never concerned 
 themselves about her, and her father was a native of 
 Lower Saxony. She had no acquaintance, as all her 
 father's friends had deserted him at the beginning of his 
 illness; no companion, for who would associate with a 
 sick-nurse? Never was humaH being more solitary and 
 forlorn in the midst of its fellow-creatures, than was this 
 innocent girl, who was now a houseless wanderer in an 
 extensive city, in which her exemplary conduct, her 
 filial tenderness and mild virtues, had they been known, 
 must have commanded the admiration and esteem of 
 every generous mind. 
 
 Night drew on apace, and Maria knew not where to 
 find a shelter. With tottering steps 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 
 the bonds which -attached her to life, Maria would that 
 night have been released from all her misery. 
 
 The morning dawned over the city ; the streets began 
 to be thronged ; the bell rung for morning prayer, and 
 the grating of the church-doors, roused the disconso- 
 late maiden from death-like stupor. The bashful un- 
 fortunate hastened from the grave; she concluded that 
 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 his relics. 
 She left the church-yard, paced slowly through the city- 
 gate, and threw herself under a hedge, to spend the 
 coming day, as she had dene the preceding night, in 
 tears. 
 
 Slowly crept the hours of this dismal day for the 
 wretched Maria. Night approached, and hunger drove
 
 MARIA ELEONORA SCHONING. 
 
 back the sufferer into a place which had robbed her of 
 every thing but her wretchedness, where she had no- 
 thing le't 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 glimmer of evening found her again at the grave of 
 her father. 
 
 The church-ynrds of most of the German cities are 
 equally pernicious to morals and to health. They have 
 lost the venerable character by which they were formerh r 
 distinguished ; their loneliness and solitude render them 
 the undisturbed'h:uints of vice and beastly depravity. 
 It was close beside the grave of her father that Maria 
 fell a prey to a roving debauchee. The brutal monster 
 took advantage of her situation, and the purest inno- 
 cence lost that jewel which the emaciated Maria, half 
 dead with hunger, watching, 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 officiousness the faculties both of her body 
 and mind, while he perpetrated the dreadful crime. 
 
 It was one of those nights of autumn in which the 
 villain had no occasion to exclaim with Lady Macbeth, 
 
 Come thick night 
 
 And pall thee in the thinnest smoke of hell, 
 That my keen kuife see not the wound it makes, 
 Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark 
 To cry Hold, hold! 
 
 An nvvful silence pervaded the church-yard ; all the 
 creatures of day had retired to rest; Nature seemed 
 wrapped in the sleep of death. Nothing was heard 
 amid this grave-like stillness, save the flight of a solitary 
 bat, the- hooting of the screech-owl, or the rattling of 
 "chapless" skulls in the neighbouring charnel-house. 
 
 Mnria sat upon the grave of her father; the con- 
 sciousness of her degradation, a sentiment which it w.i- 
 impossible to suppie^, had btu|>efu:d all he.
 
 3:21 MAUJA ELEONORA SCHON1NG. 
 
 Her father, knowing what snares are laid in this deceit- 
 ful world for female virtue, had often warned his daugh- 
 ter to beware of them, and had made her acquainted 
 with the trials to which her innocence would 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 colours before her eyes, 
 unsusceptible of any external impression. She beheld 
 her sick, her emaciated parent, with uplifted hands, con- 
 juring her to preserve her innocence, if she would not 
 destroy his repose, of which he had enjoyed so small a 
 portion in this world, even beyond the grave. She 
 imagined that she heard his voice, ascending from his 
 tomb, and pronouncing these words : " Begone, wretch ; 
 leave a place where thou hast devoted thyself to in- 
 famy; thy innocence was sacrificed on the grave of thy 
 father." 
 
 This imaginary denunciation of her departed parent, 
 together with the dreadful darkness of the night, and its 
 spectre-like attendants, terrified, to the highest degree, 
 the already dismayed Maria. She fled as though infernal 
 spirits were driving her from the church-yard. She had 
 not proceeded far, when she was stopped by the watch- 
 men, to "whom she was a welcome prize, as they receive 
 a piece of money, of aboul the value of a shilling, for 
 every girl they find abroad after ten o'clock. It was 
 midnight, and Maria was conveyed to the nearest watch- 
 house,. 
 
 Being carried the next day before the magistrate, a 
 haughty and imperious man, he upbraided her iri the 
 harshest terms as a public, prostitute. This unjust re- 
 proach had such an effect on the innocent creature, who, 
 notwithstanding 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 restored her to her senses. The
 
 MARIA KLEONOllA SCHONIJN'C;. 
 
 magistrate, havingfarther reprimanded her, dismissed her 
 with the threat that the next time she should be brought 
 before him, he would send her with a smart lecture 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 en- 
 gendered by the contempt she felt for herself. The 
 exeats of the past night; the harsh behaviour of the 
 magistrate; the disgraceful appellation which he applied 
 to her, anil which she thought she merited; her forlorn 
 condition all these contributed to inspire the resolution 
 of drowning herself. With this design she hastened out 
 of the town towards the river Pegnitz. 
 
 As she passed through the suburb of Worclt, she met 
 a soldier's wife, who, in her father's lifetime, had assisted 
 her in various domestic occupations that were too heavy 
 for her strength. She was startled by the appearance of 
 the girl, whom she addressed in a friendly tone, inquiring 
 how she 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 tenderness was a cordial. These 
 were the first words, sweetened with humanity, that any 
 human creature had spoken to her, since those of her 
 expiring father. Her dormant sensibilities were awaken- 
 ed. With impassioned fervor she threw her arms around 
 the woman, whose looks and words were so expressive 
 of sympathy and affection. With difficulty she gave her 
 an account, interrupted by sobs and tears, of her mis- 
 fortunes, her sude rings, and her resolution. The good 
 woman wept with her, pressed the wretched orphan to 
 her heart, and entreated her, in the tcudercst manner, to 
 relinquish her melancholy intention, as by taking away 
 her own life she would deprive herself of all hope ol 
 eternal felir.ity. 
 
 Maria was pliable, timid, and open t religious im- 
 luns; it I'jquiiLi! not much pcisuabion to induce her
 
 MAJR1A EX.EONORA SCHONING. 
 
 to abstain from an action at which her heart trembled, 
 jand which her religion eor>d earned. She accompanied 
 her guardian angel, whose name was H'arlin, to her ha- 
 bitation, at no great distance. 
 
 This honest woman was, likewise, one of those whose 
 whole existence is a continued series of affliction and 
 distress; for whom the world has no other bairn than 
 sleep, no other physician than death. She was mariied 
 to one of the city soldiers, who had been long ill and 
 confined to his bed. Two young children constituted all 
 her riches; she maintained herself and family by wash- 
 ing, and a difficult task she found it to provide 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 despair, and had been on the point of putting 
 one of her children to death, thai she might herself be 
 relieved from the burden of life. This she thought would 
 be a remedy for all their wants; the remaining child 
 would be placed in the orphan house and her husband in 
 the hospital, while her execution would reconcile her 
 with God, and she should be happy with her murdered 
 infant. These tragical ideas she communicated to Maria, 
 on whose mind the} 7 made a deep impression. In a sub- 
 sequent conversation on the same subject, she declared 
 herself incapable of conceiving how it was possible to 
 take away the life of any human creature, and in par- 
 ticular, of an innocent child. "And for that very rea- 
 son, because it is innocent, I would send it before me 
 out of the world, in which no pleasures await it. Do 
 you suppose I would choose to suffer for the sake of a 
 bad child? On that account, too, I would take Nanny 
 with me, because 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 
 
 \j 
 
 tender Maria, who hugged the children closely in her 
 arms, as though she would protect them from their 
 mother.
 
 MARIA ELEONORA SCHONIXCJ. *27 
 
 The woman, whose poverty was equalled only by her 
 hospitality, kept the forlorn orphan in her house. She 
 redoubled her efforts to procure work, in which Maria 
 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 dread- 
 ful affliction for this wretched family. Harlin herself 
 fell ill: grief and hard labour had exhausted her strength, 
 and symptoms of a consumption began to appear. 
 Maria strained every nerve to support her friend and her 
 family; but this far exceeded her ability. She neither 
 possessed the boldness, nor the persuasive faculties that 
 are requisite for the procuring of employment; and 
 hence, with the best inclination in the world to work, 
 she was often obliged to keep 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 gardens and the neighbouring wood by the 
 rigors of winter. 
 
 Spring was not far distant when Harlin began to 
 amend. She wanted nothing but strength ; she could 
 not hold herself upright. The physician had directed 
 lier to take nourishing food, and a little wine daily, assur- 
 in" her, that if she adhered to this diet, her health would 
 
 O ' 
 
 soon be restored. Maria was present when the physician 
 gave her this consolatory intelligence ; she rejoiced for 
 the first lime in her life; it was the first and the last 
 pleasing illusion that her soul ever cherished. Her 
 thoughts were wholly occupied in devising how to pro- 
 euro her friend the prescribed refreshments; but in vain 
 did she rack her invention ; no method, no opportunity 
 of e fleet ing this object could she discover. 
 
 HUrlin gradually grew weaker, and at the same time 
 more silent and pensive. When Maria observed her 
 thus lost in thought, she conceived that her despairing
 
 328 MARIA ELEONORA SCHONTXG. 
 
 friend was brooding over the plan of murdering her 
 child, in order to put an end to her own life. This ap- 
 prehension gave inexpressible pain to the excellent girl ; 
 and so much the more as the little creatures clung about 
 her with the most childlike attachment, and the tender 
 Maria felt a love and affection for them as strong as 
 
 w 
 
 though she had herself been their mother. 
 
 Under these cruel circumstances, arrived the day 
 pregnant with her fate. On that day none of the mise- 
 rable family had a morsel to eat. Night 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 not a syllable, no, not even a sigh. The 
 sorrowful Maria grasped her hand ; it was shrunk, cold 
 and lifeless. She stroked her cheek, aclown which 
 trickled big, heavy tears. She asked, whether she was 
 in much pain, 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 expense of her own person. 
 She hastened, as if impelled by a supernatural power, to 
 put it into execution. 
 
 She recollected that the ravisher of her innocence 
 had been desirous of expiating his offence by the offer 
 of money. Maria formed the painful resolution of 
 seeking to earn something in the same way, and of 
 relieving her friend with the produce of her guilt. It 
 was now dark; she went into the city, but durst not 
 venture to approach the church-yard in which her father 
 was interred. She repaired to other lonely situations, 
 but not a creature did she meet with. The weather was 
 unfavourable; the snow fell fast, and a tempestuous 
 wind howled through the streets. No night could have 
 been more perfectly adapted to cool the passions of the 
 debauchee. Poor Maria, how cruelly wast thon iron led 
 by frowurd fat<> ! In pious simplirity ihon kiiHr ;it, 
 
 10
 
 MARIJL KLEONORA SCHONING. 320 
 
 the grave of tliy father, virtuous and pure, and thy in- 
 nocence became the prey of a brutal ravisher. Thou 
 sinned without inclination, without enjoyment, 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 affect the dishonour of the pure, of the spot- 
 less Maria. 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. She continued to wander through the streets. 
 The tempest howled 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 
 rigours of the night. To him she was a welcome guest, 
 and she soon found herself in the watch-house. 
 
 The next morning she was carried before the same 
 hard-hearted magistrate as had treated her so roughly 
 on a former occasion. He sent her without any farther 
 ceremony to the house of correction, ordering, 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 the severe dis- 
 cipline of the whip. She begged, she entreated, she 
 screamed, she made all the opposition in her power- 
 but in vain. Seeing no chance of escaping the dis- 
 graceful punishment, she exclaimed, in a fit of despair, 
 "Stop! I deserve a very different punishment; I have 
 murdered an infant child." "That, to be sure, is a dif- 
 ferent affair ;" said the man unbinding her. Ho imme- 
 diately sent an account of the circumstance to the city- 
 judge. An officer presently appeared, examined the 
 girl concerning the crime of which she accused herself, 
 
 YOL. i. - T
 
 INI ARIA ELEONORA SCHONTNG. 
 
 and, as she persisted in her first declaration, she was con- 
 veyed as a murderer to prison. 
 
 In a few days she was brought up for a closer ex- 
 amination. It was represented to her that she could not 
 have committed the crime alone, and without accom- 
 plices, as she could not have gone out immediately after 
 her delivery to dispose of the child. She then acknow- 
 ledged that Harlin was privy to the whole affair, that 
 she had assisted her at the birth, and had buried the 
 child in the wood. From the beginning of her con- 
 finement, Maria had cherished the idea of involving 
 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 present opportunity ap- 
 peared too favourable 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 be removed to the 
 prison : an officer was therefore placed over her in her 
 own house. When she was so far recovered as to be 
 able to go abroad she was confronted with Maria; who 
 repeated her former declaration in her presence. " For 
 God's sake, Maria, how have I deserved this treatment?" 
 was all the reply that the astonished woman was able 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 re- 
 peatedly examined in the presence of each other; the 
 same scene was invariably exhibited, Maria persisting 
 stedfastly in her declaration, and Harlin in her denial 
 of the fact. 
 
 At the fifth examination, Harlin was threatened with 
 the torture ; the instruments were brought, and arranged 
 by the executioner; and she was warned for the last 
 time either to confess at once, or to prepare for inevita- 
 ble torture. This menace terrified poor Maria in the 
 highest degree : a convulsive agony shook her whole
 
 MARIA ELEONOJIA SCHONING. :3;31 
 
 frame. She was desirous of releasing her friend from a 
 life of misery, not to draw upon her unavailing torment. 
 She hoped to be her benefactress ; she now looked upon 
 herself as her executioner. She stepped hastily towards 
 her, and pressing her bounclen 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 upon 
 the mind of H'nrlin. She now saw with grateful emotion 
 the benevolent design of her friend, which, without the 
 perpetration of guilt, would remove them into eternity. 
 With cheerfulness and courage she now addressed her- 
 self to the judge. She acknowledged herself to blame, 
 in having so long denied the charge, and confessed that 
 Maria's declaration was perfectly consistent with truth. 
 As the prisoners adhered, without variation, to this con- 
 fession, an early day was appointed for their trial, and 
 they were both sentenced to be beheaded. 
 
 The day before the execution the two delinquents 
 were allowed an interview, which gave occasion to an 
 exceedingly affecting scene. The approaching catas- 
 trophe had changed the sentiments of Maria with re- 
 spect to her friend. She now thought it cruel and in- 
 human 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. When she saw 
 H'arlin advancing towards her with a serene and cheer- 
 ful countenance, she uttered a loud scream of anguish, 
 and gave free scope to her sensations. She threw her- 
 self into the arms of her friend, and amid sobs and 
 sighs incessantly implored her forgiveness. Her tears 
 flowed without ceasing. H'arlin pressed the afilicted 
 girl with the most fervent affection to her heart ; like a 
 tender mother she dried the tears from her checks: as- 
 sured her in the must friendly unmner, lh.il she hail
 
 -332 MARIA ELEONORA SCHON1NG. 
 
 nothing to forgive her, but, that on the contrary, she 
 was her only, her greatest benefactress, as she had 
 spared her the commission of a grievous sin, and re- 
 leased 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 ten- 
 der, 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 lamentations, and she wrung her hands like one re- 
 duced to despair. 
 
 The presence of the clergyman, and the preparations 
 for the sacrament, at length restored to her soul a degree 
 of composure. " Come, Maria/' said Harlin, " let us 
 partake of this holy sacrament with cheerful reliance 
 on God, and on the enjoyment of eternal happiness." 
 These consolatory words, pronounced by the lips of af- 
 fection, and accompanied with looks of tenderness, re- 
 called peace for a few minutes to her troubled soul. 
 They communicated together, and parted in melan- 
 choly silence. The excellent woman once more 
 pressed the desponding girl to her bosom, and said, 
 "Be of good cheer, Maria; to-morrow we shall be 
 yonder above, and all our afflictions will remain here 
 below." She then hastened from her; on reaching her 
 cell, she heaved a deep sigh, and exclaimed, with em- 
 phasis, " God be thanked that this is past; the antici- 
 pation of this scene alone embittered my confinement, 
 otherwise the sweetest and most agreeable portion of my 
 life!" She then thanked the gaoler for the indulgence 
 with which he had treated her, took an affecting leave 
 of her family, and her whole behaviour displayed a 
 heavenly serenity, as though they had already belonged 
 to the beings of a better world. 
 
 On the day of execution she conducted herself with 
 the same cheerfulness and equanimity. She heard the
 
 MARTA ELEONORA SCHONING. 333 
 
 bell ring, and proceeded to the scaffold with nn ease, 
 fortitude, and intrepidity, equally remote from timid 
 dejection, and audacious boldness. A sacred serenity 
 that touched every spectator appeared in her whole be- 
 haviour. She seemed to unite the simplicity of inno- 
 cence, with the dignity of an exalted mind. Very dif- 
 ferent was the state of the wretched Maria. The de- 
 sponding girl, who still accused herself of being the 
 murderer of her friend, suffered inexpressible anguish, 
 and nothing but the hope that she should still be able to 
 save her innocent companion, by a frank confession of 
 the truth, preserved her from total stupefaction and in- 
 sensibility to all that was passing around her. She 
 walked not, but was dragged, more dead than alive to 
 the place of execution. Harlin went first; frequently 
 did she look back with love and compassion at her 
 Maria. When their eyes met, she would turn hers joy- 
 fully 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 . Harlin 
 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 followed her. She beheld her friend 
 surrounded by the assistants of the executioner, busily 
 employed 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 ex- 
 ecutioiicr, and she alone was the cause of her death, she 
 alone was her murderer. It seemed as though this sight 
 and this idea, transfused new life into her almost inani- 
 mate frame, and supplied every nerve with new energy. 
 With aloud and piercing voice, she cried, "Stop, for 
 God's sake, stop ! she is innocent!" She then threw her- 
 self at the feet of the shciiil and tno clergyman, im- 
 ploring them to biivc 11. u hn, who was peiiccily iuno-
 
 334 MARIA ELEONORA SCHON1NG. 
 
 cent : adding, that 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 Harlin if 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 1 
 wished to die ; and it may, therefore, easily be supposed 
 that now, when I am so near the object of my desire, 
 this declaration of my innocence proceeds not from the 
 motive of preserving my life. My only object is to con- 
 firm 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 persuasions of the 
 clergymen, and the murmur of compassion that proced- 
 ed from the people, induced the sheriff to send the town- 
 adjutant, with a report of the circumstances to the 
 town-house, to demand a reprieve of the members of the 
 senate assembled there.* 
 
 During the interval that elapsed till the return of the 
 messenger, one of the clergymen thought fit tQ repri- 
 mand 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 by Maria, for the purpose of helping herself 
 and me out of the world, of which we were both tired 
 and disgusted. At first conscious of my innocence, and 
 
 * At Niirnberg, it is customary for the three oldest senators to 
 remain together at the town-house, till an execution is over, that in 
 case of an extraordinary exigency, they may give the necessary direc- 
 tions how to proceed, in I lie name uf the whole senate.
 
 MARIA ELEONORA SCHONING. 335 
 
 ignorant of the good intentions of my friend, I denied 
 the murder. But of what avail was this ? My protesta- 
 tions were branded as lies and shameless impudence. I 
 was threatened with the torture, and my hands were 
 already bound so tight, that my wrists still bear the 
 marks of the cords. One of the gentlemen present 
 threatened that I should be stretched till day-light might 
 be seen through me, and then he imagined, I should be 
 ready enough to confess my guilt. I had no inclination 
 to await the fulfilment of this threat, and chose rather 
 to acknowledge myself guilty immediately; and this I 
 did the more cheerfully, as I was by this time apprized 
 of the kind intention of my Maria." 
 
 Still the clergyman was so hard-hearted and unreason- 
 able as to persecute her with farther reproaches, to which 
 the magnanimous woman deigned not to reply. The 
 only words she uttered besides, during this melancholy 
 pause, were addressed to the unhappy partner of her fate: 
 "Oh ! Maria, Maria," said she, " a few moments patience 
 longer, and all had been well ; it had all been over by 
 this lime, and we happy !" The wretched girl lay sense- 
 less on the steps of the scaffold. The last violent exer- 
 tion had exhausted her strength; she was in the agonies 
 of death. 
 
 The messenger returned. The answer directed the 
 sheriff to proceed with the execution. This intelligence 
 restored Harlin to her former serenity. Her head was 
 struck off amidst the lamentations of the people. The 
 executioner was incapable of 'dispatching more than one 
 innocent person at a time. He felt unwell ; his atten- 
 dants 'were obliged to perform his om'ce upon Maria. 
 She had before expired ; Death had employed his power- 
 ful 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.
 
 336 
 
 LORD ROKEBY. 
 
 MATTHEW ROBINSON MORRIS, eldest son of Sir Sep- 
 timius Robinson, Knt. was born at Mount Morris, at his 
 father's house, in Horton, near Hythe, in the county of 
 Kent, in the year 1712. His early years were spent in 
 this place, till he went to Westminster School, whence 
 he was admitted at Trinity-hall, Cambridge, a pensioner, 
 where he took his degree of bachelor of laws, and was 
 soon after elected a fellow of the society, a place which 
 he retained to the day of his death. It is not unusual at 
 Trinity-hall for men of large fortune to retain their fel- 
 lowships. The society consists of twelve fellows, two of 
 whom only are clergymen, and perform the regular and 
 necessary duties of the college, such as those of tutor, 
 lecturei, dean : but the other ten fellows seldom or never 
 make their appearance in Cambridge, unless at the 
 twelve days of Christmas, at which time the usual hos- 
 pitality of that season of the year is conspicuous in the 
 college, and the lay-fellows having enjoyed good eating 
 and drinking, and examined the college accounts, return 
 to Doctors' Commons, the Inns of Court, or their 
 country seats. Mr. Robinson, in the early part of life, 
 used sometimes to be of these parties, where his com- 
 pany was always acceptable, and his absence always 
 regretted. As heir to a country gentleman of consider- 
 able property, he was not compelled to apply his abili- 
 ties in the usual pursuits of a laborious and now almost 
 technical profession; he enjoyed an introduction to the 
 higher circles of life, and being possessed of the advan- 
 tages of a liberal education, and accomplished manners, 
 he united the studies of the scholar with the occupa- 
 tions of a gentleman, and divided his time very agree- 
 ably betweeen Horton, London, Bath, and Cambridge. 
 In this period of his life the celebrated peace of Aix-la- 
 
 \7
 
 
 
 Engraved ~by R-fage 
 
 JT. 
 
 / ' ' 
 // '//^//-
 
 LORD ROKERY. 337 
 
 Chapelle attracted the attention of Europe; and tin? 
 place appointed tor negotiation, at all times, from its 
 waters, of great resoi I, was more than usually filled with 
 good company. Soon after the ambassadors had here 
 taken up their abode, Mr. Robinson escorted Lady 
 Sandwich to this grand scene of gallantry and politics, 
 where the classical taste of Lord Sandwich, the eccen- 
 tricity of Wortley Montague, among his own country- 
 men, the prudence of Prince Kauuitz, the solidity of the 
 Dutch deputies, and the charms of their ladies, for the 
 Dutch belles carried away the palm of beauty at this 
 treaty, afforded him an inexhaustible fund of instruc- 
 tion and entertainment. Having no official employ- 
 ment, and appearing in that once envied character of 
 an English gentleman, his company was generally 
 sought after, and the ladies of the higher class thought 
 their parties incomplete without his presence, and the 
 corps diplomatique bowed to his credentials. 
 
 Among the women none more sprightly, none more 
 ready to join innocent mirth, or to be the subject of k 
 when a mistake in his language might give occasion to 
 pleasure ; but foreigners admired the strength of his 
 character, when his conversation was suited to graver 
 subjects, and no man presumed to laugh at his mistakes 
 without repenting of his temerity. Respected by the 
 men, and acceptable to the women, he was noted here 
 for a singularity which he retained during his whole life, 
 a remarkable attachment to bathing. He surprised the 
 medical men by the length of his stay in the hot- bath, 
 very often two hours or more at a time, and by going in 
 and out without any of the precautions which were then 
 usual, and which future experience has proved to be un- 
 necessary. On his return to England nothing particular 
 happened to him till his election to parliament by the 
 city of Canterbury, which place he represented, and, 
 we may add, really represented, for two successive par- 
 liament*. His neighbourhood to Canterbury had natu- 
 
 VOL. i. u
 
 LOUD ROKfcUY. 
 
 rally introduce.! him to sbme of the higher classic of 
 that city; but he had no idea of a slight acquaintance 
 with a few only of his constituents, he would know and 
 be known to them all. His visits to Cantetbury gratified 
 himself and them. They Were visits to his constituents, 
 whom he called on at their shops arid their boms, 
 walked within their market-places, spent the evening 
 with at their clubs. He could do this from one ol his 
 principles, which he had studied with the greatest at- 
 tention, and maintained with the utrnosl firmness, the 
 natural equality of man. No bne was more sensible than 
 himself of the advantages and disadvantages of birth, 
 rank, and fortune. He could live with the highest, and 
 lie could also live with the lowest in society; with the 
 forms necessary for an intercourse with the former tlass 
 lie was perfectly well acquainted, 'and he could put them 
 in practice; to the absence of these restraints he could 
 familiarize himself, and could -enter into casual conver- 
 sation with the vulgar, as they are called, making th-em 
 forger tlve difference of rank, as much as he disregarded 
 it. Hence, perhaps, there & - a representative 
 
 more respected and beloved by his constituents, and his 
 attention to the duties of parliament entitled him to their 
 veneration. Independent of all parties, he nttere'd the 
 sentiments of his heart; he weighed the propriety -of 
 every measure, and gare his vote according to the pre- 
 ponderance of argument. The natnral consequence of 
 such a conduct was, in the first parliament a disgust 
 with the manners of the house; and he would have re- 
 signed his seat at the general election, if his father hrul 
 not particularly desired him to make one more trial, and 
 presented him at the same time with a purse, not such as 
 has lately been thought necessary, for 'the party to pay 
 his election expenses. Mr. Robinson was re-elected, 
 and, wh-.it will astonish the generality of members, made 
 no demand on 1iis father for election bills; for, after 
 paying every c.vperrse with liberality, he found himself
 
 LOK.1) 
 
 a gainer, in a considerable snm, by ihe e ection. Cor- 
 ruption had not then made such dreqdful havoc in the 
 mind as it has been our destiny to lament in a subse- 
 quent period, yet Mr. U. found himself uneasy in the 
 performance of his duty. He conceived that a member 
 of parliament should carry into the house a sincere love 
 of his country, sound knowledge, attention to business, 
 and firm independence That measures \vere not to be 
 planned and adopted in a minister's parlour, nor the 
 House of Commons to be a mere chamber of parliament 
 to register his decrees That in the House of Commons 
 every member was equal ; that it kne\v no distinction of 
 minister, county-member, city- member, or borough- 
 member. That each individual member had a right to 
 propose, to assist in deliberation, aid by his vote in car- 
 rying or rejecting a measure, according to the dictates 
 of his own mind ; and that the greatest traitors, with 
 which i country could be curst, were such persons as 
 would enter into parliament without any intention of 
 studying its duties, and examining measure?, but with a 
 firm determination to support the minister or his oppo- 
 nents, according as the expectation or actual enjoyment 
 of a place, pension, or emolument derived from admi- 
 nistration, led them tp enlist iirider the banners of one 
 or the oilier party. Eycji in his time he thought he s;uv 
 too great confidence placed i:i the heads of party 5 too 
 little reliance on private judgment, loo little attention to 
 parliamentary duties. The uniform success of every mi- 
 
 :,'! measure did not accord with his ideas of a drli- 
 Ucr^ivc body, and he determined to quit :i p'a<-e in 
 \vhicli jj.e. thought himself incapable of promoting the 
 public good ; and \\heie he was determined not to be 
 aiding or abeiting in any other measures. To the great 
 
 l of his constituents be declined tho oiler of re- 
 presenting them at ihr r.i.-xt election, and no future rn- 
 treaiiescould indM-.-r him toresume an occupation in which, 
 as ho told them, . < than hi-
 
 34') LORD ROKEIiT. 
 
 sec, better ears to hear, and better lungs to oppose the 
 tricks of future ministers. 
 
 By the death of his father, in the second period of his 
 parliamentary life, Mr. Robinson came into possession 
 of the paternal estate, and had now a full opportunity 
 of realizing his own schemes of life. About twelve 
 miles from Canterbury, on the ancient Roman road 
 leading to the Portus Lemanus, the present Lympne, by 
 turning a few paces to the left, the walker, who has been 
 fatigued, as much by the uniformity as the roughness of 
 the road, feels on a sudden his heart expanded by a most 
 extensive prospect, which he commands from a lofty 
 eminence. Before him and under his feet, at a distance 
 of five or six miles, commences the vast flat, known by 
 the name of Romney Marsh, which, with the Weald of 
 Kent, is bound to his eye by Dungeness, Beachy-head, 
 and the hills of Sussex and Surrey, and the ridge of hills 
 on n part of which he stands, and which runs through 
 nearly the middle of the county of Kent into Surrey. 
 Turning eastward, he perceives the sea, and has a glimpse 
 of the coasts of France : his view is bounded by hills 
 still higher, as he turns to the north; but from the top 
 of these hills, at half a mile distance from the spot on 
 which he stands, he commands the same extensive pro- 
 spect over the marsh and West Kent, which is enriched 
 on a fine day by the view of the coast of France from 
 Boulogne to Calais, seeming scarcely to be separated 
 from the island. At the bottom of these hills stands the 
 family mansion, a substantial brick house, with offices 
 suited to the residence of a man with four or five thou- 
 sand a year. When Mr. R. came to the estate, there 
 were about eight hundred acres round the house, partly 
 in his own occupation, partly let out to tenants : they 
 were allotted into fields of various dimensions, bounded 
 by the substantial hedges so well known to be the orna- 
 ment of Kent, but cutting the ground into too many 
 minute parts for picturesque beauty. There was a garden
 
 LORD KOKI:IIY. 311 
 
 walled in, and suitable roads to the house. Mr. K. took 
 the whole of this land into his own occupation as soon 
 as possible; and nature, with his occupancy, began to 
 resume her rights. The only boundaries on his estate 
 were soon only those which separated his land from that 
 of his neighbours. Adieu to the use of gates or stiles in 
 the interior : they were left to gradual decay ; the soil 
 was not disturbed by the labours of horse arid man ; the 
 cattle had free liberty to stray wherever they pleased ; 
 the trees were no longer dishonoured by the axe of the 
 woodman, the pollards strove to recover their pristine 
 vigour, the uniformity of hedges and ditches gradually 
 disappeared. The richest verdure clothed both hills 
 and vallies, and the master of the mansion wandered 
 freely in his grounds, enjoying his own independence 
 and that of the brute creation around him. 
 
 The singularity of this taste excited naturally a great 
 deal of curiosity, and, as usual, no small degree of 
 censure. But, whatever may be objected on the score 
 of profit, it is certain that the gain on the scale of pic- 
 turesque beauty was, we might almost say, infinite. In 
 a national view, the subject admits of much discussion : 
 but the question, which was often agitated by Mr. 
 11. and in whose opinion we are inclined to place 
 great confidence, has seldom been fairly stated and 
 argued. The point is, could these acres have produced 
 so much food, and clothing, and implements for manu- 
 factures, if they had been subject to tillage and the 
 
 usual mode of agriculture? In these times of acjricul- 
 o o 
 
 - tural curiosity the question becomes interesting, hut the 
 present limits do not permit us to enter into the whole of 
 Mr. H's. views in the management of his affairs. Hut 
 the gaps in the hedges, the growing up of the pollards, 
 and the verdure of the grounds might have been support- 
 able, if the coach roads also had not disappeared, the 
 coach-house become useless, the garden hern trodden 
 under foot by horses and oxen, the hay lofts supeilluous.
 
 312 LOUD ROKEBV. 
 
 At the same time that nature resumed her rights over his 
 fields, she took full possession of the master, and gave 
 him the active use of his limbs. The family coach 
 stirred not from its place to the day of his death : he 
 seldom got into a chaise, and performed long journeys on 
 foot. Naturally of a tender and delicate consitulion, he 
 thus hecame hardened to all weathers, and enjoyed his 
 faculties and spirits to the day of his death. Indulging 
 himself in these peculiarities, in which by the way, to 
 say the worst of them, he was no man's enemy but his 
 own, he kept up a considerable intercourse with his 
 neighbours, and correspondence with characters eminent 
 in the political world : he published a pamphlet in the 
 American war, replete with sound sense, and which pro- 
 cured, among other marks of respect, a journey from 
 London to Bath, by a person with the express view, and 
 extreme desire, of conversing with its author. He re- 
 probated, during the whole of that unnatural contest, 
 the conduct of administration ; and the men of Kent, 
 who were not at that time subdued by ministerial influ- 
 ence, listened with pleasure to its firm opponent at their 
 county meetings. 
 
 About that period, he either formed the opinion, or 
 began to express it with an unusual degree of confi- 
 dence, th,at the Bank of England would break during his 
 life-time. He was so firmly convinced of it in his own 
 mind, that it became a pretty constant topic with him; 
 and, when he met with opponents, he defended it with 
 such strength of argument as could not easily be resisted. 
 One day the conversation on this subject ended in a 
 singular wager, which was taken down ip writing, pur- 
 porting that the heirs and executors , of Mr. Robinson 
 should pay to the other party, an alderman of Canter- 
 bury, the sum of ten pounds, if the Bauk did not break 
 during the life-time of the former; and on the other 
 hand, that the -alderman should be similarly bound to 
 pay -the SIKH of h-n pounds if the Bank did .break in
 
 ROKF.nv. :M:; 
 
 Mr. R's. lite-time. The proof v\ as to depend on a bank- 
 note of ten pounds being offered at the Bank, and not 
 producing rn return ten pounds in specie. Every year 
 added strength to the singularity of Mr. R's opinion, and 
 he maintained it as firmly as another on a philosophical 
 subject, which de defended with great vigour of mind, 
 and, when past eighty years of age, supported by quo- 
 tations from tbe classics, repented with the utmost energy 
 and classical taste. The future destruction of the earth 
 by fire. On this question, he solicited no aid from the 
 arguments sometimes used in the pulpit on the same sub- 
 ject; for the path to his church was grown over, and his 
 pew left to the same decay as his coach-house. Ytt this 
 circumstance ted to a trait in his character, which was 
 better discovered by his own recital of the anecdote, 
 than it can be bv the pen of the writer. 
 
 A little time before the death of the Archbishop o! 
 Armagh, he made a visit into Kent, to see his relations, 
 -and among them, him who was to inherit his title. 
 "The archbishop told me/' said Mr. K. "that he would 
 dine with me on Saturday. I gav-e orders for dinner and 
 so forth for my cousin, the uichbishop ; but I never 
 thought till he came, that the next day was Sunday. 
 What was I to do? here was my cousin the archbishop, 
 and he must go to church, and there was no way to the 
 church, and the chancel-door had been locked up for 
 these thirty years, and my pew was certainly not fit for 
 my cousin tbe archbishop. I sent oiV immediately to 
 Hythe for the carpenters, mid the joiners, and the dra- 
 pers, and into the village for the labourers, the mowers, 
 and the gravel-carters. All went to work, the path was 
 moved, the graxel was thrown on and rolled, a gate 
 made for the c :liurch-yard, the chancel-door opened and 
 cleaned, a new pew uct up, well lined and stull'.-d, and 
 cushioned ; and the next day I walked by the side of my 
 cousin, the archbishop, to church, who found everv 
 thing light and proper: but I have not been to church
 
 LORD UOKEBY. 
 
 since, I assure you." This singularity in abstaining 
 from lite places of religious worship arose, partly from 
 the exalted view which he entertained of the nature of 
 the Deit}', whose altars, he used emphatically to say, 
 were earth, sea, skies; from the little regard he paid to 
 the clerical or ministerial character, and from the dis- 
 gust in his mind at the stress laid hy divines upon 
 trifles, their illiberality in wishing every one to rely 
 upon them for their faith, their frequent persecution of 
 others, and from a strange opinion of the great inefli- 
 cacy of their preaching. Religion he conceived to be a 
 mere personal concern between the creature and the 
 Creator; and the Supreme, in his opinion, was degraded 
 by being made a party in questions often political, and 
 on the mode of his existence being made a barrier be- 
 tween the natives of the same island. Yet with these 
 opinions, he could converse with the clergy of all de- 
 scriptions as freely as with other men ; and, where they 
 were men of liberal education and enlightened mindsj 
 was much gratified by the pleasure of their company. 
 
 In the year 1794, Mr. R. became, by the death of the 
 Archbishop of Armagh, Lord Rokeby; and it is natural to 
 ask what difference the title made in his manners I Pre- 
 cisely none. He was now addressed by the title of lord 
 instead of sir; and, as he used to say, they are both the 
 same in the Latin. Yet the accession to his title gave 
 him rights in Ireland, and his letter to Lord Castlereagh 
 showed that he was not unworthy of them, and that if 
 age and infirmities had presented no obstacles, the Irish 
 House of Lords would have been dignified by the pre- 
 sence of a man who assumed for his motto, on this occa- 
 sion, what he really possessed in his heart, independence. 
 Very fantastical notions accompany, in some persons 
 minds, the titles of the peerage. They think of fine 
 drt'ss, splendid carriages, haughty demeanour, something 
 differing from the many. Such persons were much em- 
 barrassed at the sight of Lord Rokeby. A venerable 
 
 17
 
 LORD ROKEBY. 345 
 
 man with a long beard, sallow complexion, furrows on 
 his forehead, the traces of deep thinking, fore part of 
 the head bald, from the hinder flowing long and lank 
 locks of white hair, a white or blue flannel coat and 
 waistcoat, and breeches, worsted stockings, and shoes 
 tied with black strings. The ruffles at his wrist, and the 
 frill sewed to his waistcoat, were the only linen about 
 him. His body was rather bent, but till he was near his 
 end, his pace was firm, and he was seen walking in this 
 manner from his house to Hythe or back, or, which was 
 more gratifying to his friends, when they first caught a 
 view of the house, walking up and down the pavement 
 before his door. How can this man be a lord? said the 
 vulgar. Would to God more lords were like this man ! 
 said the man of sense. I wish we were all as attentive to 
 good breeding! said the man of fashion. 
 
 From the time of his accession to the title to the day 
 of his death, Lord Rokeby seldom went farther from 
 home than Hythe ; but he would have thought that he 
 had forfeited all regard to his principles if he had not 
 gone to Maidstone to vote for his friend, Filmer Honey- 
 wood, the staunch advocate for the independence of the 
 county ; and a contested election for the city of Canter- 
 bury drew him again from his retirement. This election 
 took place just after the. famous stoppage of the Bank; 
 and after a visit to his friends at the hall, and shouts of 
 congratulation from all the freemen, he walked to the 
 alderman's house, with whom the wager had been laid, 
 proffered some notes for cash, presented the written 
 agreement on the wager, and demanded of the alderman, 
 the sum of ten pounds. 
 
 The question, as might naturally be expected, stag- 
 gered, a little, the alderman, who was ulso a banker, and 
 as the words admitted of some debate, and Lord K. had 
 not with him documents of the refusal at the Bank ot 
 cash for a ten pound note specifically proffered, the pay- 
 ment was therefore dei'erred. 
 
 VOL.1. % X
 
 $46 LOUD ROKEBY. 
 
 On returning to the hall, Lord R. came again err 
 the hustings, by the side which is appropriated for 
 persons to return who have voted, and for the infirm, 
 and the friends erf the candidates, or the officers of 
 the court. The sheriff very politely offered to take 
 here his lordship's vote, who, with bi& usual good 
 humour, declined it; "I am not so old neither," says 
 he, " that I cannot do like the rest of my brother citizens," 
 and instantly went down the stairs, where he met an 
 old man ascending, who had given him a vote nearly 
 fifty years before; mixed with his brother citizens, went 
 np the proper stairs with them, and cave the last proof 
 of his political connexion with Canterbury in a manner 
 worthy of himself and his principles. 
 
 We might recount a variety of anecdotes expressive 
 of his character, but the limits will not permit us ; yet 
 we must not pass over the subject of his food, which has 
 heen so much the object of inquiry and misrepresenta- 
 tion. He has been said to live on raw flesh, and to be, 
 in short, little better than a cannibal. This was by no 
 means the case; and to understand this, as well as the 
 other parts of his character, we musl look to his leading 
 principles, nature and independence. He thought that 
 this island produced within itself sufficient food for his 
 nourishment. Wheat he considered as an exotic, besides 
 it was fermented, two reasons sufficient to expel it from 
 his nourishment. Foreign coffee, for the same reason, 
 was rejected, and he tried various experiments with burnt 
 beans, peas, &c. Remarkably fond of sweet things, he 
 used honey as a substitute for sugar ; but it is t& be ob- 
 served that he was not a scrupulous observer of his ge^- 
 neral rule, and when it was hinted to him that he was 
 eating the crust of a pie, or similar things in the ordi- 
 nary cookery, he turned it off with a good-humoured 
 laugh, adding, " Where is the man that lives as he 
 preaches r" His appetite was remarkably strong, which 
 he satisfied at times by boiled beef, or rather beef, kept
 
 LORD ROKEBY. 317 
 
 for a considerable time in boiling water ; and his table 
 was amply provided with every thing in season, exceed- 
 ingly well dressed, and of which he partook off a wooden 
 platter like any other person. He drank no wine, and 
 he gave the best proofs of the excellence of Lis diet by 
 the length of his life. No one was more hospitable to 
 his guests, they were desired to order just what they 
 pleased, and, m return, were requested and expected to 
 permit ihe host to eat what and when he pleased. 
 
 He never willingly omitted bathing a single day, and 
 had made, for that purpose, a bathing-house of con- 
 siderable length and breadth, glazed in front to a south- 
 eastern aspect, and thatched at top. This probably is 
 ihe most comfortable bath-house in England, as, after 
 bathing, you may run up and down to dry yourself, and 
 do not feel that disagreeable cold common in the small 
 elegant bath-houses of marble, where you freeze in cold 
 magnificence. Lord R's. bath-house was boarded and 
 
 O 
 
 .mailed. In this bath-house and a wood at a small dis- 
 tance from it, intersected with walks, and at proper in- 
 tervals having wooden seats and benches, his lordship 
 spent considerable time, frequently committing to paper 
 his valuable reflections. 
 
 A gentleman who happened to be in the neighbour- 
 hood of Mount Morris, resolved .to procure a sight of this 
 extraordinary character, after he had succeeded to the 
 .title of Lord Rokeby. " On iny way," says he, " at the 
 summit of the bill above Hythe, which affords a most 
 delightful prospect, I perceived a fountain of pure 
 water, over-running a bason which had been placed for 
 it by his lordship. I was informed, that there \ 
 many such on the same road, and that he was accus- 
 tomed to bestow i\ few half-crown pieces, plenty of which 
 he always kepi loose in a side-pocket, on any water 
 drinkers he might happen to find partaking of his fa- 
 vourite beverage, which he never failed to recommend 
 ;witb peculiar force and persuasion. On my approach, 1
 
 LORD ROKEBY. 
 
 stopped some time to examine the mansion. It is a good 
 plain gentleman's seat; the grounds were abundantly 
 stocked with black cattle, and I could perceite a horse 
 or two on the steps of the principal entrance. After the 
 necessary inquiries, I was conducted by a servant to a 
 little grove, on entering which, a building with a glass 
 covering, that at first sight appeared to be a green-house, 
 presented itself. The man who accompanied me opened 
 a little wicket, and on looking in, I perceived, immedi- 
 ately under the glass, a bath with a current of water, 
 supplied from a pond behind. On approaching the 
 door, two handsome spaniels, with long ears, apparently 
 of King Charles's breed, advanced, and, like faithful 
 guardians, denied us access, till soothed by the well 
 known accents of the domestic. We then proceeded, 
 and gently passing along a wooden floor, saw his lord- 
 ship stretched on his face at the farther end. He had 
 just come out of the water, and was dressed in an old 
 blue woollen coat, and pantaloons of the same colour. 
 The upper part of his head was bald, but the hair of his 
 chin, which could not be concealed even by the posture 
 he had assumed, made its appearance between his arms 
 on each side. I immediately retired, and waited at a 
 little distance until he awoke; when rising, he opened 
 the door, darted through the thicket, accompanied by 
 his dogs, and made directly for the house, while some 
 workmen employed in cutting timber, and whose tongues 
 only I had heard before, now made the woods resound 
 again with their axes." 
 
 Prince William of Gloucester, once passing through 
 Canterbury, felt a strong inclination to pay his lordship 
 a visit; which being mentioned at Mount Morris, Lord 
 Rokeby very politely sent the prince an invitation to 
 dinner. On this occasion he presided at a plentiful 
 board, and displayed all the hospitality of an old English 
 baron. Three courses were served up in a splendid style 
 to his royal highness and his suite, and the repast con-
 
 LORD ROKEBY. 349 
 
 eluded with a variety of excellent wines, and in particu- 
 lar Tokay, which had been in the cellar half a cenlory. 
 
 His memory was prodigious. In conversation if any 
 thing occurred which afforded room for difference of 
 opinion, he would frequently run on the sudden to his 
 library, bring back a folio or two, and point the passage 
 on which the whole depended. He was a great reader 
 as well as deep thinker, and preserved the use of his eyes 
 to the last : for writing, he very frequently availed him- 
 self of the help of an amanuensis. In so singular a 
 character, it is natural that persons little acquainted with 
 it should make very erroneous conjectures. Covetous- 
 ness was represented to be his prevailing feature, but this 
 was not perceptible in his domestic arrangements, where, 
 in every article of good living, there was superfluity, 
 and his parlour fires of wood and coal, which would be 
 sufficient for half a dozen common rooms, did not coun- 
 tenance the idea of a frugal disposition; besides, lu 
 conduct to his tenants (for there was no where to be 
 found a milder landlord, and, perhaps, indeed, he 
 carried this propensity to indulge them to almost blame- 
 able excess) is a sufficient proof that his thoughts were 
 not bent with any degree of anxiety on the acquisition 
 of wealth. Yet he was tenacious of his property when 
 it had once come into his hands; and he made a joke 
 himself of his fondness for a new guinea; but this may 
 be accounted for from his idea of the nature of paper- 
 credit, and the firmness of our bank ; and the quantity 
 of money found in his house at his death was the na- 
 tural result of these opinions. He was an excellent 
 ma-t^r, and a good neighbour; just in all his dealings, 
 of strict honour, firmly attached to the liberty of his 
 country, of a most enlarged mind, a true free-thinker, 
 and, with all the singularities in his dress and manners, 
 he united to his love of nature and independence all the 
 good qualities which constitute a perfect gentleman. 
 Prom what has been already said, it appears that, in-
 
 LORD ROKEBY. 
 
 dependent of his beard, which reached to his waist, 
 Lord Rokeby was a very singular character. He lived a 
 considerable portion of his life in water, tempered by the 
 rays of the sn, and travelled on foot at an age when 
 people of his rank and fortune always indulge in a car- 
 riage. In the midst of a luxurious age he was abstemi- 
 ous both in eating and drinking, and attained to length 
 of life without having recourse to the aid of medicine, 
 and indeed with an utter contempt for the practitioners 
 of physic. This he carried to such a length, that it is 
 related, when a paroxysm was expected to come on, his 
 lordship told his nephew that if he staid he was wel- 
 come; but if, out of a false humanity, he should call in 
 medical assistance, and it should accidentally happen 
 that he was not killed by the doctor, he hoped he should 
 have sufficient use of his hands and senses left to make 
 a new will, and to disinherit him. 
 
 This truly patriotic nobleman expired at his seat in. 
 Kent, in the month of December, 1800, in the eighiy- 
 eighth year of his age. 
 
 The family of Lord Rokeby has been distinguished for 
 a literary turn. It was a relative of his who wrote the 
 celebrated treatise on gavel-kind. His eldest sister, the 
 late Mrs. Montague, successfully defended the memory 
 and genius of Shakspeare against Voltaire : the younger, 
 Mrs. Scott, who died in 171)5, wrote several novels, some 
 of which attained considerable reputation: and his 
 nephew, Matthew Montague, is not wholly unknown in. 
 the world of letters. 
 
 As one of the great singularities of Lord Rokeby was 
 his long beard, it may nbt be deemed uninteresting to 
 give some account of the customs and ceremonies of 
 different nations respecting this venerable appendage to 
 the chin. 
 
 The beard was given to man by nature, and, as it h 
 with much plausibility contended, for the. purpose of 
 being worn, otherwise it would not have been conferred.
 
 LORD ROKEBY. 351 
 
 Though at present it is deemed an unseemly excrescence, 
 it was considered by all the nations of antiquity as one 
 of the greatest ornaments of the person, and the gods, 
 as well as mortals, were supposed to be decorated with 
 this emblem of wisdom and virilrty. It was fashion that 
 first lopped its honours from the chin; fashion, which is 
 alw.>ys studying either to satisfy avidity, or to conceal 
 i imperfection. 
 
 The Tartars, from a religious principle, waged a long 
 and bloody war with the Persians, declaring them infi- 
 dels, merely because they would not cut their whiskers, 
 after the rite of Tartary : and we find, that a con- 
 siderable branch of the religion of the ancients con- 
 sisted in the management of their beard. The Greeks 
 wore their beards till the time of Alexander the Great; 
 when that prince ordered the Macedonians to be shaved, 
 for fear it should give a handle to their enemies. Ac- 
 cording to Pliny, the Romans did not begin to shave 
 till the year of Rome 454, when P. Ticinius brought 
 over a stock of barbers from Sictfy. Persons of quality 
 had their children shaved the first time by others of the 
 same or greater quality, who, by this means, became 
 god-father or adoptive father of the children. An- 
 ciently, indeed, a person became god-father of the child 
 by barely touching his beard : thus historians relate, (hat 
 one of the articles of the treaty between Alaric and Clovis 
 was, that Alaric should touch the board of Clovis to be- 
 come his god-father. 
 
 As to ecclesiastics, the .discipline has been very dif- 
 ferent on the article of beards: sometimes they have 
 been enjoined to wear them, from a notion of too much 
 effeminacy in shaving, and that a l r -ng beard was more 
 suitable to the ecclesiastical gravity ; and sometimes 
 again they were forbid it, as imagining pride to lurk 
 beneath a venerable beard. The Greek and Roman 
 churches have been long together by the ears about 
 their beards : since the time of their separation, the
 
 352 LORD ItOKEBY, 
 
 Romanists, seem to have given more into the practice of 
 shaving, by way of opposition to the Greeks; and have 
 even made some express constitutions de radendis barbis. 
 The Greeks, on the contrary, espouse very zealously the 
 cause of long beards, and are extremely scandalized at 
 the beardless images of saints in the Roman churches. 
 By the statutes of some monasteries it appears, that the 
 lay-monks were to let their beards grow, and the priests 
 among them to shave; and that the beards of all that 
 were received into the monasteries, were blessed with a 
 great deal of ceremony. There are still extant the 
 prayers used in the solemnity of consecrating the beard 
 to God, when an ecclesiastic was shaven. 
 
 Le Comte observes, that the Chinese affect long beards 
 extravagantly; but nature has baulked them, and only 
 given them very little ones, which, however, they culti- 
 vate with infinite care: the Europeans are strangely 
 envied by them on this account, and esteemed the 
 greatest men in the world. Chrysostum observes, that 
 the kings of Persia Ifad their beards wove or matted 
 together with gold-thread; and some of the first kings 
 of France had their beards knotted and buttoned with 
 gold. Among the Turks, it is more infamous for any 
 one to have his beard cut off, than among us to be pub- 
 licly vvhipt or branded with a hot iron. There are abun- 
 dance in that country, who would prefer death to this 
 punishment. The Arabs make the preservation of their 
 beards a capital point of religion, because Mahomet 
 never cut his. Hence the razor is never drawn over the 
 grand signior's face. The Persians, who clip them, 
 and shave about the jaw, are reputed heretics. It is 
 likewise a mark of authority and -liberty among them, 
 as well as among the Turks. They who serve in the se- 
 raglio, have their beards shaven, as a sign of their ser- 
 vitude. They do not suffer it to grow till the sultan has 
 set them at liberty, which is bestowed. as a reward upon 
 them, and is always accompanied with some employment.
 
 LORT> ROKEBY. 
 
 The most celebrated ancient writers, and several mo- 
 dern ones, have spoken honourably of the line beards 
 of antiquity. Homer speaks highly of the white btard 
 of Nestor, and that of old King Priam. Virgii describes 
 Mezentius's, which was so t'lick and long as to cover all 
 his breast; Chrysippus praises the noble beard of Ti- 
 mothy, a famous player on the flute. Pliny, the younger, 
 tells us of the white beard of Euphrates, a Syrian phi- 
 losopher; and he takes pleasure in relating the respect, 
 mixed with fear, with which it inspired the people. 
 Plutarch speaks of the long white beard of an old La- 
 conian, who, being asked why he let it grow so, re- 
 plied, " 'Tis that, seeing continually ray white beard, I 
 may do nothing unworthy of its whiteness." Sirabo re- 
 lates, that the Indian philosophers, the Gymnosophists, 
 were particularly attentive to make the length of their 
 beards contribute to captivate the veneration of the 
 people. Diodorus, after him, gives a very particular 
 and circumstantial history of the beards of the Indians. 
 Juvenal does not forget that of Antilochus the son of 
 Nestor. Fenelon, in describing a priest of Apollo in all 
 his magnificence, tells us, that he had a white beard 
 down to his gi-dle. But Persius seems to outdo all these 
 authors: this poet was so convinced that the beard was 
 a symbol of wisdom, that he thought he could not be- 
 stow a greater encomium on the divine Socrates, that) by 
 calling him the bearded master, ma gist rum barbaium. 
 While the Gauls were under their sovereignty, none but 
 the nobles and Christian priests were permitted to wear 
 long beards. The Franks, having made ih 
 masters of Gaul, assumed the same authority as the li<>- 
 vnans : the bondsmen were expressly ordcn <! to shave 
 their chins; and this law continued in force until 
 entire abolishment of servitude in France. So, likewise, 
 in the time of the (ii-l race of kinus a long heard 
 a sign of nobility and freedom. The l.ii 
 the highest noble-, in thtir UuijVu.m, \M re likewise LIUU- 
 
 VOL. I. - V
 
 351 LORD ROKEBY. 
 
 lous to have the largest beards: Eginard, secretary to 
 Charlemain, speaking of the last kings of the first race, 
 says, they came to the assemblies in the field of Mars 
 in a carriage drawn by oxen, and sat on the throne with 
 their hair dishevelled, and a very long beard. 
 
 To touch any one's beard, or cut off a bit of it, was, 
 among the first French, the most sacred pledge of pro- 
 tection and confidence. For a long time all letters that 
 came from the sovereign had, for greater sanction, three 
 hairs of his beard in the seal. 
 
 The bearded and the shaved chins, have by turns 
 been the object of persecution. In many cathedrals of 
 France, the capitulary statutes had declared war against 
 the beards of the prebendaries ; or rather it had been 
 suggested, that attached as the clergy were to their 
 beards, a very handsome revenue might be raised from 
 the sale of licenses to them to wear beards : it was ne- 
 cessary therefore that an edict should first be published, 
 forbidding the clergy to wear their beards. The cele- 
 brated Dnprat, who was Lord High Chancellor of 
 France, in the reign of Francis I. was the adviser of this 
 measure ; and, at the persuasion of that king, the pope 
 published a bull, by which he enjoined the clergy of 
 France to shave their chins; and authorized the king to 
 levy a tax upon such of them as would wish to purchase 
 an exemption from the ordonnances of the bull. The 
 bishops, and all the possessors of fat benefices, soon 
 paid the tax, and saved their beards ; but the inferior 
 clergy, not being rich enough to purchase the privilege 
 of preserving the covering which nature had given to 
 their chins, were obliged to give them up to the edge of 
 the razor. While Francis lived, they smothered their 
 rage ; but as as soon as he died they gave vent to it, and 
 let it fall upon William Duprnt, son to the chancellor' 
 That gentleman was returning triumphant from the 
 council of Trent, where he had signalized himself by 
 his eloquence, and proceeding to Clerm-ont, to take pos-
 
 LORD ROKEBV. 
 
 \ 
 
 session of that bishopric, to which he had been nomi- 
 nated by King Henry II. The new prelate had one of 
 the finest and most bushy beards in the kingdom. It 
 was on Easter Sunday that he chose to make his public 
 entry into his church, and celebrate divine service in all 
 the splendour of pontifical pomp; but, to his unspeakable 
 astonishment, he found the gate of the chancel shut 
 against him ; and through this, for it was of open brass 
 work, he perceived three dignitaries of the cbaptet 
 waiting to receive him, but in a manner which he did not 
 relish : one held in his hand a razor, another a pair of 
 scissars, and the third the book of ancient statutes of 
 the church of Clermont, with finger pointed to two par- 
 ticular words in one of these statutes " Barbis rasis.;" 
 whilst the other two occasionally brandished the formi- 
 dable weapons, which threatened his lordship with the 
 loss of his beard. In vain did the prelate remonstrate, 
 and observe, that though he were willing to conform to 
 the statutes, the sanctity of the sabbath ought not to 
 sutler them to cut off his beard on that day, as it would 
 be a servile work : the prebendaries were deaf to every 
 thing; all they said was, " be shaved, or stay out." He 
 was as obstinate as they ; and chose rather to retire than 
 give up his beard; and so much did he take his disap- 
 pointment to heart, and the necessity he saw, either of 
 losing his bishopric or his beard, that he fell ill, and 
 died soon after. Duprat was not the only prelate who 
 was opposed by his chapter on account of his beard. 
 Antony Caracciola was nominated by the same King 
 Henry to the see of Troycs, in Champagne; but the 
 chapter refused to receive him, unless he consented to 
 have his chin shaved; this he refused to do, hut at the 
 same time found means not to lose his bishopric; for he 
 had interest enough with the king to obtain from him ;i 
 mandamus to the chapter to receive him with his 
 beard. The mandamus bears date the 'Jftth of November, 
 l.V">I. Five years after this, ;lolm dc Mnrvfillirr-. found
 
 LOUD ROKEBY. 
 
 himself in a similar predicament; the chapter or' Or- 
 leans, to the bishopric of which city he had been pro- 
 moted, would not receive him till he should first let the 
 barber qualify his chin to ippear in the choir according 
 to the statutes. He was permitted, however, by the 
 chapter, to be enthroned without being shaved, because 
 he luckily carried in his pocket a mandatory letter from 
 the king, in which it was stated, that the statutes must 
 be dispensed with on this occasion, as his majesty intend- 
 ed to employ him in embassies in countries where he 
 could not appear without a beard. 
 
 In England, at the time of the conquest, the upper 
 lips and chins of the barons in the train of Norman 
 VV r illiam, exhibited a small portion of beard, while 
 those of the Anglo-Saxons, who opposed them, were 
 more abundantly ornamented. After the introduction of 
 linen, beards began gradually to disappear, but vet we 
 find vestiges of them in much more modern periods. 
 The beard of James I. appears to have been broad and 
 bushy, and his son Charles wore one with a narrow point, 
 at the lower part of his chin, and mustaches on his 
 upper lip. The celebrated Algernon Sydney seems to 
 have worn the latter only: but most of the republicans 
 of that day cherished their beards in proportion as they 
 polled their heads. 
 
 Several great men have honoured themselves wit!) the 
 surname of Bearded. The Emperor Constantine is dis- 
 tinguished by the epithet of Pogonate which signifies 
 the bearded. In the time of the Crusade, we find there 
 was a Geffery the Bearded : Baldwin IV. Earl of Flan- 
 ders, wassurnamed Handsome-beard; and, in the illus- 
 trious house of Montmorenci, there was a famous Bou- 
 chard, who took a pride in the surname of Bearded : he 
 was always the declared enemy of the monks, without 
 doubt because of their being shaved. In the tenth cen- 
 tury, we find, that King Robert (of France), the rival of 
 Charles the Simple, was not inure famous for his ex-
 
 T.ORD ROKEBY. .3-57 
 
 j>loils than for his long white beard. In order that it 
 might be more conspicuous to the soldiers, when lie was in 
 the field, he used to let it hang down outside his cuirass : 
 this venerable sight encouraged the troops in battle, and 
 served to rally them when they were defeated. 
 
 A celebrated painter in Germany, .called John Mayo, 
 liad such a large beard that he was nicknamed John the 
 Bearded : it was so long that he wore it fastened to his 
 girdle; and, though he was a very tall man, it would 
 hang upon the ground when he stood upright. He took 
 the greatest care of this extraordinary beard ; sometimes 
 he would nniie it before the emperor Charles V. who 
 took great pleasure to see the wind make it fly against 
 the faces of the lords of his court. 
 
 In England, the .famous chancellor Thomas More, 
 one of the greatest men of his time, being on the point 
 of falling a victim to court intrigues, was able, when on 
 the fatal scaffold, to procure respect to his beard in pre- 
 sence of all the people, and saved it, as one may say, 
 from the stroke winch he could not escape himself. 
 When he had laid his head on the block, lie perceived 
 that his beard was likely to be hurt by die axe of the 
 executioner; on which he took it away, saying, " My 
 beard has not been guilty of treason ; it would be an in- 
 justice to punish it." 
 
 But let us turn our eyes to a more flattering object, and 
 admire the ever-precious bean! of the great Henry IV. of 
 France, which diffused over the countenance of that 
 prinre a mnjestic sweetness and amiable openness, a 
 beard ever dear to posterity, and which should serve as 
 a model for that of every great king, as the beard of his 
 illustrious minister should for that of every minister. 
 lut what dependence is there to be put on the stability 
 of the things of this world ? By an event, as fatal as un- 
 foreseen, the beard, which was arrived at its highest dc- 
 of glorv, all of a sudden lost its favour, and was at 
 length entirely proscribed. The unexpected druih of
 
 3-58 LORD ROKEBY. 
 
 Henry the Great, and the youth of his successor, were 
 the sole cause of it. Louis XIII. mounted the throne of 
 his glorious ancestors without a beard. Every one con- 
 cluded immediately, that the courtiers, seeing their 
 young king with a smooth chin, would look upon their 
 own as too rough. The conjecture proved right; for 
 they presently reduced their beards to whiskers, and a 
 small tuft of hair under the nether lip. The people at 
 first would not follow this dangerous example. The 
 .Duke of Sully would never adopt this effeminate 
 custom. This man, great both as a general and a mi- 
 nister, was likewise so in his retirement: he had the 
 courage to keep his long beard, and to appear with it at 
 the court of Louis XIII. where he was called to give his 
 advice in an affair of importance. The young crop- 
 bearded courtiers laughed at the sight of his grave look 
 and old-fashioned phiz. The duke, nettled at the affront 
 put on his fine beard, said to the king, "Sir, when your 
 father, of glorious memory, did me the honour to consult 
 me on his great and important affairs, the first thing he 
 did was to send away all the buffoons and stage-dancers 
 of his court." 
 
 The czar Peter, who had so many claims to the sur- 
 name of Great, seems'to have been but little worthy of 
 it .on this occasion. He had the boldness to lay a tax on 
 the beards of his subjects. He ordered that the noble- 
 men and gentlemen, tradesmen and artisans (ihe priests 
 and peasants excepted), should pay one hundred rubles 
 to be able to retain their beards ; that the lower class of 
 people should pay a copeck for the same liberty; and he 
 established clerks at the gates of the different towns to 
 collect these duties. Such a new and singular impost 
 troubled the vast empire of Russia. Both religion and 
 manners were thought in danger. Complaints were 
 heard from all parts; they even went so far as to write 
 libels against the sovereign ; but he was inflexible, and 
 at that time powerful. Even the fatal scenes of St.
 
 LORD ROKERY. 
 
 Bartholomew were renewed against these unfortunate 
 beards, and the most unlawful violences were publicly 
 exercised. The razor and scissars were every where 
 made use of. A great number, to avoid these cruel ex- 
 tremities, obeyed with reluctant sighs. Some of them 
 carefully preserved the sad trimmings of their chins: 
 and, in order to be never separated from these dear 
 locks, ordered that they should be placed with them in 
 their coffins. 
 
 Example, more powerful than authority, produced in 
 Spain what it had not been able to bring about in Russia 
 without great difficulty. Philip V. ascended the throne 
 with a shaved chin. The courtiers imitated the prince, 
 and the people, in turn, the courtiers. However, though 
 tliis revolution was brought about without violence and 
 by degrees, it caused much lamentation and murmuring; 
 the gravity of the Spaniards lost by the change. The 
 favourite custom of a nation can never be altered without 
 incurring displeasure; and they have this old saying in 
 Spain, " Since we have lost our beards, we have lost our 
 souls." This grave romantic nation has always regarded 
 the beard as an ornament very highly to be prized; and 
 the Spaniards have often made the loss of honour consist 
 in that of their whiskers. The Portuguese, whose national 
 character is much the same, are not the least behind 
 them in that respect. In the reign of Catherine Queen. 
 of Portugal, the brave John de Custro hadjust taken in 
 India the castle of Diu: victorious, but in want of every 
 thing, he found himself obliged to ask the inhabitants of 
 Goa to lend him a thousand pistoles for the maintenance 
 of his fleet; and, as a security for that sum, he sent them 
 one of his whiskers, telling them, "All the gold in the 
 world cannot equal the value of this natural ornament of 
 my valour; and I deposit it in your hands as a security 
 for the money." The whole town was penetrated with 
 this heroism, and every one interested himself about 
 this invaluable whisker; even the women wue
 
 36:) LORD ROK13HY. 
 
 to give marks of their zeal for so brave a man : several 
 sold their bracelets to increase the sum asked for; and 
 the inhabitants of Goa sent him, immediately, both the 
 money and his whisker. A number of other examples 
 of this kind might be produced, which do as much 
 honour to whiskers as to the good faith of those days. 
 
 In Louis XIIl's reign, whiskers attained the highest de- 
 gree of .favour, at the expense of the expiring beards. 
 In those days of gallantry, not empoisoned by wit, they 
 became the favourite occupation of lovers. A fine black 
 whisker, elegantly turned up, was a very powerful mark 
 of dignity with the fair sex. Whiskers were still in 
 fashion in the beginning of Louis XlV's reign. The 
 king, and all the great men of his court, took a pride 
 in wearing them. They were the ornament of Turenne, 
 Conde, Colbert, Corneille, Moliere, See. It was then 
 no uncommon thing for a favourite lover to have his 
 whiskers turned up, combed, and pomatumed, by his 
 mistress; and, for that purpose, a man of fashion took 
 care to be always provided with every little necessary 
 article, especially whisker wax. It was highly flattering 
 to a lady to have it in her power to praise the beauty of 
 her lover's whiskers ; which, far from being disgusting, 
 gave his person an air of vivacity: several even thought 
 them an incitement to love. It seems the levity of the 
 French made them undergo several changes both in 
 form and name : there were Spanish, Turkish, guard- 
 dagger, &,c. whiskers, in short, -royal ones, which were 
 the last worn : their smallness proclaimed their ap- 
 proaching fall. 
 
 The consecration of the beard was a ceremony among 
 the Roman youth, who, when they were shaved the first 
 time, kept a day of rejoicing, and were particularly 
 careful to put the hair of their beard into a silver or gold 
 box, and make an offering of it to some god, particularly 
 to Jupiter Capitolinus, as was done by Nero, according 
 to Suetonius. The Turkish wives kiss their husbaiuU' 
 
 18
 
 LORD ROKEBY. 36J 
 
 beards, and children their fathers, as often as they come 
 to salute them. The men kiss one another's heards reci- 
 procally on both sides, when they salute in the streets, 
 or come off from any journey. 
 
 The fashion of the beard has varied in different ages 
 and countries; some cultivating and entertaining one 
 part of it, some another. Thus the Hebrews wear a 
 beard on their chin; but not on the upper lip or cheek?. 
 Moses forbids them to cut off, entirely, the angle or ex- 
 tremity of their beard; that is, to manage it after the 
 Egyptian fashion, who left only a little tuft of beard at 
 the extremity of their chin; whereas the Jews to this 
 day suffer a little fillet of hair to grow from the lower 
 end of their ears to their chins, where, as well as on 
 their lower lips, their beards are in a pretty long bunch. 
 The Jews, in time of mourning, neglected to trim their 
 beards, that is, to cut off what grew superfluous on the 
 upper lips and cheeks. In time of grief and great af- 
 fliction they also plucked off the hair of their beards. 
 
 Anointing the beard with unguents is an ancient prac- 
 tice both among the Jews and Romans, and still con- 
 tinues in use among the Turks; where one of the prin- 
 cipal ceremonies observed in serious visits is to throw 
 sweet-scented water on the beard of the visitant, and to 
 perfume it afterwards with aloes-wood, which sticks to 
 this moisture, and gives it an agreeable smell. In 
 middle-age writers we meet with adlentare barbern, used 
 for stroking and combing it, to render it soft and flexible. 
 The Turks, when they comb their beards, hold a hand- 
 kerchief on their knees, and gather, very carefully, the 
 hairs that fall ; and, when they have got together a cer- 
 tain quantity, they fold them up in paper, and carry 
 them to the place where they bury the dead. 
 
 Of women remarkably bearded, there are several in- 
 stances on record. In the cabinet of curiosities of Stut- 
 i^ard in Germany, there is the portrait of a woman culled 
 Karu-1 (Jraoijf, \\lmsr chin is rov. i\d with a very huge 
 
 VOL. i. - /
 
 362 JOSEPH CLARK. 
 
 beard. She was drawn in 1587, at which time she was 
 but twenty -five years of age. There is likewise in the 
 same cabinet another portrait of her when she was more 
 advanced in life, but likewise with a beard. It is said, 
 that the Duke of Saxony had the portrait of a poor 
 Swiss woman taken, remarkable for her long bushy 
 beard; and those who were at the carnival at Venice in 
 1726, saw a female dancer astonish the spectators not 
 more by her talents than by her chin covered with a 
 black bushy beard. Charles XII. had in his army a 
 female grenadier : it was neither courage nor a beard 
 thai she wanted to be a man. She was taken at the 
 battle of Pultowa, and carried to Petersburg!}, where 
 she was presented to the czar in 1724 : her beard mea- 
 sured a yard and a half. We read in the Trevoux Dic- 
 tionary, that there was a woman seen at Paris, who had 
 not only a bushy beard on her face, but her body like- 
 wise covered all over with hair. Among a number of 
 other examples of this nature, that of Margaret, the 
 governess of the Netherlands, is very remarkable. She 
 had a very long stiff beard, which she prided herself on ; 
 and, being persuaded that it contributed to give her an 
 air of majesty, she took care not to lose a hair of it. 
 This Margaret was a very great woman. It is said, that 
 the Lombard women, when they were at war, made 
 themselves beards with the hair of their heads, which 
 they ingeniously arranged on their cheeks, in order that 
 the enemy, deceived by the likeness, might take them for 
 men. 
 
 JOSEPH CLARK. 
 
 THIS man was a very extraordinary posture-master who 
 resided in Pall-mall. Though well-made, and rather 
 gross than thin, he exhibited, in a most natural manner,
 
 JOHN OVERS. 363 
 
 almost every species of deformity and dislocation. lie 
 frequently diverted 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 deformity was removed into the 
 other shoulder ; upon which the tailor asked pardon for 
 the mistake, and altered the garment as cxpeditiously as 
 possible: but, upon a third trial, he found him perfectly 
 free from blemish about the shoulders, though an unfor- 
 tunate lump appeared upon his back. In short, this 
 wandering tumour puzzled all the workmen about town, 
 who found it impossible to accommodate so changeable 
 a customer. He dislocated the vertebra 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, was shocked at the sight, and would not 
 even attempt his cure. He often passed for a cripple 
 among persons with whom he had been in company but 
 a few minutes before. Upon these occasions he would 
 not only change the position of his limbs, but entirely 
 alter the figure of his countenance. The powers of his 
 face were more extraordinary than the flexibility of his 
 body. He would assume all the uncouth grimaces that 
 he saw at a quaker's meeting, the theatre, or any other 
 public place* He died about the beginning of King 
 William's reign, as it appears from Evelyn's Numisroata 
 that he was not living in 169?. 
 
 JOHN OVERS. 
 
 BEFORE the metropolis had any bridge over the 
 Thames, the conveyance was by a ferry, which used to 
 carry passengers, from Southwark to the city, by boat*;
 
 304 JOHN OVERS. 
 
 which Terry was rented 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 feeble body, 
 nor abate any thing of his unnecessary labour, only to 
 add to his wealth. He had always 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 
 nobleman in the land; notwithstanding, his habit, 
 housekeeping, and expenses, indicated the most abject 
 poverty. 
 
 This Charon had one daughter, both pious and beau- 
 tiful ; and he took care enough, to have her liberally 
 educated; but when she grew up, and fit for marriage, 
 he would suffer no man (by his good will) to have any 
 access to her. However, a young gentleman took the 
 opportunity, when he was picking up his penny fares, to 
 get admitted to her company. The first interview pleased 
 well, the second better, and the third concluded the 
 match. Meanwhile, the silly, rich ferryman, not dream- 
 ing but things were as secure by land as they were by 
 water, continued in his former course. 
 
 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 me with eating!" 
 
 He would scarcely afford his poor neighbours permis- 
 sion to light a capdle, lest they should impoverish 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, lie would bring them home in his cap, and have 
 them stewed for pottage ; and instead of oatmeal, he 
 would buy the sittings of coarse meal, and with this
 
 JOHN OVERS. 
 
 make the poor servants their brotl). He bought his 
 bread at the market, not caring how mouldy or stale it 
 was ; and when he brought it home, he cut it into 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 further 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 himself. He 
 needed no cats, for all the rats and mice voluntarily left 
 his house, as there were no crumbs left by his servants to 
 feed them. 
 
 It is farther reported of him, that, to save one day's 
 expenses, he first feigned himself sick, and the next 
 day counterfeited death, for no other purpose than to 
 save one day's provisions; apprehending that, whilst his 
 body was above ground, his servants would not be so un- 
 natural as to take any manner of food till they had seeu 
 him in the earth, purposing to recover the next morning 
 after the charge was saved ; and with this he acquainted 
 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 expense 
 of a coffin. He was laid out in his chamber with one 
 candle burning 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 spec- 
 tacle, and supposing him 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 filling their 
 empty bellies having been before almost starved, and re- 
 jocing among themselves in the expectation of future 
 comfort, and deliverance from the hard usage they hud 
 ond urt-d. The old man lay quaking all this time I 
 the waste, and thinking he should be undone, he could 
 endure it no longer. Stirring and struggling in his
 
 36(5 JOHN OVERS. 
 
 sheet, he stalked forth like a ghost, and taking a candle 
 in each hand, was going to rout them for their boldness, 
 when one of them, thinking it was the devil, in his like- 
 ness, in amazement caught hold of the butt end of a 
 broken oar, and at one blow struck out his brains. Thus 
 he, who thought only 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 hoxse unfortunately 
 threw him, just at his entrance into London, and broke 
 his neck. This, and her father's death, had such an ef- 
 fect on her spirits as to bereave her of her senses. The 
 father, who, for his usury, extortion, and the sordidness 
 of his life, had been excommunicated, was not allowed 
 Christian burial ; but the daughter, for money, prevailed 
 upon the friars of Bermondsey Abbey, in the absence of 
 the abbot, to get him buried. 
 
 When the abbot came home, seeing a new grave, he 
 inquired 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 it was the custom of the times for the 
 heads of religious houses to ride upon asses, then making 
 a short prayer, he turned the beast with his burden out 
 at the abbey gates, desiring of God that he might carry 
 him to some place where he best deserved to be buried. 
 The ass went with a solemn pace, unguided by any, 
 through Kent-street, till he came to St. Thomas-a- 
 watering, which was then the common execution place, 
 and then shook him off, just under the gallows; where 
 a grave was instantly made, and, without any ceremony, 
 he was tumbled in, and covered with earth. Such was 
 the remarkable end of his infamous and abominable 
 
 avarice !
 
 ;: 
 
 ,
 
 THOMAS LAUGHER. 367 
 
 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 
 at his death, she would dispose of, as nearly as she could, 
 to the honour of her Creator, and the encouragement of 
 his religious service. Near to the place where her father 
 lived, and where she was born, she therefore 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 might live to all posterity, the people 
 added her name to that given by her, and called it St. 
 Mary Overs, which title it bears to this day. To the 
 public 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 re- 
 ceived from the 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 ma- 
 terials of which it was constructed were at hand, and 
 most probably were rudely put together. 
 
 THOMAS LAUGHER. 
 
 THOMAS LAUGHER, better known by the name of Old 
 Tommy, is a striking instance of the good effect of tem- 
 ace on the human constitution, 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 county of Worcester, and was baptized, as appears 
 by lii* register, in January 17<>0. His parents wcio natives
 
 J08 THOMAS LAUGHER. 
 
 of Shropshire, and were themselves examples of unusual 
 longevity, his father dying at the age of 97, and his 
 mother at 108. In the year following that of his birth 
 they removed with him to London where he has resided 
 ever since. 
 
 Laugher was educated at Christ-church College, Ox- 
 ford ; where he remained nearly twelve years. From 
 there he made a tour on the continent, visiting many 
 parts of Turkey, &c. and was absent seven years. 
 
 In the early part of his life Laugher followed, for 
 many years, the profession of a liquor-merchant, in 
 Tower-street. This, however, he was obliged to relin- 
 quish, in consequence of a heavy loss which he expe- 
 rienced, through the failure of Neele, Fordyce, and 
 James, at that time a very considerable house in the 
 city, to the amount of 19S,000/. This affair took such 
 effect upon him that he immediately became blind and 
 speechless, and his skin peeled from the whole of his 
 body. He was now reduced from affluence, to a state of 
 extreme poverty. Though in a line of businessin which 
 wines and spirits of every kind presented themselves 
 freely and plentifully, he never drank any fermented 
 liquor, during the first fifty years of his life, his chief 
 beverage being milk, milk and water, coffee and tea. 
 
 His strength of memory was such that he could re- 
 member most of the r principal occurrences of the last 
 century, and would relate with pleasure, to those who 
 visited him, his seeing Queen Anne going to the House 
 of Peers, on horseback, in the year 1705, seated on a 
 pillion behind the Lord-Chancellor; and also, when a 
 little boy, the death of King William. He likewise 
 could recollect bread at two-pence farthing the quartern 
 loaf, fresh butter at two-pence halfpenny per pound, and 
 butchers' , meat at one penny per pound. 
 
 He resided latterly in Kent-street in the Borough, from 
 which he used to walk every Sunday morning, when the 
 weather permitted, to the Rev. Mr. Coxliead's chapel in 
 
 is
 
 THOMAS LAUGHER. 360 
 
 Little Wild-street, Lincoln's Inn Fields : and a short time 
 previous to his death he walked as far as Hackney 
 and back again. 
 
 To all appearance Old Tommy had been a remarkably 
 well-made man, and rather above the middle stature. 
 Although at that extreme age, his lungs were very strong 
 and sound. It is not less 'surprising than true, that after a 
 severe fit of illness, at the age of eighty, he had a fresh 
 head of hair, and new nails both on his fingers and toes ; 
 a contraction, which took place at the same time, in the 
 finger of each hand, never left them. His hair was 
 thick and flowing, not thoroughly white, but grey on 
 the outside and brown underneath, as were also his eye- 
 brows. 
 
 This venerable man had been for some time supported 
 by the donations of charitable and well-disposed persons. 
 From a spirit of independence, he used, fur several years, 
 to sell laces for slays, garters, and other little articles of 
 that nature, for which he found customers among his 
 friends, who always liberally encouraged his industry. 
 
 Laugher had a son who died at the age of eighty. 
 This son, whom he called his " poor Tommy," had the 
 appearance of being considerably older than himself, 
 which occasionally produced curious mistakes. Among 
 others the following anecdote is related on this subject : 
 Walking, some years since in Holborn with his son, the 
 difficulty which the latter found to keep up with him, 
 drew the attention of a gentleman, who went to old 
 Laugher and began to expostulate with him for not as- 
 sisting his father. When informed of his mistake, he 
 would not give credit to the old man till convinced by 
 some person, who knew them both, of the truth of his 
 testimony. 
 
 This inversion in the order of nature, was attributed 
 by the old man to his son's having lived freely. He has 
 been often heard to say, " If the young fool had taken 
 VOL. i. 3 A
 
 370 ANTHONY MAGLTABECHI. 
 
 as much care of hisb'ealth as I have, tie might now have 
 been alive and hearty." 
 
 As far as his memory went Old Tommy was extreme! v 
 willing to answer any questions that were proposed, and 
 had not that austerity and peevishness which so fre- 
 quently accompany extreme age. He was much pleased 
 to hear of Old Jenkins and O ] d Parr, and said his family 
 came from the same county as the latter. His inoffen- 
 sive manners and uninterrupted cheerfulness gained him 
 the respect both of old and young in the neighbourhood 
 of his residence. 
 
 He died in 1812, at the surprising age of 112 years. 
 
 ANTHONY MAGLIABECRI. 
 
 A LEARNED Florentine, and librarian to the Grand 
 Duke of Tuscany, was born in Florence, October the 
 29th, 1633. His parents were of so low and mean o 
 rank, that they were very satisfied when they had pro- 
 cured him a service with a tnan who sold herbs and fruit. 
 He had never learned to read, and yet he Was perpetu- 
 ally poring over the leaves of Old book?, that were iis^d 
 as waste paper in his master's shop. A bookseller who 
 lived in the neighbourhood, and who had often observed 
 this, and kiie'W the boy could not read, asked him one 
 day, " What he meant by staring so much on printed 
 papers?" He said, "That he did not know how it was, 
 but ih'at he loved it of all things ; that he was very un- 
 easy in the business he was iu, and should be the 
 happiest creature in the world, if'hecould live with him, 
 who had always so many books about him." The book- 
 seller toas astonished, and yet pleased with his tumver; 
 and at last told him, thnt he should not be disinclined to 
 take him into his shop, if his master would be Willing m
 
 ANTHONY MAGIJABKCHf. 371 
 
 part with him. Young Magliabechi thanked him with 
 tears of joy; and his happiness was highly increased 
 when his master, on the bookseller's desire, gave him 
 leave to go where he pleased. He went, therefore, di- 
 rectly 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 could 
 himself. 
 
 Some lime after this he learned to read, and no 
 sooner had he made this acquisition, than he employed 
 every leisure moment in reading. He seems never to 
 have applied himself to any particular study. A passion 
 for reading was his ruling passion; and a. -prodigious 
 memory his great talent. He read every book almost 
 indiscriminately as they happened to come into his 
 hands : he went through them whh surprising quickness, 
 and yet retained not only the sense of what he read, 
 but often all the words, and the very manner of spelling 
 them, if there was any thing peculiar of that kind in 
 any author. 
 
 His extraordinary application and talents soon recom- 
 mended him to Ennini, and Marmi, librarians of the 
 Grand Duke of Tuscany. He was by them introduced 
 into the conversation of the learned, and made known 
 at court, and began lo be looked upon every where as a 
 prodigy, particularly for his vast and unbounded me- 
 mory. It is said, that a trial was made of the force of 
 his memory j which, if true, is very amazing. A gentle- 
 man at Florence, who had written a piece which was to 
 be printed, lent the manuscript 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 had lost 
 his manuscript. The author seemed almost inconsolable 
 for the loss of his work, and entreated Magliabechi, 
 whose character for remembering what he read was al- 
 ways very great, to try to recollect as much as he possibly
 
 372 ANTHONY MAGLIABECHI. 
 
 could, and write it down for him, against his next visit. 
 Magliabechi assured him he would, and, on setting 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 
 a in* nner, 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 his acquaintance expressed it, "An uni- 
 versal index both of titles and matter." He was so 
 famous for the vast extent of his reading, and his amaz- 
 ing retention of what he had read, that it began to grow 
 common among the learned to consult him, when they 
 were writiag on any subject. He would tell them not 
 only who had treated of their subject designedly, but of 
 such also as had touched upon it only accidentally, in 
 writing on other subjects, both which he did with the 
 greatest exactness, naming the author, the book, the 
 words, and often the very number of the page in which 
 their observations were inserted. He did this so often, 
 
 * Another instance of the remarkable faculty of memory is exem- 
 plified in one William Lyon, a strolling player, who one evening, 
 while taking his glass with some of his brother performers, proposed a 
 wager of a crown bowl of punch, that next morniiig, at rehearsal, he 
 vvoulci repeat a Daily Advertiser from beginning to end. The players 
 considering this as a mere boast, paid no great attention to it, but as 
 Lyon persisted in his offer, one of them at length accepted the wager. 
 Next morning at the rehearsal, conceiving thatas Lyon was intoxicated 
 the preceding night, he must certainly have forgotten the wager, he re- 
 minded him of the circumstance, at the same time rallying him for 
 bragging in such a ridiculous manner about his memory. Lyon, 
 however, pulled out the paper, desired him to look at it, and to judge 
 himsejf whether he did or did not win his wager. Notwithstanding 
 the discordance and want of connexion between the paragraphs, the 
 variety of advertisements and confused mass of heterogeneous matter 
 which composes a newspaper, he repeated it from beginning to end 
 without hesitation or mistake. 
 
 Lyon died at Edinburgh, where he frequently performed, about the 
 year 1748. Baker's Biographia Dramaticu.
 
 ANTHONY MAGLIABECHT. 373 
 
 so readily, and so exactly, that at last he was looked 
 upon almost as an oracle, for the ready and full answers 
 that he gave to all questions, that were proposed to him, 
 in any faculty or science whatever. 
 
 It was his great eminence this way, and his vast know- 
 ledge of books, that induced the Grand Duke Cosmo the 
 Third, to confer on him the appointment of librarian : 
 and what a happiness it must have been to Magliabechi, 
 who delighted 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 lso very conversant with the books 
 of the Lorenzo library ; and had the keeping of those of 
 Leopoldo and Francesco Maria, the two cardinals of 
 Tuscany ; and yet even all this did not satisfy his exten- 
 sive appetite. 
 
 To read such vast numbers as he did, he latterly made 
 use of a method as extraordinary as any thing hitherto 
 mentioned of him. When a book first came into hi* 
 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 divi- 
 sions, the different sections, or chapters, and then he 
 would be able to know what that book contained ; for 
 he remembered as steadily as he conceived rapidly. It 
 was after he had taken to this way of reading, that u 
 priest who had composed a panegyric on one -of his fa- 
 vourite 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?" Magliabechi 
 
 
 
 coolly answered, "Yes, fur 1 know very well every thing 
 that is in it." 
 
 Magliabechi had also a local memory of the places 
 where every book stood, and seems to have carried this 
 farther than only his relation to the collection of book*
 
 371 AXTHONr MAGLIABECHI. 
 
 with which he was personally acquainted. One dny the 
 grand duke sent for him, after he was his librarian, to 
 ask him, whether he could get him a book that \vas par- 
 ticularly scarce. " No, sir," answered Magliabt'chi, 
 *' It is impossible, for there i> but one in the world ; that 
 i* in the Grand Signior's library at Constantinople, and 
 is the seventh book on the second shelf on the right 
 hand as you go in." Though Magliabechi must have 
 lived so sedentary a life, with such an intense and almost 
 perpetual application to books, yet he attained to a good 
 old ago. He died in his eighty-first year, on July 14, 
 1714. 
 
 By his will he left a very fine library, of his owu 
 collection, for the use of the public, with a fund to 
 maintain it ; and whatever should remain, to the poor. 
 He was not an ecclesiastic, but chose never to marry ; 
 and was quite negligent, or rather quite slovenly in his 
 dress. His appearance was such, as must have been far 
 from engaging the affection of a lady, had he addressed 
 himself to any; nd his face in particular, us appears by" 
 the several representations of him, whether in his busts, 
 medals, pictures, or prints, would rather have prejudiced 
 bis suit than advanced it. He received his friends, and 
 those who came to consult him onuny points of literature, 
 in a civil and obliging manner, though in general he 
 had almost the air of a savage, and even affected it, 
 together with a cynical or contemptuous smile, which 
 scarcely rendered his look the more agreeable. 
 
 In his manner of living, he affected the character of 
 Diogenes; three hard eggs, and a draught or two of 
 water weie his usual repast. When any visitors went to 
 see him, they uaualiy found him lolling in a sort of fixed 
 wooden cradle, in the middle of his study, with a mul- 
 titude of books, some thrown in heaps, and others scat- 
 tered about the floor, all round him; and this his cradle, 
 or hed, was attached to the nearest piles of books, by a 
 number of cobweb?. At their entrance, he commonly
 
 ffl; 
 
 : V - // - s , v/
 
 ELIZABETH WOODCOCK, 375 
 
 used to call out to them not to hurt his spiders. An eld 
 cloak served him for a gown in the day, and for bed- 
 clothes at night : he had one straw chair for his tble, 
 ad another lor his bed, in which Ue continued fixed 
 hisbooks t4ll he was overpowered by sleep. 
 
 ELIZABETH WOODCOCK. 
 
 ELIZABETH WOOIXJOCK was the wife ef a sober indus- 
 trious farmer, who supported her and four childien by a 
 fnrun of about 30/. a )'ear, at t'.ie village of Impington., 
 about three miles from Cambridge. She went on horse- 
 back to Cambridge mar' ef, on Saturday, February $, 
 1"99, io se 'l some poultry, &c. and buy some necessaries 
 for her family. On her return home in the evening, 
 between six und seven o'clock, buinr; about half a mile 
 from her own house, i>er h-opse started at a sudden light, 
 which proceeded, mo $4, probably, i'rom a meteor, a pheno- 
 menon which, atthis&eason of the year, notunfrequemly 
 happens. She was herself struck with the light, and ex- 
 claimed, " Good God ! what can this be !" It was a very 
 inclement stormy night, a bleak wind blew boisterously '" 
 from the north-east. The ground was -covered by the 
 great quantities of snow that had fallen during the day, 
 yet it was not spread, uniformly, over the siufaee. The 
 deepest ditches were many of them compleirly filled u[>, 
 whilst in the open fields there was but a dim cov< 
 but in the roads and lanes, and many narrow mid en- 
 closed parts, it had ,-iccuu)iiJatt'd t<> a coivsideralilt nVpih, 
 no where yet so as to render the ways impossible, tuit 
 still chough to rct-ird'sind impede the travellef. The 
 horse, upon his starling, ran bitekaaul, and approir 
 to the brink of a diteh, which the poor woman n 
 lected, and, fearing lest tl>e animal in his fiiyLi
 
 376 ' ELIZABETH WOODCOCK. 
 
 plunge into it, very prudently dismounted with all ex- 
 pedition. Her intention was to walk, and. lead the 
 horse home ; but he started again, and broke from her. 
 She repeated her attempt to take hold of the bridle ; but 
 the horse, still under the impression of fear, turned 
 suddenly out of the road, and directed his steps to the 
 right over the common fields. She followed, in hopes 
 of quickly overtaking him, but, unfortunately, lost one 
 of her shoes in the snow. She was already wearied with 
 the exertion she had made, and besides, had a heavy 
 basket on her arm, containing several articles of domes- 
 tic consumption, which she had brought from market. 
 By these means her pursuit of the horse was greatly im- 
 peded ; she however persisted, and followed him through 
 an opening in a hedge, a little beyond which she over- 
 took him (about a quarter of a mile from the place she 
 alighted), and, taking hold of the bridle, made another 
 attempt to lead him home. But she had not retraced 
 her steps farther than a thicket, which lies contiguous 
 to the hedge, when she found herself so much fatigued 
 and exhausted, her hands and feet, particularly her left 
 foot, which was without a shoe, so very much benumbed, 
 that she was unable to proceed farther. Sitting down 
 upon the ground in this state, and letting go the bridle, 
 ** Tinker," she said, calling the horse by his name, " f 
 am too much tired to go any farther, you must go home 
 without me ;" and exclaimed, " Lord have mercy upon 
 me P 
 
 The ground on which she sat was upon a level with 
 the common field, close under the thicket on the south- 
 west. She well knew the situation of it, and what was 
 its distance from and bearing with respect to her own 
 house. There was then but a small quantity of snow 
 drifted near her ; but it was beginning to accumulate, 
 and did actually accumulate so rapidly, that, when 
 Chesterton bell rang at eight o'clock, she was completely 
 enclosed and hemmed in by it. The depth of the snow 
 
 19
 
 ELIZABETH WOODCOCK. 377 
 
 in which she was enveloped, was about six feet in a per- 
 pendicular direction ; over her head between two and 
 three". Her imprisonment was now complete, for she 
 was incapable of making any effectual attempt to extri- 
 cate herself, and, in addition to her fatigue and cold, 
 her clothes were stiffened by the frost. Resigning her- 
 self, therefore, calmly to the necessity of her bad situ- 
 ation, she sat awaiting the dawn of the following day. 
 To the best of her recollection, she slept very little 
 during the first night, or indeed, any of the succeeding 
 nights or days, except on Friday the eighth. Early the 
 next morning she distinctly heard the ringing of a bell 
 in one of the villages at a small distance. Her mind was 
 now turned to the thoughts of her preservation, and 
 busied itself in concerting expedients, by means of 
 which any one, who chanced to come near the place, 
 might discover her. On the morning of the third, the 
 first after her imprisonment, observing before her a cir- 
 cular hole in the snow, about two feet in length, 
 and half a foot in diameter, running obliquely upwards 
 through the mass, she broke off a branch of the bush, 
 which was close to her, and with it thrust her hand- 
 kerchief through the hole, and hung it, as a signal 
 of distress, upon one of jjhe uppermost twigs that re- 
 mained uncovered; an expedient that will be seen, in 
 the sequel, to have occasioned her discovery. She be- 
 thought herself, at the same time, that the change of 
 the moon was near; and having an almanack in her 
 pocket, shetook - it out, though with great difficulty, and 
 consulting it, found that there would be a new moon the 
 next day, February the 4th. The difficulty which she 
 found in getting the almanack out of her pocket arose, 
 in a great measure, from the stillness of her frozen 
 clothes. The trouble, however, wi\s compensated by the 
 consolation which the- prospect of so near a change in her 
 favour afforded. The extremity of the boh: was closed up 
 with a thin covering of snow or ice, on the (irsi morning, 
 VOL, I. 3 n
 
 378 ELIZABETH WOODCOCK. 
 
 which easily transmitted light. When she put out her 
 handkerchief she broke it; in consequence of which, 
 the external air being admitted, she felt herself very cold. 
 On the second morning it was again closed up in a similar 
 manner, and continued s-o till the third day, after which 
 time it remained open. 
 
 She perfectly distinguished the alterations of day and 
 night; heard the bells of her own and some of the 
 neighbouring villages several different times, particu- 
 larly that of Chesterton ;* was sensible of the living 
 scene around her, frequently noticing the sound of 
 carriages upon the road, the natural cries of animals, 
 such as the bleating of sheep and lambs, and the bark- 
 ing of dogs. One day she overheard a conversation 
 carried on by two gypsies, relative to an ass which they 
 had lost. She afterwards specified it was not their 
 asses in general terms, that they were talking about, but 
 some particular one; and her precision in this respect 
 was confirmed by the acknowledgment of the gypsies 
 themselves. She recollected having pulled out her snuff 
 box and taking two pinches of snuff; but, what is very 
 strange, she felt so little gratification from it, that she 
 never repeated it. A common observer would have ima- 
 gined the irritation arising from the snuff would have 
 been peculiarly grateful to her, and that, being deprived 
 of all other comforts, she would have solaced herself 
 with those which the box afforded, till the contents of 
 it were exhausted. Possibly, however, the cold she en- 
 dured might have so far blunted her powers of sensation 
 that the snuff no longer retained its stimulus. At another 
 lime, finding her left hand beginning to swell, in con- 
 sequence of her reclining, for a considerable time on 
 that arm, she look two rings, the tokens of her nuptial 
 vows, twice pledged, from her finger, and put them, 
 
 * Chesterton bell rings every night at eight o'clock, and four in (lie 
 morning, during the winter half of (he year, Sundays exccpU-d, and 
 is at the distance of near two miles uomtlie place where she sat.
 
 ELIZABETH WOODCOCK. 
 
 together with a little money which she had in her pocket, 
 into a small box, sensibly judging that, should sh not be 
 found aliye, the rings and money, being thus deposited, 
 were less likely to be overlooked by the discoverers of 
 her breathless corpse. She frequently shouted out in 
 hopes that her vociferations reaching the ears of any 
 that chanced to pass that way, they might be drawn to 
 the 1 spot where she was. But the snow so far prevented 
 the transmission of her voice, that no one heard her. 
 The gypsies, who passed nearer to her than any other 
 person, were not sensible of any sound proceeding from 
 her snow-formed cavern, though she particularly en- 
 deavoured to attract their attention. 
 
 When the period of her seclusion approached to a 
 termination, and a thaw took place on the Friday after 
 the commencement of her misfortunes, she felt uncom- 
 monly faint and languid ; her clothes were wet quite 
 through by the melted snow ; the aperture before men- 
 tioned became considerably enlarged, and tempted her 
 to make an effort to release herself: but, alas ! it was a 
 vain attempt; her strength was too much impaired ; her 
 feet and legs were no longer obedient to her will, and 
 her clothes were become very much heavier by the water 
 which they had imbibed. And now, for the first time, 
 she began to despair of ever being discovered or taken 
 out alive; and declares that, all things considered, she 
 could not have survived a continuation of her 'Sufferings 
 for the space of twenty-four hours longer. It was now 
 that the morning of her emancipation was arrived, her 
 sufferings increased ; she sat with one of her hands 
 spread over her face, and fetched the deepest sighs ; her 
 breath was short and difficult, and symptoms of ap- 
 proaching dissolution became every hour more alarming. 
 The cavity in which she was confined was sufficiently 
 hir^e to afford her space enouuli to move herself about 
 three or four inehus in ;iv direction, but not to stand
 
 386 ELIZAIJETH WOODCOCK. 
 
 upright, being only about three feet and a half in height, 
 and two in the broadest part. 
 
 On Sunday the 10th of February, Joseph Muncey, a 
 young farmer, in his way home from Cambridge, about 
 half-past twelve o'clock, crossed over the open field, and 
 passed very near the spot where the woman was. A 
 coloured handkerchief, hanging upon the tops of the 
 twigs, where it was before said she had suspended it, 
 caught his eye; he walked up to the place, and espied 
 an opening in-the snow. It was the very aperturewhich 
 led to the prisoner's apartment. He heard a sound 
 issue from it, similar to that of a person breathing hard 
 and with difficulty. He looked in, and saw a female 
 figure ; whom he recognised to be the identical woman 
 who had been so long missing. He did not speak to 
 her, but, seeing another young farmer and the shepherd 
 at a little distance, he communicated to them the dis- 
 covery he had made. Upon which, though they scarcely 
 gave any credit to his report, they went with him to the 
 spot. The shepherd called out " Are you there, Elizabeth 
 Woodcock r" She replied, in a very faint and feeble 
 accent, *' Dear John Stittle, I know your voice; for 
 God's sake help me out of this place !" Every effort was 
 immediately made to comply with her request. Stittle 
 made his way through the snow till he was able to reach 
 her; she eagerly grasped his hand, and implored him 
 not to leave her. " I have been here a long time," she 
 observed. "Yes," answered the man, "ever since Sa- 
 turday." "Aye, Saturday week/' she replied ; " I have 
 heard the bells go two Sundays for church." An obser- 
 vation which demonslrably proves how well apprized 
 she was of the duration of her confinement. 
 
 Muncey, and the younger Merrington, during this 
 conversation, were gone to the village to inform the 
 husband, and to procure proper means for conveving 
 her home. They quickly returned, in company with,
 
 ELIZABETH WOODCOCK. 
 
 her husband, some of the neighbours, and the elder 
 Merrington, who brought with him his horse and chaise- 
 cart, blankets to wrap her in, and some refreshment, 
 which he took it for granted she would stand in peculiar 
 need of. The snow being a little more cleared away, 
 Air. M. went up to her, and, upon her entreaty, gave her 
 a piece of biscuit, and a small quantity of brandy, from 
 both of which she found herself greatly recruited. As 
 he took her up to put her into the chaise, the stocking 
 of the left leg, adhering to the ground, came off. She 
 fainted in his arms, notwithstanding he moved her with 
 all the caution in his power. But nature was very much 
 exhausted; and the motion, added to the impression 
 which the sitjht of her husband and neighbours made 
 
 O O 
 
 upon her, was too much fur her strength and spirit:-. 
 The fit, however, was but of short continuance; and 
 when she recovered, he laid her gently in the carriage, 
 covered her over with the blankets, and conveyed her, 
 without delay or interruption, to her own house. 
 
 When the horse came home, her husband and another 
 person set out on ihe road with a lantern, and went quite 
 to Cambridge, where they only learnt that she left the 
 inn at six that evening. They explored the road afresh 
 I hat night, and for four succeeding days, and searched 
 the huts of the gypsies, whom they suspected might 
 have robbed and murdered her, in vain, till she was un- 
 expectedly discovered in the manner already mentioned. 
 Mr. Okes, a surgeon, first saw her in the cart, as she was 
 removing home. She spoke to him with a voice toler- 
 ably strong, but rather hoarse, her hands and arms were 
 soddc'ii, but not very cold, though her k-gs and feet were, 
 and the latter, in a great measure, mortified. She was 
 immediately put to btd, and weak broth given her occa- 
 sionally. From the time of her being lost she had < 
 only snow, and believes she had not slept till Friday the 
 etgbtb. The hurry of spirits, occasioned l>v too many 
 visitors, rendued her fcvoi.-h; and her feel were found
 
 382 ELIZABETH WOODCOCK. 
 
 to be completely mortified, from being frost-bitten 
 before she was covered with snow. She was so disturbed 
 with company that Mr. Okes had little hopes of her re- 
 covery. 
 
 The cold had extended its violent effects from the end 
 of the toes to the middle of the instep, including more 
 than an inch above the heels, and all the bottom of the 
 feet, which were mortified, were poulticed with stale 
 beer and oatmeal boiled together. Inward cold, as she 
 called it, affected her, and she desired that the cata- 
 plasms might be renewed as often as possible, and very 
 warm. The IQth and 20th she was seized with violent 
 diarrhoea, which occasioned great weakness ; and, two 
 days after, several toes were so loose as to be removed by 
 scissars. The 23d she was taken up without fainting. 
 All the toes were removed, and the integuments from 
 the bottom of one foot, except a piece at the heel, which 
 was so Ions: ere it loosened itself that the os calcis and 
 
 o 
 
 tendo Achillis had suffered. The sloughs on the other 
 foot were thrown off more slowly, and two of the toes 
 removed. All but one great toe was removed by the 
 17th; arrd, on removing the sloughs from the heels, the 
 bone was bare in many places; and wherever the morti- 
 fication had taken place, was one large sore, very tender. 
 The sores were much diminished, and the great toe taken, 
 off, by the end of March, and an unusual sleepiness 
 came on. By April 17th, the sores were free from 
 slough, and daily lessened; her appetite tolerably good, 
 and her general health began to amend ; but, with all 
 these circumstances in her favour, she felt herself to be 
 very uncomfortable; and in fact, her prospect was most 
 miserable ; for though her life was saved, the mutilated 
 state in which she was left, without even a chance of 
 ever being able to attend to the duties of her family, 
 was almost worse than death itself; for, from the ex- 
 posure of tlii:' os calcis, in all probability it would have 
 some months before ilic bottoms of her feet
 
 ELIZABETH WOODCOCK. 
 
 could be covered wrtli new skin : and after all, they 
 would have been so tender as not to bear any pressure; 
 the loss too of all her toes must have made it impos- 
 sible for her to move herself, but with the assistance of 
 crutches. 
 
 Soon after the violence of the fever had abated, there 
 appeared all over her body, arms, and face, broad red- 
 dish blotches, which Mr. Okes judged to be from the 
 same cause as produces chilblains. 
 
 Her position in the snow, was that of a person laying 
 against a frather steep) bank, a little on her left side, 
 and her head inclined to her right shoulder. After 
 many attempts, she got her right hand to her face, and 
 pushed the snow from it, condensing it in a cave-like 
 form round her face ; she also got her left hand so far al 
 liberty as to bring it to her face. She felt no hunger 
 from the time she was immersed in the snow, nor any of 
 the calls of nature excepting thirst, which she relieved 
 about every half hour by eating the hardest morsels of 
 snow she could get. She never was in darkness, but 
 could plainly distinguish clay from night, and the dif- 
 ferent parts of the day. The elbow of her right arm 
 lying against a branch of a bush, it was very much 
 bruised by her striving to get it at libert}'. 
 
 An account of her providential preservation was pub- 
 lished at Cambridge in two parts. The first by the Rev. 
 Mr. Ilulme, minister of her parish; the second by her 
 surgeon, Mr. Thomas Verney Okes, the book was pub- 
 lished for her benefit, and went through two editions. 
 
 This unfortunate woman closed a lingeimg existence 
 on July 13, 1799, and we are sorry to add, that loo fre- 
 quent indulgence of spirituous liquors was supposed to 
 have been the cause both of the accident and its fatal 
 consequences.* 
 
 * The miraculous preservation of K.i/. .brili WooflcoClc, is to he 
 
 :ist lihcd to tin- great warmth and nutritious quality ot tin MKJU of
 
 384 ELIZABETH WOODCOCK. 
 
 The facts before us seem strong reasons for enforcing 
 the directions given by the Humane Society, and agreed 
 on by all medical men, as to the treatment of persons 
 suffering from intense cold, or long abstinence from 
 food. The application of heat to the human body after 
 intense cold is attended with the most dreadful conse- 
 quences ; it always produces extreme pain, and most 
 frequently, either partial or general mortification of the 
 parts to which the heat is applied ; instead, therefore, of 
 allowing patients of this description to come near a fire, 
 let the limbs be rubbed well with snow, or, if snow can- 
 not be procured, let them be immersed into cold water, 
 and afterwards chafed with flannel for a considerable 
 length of time; and, to diminish the force of fever 
 (which, in the case of Elizabeth Woodcock, had nearly 
 been fatal), let the party be restrained most cautiously 
 from taking too much nutritious food. Spirits, likewise, 
 or wine, should on no pretence whatever be ad ministered 
 till they have first been copiously diluted with water. 
 Great attention must be paid to the state of the bowels; 
 and, in case of having suffered long abstinence from 
 food, clysters of meat broth will be found to be, in 
 
 this certain fact, we are not without many astonishing and convincing 
 proofs. That persons can subsist on snow, and on water, for many 
 days, is also evident: a remarkable instance of which occurred on 
 Wednesday, November the 22d, 1820. Some children passing a 
 dry well in a field, in the parish of Dodclington, heard a voice which 
 much frightened them; on examination it was found to proceed from 
 a young woman of the name of CECILIA STEF.KS, who accidentally fell 
 in on the eighth as she was going to Rodmersham to see her mother : 
 the poor girl had nothing to live on the fifteen days and nights, but a 
 little snow water, which she collected in a hole she made at the 
 bottom of the wejl for that purpose: the well was thirty feet deep, 
 and had been made for the purpose of obtaining chalk. 
 
 Another instance is likewise on record of three women who sur- 
 vived after being buried thirty-seven days in the snow at BergemoleUo, 
 in Italy, in the year 1765. This is attested by Mons. Somis. 
 
 19
 
 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON 1 . 
 
 every respect, of great utility. The use of opium and 
 camphor is much to be recommended, though perhaps 
 it may be advisable to give the opium, at first, in very 
 small doses only. The Peruvian bark will certainly be 
 found serviceable in the course of the cure of mortifica- 
 tions : but it ought not to be directed till suppuration 
 has come on. 
 
 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 X* EW females have, in their time, attracted so large a 
 portion of public notice as this celebrated lady, who 
 was the daughter of Colonel Chudleigh, the descendant 
 of an ancient family in the county of Devon. Her 
 father dying while she was very young, the care of this, 
 his only daughter, devolved on her mother, who had little 
 more than the usual pension allotted to the widow of 
 an officer for their mutual subsistence. Under these cir- 
 cumstances, Mrs. Chudleigh prudently availed herself of 
 the best substitute for money good connexions. These, 
 the rank, situation, and habits of her husband had 
 placed within her power. She hired a house fit, at that 
 less refined period, for a fashionable town residence; and 
 accommodated an inmate for the purpose of adding to 
 the scantiness of her income. 
 
 Her daughter Elizabeth was soon distinguished for a 
 
 O 
 
 brilliancy of repartee, and for other qualities highly re- 
 commendatory, because extremely pleasing. An oppor- 
 tunity offered for the display of them to c.verv advantage. 
 The father of King George the Third, had his couit at 
 Leicesier-house. Mr. Pulteney, who then blazed ;\s a 
 meteor in the opposition, was honoured with the par- 
 titular regard of the Prince of Wales. Miss Cluxlkmli 
 was introduced to Mr. Pultenoy, and he obtained for her, 
 at the age of about eighteen, liie appointment <;l ui;ud 
 
 VOL. I. '
 
 386 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 of honour to the Princess of Wales; but he did more 
 than thus place her in an elevated station ; he endeavour- 
 ed to cultivate her understanding; to him Miss Chud- 
 leigh read ; and with him, when separated by distance, 
 actually corresponded. Some improvement she obtained 
 by this advantage, but the extreme vivacity of her dis- 
 position prevented her from making any considerable 
 acquirements. Her maxim on every subject was, ac- 
 cording to her own expression, to be " short, clear, and 
 surprising;" a voluminous author was, consequently, her 
 aversion; and a prolix story, however interesting, dis- 
 gusted her, merely from the circumstance of its prolixity. 
 With such a pupil Mr. Pulteney could laugh, and, in 
 despair of his literary instruction making any deep im- 
 pression on the mind of his adopted fair one, he changed 
 the scene, and endeavoured to initiate her in the science 
 of economy instead of books. 
 
 The station to which Miss Chudleigh was advanced, 
 combined with many personal attractions, produced her 
 a number of admirers : pome with titles, and others in 
 the expectation of them. Among the former was his 
 grace the Duke of Hamilton, whom Miss Gunning hsvd 
 afterwards the good fortune to obtain for a consort. 
 The duke was passionately fond of Miss Chudleigh, and 
 pressed his suit with such ardour, as to obtain a solemn 
 engagement on her part, that on his return from a tour, 
 for which he was preparing, she would become his wife. 
 There were reasons why tins event should not immedi- 
 ately take place ; that the engagement would be fulfilled 
 at the specified time, both parties considered as a moral 
 certainty. A mutual pledge was given and accepted ; 
 the duke commenced his proposed tour, and the parting 
 condition was, that he should write by every opportu- 
 nity ; and Miss Chudleigh, of course, to answer his 
 epistles. Thus the arrangement of fortune seemed to 
 have united a pair, who possibly might have experinced 
 much happiness in the union; for between the Duke of
 
 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 387 
 
 Hamilton and Miss Chudleigh there was a similarity of 
 disposition. Fate, however, had not destined them for 
 each other. 
 
 Miss Chudleigh had an aunt whose name was Han- 
 mer; at her house the Hon. Mr. Hervey, son of the Earl 
 of Bristol, and a captain in the royal navy, was a 
 visitor. To this gentleman, Mrs. Hantner became so ex- 
 ceedingly partial, that she favoured his views on her 
 niece, and engaged her efforts to effect, if possible, 
 a matrimonial connexion. There were two difficul- 
 ties which would have been insurmountable, had 
 they not been opposed by the fertile genius of a fe- 
 male. Miss Chudleigh disliked Captain Hervey, and 
 she was betrothed to the Duke of Hamilton; to ren- 
 der this alliance nugatory, the letters of his grace 
 were intercepted by Mrs. Hanmer ; and his supposed 
 silence giving offence to her niece, she worked so suc- 
 cessfully on her pride, as to induce her to abandon all 
 thoughts. of her lover, whose passion she had cherished 
 with delight. A conduct the reverse of that imputed to 
 the duke was observed by Captain Hervey ; he was all 
 that assiduity could dictate, or attention perform. He 
 had daily access to Miss Chudleigh, and each interview 
 was artfully improved by the aunt, to the promotion of 
 her own views. The letters of his Grace of Hamilton, 
 which regularly arrived, were as regularly suppressed ; 
 until, piqued beyond endurance, Miss Chudleigh was 
 prevailed on to accept the hand of Captain Hervey; 
 and, by a private marriage, to ensure the participation 
 of his future honours and fortune. The ceremony was 
 performed in a private chapel adjoining the country 
 mansion of Mr. Merrill, at Lainston, near Winchester, 
 in Hampshire. 
 
 On a review of life, the predominant evil experienced 
 may be easily traced, by every reflecting mind, to some 
 wilful error, or injudicious my. take, operating as a deter- 
 minate cans* 1 , and giving the colour to our fate. This
 
 388 THE DUCHESS OP KINGSTON. 
 
 was the case with Miss Chudleigh ; for the hour she be- 
 came united with Captain Hervey proved to her the 
 origin of every subsequent unhappiness. The connubial 
 rights were attended with unhappy consequences, and, 
 from the night following the day on which the marriage 
 was solemnized, Miss Chudleigh resolved never to have 
 further connexion with her husband. To prevail on him 
 not to claim her as his wife, required all the art of which 
 she was mistress, and the best dissuasive argument was 
 the loss of her situation as maid of honour, should the 
 marriage be publicly known. The finances of Captain 
 Hervey not enabling him, at the time, to compensate 
 such a loss, this, most probably, operated as a pruden- 
 tial motive for his yielding to the entreaties of his wife ; 
 which he did, in a manner that at times indicated 
 a strong desire to play the tyrant. In fact, as she fre- 
 quently expressed herself: "Her misery commenced 
 with the arrival of Captain Hervey in England, and the 
 greatest joy she experienced was the intelligence of his 
 departure." Hence, while the ship remained at Spit- 
 head or in the Downs, she trembled with apprehension 
 lest the destination might be countermanded. A fail- 
 wind out of the Channel was the soother of her mind ; 
 and she was always extremely inquisitive as to the dura- 
 tion of the voyage, or cruise, as well as to the probable 
 intervening accidents which might still retard it. Such 
 were some of the immediate consequences of an union, 
 brought about by artifice, effected clandestinely, and 
 originating, in the one party from pique, and in the 
 other from a more reprehensible passion. 
 
 Miss Chudleigh, now Mrs. Hervey, a maid in appear- 
 ance, a wife in disguise, seemed to those whojudge from 
 external appearance only, to be in a most enviable situ- 
 ation. Of the higher circles, she was the attractive 
 centre ; of gayer life, the invigorating spirit. Her royal 
 mistress not only smiled on, but actually approved her. 
 A few friendships she cemented, and conquests she made
 
 THE DUCHESS OP KINGSTON. 389 
 
 in such abundance, that, like Caesar in triumph, she had 
 a train of captives at her heels; yet, with all this ap- 
 pearance of happiness, she wanted that, without which 
 there is no happiness on earth peace of mind. Her 
 husband, quieted for a time, grew obstreperous as she 
 became more the object of admiration; and feeling his 
 right, was determined to assert it. She endeavoured, by 
 letters, JLO soothe him into peace; but her efforts were 
 not successful ; and he demanded an interview, enforcing 
 his demand by threats of exposure in case of refusal ; she 
 was thefore obliged to comply. The meeting was at the 
 apartment of Capt. Hervey ; a black servant only was in 
 the house. On entering the room where he was, his 
 first care was to prevent her retreat by locking the door. 
 This interview ended, like every other which she had with 
 Capt. Hervey, unhappily for her. The fruit of it being 
 the addition of a boy to the human race. Miss Chud- 
 leigh removed to Chelsea for a change of air, and re- 
 turned to Leicester-house perfectly recovered from her 
 indisposition. The infant soon sinking into the arms of 
 death, left only the tale of its existence to be related. 
 
 While these and a variety of other circumstances were 
 passing between Miss Chudleigh and her husband, the 
 Duke of Hamilton arrived from his travels. He lost not 
 a moment in paying his, homage to the idol of his airec- 
 tions, and obtaining an explanation of the reason why 
 his letters were unanswered. Flighty as he was in other 
 respects, to Miss Chudleigh his constancy remained un- 
 shaken. The interview developed the whole, and placed 
 Mrs. Uanmer in her true light, that of the authoress of 
 mischief. But, as a palliation of past evil, the duke 
 inade a generous tender of his hand, where his heart was 
 already centered. The rejection of this ofler, which it 
 was impossible to accept, and almost as impossible t 
 explain the reason, why it was rejected, occasioned envo- 
 lions in the duke, which tlu. imagination may conceive- 
 better than the pen explain. Miss Chudleigh was even
 
 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 compelled to prohibit his visits. Several other nobles 
 experienced a similar fate. This astonished the fashion- 
 able world : and the mother of Miss Cbudleigh, who was 
 a total stranger to the private marriage of her daughter, 
 reprehended her folly in proper terms. 
 
 In order to relieve herself, at least for a time, from the 
 embarrassments which environed her, Miss Chudleigh 
 determined to travel, and embarked for the Continent, 
 chosing Germany for the theatre of her perigrinations. 
 She resided some time at Berlin, then went to Dresden ; 
 and, as she aspired to the acquaintance of crowned 
 heads, she was gratified by that of the Great Frederic of 
 Prussia, who not only conversed but corresponded with 
 her. In the Eleclress of Saxony she found a friend, 
 whose affection for her continued to the latest period of 
 life. The electress was. a woman of sense, honour, vir- 
 tue, and religion. Her letters were replete with kind- 
 ness ; while her hand distributed presents to Miss Chud- 
 leigh out of the treasury of abundance, her heart was in- 
 terested for her happiness. This she afterwards evinced 
 during her prosecution; for, at that time, a letter from 
 
 the electress contained the following passage : " You 
 
 have long experienced my love ; my revenue, my pro- 
 tection, my every thing you may command. Come then, 
 my dear life, to an asylum of peace. Quit a country 
 where, if you are bequeathed a cloak, some pretender 
 may start up and ruin you by law to prove it not your 
 property Let me have you at Dresden." 
 
 On her return from the Continent, Miss Chudleigh 
 ran the career of pleasure, enlivened the court circles, 
 and each year became more ingratiated with the mistress 
 whom she served; she was the leader of fashion; 
 played whist with Lord Chesterfield, and revelled with 
 Lady Harrington and Miss Ashe. She was a constant 
 visitant at all public places, and in 1742, appeared at a 
 masked ball in the character of Iphigenia. 
 
 Reflection, however put off for. the day, too frequently
 
 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 intruded an unwelcome visit at night. Captain Hervey, 
 like a perturbed spirit, was eternally crossing the path 
 trodden by his wile. If in the rooms at Bath, he was 
 sure to be there. At a rout, ridotto, or ball, this de- 
 stroyer of peace embittered every pleasure, and blighted 
 the fruit of happiness by the mahignancy of his presence. 
 As a proof of his disposition to annoy, he menaced hie 
 wife with an intimation that he would disclose the 
 marriage to the Princess of Wales. In this Miss Chud- 
 leigh anticipated him, by being the first relatcr of the 
 circumstance. Her royal unstress pitied her, and con- 
 tinued her patronage to the hour of her death. 
 
 At length stratagem was either suggested, or it oc- 
 curred to Miss Chudleigh, at once to deprive Captain 
 Hervey of the power to claim her as his wife. The 
 clergyman who had married them was dead. The 
 register-book was in careless hands. A handsome com- 
 pliment was paid for the inspection, and while the per- 
 son in whose custody it was listened to an amusing 
 story, Miss Chudleigh tore out the register. Thus ima- 
 gining the business accomplished, she for a time bade 
 defiance to her husband, whose taste for the softer sex 
 subsiding from some unaccountable cause, occasioned 
 Miss Chudleigh a cessation of inquietude. Her better 
 fate influenced in her favour the heart of a man who was 
 the exemplar of amiability: this was the late Duke of 
 Kingston. Meanwhile Capt. Hervey had succeeded to 
 the earldom of Bristol. With rank he obtained fortune; 
 and both were inviting objects to the mind of our heroine. 
 When a succession to the. family honours and revenue, 
 became highly .probable, a short period before it took 
 place, Mi- Chudleigh went to the house of Mr. Merrill, 
 in whose chapel ohe was married. Her o>.tensib!e n 
 was a jaunt out of town ; her real design was to procure, 
 if possible, the insertion of her marriage with Captain 
 Hervey in the book, wliicli, in order to destroy the 
 written evidence of that marriage, she had formerly mu-
 
 -392 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 tilated. With this view she dealt out promises with a 
 liberal hand. The officiating clerk, who was a person of 
 various avocations, was to be promoted to the extent of 
 his wishes. The book was managed by the lady to her 
 content, and she returned to London, secretly exult- 
 ing in the excellence and success of her machination. 
 She did, it is true, succeed, but it was laying the ground- 
 work of that very evidence which operated afterwards to 
 her conviction. 
 
 Such was the situation of Miss Chudleigh, when the 
 Duke of Kingston became her admirer. Re-married, as 
 it were, by her own stratagem, the participation of ducal 
 honours became legally impossible. The chains of wed- 
 lock, which the lady had been so industrious in shaking 
 off, or putting on, as seemed most suitable to her views, 
 were now galling to an excess. Every advice was taken, 
 but the means of liberation were beyond the power of 
 human device. To acquiesce in that which could not be 
 remedied, seemed the only alternative. The Duke of 
 Kingston's attachment was ardent, and truly sincere. 
 He mingled the friend with the lover; nor was there an 
 endearing title under heaven he would not have assumed, 
 could but the assumption have really advanced the hap- 
 piness of Miss Chudleigh. For a series of years they 
 cohabited, yet with such observance of external decorum, 
 that, although their intimacy was a moral, it was not an 
 evidenced certainty. That the felicity of the duke was 
 in any measure promoted by this union, cannot be as- 
 serted consistently with truth. The characters of the 
 parties were diametrically opposite. The duke was mild, 
 gracious, unassuming, and bashful in the extreme. He 
 had every grace that is expected in a man of rank. 
 Ostentation he so much detested, that it was his custom' 
 in perambulating the streets to fold back the front of his 
 coat, so as to hide the star; and whenever by accident 
 it was discovered, the disclosure caused an involuntary 
 blush. His lady possessed very different qualities. In 
 
 19
 
 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 393 
 
 ociferating anger she might have vied with Juno. She 
 was ostentatious to an excess; and so little refined were 
 her feelings, that the grossest flattery was an animating 
 cordial to her spirits; it revived her, when more rational 
 succours failed of effect. Thus contrarily gifted and dis- 
 posed, the duke and Miss Chudleigh was frequently on 
 discordant terms but she had a strong hold on his mind, 
 and the use made of it was finally to ruin herself. 
 
 The Earl of Bristol, by time and attachments, had 
 grown so weary of the connubial stale, as to be cordi- 
 ally desirous of a change. At first, when sounded on the 
 subject of a divorce, he said, her vanity should not be 
 gratified by being a duchess. Afterwards, however, 
 there being a lady to whom he wished to offer his hand, 
 he so altered his tone, as to express a readiness to con- 
 sent to any possible means of annihilating the union 
 subsisting between him and Miss Chudleigh. The civi- 
 lians were consulted, a^jactitalion suit was instituted, but 
 the evidence that could prove the marriage was kept 
 back. Lord Bristol failing, as it was designed he should 
 fail, in subtantiating the marriage, a sentence of the 
 court, pronouncing the nullity of the claim, concluded 
 tin 1 business. The object now to be obtained was, a 
 legal opinion as to the operative power of such a sen- 
 tence ; and the civilians, highly tenacious of the rights 
 of their own courts, adjudged the decree not liable to 
 be disturbed by the interference of any extrinsic court 
 of judicature. Under conviction of perfect safety, 
 therefore, the marriage between his Grace of Kingston 
 and Miss Chudleigh was publicly solemnized. The 
 favours were worn by the highest personages in the kin- 
 dom ; iind, during the life of the duke, not any attempt 
 was made to dispute the legality of the procedure. 
 The fortune was not entailed ; his grace had, therefore, 
 the opii'oti to bequeath it as seemed best to his own in- 
 clination. The heirs since, , were t^en expectants; the 
 claims rested on hope, not certainty. The duchess 
 
 VOL. i. 3 i>
 
 394 THE DUCHESS OP KINGSTON. 
 
 figured without apprehension or control. She was raised 
 to the pinnacle of her fortune, and for a very few years 
 did she enjoy that which the chicanery of her life had 
 been directed to accomplish, the parade of title, with- 
 out that honour which integrity of character alone can 
 ennoble. 
 
 To check her in the career of enjoyment, and finally 
 put an end to all her greatness, the Duke of Kingston 
 died. His will, excluding from every benefit an elder, 
 and preferring a younger nephew as his heir in tail, gave 
 rise to a prosecution of the duchess, which ended in the 
 beggary of her prosecutor, and the exile of herself. 
 The demise of the Duke of Kingston was not sudden or 
 unexpected; being attacked with a paralytic affection, 
 he lingered but a short time, and that time was employed 
 by his consort in journeying his grace about, under the 
 futile idea of prolonging his life by change of air and 
 situation. At last, when real danger seemed to threaten, 
 even in the opinion of the duchess, she dispatched one 
 of her swiftest-footed messengers to her solicitor, Mr. 
 Field, of the Tem-ple, requiring his immediate atlend- 
 dance; he obeyed the summons, and, arriving at the 
 house, the duchess privately imparted her wishes, which 
 were, that he would procure the duke to execute, and 
 he himself a subscribing witness to, a will made without 
 his knowledge, and more to the taste of the duchess, 
 'than that which he had executed. The difference be- 
 tween these two wills was this; the duke had bequeath- 
 ed the income of his estates to his relict during her life, 
 and expressly under condition of her continuing in a 
 state of widowhood. Perfectly satisfied, however, as the 
 duchess appeared, with whatever was the inclination of 
 her dearest lord, she could not resist the seeming oppor- 
 tunity of carrying her secret wishes into effect. She did 
 not relish the temple of Hymen being shut against her. 
 Earnestly., therefore, did she press Mr. Field to have her 
 own will immediately executed, which leJiher atlibeity
 
 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 395 
 
 ' 
 
 to give lier hand to the conqueroi of her heart. The 
 duchess, in her anxiety to have the restraint shaken off, 
 had nearly deprived herself of every benefit derivable 
 from the demise of the duke. When Mr. Field was in- 
 troduced to his grace, his intellects were perceptibly af- 
 fected ; he knew the friends who approached him, and 
 a transient knowledge of their persons was the only in- 
 dication of mental exertion which seemed to be left him. 
 Mr. Field very properly remonstrated on the impropriety 
 of introducing a will for execution to a man in such a state. 
 This occasioned a severe reprehension from the duchess, 
 who reminded him that his business was only to obey the 
 instructions of his employer; feeling, however, for his 
 professional character, he positively refused either to 
 tender the will, or be in any manner concerned in en- 
 deavouring to procure the execution. With this refusal 
 he quitted the house, the duchess beholding him with an 
 indignant eye as the annoyer of her scheme, when, 
 in fact, by not complying with it, he was rendering her 
 an esseniial service; for, hud the will she proposed been 
 executed, it would most indubitably have been set aside. 
 The heirs would consequently have excluded the relict 
 from every thing, except that to which the right of 
 dower entitled her ; and, the marriage being invalidated, 
 the lad} r in this, as in other respects, would have been 
 ruined by her own stratagem. Soon after the frustration 
 of this attempt the Duke of Kingston expired. 
 
 No sooner were the funeral rites performed, than the 
 duchess adjusted her affairs, and embarked for the Con- 
 tinent, proposing Home for her temporary residence. 
 Ganganelli at that time filled the papal see. From the 
 moderation of his principles, the tolerant spirit which he 
 on every occasion displayed, and the marked attention 
 he bestowed on the English, he acquired the title of the 
 Protestant Pope; to such a character the duchess wns u 
 welcome visitor. Gan&anelli treated her with the utmost 
 
 O 
 
 civility, gave her, as a sovereign prince, many privi-
 
 396 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 
 
 leges, and she was lodged in the palace of one of the 
 cardinals; her vanity being thus gratified, her grace, in 
 return, treated the Romans with a public spectacle. She 
 had built an elegant pleasure-yacht; a gentleman who 
 had served in the navy, was the commander; under her 
 orders he sailed for Italy; and the vessel, at consider- 
 able trouble and some expense, was* conveyed up the 
 Tiber. The sight of an English yacht, there, was un- 
 common, it drew the people in crowds to the shore, and 
 the applause was general through the city. This seemed 
 to be the aera of festivity and happiness; but, while the 
 hark floated triumphantly on the undulation of the Tiber, 
 a business was transacting in England, which put an end 
 to all momentary bliss. 
 
 Mrs. Cradock, who, in the capacity of a domestic, had 
 been present during the ceremony of marriage between 
 Miss Chudleigh and Lord Bristol, found herself so re- 
 duced in circumstances that she applied to Mr. Field for 
 pecuniary relief. He saw her, and most injudiciously 
 refused her every succour ; in vain she urged her distress, 
 and the absence of the duchess, who was the only per- 
 son on whose munificence she had the justest claim. 
 Field was deaf to her entreaties; she then told him what 
 was in her power to discover. To many circumstances 
 which she related he was an entire stranger, and he affect- 
 ed to discredit the rest. Mrs. Cradock ended the interview 
 with a menace that she would make the relations of the 
 Duke of Kingston acquainted with every important par- 
 ticular. Field set her at defiance : and, thus exposed to 
 penury, she was exasperated to vengeance, and instantly 
 set about the work of ruin. 
 
 His Grace of Kingston had borne a marked dislike to 
 one of his nephews, Mr. Evelyn Meadows, one of the 
 sons of his sister, Lady Frances Pierpoint. This gentle- 
 man being excluded from the presumptive heirship, joy- 
 fully received the information that a method of doing 
 himself substantial justice yet remained. He saw Mrs.
 
 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 397 
 
 Cradock ; heard the detail of evidence which she 
 offered: and perfectly satisfied as to its accuracy, he had 
 a bill of indictment, for bigamy, preferred against the 
 reputed widow of the Duke of Kingston, and the bill 
 was found. Mr. Field had notice of the procedure, and 
 the duchess was properly advised to return instantly to 
 England and appear to the indictment, to prevent an 
 outlawry. 
 
 An immediate return to England was the only measure 
 that could now be adopted by her grace, who on re- 
 covering the little of her judgment which was left, 
 drove to the house of Mr. Jenkins, at that time banker 
 to all the British travellers who visited the Roman capi- 
 tal. The opponents of the duchess endeavoured to pre- 
 vent her return to England, by a species of artful 
 policy, exactly suited to the lady with whom they had to 
 deal. The duchess had placed securities in the hands of 
 Mr. Jenkins for the sums she might occasionally require, 
 and he was perfectly safe in regard to any advance he 
 might make. Yet, apprized that the duchess would call 
 on him for money to defray the expense of her journey 
 to England, he avoided seeing her. On the first an- 
 nouncement of his not being at home, it was passed 
 over as a mere unfortunate incident: but on the visits 
 being repeated, and the denials being as frequent, the 
 conduct was justly imputed to design. The scheme was 
 to delay the return of the duchess, so that an outlawry 
 might be obtained, which, in the eye of imagination, 
 appeared the probable method of acquiring the cstau s <>l 
 the late duke; this was foil)', because the will of his 
 grace, in his own hand-writing, was so guarded, as not 
 to be attacked with the remotest possibility of sue 
 Such, however, was the idea; and, from whatever pre- 
 sumable motive il originated, Mr. Jenkins assuredly co- 
 incided in the plan. Aware of this, the duchess was 
 incessant in her applications-, and, finding all her efforts 
 to sec Mr. Jenkins fail, she pocketed a brace of pistols,
 
 :398 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 returned to his house, and, receiving the usual answer 
 thai he was not at home, she seated herself on the steps 
 of the door, and declared her determination there to 
 remain until he returned, were it for a week, a month, 
 or a year. She knew that business would compel his 
 return, and, finding it impracticable any longer to elude 
 an interview, Mr. Jenkins appeared. As the duchess 
 possessed that gift of utterance for which ladies of spirit 
 are sometimes so eminent, it may be supposed that the 
 conversation with the banker was not of the mildest 
 kind. Money was demanded, not asked. A little, pre- 
 varication ensued ; but the production of a pistol served 
 as the most powerful mode of reasoning; the necessary 
 sum was instantly obtained, and the duchess quitted 
 Rome. 
 
 We are now to behold the object of our history in a 
 light pitiable in the extreme. About to combat a prose- 
 cution, the event of which the monitor within must in- 
 form the culprit would be fatal ; attended only by do- 
 mestics, and wanting the consolation of a friend, each 
 step was a nearer approach to misery, and every hour 
 was filled with the anticipation of future woe. This was 
 enough to overpower nature; nor will it be deemed sur- 
 prising, that, under such oppressive circumstances, the 
 health of the duchess should be considerably impaired. 
 Her journey was retarded before she reached the Alps; 
 a violent fever seemed to seize on her vitals : but she re- 
 covered, to the astonishment of her attendants. An 
 abscess then formed in her side, which rendering it im- 
 possible for her to endure the motion of the carriage, a 
 kind of litter was provided, in which she slowly travelled. 
 In this situation, nature was relieved by the breaking of 
 the abscess: and, after a tediously painful journey, the 
 duchess reached Calais. At that place she made a pause, 
 and there it was that her ;ipprehension got the better of her 
 reason. In idea six; was fettered, and incarcerated in the 
 worst cell of the worst prison in London. She was totally
 
 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 ignorant of the bailable nature of her offence, and bv 
 consequence expected the utmost that can be imagined. 
 Col. West, a brother of the late Lord Delaware, whom 
 the duchess had known in England, became her principal 
 associate; but he was not lawyer enough to satisfy her 
 doubts. By the means of former connexions, and 
 through a benevolence in his own nature, the Earl of 
 Mansfield had a private meeting with the duchess-. The 
 venerable peer coducted himself in a manner which did 
 honour to his heart and character. 
 
 Her spirits being soothed by the interview, the duchess 
 embarked for Dover, landed, drove post to Kingston- 
 house, and found friends displaying both zeal and 
 alacrity in her cause. The first measure taken was to 
 have the duchess bailed ; this was done before Loid 
 Mansfield; his Grace of Newcastle, Lord Mountstuart, 
 Mr. Glover, and other characters of rank, attended. 
 The manner of adjusting this disagreeable matter was 
 such as to solace the mind, and prepare it for a greater 
 encounter. The prosecution and consequent trial of the 
 duchess, becoming objects of magnitude, the public 
 curiosity and expectation were proportionably excited. 
 The duchess had through life distinguished herself as a 
 most eccentric character. Her turn of mind was origi- 
 nal, and many of her actions were without a parallel : 
 even when she moved in the sphere of amusement, it 
 was in a style peculiarly her own. If others invited ad- 
 miration by a partial display of their charms at a mas- 
 querade, she at once threw oil' the veil, and set censure 
 at defiance. Thus at midnight assemblies where Bac- 
 chus revelled, and the altars of Venus were encircled by 
 the votaries ol love, the duchess, then Miss Chudleigh, 
 appeared almost in the unadorned simplicity or primi- 
 tive nature. 
 
 The diLmm.i, therefore, into which she was thrown 
 by the pending prosecution.; was, to such a character, 
 of the most perplexing kind. She had in a manner in-
 
 400 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 vited the disgrace, by neglecting the means of prevent- 
 ing it. Mrs. Cradock, the only existing evidence against 
 her, had personally solicited a maintenance for the re- 
 maining years of her life; and had voluntarily offered, 
 in case an unusual stipend should be settled on her, to 
 retire to her native village, and never more intrude. 
 The offer was rejected by the duchess, who would only 
 consent to allosv her twenty pounds a year, on condition 
 of her sequestering herself in some place near the Peak 
 of Derbyshire. This the duchess considered as a most 
 liberal offer; and she expressed her astonishment that 
 she should have the assurance to reject it. It was, how- 
 ever, rejected with the utmost scorn : and she who was re- 
 fused a paltry pittance, except on condition of banishing 
 herself for life, might afterwards have received thou- 
 sands to abscond. 
 
 Under the assurances of her lawyers, the duchess was 
 as quiet as the troublesome monitor in her bosom would 
 permit her to be. Reconciled, therefore, in some mea- 
 sure, io the encounter, the repose of the duchess was on 
 a sudden interrupted by an adversary from a different 
 quarter. This was the celebrated Foote, who, mixing in 
 the first circles of fashion, was perfectly acquainted with 
 the leading transactions of the duchess's life. Besides 
 this, he had received much private information from 
 some person who had been intimate with her, and re- 
 solved to turn it to his advantage. As in the opinion of 
 Mandeville, private vices are public benefits, so Foote 
 deemed the crimes and vices of individuals lawful game 
 for his wit. On this principle he proceeded with the 
 Duchess of Kingston. He wrote a piece intituled, 
 " A Trip to Calais." The scenes were humorous, the 
 character of the duchess admirably drawn, and the ob- 
 ject was accomplished, namely, to make her ashamed 
 of herself. The real design, however, of Foote, was to 
 obtain money from the duchess for suppressing the piece. 
 With this view he contrived to have it communicated u 
 
 20
 
 THE DUCHESS OP KINGSTON. 101 
 
 her grace, that the Haymarket Theatre would open with 
 an entertainment, in which she was taken off to the life. 
 Alarmed at this, she sent for Foote, who attended with 
 the piece in his pocket. She desired him to read part 
 of it; he oheyed ; and proceeding in the character of 
 Lady Kitty Crocodile, the duchess could no longer for- 
 bear. She rose in a violent passion, and exclaimed, 
 " This is scandalous, Mr. Foote ! Why, what, a wretch 
 you have made me!" "You!" replied the humourist, 
 " this is not designed for your grace: it is not you!" 
 After a few turns about the room, the duchess became 
 more composed, and, assuming a smile, entreated as a 
 favour that Mr. Foote would leave the piece for her pe- 
 rusal, engaging at the same time to return it on the en- 
 suing morning. He readily complied, and took his 
 leave. Being thus left to consider her. own picture, so 
 much did her grace dislike it, that she determined, if 
 possible, to prevent its exposure to public view. As the 
 artist had no objection to sell it, she was inclined to be 
 the purchaser. This was the next morning made known 
 to Foote, who was questioned as to the sum which 
 would satisfy him for suppressing the piece. Propor- 
 tioning his expectations to her power of gratifying them, 
 he demanded two thousand pounds, and a certain sum 
 in compensation for a loss, which he pretended would 
 be sustained by the scenes, designed for the " Trip to 
 Calais/' being appropriated to other uses. The magni- 
 tude of this demand staggered the duchess. She inti- 
 matccl her extreme surprise, and a wi-h that the request 
 was moderated within the boundary of reason. Con- 
 cluding that she must at last comply, Foote would not 
 abate one guinea. She offered fourteen, then sixteen- 
 hundred pounds, and had actually signed a draft on 
 Messrs. Drummond and Co. for that stun for his accep- 
 tance. This compliance induced Fooie to think he 
 should finally succeed, till, by grasping at too much, lie 
 ovcrstood lm market, and lost every thing. 
 VOL. i. " r.
 
 402 THE DUCHESS OP KINGSTON. 
 
 The demand of Foote might, at any other time, have 
 passed among the indifferent events of the hour, as 
 wholly undeserving of the public notice. Those long 
 connected with the duchess, and in habits of intimacy, 
 felt the attack made on her, as directed by a ruffian 
 hand, at a moment when she was least able to make re- 
 sistance. His grace the Duke of Newcastle was con- 
 sulted. The chamberlain of the household was apprized 
 of the circumstance; and his prohibitory interference 
 was earnestly solicited. He sent for the manuscript 
 copy of " The Trip to Calais," perused and censured it. 
 This occasioned a remonstrating letter from Foote to the 
 Earl of Hertford, at that time in office. 
 
 Besides these, and other powerful aids, the duchess 
 callad in professional advice. The sages of the robe 
 were consulted, and their opinions were, " That the 
 piece was a malicious libel ; and that, should it be re- 
 presented, a short-hand writer ought to be employed by 
 the duchess to attend on the night of representation, to 
 minute each offensive passage, as the ground-work of a 
 prosecution." This advice was followed. Blanchard 
 was the person selected, and his admission fee being 
 properly guaranteed, a complete entrapment was sup- 
 posed to be laid for Foote. Whether he received private 
 inlimalion of the scheme, or whether lie found that his 
 attempt on the purse of the duchess excited the dis- 
 pleasure of those whose favours were of consequence to 
 him; he certainly began to be intimidated. He denied 
 that he had ever made so exorbitant a demand as two 
 thousand pounds for the suppression of the piece. This 
 denial contributed to his injury, because the Rev. Mr.' 
 Foster, a clergyman of respectability, considerably ad- 
 vanced in years, and who had, through life, mingled 
 with the great world, voluntarily came forward, and 
 made an affidavit of the following facts: "That in 
 consequence of the threat to perform the ' Trip to 
 Calais/ he waited upon Mr. Foote, and remonstrated
 
 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 403 
 
 with him on the extreme barbarity of such an attack, at 
 such a particular juncture: that Mr. Foote had only 
 agreed to suppress the piece on condition of his re- 
 ceiving from the duchess the sum of two thousand 
 ppunds." This affidavit was so complete a refutation of 
 the denial, as not to leave it in the power of ingenuity to 
 retort; and the public testimony of Mr. Foster had every 
 desired effect. 
 
 Thus defeated in point of fact, Foote found himself 
 baffled also in point of design. The chamberlain would 
 not permit the piece to be represented. Foote now had 
 recourse to another expedient. He caused it to be inti- 
 mated to her, " that it was in his power to publish, if not 
 to perform : but were his expenses reimbursed (and the 
 sum which her grace had formerly offered would do the 
 business) he would desist." This being communicated 
 to the duchess, she in this, as in too many cases, asked 
 the opinion of her friends, with a secret determination 
 to follow her own. Foote, finding that she began to 
 yield, pressed his desire incessantly : and she had actually 
 provided bills to the amount of l(30()/. which she would 
 have given Foote, but for the following circumstance : 
 The late Earl of Peterborough, Doctor Isaac Schom- 
 berg, the Rev. Mr. Foster, and Mr. Field the solicitor, 
 were alternately consulted, and they severally reprobated 
 the demand as a scandalous imposition, with which it 
 would be weakness to comply. Doctor Schomberg, in 
 particular, declared, "That although he 'had been for 
 many years intimate with Foote, and had spent some of 
 the pk-asantest hours of his life in his company, yet he 
 would tell him to his face, as a man, that he deserved to 
 be run through the body for such an attempt. It was 
 more ignoble than the conduct of a highwayman." 
 
 This pointed language, dictated by the feelings of an 
 honourable heart, had considerable effect; but still the 
 duchess dreaded the pen, almost as much as the personi- 
 fied humour of Footr ; and of the powers of litei.'tiy
 
 404 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 defence she was herself entirely destitute. At this 
 juncture the Rev. Mr. Jackson being asked his opinion 
 of the demand of Foote, returned this answer: "In- 
 stead of complying with it, your grace should obtain 
 complete evidence of the menace and demand, and then 
 consult your counsel whether a prosecution will not lie 
 for endeavouring to extort money by threats. Your 
 grace must remember the attack on the first Duke of 
 Marl borough, whom a stranger, who had formed a de- 
 sign either on his purse or his interest, endeavoured to 
 menace into a compliance." 
 
 This answer struck the Earl of Peterborough and Mr. 
 Foster very forcibly, as in perfect coincidence with their 
 own opinions. Mr. Jackson was then solicited to wait 
 on Mr. Foote; Mr. Foster the chaplain of the duchess, 
 professing himself to be too far advanced in years to 
 enter into the field of literary combat. Mr. Jackson 
 consented to be the champion on the following condi- 
 tion, That the duchess would give her honour never to 
 retract her determination nor to let Foote extort from her 
 .1 single guinea. Her grace subscribing to this condi- 
 tion, Mr. Jackson waited on Mr. Foote at his house in 
 Suffolk-street. After the usual compliments, Mr. Jack- 
 son told him, Thtit he came as a friend of the Duchess 
 of Kingston, and wished to be favoured with a cate- 
 gorical answer to this question : Whether Mr. Foote 
 meant to publish the piece which the chamberlain hud 
 refused to licence, called, "A Trip to Calais?" Mr. 
 Foote was about to enter into a long detail respecting 
 the vast expense which had been incurred, when Mr. 
 Jackson interrupted him thus : " If, sir, you mean to 
 intimate an expectation that the whole, or any part of 
 it, should be defrayed by the duchess, I fairly tell you, 
 that you will find yourself mistaken; she will not give 
 you one guinea." Foote endeavoured to turn this ofFby 
 a laugh ; and, instead of replying to the point, he 
 begged Mr.' Jackson would hear him read a letter, which
 
 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 405 
 
 he had written to the Earl of Hertford, complaining of 
 the hardship of prohibiting the representation-of a piece 
 merely because some lady of quality might suppose her- 
 self ridiculed for pinning her tucker awry. There was 
 point, wit and brilliancy, in the letter, but it was not an 
 answer to the question. Mr. Jackson, therefore, finally 
 repeated h, when Mr. Foote said, " Oh, I shall certainly 
 publish the piece, unless the duchess will consider the 
 heavy loss which I shall sustain. But why the devil does 
 Isaac Schomberg interfere ? We shall hunt down these 
 reps of quality in couples. Besides, Lady Kitty Croco- 
 dile will suit nine out of ten widows of fashion in the 
 kingdom. Their tears are like a shower in sunshine, re- 
 freshing their weeds, and making their faces look the 
 brighter." Mr. Jackson was about to retire, when Foote 
 said, " What! and so I a in to be attacked if I publish 
 the Trip to Calais." Mr.Jackson replied, "The publi- 
 cation will be an attack from you, Mr. Foote; the effect, 
 of which, I, as the friend of the duchess, will do my 
 utmost to prevent." Here the interview ended. 
 
 Foote, however, still wished to have matters compro- 
 mised. To this end he addressed a letter to the duchess 
 which began with stating, "That a member of the privy 
 council, and a friend of her grace, (by whom he meant 
 the Duke of Newcastle) had conversed with him on the 
 subject of the dispute between them ; and that for him- 
 self, he was ready to have every thing adjusted." This 
 letter afforded the duchess a triumph. Tin-re w.-.s a con- 
 cession in every line. She sent for Mr. Jackson ; 
 thanked him ten thousand times for his interference; 
 declared that he had saved her IfiOO/. She showed him 
 the letter which she had received from Foote, and de- 
 sired him, in her name, to answer it, and publish both. 
 This he declined, alleging that a newspaper controversy 
 would degrade her. She, however, thought othe: 
 Foote's letter, her gnu oitnler of the 
 
 jipearcd. In the latter,, Fouto compared tin. dm
 
 J0(> THE DUCHESS OP KINGSTON. 
 
 to the weeping widow renowned in ancient story, con- 
 verting her weeds into canonicals for Mr. Jackson, and 
 .applied the following line, as applicable to her supposed 
 amorous condition : 
 
 " So mourn'd the dame of Ephesus her love." 
 
 This farce served to turn, for a time, the current of at- 
 tention into a different channel : but it becoming neces- 
 sary, in the progress of events, to adopt some serious 
 measures, either to evade or meet the pending prosecu- 
 tion, the duchess openly affected an earnest desire to 
 have the trial, if possible, accelerated. Secretly, how- 
 ever, she was employed in trying every stratagem which 
 art could devise to elude the measures taken against her. 
 A very favourable opportunity offered, which, had she 
 embraced it, her purpose would have been accomplish- 
 ed. It became a matter of debate in the House of 
 Peers, whether the trial of her grace should, or should 
 not be carried on in Westminster-hall. The expense to 
 be incurred by the nation was, by several peers, con- 
 sidered as introducing a burden wholly unnecessary. 
 Lord Mansfield endeavoured to avail himself of this ob- 
 jection in favour of the duchess, whom it was his private 
 wish to have saved from the exposure of a trial, and the 
 ignominy of what he well knew must follow, a convic- 
 tion. Here then was the critical instant in which the 
 duchess might have extricated herself. A hint was pri- 
 vately conveyed to her that the sum of 10,OOC/. would 
 satisfy every expectation, and put an end to the prose- 
 cution. This hint was improved into an -authoritative 
 proposal. The duchess was entreated by her friends to 
 embrace the measure ; but through a fatal confidence, 
 cither in her legal advisers, her own machinations, or in 
 both, she refused the proposal with an air of insult. 
 This was folly in the extreme, and yet it was deserving 
 pity, because it was folly misguided. Under every as- 
 cc o! safety, the duchess assumed an air of indif-
 
 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 407 
 
 ference about the business, winch but ill accorded with 
 her situation. She talked of the absolute necessity of 
 setting out for Rome : affected to have some material 
 business to transact with the Pope; and took, in conse- 
 quence, every measure in her power, to accelerate the 
 trial, as if the regular pace of justice were not swift 
 enough to overtake her. She did not, however, aban- 
 don her manoeuvring. On the contrary, at the moment 
 in which she had claimed her privilege as n peeress, and 
 petitioned for a speedy trial, she was busied in a scheme 
 to get rid of the principal evidence, Mrs. Cradock, and 
 prevail on her to quit the kingdom. A near relation of 
 this woman was a deliverer of penny-post letters. He 
 was spoken to, and he engaged to let the duchess have 
 an interview with Mrs. Cradock ; but her grace was to 
 be disguised, and to reveal herself only after some con- 
 versation. The stratagem was adopted. The duchess 
 changed her sex in appearance, and waited at the ap- 
 pointed hour and place without seeing either Mrs. Cra- 
 dock or the person who had promised to effect the meet- 
 ing. The fact was, that every particular of this business 
 had been communicated to the prosecutors, who in- 
 structed the letter-carrier to pretend an acquiescence in 
 the scheme. 
 
 Thus baffled in a prospect which had a plausible ap- 
 pearance of success, the only method left was the best 
 possible arrangement of matters picparatory to the trial. 
 On the 15th clay of April, 177'J, the business came on in 
 Westminster-hall. It was of five clays continuance, and 
 the principal object argued was the admission or not, of 
 a sentence of the spiritual court, in a suit of jactitation 
 of marriage, so as to slop the proof of a marriage in an 
 indictment for polygamy. The judges deciding against 
 the admi^io;i of such a sentence in bar to evidence, the 
 fact of the two marriages were must clearly proved, ami 
 a conviction of course followed. The .solemn business 
 b-.-ing Concluded, the prosecutors had a plan in nnbryo
 
 408 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 to confine the Countess of Bristol (for so, after convic- 
 tion, she in reality was) to this country; and to have her 
 deprived of her personal property. A writ of " Ne exeat 
 regno" was preparing, of which the lady received pri- 
 vate notice ; and, being advised instantaneously to leave 
 the kingdom, she caused her carriage to be driven 
 about the most public streets of the metropolis, invited 
 a select party to dine at Kingston-house, the better to 
 cover her design, while in an hired post-chaise she tra- 
 velled to Dover. Mr. Harding, the captain of her 
 yacht was there, and he conveyed her, in the first open 
 boat that could be obtained, to Calais. 
 
 Mons. Dessein, to whose hotel she proceeded, receiv- 
 ed her with more complaisance than cordiality: for, in 
 France, the conviction was understood to have deprived 
 her of all her possessions, real and personal. Dessein, 
 therefore, intimated that he was highly honoured in the 
 choice she had made of his hotel, but that he could not 
 accommodate her with a suite of rooms. She was fa- 
 tigued both in body and mind ; rest, therefore, even in a 
 room on the attic story, would have been most welcome. 
 While the duchess retired, Dessein contrived means to 
 investigate the state of her finances ; and being in- 
 formed that she was still in receipt of the income from 
 her estates, he next morning brightened up his fea- 
 tures, and was the happiest being on earth to acquaint 
 her, that the company who had occupied apartments, 
 suitable in every respect for Madame la Duchesse, were 
 gone to Paris, and, consequently, they were devoted to 
 her use, if she should so please. This complaisance 
 answered Dessein's purpose. She remained at the hotel 
 long enough to lend him a thousand pounds, when he 
 complained of her parsimony, and compelled her, by 
 disrespectful treatment, to seek another abode. The 
 money lent Dessein was not forthcoming. The only 
 accommodation which the duchess could ever ob- 
 tain, was to take the demand out in fire-icuod. If -a 
 
 20
 
 THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON. 
 
 pun be excusable, this was a burning shame in Mons. 
 Dessein. 
 
 During her absence some incidents had happened at 
 Rome, of which she received advice, and which ren- 
 dered it necessary for her once more to visit that renowned 
 oil}'. In the public bank she had deposited her plate for 
 safety, when she set out for England ; and m her palar-: 
 she had left a Spanish friar, and an English girl, whom 
 she had carried with her to Italy. The friar found 
 means to seduce the girl, and to convert great part 
 of the moveables to his own advantage, after which he 
 absconded. 
 
 Of these transactions the duchess was informed by 
 letter. The necessity of an immediate journey to Rome 
 was urgent, and she set out as soon as she could expe- 
 dite the necessary preparations. On her arrival, she was 
 waited on by Cardinal Albini, to wbom he communicated 
 the particulars of the behaviour of the friar, prudently 
 reserving the circumstance of the attack made by one 
 of the cardinal's brotherhood on the chastity of the 
 girl. Her situation was not the present object of thought. 
 The question was, how the property embezzled by the 
 friar could be re-obtained. The girl sobbed, shed tears 
 in abundance, and, on her knees, entreated forgiveness; 
 but, with all this submissive penitence, she could 
 scarcely obtain the attention of a moment. All hope ol 
 regaining the valuables becoming visionary, to withdraw 
 the plate out of the public bank, and transport it safely 
 from Italy, was the sole object of negociation ; in this 
 the duchess proving successful, she returned to Calais. 
 
 The expeditious communication between that place 
 and England afforded the earliest intelligence relative to 
 the proceedings of her opponents. Their business was 
 now to set aside, if possible, the will of the Duke of 
 Kingston There was'nota probability of their succeed- 
 ing in the attempt; but still the attempt was to be mad. . 
 This kept alive the apprehension of danger in the mind 
 
 VOL. i. :) K
 
 410 THE DUCHESS OP KINGSTON. 
 
 of the duchess : and, so long as that apprehension sub- 
 sisted, it was necessary, in policy, to affect a particular 
 regard for certain persons in England, who had the 
 power of rendering her a service. !Among these was 
 Dr. Schomberg, who, in return for the zeal he manifested 
 in her cause, was presented in her name with a ring, 
 brilliantly encircled, the stone a deep blue, and upon it 
 the words "Pour rAmificS'The intrinsic value was never 
 once considered by Schomberg; it was the presumable 
 tribute of gratitude which affected the mind. He wore 
 the ring, and almost in every company he proclaimed 
 the donor. But a short portion of time elapsed before 
 one of the encircling brilliants fell out, and, to have it 
 replaced, a jeweller was sent for. When he came, he 
 looked first, at the ring, then at Doctor Schomberg ; and/ 
 on being asked when he could do what was necessary, 
 the jeweller answered : " I hope you will not be offend- 
 ed, sir; but it is not really worth your while to have any 
 thing done; the middle stone is a composition, and the 
 whole did not cost more in Paris than six-and-thirty 
 shillings." " Is that the case ?" said the doctor ; " then I 
 will soon dispose of it." He first trampled the con- 
 temptible bauble under his feet, and then threw it out 
 of the window. 
 
 The will of his Grace of Kingston receiving every con- 
 firmation which the courts of justice could give, to dis- 
 sipate, rather than expend, the income of his estates, 
 appeared to be the leading rule of her life. A house 
 which she had purchased at Calais was not sufficient for 
 the purpose of perplexities; a mansion at Mont Matre, 
 near Paris, was fixed on, and the purchase of it negoci- 
 ated in as short a time as the duchess could desire. 
 There were only a few obstacles 10 enjoyment, which 
 were not considered until the purchase was completed. 
 The house was in so ruinous a condition, as to be in mo- 
 mentary danger of falling. The land was more like the 
 field of the slothful than the vineyard of the industrious.
 
 THE BUC1IKSS OF KINGSTON. Jll 
 
 These evils were not perceived by the duchess till she 
 was in possession of her wishes. A lawsuit with the 
 owner of the estate was the consequence of the agree- 
 ment. The duchess went to Petersburg!), and returned 
 to France before it was finished. The manner in which 
 this suit was adjudicated, proved the ultimate cause of 
 her death. 
 
 Besides this trivial purchase, another was made by the 
 duchess, the scale of which was truly grand. The 
 brother of the then French monarch was the owner of a 
 domain, according in every respect with his dignity. 
 This was the territory of St. Assize, at a pleasant distance 
 from Paris, abounding in game of different species, and 
 rich in all the luxuriant embellishments of nature. The 
 mansion was fit for the brother of a king; it contained 
 three hundred beds. The value of such an estate was 
 too considerable to be expected in one payment : she 
 therefore agreed to discharge the whole of the sum de- 
 manded, which was fifty-five thousand pounds, by in- 
 stalments. The purchase on the part of the duchess was 
 a good one. It afforded not only game, but rabbits in 
 plenty; and, finding them to be of superior quality and 
 flavour, the duchess, during the first week of her pos- 
 session, had as many killed and sold as brought her three 
 hundred guineas. At Petersburg!! she had been a dis- 
 tiller of brandy ; and now at Paris she turned rabbit- 
 merchant. 
 
 Such was her situation, when one clay while she was 
 at dinner, her servants received vhe intelligence that 
 judgment respecting the house near Paris had been 
 awarded against her. The sudden communication of the 
 news produced an agitation of her whole frame. She 
 flew into a violent passion, and burst an internal blood- 
 vessel ; even this, however, she appeared to have sur- 
 mountcd, until a few days afterwards, when preparing 
 to rise from her bed, a servant who had long been with 
 her, endeavoured to dissuade her from it. The ckrchesa
 
 412 HENRY JENKINS. 
 
 addressed her thus : " I am not very well, but I will 
 rise." On a remonstrance being attempted, she said, 
 " At your peril disobey me : I will get up and walk 
 about the room ; ring for the secretary to assist me." 
 She was obeyed, dressed, and the secretary entered the 
 chamber. The duchess then walked about, complained 
 of thirst, and "said, " I could drink a glass of my fine 
 Madeira, and eat a slice of toasted bread. I shall be 
 quite well afterwards ; but let it be alarge glass of wine." 
 The attendant reluctantly brought, and the duchess 
 drank -the wine. She then said, "I am perfectly re- 
 covered; I knew the Madeira would do me good. My 
 heart feels oddly. I will have another glass." The ser- 
 vant here observed, that such a quantity of wine in the 
 morning might intoxicate rather than benefit. The 
 duchess persisted in her orders, and, the second glass of 
 Madeira being produced, she drank that also, and pro- 
 nounced herself to be charmingly indeed. She then 
 walked a little about the room, and afterwards said, 
 " I will lie down on the couch; I can sleep, and after 
 that I shall be entirely recovered." She seated herself 
 on the couch ; a female having hold of each hand. In 
 this situation, she soon appeared to have fallen into a 
 sound sleep, until the women felt her hands colder than 
 ordinary, and the duchess was found to have expired as 
 the wearied labourer sinks into the arms of rest. She- 
 died August 26, 1796. 
 
 HENRY JENKINS. 
 
 JTEW countries can produce soch numerous instances of 
 extraordinary longevity as the British islands, which af- 
 ford incontestible proof of the healthinessof their climate. 
 Among these examples, the most remarkable is, perhaps,
 
 J
 
 4 
 
 
 JT1EH 
 
 ?/ /^ ( J/<' 
 

 
 HENRY JENKINS. 113 
 
 that of Henry Jenkins, who attained the patriarchal age 
 of 1G9 years. The only account now extant of this 
 venerable man, is that given by Mrs. Anne Saville, who 
 resided at Bolton, in Yorkshire, where Jenkins lived, 
 and had frequent opportunities of seeing and conversing 
 with him. 
 
 " When I came," says she, " to live at Bolton, I was 
 told several particulars of the great age of Henry Jen- 
 kins; but I believed little of the story for many years, 
 till one day he coming to beg an alms, I desired him to 
 teli me truly how old he was. He paused a little, and 
 then said, that to the best of his remembrance, he was 
 about 1(52 or 163; and I asked, what kings he remem- 
 bered? He said, Henry VIII. I asked what public 
 thing he coulcl longest remember? he said Flowden-field. 
 I asked whether the king was there? he said, no, he was 
 in France, and the Earl of Surry was general. I asked 
 him how old he might be then; he said, I believe I 
 might be between ten and twelve; for, says he, I was 
 sent to Northallarton with a horse-load of arrows, but 
 they sent a bigger boy from thence to the army with 
 them. AH this agreed with the history of that time ; 
 for bows and arrows were then used, the earl he named 
 was general, and King Henry VIII. was then at Tour- 
 nay. And yet it is observable that this Jenkins could 
 neither read nor write. There were also four or five in 
 the same parish that were reputed all of them to be 10O 
 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 In- fore any r< 
 ters were in churches, as it is said. lie told me then 
 too that he was butler to the Lord Conyers, and remem- 
 bered the Abbot of Fountains-abbey very well, before 
 the dissolution of the monasteries. Henry Jenkins de- 
 parted this life, December H, 1070, at Lllerton upon 
 Swale in Yorkshire. The battle of Flowden-lield was 
 fought September f), IV. 3, and In: was twil.e y ,us
 
 414 HENRY JENKINS. 
 
 old when Flowden-field was fought. So that this Henry 
 Jenkins lived 169 years> viz. sixteen 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 century of his life he was a fisherman, 
 and used to trade in the streams : his diet was coarse 
 and sour, and towards the latter end of his days he 
 begged up and down. He has sworn in Chancery, and 
 other courts, to above 140 years memory, and was often 
 at the assizes at York, whither he generally went on foot; 
 and I have heard some of the country gentlemen affirm, 
 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 record of a deposition in a 
 cause by English bill, between Anthony Clark and 
 Smirkson, taken 166.5, at Kettering in Yorkshire, where 
 Henry Jenkins, of Ellerton upon Swale, labourer, aged 
 157 years, was produced and deposed as a witness." 
 
 About seventy years after his death a monument was 
 erected at Bohon, by a subscription of the parishioners 
 to perpetuate the memory of this remarkable man. 
 Upon it was engraved the following inscription : 
 
 " Blush not marble to rescue from oblivion the memory of 
 HENRY JENKINS, a person of obscure birth, but, of a 
 life truly memorable: for he was enriched with the 
 goods of nature, if not of fortune, 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 health ami length of days, 
 to teach mistaken man these blessings, are entailed on 
 temperance, a life of labour, and a mind at ease. He 
 lived to the amazing age of 169: was interred here, 
 December 16, 1670, and had this justice done to his 
 memory, 1743." 
 4
 
 415 
 
 PATRICK COTTER ; 
 
 Commonly called Patrick O'Brien ; or, The Irish Giant. 
 
 OOME of the earliest records of mankind attest the exist- 
 ence of giants, but whether the earth ever produced H 
 rate of such men, may, notwithstanding the opinion of 
 many persons of great learning, be very justly disputed. 
 With respect to the discoveries of human skeletons, 
 twenty, fifty, and even one hundred feet long, though re- 
 lated by many respectable writers of vaiious nations, they 
 must be regarded as altogether fabulous.* Numerous 
 
 * On this subject M. Le Cat, the anatomical professor, in a memoir 
 read before the Academy of Sciences at Rouen, gave the following 
 account of giants that are said to luve e.xisted in different ages: 
 
 "Profane hibtorians have given seven feet of the height to Hercules 
 their first hero ; and in our days we have seen men eight feet high. 
 The giant who was shown in Rouen, in 1735, measured eight feet 
 some inches. The emperor Maximin was of that size ; Shenkius and 
 Platerus, physicians of the last century, saw several of that stature ; and 
 Goropius saw a girl who was ten feet high. The body of Orestes, ac- 
 cording to the Greek 1 ;, wa s eleven feet and a half; the giant Galbara, 
 brought from Arabia to Rome under Claudius Caesar, was near ten 
 feet ; and the bones of Secondilla and 1'usio, keepers of the gardens of 
 Sallust, were but six inches shorter. Funnam, a Scotsman, who lived 
 in the time of Eugene II. king of Scotland, measured eleven feet and 
 a half; and Jacol) le Maire, in his voyage to tin: straits of Magellan, 
 reports, that on the 17th of December, 161 j, they found at Port De- 
 sire several graves covered with stones; and having the curiosity to 
 remove the stones, they, discovered human skeletons of ten and eleven 
 feet long. The chevalier Scory, in his vojage to the Peak of Tene- 
 riffe, says, that they found in one of the sepulchral cavern-, of that 
 mountain, the head of a Guanche which had eighty teeth, and that the 
 body was not lei than fit teen foet long. The ^iaut Ferragus, slain by 
 Orlando, nephew of Charlemagne, was eighteen fact high. Kiolaml, 
 a celebrated anatomist, who wrote in 1614, says, iii.il some years be- 
 fore there was to be seen in tin: Suburbs ot Si. Germain, the tomb of 
 the giant Jforet, who wa twenty Teet high. In lluuen, in !.'< 
 digging the d itches near the Dominicans, ihey lunnd a <\m- luniin n-
 
 410 PATRICK COTTER. 
 
 equally surprising incidents are to be met with, but 
 for their authenticity we have no other voucher than 
 
 taining a skeleton, whose skull held a bushel of corn, and whose shin- 
 bone reached up to the girdle of the tallest man there, being about four 
 feet long, and consequently the body must have been seventeen o r 
 eighteen feet high. Upon the tomb was a plate of copper whereon 
 was engraved, ' In this tomb lies the noble puissant lord, the chevalier 
 Ricon de "Vallemont, and his bones.' Platerus, a famous physician, 
 declares, that he saw at Lucerne the true human bones of a subject 
 which must have been at least nineteen feet high. Valence in Dau- 
 phine boasts of possessing the bones of the giant Bucart, tyrant of the 
 Vivarais, who was slain by an arrow by the Count de Cabillon his 
 vassal. The Dominicans had a part of the shin-bone, With the articu- 
 lation of the knee, and his figure painted in fresco, with an inscription, 
 showing that this giant was twenty-two feet and a half high, and that hh 
 bones were found in 1705, near the banks of the Morderi, a little river 
 at the foot of the mountain of Crussol, upon which, tradition says, the 
 giant dwelt. 
 
 "January 1 1, 1613, some masons digging near the ruins of a castle 
 in Dauphine, in a field which had long been called the giant' s field, 
 at the depth of eighteen feet discovered a brick tomb thirty fret 
 long, twelve feet wide, and eight feet high ; on which was a grey 
 stone, with the words Theutobochus Rex, cut thereon. When the 
 tomb was opened, they found a human skeleton entire, twenty-five 
 feet and a half long, ten feet wide across the shoulders, and five feet 
 deep from the breast-bone to the back. His teeth were about the- 
 size each of an ox's foot, and his shin-bone measured four feet. Near 
 Mazarino in Sicily, in 1516, was found a giant thirty feet high; his 
 head was the size of an hogshead, and each of his teeth weighcii 
 ounces. Near Palermo, in the valley of Mazara, in Sicily, a skeleton 
 of a giant thirty feet long was found, in the year 1548 ; and another of 
 thirty-three feet high, in I5JO; and many curious persons have pre- 
 served several of these gigantic bones. The Athenians found near their 
 city two famous skeletons, one of thirty-four, and the other thirty-six 
 feet high. At Totu, in Bohemia, in 758, was found a skeleton, the 
 head of which could scarcely be encompassed by the arms of two men 
 together, and whose legs, which they keep in the castle of that city, 
 were twenty-six feet long. The skull of the giant found in Macedonia, 
 September 1691, held 210 pounds of com. 
 
 "The celebrated Sir Hans Sioane, who treated this matter very 
 learnedly, does not doubt these facts ; but thinks the bones were those 
 of elephants, whales, or other enormous animals, now perhaps extinct." 
 
 21
 
 PATRICK. COTTER. 417 
 
 the confidence due to first-rate historians, who migh t 
 themselves have been deceived in the credit they gave to 
 the relations of others from whom they borrowed the 
 circumstances. On the contrary, in all the accounts of 
 giants which have been handed down to us from the re- 
 motest periods, we find no instance of any living indi- 
 vidual who attained to a greater height than nine or at 
 farthest, ten feet, whence it may fairly be inferred that 
 ihis is the ne plus ultra of human growth. 
 
 The most remarkable instance of extraordinary stature 
 in the present age was, however, exhibited in the person 
 of Patrick Cotter, commonly called Patrick/ O'Brien 
 nnd still more generally known by the appellation of the 
 Irish Giant. He was born in the year 17(3l, in the 
 county of Kinsale, in Ireland, of obscure parents, who 
 were people of middling stature. He was brought up 
 to the trade of a bricklayer ; but his growth was so rapid, 
 that, when he had attained the age of eighteen years, 
 his uncommon size attracted the notice of a showman, 
 who obtained permission of the simple youth to exhibit, 
 him three years in England, for which he was to pay 
 him fifty pounds per annum. Not contented with his 
 bargain, the chapman agreed to underlet the liberty of 
 showing him to another speculator, and Cotter, resisting 
 this intended transfer of his person, was saddled with a 
 fictitious debt, for which he was arrested at Bristol. 
 
 In this situation he was observed, fortunately for him- 
 self, by a gentleman of that city, who had some busi- 
 ness to transact with the sheriff's officer. The simplicity 
 of his manners and his extreme distress induced this 
 gentleman to make some inquiry concerning him, and 
 having reason to think that he was unjustly detained, he 
 generously becp.me his bail, and so far investigated the 
 business, that he not only obtained him his liberty, but 
 freed him from all kind of obligation to serve his mer- 
 cenary master any longer. 
 
 It happened to be in the month of September when he 
 VOL. i. So
 
 418 PATRICK COTTER. 
 
 was liberated, and by the assistance of his benefactor he 
 was enabled to set up for himself, in the fair then held in 
 St. James's, Bristol. Success crowned his undertaking; 
 and instead of being in penury, he found himself, in 
 three days, in possession of thirty pounds. 
 
 He now commenced, and continued a regular exhi- 
 bition of his person. His stature increased ti-ll he arrived 
 at the age of twenty-five, when his growth somewhat 
 abated, but he continued growing after that period, till 
 he attained the height of eight feet seven inches. He 
 was at the same time proportionably lusty. His hand, 
 from the commencement of the palm to the extremity 
 of the middle finger, measured twelve inches, and his 
 shoe was seventeen inches long. He could not, how- 
 ever, be denominated a well-made man; for though his 
 limbs were not strikingly disproportioned, his figure 
 wanted that general symmetry which a man of ordinary 
 dimensions more commonly possesses. The astonish- 
 ment of the observant spectator at the extraordinary 
 stature of Mr. O'Brien was not unaccompanied with 
 pity, as every movement appeared to be attended with 
 trouble, and a degree of pain. In the action of rising 
 to salute or surprise his visitors, he generally placed 
 both his hands on the small of his back, and bending 
 his body forward, rose with considerable difficulty from 
 his seat, consisting of a common sized table, on which 
 was placed the cushion of a carriage. 
 
 During the twenty-five years that Mr. O'Brien exhi- 
 bited himself, he was to be seen at different periods in 
 the metropolis, and for four or five successive Bartholo- 
 mew Fairs at Smithfield. At such times he used fre- 
 quently to walk about the streets for air and exercise, at 
 two or three o'clock in the morning. In one of these 
 nocturnal excursions he had occasion to light his pipe, 
 for which purpose he easily took off the top of a lamp, 
 which being observed by the watchman, he was so af- 
 frighted, that he fell into a fit, and was taken senseless
 
 PATRICK COTTER. 419 
 
 lo the watch-house; where he remained till medical as- 
 sistance was procured before he recovered. At another 
 time he was observed, accompanied by two persons of 
 common size, on whose shoulders he supported himself 
 in the same manner as we sometimes see a well-grown 
 man resting his hands on the shoulders of children ten 
 or twelve years of age, walking up Holhorn-hiil, he 
 appeared to be greatly fatigued, and might be said rather 
 to shuffle along than to walk, as he never moved either 
 of his feet from the stones. Proceeding along the more 
 level pavement, his body appeared more erect, and had 
 he not paid attention to avoid the lamps, his head would 
 have struck against many of them. 
 
 It is a circumstance too general among those who ex- 
 pose their persons to public view, that to them all the 
 rest of mankind are totally indifferent. For this reason 
 neither connexion nor friendship can possibly be esta- 
 blished with them; every attempt to obtain information 
 tending to elucidate their habits and manners, or the 
 history of their lives is regarded with jealousy, under the 
 idea that it arises from impertinent or mischievous curi- 
 osity. Had it not been for some such cause as this, we 
 should probably have been enabled to collect many more 
 particulars concerning this remarkable man. 
 
 The following anecdote is related on the authority of 
 those with whom he was most familiar. Being on a 
 journey in his own carriage, he was one day stopped by 
 a highwayman, on which he put his head forward to 
 discover the cause that interrupted his progress. The 
 highwayman, at the sight of so prodigious a figure, was 
 struck with a panic, that he clapped spurs to his horse, 
 and made a precipitate retreat. It should be observed, 
 that the vehicle in which he travelled was of' a peculiar 
 construction, having a kind of box sunk to a consider- 
 able depth below the bottom of the carriage, to admit his 
 legs and feet. 
 
 It has been asserted that he was passionately fond of
 
 420 PATRICK COTTER. 
 
 cards, and that he eagerly embraced every opportunity 
 of engaging in the amusement, but that he could not 
 lose-vvith patience, not from a principle of parsimony 
 but the disgrace of being beaten. 
 
 Reports of Mr. O'Brien's death were frequently in cir- 
 culation; but this was, in all probability, an expedient 
 adopted for the purpose of reviving the public curiosity. 
 A report of this kind had been propagated for some time 
 previous to his last appearance in London, in the year 
 1804. On this occasion he announced his return to the 
 metropolis by the following bill : 
 
 " Just arrived in town, and to be seen in a commodious room, at 
 No. 11, Haymarket, nearly opposite the Opera-house, the 
 celebrated Irish Giant, Mr. O'Brien, of the kingdom of Ireland, 
 indisputably the tallest man ever shown ; is a lineal descendant 
 of the old puissant king, Brien Korean, and has, in person and 
 appearance, all the similitudes of that great and grand potentate. 
 It is remarkable of this family, that, however various the revo- 
 lutions in point of fortune and alliance, the lineal descendants 
 thereof have been favoured by Providence with the original size 
 and stature, which have been so peculiar to their family. The 
 gentleman alluded to measures near nine feet high. Admittance 
 one shilling." 
 
 Mr. O'Brien when not engaged in exhibiting himself, 
 is said to have resided in a house on Epping Forest, 
 formerly the mansion of a noble family, but since con- 
 verted into an inn. This place, being built in the an- 
 cient style, with very lofty door- ways and apartments, 
 was peculiarly well calculated for the reception of a man 
 of such extraordinary stature. The house was then kept 
 by a widow, for whom Mr. O'Brien is reported to have 
 performed all transactions relative to the purchase and 
 disposal of horses, and other business of a like nature. 
 
 In 1804, having realized an independence sufficient to 
 keep a carriage, and to secure the conveniences of life, he 
 declined the public exhibition of his person, which was 
 always extremely irksome to his feelings. He was unof-
 
 PATRICK COTTER. 421 
 
 fending and amiable in his manners to his friends and ac- 
 quaintance, of whom he had, in the last years of his 
 life, a pretty extensive circle, as he was neither averse 
 to a cheerful glass nor to pleasant company. During 
 this interval he resided, upon the Hotwell-road, Bris- 
 tol, where, in September, 1806, he fell a sacrifice to a 
 disease of the lungs, combined with an affection of the 
 liver, in the 46th year of his age. He expired without 
 the smallest apparent pain or agony. The leaden coffin 
 in which his body was enclosed measured nine feet two 
 inches, and the wooden case four inches more. To pre- 
 vent any attempt to disturb his remains, of which he had 
 the greatest horror, his grave was sunk to the depth of 
 twelve feet in the solid rock, and such precautions were 
 taken as effectually to render abortive either violence or 
 stratagem. 
 
 His clothes he bequeathed to one of his servants, who 
 dressed up a huge figure in resemblance of his old 
 master, and exhibited it in the Haymarket, Picket- 
 street, Temple-bar, &c. 
 
 That there exist men of a stature considerably above 
 the ordinary standard, our own time has afforded ocular 
 demonstration. In the year 1780, a gigantic youth 
 named Byrne, a native of Ireland, was exhibited in the 
 metropolis, in the neighbourhood of Charing-cross, 
 where he died, and was buried in St. Martin's church- 
 yard. He was within two inches of eight feet at his 
 death, and it was thought that the continuance of his 
 growth proved fatal to him, as he had not then attained 
 his twentieth year. 
 
 Some years since, the Prince of Wales had in his 
 service, as porter, a native of Scotland, commonly 
 called Big Sam, who was nearly eight feet high, robust 
 and well marie. His size was so far from being incon- 
 venient to him, that he was as active as any man of or- 
 dinary stature. 1J<? performed as a giant in the Komancc 
 of Cymon, at the Opera-house, in the Haymarket,
 
 422 PATRICK COTTER. 
 
 while the Drury-lane company had the use of that house 
 till their own was rebuilt. Finding his health impaired 
 by the air of the metropolis, he obtained permission of 
 his royal highness to return to his native country. 
 
 We shall conclude this article with afew singular facts, 
 relative to a gigantic countryman of Mr. O'Brien. In 
 the anatomical room of Trinity College, Dublin, is pre- 
 served the skeleton of a youth named Magrath, who was 
 born near Cloyne, in Ireland. He was carried through 
 various parts of Europe, and exhibited as the prodigi- 
 ous Irish giant; but such was his early imbecility, both 
 of borly and mind, that he died of old age, in the twen- 
 tieth year. The annexed account of him is given by a 
 very intelligent writer: " In his infancy he became an 
 orphan, and was provided for by the famous Berkeley, 
 then Bishop of Cloyoe. This acute philosopher, who 
 denied the existence of matter, was as inquisitive in his 
 physical researches, as he was whimsical in his meta- 
 physical speculations. When I tell you that he had well 
 nigh put an end to his own existence, by experimenting 
 what are the sensations of a person dying on the gallows, 
 you will be the more ready to forgive him for his treat- 
 ment of this orphan. The bishop had a strange fancy to 
 know whether it was not in the power of art to increase 
 the human stature, and this unhappy infant appeared to 
 him to be a fit subject for the trial. He made his essay 
 according to his pre-conceived theory, whatever it might 
 be, and the consequence was, that he became seven feet 
 high in his sixteenth year." 
 
 We are not informed what were the means emplo\'ed 
 by the philosophic prelate for increasing the human 
 stature beyo.nd the ordinary standard, and for many, 
 perphaps, this ignorance is a fortunate circumstance. 
 What unnatural cruelties avarice has frequently prompt- 
 ed parents to inflict on their helpless and unhappy 
 offspring, it is unnecessary here to recapitulate.
 
 423 
 
 CHARLES MACKLIX. 
 
 CHARLES M'LAUGHLIN, Tor that was the real name of the 
 subject of this article, was descended from the M'Lau"h- 
 lins of the north of Ireland, a clan much distinguished 
 ibr antiquity as for being principals in the various civil 
 wars of that country. His immediate ancestors resided 
 near Londonderry, and at the celebrated siege of that 
 town in King William's time, he had three uncles within 
 the walls, and three without, who, though fighting on 
 opposite sides, behaved with a bravery, that to use his 
 own expression, kept up the blood of the M'Laughlins. 
 Some time after this his father died, and the little farm, 
 which he held was given up to a near relation, a Pro- 
 testant, in trust for the widow, who was a Catholic, and 
 her children. 
 
 The actual time of Macklin's birth is involved in un- 
 certainty, but he is supposed to have been born about 
 May, 1690, though he himself at an advanced period of 
 his life, fixed that event in 1G99- An uncle by the 
 mother's side, who was a Roman Catholic priest, under- 
 took the care of young Macklin's education, and as he 
 lived three miles from his father's dwelling, the boy hud 
 to travel that distance every day, sometimes not too well 
 equipped with the requisites of a wardrobe. .By his own 
 confession he benefited very liltle from his uncle's; good 
 intentions, as he was very idle and very disj.i|>:itcd, 
 staying whole days from school, engaged in robbing 
 orchards and other boyish freaks, so that on his f-ithcr's 
 death, he could only read English, with a broad Irish 
 accent, though in other respects, as he said, he was ac- 
 counted a very cute lad. 
 
 Near the residence of his family lived a relation of the 
 Besborough family, a widfw lady of considerable for-
 
 424 CHARLES MACKLIN. 
 
 tune and great humanity, who seeing young Macklhi 
 running about her grounds and observing him to be a 
 boy of some spirit and sharpness, hospitably took him 
 under her roof, in order to rescue him from those vices 
 and follies which a life of idleness is but too apt to pro- 
 duce, especially in young minds. Here he was farther 
 instructed, and received the first bias towards the pro- 
 fession in which he afterwards appeared to such advan- 
 tage. The occasion of it was as follows: During the 
 Christmas holidays, the tragedy of the Orphan was got 
 up among some young relations of the family of his 
 protectress, when the character of Monimia was as- 
 signed to young Macklin. The figure and cast of his 
 countenance must render it difficult to believe that at 
 any time of life Macklin could perform this part with 
 any degree of propriety, but by his 1 own account, he not 
 only looked the gentle Monimia, but performed the part 
 with the highest applause. The play was repeated three 
 times before several of the surrounding gentry and te- 
 nants, and each time he acquired additional reputation. 
 It was undoubtedly this accident that decided Macklin 
 in the choice of his future profession. Had it not been 
 for the casual production of this play, the chances were 
 great against his ever thinking of the stage, but this 
 little part, no matter how well or ill performed, roused 
 and directed the energies of his mind to that particular 
 point; and though many years had elapsed before he 
 actually commenced a regular performer, the stage was 
 what he most reflected on as the future object of his 
 pursuits. 
 
 His friends, however, determined otherwise, and at 
 the age of fourteen bound him apprentice to asadler in 
 the neighbourhood ; but sedentary habits so far disagreed 
 with young Macklin, that he soon after absconded from 
 liis master, and came over to England with a few shillings 
 in his pocket, without any previous acquaintance, or any
 
 CHARLES MACKLIN. 425 
 
 other design than the boyish idea of seeking his fortune. 
 His stay was not long, for he was sent back to Ireland 
 for some misconduct. 
 
 How he contrived to exist there at first, it is impos- 
 sible to say: all that is known on this head is, that he 
 became acquainted with certain under graduates of Tri- 
 nity College, Dublin, and took up the employment of 
 bad<reman, or porter, to the college. Being a youth of 
 keen observation and a determined spirit he made him- 
 self very acceptable to the scholars and fellows, who oc- 
 casionally gave him various pecuniary aids, in addition to 
 his stipulated allowance. 
 
 In this degraded state he remained till he attained the 
 age of twenty-one, when he again visited England, and, 
 coming to London, engaged with a company of strolling 
 players, in which he acted the part of Harlequin. After 
 leading, for a few years, an extraordinary course of life, 
 lie was restored a penitent to his mother, and reinstated 
 in his former situation at Trinity College. 
 
 He did not, however, continue here long, for in 17 l6 
 he again visited London for the third time, probably to 
 indulge in his propensity for the stage, which, by this 
 time, had grown into a passion. He first joined several 
 strolling companies, and repairing to London in 1726, 
 was engaged by Mr. Rich, the manager of Lincoln's inn 
 theatre for that season. Here Macklin's love of dissipa- 
 tion led him Into many scenes of riot, gaming, and in- 
 temperance, which probably prevented him from making 
 that improvement in his professional studies which he 
 might otherwise have done ; for at the end of the season 
 he was told by the manager that " he had better go to 
 grass for another year or two." Macklin took his 
 advice and went with a strolling company into Wales. 
 
 In his rambles in Wales and Bristol he was engaged in 
 many frolics and adventures which indicated a strong 
 propensity to all such pleasufes as were within his reach. 
 He was, by his own accouiU, a great fives player, a 
 
 VOL. i. 3 H
 
 J26 CHARLES MACKLIN. 
 
 great wolker, a great bruiser, a hard drinker, and a ge- 
 neral lover; and as lie was vaiious in his parts as au 
 actor, and a cheerful companion, he was so much 
 sought after, that all the time which was not dedicated to 
 his profession, was spent in those pursuits. It was about 
 this period that in order to accommodate the sound of 
 his name a little more to English ears, he changed it 
 from M'Laughlin to Macklin ; but among his com- 
 panions he was more frequently distinguished by the ap- 
 pellations of " Wicked Charley," and " The Wild Irish- 
 man," which sufficiently indicate what must have been 
 his general character and conduct. 
 
 While he was at Bristol, he paid great attention to the 
 daughter of a gentleman who lived near Jacob's Wells. 
 After much solicitation a night was appointed to receive 
 him, and one of the parlour-windows was left unbolted 
 for the purpose of getting into the house. Macklin had 
 that night to play Hamlet and Harlequin which made 
 him late. On his setting out he was overtaken by a very 
 heavy shower of rain, which almost drenched him to 
 the skin ; and lo make matters still worse, just as he had 
 raised the sash of the window and was stepping in, he 
 happened to overset a large china jar full of water, 
 which made such a noise as to alarm the family. The 
 young lady who best judged the cause of it, was the 
 first to run down to see what was the matter; when she 
 advised her lover to make the best of his way out of the 
 house, in order to save his reputation and her own. 
 Macklin complied, and the lady felt her escape so sen- 
 sibly, that reflection overcame her love, and she never 
 spoke to him afterwards. To do Macklin justice, he 
 used to relate the catastrophe of this story with con- 
 siderable pleasure, hoping that this accident might have 
 saved a young woman from a life of disgrace and misery, 
 and feeling himself free from the reflection of his being 
 the author of such a misfortune. 
 . .AJackliu having spent some time in strolling com-
 
 CHARLES MAtKLIN. 427 
 
 panics, relumed to the metropolis. Covent Garden 
 about this time was a scene of much dissipation, and 
 that place and the vicinity of Clare-market were the 
 rendezvous of most of the theatrical wits. The ordi- 
 naries of that da.y were from sixpence to a shilling per 1 
 head, and the latter were frequented hy much of what 
 is denominated good company. The butchers of Clare- 
 market, then very numerous, were stand) friends to the 
 players, and whenever a disturbance was dreaded, the 
 early appearance of those formidable critics made an 
 awful impression. 
 
 Macklin entered into all these eccentricities, a-nd from 
 the strength of his constitution and unceasing love of 
 society, rendered himself eminently conspicuous. He 
 belonged^ to a club- which held/. ;i weekly dinner t St. 
 Albans, and was called the Walking Society. It con- 
 sisted principally of the performers of both houses, who 
 piqued themselves 0:1 their walking, and who engaged 
 on no account whatever to ride or go in any vehicle, but 
 to walk the twenty miles backward and forward the 
 same day. Macic'in frequently said he felt ivo incon- 
 venience from these long walks; but, on the contrary, 
 he believed they added to his health. 
 
 On the 10th of May, 1735, a fatal accident had 
 nearly crushed all Macklin's hopes of rising into cele-- 
 brity in his profession. In a dispute behind the scenes 
 at Diury-lane, about a large wig -which Mr. ilallam had 
 en, and which Marklin claimed as his property, the 
 warmth of his temper so far overcame his prudence, 
 that he struck his opponent with his cane, which entered 
 his eye, penetrated to the brain and occasioned his death. 
 He was, in consequence, brought to trial at the Old 
 Bailey, but no malicious intent appearing in evidence, 
 lie was acquitted. 
 
 The period or Macklin's marriage is equally uncertain 
 with thatof many other events of his life. His wife was 
 Miss Grace Purvor, an early friend of the celebrated.
 
 428 CHARLES MACKLIN. 
 
 Mrs. Booth, a woman of much reading, strong sense, 
 and much knowledge of the world. She was also 
 esteemed a valuable actress in the second-rate charac- 
 ters, and so particularly excelled in narration, that old 
 Gibber, to the last, used to call upon her in an evening to 
 hear her anecdotes, which he always listened to with 
 pleasure and repaid with applause. 
 
 Fieetwood was at this lime manager of Drury-lane, 
 where iVJacklin was engaged. His experience and hiimi- 
 liiy so gained on the manager, that after the secession of 
 Theophilus Gibber, he made Macklin his principal ad- 
 viser. But though this intimacy with Fleetwood opened 
 him a more easy way to professional eminence than he 
 could otherwise have found, he was near paying very 
 dear for it in another way. Fleetwood had, by his ex- 
 cesses and imprudences, about this period become so 
 deeply involved in debt, that he made no scruple of 
 obtaining money or security of every body he could. 
 Though conscious of his incapacity to pay, he still con- 
 tinued to borrow; his best friends were not exempted 
 from his arts and promises, and Macklin used to say, that 
 the person, the address, the manners and the solicitations 
 of Fleetwood, when under the necessity of borrowing, 
 appeared so artless, so unpractised, and so delicately 
 embarrassed, as made his attacks irresisiible, and none 
 but those who had repeated experience that he was merely 
 acting this part could avoid the snare. 
 
 He had often borrowed small sums of Macklin with- 
 out repaying them, but frequently mentioning his obli- 
 gations and repealing his assurances of repayment. 
 These sums, borrowed sometimes after a snug benefit 
 night, sometimes after a lucky run of play, for Macklin 
 was then a gambler, he did not much press him for ; 
 considering them as so many nest-eggs in Fleetwood's 
 hands, and as a kind of security for his engagements at 
 the theatre. Macklin, however, soon found himself far 
 surpassed in wordly knowledge by his chief, and that he
 
 CHARLES MACKLIN. 420 
 
 was destined to be the scape goat to save the manager 
 from his embarrassment. 
 
 Fleetvvood, finding himself hard pressed for a con- 
 siderable sum of money, for which he must either go to 
 prison or give security, prevailed upon Macklin, in one 
 of those irresistible moments of solicitation, to become 
 his bondsman, to the amount of no less than three thou- 
 sand pounds. Macklin soon saw his error, but too late 
 to remedy it : he found the manager plunging more and 
 more into difficulties, and consequently saw less hopes of 
 his being able to take up this bond. With this gloomy 
 prospect he went down to Bristol to perform during the 
 summer: when toward the close of the season, hearinsr 
 
 ' O 
 
 some fresh anecdotes of Fleetvvood's embarrassment, he 
 resolved, on his return to London, to make one desperate 
 push to disengage himself from an affair which very se- 
 riously threatened his future liberty and hopes. 
 
 On his return to London he settled his plan of opera- 
 tion which was, either to frighten the manager so as to 
 get himself released from his security, or to break with 
 him entirely and seek redress at law. His first step on 
 his arrival, was to call at the manager's house, and 
 being told that he was attending the Prince of Wales, 
 (the father of George III,) in viewing the curiosities of 
 Bartholomew Fair, he instantly hastened to the spot, 
 and felt a presentiment that this very circumstance 
 might turn out to his advantage. He proceeded to 
 Smithfield and soon discovered the manager, who was 
 accompanying the prince and his suite by torch-light to 
 the different booths. Here he assumed the actor, and 
 calling up into his face as much terror and alarm as he 
 tould, pulled the manger by the sleeve, and told him he 
 must speak with him : the following conversation then 
 took place : 
 
 Flcetuood. Good God! Macklin, is it your What's 
 the matter? 
 
 Macklin. Matter enough (hastily and seemingly UT-
 
 CHARLES 3IACKLIX. 
 
 rified) I have just broken out of Bristol gaol, where I be- 
 lieve, I have killed the gaoler in nay escape, and here 
 I am. 
 
 F. My dear friend, I am heartily sorry for this acci- 
 dent, but how can I relieve you ? 
 
 jilf. Sir, I have no time to trifle I was put into Bris- 
 tol gaol for a small debt I incurred on my wife's delivery, 
 and in consequence of a bad season. In this situation I 
 received a letter from ihe holders of the band, for which 
 I am security for you, demanding payment or threaten- 
 ing me with imprisonment, which you know must, to a 
 man in my circumstances, be an imprisonment for life. 
 I therefore broke gaol and now want to be released from 
 my bond. 
 
 l'\ Well, well, my dear friend, compose yourself; I 
 will, in a little time, do every tiling in my power to re- 
 lieve you. 
 
 M. I can't wair, by God, sir; it must be done in- 
 stantly, or I'll 
 
 F. Kush, hush, my dear friend ; consider, the prince 
 is just before us, and I should be ruined were he to over- 
 hear this conversation. 
 
 M. (Seemingly in an increased rage) Don't tell me of 
 prince or emperor, God or devil, 1 must have this affair 
 settled directly, or I'll blow you, myself, and all to the 
 devil. 
 
 F. Good God ! th-e man's ma-d ! But Mac, my dear 
 Mac, compose yourself a little. Every thing shall be 
 settled directly; now do go home, and meet me at th 
 Bunch of Gr.ipes in Clare-market, this night at ten 
 o'clock, and you may depetul upon it every thing shall 
 be settled to j'our satisfaction. 
 
 M. No trifling, sir. Can I depend on you : 
 
 F. Most certainly. 
 
 M. Well then I'll give you the meeting. 
 
 Fleetwood was punctual to his promise and brought 
 with him, as his most particular friends, Mr. Forres-t, a
 
 CHARLES MACKL1N. 
 
 solicitor; Mr. Havard, and Paul Whitehead, the poet. 
 Macklin told his case, which certainly was a piti.ible 
 one, but under the exaggeration of the actor made every 
 one or' the company, except Fieetwood, feel deeply for 
 his situation. He, however, heard him with great 
 seeming commiseration, and then asked him to point out 
 any line in which he could possibly assist him. To this 
 Macklin replied, that if he could get him released from 
 the bond, the sum he owed in Bristol was not above 
 thirty pounds, which perhaps lie could borrow so as to 
 regain his liberty. "And as to the gaoler (continued he) 
 we have hitherto been upon such intimate terms, that if 
 the fellow happens to be more frightened than hurt, I my- 
 self will become his surgeon." Fieetwood could make 
 no reply, but resting his head on his hand, remained 
 seemingly in great agony of mind, for some minutes, in 
 that situation. At length Paul Whitehead asked Mack- 
 iin if his being released from the bond would perfectly 
 content him, and being answered in the affirmative, he 
 said that he would take upon himself the responsibility 
 for the debt. The poet, however, paid dearly for his 
 generosity ; Fleetwood's affairs became more and more 
 involved, and he went to France, leaving to his friend 
 the horrors of several years' imprisonment as a remune- 
 ration for the extraordinary liberality of his conduct. 
 
 in 1741, Macklin established his fame as an actor in 
 the character of Shylock, in the Merchant of Venice; 
 and by his fine and impressive manner, restored to the 
 stage, a play which had been forty years supplanted by 
 Lord Lnnsdowne's Jew of Venice. The piece had a suc- 
 cessful run through the whole of the season, xiui for 
 many seasons afterwards. It established his reputation 
 not only as an actor, but ;ilso as a critic, and he enjoyed 
 the credit of reviving a play, which, perhaps, had it not 
 been for his research might have been lost to the stage 
 for ever. 
 
 About this time commenced Macliliu's acquaintance
 
 432 CHARLES MACKLIN. 
 
 with Garrick, which continued with all the warmth of 
 the most intimate friendship till the quarrel took place in 
 1743 between the principal performers and the manager, 
 who was desirous of reducing their salaries. Macklin 
 and several of the most eminent of the company, among 
 whom was Garrick, now openly revolted, and a formal 
 agreement was signed, by which they obliged them- 
 selves not to accede to any terms that might be pro- 
 posed to them by Fleetwood without the consent of all 
 the subscribers. The contest between the manager and 
 the seceders became soon very unequal. The latter 
 found all applications for a new patent ineffectual. 
 There was now no remedy left, but to agree with the 
 manager upon the best terms that could be obtained. 
 Some of the principal actors, and such as were actually 
 necessary to the conducting of the theatrical machine, 
 were admitted to favour upon equal terms, and were al- 
 lowed the same annual stipends which they enjoyed be- 
 fore the secession ; others of less consequence were 
 abridged of half their income. 
 
 O 
 
 The manager ascribed this revolt of the players prin- 
 cipally to Mr. Macklin ; and him he determined to 
 punish. To the rest he was reconciled ; but eternal 
 banishment from his theatre was the doom which he 
 pronounced on the man who had been once his favourite 
 adviser, and his bosom friend. Macklin had no inclina- 
 tion to become the scape-goat in this business, and he 
 urged Mr. Garrick to perfect the articles of their agree- 
 ment, by which it was covenanted, that neither the con- 
 tracting parties should accommodate matters with the 
 patentee without the other. Mr. Garrick could not 
 but acknowledge the justice of Macklin's plea; he 
 declared that he was ready to do all in his power 
 to fulfil his agreement; but as the manager continu- 
 ed obstinate in his resolution to exclude Mr. Macklin, 
 it could not reasonably be expected that he should, by 
 an obstinate perseverance in a desperate contest, greatly 
 
 21
 
 CHARLES MACKLTN. 433 
 
 injure his own fortune, and absolutely be the means of 
 starving eight or ten people whose fate depended on his 
 accommodating the dispute with Fleetwood. He offered 
 Macklin a sum to be paid weekly out of his income, for 
 a certain time, till the manager could be brought into 
 belter temper, or he should have it in his own power to 
 provide for himself suitably to his rank in the theatre. 
 These proposals were peremptorily rejected by Macklin, 
 who persisted in his claim of Garrick's absolutely fulfil- 
 ling the tenor of their compact, but the latter, notwith- 
 standing the perseverance of Macklin, accepted Fleet- 
 wood's proposals, and entered into an agreement with 
 him, for that season, at a very considerable income. 
 This laid the foundation of a coolness between them 
 which ended only with the life of Garrick. 
 
 Laccy, who succeeded Fleetwood in the management, 
 brought about a revolution in the theatre, in 1747. He 
 forgot all former disputes, and engaged Macklin and his 
 wife at a very considerable salary. In the spring of 1748, 
 Sheridan, the then manager of theDublin theatre, offered 
 him and his wife eight hundred pounds per year, for two 
 years, which he accepted, and they soon after landed in 
 Dublin to perform their engagements. But Macklin's dis- 
 position to jealousy and dissatisfaction still prevailed, for 
 scarcely had he been a month in Dublin, when he be- 
 gan to find out that the manager chose to perform tra- 
 gedies as well as comedies at his theatre ; that his name 
 stood in larger characters in the play-bill ; and a variety 
 of such grievous matters; not considering that his and 
 his wife's salary was fixed at all events for two years, 
 and that any reasonable arrangement which the mana- 
 ger might adopt for his own emolument, would the more 
 enable him to perform his contract ; but consideration 
 was lost upon a man of Macklin's temper, when once re- 
 solved; he therefore gave a loose to his passions, which 
 at last became so intolerable, that, according to the 
 language of Trinculo, " though Sheridan was king, Mac k. 
 
 VOL. i. 3 i
 
 434 CHARLES MACKL1N. 
 
 lin would be viceroy over him;" which the former not 
 agreeing to, determined him to shut the doors of his 
 theatre against both him and his wife. This, however, 
 so far from bringing him to reason, provoked his irrita- 
 bility the more. He several times presented himself at 
 the stage-door no admittance. He then sent the ma- 
 nager an attorney's letter no answer. He then com- 
 menced a chancery suit; and, after waiting the whole 
 winter unemployed, he returned to England several hun- 
 dred pounds minus, and a snug law-suit upon his shoul- 
 ders into the bargain. On his return to England, he 
 commenced manager at Chester for that season, and in 
 the winter was engaged at Covent-garden Theatre, where 
 he continued till towards the close of the year 1753, when 
 having obtained from Mr. Garrick the use of his theatre 
 for one night, he took a formal leave of the stage, in a 
 prologue written on the occasion,, in which he intro- 
 duced his daughter, as an actress, to the protection of 
 the public. 
 
 What induced Macklin to quit the stage in the full 
 vigour of fame and constitution (as he was then,, ac- 
 cording to his own calculation, but fifty-four), was one 
 of those schemes which he had long previously indulged 
 himself in, of suddenly making his fortune, by the esta- 
 blishment of a tavern and coffee-house, in the Piazza, 
 Covent-garden, to which he afterwards added a school 
 of oratory, upon a plan hitherto unknown in England, 
 founded upon the Greek, Roman, French, and Italian 
 societies, under the title of "The British Inquisition." 
 The first part of this plan was opened on the llth of 
 March, 1754, by a public ordinary (which was to be 
 continued everyday at four o'clock, price three shillings), 
 where every person was permitted to drink port, claret, or 
 whatever liquor he should choose a bill of fare, we 
 must confess, very encouraging, even in those times, 
 and whk:h, from its cheapness and novelty, drew a 
 Considerable resort of company for some time. Dinner
 
 CHARLES MAC'KLIN. io-5 
 
 being announced by public advertisement, to be ready 
 at four o'clock, just as the clock had struck that hour, ;i 
 large tavern bell which he had affixed at the top of the 
 house, gave notice of its approach. This bell continued 
 rinsring for about five minutes; the dinner was then 
 
 O O 7 
 
 ordered to be dished, and in ten minutes afterwards it 
 was set upon the table; after which the outer room door 
 was ordered to be shut, and no other guest admitted. 
 Macklin himself always brought in the first dish, dressed 
 in a full suit of clothes, &c. with a napkin slung across 
 his left arm. When he placed the dish on the table, he 
 made a low bow, and retired a few paces back towards 
 the sideboard, which was laid out in a very superb style, 
 and with every possible convenience that could be 
 thought of. Two of the principal waiters stood beside 
 him, and one, two, or three more, as occasion required. 
 He had trained up all his servants several months before 
 for this attendance ; and one principal rule, which he 
 had laid down as a sine qua non, was, that not one single 
 word was to be spoken by them whilst in the room, ex- 
 cept when asked a question by one of the guests. The 
 ordinary, therefore, was carried on by signs, previously 
 agreed upon; and Macklin, as principal waiter, had 
 only to observe when any thing was wanted or called for, 
 when he communicated a sign, which the waiters imme- 
 diately understood, and complied with. Thus was dinner 
 entirely served up, and attended to, on the side of the 
 house, all in dumb show. When dinner was over, and 
 the bottles and glasses all laid upon the table, Macklin 
 quitting his former situation, walked gravely up to the 
 front of the table, and hoped " that all things were 
 found agreeable;" after which, he passed the bell-rope 
 round the back of the chair of the person who happened 
 to sit at the head of the table, and, making a low bow at 
 the door, retired. Though all this ha'd the show of a 
 formality seemingly trenching too much on the freedom 
 of a social meeting, it appeared to have a general good
 
 436 CHARLES MACKLIN. 
 
 effect : the company not only saw it as a thing to which 
 they had not been accustomed, but it gave them by de- 
 grees, from the example of taciturnity, a certain mixture 
 of temper and moderation in their discourse ; and it was 
 observed, that there were fewer wrangles and disputes at 
 this ordinary, during the time Macklin kept it, than 
 could well be expected in places which admitted of so 
 mixed an assembly of people. The company generally 
 consisted of wits, authors, players, templars, and loung- 
 ing men of the town. 
 
 Of the other part of this plan, which he called 
 "The British Inquisition," it is impossible to think, 
 without ascribing to the author a degree of vanity 
 almost bordering on madness. By this plan, he not 
 only incited a discussion on almost the whole circle of 
 arts and sciences, which he was in a great measure to di- 
 -rect, but took upon himself solely to give lectures on 
 the comedy of the ancients, the use of their masks, 
 flutes, mimes, pantomimes, &c. He next engaged to 
 draw a comparison between the stages of Greece and 
 Rome, to conclude with lectures upon each of Shak- 
 speare's plays, commenting on the different stories from 
 which his different plots were taken, the uses which he 
 made of them, with strictures on his fables, morals, pas- 
 sions and manners. In respect to his knowledge of an- 
 cient comedy, and his attempt to draw a comparison be- 
 tween the Greek and Roman stage, he must have ob- 
 tained it (if he made any literary inquiry at all) from 
 Dryden's prefaces, and other detached English writers 
 on the subject, as he was totally unacquainted with 
 either the Greek or Latin languages, and did not under- 
 stand French well enough to avail himself of their criti- 
 cisms. As to the original of Shakspeare's stories, and 
 the uses he made of them, he was still in a worse pre- 
 dicament, as this required a course of reading in the 
 cotemporary writers of Shakspeare's age, too multifarious 
 either for the grasp at" his mind, or for the time, which
 
 CHARLES MACKLIN. 437 
 
 from other avocations, he could bestow on it, so that to 
 every body but himself Macklin stood in $ very ridicu- 
 lous point of view, under the responsibility of large 
 promises, with very little capita] to discharge them. 
 
 Of his illustration of Shakspeare's plays, we believe 
 there are no records, as he was not quite fool enough to 
 print them, nor has even ridicule consigned them to 
 memory : but as a proof of what he was capable of 
 doing as a critic in this line, we subjoin the following 
 proposal he made to Garrick, as a kind of grateful com- 
 pensation to him, for giving him the use of his theatre 
 for one night, and for writing a farewell epilogue for 
 him on the same occasion. In his conversation with the 
 manager about the great run of Romeo and Juliet, he 
 told him, that as the town had not properly settled 
 whether Barry or he was the better Romeo, he meant 
 ultimately to decide that question in his next lecture on 
 that tragedy. Garrick, who was all alive to fame, in- 
 stantly cocked his ear, and exclaimed, " Ah ! my dear 
 Mac, how will you bring this about?" "I'll tell you, 
 sir ; I mean to show your different merits in the garden 
 scene. Barry comes into it, sir, as great as a lord, 
 swaggering about his love, and talking so loud, that bj 
 God, sir, if we don't suppose the servants of the Capulet 
 family almost dead with sleep, they must have come out 
 and tossed the fellow in a blanket. Well, sir, after 
 having fixed my auditors' attention to this part, then I 
 shall ask, but how does Garrick act this? Why, sir, 
 sensible that the family are at enmity with him and his 
 house, he comes creeping in upon his toes, whispering 
 hislove,and looking about himjMsf tike a thief in the night.'' 
 At this Garrick could hold out no longer; he thanked him 
 for his good intentions, but begged he would decline his 
 purpose, as after all, he thought it a question better left 
 to theopinion of an audience than the subjectof a lecture. 
 With these qualifications as a critic, much success 
 could not be arirued from the lectures. The event turned
 
 138 CHARLES MACKLIN. 
 
 out so, as, in a little time, the few who resorted to his 
 rooms gave up all ideas of improvement, and the whole 
 assumed an air of burlesque, which was still heightened 
 by the gravity of Macklin, who trusting to the efficiency 
 of his own powers, appeared every night full dressed, 
 dictating to the town with all the airs of superior intel- 
 ligence. Foote stood at the head of the wits and 
 laughers on this occasion. To a man of his humour, 
 Macklin was as the dace to the pike, a sure prey. He 
 accordingly made him his daily food for laughter and 
 ridicule, by constantly attending his lectures, and, by 
 his questions, remarks, and repartees, kept the audience 
 in a continual roar. Macklin sometimes made battle, but 
 it was Priam to Pyrrhus : he now and then came out with 
 a strong remark, or bitter sarcasm, but in wit and humour 
 Foote was greatly his superior. Foote likewise had the 
 talent of keeping his temper, which still added to his 
 superiority. One night as Macklin was preparing to 
 begin his lecture, hearing a buzz in the room, he spied 
 Foote in a corner, talking and laughing most immode- 
 rately. This he thought a safe time to rebuke him, as he 
 had not begun his lecture, and consequently could not 
 be subject to any criticism ; he therefore cried out with 
 some authority, " Well, sir, you seem to be very merry 
 there; but do you know what I am going to say now ?" 
 "No, sir," says Foote; "Pray do you 1 ?" The ready 
 and unembarrassed manner of this reply drew on such 
 a burst of laughter, as silenced the lecturer for some 
 minutes, nor could he then proceed till called upon by 
 the general voice of the company. 
 
 Another time, Macklin undertook to show the causes 
 of duelling in Ireland ; and why it was much more the 
 practice of that nation than any other. In order to do 
 this in his own way, he began with the earliest part of 
 the Irish history, as it respected the customs, the educa- 
 tion, and the animal spirits of the inhabitants; and 
 after getting as far as the reign of Queen Elizabeth, he
 
 CHARLES MACKLIN. 439 
 
 was again proceeding, when Foote spoke to order. 
 " Well, sir, what have you to say on this subject?" 
 " Only to crave a little attention," says Foote with much 
 seeming modesty, " when I think I can settle this point 
 in a few words." " Well sir, go on." "Why, then, sir," 
 says Foote, " to begin, what o'clock is it;" " O'clock !" 
 says Macklin, " what has the clock to do with a disser- 
 tation on duelling ?" " Pray, sir," says Foote, " be 
 pleased to answer my question." Macklin on this 
 pulled out his watch, and reported the hour to be half 
 past ten. " Very well," says Foote ; " about this time of 
 the night, every gentleman in Ireland, that can possibly 
 afford it, is in his third bottle of claret, consequently is 
 in a fair way of getting drunk ; from drunkenness pro- 
 ceeds quarrelling, and from quarrelling duelling ; and so 
 there's an end of the chapter." The company seemed 
 fully satisfied with this abridgment, and Macklin con- 
 cluded his lecture for that evening in great dudgeon. 
 
 Another night, being at supper with Foote and some 
 others at the Bedford, one of the company was praising 
 Macklin on the great regularity of his ordinary, and in 
 particular his manner of directing the waiters by signals : 
 "Aye, sir," says Macklin, "I knew it would do. And 
 where do you think I picked up this hint? Well, sir, 
 I'll tell you; I picked it up from no less a man than 
 James Duke of York, who, you know, sir, first invented 
 signals for the fleet." " Very apropos, indeed," says 
 Foote, " and good poetical justice, as from the fleet they 
 were taken, so to the fleet both master and signals are 
 likely to return." 
 
 All this, though galling to Macklin, was fun for the 
 public; and if it had ended here, would, perhaps, have 
 served Macklin in a pecuniary way, as much as it hurt 
 his feelings in another; but Foote did not know when 
 he had enough of a good thing: he introduced him into 
 his theatre at the Ilayrnarkei, where neither cut so good 
 a figure as they did in the British Inquisition ; ami
 
 440 CHARLES MACKLIN. 
 
 Macklin, in return, retorted in all kind of abuse and 
 calumny. The public at last grew tired of the con- 
 troversy, from being taken out of its proper place, and 
 the British Inquisition soon after this began to feel a 
 gradual decay in all its departments. Most people be- 
 sides the projector saw the seeds of a speed}' dissolution 
 in the first principles of this scheme. In the first place, 
 it was upon a large, expensive scale, and quite novel in 
 this country ; it, therefore, not only required a greater 
 capital than Macklin was master of, but much greater 
 talents, as he had neither learning, reading, figure, or 
 elocution, for the oratorical part; nor assiduity, know- 
 ledge, or temper, for keeping a coffee-house and tavern. 
 Whilst he amused himself with drilling his waiters, or 
 fitting himself for the rostrum, by poring over the Athe- 
 nian Oracle or parliamentary debates, his waiters, in re- 
 turn, were robbing him in all directions. His cook 
 generally went to market for him, and his principal 
 waiter was his principal butler; in short, Macklin had 
 left himself little more to do in the essential parts of this 
 business, than paying the bills ; and these soon poured in 
 upon him so fast, that he could not even acquit himself 
 of this employment. Accordingly, the next winter ulti- 
 mately decided the question, as we find him a bankrupt 
 on the 25th of January, 1755 r under the title of vintner, 
 coftee-man, and chapman. 
 
 On his examination before the commissioners of bank- 
 ruptcy, every part of his character appeared free from 
 imputation except his prudence, as it appeared he lost 
 his money partly by the sums incurred in building and 
 fitting up the rooms, and "partly by the trade not being 
 adequate to such a scale of expenditure, but, in the end, 
 he paid twenty shillings in the pound. One circumstance, 
 however, should not be omitted here, which redounds to 
 his character as a father, which was, that it was proved 
 by sufficient documents, that he laid out no less than 
 twelve hundred pounds on the education of his daughter 
 
 22
 
 CHARLES MAC KLIN. 441 
 
 an education not ill bestowed, as it respected exterior 
 accomplishment, but which made so little impression on 
 her gratitude, that, at her death (which happened when 
 her father was above eighty years of age, and when it 
 was well known he was far from being independent) she 
 bequeathed the best part of her fortune to strangers, 
 giving him, at the same time, such an eventual title to 
 the other part, as was wor?e than absolute neglect; it 
 was a legacy in mockery, as if she only thought of her 
 father to tantalize him with fruitless expectations. 
 
 Though Miss Mack I'm was not handsome, she was 
 genteel in her person, and being highly educated, was 
 fashionable in her manners and deportment, She was, 
 besides, a rising actress, and gave specimens of her 
 singing and dancing in occasional entertainments, which 
 made her a great favourite with the town. Some clays 
 previous to her benefit, whilst Macklin was sitlm; at 
 breakfast, aloud knocking at his door announced a ba- 
 ronet, t that time as well known on the turf, as he has 
 since been in the character of a noble* lord, and great' 
 legal practitioner. After the ceremonies of introduction 
 \?ere over, Macklin hoped " he would do him the honour 
 of breakfasting with him ;" which the other very frankly 
 accepted of, and the conversation became gencra'l -the" 
 stage, of course, formed one cif the topics, when the 
 baronet took this opportunity to praise Miss Miicklin in 
 the highest strain* of panegyric. This MAckHri thought 
 a good omen for his daughter's benefit nig 4 ! it, and bowed" 
 most graciously to all his 1 encomiums. At last, after a 
 short pause (arising, as Macklin thought, from his em- 
 barrassment about the manner of asking for tickets), the 
 baronet, began the following curious conversation: 
 "After what I have said of your daughter, Mr. Macklin, 
 you may suppose 1 am not insensible to her merits. I 
 mean to be her friend, not in the article of taking tickets 
 for her benefit, and such trifling acts of friendship, 
 which mean nothing more than the vanity of patronage 
 
 VOL. i. 3 K
 
 CHARLES MACKLIN. 
 
 ~ I mean to be her friend for life." " What do you 
 allude to, sir?" says Macklin, roused at this last expres- 
 sion. " Why," said the other, " I mean as I say, to make 
 her my friend for life; and as you are a man of the 
 world, and 'tis fit you should be considered in this busi- 
 ness I now make you an offer of four hundred pounds 
 per year for your daughter, and two hundred pounds per 
 year for yourself, to be secured on any of my estates, 
 during both your natural lives." " I was at that time," 
 says Macklin, " spreading some butter on my roll, and 
 happened to have in my hand a large case knife, which 
 grasping, and looking steadily at the baronet, I desired 
 him instantly to quit my apartments, telling him at the 
 same time, I was as much surprised at his folly as his pro- 
 fligacy,^ thus attempting the honour of a child through 
 the medium of her parent. He affected not to mind me, 
 and was proceeding with some coarseness, when in- 
 stantly I sprung from my seat, and holding the knife 
 near his throat, in a menacing manner, bade him make 
 the best of his way down stairs, or I would instantly 
 drive that instrument into his heart, as the due reward of 
 such base and infamous proposals. Sir (continued the 
 veteran) I had no occasion to repeat my menaces a se- 
 cond time. By God, the fellow made but one jump 
 from his chair to the door, and scampered down the 
 stairs as if the devil was in him. He ran across the 
 garden in the same manner, thinking I was at his heels : 
 and so, sir, I never spoke to the rascal since." 
 
 Macklin now joined Barry in founding a new theatre 
 in Dublin, and in the spring of 1757, went to Ireland 
 with Barry and Woodward, who was admitted as paitner, 
 and was present at laying the foundation stone of Crow- 
 street Theatre. About September of the same year, 
 Barry having obtained a sufficient number of subscribers 
 to his new theatre, and arranged every other matter re- 
 lative to his great design, returned to London, leaving 
 Macklin as his locum tenens, who, to do him justice, was
 
 CHARLES MACKLIN. 413 
 
 so very vigilant and industrious in all the departments of 
 his trust, that upon Barry's return to Dublin, towards 
 the close of the summer of 1758, the theatre was nearly 
 ready for their performance. Mrs. Macklin died about 
 this time, before her husband could receive any benefit 
 for her engagement, and he seemed much afflicted at 
 her loss, as her judgment and good sense often kept him. 
 within the pale of propriety. 
 
 Crow-street Theatre opened on the 23d of October, 
 1758. Macklin joined this corps as soon as decency 
 for the loss of his wife would admit; but quitting 
 his engagements with Barry and Woodward, he re- 
 turned to London in December, 1759, and obtained 
 an engagement at Drury-lane, at a very consider- 
 able salary, where he brought out his farce of " Love- 
 a-la-Mode," which, though it met with some opposition 
 in the beginning, afterwards received such applause both 
 in London and Dublin as made amends for all his former 
 dramatic miscarriages, and crowned him with no incon- 
 siderable share of reputation. Of the origin of this little 
 piece Macklin was often heard to speak with a pleasure 
 which most men take in telling of events, which, from 
 trifling beginnings, lead to prosperous consequences. It 
 was as follows : 
 
 Some time before their going to Ireland, Barry and 
 Macklin had been spending the evening at a public-house 
 in the neighbourhood of Covent-garden, where they had 
 been joined by an Irishman who had been some years in 
 the Prussian service, and who, from his first appearance, 
 attracted their notice. In his person he wns near six 
 feet high, finely formed, with a handsome manly face, 
 and a degree of honesty and good humour about him 
 which prejudiced every body in his favour. He happened 
 to take his sent in the same box with Macklin and Barry. 
 The latter, \vlio was himself a native of Ireland, perfectly 
 understood the character of his countrymen, and couid 
 tell many agreeable stories in their way, soon scraped an
 
 4-14 CHARLES MACKLIN. 
 
 acquaintance with the stranger and brought him into the 
 full blow of self-exhibition. He told them of his birth, 
 parentage,-aod education in Ireland ; of his being origi- 
 ijally designed for a priest, and following an uncle of his 
 to France, who was of that profession, for the purpose; 
 that luckily his uncle died and left him at liberty to follow 
 I/is favourite propensity, in compliance with which he 
 enlisted in the Prussian service, and was in most of the 
 eaaly battles of the great Frederic, who rewarded his 
 services with a lieutenancy ; and that he had just come 
 over to England to receive a legacy left him by a rela- 
 tion. He likewise gave a long account of his amours in 
 France and Prussia, accompanied with some humorous 
 Irish songs, which made him on the whole a most divert- 
 ing character. He was, at the same time, so extremely 
 simple and unsuspicious, that when Macklin, who passed 
 himself off for an Englishman, attributed his success 
 with the ladies to his having, in common with all Irish- 
 men, a tail behind, he instantly pulled off his coat and 
 waistcoat to convince him of his mistake, assuring him 
 that " no Irishman was in that respect better than 
 another man." 
 
 Macklin, who seldom wanted observation in his pro- 
 fession, perceived that this was a character which would 
 stand prominent in comedy. He therefore drew him out 
 in all his absurdities, till he had satisfied himself in 
 sketching the full outline of the portrait. The next day 
 he communicated his idea to Barry, who highly ap- 
 proved of it, and by way of encouraging Macklin, 
 offered him a wager that he would not produce a dra- 
 tnutic piece on the subject in the course of three months. 
 This was accepted, and Macklin, according to his own 
 account, produced a comedy in five acts, sketched out in 
 pjot and incidents, without having all the parts of the 
 dialogue filled up, in the course of six weeks. Barry was 
 so pleased with this that he paid him his wager, Macklin 
 pledging himself at the same time to finish it before the
 
 CHARLES MACKLIX. 445 
 
 end of the season. On submitting it to the judgment of 
 his friends, he, after their advice, reduced it to two 
 acts; in which shape its success fully answered his expeo 
 tations. 
 
 Love-a-la-Mode was succeeded by the True Born 
 Irishman, and various other pieces; ninong the rest the 
 True Born Scotchman, which was afterwards extended 
 to five acts, under the title of "The Man of the World." 
 For many years the exhibition of his talents was shared 
 by the English and Irish metropolis. About the year 
 1767, a division took place among the numerous ma- 
 nagers of Covi'nt-g;jrdcn Theatre, where Macklin was 
 then engaged, owing, as was alleged, to the assumed 
 authority of Mr. Colman. As it was next to an impos- 
 sibility fora man of Macklin's bustling spirit to remain 
 an unconcerned spectator, he joined the party in oppo- 
 sition to Colman. The consequence was a paper-war 
 among the critics, and a chancery suit among the parties. 
 Macklin was involved in the latter, which he entered 
 into with as much spirit and alacrity as if he had been, 
 the solicitor instead of the client. This suit, according 
 to the usual custom of the law, continued several years; 
 and as Macklin always thought he understood whatever 
 business he engaged in better than any one else, he un- 
 dertook himself to answer all his bills in chancery, and 
 this method partook of his usual originality. Whenever 
 he had a bill to answer, or any other law question to 
 state to his solicitor, he gave notice to his family to have 
 a constant fire kept up in his study, and not to be inter- 
 rupted, on any account whatever, till such time as he 
 should choose to be visible. Accordingly, on the days 
 of his engaging in this business, he locked himself up 
 in this apartment, where his food, linen, and every other 
 convenience he wanted, were sent in to him in dumb 
 show. Here he likewise slept, and whenever a thought 
 struck him in the night, he 'was up at his desk with all 
 the ardour of a poet labouring for immortaliiv. These
 
 416 CHARLES 31 AC KLIN. 
 
 bills did not disgrace the profession by an improper 
 brevity. The causes of complaint, though some of them 
 very frivolous, were all set down with their accustomed 
 length and gravity, so that Mackliu's rustication, as he 
 called it, sometimes continued for a month or six weeks. 
 He then came out into the world tiring his acquaintance 
 with the process and effects of his lucubrations till the 
 next bill arrived. After a wearisome contest of many 
 years, which must have interrupted him greatly in the 
 course of his profession, he however obtained his cause, 
 a victory which, considering his loss of time and uneasi- 
 ness, left little more than an empty boast. This circum- 
 stance drew from Lord Mansfield the following hand- 
 some and well turned compliment, " You have met with 
 great applause to day, you never acted better." 
 
 Mack! in thus continued actively engaged in his pro- 
 fessional pursuits with scarcely any visible declension of 
 his powers, till, in November, 1788, while representing 
 the part of Sir Pertinnx Mac Sycophant, he for the first 
 time began to lose his recollection. The audience had 
 the indulgence to impute this want of memory as much 
 to the extreme length of the part as to the very advanc- 
 ed age of the performer ; but he was conscious of some- 
 thing more serious than a casual lapse of recollection, 
 and in a short address to the audience, informed them, 
 that unless he found himself more capable lie should 
 never again venture to solicit their attention. He how- 
 ever rallied after this, so as not only to gain his usual 
 applause, but to encourage a hope that his theatrical 
 labours were not yet at their final close. 
 
 His last attempt was on the 7th of May following, in 
 the character of Shylock for his own benefit. To pre- 
 vent any disappointment, Mr. liyder had studied the 
 part, and was ready dressed to supply any deficiency. 
 The prudence of the precaution was afterwards apparent. 
 When Macklin had dressed, lie went into the green 
 room, und going up to the late Mrs. Pope, asked if shej
 
 CHARLES MACK MX. 117 
 
 was to play that night. " To be sure I am," replied she, 
 " don't you see that I am dressed for Portia:" " Ah ! 
 very true," rejoined MacUin ; " I had forgot. But who is 
 to play Shylockr" The imbecile tone of' voice, and the 
 inanity of look which accompanied this question, ex- 
 cited a melancholy sensation in all who heard it. After 
 some pause, Mrs. Pope answered: "Why you, to be 
 sure. Are you not dressed for the part?" He then 
 seemed to recollect himself, and putting his hand on his 
 forehead, pathetically exclaimed : "God help me, mv 
 memory I am afraid has left me." He however went 
 upon the stage and delivered two or three speeches in a 
 manner that evidently proved he did not understand 
 what he was repeating. After a while he recovered 
 himself a little, and seemed to make an effort to rouse 
 his powers, but in vain. Nature could assist him no 
 farther, and after pausing some time, as if considering 
 what to do, he then came forward and informed the au- 
 dience that as he found himself unable to finish his part 
 lie hoped the}* would accept Mr. Ryder as his substitute. 
 The apology was received with a mixed sentiment of in- 
 dulgence and commiseration, and at the age of ninety, 
 by his own account, Macklin retired from the stage for 
 ever. 
 
 Notwithstanding this decay of memory which inca- 
 pacitated Macklin for professional business, he was far 
 from feeling the infirmities of so advanced an age in the 
 private habits of life. He lived much abroad as usual, 
 took long walks, related anecdotes with tolerable recol- 
 lection ; his conversation was replete both with enter- 
 tainment and in formation, and was often enlivened by that 
 quickness and severity of repartee for which at an earlier 
 period he had been particularly dutinguUhed. 
 
 Being one evening in company, he \v.-!>. as-kcd whether 
 Mr. Macklin, the late print-seller it: ret, was 
 
 an}- relation of his; to whict he answered, rather shortly, 
 " No, sir, ] am the first of my nnme. There \> as no
 
 448 CHARLES MACKLIN. 
 
 other Macklin before me, as I invented it merely to get 
 rid of thatdamn'd Irish name M'Laughlin." "But might 
 not such such a n ame exist without your know ing it ?" said 
 a dignitary of the church who was present. " No, sir," 
 replied Macklin in a growling tone. " Why now I 
 think of it," rejoined the other, " there was a printer of 
 that name towards the close of the sixteenth century, 
 near Temple Bar;" and appealing to one of the com- 
 pany very conversant in black letter learning, he con- 
 tinued : "I believe you might have seen books of his 
 printing." " O yes," answered the other; " several 
 with the name of Macklin at the bottom of the title- 
 page." " Well, Mr. Macklin, what do you say now?" 
 exclaimed several of the company. "Say now?" re- 
 plied Macklin, " why all I have to say is this (looking 
 the two antiquarians full 'in the face), that black-letter 
 men will lie like other men." 
 
 Those who knew Macklin most intimately at this 
 period, never once had an idea but that a man of his 
 longevity, his high situation in the theatre, and above all 
 his intimate knowledge of the world, had sufficiently 
 provided for his independence; but the fact turned out 
 otherwise. With all the advantages he possessed, Mack- 
 lin had neglected to make a provision for old age; or 
 perhaps, like the French wit, he had lived so long that 
 he might think death had forgotten him, and was loath 
 to take precautions, for fear of putting his adversary in 
 mind of him. The truth was, that though Macklin was 
 always well paid both as an actor and a writer, yet he 
 never continued long in any one engagement, so that 
 what he gained by an advance of salary, on the one 
 hand, he lost by travelling expenses, shifting of lodgings, 
 and intervals in which he was unemployed, ort the other. 
 He was, besides, fond of lawsuits and seldom out of the 
 courts, a situation that generally leaves a man consider- 
 ably out of pocket. In the management of his private 
 affairs he was always extremely reserved, and not less 
 
 22
 
 CHARLES MACKLIN. 449 
 
 punctual : for whether he was fixed in winter quarters or 
 strolling through the country, he always discharged every 
 current debt at the end or' the season, or of his engage- 
 ment. For this purpose he had a bound quarto book in 
 which he entered the receipts of the different tradesmen. 
 Many a time has he been seen trudging through the 
 streets with this book under his arm ; and on being 
 challenged with this peculiarity, he used to reply: "I 
 keep this as a check upon my tradesmen ; for those 
 people are sometimes troubled with short memories, and 
 can remember nothing out of book; so this gives them 
 their cues occasionally." 
 
 The calls of an honest man, cannot, however, be 
 long answered without money, and Mack Tin's removal 
 from the stage was succeeded in a few years by the want 
 of that necessary article. In this dilemma his friends 
 were consulted, and by their advice his two celebrated 
 pieces "The Man of the World," and " Love-a-la- 
 Mode," were published by subscription, under the su- 
 perintendence of Mr. Arthur Murphy. This plan pro- 
 duced near sixteen hundred pounds, part of which was 
 expended by the trustees appointed for that purpose, in 
 purchasing an annuity of two hundred pounds for Mack- 
 lin's life, and the remainder-was applied to his immedi- 
 ate relief. 
 
 This change in his circumstances seemed to produce 
 an immediate effect on Macklin's spirits ; but towards 
 the conclusion of 1793, a visible alteration took place 
 both in his mind and person. The ravages of time now 
 began plainly to appear; his face no longer presented 
 any degree of character ; his eye had lost all use in de- 
 scribing the movements of the mind, and instead ot 
 that erect form and firm step which he had heretofore 
 exhibited, and which seemed to denote a man of fifty, 
 he now showed all the infirmities incident to advanced 
 age. 
 
 VOL. i. 'J i
 
 450 CHARLES AIACKLIN. 
 
 Still he occasionally frequented the pit of both the 
 theatres, but seemed totally insensible to what was passing 
 before him. Even his favourite part of ibe Jew, the 
 part which first established, and supported his fame 
 above half a century, he did not know when it was rep- 
 resented, but frequently asked what was the play, and 
 who was the performer; without any other remark than 
 a repetition of the same question. 
 
 Three years he lingered in this unenviable condition; 
 till, at length, growing weaker and weaker, he imper- 
 ceptibly expired on the llth of July, 1797, aged 107, 
 if he were born at the period before mentioned ; but of 
 this the reader should be apprized, there were some seri- 
 ous doubts entertained. His remains were interred 
 under the chancel of Covent-ganlen church. 
 
 In respect to Macklin's character as t!ie head of a 
 family, nothing could be more correct and respectable. 
 The reputation he acquired as an. actor, and more par- 
 ticularly as an author, was not a little extraordinary 
 considering his want of education, and proves that he 
 must have been a man of strong natural abilities, which 
 could not have failed to raise him to still higher distinc- 
 tion, had they been properly cultivated. It was said 
 of him, that, sensible of this defect in his education, he 
 occasionally read in the morning for the purpose of 
 showing off at night, and the following instance of 
 this is related on the authority of Foote. 
 
 Being engaged to sup with some men of science, and 
 ambitious of cutting a figure independent of common con- 
 versation, Macklin prepared himself in the morning by 
 reading a philosophical treatise on the properties of gun- 
 powder. This might be supposed an anomalous subject 
 for common conversation, and rather difficult to be intro- 
 duced ; but whether it was the only book he had at hand, 
 or whether it was the eccentric turn of his mind, this was 
 the great gun he had prepared to fire off that evening.
 
 CHARLES MACKLIN. 
 
 A long time however passed before an opportunity pre- 
 sented itself, and perhaps a much longer interval would 
 have elapsed, had not Macklin thought of an expedient, 
 suddenly starling from his chair and exclaiming: 
 " Good God ! Was not that a gun fired off!"" A gun !" 
 exclaimed the company, in nmaze. " Aye, there it is 
 again," said he; "and I am sure some accident has 
 happened below stairs." On this the landlord was called 
 up; and he having soon satisfied the company that there 
 was no such thing, Macklin then took up the cue. 
 " Well," said he, " though my hearing has been deceiv- 
 ed in respect to the report of a gun, yet the properties 
 of gunpowder are in many other respects of a very sin- 
 gular nature" and then went on in that track of reading 
 in which he had previously instructed himself, with 
 great parade of philosophical knowledge. 
 
 To heighten the absurdity of Macklin's literary cha- 
 racter, he was peculiarly attached to philosophical and 
 metaphysical books; and as he had no previous know- 
 ledge laid in to comprehend those books, it may be 
 easily supposed how he detailed them. With this ex- 
 ception his conversation was lively, humorous, shrewd, 
 and entertaining, except in case of flat contradictions, 
 or questions that he could not readily answer; these 
 embarrassed him and he would often reply in the rudest 
 manner. 
 
 Such was Macklin, to whom, notwithstanding all his 
 eccentricities, may be applied the character given by Dr. 
 Johnson of Mr. Thomas Sheridan, that were mankind 
 divided into two classes of good and bad, he would 
 stand considerably within the former. 
 
 Men are perhaps best exhibited by some little familiar 
 strokes in their character; we shall therefore exhibit 
 some of those little sallies which distinguished Mack- 
 lin's conversation, and which 'will show, however correct 
 and sensible he was at other times, that neither good 
 sense nor knowledge of the world are sometimes sulti-
 
 452 CHARLES MACKLIN. 
 
 cient to restrain the irritation of temper or the grosser 
 particles of original education. 
 
 A notorious egotist one day in a large company indi- 
 rectly praising himself for a number of good qualities, 
 which it was well known that he never possessed, asked 
 Macklin the reason why he should have this propensity 
 of interfering in the good of others, when he frequently 
 met with very unsuitable returns. "I could tell you, 
 sir," said Macklin ; " the cause is impudence nothing 
 but stark staring impudence." 
 
 A person praising Garrick's generosity upon a certain 
 occasion, Macklin quickly replied : "Did you see this 
 yourself, sirr" "No, sir, but I heard of it." " Aye, 
 hear of it! (sarcastically) yes, you'll hear a great many 
 things of this kind of Garrick, for he has toad-eaters in 
 every corner : and the fellow will talk a great deal him- 
 self about charity, generosity, &c. while he is at his 
 own table; but let him once turn the corner.of South- 
 ampton-street, and meet the ghost of a farthing, all his 
 resolutions will vanish into air." 
 
 One of the band of Covent Garden who played the 
 French-horn, was likewise relating an anecdote of 
 Garrick's generosity. Macklin who heard him at the 
 lower end of the table, and who always took fire at the 
 praises of Garrick, called out : " Sir, I believe you are a 
 trumpeter." " Well sir," said the poor man quite con- 
 founded, "and if lam, what then ?" "Nothing more, 
 sir, than being a trumpeter, you are a dealer in puff's by 
 profession." 
 
 But notwithstanding these biting parts of his character, 
 his conversation at other times was liberal, pleasant, and 
 instructive ; and he generally observed upon common 
 things in his own way with singular force and perspicuity. 
 Speaking of one of our naval victories he emphatically 
 exclaimed: "Ah, sir, an English man of war is the 
 thing after all. She speaks all languages; is the best 
 negociator and the most profound politician iu thi?
 
 
 CO C I _f.0r _L C '. 'ly I .' _ ! 
 
 rn*. 
 
 A /,
 
 BEBTHOLDE. 453 
 
 island. She was always Oliver Cromwejl's ambassador. 
 She is one of the honestesi ministers of state that ever 
 existed, and never tells a lie; nor will she suffer the 
 proudest Frenchman, Dutchman or Spaniard to bam- 
 boozle her, or give her a saucy answer." 
 
 BERTHOLDE. 
 
 THOUGH nature had been unfavourable to this wonder- 
 ful character with respect to his body, she had recom- 
 pensed him by the subtlety, the agreeableness, and the 
 solidity of the mind, she had united to it. This advan- 
 tage, infinitely more precious than all others, raised him 
 from being a simple and mean peasant, to be the fa- 
 vourite of a great prince, and happily extricated him out 
 of all the snares and dangers that had been laid for him. 
 Bertholde had a large head, as round as a foot-ball, 
 adorned with red hair very strait, and which had a great 
 resemblance to the bristles of a hog ; an extremely short 
 forehead, furrowed with wrinkles; two little blear eyes, 
 edged round with a border of bright carnation, and over- 
 shadowed by a pair of large eye-brows, which, upon 
 occasion, might be made use of as brushes; a flat red 
 nose, resembling an extinguisher ; a wide mouth, from 
 which proceeded two long crooked teeth, not unlike the 
 tusks of a boar, and pointing to a pair of ears, like 
 those which formerly belonged to Midas; a li|> of n 
 monstrous thickness, which hung down on a chin, that 
 seemed to sink under the load of a beard, thick, straii, 
 anil bristly ; a very short neck, which nature had adorn- 
 ed with a kind of necklace, formed of teu or twelve 
 small wens. The rest of his body w;is piTl'rctly agree- 
 able to the grotesque appearance of his visage ; so that 
 from head to foot, he was a kind of monster, who, by
 
 454 BERTHOLDE. 
 
 his deformity, and the hair with which he was covered, 
 had a. greater resemblance to a bear half licked into 
 form, than to a human creature. 
 
 He was born of poor parents, in a village called Ber- 
 tagnona, at some miles distance from Verona. The 
 small fortune of his father, and his having ten children, 
 would not permit the good man to give them the least 
 education. But as for Bertholde, he had a fund of wit, 
 which sufficiently made him amends for the poverty of 
 his parents, and the deformity of his person, which was 
 more fit to affright children than to raise his fortune ; 
 and therefore, the nurses and mothers of the village had 
 nothing more to do, but to mention his name to make 
 their children quiet when crying, or to make them cry 
 when they were quiet. 
 
 But the pleasure he gave to the other peasants, was 
 equal to theterror his figure caused in the little innocents. 
 Bertholde diverted them on Sundays, and every festival* 
 with the sallies of his wit : he instructed them by excel- 
 lent sentences, which he uttered from time to time; so 
 that, next to the priest and the lord of the manor, no 
 person in the village was treated with greater respect. 
 His poverty, contrary to custom, was not considered as 
 a vice ; and, what is very strange, it did not render him 
 the object of aversion and contempt. So far was this 
 from being the case, the honest country people, in order 
 to keep him amongst them, would have contributed to 
 his support; but he, not willing to be a burden to 
 them, chose rather to leave the village, and to seek a 
 living elsewhere. 
 
 With this view he went to Verona, where Alboin, the 
 first king of the Lombards, after having conquered the 
 greatest part of Italy, kept his court.* Chance con- 
 
 * The nation of the Lombards originated from a dispute amongst 
 the Gepidx, inhabiting the northern banks of the Danube. A civil 
 dissension caused the division of these people, some of whom distin-
 
 BERTUOLDE. 456 
 
 ducted Bertholds to the palace of this prince, and while 
 he was gazing and wondering at the beauty of the build- 
 ing, his attention was drawn aside, to observe two women 
 at a small distance, who had neither nails nor finders 
 
 ' O 
 
 enough to scratch with, nor a volubility of tongue suf- 
 ficient to give vent to the torrent of abuse they seemed 
 willing to cast out at each other. 
 
 Bertholde was so much diverted with this scene, that 
 he had no inclination to put an end to it; but a stop was 
 put to his satisfaction by one of the king's officers, who 
 
 guished themselves from the rest by tlie length of their beartls ; and 
 hence their appellation Longobarbs, and Lombards, under which de- 
 nomination they settled in Pannoiiia. They shaved the back of their 
 heads, but let the h;iir grow on the front and temples, probably to 
 keep company with their beards, from amongst which their faces could 
 not appear to great advantage. They had several wars, both with their 
 neighbours and the empire ; the most obstinate of which seems, as is 
 commonly the case, to have been between them and their ancient re- 
 latives the Gepidar. Alboin, the son of their king Audoin, killed 
 with his own hand in battle Thorismond, the son of Thtirisind, king of 
 the Gepidae : after which he demanded to be admitted to his father!s 
 tr>ble ; an honour amongst the Lombards equivalent to a military tri- 
 umph with the Romans. But whoever expected this favour must ap- 
 pear in the armour of the enemy he had conquered. " Where," said 
 the severe Audoin to his son, " where is the armour of Thorismond ?" 
 No more was requisite to induce the young hero to set off, accom- 
 panied with forty brave companions; he arrived at the court of Thu- 
 risind, and demanded the spurs of his son. The monarch, struck by 
 his intrepidity, bestowed them on him ; and he returned to take that 
 place at the royal banquet which he had by a double right acquired. 
 
 The same Alboin, when on the throne, killed with liis own hand 
 Cunismond, king of the Gepidae, and caused a cup to be made of the 
 unfortunate monarch's skull, which he used in his public festivals. He 
 espoused Uosaimmda, the daughter of this prince, who had fallen with 
 other captives into his -hands, lie had so far recommended himself to 
 the esteem of Narses, that he fixed on him to avenge the injury he had 
 received from the serond Justmjnn, in his recalling him from Italy, 
 where this great man had rendered the most signal service to the em- 
 pire. His detractors, at the head of which was the empress Sophia, 
 accused him of aspiring to ihe sovereignty. "I will employ him,"
 
 450 BERTHOLDE. 
 
 came "with his orders for parting the combatants; he 
 commanded them to lay their complaints before his ma- 
 jesty, who had promised to do them justice. v Upon this 
 their fury ceased, each picked up her cap, and finding 
 her clothes torn, and her person somewhat discomposed 1 , 
 they both begged leave to retire for a while, that they 
 might appear with greater decency before the king. 
 
 Berthoide hearing this, conceived some idea of the 
 goodness of his sovereign, and as he had never seen him, 
 resolved to pay him a visit. In this age, the gates of 
 
 said that princess, imprudently, " to distribute the wool to my women 
 to spin." " And I," replied the old eunuch, " will provide her wilh 
 a web, which I defy her ever to unravel." Narses, in reality, before he 
 left Italy, communicated aud explained to his friend Alboin the means 
 of maintaining himself there. .These he made use of with dexterity, 
 without experiencing much obstruction on the part of Longinus, the 
 successor of Narses. He had changed the government of the Goths, 
 which his predecessor had preserved; and instead of Roman magis- 
 trates, Longinus had placed a duke in each town, in whose hands the 
 civil and military power were united, without excepting even Rome 
 from. this general law, whose senate he suppressed, and who had also 
 its duke. He himself took the title of exarch, adopted or imitated 
 from the ecclesiastic government, and answering to metropolitan : that 
 is, he reserved to himself an inspection into, and jurisdiction over, the 
 conduct of these dukes, whom he deposed at his pleasure. Longinus 
 fixed his abode at Ravenna, in which he was imitated by his succes- 
 sors ; from whence arose their title of exarchs of Ravenna. 
 
 In the course of three years, Alboin firmly established the Lombard 
 throne, in that part of Italy since called Lombardy. He fixed on 
 Paviaas his capital, and left garrisons of Lombards in each of the nu- 
 merous towns and territories that surrendered to him, proportionate to 
 their size; these were under the government of an officer whom he 
 honoured with the title of duke ; which title they retained only so long 
 as the "prince thought proper to confide to them the government. 
 There were thirty-six of these dukes, when Alboin was precipitated to 
 the tomb by a tragical end of his own bringing on. 
 
 This monarch, in a great festival given to his favourites, at which his 
 queen was present, ordering his cup of state lobe filled with wine, pre- 
 sented to Rosamund her father's skull, with order to drink from it. At 
 the horrid proposal slie hastily quitted the table, and from that moment 
 
 23
 
 BERTIIOLDE. 457 
 
 palaces were not yet blocked up with guards, every one 
 had free access to lay their grievances before the throne. 
 
 Though a peasant, though a clown, though disgraced 
 by nature, reason dictated to him, that all men were 
 formed by the same hand, and created in perfect equa- 
 lity ; he therefore thought there WHS no person on earth 
 with whom he might not be allowed to converse fa- 
 miliarly. 
 
 In consequence of this principle, he entered the palace 
 without any conductor, marched upstairs, traversed the 
 apartments, and entered into that in which the king was 
 surrounded by his courtiers, who were conversing with 
 him in a respectful posture, and laughing at the two 
 women who had just been quarrelling before the window : 
 
 determined on revenge. For tliis purpose, she addressed a young of- 
 ficer, named Helmichild ; but he refused her request, till the queen 
 gaining information cf an intrigue he carried on with one of her Sadies, 
 one night took her place, and making herself known in the morning, 
 covinced Helmichild there was no retreating, and that his safety de- 
 pended on the death of the monarch. Upon this he engaged some as- 
 sassins, who suddenly attacked Alboin whilst sleeping in his chamber 
 ufter dinner. The king endeavoured to draw his sword and defend 
 himself, but Rosamund hail secured it in the scabbard ; he warded the 
 blows for a short time with a stool, till overcome by numbers he fell 
 dead at their feet. 
 
 Rosamund, besides her hand, had promised the Lombr.rcl throne to 
 the murderer; but insurmountable difficulties attended the performance 
 of this latter promise. The new-married pair were icinpelkd tu fly to 
 escape the rage of the Lombards ; and took refuge at Home under the 
 exarch Longiinis. The exarch imagining that a union with Rosamund 
 added to the Me.ilth'she had brought with her, might conduce to his 
 being acknowledged king of the Lombards, engaged her to free her- 
 self from her present husband. Equally cruel and ambitious, she, with 
 her own hand, presented the poisoned cup to Helmichild, on his leav- 
 ing the bath. He had scarcely swallowed half of it before its i-fl'rcts 
 became sensible, when instantly seizing Irs sword, he held it to the 
 throat of his perfidious wife, and compelled her to swallow the remain- 
 der, and they both expired victims of ambition and treachery in the 
 most dreadful tortures. Anyudil's Universal History. 
 VOL. 1. 3 M
 
 BERTTIOLDE. 
 
 but how great was their astonishment to see Bertholde 
 walk in with his hat on his head, and, without speaking 
 a word, come boldly u|> to them, and seat himself by the 
 side of the king, in a chair, in which they, out of re- 
 spect, had left empty ! Surprised at this rusticity, and 
 more still at his grotesque appearance, they stood im- 
 moveable at the view of this second ^Esop, whose meau 
 dress was very suitable to his deformity. From this 
 rustic behaviour, the king easily guessed, that he w.as 
 one whom curiosity had brought to his court. And as 
 he had learned from experience, that nature sometimes 
 hides her treasure under the most unpromising form, he 
 resolved to have a familiar conversation with him, and 
 for a few minutes, in complaisance to the clown, to for- 
 get his own grandeur and dignity. " Who are your" 
 cried the prince to Bertholde: "How did you come into 
 the world? What is your country:" " I am a man," 
 replied the peasant; " I came into the world in the 
 manner Providence sent me, and the world itself is my 
 country." 
 
 The king then asked him several questions, which had 
 not the least connexion with each other. A trial of wit, 
 which in those days was much used at the courts of sove- 
 reign princes. And this is the substance of the dis- 
 course, as it is preserved in the ancient records of the 
 country. " What thing is that which flies the swiftest r ! 
 cried the monarch. " Thought," answered Bertholde. 
 "What is the gulf that is never filled?"" The avarice 
 of the miser." " What is most hateful in young people ?" 
 " Self-conceit, because it makes them incorrigible." 
 " What is most ridiculous in the old?" " Love." 
 " Who are most lavish of their caresses ?" "Those who 
 intend to deceive us, and those who have already done 
 it." " What are the things most dangerous in a house?" 
 " A wicked wife, and the tongueofa servant." " What 
 is the husband's most incurable disease ?" " The infi- 
 delity of his wife." " What way will you take to brin 

 
 liEUTHOLDE. 459 
 
 water into a sieve ?" " I'll stay till it is frozen." " How 
 will you catch a hare without running?" " I will wait 
 till I find her on the spit." 
 
 The king was astonished at the readiness with which 
 he answered these questions; and to let him see his sa- 
 tisfaction, promised to give him any thing he could de- 
 sire. " I defy you," replied Bertholde, bluntly. "How 
 so," replied his majesty ; " do you doubt my good will r" 
 " No ; but I aspire after what you do no't possess, and 
 consequently cannot give to me." "And what is this 
 precious thing that I do not possess?" "Felicity, which 
 was never in the power of kings, who enjoy less of it 
 than the rest of mankind." " How! am not I happy on 
 so elevated a throne ?" " Yes, you are, if the happiness 
 of a man consists in the height of his seat." " Do you 
 see these lords and gentlemen that are continually about 
 me, would they be always ready to obey me, if they 
 were not convinced of my power?" "And do you not 
 see, in your turn, that there are as many crows, waiting 
 to devour a carcass, and who, to prevent its seeing their 
 designs, begin by picking out its eyes." " Well said, 
 but all this does not hinder me from shining in the 
 midst of them, as the sun amongst the stars." " True, 
 but tell ine, shining sun, ,hovv many eclipses you are 
 obliged to suffer in a year f" "Why do you put this 
 question ?" " Because the continual flattery of these gen- 
 tlemen will raise a cloud that must darken your under- 
 standing." " On this foot, then, you would not be a 
 courtier?" "Miserable as I am, I should be sorry to be 
 placed in the rank of slaves: besides, I am neither 
 knave, traitor, nor liar, and consequently have not the 
 necessary qualities for succeeding in this fine employ- 
 ment." " What are you then to seek for at my court :" 
 " What I have not been able to find there ; for I had 
 imagined a king to be as much above other men, as a 
 steeple is above common houses ; but I have soon found, 
 that I have honoured them more than they deserve."
 
 460 BEIITHOLDE. 
 
 Of all the virtues, those of frankness and sincerity 
 baVe been in every age least recompensed in a court. 
 This Bertholde experienced ; for the king, shocked at 
 the little regard he expressed for his person, told him, 
 that if he was unwilling to be turned out in an ignomi- 
 nious manner, he must leave the palace immediately. 
 He obeyed ; but as he was going, said, with an air of 
 gaiety, that he was of the nature of flies, which the 
 more you attempt to drive away, the more obstinately 
 are they bent on their return. " I permit you to return 
 like them," cried the monarch, "provided you bring 
 them along svith you ; but if you appear without them, 
 you shall forfeit your head." "Agreed," replied the 
 peasant; " to do this, I will only take a step to our vil- 
 lage." The king gave his consent, and Bertholde 
 hasted away. The monarch did not doubt of his keeping 
 his word; but had a great curiosity to see in what 
 manner he would perform it, and the clown soon satis- 
 fied him : for he had no sooner reached the village, than 
 running to a stable belonging to one of his brothers, he 
 took out an old ass, whose back and buttocks had lost 
 the friendly covering of a sound skin, and mounting on 
 his back, turned again to Verona, accompanied by an 
 infinite number of flies riding behind him, and in this 
 equipage arrived at the palace ; when commending the 
 fidelity with which they had stuck to the beast, and 
 attending him all the way, he told the king, that he kept 
 his promise; and Alboin, pleased with the stratagem, 
 soon conceived sucl,i an idea of his abilities, that he 
 imagined he might be useful to him, in helping him to 
 disentagle the intricacies of government, and therefore 
 gave him free leave to stay at court. 
 
 I shall omit the various contests between Bertholde and 
 the king, on the virtues and vices of the ladies, in which 
 the king did justice to their merit, while our hero endea- 
 voured to bring them into contempt. But I cannot 
 avoid taking notice of a petition of the ladies of the
 
 BERTROLDE. 461 
 
 court, to obtain a share in the government, and admi- 
 nist ration of affairs. 
 
 The king having read their long request, which the 
 queen had engaged the chancellor to deliver to him, re- 
 plied, that this affair being of very great importance, 
 required his serious consideration; that he would weigh 
 the matter, and give the ladies an answer in an audience, 
 to which they should be admitted the next day. 
 
 Bertholde, the enemy of beauty, could not hear the 
 petition and reply, without bursting into a loud laugh. 
 The king aske.l the renson : Bertholde ridiculed his 
 complaisance and the easiness of his temper, when the 
 king replied, that he was in a terrible embarrassment; 
 that he should be ruined if he granted their request, and 
 that his danger would not be less if he refused it. " A re- 
 fusal," said he, "will enrage them ; they are able to re- 
 venge themselves, by making their husbands, who have 
 the command of my troops, rise up against me. My 
 dear Bertholde/' added he, " Bertholcie, my faithful 
 friend, help me out of this labyrinth : thy imagination, 
 fertile in stratagems, has hitherto drawn thee out of the 
 dangers thou hast fallen into at my court, and I am per- 
 suaded thou canst relieve me out of this." Bertholde 
 promised every thing, and desired the king to be satis- 
 lied. Having stood musing for a moment, he left the 
 palace, went to the market,, and bought a liltle bird : he 
 shut it in a box in presence of the king, gave it to him, 
 and desired him to send it to the queen, for'her to give 
 it to the ladies who had presented her the petition, with 
 a most express prohibition against opening the box, on 
 pain of incurring his highest indignaiion ; but lo keep 
 it till the next day, when it should be opened befo;-e him, 
 at the audience he had promised to grant them. 
 
 The officer to whom the box was given, discharged his 
 commission, and the queen also gave the box to tlic 
 ladies, who were still with that princess, talking together 
 ou the answer the chancellor had brought from ilu- uing.
 
 462 BERTKOLDE. 
 
 As we easily persuade ourselves to believe what flatters 
 our self-love, there was not one present who did not 
 think, that their request was already granted. His ma- 
 jesty, said they, is sensible of the justice of our demand, 
 and as he is equity itself, he immediately found that it 
 was impossible for him to refuse us ; to heighten the 
 favour which he will certainly grant us, he has only 
 thought fit to defer it till to-morrow. There is now no 
 doubt, continued they, but that this box contains some- 
 thing extremely valuable, and the confidence with 
 which he has deposited it in our hands, shows also, that 
 he does not think us unworthy of tjie honour. Come 
 ladies, let him see that we deserve it, by an exact and 
 faithful observance of the prohibition relating to this 
 precious treasure. 
 
 At this they took leave of the queen, and after having 
 agreed to assemble the next day at the governor's lady's, 
 in order to go to the audience in a body, each returned 
 home. 
 
 They were hardly got home, when every one of th^m 
 was filled with an impatient desire to know what it could 
 be that was contained in that box ; and this impatience 
 increased to such a degree, that they could not sleep all 
 night. Never was any hour watched with more impatience 
 than that appointed for their assembling at the governor's 
 lady's, and they were all there three quarters of an hour 
 before the time appointed. They all began to discourse 
 on the box Uiey had received the evening before, which 
 the governor had taken from his wife as soon as she came 
 home; and fearing lest her well-known curiosity should 
 bring him into disgrace, had taken the precaution to 
 Jock it up in his cabinet. However, as the time of au- 
 dience approached, it was brought out, and given to the 
 assembly. 
 
 The box no sooner appeared, than they viewed it 
 with the utmost impatience, and all being eager to see 
 the hidden treasure, several very fine speeches were
 
 BERTUOLDE. 
 
 made to show, that there could be no harm in just satis- 
 fying their curiosity; in short, this was a proposal that, 
 met with the unanimous concurrence of all present; and 
 as the box had no lock, it was immediately opened, 
 when out flew the liitle bird, which taking to a window 
 that stood open, disappeared in a moment. How sh.all 
 I describe the consternation of these unhappy ladies at 
 seeing the bird fly away, and the box empty ! They had 
 not time to see whether it was a linnet, a nightingale, a 
 canary-bird, or a sparrow ; had they but known of what 
 species il was, they would have another in its place; but 
 this secret was only known to the king and Bertholde. 
 
 Their consternation now kept them silent, and they 
 no sooner recovered their speech, than they burst into 
 tears and lamentations. It was in vain for them, they 
 said to hide their disobedience from the king wit!) what 
 face could they appear before him ? And then reproach- 
 ing themselves, "O this-unhappy, this cursed curiosity," 
 cried the governor's lady, " has ruined us all ! O fatal 
 box, a thousand times more fatal than that of Pandora! 
 If the curiosity that opened that box, occasioned evils on 
 earth, a hope of deliverance, and a cure for those evils 
 remained at the bottom ; but alas ! alas ! we have not 
 this feeble consolation !" 
 
 Meanwhile the hour of audience approached, and in 
 the perplexity they were in, they knew not whether they 
 should go to the palace or return home, when one of the 
 ladies proposed, that they should throw themselves at the 
 feet of the queen, tell her their misfortune, and entreat 
 her to make use of her authority and credit with the 
 king to prevent the effects of his anger, and they all 
 unanimously embraced the proposal ; but while they 
 weie preparing to set out, a page from thai princess 
 came for the box, on which they rt turned for answer, 
 that they were bringing it: but they MO sooner stood be- 
 fore the queen, than perceiving the bo\ in the Jiaud ( f 
 the governor's lady, she viewed it with eagerness,
 
 464 BERTHOLDE. 
 
 snatched it, and in an instant opened the lid, when con- 
 fused and astonished she burst into a rage against the 
 king, for having sported with a curiosity that had given 
 her the extremes!, inquietude ; when the governor's lady, 
 with abundance of tears, acknowledged her fault, and 
 in the name of all the ladies, begged her to endeavour 
 to obtain their pardon. The queen was sensible of their 
 afflictions, and promised to undertake their cause. 
 
 in the mean time the king, who waited for them, was 
 surprised at their delay, and had mentioned it to Ber- 
 tholdc, who imputed it to the success of his stratagem. 
 While they were talking on this subject, the queen 
 entered, accompanied by the ladies, to the number of 
 about 300, when their melancholy and dejected air con- 
 firmed the tiu-th of this opinion. 
 
 The king, having seated the queen by his side, asked 
 the cause of this visit : <( You have read," said she, 
 " the request I caused to be presented to you yesterday, 
 in the name of all these ladies, and we are come for the 
 answer you promised to give us." ff It is in this box," 
 answered the king, and at the same time was going to 
 open it. " Your majesty may spare yourself the trouble," 
 replied the queen, " the bird is flown : the curiosity of 
 these ladies has caused this accident, and you see them 
 all at your majesty's feet to implore your pardon." And 
 indeed, the ladies, as soon as the king attempted to open 
 it, had prostrated themselves with their faces to the 
 ground. 
 
 At these words the king seeming in a violent rage, 
 " Is it thus then," said he, in an angry tone; "is it 
 thus that you obey me ? Have you let the bird fly that 
 I intrusted to your care, in spite of the strict orders I 
 gave to the contrary ; and have you the front after this, 
 to come to desire me to admit you into my councils, and 
 enter into the affairs of my government and kingdom ? 
 How can you keep the secrets that will be there treated 
 of, secrets oi' the greatest importance, since on those 
 
 23
 
 BERTHOLDE. 465 
 
 principally depend the happiness or misery of my people, 
 the prosperity or ruin of my kingdom, and the safety or 
 fall of my throne ? How can you resist your inclination 
 to divulge them, when in spite of my prohibitions and 
 threatenings, you have not been able to restrain your 
 curiosity for half a day. Go, foolish as you are; you 
 deserve to he punished with the utmost severity: but out 
 of respect to the queen, who has condescended to in- 
 terest herself in your affairs, I consent to pardon you ; 
 but let me, for the time to come, never hear of the like 
 extravagances. And believe me, it is not without the 
 best and most solid reasons, that the laws have excluded 
 you from the government." 
 
 The king's pleasure at the success of this scheme was 
 not less than the mortification the poor ladies suffered in 
 hearing this discourse ; and they were no sooner gone, 
 than he made his acknowledgments to Bertholde. " The 
 more I know you," said he, "the more I esteem and ad- 
 mire you ; as a proof of my satisfaction, receive from 
 my hand this ring, and my treasurer shall give you 
 1000 crowns." " Do not be displeased," replied Ber- 
 tholde, "if 1 disobey you ; my sincerity has always made 
 me too many enemies, for whom, however, I do not care 
 a farthing, for he who desires nothing, and has nothing, 
 has nothing to fear. Nature has made me free, and I 
 resolve to keep my' freedom as long as my life: but I 
 cannot be free if I take your presents, for as the proverb 
 says, He who takes, sells himself." " How then," re- 
 plied the king, "shall I show my gratitude?" "I have 
 heard," said Bertholde, " that it is more glorious to de- 
 serve the favours of a prince, and to refuse them, than 
 to receive without deserving them. If I was <japnble of 
 vanity, your good-will would be more agreeable* to me 
 than all the presents in the world." 
 
 While they were talking in this manner, the king re- 
 ceived a letter from the queen, who, resolving to be re- 
 venged on the cause of the ladies' disgrace, sent for the 
 
 VOL.I. 3 N
 
 466 BERTHOLDE. 
 
 unhappy peasant, who by many artifices evaded the 
 force of her resentment. She had four large dogs placed 
 in the court through which he was to pass, in order 
 to tear him to pieces: this he was informed of, and 
 getting a brace of live hares carried them under his arms, 
 and letting them loose at the approach of the dogs, was 
 instantly delivered from these enemies. He then, to the 
 queen's surprise, appeared before her, was put into a 
 sack, and in this condition confined in a room till the 
 next day, when he was to be thrown into the river; but 
 he had the address to persuade the soldier who was set 
 over him, to let him out and take his place ; and then 
 stealing the queen's robe, and her veil, in this disguise 
 got out of the palace. But the next day he was found, 
 and the monarch was obliged to satisfy the queen's re- 
 sentment, by ordering him to be hanged on a tree. 
 Bertholde besought the king to take care of his family, 
 and to let him choose the tree on which he was to die. 
 The monarch freely consented, and gave him a guard 
 to see that the executioner gave him his choice. The 
 trees of every wood for many miles round were examined, 
 and Bertholde, very wisely, objected to all that were 
 proposed, till the executioner and guard being weary of 
 the fruitless search, set him at liberty. At their return, 
 the guards found the king lamenting the loss of a faith- 
 ful and able servant ; he rejoiced to hear that he was still 
 alive, and having found the place of his retreat, went 
 himself to persuade him to return to court; this he not 
 only accomplished, but reconciled him to the queen. 
 He was then made prime minister, and under his influ- 
 ence the reign of this prince was happy, and his people 
 enjoyed all the felicity they could reasonably desire. 
 But the particulars of this and the concluding part of his 
 life, says our author, are for ever excluded from our 
 knowledge ; since this part of the manuscript has been 
 unhappily lost.
 
 46: 
 
 JOHN PHILIP BARRETIER. 
 
 A HE following account of this singularly gifted youth. 
 
 was collected by the celebrated Dr. Johnson, from letters 
 
 written by the father of young Bnrretier. 
 
 John Philip Barretier was born at Schwbbach, Janu- 
 ary 19, 1720-21. His father was a Calvinist minister of 
 thai place, who took upon himself the care of his edu- 
 cation. What arts of instruction he used, or by what 
 method he regulated the studies of his son, we are not 
 able to inform the public; if Mr. Le Fevre thought the 
 method in which he taught his children, worthy to be 
 communicated to the learned world, how justly may 
 Mr. Barretier claim the universal attention of mankind 
 to a scheme of education that has produced such a stu- 
 pendous progress ! The authors, who have endeavoured 
 to teach certain and unfailing rules for obtaining a long 
 life, however they have failed in their attempts, are uni- 
 versally confessed to have at least, the merit of a great 
 and noble design, and to have deserved gratitude and 
 honour. How much more then is due to Mr. Barretier, 
 who succeeded in what they have only attempted? for to 
 prolong life, and improve it, are nearly the same. If to 
 have all that riches can purchase, is to be rich; if to 
 do all that can be done in a long life, is to live long ; he 
 is equally a benefactor to mankind, who teaches them to 
 protract the duration, or shorten the business of life. 
 
 That there are few things more worthy our curiosity 
 than this method, by which the father assisted the 
 genius of the son, every man will be convinced, that 
 considers the early proficiency at which it enabled him 
 to arrive ; such a proficiency as no one has yet reached 
 at the same age, and to which it is therefore probable 
 that every advantageous circumstance concurred. 
 At the age of nine years he not only was master of five
 
 4G8 JOHN PHILIP BARRETIER. 
 
 languages, an attainment in itself almost incredible, but 
 understood, says his father, the holy writers, better in 
 their original tongues, than in his own. If he means by 
 this assertion, that he knew the sense of many passages 
 in the original, which were obscure in the translation, 
 the account, however wonderful, may be admitted ; but 
 if he intends to tell his correspondent that his son was 
 better acquainted with the two languages of the Bible, 
 than w|th his own, he must be allowed to speak hyper- 
 bolically, or to admit that his son had somewhat neg- 
 lected the study of his native language ; or we must own, 
 that the fondness of a parent has transported him into 
 some natural exaggerations. 
 
 Part of this letter I am tempted to suppress, being un- 
 willing to demand the belief of others to that which ap- 
 pears incredible to myself; but as my incredulity may, 
 perhaps, be the product rather of prejudice than reason, 
 as envy may beget a disinclination to admit so immense 
 a superiority, and as an account is not to be immediately 
 censured as false, merely because it is wonderful, I shall 
 proceed to give the rest of his father's relation from his 
 letter of the 3d of March 1729-30. He speaks, con- 
 tinues he, German, Latin, and French, equally well. 
 He can, by laying before him a translation, read any of 
 the books of the Old or New Testament in its original 
 language, without hesitation or perplexity. He is no 
 stranger to biblical criticism or philosophy, nor unac- 
 quainted with ancient and modern geography, and is 
 qualified to support a conversation with learned men, 
 who frequently visit and correspond with him. 
 
 In his eleventh year, he not only published a learned 
 letter in Latin, but translated the travels of Rabbi Ben- 
 jamin from the Hebrew into French, which he illus- 
 trated with notes, and accompanied with dissertations; a 
 work in which his father, as he himself declares, could 
 give him little assistance, as he did not understand the 
 rabbinical dialect.
 
 JOHN PHILIP BARRET1E11. 469 
 
 The reason, for which his father encra"ed him in ibis 
 
 * O O 
 
 work, was only to prevail upon him to write a fairer 
 hand than he had hitherto accustomed himself to do, by 
 giving him hopes, that, if he should translate some 
 little author, and offer a fair copy of his version to some* 
 bookseller, he might, in return for it, have other books 
 which he wanted, and could not afford to purchase. 
 
 Incited by this expectation, he fixed upon the 
 " Travels of Rabbi Benjamin," as most proper for his 
 purpose, being a book neither bulky nor common, and 
 in one month completed his translation, applying only 
 one or two hours a day to that particular task. In 
 another month, he drew up the principal notes; and, in 
 the third, wrote some dissertations upon particular pas- 
 sages which seemed to require a larger examination. 
 
 This copy was, however, far from being written with 
 the neatness which his father desired nor did the 
 booksellers, to whom it was offered, make proposals very 
 agreeable to the expectations of the young translator; 
 but after having examined the performance after their 
 manner, and determined to print it upon conditions not 
 very advantageous, returned it to be transcribed, that 
 the printers might not be embarrassed with a copy so 
 difficult to read. 
 
 Barretier was now advanced to the latter end of his 
 twelfth year, and had made great advances in his studies, 
 notwithstanding an obstinate tumour in his left hand, 
 which gave him great pain, and obliged him to a tedi- 
 ous and troublesome method of cure ; and reading over 
 his performance, was so far from contenting himself 
 with barely transcribing it, that he altered the greatest 
 part of the notes, new-modelled the dissertations, and 
 augmented the book to twice its former bulk. 
 
 What applauses are due to an old age, wasted in a 
 scrupulous attention to particular accents and etymolo- 
 gies, may appear, says his father, by seeing how little 
 time is required to arrive at such an eminence in these
 
 470 JOHN PHILIP BAKRETIER. 
 
 studies as many even of those venerable doctors have not 
 attained, for want of rational methods and regular ap- 
 plication. 
 
 This censure is doubtless just upon those who spend 
 too much of their lives upon useless niceties, or who 
 appear to labour without making any progress: but as 
 the knowledge of language is necessary, and a minute 
 accuracy sometimes requisite, they are by no means to 
 be blamed, who, in compliance with the particular 
 bent of their own minds, make the difficulties of dead 
 languages their chief study, and arrive at excellence 
 proportionate to their application, since it was to the 
 labour of such men thai his son was indebted for his own 
 learning. 
 
 The first languages which Barretier learned were the 
 French, German, and Latin, which he was taught not 
 in the common way, by a multitude of definitions, rules, 
 and exceptions, which fatigue the attention, and burden 
 the memory, without any use proportionate to the time 
 which they require, and the disgust which they create. 
 The method by which he was instructed was easy and 
 expeditious, and therefore pleasing. He learned them 
 all in the same manner, and almost at the same time, by 
 conversing in them indifferently with his father. 
 
 The other languages of which he was master, he 
 learned by a method yet more uncommon. The only 
 book which he made use of was the Bible, which his 
 father laid before him in the language that he then pro- 
 posed to learn, accompanied with a translation, being 
 taught by degrees the inflexions of nouns and verbs. 
 This method, says his father, made the Latin moie 
 familiar to him in his fourth year than any other 
 language. 
 
 When he was near the end of his sixth year, he en- 
 tered upon the study of the Old Testament in its original 
 language, beginning with the book of Genesis, to which 
 his father confined him for six months ; after which he
 
 JOHN PHILIP BARRET1ER. 471 
 
 read cursorily over the rest of the historical books, in 
 which he found very little difficulty, and then applied 
 himself to the study of the poetical writers and the pro- 
 phets, which he read over so often, with so close an at- 
 tention and so happy a memorv, that he could not only 
 translate them without a moment's hesitation into Latin 
 and French, but turn with the same facility the transla- 
 tions into tiie original language in his tenth year. 
 
 Growing at length weary of being confined to a book 
 which he could almost entirely repeat, he deviated by 
 stealth into other studies, and, as his translation of Ben- 
 jamin is a sufficient evidence, he read a multitude of 
 writers of various kinds. In his twelfth year lie applied 
 moie particularly to the study of the fathers, and councils 
 cf the six first centuries, and began to make a regular 
 collection of their canons. He read every author iu 
 the original, having discovered so much negligence or 
 ignorance in most translations, that he paid no regard to 
 their authority. 
 
 . Thus he continued his studies, neither drawn aside by 
 pleasures, nor discouraged by difficulties. The greatest 
 obstacle to his improvement was want of books, with 
 which his narrow fortune could not liberally supply him ; 
 so that he was obliged to borrow the greatest part of 
 those which his studies required, and to return them 
 when he had read theni, without being able to consult 
 them occasionally, or to recur to them when his memory 
 should fail him. 
 
 It is observable, that neither his diligence, uninter- 
 mitted as it was, nor his want of books, a want of which 
 he was in the highest degree sensible, ever produced in 
 him that asperity, which a long and recluse life, with- 
 out any circumstance of disquiet, frequently creates. 
 He was always gay, lively, and facetious, a temper 
 which contributed much to recommend his learning, and 
 which some students much superior in age would consult
 
 472 JOHN PHILIP BARRETTER. 
 
 their ease, their reputation, and their interest, by copy- 
 ing from him. 
 
 In the year 1735, he published Anti-Artemonius, sive 
 Initium Evangelii S. Joannis, adversus Artemonium vin- 
 dicatum, and attained such a degree of reputation, that 
 not only the public, but princes, who are commonly the 
 last by whom merit is distinguished, began to interest 
 themselves in his success, for the same year the king of 
 Prussia, who had heard of his early advances in litera- 
 ture on account of a scheme for discovering the longi- 
 tude, which had been sent to the Royal Society of Ber- 
 lin, and which was transmitted afterwards by him to 
 Paris and London, engaged to take care of his fortune, 
 having received further proofs of his abilities at his own 
 court. , 
 
 Mr. Barretier" being promoted to the cure of the church 
 of Stettin, was obliged to travel with his son thither from 
 Schwabach, through Leipsic and Berlin, a journey very 
 agreeable to his son, as it would furnish him with new 
 opportunities of improving his knowledge, and extend- 
 ing his acquaintance among men of letters. For this 
 purpose they staid some time at Leipsic, and then travelled 
 to Halle, where young Barretier so distinguished him- 
 self in his conversation with the professors of the uni- 
 versity, that they offered him his degree of doctor in 
 philosophy, a dignity correspondent to that of master 
 of arts among us. Barretier drew up that night some 
 positions in philosophy and the mathematics, which he 
 sent immediately to the press, and defended the next 
 day, in a crowded auditory, with so much wit, spirit, pre- 
 sence of thought, and strength of reason, that the whole 
 university was delighted and amazed ; he was then ad- 
 mitted to his degree, and attended by the whole con- 
 course to his lodgings with compliments and acclama- 
 tions. 
 
 His Theses, or philosophical positions^ which he 
 
 23
 
 JOHN PHILIP BARRETIER. 473 
 
 printed in compliance with the practice of that univer- 
 sity, ran through several editions in a few weeks, and no 
 testimony of regard was wanting that could contribute 
 to animate him in his career. 
 
 When they arrived at Berlin, the king ordered him to 
 be brought into his presence, and was so much pleased 
 with his conversation, that he sent for him almost every 
 day during his stay at Berlin; and diverted himself by 
 engaging him in conversations upon a multitude of sub- 
 jects, and in disputes with learned men ; on all which 
 occasions he acquitted himself so happily, that the king 
 formed the highest ideas of his capacity, and future emi- 
 nence. And thinking, perhaps with re;ison, that active 
 life was the noblest sphere of a great genius, he recom- 
 mended to him the study of modern history, the customs 
 of nations, and those parts of learning, that are of use 
 in public transactions and civil employments, declaring 
 that such abilities, properly cultivated, might exalt him, 
 in ten years, to be the greatest minister of state in Europe. 
 Barretier, whether we attribute it to his moderation or 
 inexperience, was not dazzled by ihe prospect of such 
 high promotion, but answered, that he was too much 
 pleased with science and quiet, to leave them for such in- 
 extricable studies, or such harassing fatigues. A reso- 
 lution so. unpleasing to the king, that his father attributes 
 to it the delay of those favours which they had hopes of 
 receiving, the king having, as he observes, determined to 
 employ him in the ministry. 
 
 Whatever was originally intended, and by whatever 
 means these intentions were frustrated ; Barretier, after 
 having been treated with the highest regard by the 
 whole royal family, was dismissed with a present of tvro 
 hundred crowns; and his father, instead of being fixed 
 at Stettin, was made pastor. of the French church at 
 Halle; a place more commodious for study, to which 
 they retired ; Barrelier being first admitted into the royal 
 
 VOL. i. '> <>
 
 414 WILLIAM JENNINGS. 
 
 society al Berlin, and recommended by the king to the 
 university at Halle. 
 
 At Halle he continued his studies with his usual appli- 
 cation and success, and, either by his own reflections or 
 the persuasions of his father, was prevailed upon to give 
 up his own inclinations to those of the king, and direct 
 his inquiries to those subjects that had been recommend- 
 rtl by him. 
 
 He continued to add new acquisitions to his learning, 
 and to increase his reputation by new performances, till, 
 in the beginning of his nineteenth year, his health 
 began to decline, and his indisposition, which, being not 
 alarming or violent, was perhaps not at first sufficiently 
 regarded, increased by slow degrees for eighteen months, 
 during which he spent days among his books, and neither 
 neglected his studies, nor lost his gaiety, till his distem- 
 per, ten days before his death, deprived him of the use 
 of his limbs: he then prepared himself for his end, 
 without fear or emotion, and on the 5th of October 1740, 
 resigned his soul into the hands of his Saviour, with 
 confidence and tranquillity. 
 
 WILLIAM JENNINGS. 
 
 \ViLLiAM JENNINGS, Esq. a neighbour and acquaint- 
 ance of Mr. Elwes, of penurious memory, possessed a 
 character in some respects different from that of the 
 latter, and although not quite so extravagant in his 
 penury, he seems to have exhibited a more depraved 
 mind. He was born in the year 1701, and his father 
 died when he was on the point of completing a most 
 sumptuous and magnificent country-seat, which, for the 
 grandeur of its hall, and the massive elegance of its
 
 WILLIAM JENNINGS. 475 
 
 marble chimney-pieces, as well as the beauty and extent 
 of its stables and other offices, is totally unrivalled in 
 that part of the country, and is excelled in few others. 
 The staircase, however, and one entire wing of the 
 house, which was to have been principally devoted to n 
 vast and superb ball-room, were left totally incomplete; 
 and notwithstanding the sou, when he attained his ma- 
 jority, found himself possessed in real and personal estate 
 of not less than 200,000/. he neyer added another stroke to 
 the unfinished structure, which remained in precisely the 
 same state in which it was left on the decease of its more 
 worthy projector. In this extensive palace, for it 
 scarcely deserves a meaner appellation, Mr. Jennings re- 
 sided, when in the country, to the latest hour of his life 
 yet not in the finished and family apartments, but 
 merely in the basement floor alone, which, by being 
 not less than ten or fifteen feet below the surface of the 
 court, and illuminated by small and heavy windows, ad- 
 mitted but very seldom the reviving rays of the sun in 
 any direction. Here, on a level with most of the of- 
 fices of this superb pile of building, in the midst of his 
 servants, was his breakfast-room, his dining-room, and 
 his bed-chamber, the entire furniture of which was of 
 his own procuring, and consequently very mean, and its 
 whole value, perhaps, did not exceed twenty pounds, nor 
 were the rooms above, (excepting those in the wing 
 already described,)although completely finished and mag- 
 nificently furnished by his father, ever opened but once 
 during the whole period of his possessing them, which 
 extended to nearly a century. He had, nevertheless, 
 more family pride than Mr. Elwes, and maintained a 
 table in some degree superior. In this dark and miser- 
 able compartment of the house his dinner was always 
 served up, even when he was alone (and he was seldom 
 otherwise), in the family plate : nor, if any portion re- 
 mained after the wants of his diminutive household had 
 been satisfied, would he suffer it to be again introduced
 
 476 WILLIAM JENNINGS. 
 
 to assist in the dinner of the ensuing day. The poor, 
 however, were never benefited by this profusion of diet- 
 for it was his express order, and an order uniformly ad- 
 hered to, that the surplus should be distributed among 
 his dogs. He was never known, throughout the whole 
 period of his life, to exhibit one single charitable ac- 
 tion : and so cold and unsocial was his animal constitu- 
 tion, thai a male friend was scarcely ever invited to sleep 
 beneath his roof, and there is no instance of a female of 
 any description having been indebted to him for the hos- 
 pitality of a single night. In these respects he was a 
 character infinitely more despicable than his neighbour, 
 who at all times evinced the utmost degree of politeness 
 and gallantry to the fair sex ; and who, if he withheld 
 his hand from the needy, withheld it in-an equal degree 
 from himself. In his mode of increasing his property, 
 Mr. Jennings was also a more contemptible miser. 
 Elwes, when in London, occasionally frequented the 
 gaming-table, but it was to participate with his associates 
 in the various chances of the dice. Jennings, too, fre- 
 quented it, and was, in reality, at one period of his life 
 an habitual attendant at Brookes's or White's: but it 
 was not to partake in the multiplied fortunes of gam- 
 bling, but to accommodate the unlucky with money 
 tor the evening, and to draw an enormous profit 
 from the general loss. It is asserted, that for every thou- 
 sand pounds he thus advanced, he received the next 
 morning a thousand guineas. To enable him to perse- 
 vere steadily in this profitable concern, he ventured to 
 purchase a house in Grosvenor-square, where, indeed, he 
 occasionally resided to the day of his death, and long 
 after the infirmities of age compelled him to relinquish 
 his dishonourable traffic. On quitting either his town or 
 country-house he was accustomed to draw up, with his 
 own hand, an inventory of articles left behind, even to 
 the minutest and most insignificant; and to examine 
 them with the most rigid scrutiny on his return, to satisfy
 
 WILLIAM JENNINGS. 477 
 
 himself that he had not been wronged of his property. 
 The arrangement of this catalogue, when he was quitting 
 the country, was attended with no small degree of labour; 
 for, according to the fashion of our forefathers, almost 
 all the chimney-pieces throughout the house had been 
 left to him furnished with an infinite variety of pieces of 
 china, small as well as large. Every little dog and 
 duck, however, every tea-cup, ewer, and other toy, was 
 duly noticed, and expected to be found on his return, 
 not only uninjured, but accurately occupying its imme- 
 diate post. 
 
 To diminish the expense of wages paid to his house- 
 keeper (or rather an old woman who kept his house) he 
 used to allow it to be seen by strangers ; to permit her to 
 add to her wages the gratuities offered on such occasions. 
 The bargain being thus mutually acceded to, the house 
 was equally open for inspection whether he were within 
 it or not; and, in the former case, when the company 
 had reached the subterranean floor where he constantly 
 resided, he used to remove from room to room till the 
 whole had been visited. He had but a small circle of 
 acquaintance in the country; he did not like, however, 
 to be totally without occasional company, and induced 
 some few gentlemen to pay him morning visits, and to 
 profess a considerable friendship for him by the promise 
 of legacies in his will. And so far indeed as related to 
 the literal promise itself, he punctually fulfilled it for 
 he not only made his will, but bequeathed the expected 
 legacies: yet he took effectual care, at the same time, 
 that neither his promises nor his will should possess 
 much validity, for he never executed the latter; and his 
 entire property, at his death, amounting to little less 
 than a million sterling, was in the first instance likely to 
 become the subject of a Chancery-suit between two 
 noble families who advanced an equal claim to heirship. 
 This suit, however, was shortly afterwards dropped, upon 
 an agreement between the parties to divide the property
 
 178 S. BISSET. 
 
 in tranquillity. The only creditable trail in the charac- 
 ter of this miser is, that lie never oppressed his tenants:- 
 he would never advance them a shilling for their ac- 
 commodation, but he never raised their rents, nor dis- 
 tressed them for want of punctuality in their payments. 
 And yet, while he thus rigidly forbore from every act of 
 kindness and charity, he was, for the last twenty years 
 previous to his death, losing upwards of two thousand 
 pounds annually, by the large sums of money he retained 
 unemployed in the hands of his bankers. He kept cash 
 at two separate houses; and it was discovered, at his 
 death, that in one of them he had never possessed less 
 than twenty-thousand pounds for the twenty years pre- 
 vious : and in the other he had uniformly had a larger 
 sum for a longer period. He died in the year 1797, in 
 the 97th year of his age. 
 
 S. BISSET. 
 
 Jr ERHAPS no period ever produced a more singular 
 character than Bisset; though in the age of apathy in 
 which he lived, his merit was but little rewarded. At 
 any former era of time, the man who could assume a 
 command over the dumb creation, and make them act 
 with a docility which far exceeded mere brutal instinct, 
 would have been looked upon as possessed of superna- 
 tural powers, according to the pagan notions; or would 
 have been burned as a wizard, according to the Christian 
 system. 
 
 Bisset was born at Perth, in Scotland, about the year 
 1721. He had one or two brothers bred to the watch- 
 making business, who settled in Ireland, but having 
 himself served a regular time to a shoe-maker, and being 
 a remarkably good hand at what is called women's work,
 
 s. ISISSET. 479 
 
 lie went to London, where he married a woman who 
 brought him some property, turned broker, and continued 
 to accumulate money, until the notion of teaching quad- 
 rupeds attracted his attention in the year 1739. Read- 
 ing an account of a remarkable horse shown at the fair 
 of St. Germain's, curiosity led him to try his skill on a 
 horse and a dog which he bought in London, and he 
 succeeded beyond all expectation. Two monkies were 
 the next pupils he took in hand ; one of these he taught 
 to daiice and tumble on the rope, whilst the other held 
 a candle with one paw for his companion, and with the 
 other played a barrel organ. These antic animals he 
 also instructed to play several fanciful tricks, 'such as 
 drinking to the company, riding and tumbling upon the 
 horse's back, and going through several regular dances 
 wijh the dog. 
 
 Being a man of unwearied patience, three young 
 cats were the next objects of his tuition. He taught 
 those domestic tigers, to strike their paws in such direc- 
 tions on the dulcimer, as to produce several tunes, hav- 
 ing music-books before them, and squalling at the same 
 time in different keys or tones, first, second, and third, 
 by way of concert. In such a city as London, these 
 feats could not fail of making some noise ; his house was 
 every day crowded, and great interruption given to his 
 business. 
 
 Among the rest, he was visited by an exhibitor of 
 wonders; Pinchbeck, brother to the little gentleman, 
 whose elegant trifling in the toy-way has been well 
 known to attract the attention of royalty. This gentle- 
 man advised him to a public exhibition of his animals at 
 the Hay market, and even promised, on receiving a 
 moiety, to be concerned in the exhibition. Bisset 
 agreed, but the day before the performance, Pinchbeck- 
 declined, and the other was left to act for himself. The 
 well known Cat's Opera WHS advertised in the H,i\- 
 market : the horse, the dog, the monkirs, and the c.its,
 
 S. BISSET. 
 
 went through their several parts with uncommon applause, 
 to crowded houses: and in a few days Bisset found him- 
 self possessed of nearly a thousand pounds to reward his 
 ingenuity. 
 
 This success excited a desire of extending his domi- 
 nion over other animals, including even the feathered 
 kind. He procured a leveret, and reared it to beat 
 several marches on the drdm with its hind-legs, until it 
 became a good stout hare.. This creature, which is al- 
 ways set down as the most timid, he declared to t>e as 
 mischievous and bold an animal, to the extent of its 
 power, as any with which he was acquainted. He taught 
 canary-birds, linnets, and sparrows, to spell the name of 
 any person in company, to distinguish the hour and minute 
 of time, and play many other surprising tricks; he trained 
 six turkey-cocks to go through a regular country dance : 
 but in doing this he confessed he adopted the eastern 
 method, by which camels are made to dance, by heating 
 the floor. In the course of six months teaching, he 
 made a turtle fetch and carry like a dog; and having 
 chalked the floor, and blackened its claws, could direct 
 it to trace out any given name of the company. It is 
 not, however, to be imagined, that the very great time 
 he employed in teaching those different creatures, could 
 ever make him a return for the neglect of his industry. 
 He found himself constrained, in the course of a few 
 years, to make an itinerant exhibition of part of his col- 
 lection, and to sell some other animals belonging to it. 
 
 In the year 1775, he exhibited his animals in Dublin, 
 to the very great astonishment of thousands ; after 
 which he took the north-west circuit of the kingdom, 
 and settled at length at Belfast, where he established 
 himself in a public-house, determined to have nothing 
 more to do with any but the rational part of animated 
 nature. 
 
 But the habits and amusements of life cannot be all at 
 once abandoned. He trained a dog and a cat to go 
 
 24
 
 S. BISSET. 481 
 
 through many amazing performances. His confidence 
 even led him to try experiments. on a gold fish, which he 
 did not despair of making perfectly tractable. But some 
 time afterwards, a doubt being started to him, whether 
 the obstinacy of a pig could be conquered, his usual 
 patient, fortitude, was practised to try the experiment. 
 He bought a black sucking pig in the market of Belfast 
 for three shillings, and trained it to lie. under the stool 
 on which he sat at his work. At various intervals, du- 
 ring six or seven months, he tried in vain to bring the 
 young boar to his purpose : and despairing of every 
 kind of success, he was on the point of giving it away, 
 when it struck him to adopt a new mode of teaching; 
 in consequence of which, in the course of sixteen 
 months, he made an animal, supposed the most obsti- 
 nate and perverse in nature, to become the most tract- 
 able and docile. 
 
 In August, 1783, he once more turned itinerant, and 
 took his learned pig to Dublin, where it was first shown 
 for two or three nights at Ranelagh. It was not only 
 under full command, but appeared as pliant and good- 
 natured as a spaniel. When the weather made it neces- 
 sary that he should remove to the city, he obtained per- 
 mission of the chief magistrate, and advertised the pig 
 for exhibition in Dame-street. It was seen two or three 
 days by many persons of condition, to spell, without 
 any apparent direction, the name or names of those in 
 company, to cast up accounts, and to point out even the 
 words thought of by persons present ; to tell exactly 
 the hour, minutes, and seconds ; to point out the mar- 
 ried and unmarried; to kneel, and make his obeisance 
 to the company, with many other tricks no less wonder- 
 ful and extraordinary. Bisset was thus in a fair, way of 
 " bringing his pig to a good market," when a man, whose 
 ignorance and insolence disgraced authority, broke into 
 the room; with that brutality which the idea of power 
 gives, (what Shakspeare calls) a " pelting petty officer," 
 
 TOL. I. 3P
 
 482 WILLIAM GIBSON. 
 
 he assaulted the unoffending man, broke and destroyed 
 every thing by which the performance was directed, and 
 drew his sword to kill the swine, which might justly 
 have been called a half-reasoning, instead of agrovelling 
 animal, that in the practice of good manners, was at 
 least the superior of the assailant. The injured Bisset 
 pleaded, without any avail, the permission he obtained 
 from the chief magistrate; he was threatened to be 
 dragged to prison, if he was found any more offending 
 in the same manner. The agitation of mind he experi- 
 enced on this occasion, threw him into a fit of illness 
 from which he never recovered ; and he died, not long 
 after, at Chester, on his way to London. 
 
 WILLIAM GIBSON. 
 
 -Luis astonishing self-taught genius, was born in the 
 year 1720, at the village of Boulton, a few miles from 
 Appleby, in Westmorland. On the death of his father, 
 he put himself to a farmer to learn his business. When 
 he was about seventeen or eighteen, he was informed 
 that his father had been possessed of a tolerable estate 
 in lauded property ; and that he was descended from the 
 same family with Dr. Edmund Gibson, who at the be- 
 ginning of the preceding century was Bishop of London. 
 The estate was, however, mortgaged to its full value. 
 He therefore continued his occupation, and soon after- 
 wards rented and managed a little farm of his own, 
 at a place called Hollins, in Cartmell, where he applied 
 himself assiduously to study. 
 
 A short, tinie previous to this, he had admired the ope- 
 ration of figures; but laboured under every disadvan- 
 tage, for want of education. As he had not been taught 
 either to read or v/rite, he turned his thoughts to read-
 
 WILLIAM GIBSON. 483 
 
 ing English, and enabled himself to read and compre- 
 hend a plain author. He then purchased a treatise on 
 Arithmetic; and though he could not write, he soon 
 went through common Arithmetic, vulgar and decimal 
 fractions, the extraction of the square and cube roots, 
 &c. by his memory only, and became so expert that he 
 could tell, without setting down a figure, the product of 
 any two numbers multiplied together, although the 
 multiplier and mutiplicand, each of them, consisted of 
 nine figures: and it was equally astonishing how he 
 could answer, in the same manner, questions in divi- 
 sion, in decimal fractions, or in the extraction of the 
 square or cube roots, where such a multiplicity of figures 
 is often required in the operation. Yet at this time he 
 did not know that any merit was due to himself, con- 
 ceiving that the capacity of other people was like his 
 own ; but being a sociable companion, and, when in com- 
 pany, taking a particular pride in puzzling his compa- 
 nions with proposing different questions, they gave him 
 others in return, which, from the certainty and expe- 
 ditious manner he had in answering them, caused him to 
 be first noticed ns an arithmetician and a man of most 
 wonderful memory. 
 
 Finding himself still labouring under farther difficuK 
 ties, for want of a knowledge in writing, he taught 
 himself to write a tolerable hand. As he did not know 
 the meaning of the word mathematics, he had no idea 
 of any thing beyond what he had learned. He thought 
 himself a masterpiece in figures, and challenged all his 
 companions and the society he attended. Something, 
 however, was proposed to him concerning Euclid ; n$ he 
 did not understand the meaning of the word, he was 
 sHent, but afterwards funnd it meant a book, containing 
 the elements of geometry, which he purchased, and ap- 
 plied himself very diligently to the study of it, and 
 against the next meeting, he was prepared with an 
 answer in this new science.
 
 484 WILLIAM GIBSON. 
 
 He now found himself launching out into a field, of 
 which before he had no conception. He continued his 
 geometrical studies; and as the demonstrations of the 
 different propositions in Euclid depend entirely upon a 
 recollection of some of those preceding, his memory was 
 of the utmost service to him : and as it did not require 
 much knowledge in classical education, but principally 
 the management of straight lines, it was a study exactly 
 adapted to his mind: for while he was attending the bu- 
 siness of his farm, and humming over some tune or other, 
 his attention was solely engaged upon some of his geo*. 
 metrical propositions, and, with the assistance of a piece 
 of chalk, upon his breeches knee, or any other con- 
 venient spot, he would clear up the most difficult parts 
 of the science in a most masterly manner. 
 
 He now began to be struck with the works of nature, 
 and paid particular attention to the theory of the earth, 
 the moon, and the rest of the planets belonging to this 
 system, of which the sun is the centre; and considering 
 the distance and magnitude of the different bodies be-* 
 longing to it, and the distance of the fixed stars, he 
 soon conceived each to be the centre of a different sys- 
 tem. He well considered the law of gravity, and that 
 of the centripetal and centrifugal forces, and the cause 
 of the ebbing and flowing of the tides; also, the pro- 
 jection of the sphere, stereographic, orthographic, and 
 gnomical ; also trigonometry and astronomy. He was 
 never more highly delighted than when he found that his 
 calculations agreed with observation : and being well 
 acquainted with the projection of the sphere, he was 
 fond of describing all astronomical questions geometri- 
 cally, and of projecting the eclipses of the sun and 
 moon that way. By this time he was possessed of a small 
 library. 
 
 He next turned his thoughts to algebra, and took up 
 Emerson's treatise on that subject, and went through it 
 with great success; the management of surd quantities
 
 WILLIAM GIBSON. 485 
 
 and the clearing equations of high powers were amuse- 
 ments to him while at work in the fields, as he generally 
 could perform them by his memory; and if he met with 
 any thing very intricate, he had recourse to a piece of 
 chalk, as in his geometrical propositions. The arith- 
 metic of infinites, and the differential method, he made 
 himself rnrsier of, and found out that algebra and geo- 
 metry were the very soul of mathematics. He therefore 
 paid a particular attention to them, and used to apply 
 the former to almost every branch of the different 
 sciences. He grounded himself in the art of navigation, 
 the principles of mechanics, also, the doctrine of motion, 
 of falling bodies, and the elements of optics, and, as a 
 preliminary to fluxions, which had only been lately dis- 
 covered by Sir Isaac Newton, as the boundary of the 
 mathematics, he went through conic sections, Sic. to 
 make a trial of this last and finishing branch. Though 
 he expressed some difficulty at his first entrance, yet he 
 did not rest till he made himself master of both a fluxion 
 and a flowing quantity. As he had paid a similar atten- 
 tion to all the intermediate parts, he was become so con- 
 versant in every branch of the mathematics, that no 
 question was ever proposed to him which he could not 
 answer. 
 
 He used to answer all the questions in the Gentleman 
 and Lady's Diaries, the Palladium, and annual publica- 
 tions, for several years ; but his answers were seldom in- 
 serted except by, or in the name of some other person, 
 for he had no ambition to make his abilities known, 
 farther than satisfying himself that nothing passed him 
 which he did not understand. He frequently has had 
 questions from his pupils and other gentlemen in Lon- 
 don, the universities, and different parts of the country, 
 as well as from the university of Gottingen, in Germany, 
 sent him to solve, which he never failed to answer ; and, 
 from the minute inquiry he made into natural philosophy, 
 there was scarcely a phenomenon in nature, that ever
 
 486 JEMELJAN PUGATSCHEW. 
 
 came to his knowledge or observation, but he could, in 
 some measure or other, reasonably account for it. 
 
 He went by the name of Willy o'th'Hollins for many 
 years after he left the place. He removed to Tatn-green 
 where he lived about fifteen years, and from thence into 
 the neighbourhood of Cartmell, and was best known by 
 the name of Willy Gibson, still continuing his former 
 occupation. For the last forty years of his life he kept 
 a school of about eight or ten gentlemen, who boarded 
 und lodged at his own farm. house ; and having a happy 
 turn of explaining his ideas, he formed a great number 
 of very able mathematicians, and many more gentlemen 
 he instructed in accompts, for the counting house, as 
 well as for the sea, and for land surveying, which pro- 
 fession he likewise followed himself. He used to 
 study incessantly during the greatest part of the night, 
 and in the day-time, when in the fields, his pupils 
 frequently went to him to have their various difficulties 
 removed. 
 
 This extraordinary self-taught philosopher died on the 
 4th of October, 1792, at Blaith, near Cartmell, in con- 
 sequence of a fall, a few days before, leaving 'behind 
 him a widow and ten children. 
 
 JEMELJAN PUGATSCHEW. 
 
 J-HE adventures of this impostor, who, during the reign 
 of Catherine II. gave the Russian court no small degree 
 of uneasiness, are truly singular and romantic. He has 
 been generally looked upon as a mere savage, without 
 learning or abilities, but the following pages will give a 
 very different impression of him. The lives of illustrious 
 persons are perused with a species of enthusiasm ; yet as 
 vice has hs heroes as well as virtue, the story of a man
 
 JEMELJAN I'UGATSCUEW. 487 
 
 eminently distinguished for duplicity and political hy- 
 pocrisy, may afford equal entertainment and instruction. 
 
 Jerneljan Pugatschew was the son of Ismailow Pu- 
 gatschew, a chief of the Cossacks on the banks of the 
 river Don, who was remarkable for his bravery and con- 
 duct in the war between Peter the Great arid Charles 
 XII. of Sweden. He died as he had always wished, in 
 the field, covered with wounds, which he received in the 
 battle between the Russians and Turks near Bucharest, 
 towards the end of the year 1734, leaving Jcmeljan his 
 his only son, then art infant under the care of his mother; 
 who, in consequence of a new attachment, neglecting 
 him in a most inhuman manner, he was taken by an 
 uncle to Poland, nnd lived in the family of a nobleman, 
 where he made himself acquainted with the French, 
 Italian, Polish, and German languages, and was remark- 
 able for the liveliness of his parts. He then returned to 
 his own country with his uncle, and settled among the 
 Cossacks that inhabit the forests of the Ukrain. 
 
 Jemeljan, upon the death of his uncle, became a 
 qhieftain among these erratic people, and, from his su- 
 perior knowledge, established a government which con- 
 siderably increased the happiness of his dependants, who 
 lived like most of the Cossacks on the banks of the Don, 
 in continual warfare with the neighbouring Tartars. 
 Among the strangers which belonged to the troop Je- 
 meljan commanded, were two men of abilities, who, 
 from a spirit of enterprise, had accompanied him from 
 Poland ; the one Boispre, a Norman ; and the other 
 Capelini, a native of Florence. These persons were of 
 considerable useto him in instructing and civilizing his 
 savage associates. In one of their excursions Pugatschew 
 had destroyed a large settlement of Tartars, and carried 
 off a considerable booty, and a great number of prisoners, 
 among whom was a female remarkable for her beauty, 
 dalled Marvea, whom Jemeljan soon after became so
 
 488 JEMELJAN PtJGATSCHEW. 
 
 fond of, that he married her according to the custom of 
 those people. 
 
 The charms of this woman made an impression upon 
 the chief's Italian friend, who, not seeing any probabi- 
 lity of succeeding to his wishes, from the unaffected 
 virtue of Marvea, determined at any rate to gratify his 
 criminal desires* A fatal opportunity offered some time 
 after, as Pugalschew had determined to extirpate a troop 
 of his enemies who had frequently annoyed him from 
 one of the small islands in the Don; and, collecting the 
 greatest part of his force together, he proceeded on the 
 expedition, leaving his family in one of the towns on 
 the uncultivated banks of that river. Nagowski, a 
 Polish officer, was left to take care of the settlement, 
 and Capelini, pretending illness, found it easy to excuse 
 himself from the expedition. In the heart of an im- 
 mense forest, which was near the place of their abode, 
 the Italian had discovered a large cavern almost covered 
 with trees, which he pitched upon as the spot on which 
 he intended to act his future villany. According to a 
 plan settled between them, Nagowski left the settlement, 
 and, not returning for some days, was supposed to have 
 deserted the party. 
 
 One morning Marvea walked out alone with one of 
 the company, Capelini having refused to be of the party, 
 under pretence that he was more indisposed than ordi- 
 nary, and therefore stood in want of repose. Marvea 
 and her companion returned no more. A general alarm 
 took place. Capelini, whose disorder seemed augmented 
 by this accident, acted his part to a miracle; and, in his 
 pretended despair, accused the Polander of having de- 
 Lauched the wife of his'friend. The truth is, these two 
 villains had agreed, that, whtle Capelini should feign an 
 increase of his malady, Nagowski should go to his 
 cavern and wait with precaution for an opportunity of 
 seizing Marvea. This circumstance presently occurred. 
 
 24
 
 JEMELJAN PUGATSCHEW. 
 
 The sight of the woman who accompanied Marvea a 
 little embarrassed the villain, who, through a thicket 
 behind which he was posted, observed all their move- 
 ments; notwithstanding, he determined not to let this 
 occasion escape him. The monster saw them with a bar- 
 barous 1 pleasure gradually advance towards the place 
 which was to secrete the beautiful Tartar. When they 
 had proceeded so far that their cries could not be heard, 
 he came from his post, and walked softly behind the 
 trees ; when he arrived within a few paces of the unfor- 
 tunate women, with one stroke of the pommel of his 
 sword, he extended at his feet, without motion, and al- 
 most without life, the affrighted companion of Marvea, 
 whom he took in his anns, and without uttering one 
 word, conveyed into the cavern which was not twenty 
 spaces distant. His first care was to iccover the unfor- 
 tunate lady, who, from her terrors, had fainted away. 
 When she came to herself, he returned to the other 
 woman, and brought her also into the cavern. Marvea, 
 overwhelmed with grief for a considerable time, refused 
 to take any nourishment ; but her companion, who 
 comprehended nothing of what she had seen, and had a 
 soul less elevated than the wife of Pugatschew, consoled 
 herself in her misfortunes, and readily refreshed herself 
 with the provisions the Polander presented to her. At 
 length Capelini arrived, and threw this unfortunate 
 victim into such a situation as is not easy to describe ; in 
 short, he immediately proceeded to violence, and en- 
 deavoured to intimidate the object of his wishes by 
 threats of the cruellest kind; but, despTiiring to triumph 
 over the virtue of his prisoner, he lost all sense of shame 
 and decency, and enjoyed his prize in the most brutal 
 manner. 
 
 The time for Pugatschew's return now approached, 
 and Capelini, who had occasionally attended his duty at 
 the settlement, began to fee! the severest apprehension* 
 of his viliany being discovered. ' ;i me leads to 
 
 VOL. 1. 3
 
 490 JEMELJAN PUGATSCHEW. 
 
 another, this inhuman wretch, for fear of detection, 
 was impelled to destroy the companion of his wicked- 
 ness, Nagowski, by a stroke of his sabre, and soon after 
 murdered the unhappy woman, who accompanied her 
 mistress to this dreary place. Marvea, who was witness 
 of this dreadful scene, prepared herself with joy to sub- 
 mit to the same fate ; but Capelini, still finding her ne- 
 cessary to his happiness, determined to quit the forest, 
 and find some method of conveying this unhappy lady 
 to Poland. Pugatschew at this period returned from his 
 expedition, crowned with victory, when the hypocritical 
 Italian, after many entreaties, and with an appearance 
 of the utmost sensibility, informed him, that during his 
 absence his wife had eloped with Nagowski, and that he 
 had made the strictest search after them to no purpose. 
 Penetrated with grief at this piece of information, the 
 gallant Cossack burst into tears, which at the same time 
 were also plentifully shed by his perfidious associate. 
 
 Two days elapsed before Capelini found an opportu- 
 nity of repairing to the cavern, where he was cautiously 
 followed by Boispre, who had for some time suspected 
 his criminal passion for Marvea, and disbelieved the 
 plausible tale he had related to Pugatschew. On enter- 
 ing this dreary abode, Boispre and his two attendants, 
 with some difficulty, discovered the unfortunate victim, 
 who had just life enough to implore their assistance. 
 The Italian, confounded at this detection, fell at the 
 feet of this brave man who had formerly been his friend, 
 confessed his crimes, and requested immediate death 
 from his hand, or liberty to make his escape. Without 
 deigning him an answer, Boispre ordered his servants to 
 secure him, and immediately dispatched one of them to 
 Pugatschew, with the news that he had discovered 
 Marvea, with whom he continued, and endeavoured to 
 administer comfort to her in her expiring moments. 
 
 The Cossack chief immediately repaired to the me- 
 lancholy place, followed by several of his troop, when
 
 JEMELJAN PUGATSCHEW. 491 
 
 Boispre, taking him by the hand, and pointing to Cape- 
 lini : "See there," says he, " the ravisher of thy wife." 
 Pugatschew, astonished at these words, was going to 
 wreak his vengeance on the Italian, but was restrained 
 by Boispre and his followers, who conducted him to his 
 faithful consort, who no sooner saw him approach, than 
 she pronounced his name with enthusiastic rapture, and 
 expired in his arms. This affecting scene filled the 
 hearts of these unpolished people with grief and horror. 
 PogatacheWj unable to sustain the shock, fell senseless 
 upon the ground, and was carried by his friends to the 
 settlement, where he continued some time oppressed 
 with a melancholy, which would probably have termi- 
 nated fatally, but for the strength of his constitution and 
 the cares of his friends. 
 
 The odious Capelini was condemned by the Cossacks 
 to a singular punishment for his atrocious offences. He 
 was adjudged to be fastened to the dead body of the in- 
 famous Nagowski, and suspended by the arms till he 
 was starved to death. Tiie generosity of Pugatschew, 
 however, felt for human nature under this dreadful cir- 
 cumstance, and he directed that the wretch should be 
 pnt out of his misery with a sabre, the day after lie had 
 been suspended according to his sentence. 
 
 We have no further account of this extraordinary 
 man, till he entered into the Russian service some time 
 alter, where he gave many proofs of his courage and 
 conduct. He was at the siege of Berlin, which was 
 taken by the Generals Toitleben, Czernichew, and Lascy, 
 in the month of October, 1760, and was the first man 
 that mounted the ramparts, at the head of a party of 
 Cossacks. IJis behaviour during the siege recommend- 
 ed him so much to the favour of General Tottleben, that 
 he frequently conversed with him. The notice this emi- 
 nent commander took of Pugatschew, singular as it may 
 appear, was the first cause of his, some years afire, 
 attuning the title of Peter III. and of the rcbt I-
 
 492 JEMELJAN PUGATSCHEW. 
 
 lion of Orenburg. The anecdote is as follows. When 
 Tottleben sent for this brave Cossack to his tent, in 
 order to thank him for the example of intrepidity which 
 he had shown, he was suddenly struck with the simi- 
 larity which his person bore to that of the emperor, and 
 expressed his surprise upon that occasion to all the offi- 
 cers about him. After having learnt Pugatschew's pa- 
 rentage, the general, remarking he might be taken for 
 the emperor's brother, from the extraordinary likeness of 
 their faces and make, jocosely asked him, whether his 
 mother was ever at the court of Holstein, (the birth- 
 place of Peter III.) " No, and please your excel- 
 lency," returned Pugatschew with great readiness, " but 
 , my father has often been there." The adroitness of 
 this reply gave the company no indifferent opinion of 
 his talents for a repartee. Tottleben, addressing him- 
 self to Count Lascy, thus proceeded : " But, raillery 
 apart, I have never seen any one who resembled another 
 so much as this young fellow does our sovereign; and, 
 if by an unfortunate event (which Heaven forbid !) we 
 should lose our monarch, as the Portuguese formerly did 
 their King Don Sebastian, this Jemeljan would not find 
 it very difficult to impose upon the ignorant part of 
 mankind, who would doubtless readily believe him to be 
 the first personage in the empire." 
 
 This conversation, which Tottleben was far from re- 
 garding as a presage of the part which would be played 
 some years after by Pugatschew, made a deep impression 
 on the mind of the latter, who solemnly declared, pre- 
 vious to his execution, that he never ceased thinking 
 on the above declaration, and, when he heard of the 
 death of the unfortunate Peter III. he looked upon the 
 words of General Tottleben, to make use of his own em- 
 phatic expression, as the voice of an oracle which called 
 him to empire and to glory. 
 
 While this singular character was in the Russian ser- 
 vice, he lived in a strict intimacy with his old friend
 
 JEMELJAN PUGATSCHEW. 
 
 Boispre, who had left the Ukrain with him, and been 
 employed as an engineer against the Prussians. Soon 
 after the siege of Berlin, Pugatschew, accompanied by 
 this friend, left the army, in consequence of having 
 wounded a Russian officer of superior rank. They 
 passed wilh the utmost expedition to Vienna, where our 
 Cossack assumed the character of a noble Venetian, and 
 played his cards so well, that he was received without 
 suspicion into the first families in that capital. His 
 company was particularly agreeable to the ladies, and the 
 
 young Countess of C showed him so much partiality, 
 
 that Boispre encouraged him to ask her in marriage of 
 her father. This lady was descended from a very dis- 
 tinguished family, and was so far imposed upon as to 
 believe an alliance with Couni Zanardi, as Pugatschevv 
 then called himself, would be a very advantageous one. 
 In short, after some time, this adventurer had address 
 enough to persuade the father of the lady that he was 
 really the nobleman he pretended to be, and the marriage 
 was soon after celebrated with great pomp. 
 
 Upon a dispute occasioned by the Venetians supposing 
 their rights infringed by the imperial court, the former 
 sent an envoy to Vienna, in order to settle the matter 
 amicably. This minister was not a little surpised at 
 hearing Count Zanardi had been lately married to a 
 lady of distinction in that city, when he well knew that 
 family had been long extinct. Suspicions now begun to 
 be entertained that our count was an impostor; and it 
 was no doubt lucky for him, that at the time of the am- 
 bassador's arrival, he had been some days with the old 
 count, at the castle near Neuhausel. Boispre immedi- 
 ately posted to the last mentioned place, and acquainted 
 his friend with the dangerous ground he stood upon. 
 Without seeming alarmed, the pretended Zanardi told his 
 wife and the count, that one of his particular friends 
 had in an affair of honour dangerously wounded his ad- 
 versary, and taken refuge in the hotel of the Venetian
 
 494 JEMELJAN PUGATSCHEW. 
 
 ambassador : " I must depart immediately," said he, 
 " for the metropolis, in order \o thank that minister for 
 his kindness, and conduct my friend hither as to a place 
 of greater security." This reason satisfied the courft 
 and his daughter, and our two adventurers direct!}' de- 
 parted for Vienna, which was several leagues from the 
 count's estate. When they reached the capital, Zanardi 
 privately entered his father-in-law's palace, and possessed 
 himself of a considerable quantity of jewels and plate, 
 which he immediately sold to some Jews, and, quitting 
 Vienna, took their route for the borders of Poland, 
 where they soon after arrived, having eluded the search 
 of the count, who had become outrageous at discovering 
 the base trick which had been played him. 
 
 In the year 1773, the inhabitants of the governments 
 o.f Casan and Orenburg, in the Asiatic portion of the 
 vast Russian empire, having for some time manifested 
 great discontent on account of the imposts, laid on them 
 for the support of the war with the Turks in which 
 Russia was then engaged, and the continual draughts of 
 men for the armies. Pugatschew endeavoured to con- 
 vert this disaffection into an engine to promote his am- 
 bitious designs. The observations of General Tottleben, 
 though made so man}' years before, had produced an 
 impression upon his mind which time had not been able 
 to erase. Encouraged by his resemblance to the de- 
 throned emperor, he had the audacity to assume the 
 name and character of that unfortunate monarch, and 
 openly aspired to the imperial crown of all the R,ussias. 
 Notwithstanding this palpable imposture, such was the 
 ignorance and dissatisfaction of the inhabitants of the 
 provinces where he first published his pretensions, that 
 he was soon joined by great numbers of partisans. 
 
 This insurrection became so formidable, that the Em- 
 press Catherine was obliged to send a considerable force 
 against the rebels. During the whole of the year 1774, 
 Pugatschew contrived to find employment for the Rus-
 
 JKMELJAN PUGATSCHEW. 49/> 
 
 sian forces, though his adherent were defeated in seve- 
 ral obstinate engagements. At length through the 
 treachery of the Cossacks, he was delivered into the 
 hands of the Russians, together with his principal ac- 
 complices, and they were conveyed in chains to Moscow, 
 where, after heing tried for their various crimes, they re- 
 ceived the dreadful sentence of the law. On the '23d of 
 January, 177<5> Pugatschew and his principal adherents 
 were brought to the place of execution, which was in 
 the square adjoining to the stone bridge, named Ballotta: 
 a large scaffold was erected, in the middle of which 
 there was a pole with a kind of round top, something 
 like that on the masts of a ship; two ladders were 
 placed for the purpose of ascent, and at each coiner u 
 gallows was fixed. 
 
 About eleven o'clock in the forenoon the several cri- 
 minals passed the stone bridge, and such as were sen- 
 tenced to have their tongues cut out were coupled 
 together in pairs. Amongst these was a young gentle- 
 man, sentenced, first to be disgraced by having his 
 sword broke over his head ; and after him came a kind 
 of dung cart, made black, in the middle of which was 
 a stake, to which Pugatschew was fastened, with a burn- 
 ing candle in his hand, attended by two priests who sat 
 close by him. The executioner stood behind, and two 
 large axes were placed on a block. This dreadful appa- 
 ratus appeared to make a great impression on the minds 
 of the spectators, but in Pugatschew not the slightest 
 trace of fear was discoverable ; his aspect was serene, 
 his deportment such as showed a soul quite undaunted in 
 the hour of approaching dissolution. His unconcern 
 astonished the beholders, and as he passed through the 
 crowd he expressed a wish, that if he hail done aught 
 amiss the people would pardon him for the love of God. 
 
 When he reached the scaffold, the crimes for which he 
 and his confederates were doomed to suffer, were recited ; 
 the priest by excommunication delivered them up to the
 
 496 JEMELJAN PUGATSCHEW, 
 
 executioner, who instantly began his dreadful office. 
 Pugatschew ascended the scaffold by means of a ladder; 
 the three of his confederates who were to be hung, 
 mounted the gallows by the same means, and the four 
 were executed almost in the same instant. Pugatschew 
 assisted to undress himself with great readiness and com- 
 posure, he was then stretched on the scaffold, and by a 
 mistake of the executioner his head was first severed from 
 his body, and his hands and-IJeet were afterwards cut off 
 and shown to the spectators before his head was exhibit- 
 ed. For this neglect the executioner was threatened 
 with severe punishment, as by the laws he might have 
 lost his tongue by it. The head of Pugatschew was then 
 stuck upon an iron spike, and the other parts of his 
 body were severally exposed on the top of the pole 
 fixed in the middle of the.scaffold. The three confede- 
 rates doomed to be bung having suffered the sentence, 
 Persilieff, Pugatscbew's principal associate, then under- 
 went the same punishment as his companion, with the 
 exception of his head not being spiked up. His 
 mangled remains were then placed near those of Pugats- 
 chew. The other criminals then suffered their various 
 punishments, eighteen were knouted and sent to Siberia; 
 the tongues of some were cutout, and the noses of others 
 were cut off. The mangled remains of the two chiefs 
 were exposed in four different parts of the town, whore 
 they remaine'd till next day, when they were burned. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 J. Robins, and Co. Albinn Press, London.
 
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