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 THE 
 
 LIFE 
 
 or 
 
 WILLIAM HUTTON, F.A.S.S. 
 
 INCLUDING 
 A PARTICULAR ACCOUNT OF 
 
 C6e Eiow at IBirmingljam in 1791. 
 
 TO WHICH IS SUBJOINED, 
 
 THE HISTORY OF HIS FAMILY, 
 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELF, 
 
 AND PUBLISHED BY HIS DAUGHTER, 
 
 CATHERINE HUTTON, 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOY, 
 
 PAIERNOSTER ROW; 
 
 AND BEILBY AND KNOTTS, BIRMINGHAM. 
 
 1816.
 
 CT 
 785 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 "^ JN ONE is so able to write a Life as the per- 
 
 ^ son who is the subject ; because his thoughts, 
 
 ~i his motives, and his private transactions, are 
 
 ^ open to him alone. But none is so unfit : for 
 
 2 his hand, biassed in his favour, will omit, or 
 
 c disguise simple truth, hold out false colours, 
 
 and deceive all but the writer. I have endea- 
 
 S voured to divest myself of this prejudice. 
 
 '^ I must apologize to the world, should this 
 
 ever come under its eye, for presenting it with 
 
 a life of insignificance. I have no manoeuvres, 
 
 no state tricks, no public transactions, nor 
 
 adventures of moment, to lay before my 
 
 Readers. I have only the history of an indivi- 
 
 4^"*,^^'? ^ W
 
 ( vi ) 
 
 dual, struggling, unsupported, up a mountain 
 of difficulties. And yet some of the circum- 
 stances are so very uncommon, as barely to 
 merit belief. A similar mode of a man 
 ushering himself into life, perhaps, cannot be 
 met with. 
 
 If I tell unnecessary things, they are not 
 t;«ld in unnecGssary words. I have avoided 
 prolixity. 
 
 A man cannot speak of himself without 
 running into egotism ; but I have adhered to 
 facts. 
 
 Some writers, in speaking of themselves, 
 appear in the third person: as, ^'^ the Author, 
 " the Recorder, or the Writer of this Narra- 
 '■' tive r which seems rather far-fetched. I 
 can see no reason why a man may not speak in 
 the first, and use the simple letter /. 
 
 But without entering into the ])ropriety of 
 these methods, I have adopted the last. If I 
 speak of myself, whv not from myself'? A 
 rareeshovi^-man may be allowed to speak through 
 a puppet, but it is needless in an Author.
 
 ( vii ) 
 
 It may seem singular that I should, at se- 
 venty-five, and without any preparation, be so 
 very circumstantial in date and incident, with 
 only the assistance of memory ; which is, in a 
 double sense, carrying my life in my head. 
 Those who know me are not surprized. There 
 is not a statement either false or coloured. 
 
 WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 Aug, 29, 1798.
 
 THE HISTORY 
 
 OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 If I pretend to write from memory, how can 
 I pretend to write things which happened near 
 the time of my birth ? Yet this must be 
 granted me. Till the child can walk, he is 
 allowed the hand of another. Whether I tell 
 of myself, or another tells for me, truth shall 
 never quit the page. 
 
 I was born September 30, 1723, which will 
 bear the name of the last day in summer, on 
 Wednesday, at a quarter before five in the 
 evening, at the bottom of Full Street, in Derby ; 
 upon premises on the Banks of the Derwentj 
 now occupied by Mr. Upton, an Attorney. 
 
 B
 
 2 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l723. 
 
 There were no prognostications prior to my 
 birth, except that my father, the day before, 
 was chosen Constable. But a circumstance 
 occurred which, I beheve, never did before 
 or after — the purchase of a Cheshire cheese, 
 price half a guinea; so large, as to merit a 
 wheel-barrow to convey it. Perhaps this was 
 the last whole cheese ever bought during my 
 stay. A good painter may seem to give many 
 insignificant strokes, which, to the observer, 
 amount to nothing ; but, taken in the aggre- 
 gate, they may form a complete picture and a 
 just likeness. As I must have been very little 
 at this time, the Reader will excuse me if I talk 
 of little things ; though my mother observed, 
 " I was the largest child she ever had, but so very 
 " ordinary (a softer word for ugly), she was 
 " afraid she should never love me." But what- 
 ever were her parental affections then, I had 
 no cause to complain during the nine remaining 
 years of her life. 
 
 At an early period I had given me, while 
 sitting on my mother's knee, a large hollow 
 brass drop, such as were the furniture of our 
 old-fashioned chests of drawers, to amuse me 
 while she was engaged in conversation. The 
 discourse ended ; the drop was missing ! After 
 diligent search, to no purpose, it was concluded
 
 1723.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 3 
 
 that I must have swallowed it, for it had been 
 observed at my mouth. Consternation ensued! 
 The discharge was attended to, for one day, 
 when all their fears subsided ; the brazen bolus 
 had found its way, without doing injury. This 
 incident I do not remember, but have heard 
 my mother repeat it. 
 
 1725. 
 
 Memory now comes in to aid the pen : for 
 this year I recollect many incidents ; one, 
 playing upon the verge of the Derwent, with 
 older children, where, I am surprized, they 
 suffered a child of two years old to remain. 
 Another, playing with my uncle's whip, who 
 had just come from Mountsorrel to see us, and, 
 to close the farce, putting it in the fire, and 
 burning the lash. A third was a dangerous 
 adventure. We infants were playing at the 
 fire, which was large ; and, though the least 
 of the flock, I was not the least active. My 
 sister had given me a piece of cap paper, plaited 
 in the form of a fan ; in lighting which, 1 set 
 fire to my petticoats, frock, and bib. My 
 cries brought my mother from the next room, 
 who put an end to the tragi-comedy. My 
 
 B 2
 
 4^ LIFE OF WILLIAM BUTTON. [17^5. 
 
 mother afterwards took me with her on a visit 
 to Mountsorrel. While the waggon was cross- 
 ing the Trent in a barge, a pleasure boat in 
 view, with the people in it, seemed gradually 
 to sink under water, and rise up alternately. 
 This shews how very delusive is the sight of an 
 infant of two years old. The weather was 
 serene, the water clear, and, though deep, 
 the pebbles at the bottom were visible. 
 
 1726. 
 
 Every class of the animal world associates 
 with its like. An old couple, Moses Simpson 
 and his wife, who lived at the next door, took 
 great notice of me, but I shunned them with 
 horror ; had they been young, I should pro- 
 bably have sought them, but I was fully per- 
 suaded they would kill me. I stood at the top 
 of a flight of stairs, and this woman at the 
 bottom, coaxing me to come to her. She 
 might as well have intreated the moon. I 
 instantly tumbled to the bottom. She took 
 me in her arms, endeavoured to pacify me, 
 dandled me on the knee, and I was surprized 
 that I escaped with life.
 
 1726.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 5 
 
 A few weeks after I saw my mother in the 
 pangs of labour of my brother George; the 
 mid-wife and assistants about her. I being the 
 only male in the room, was ordered out. A 
 woman carried me. I afterwards saw the child 
 asleep ; my mother took me by the hand and 
 led me away, lest I should awake him. 
 
 1727. 
 
 At Mountsorrel I had an uncle who was a 
 Grocer, and a bachelor ; also a grand-mother 
 who kept his house ; and at Swithland, two 
 miles distant, three crabbed aunts, all single, 
 who resided together as Grocers, Milliners, 
 Mercers, and School-mistresses. My family 
 being distressed I was sent over, and I resided 
 alternately with my uncle and my aunts fifteen 
 months. Here I was put into breeches, at the 
 age of four : here I was an interloper, and 
 treated with much ill-nature. Nothing is more 
 common than for people, particularly young 
 women, to be fond of children. I can recol- 
 lect numberless instances of insult, but not one 
 civil thing they ever said. '•' You are an ugly 
 " lad : you are like your father. Your brother 
 *' is a pretty lad : he is like his mother ' (she
 
 6 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l?^?* 
 
 was their sister). I was unable to return an 
 answer. They might have considered that 
 this, and other evils, were out of my power to 
 remove. 
 
 It is curious to observe the ideas of infants. 
 One of my aunts taking me from Mountsorrel 
 to Swithland, entered a house at the skirts of 
 the town, where I saw several men rather 
 noisy, and could not conceive they were of the 
 family. I observed also the shelves abound 
 with crockery- ware, and could not imagine the 
 use. The woman of the house took us into a 
 back room, where she and my aunt seemed 
 very familiar. 
 
 We passed on without resting ; and my aunt, 
 during this little journey, fell down, perhaps, 
 twenty times, and generally at a stile ; often 
 lay a minute or two, and bade me look if any 
 person was coming. I answered, " No," but 
 the answer was needless ; for I was scarcely 
 able to look over a blade of grass. No damage 
 ensued, except my being terrified. 
 
 Many years elapsed before I could unravel 
 this mystery, which was no more than my 
 aunt entering a public house. The crocks 
 were the drinking cups ; and, in the private 
 room, she got so completely drunk, she could 
 neither stand nor walk.
 
 17^7 •] LTFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 7 
 
 In the corner of my aunt's garden stood a 
 hive of bees. I one day watched them, with 
 great attention, at their own door, and thought 
 their proceedings curious ; when, hke a child 
 with a plaything, which he first admires and 
 then destroys, I gave them a blow with my 
 hat, and ran away. A party was instantly 
 detached in pursuit of me, which being svtifter 
 of wing than I of foot, settled in my neck. I 
 roared as well as ran. My timorous aunts 
 durst not touch them, but sent for a neighbour, 
 while I continued in agonies. After commit- 
 ting great depredations the enemy was reduced : 
 I was put under cure, but never forgot who 
 was the aggressor. 
 
 Standing at the hob by the fire, at supper, 
 with the spoon in my left hand, my uncle 
 asked me, " Which was my right ?" Without 
 knowing, I instantly stretched out the right, 
 " This -y Though meant as a reproof, which 
 I did not comprehend, yet for many years, 
 when it was necessary to know which was the 
 right or left hand, imagination placed me at 
 the hob, which instantly informed me. 
 
 Another incident that occurred was the ad- 
 ventures of a froo-. An humble member of the 
 croaking society happening to hop out, to take 
 the evening air, approached the door where
 
 8 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l727« 
 
 our three heroines stood, and I near them. 
 They darted in, terribly frightened, shut the 
 door, and handed a broom through the win- 
 dow, with orders for me to kill the frog. I 
 was pleased that I could be useful. But while 
 fumbling with the broom, which I was not 
 much used to handle, the condemned animal 
 escaped ; I lost a little credit and got more 
 blame, as having left an enemy in ambush. 
 
 My eldest aunt, an ingenious, prudent, ill- 
 tempered woman, was taken sick, and I saw her 
 breathe her last, without having the least know- 
 ledge of that momentous event. 
 
 1728. 
 
 My mother, unknown to me, came to 
 Mountsorrel to fetch me home. The maid 
 took me out of bed naked, except my shirt, 
 and, having her left hand employed, could only 
 spare the right, with which she dangled me 
 down stairs by the arm, as a man does a new- 
 purchased goose, her knee thumping against 
 my back every step. I was exceedingly ashamed 
 to appear before my mother, then a stranger, 
 in that indecent state.
 
 1728.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 9 
 
 My uncle, the next day, carried her behind 
 him on horseback, and me before, upon a pil- 
 low, to meet the Derby waggon at Loughbo- 
 rough. My father, who had not seen me for 
 fifteen months, received me with only two 
 words, and those marked with indifference, 
 " So, Bill." 
 
 Being four years and a half old, ajid dressed 
 in my best suit, a cocked hat, and walking- 
 stick, my sister took me by the hand to Gilbert 
 Bridge's, for the evening's milk, which was, in 
 future, to be my errand. One of his buxom 
 daughters, in a gay mood, snatched off my hat, 
 and laughed at me, as one who wins. I gave 
 her a blow with the knob end of my stick ; she 
 returned the hat in a more serious tone, with, 
 " The young rogue has hurt me," and from 
 thence gave me the name of Smiler. 
 
 I now went to school to Mr. Thomas Meat, 
 of harsh memory, who often took occasion to 
 beat my head against the wall, holding it by 
 the hair, but never could beat any learning 
 into it; I hated all books but those of pictures. 
 
 Now a brother John was born, but soon left 
 1)8, by which he escaped that; distress which 
 awaited me.
 
 10 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1729. 
 
 1729. 
 
 My father worked from home ; and when 
 my mother was out, the care of the family, two 
 brothers and myself, devolved upon me, though 
 not the eldest. My mother ordered me, when 
 breakfast was ready, ^' to pour out each his 
 " portion of milk-porridge, and take my father 
 " his, before I eat mine." I served a mess to 
 each, rejoiced at the excellent measure, and fell 
 to. 
 
 During the pleasure of eating, I recollected I 
 had forgotten my father. Astonishment seized 
 me ; I proposed that each of us should contri- 
 bute to make good the deficiency. My eldest 
 brother refused. I, therefore, took a little from 
 the youngest, and all my own, to cure the evil. 
 My father, at noon, remarked. Bill had rather 
 pinched him. Thus I began housekeeping 
 early, but began with a blunder. 
 
 My father had borrowed two Newspapers. 
 I was sent to return them. I lost both. The 
 price of each was only three halfpence, but I 
 was as much harassed as if I had committed a 
 crime of magnitude. 
 
 Consultations were held about fixing me in 
 some employment, for the benefit of the family.
 
 1729.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 11 
 
 Winding quills for the weaver, was mentioned; 
 but died away. Stripping tobacco for the gro- 
 cer, in which I was to earn fourpence a week, 
 was proposed; but it was at last concluded that 
 I was too young for any employment. 
 
 1730. 
 
 This Summer my sister Ann was born; and, 
 as I was considered the most active of the chil- 
 dren, the nursing was committed to me. I 
 wished to see her in leading strings, like other 
 children; but, being too poor to buy, I procured 
 a packthread string, which I placed under her 
 arms, but the dear little thing informed me, by 
 her cries, that I hurt her. 
 
 Now we lost my dear brother George, a 
 lovely child, three years and a half old. It had 
 been my office to take him by the hand, to play. 
 My father expressed great sorrow. 
 
 My days of play were now drawing to an 
 end. The Silk-mill was proposed. One of 
 the clerks remarked to the person who took 
 me there, that the offer was needless, I was too 
 young. However, the offer was made ; and, 
 as hands were wanted, in the infant state of this 
 work, I was accepted. It was found, upon
 
 12 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTOX. [1730. 
 
 trial, that nature had not given me length suffi- 
 cient to reach the engine, for, out of three hun- 
 dred persons employed in the mill, I was by 
 far the least and the youngest. 
 
 It is happy for man that invention supplies 
 the place of want. The superintendents wisely 
 thought, if they could lengthen one end it 
 would affect both, A pair of high pattens were 
 therefore fabricated, and tied fast about my feet, 
 to make them steady companions. They were 
 clumsy companions, which I dragged about 
 one year, and with pleasure delivered up. 
 
 1 had now to rise at five every morning dur- 
 ing seven years; submit to the cane whenever 
 convenient to the master ; be the constant 
 companion of the most rude and vulgar of 
 the human race, never taught by nature, nor 
 ever wishing to be taught. A lad, let his mind 
 be in what state it would, must be as im- 
 pudent as they, or be hunted down. I could 
 not consider this place in any other light than 
 that of a complete bear-garden. 
 
 1731. 
 
 March the eleventh, was born, quite un- 
 known to me, at Aston upon Trent, six miles
 
 1731.] LITE OF WILLIAM IIUTTON. 13 
 
 east of Derby, a female child, who, twenty-four 
 years after, was to become my wife ; be my 
 faithful and dear companion, and love me bet- 
 ter than herself. I was to possess this inesti- 
 mable treasure forty years, then to lose it, and 
 mourn its loss every future day of my life. 
 
 There does not exist in man a thankfulness 
 proportionate to the long enjoyment of a valu- 
 able favour; but there does exist a regret at the 
 loss equal to its magnitude. 
 
 I became a favourite of two of the clerks, 
 .and many of the children, owing, perhaps, to 
 my being the least infant among infants. 
 
 We were the only family of Dissenters con- 
 nected with the Silk-mill. One of the clerks 
 wished to make me a convert to the established 
 church, and threw out the lure of a halfpenny 
 every Sunday I should attend divine service 
 there. This purchased me ; and my father, 
 who was a moderate man, winked at the pur- 
 chase. This proves an assertion of Sir Robert 
 Walpole, " That every man has his price." 
 None could be much lower than mine. 
 
 One Sunday I was discovered in a remote 
 pew, playing at push-pin. My patron, the next 
 morning, had too much good nature to punish 
 me, or withhold his favour, but he apphed a 
 more effectual remedy. He played at push-
 
 14< LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1731. 
 
 pin under my own eye, and with a tolerable 
 share of grimace ; which brought the laugh of 
 the whole room upon me. 
 
 Entering the gates of the mill, at noon, a 
 strong wind blew off my hat, which rolled be- 
 fore me into the Derwent. I could have gone 
 swifter than the hat, but knew I should ac- 
 quire a velocity that would have run me into 
 the river, which, being deep, I had lost my life. 
 In distress, I travelled by its side, the whole 
 length of the building, but it continued just 
 out of my reach. I mourned its loss the whole 
 afternoon, as well as dreaded the consequence. 
 
 My master informed the chief Governor, 
 who ordered him to take me to a hatter, and 
 purchase another. I was asked whether I 
 would have a plain band, or one with a silver 
 tassel ? What child refuses finery ? I chose the 
 latter,- and became the envy of the mill. 
 
 Christmas holidays were attended with 
 snow, followed by a sharp frost. A thaw came 
 on, in the afternoon of the 27th, but in the 
 night the ground was again caught by a frost, 
 which glazed the streets. I did not awake, the 
 next morning, till daylight seemed to appear. 
 I rose in tears, for fear of punishment, and went 
 to my father's btd-side, to ask what was o'clock? 
 " He believed six ;" I darted out in agonies.
 
 1731.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. l5 
 
 and, from the bottom of Full street, to the top 
 of Silkmill lane, not 200 yards, I fell nine 
 times! Observing no lights in the mill, I 
 knew it was an early hour, and that the reflec- 
 tion of the snow had deceived me. Returning, 
 it struck two. As I now went with care, I fell 
 but twice. 
 
 Remarkably fond of fruit, but unable to pur- 
 chase it, my mother was obliged to conceal 
 her stock, for fear of depredation. She had 
 bought a quantity of apples, and hid them, as 
 she thought, out of the reach of my ken ; but 
 few eyes are more watchful than those of a long- 
 ing child. Opening her store for use, when a 
 few days had elapsed, she was astonished to find 
 they had all vanished except two small ones ! 
 Her good nature, however, excused and concealed 
 the fault, which my father's remembrance of a 
 similar fault of his own would not have induced 
 him to pardon, had he been apprized of it. 
 
 c> 
 
 173 
 
 Going to the execution of Hewett and Rosa- 
 mond (see the History of Derby), I could not 
 get over the 3tej)s at tlie brook, and the crowd 
 was more inclined to push me in than help me.
 
 16 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1732. 
 
 My father accidentally came, handed me over, 
 and moralized upon the melancholy subject. 
 
 I assisted in the rejoicings at the Silk-mill, 
 owing to Government granting Sir Thomas 
 Lombe ^.14,000 in consideration of their not 
 renewing his patent. 
 
 In pouring some bobbins out of one box into 
 another, the cogs of an engine caught the box 
 in my hand. The works in all the (ive rooms 
 began to thunder, crack and break to pieces ; 
 a universal cry of " Stop mills" ensued ; all the 
 violent powers of nature operated within me. 
 With the strength of a madman I wrenched 
 the box from the wheel; but, alas, the mischief 
 was done. I durst not shew my face, nor 
 retreat to dinner till every soul was gone. Pity 
 in distress was not found within those walls. 
 
 It is uncommon for depression to continue 
 upon an infant mind. In my way home I saw 
 a man intoxicated, playing a variety of most 
 foolish tricks, highly diverting to the company. 
 Had my spirits been but moderately affected, I 
 should have laughed most heartily ; but they 
 were too far sunk. Sorrow operated against 
 rejoicing. 
 
 I saw the wonderful feats performed by Cad- 
 man^ in flying from the top of All-saints steeple 
 to the bottom of St. Michael's (see the History 
 of Derby.)
 
 173^0 ^'^^ ^^ WILLIAM HUtTON. 17 
 
 During the Christmas holidays, my mother 
 sent me for some tobacco. In the joyous airs 
 of childhood, I tossed up the halfpenny till I 
 lost it beyond redemption. Returning, my 
 mother upbraided me, when I imprudently re- 
 plied, with a careless air, " You should not 
 " have sent me." That word proved my bane ; 
 she informed my father, who gave me the most 
 severe thrashing I ever received from him. He 
 broke his walking-stick, the fragments of which, 
 after the battle was over, I began to splice to- 
 gether with a string for my own use. 
 
 1733. 
 
 The year began to increase, and my calami- 
 ties with it. My mother brought forth a son, 
 Samuel : during her lying-in, being hurt at 
 seeing the nurse unhandy, she would do the 
 work herself, and rinsing clothes in cold water 
 brought her to the grave five weeks after her deli- 
 very, at the age of forty-one, I returned from 
 the mill at noon, on Friday, March the ninth, 
 when Nanny Ease, my mother's friend, accosted 
 me with, " Your mother is gone." I burst into 
 tears. " Don't cry, you will go yourself soon." 
 This remark did not add to my comfort. My 
 
 c
 
 18 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1733, 
 
 father said, " You have lost an excellent mo- 
 " ther, and I a wife/' 
 
 A few days after her death, as I have related 
 in my history of the family, he declined house- 
 keeping, sold up, and spent the money, took 
 lodgings for himself and three children, with a 
 widow, who had four of her own. 
 
 My mother gone, my father at the ale-house^ 
 and I among strangers, my life was forlorn. I 
 was almost without a home, nearly without 
 clothes, and experienced a scanty cupboard. 
 At one time, I fasted from breakfast one day, 
 till noon the next, and even then, dined upon 
 only flour and water boiled into an hasty pud- 
 ding. I was also afflicted with the chin-couirh 
 and with biles. 
 
 In August I saw, upon Sinfin-moor, a horse- 
 race for the first time. 
 
 Though my father was neither young, being 
 forty-two, nor handsome, having lost an eye, 
 nor sober, for he spent all he could get in 
 liquor, nor clean, for his trade was oily, nor 
 without shackles, for he had five children, yet 
 women of various descriptions courted his 
 smiles, and were much inclined to pull caps 
 for him. 
 
 On my birthday at night my father treated 
 us vvith a quart of twopenny beer; and observed.
 
 1733.] LIFE OF William hutton. 19 
 
 that the life of man was divided into seven 
 stages of ten years each, and that I had now 
 completed the firsti 
 
 1734. 
 
 This year kindled a violent election flame, 
 which burnt vehemently in the county of 
 Derby. Drinking, fighting, cursing, injuring, 
 animosity, and murder, were the result ; nor is 
 it a wonder that ten thousand evils should 
 arise, when the process of any plan of moment 
 is radically bad. The contending parties were, 
 Sir Nathaniel Curzon, father to the present 
 Lord Scarsdale ; John Harper, son to the then 
 baronet, and grand-father to the present, on 
 one side ; and Lord Charles Cavendish on the 
 other. Cavendish and Curzon were the suc- 
 cessful candidates. 
 
 In October, my sister, whom we had not 
 seen for five years, paid us a visit from Swith- 
 land. She was drawing towards fifteen, and 
 appeared a tall, handsome, straight girl. I was 
 struck with the singularity of her departure. 
 She was to attend the Leicester waggon at five 
 in the morning; my father called her to his bed 
 side, gave her a kiss, and two shillings towards 
 c 2
 
 20 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1734. 
 
 her journey, wished her well, never stirred a 
 foot to conduct her, but suffered her to go 
 alone, though the morning was dark. 
 
 The rage for flying had continued two 
 years in full force; I caught that rage, but 
 not being able to procure a rope, I and my 
 companions laid hold of a scafibld pole in' 
 the absence of the workmen, who were erect- 
 ing a house in Amen corner, south of All- 
 saints. We placed one end in the church- 
 yard, and the other in the chamber window, 
 and flew over the wall. We soon made the 
 pole as bright as a looking-glass, but reduced 
 our raiment to rags. To this day I never 
 pass the place without a glance at the window. 
 
 A few young men, adepts in the art of flying, 
 procured the consent of Sir Nathaniel Curzon, 
 to perform at Keddleston for the amusement of 
 the family. They fastened one end of the rope 
 to the top of the hall, the other in the park ; 
 but the unlucky performer, instead of flying 
 over the river, fell in, blasted his character, and 
 instead of regaling upon beef and ale, the whole 
 bevy sneaked off' privately. I'his gave a check 
 to the art ; but when the man, boy, wheel- 
 barrow, and ass flew down, the tragedy put an 
 end to the art of flying. See my History of 
 Derby, page 247.
 
 1735.] WFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. SI 
 
 1735. 
 
 This summer was so dry that the water 
 would scarcely turn the wheels ; which, giving 
 us children leisure, was very agreeable. 
 
 I visited Bredsall-moor, as all the country 
 did, a warren, and on fire for many weeks. I 
 frequently went to Mackworth, to see my little 
 brother, who, being prudently attended, became 
 a charming boy. 
 
 The colony of Georgia, in its infant state, 
 invited many emigrants under General Ogle- 
 thorpe. They produced Organzine silk, and 
 sent it to England. It was good, but of a bad 
 colour. The General, Sir Thomas Lombe, and 
 the Trustees, waited upon Queen Caroline with 
 a specimen, who ordered a gown and petticoat. 
 It was sent to Derby, and I was one employed 
 in the manufactory. Thus an insignificant 
 animal, nearly naked himself, assisted in cloath- 
 ing a queen. 
 
 1736. 
 
 I was now turned twelve. Life began to 
 open. My situation at the mill was very unfa-
 
 22 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1736, 
 
 vourable. Richard Porter, my master, had 
 made a wound on my back with his cane. It 
 grew worse. In a succeeding punishment, the 
 point of his cane struck the wound, which 
 brought it into such a state, that a mortification 
 was apprehended. My father was advised to 
 bathe me in Keddleston water. A cure was 
 effected, and I yet carry the scar. 
 
 An agreeable old woman of the name of 
 Cell, from Wirksworth, came to lodge where 
 we did. She had been a school -mistress. She 
 made many entertaining remarks, and promised 
 us lads we should be the better for her coming ; 
 nor did she disappoint us. 
 
 My uncle and aunt Fletcher paid a visit, from 
 Herefordshire, to my uncle at Nottingham 5 
 and, on Friday in Whitsun week, my father, 
 brother, and I, met them there, and returned 
 on Monday. 
 
 Nothing could equal the pleasure of this 
 journey. I brought home such a description 
 as could not be Expected from my age. Every 
 auditor looked uj) to me, and I took the lead 
 in conversation. This was the only time I saw 
 my aunt. I thought her handsome, proud, 
 and sensible. " Billy,''' said she, " it is not 
 *' good manners to sit in the house with your
 
 1737.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTFON. 2.5 
 
 " hat on." I felt the reproof, and neve 
 forgot it. 
 
 1737. 
 
 I was now in the last year of my servitude at 
 ihe Silk-mill, and was advancing towards four- 
 teen. It, therefore, became requisite to point 
 tDut some mode of future life. My father had 
 often declared, that none of his sons should ever 
 be brought up to the wool-combing business, his 
 own ; or to the stocking-frame, his brother's. 
 As I knew his dilatory temper, I was afraid, 
 wheal the time came, I should have a trade to 
 seek. 1 chose that of a Gardener. This he 
 encouraged. Time still advanced, but nothing 
 was done. A Stocking-maker in Derby soli- 
 cited to have me. My father replied, " I have 
 " refused my own brother." 
 
 Nicholas Richardson, an old honest Scots- 
 man, intimate with both father and uncle, took 
 me aside in August, and used all his rhetoric 
 to induce me to serve my uncle. He, however, 
 was serving him. At the same time my father 
 assured me, " Gardening was a slavish trade ;"' 
 that is, he had no inclination to stir. I was 
 induced to consent to the proposal of Nicholas.
 
 ^4 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1737' 
 
 I cut, with, a pen-knife, upon one of the top 
 rails of the seventh mill ahove^ W. H. 1737* 
 which I saw in 1790, fifty-three years after*. 
 
 Christmas arrived when I must quit that 
 place, for which I had a sovereign contempt : 
 which many hundreds had quitted during my 
 stay, but not one with regret : a place most 
 curious and pleasing to the eye, but which 
 gave me a seven years' heart-ache- No friend- 
 ships are formed there, but such as the parties 
 are willing to break, The attendants are chil- 
 dren of nature, corrupted by art. What they 
 learn m the Mill, they ought to unlearn out. 
 
 1738, 
 
 I now quitted my occupation, my father, 
 brothers, friends, connexions, and place of 
 nativity, for every thing new at Nottingham, 
 where a scene opens for thirteen years. I 
 found a generous friendly uncle, a mean sneak- 
 ing aunt : he seriously religious ; she as serious 
 a hypocrite : two apprentices ; one a rogue, 
 the other a greater. 
 
 I had just finished one seven years' servitude, 
 and was entering upon another. In the former 
 
 * And again in 180S.
 
 X7S8.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON, 25 
 
 I was welcome to the food I ate, provided I 
 could get it ; but now that it was more plen- 
 tiful, I was to be grudged every meal I tasted. 
 My aunt kept a constant eye upon the food 
 and the feeder. This curb galled my mouth 
 to that degree, that to this day I do not eat at 
 another's table without fear. The impressions 
 received in early life are astonishing. 
 
 This loving couple agreed admirably well. 
 The reason was plain : he submitted. 
 
 I was too young to have any concern in the 
 terms of servitude, and my father too poor to 
 lend assistance. A burden w'as therefore laid 
 upon me, which I afterwards found intolerable: 
 that my over-work, without knowing whether 
 I should get any, must find me clothes. 
 
 My task was to earn five shillings and ten- 
 pence a week. The first week I could reach 
 this sum I was to be gratified with sixpence ; 
 but ever after, should I fall short, or go beyond 
 it, the loss or profit was to be my own. I 
 found it was the general practice of apprentices 
 to be under the mark. 
 
 Things went on smiling, as all new concerns 
 will, till Whitsuntide ; when my uncle took 
 me to Derby to see my friends. A week prior 
 to this I had arrived at my task, got the six- 
 penccj and puflf'ed away like a young winner.
 
 26 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1738. 
 
 My brother, who was then sixteen, had not 
 found a trade, nor had there been any attempts 
 to find one for him. He must either be a 
 despicable stockinger, or nothing. He followed 
 us ; and now my uncle had got two of the three 
 sons. 
 
 He who stretches his utmost powers to ac- 
 complish a point in one week, will probably 
 fall short the next. This was my case. Instead 
 of earning apparel with over-work, I ran in 
 arrears. At Christmas we took another trip to 
 Derby, but my uncle had not the good fortune 
 to pick up another lad. 
 
 1739. 
 
 I now got into what was called the fine frame, 
 and my weekly task was six shillings and nine- 
 pence. Clothes came as sluggishly as food. I 
 was arriving at that age when the two sexes 
 begin to look at each other, consequently wish 
 to please ; and a powerful mode to win is that 
 of dress. This is a passport to the heart, a 
 key to unlock the passions, and guide them in 
 our favour. My resources were cut off; mv 
 sun was eclipsed. Youth is the time to dress ; 
 the time in which it is not only excusable, but
 
 1739-] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. Tf 
 
 laudable. I envied every new coat : I had the 
 wish to earn one, but not the power. 
 
 Perhaps there is not a human being but 
 sooner or later feels, in some degree, the passion 
 of love. I was struck with a girl, watched her 
 wherever I could, and peeped through the 
 chink of the window-shutter at night. She lay 
 near my heart eleven years ; but I never spoke 
 to her in iny whole life, nor was she ever ap- 
 prized of my passion. 
 
 My uncle and his friends being religious 
 men, and the doctrine of the Trinity, which 
 had employed the public tongue and the pen 
 for seven years, not being determined, I was 
 witness to many disputes upon this dark point. 
 Scripture, the source of argument, seemed to 
 support both sides ; for each drew his artillery 
 from thence ; consequently the dispute might 
 be carried on ad infimtiim, and both find them- 
 selves where they set out, only with this dif- 
 ference, that controversy disjoints society, and 
 produces a shyness among friends. I could 
 easily perceive the contenders were willing to 
 send each other to the Devil. Besides, if a man 
 wins, he gains nothing by winning, as dispute 
 forms no part of Christian practice. It may, 
 in some measure, disguise truth ; for, if I en- 
 deavour to persuade a man into my opinion,
 
 ©8 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [17^9- 
 
 cither in religion or politics, it tends to confirm 
 him in his own. He instantly makes a side 
 against me ; nay, it even confirms him in what 
 he only doubted before. The utmost length 
 allowable is to state reasons. 
 
 The lesser rogue of an apprentice ran away, 
 and was heard of no more ; and the greater was 
 sold, and ruined his master. 
 
 1740 
 
 Was ushered in with the hard frost. Two 
 or three frosts have since occurred, which the 
 world has thought as cold, or nearly ; but I re- 
 member them well, and can assure the reader 
 there has been nothing like it for severity. That 
 frost was not followed by a thaw, but continued 
 till the spring gradually wore it away. We 
 are not, however, to suppose the whole of the 
 time intensely cold ; the greater part resembled 
 other frosts. 
 
 On New-year's day fell a moderate snow, 
 perhaps three inches in depth ; and no more 
 fell during the winter. Some of this I saw in 
 March. Many persons remarked that their 
 breath was frozen on the sheet. Mine was 
 not; for I lay wholly covered all night, which
 
 1740.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 29 
 
 1 never could do before or since. At the begin- 
 ning of the frostj which was the severest part, 
 I wore a thin waistcoat, without a Hning, and 
 no coat. 
 
 The inclement season was not the sole won- 
 der of the day. My uncle and his wife had a 
 violent quarrel ; the only one in my time. I 
 understood that she had struck him, which 
 provoked him beyond bounds. He made an 
 attempt to punish her. I stepped in by way 
 of prevention, and, with gentle soothings, ef- 
 fected a peace. He afterwards seemed pleased, 
 and she, in plain terms, acknowledged the 
 kindness. He was mild as a lamb, but, when 
 once irritated, observed no bounds. 
 
 My uncle thought it necessary to keep up 
 the succession of apprentices ; and, as two were 
 gone, k boy from Draycott, ten miles distant, 
 was recommended. My uncle brought him on 
 Saturday night; but, by Monday morning, 
 the boy's mother could not rest, because he 
 was either kidnapped or murdered ; and sent 
 the father, with positive orders, to bring him 
 back, alive or dead, if above ground. The 
 father entered the house, with sounds like the 
 roarings of a Bull ; and, in the Derbyshire 
 dialect, cried, " Where's th' lad ? I mun tak 
 " him bak ! I've lond ith' feeld wo'th fifty paund.
 
 30 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l740. 
 
 " I've thutty paund by ma, an I dunna owe th' 
 " wo'ld a shilling !" 
 
 My uncle looked disappointed ; thought the 
 fellow a fool ; and gave up the lad with a pro- 
 mise of his return, after having shewn the 
 booby to his mother. The promise was never 
 fulfilled. 
 
 Another apprentice. Roper, was brought 
 from Derby. He proved surly and overbear- 
 ing ; ran away himself, and taught me. He 
 returned again ; then went into the army, and 
 so good bye. 
 
 The frost, followed by an untoward summer, 
 brought on a rise of provisions. It was consi- 
 dered by the mistress as almost a sin to eat. I 
 should have been an acceptable servant, could 
 I have subsisted without eating^. 
 
 1741. 
 
 What the mind is bent upon obtaining, the 
 hand seldom fails in accomplishing. I detested 
 the frame, as totally unsuitable to my temper ; 
 therefore, I produced no more profit than ne- 
 cessity demanded. I made shift, however, 
 with a little over-work, and a little credit, to 
 raise a genteel suit of clothes, fully adequate to
 
 1741.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 31 
 
 the sphere in which I moved. The girls eyed 
 me with some attention ; nay, I eyed myself as 
 much as any of them. 
 
 My sister came, whom I had not seen for 
 seven years ; handsome, keen, and sensible. 
 Her manner commanded respect. 
 
 Thus matters went on prosperously. I was 
 rising into notice : a foundation was laid for a 
 brighter day, when an unhappy quarrel be- 
 tween my uncle and me, upon a mere trifle, 
 caused me to run away, blasted my views, sunk 
 me in the dust, and placed me in a degraded 
 point of view, from which I did not recover for 
 five years. This I have faithfully related in 
 The History of a tVeek, (a quarto manuscript 
 in my son's library,) written from memory 
 thirty-eight years after the event, which I shall 
 Ijterally transcribe. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A WEEK. 
 
 The week of the races is an idle one among 
 Stockingers at Nottingham. It was so with 
 me. Five days had passed, and I had done little 
 rr:o:c than the work of four. 
 
 My iir.cle, who ahvays judged from the pre- 
 v-iix rncmont, supposed I should never return
 
 32 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1741. 
 
 to industry. He was angry at my neglect, and 
 observed, on Saturday morning, that if 1 did 
 not perform my task that day, he would thrash 
 me at night. Idleness, which had hovered 
 over me five days, did not choose to leave me 
 the sixth. Night came. I wanted one hour's 
 work. I hoped my former conduct would 
 atone for the present. But he had passed his 
 word, and a man does not wish to break it. 
 " You have not done the task I ordered !" I 
 was silent. " Was it in your power to have 
 " done it ?'' Still silent. He repeated again, 
 " Could you have done it r" As I ever detested 
 lying, 1 could not think of covering myself, 
 even from a rising storm, by so mean a subter- 
 fuge ; for we both knew I had done near twice 
 as much. I therefore answered in a low meek 
 voice, " I couldr This fatal word, innocent 
 in itself, and founded upon truth, proved my 
 destruction. *^ Then," says he, " I'll make 
 " you." He immediately brought a birch- 
 broom handle, of white-hazel, and holding it 
 by the small end, repeated his blows till I 
 thought he would have broken me to pieces. 
 The windows were open, the evening calm, 
 the sky serene, and every thing mild but my 
 uncle and me. The sound of the roar, and the 
 stick, penetrated the air to a great distance.
 
 1741.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 33 
 
 The neighbourhood turned out to inquire 
 the cause; when, after some investigation, it 
 was said to be, " Only Hutton thrashing one 
 of his lads." Whether the crime and the 
 punishment were adequate, I leave to the 
 reader to determine. He afterwards told my 
 father that he should not have quarreled with 
 me, but for that word. But let me ask, what 
 word could I have substituted in its room, un- 
 less I had meant to equivocate ? 
 
 I was drawing towards eighteen, held some 
 rank among my acquaintance, made a small 
 figure in dress, and was taken notice of by the 
 fair sex : therefore, though I was greatly hurt 
 in body, I was much more hurt in mind. 
 Pride takes a very early root in the heart, and 
 never leaves us but with life. How should I 
 face those whom I had often laughed at, and 
 whipped with the rod of satire ? 
 
 The next day, July 12, 17^1, I went to 
 Meeting in the morning as usual. My uncle 
 seemed sorry for what had passed, and inclined 
 to make matters up. At noon he sent me for 
 some fruit, and asked me to partake. I thanked 
 him with a sullen no. My wounds were too 
 deep to be healed with cherries. 
 
 Standing by the palisades of the house, in 
 a gloomy posture, a female acquaintance passed 
 
 D
 
 S4t LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1741* 
 
 by, and turning, with a pointed sneer, said, 
 " You were licked last night." The remark 
 stung me to the quick. I had rather she had 
 broken my head. 
 
 My fellow apprentice, Roper, was bigger and 
 older than I, though he came two years after 
 me. This opake body of ill-nature centered 
 between my uncle and myself, and eclipsed 
 that affection which gave pleasure to both. He 
 staid with us three years. The two years of 
 my servitude, before he came, were spent in 
 great friendship with my uncle ; and after he 
 left, the same friendship returned, and conti- 
 nued for life. 
 
 This lad had often solicited me to run away 
 with him ; but I considered that my leaving 
 my uncle would be a loss to him, for which 1 
 should be very sorry ; and that, if I told Roper 
 my design, he would insist upon going with 
 me, which would double that loss. I could 
 not bear the thought : therefore resolved to 
 go alone, for which Roper afterwards blamed 
 me. 
 
 I put on my hat, as if going to Meeting, but 
 privately slipped up stairs till the family were 
 gone. The whole house was now open to my 
 inspection. Upon examining a glass in the 
 beaufet, I found ten shillings. I took two, 
 and left eight.
 
 1741.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTOK. 35 
 
 After packing up my small stock of move- 
 ables, I was at a loss how to get out of the 
 house. There was but one door, which was 
 locked, and my uncle had the key. I contrived, 
 therefore, to get my chattels upon a wall, eight 
 feet high, in a small back yard ; climb up 
 myself, drop them on the other side, and jump 
 down after them. 
 
 While this was transacting, an acquaintance 
 passed by* I imparted my design to him, 
 because it was impossible to hide it, and en- 
 joined him secrecy. He seemed to rejoice at 
 my scheme, or rather at my fall ; for if L com- 
 mit an error and he does not, he is the best of 
 the two. 
 
 Figure to yourself a lad of seventeen, not 
 elegantly dressed, nearly five feet high, rather 
 Dutch built, with a long narrow bag of brown 
 leather, that would hold about a bushel, in 
 which was neatly packed up a new suit of 
 clothes ; also, a white linen bag, which would 
 hold about half as much, containing a sixpenny 
 loaf of coarse blencorn bread, a bit of butter, 
 wrapped in the leaves of an old copy-book ; a 
 new bible, value three shillings; one shirt ; a 
 pair of stockings ; a sun-dial ; my best wig, 
 carefully folded and laid at top, that, by lying 
 in the hollow of the bag, it might not be 
 D 2
 
 S6 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l?^^!- 
 
 crushed. The ends of the two bags being tied 
 together, I slung them over my left shoulder, 
 rather in the style of a cock- fighter. My best 
 hat, not being properly calculated for a bag, I 
 hung to the button of my coat. I had only 
 two shillings in my pocket ; a spacious world 
 before me, and no plan of operations. 
 
 I cast back many a melancholy look, while 
 every step set me at a greater distance ; and 
 took, what I thought, an everlasting farewel 
 of Nottingham. 
 
 I carried neither a light heart, nor a light 
 load ; nay, there was nothing light about me 
 but the sun in the heavens, and the-money in 
 my pocket. I considered myself an out-cast, 
 an exuberance in the creation, a being now 
 fitted to no purpose. At ten, 1 arrived at 
 Derby. The inhabitants were gone to bed, as 
 if retreating from my society. 
 
 1 took a view of my father's house, where, I 
 supposed, all were at rest; but before I was 
 aware, I perceived the door open, and heard 
 his foot not three yards from me. I retreated 
 with precipitation. How ill calculated are we 
 to judge of events! I was running from the 
 last hand that could have saved me! 
 
 Adjoining the town is a field called Abbey- 
 barns, the scene of my childish amusements.
 
 1741.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 37 
 
 Here I took up my abode upon the cold grass, 
 in a damp place, after a day's fatigue, with the 
 sky over my head, and the bags by my side. 
 I need not say I was a boy, this rash action 
 proves it. The place was full of cattle. The 
 full breath of the cows half asleep, the jingling 
 of the chains at the horses' feet, and a mind 
 agitated, were ill calculated for rest. 
 
 I rose at four, July 13, starved, sore, and 
 stiff; deposited my bags under the fourth tree, 
 covering them with leaves, while I waited upon 
 Warburgh's bridge for my brother Samuel, who 
 I knew would go to the Silk-mills before five. 
 I told him that I had differed with my uncle, 
 had left him, and intended to go to Ireland ; 
 that he must remember me to my father, whom 
 I should probably see no more. I had all the 
 discourse to myself, for my brother did not utter 
 one word. 
 
 I arrived at Burton the same morning, hav- 
 ing travelled twenty-eight miles, and spent no- 
 thing. I was an economist from my cradle, 
 and the character never forsook me. To this 
 I in some measure owe my present situation. 
 
 I ever had an inclination to examine fresh 
 places. Leaving my bags at a public-house, I 
 took a view of the town, and, breaking into my 
 first shilling, I spent one penny as a recom- 
 pence for the care of them. 
 
 ^t. 
 
 i -% 5 I> «5
 
 ^8 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l?^!. 
 
 Arriving the same evening within the pre- 
 cincts of Lichfield, I approached a barn, where 
 1 intended to lodge; but, finding the door shut, 
 I opened my parcels in the fields, dressed, hid 
 my bags near a hedge, and took a view of the 
 city for about two hours, though very sore- 
 footed. 
 
 Returning to the spot about nine, I un~ 
 dressed, bagged up my things in decent order, 
 and prepared for rest ; but alas ! I had a bed 
 to seek. About a stone's cast from the plac^ 
 stood another barn, which, perhaps, might fur- 
 nish me with a lodging. I thought it needless 
 to take the bags while I examined the place, as 
 my stay would be very short. 
 
 The second barn yielding no relief, I returned 
 in about ten minutes. But what was my sur- 
 prise when I perceived the bags were gone ! 
 Terror seized me. I roared after the rascal, 
 but might as well have been silent, for thieves 
 seldom come at a call. Running, raving, and 
 lamenting about the fields and roads, employed 
 some time. I was too much immersed in dis- 
 tress to find relief in tears. They refused to 
 flow. I described the bags, and told the aflfair 
 to all I met. I found pity, or seeming pity, 
 from all, but redress from none. I saw my 
 hearers dwindle with the twilight ; and, by ele-
 
 1741.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 39 
 
 ven o'clock, found myself in the open street, 
 left to tell my mournful tale to the silent night. 
 
 It is not easy to place a human being in a more 
 distressed situation. My finances were no- 
 thing ; a stranger to the world, and the world 
 to me ; no employ, nor likely to procure any ; 
 no food to eat, or place to rest : all the little pro- 
 perty I had upon earth taken from me: nay, 
 even hope, that last and constant friend of the 
 unfortunate, forsook me. I was in a more 
 wretched condition than he who has nothing to 
 lose. An eye may roll over these lines when 
 the hand that writes them shall be still. May 
 that eye move without a tear ! I sought repose 
 in the street, upon a butcher's block. 
 
 July 14, I inquired, early in the morning, 
 after my property, but to as little purpose as 
 the night before. Among others, I accosted a 
 gentleman in a wrought night-cap, plaid gown, 
 and morocco slippers. I told him my distress, 
 and begged he would point out some mode of 
 employ, that might enable me to exist. He 
 was touched with compassion. I found it was 
 easy to penetrate his heart, but not his pocket. 
 " It is market-day at Walsall," said he, " yon- 
 " der people are going there ; your attendance 
 " upon them may be successful." I instantly 
 put his advice in practice, and found myself in
 
 40 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1741. 
 
 the company of a man and his servant with a 
 waggon load of carrots ; and, also, of an old feU 
 low and his grandson with a horse-load of cher- 
 ries. We continued together to the end of the 
 journey ; but I cannot say that either pity or 
 success were of our party. 
 
 As my feet were not used to travel, they became 
 extremely blistered ; I, therefore, rubbed them 
 with a little beef fat begged of a Walsall but- 
 cher, and found instant relief. 
 
 Upon application to a man who sold stock- 
 ings in the market, I could learn that there 
 were no frames in Walsall, but many in Birm- 
 ingham ; that he would recommend me to an 
 acquaintance ; and, if I should not succeed, there 
 was Worcester, a little to the right, had some 
 frames; and Coventry, a little to the left, would 
 bring me into the stocking country. 
 
 Addison says, " There is not a Woman in 
 " England ; that every one of the British fair 
 " has a right to the appellation of hadijT I 
 wondered, in my way from Walsall to Birm- 
 ingham to see so many blacksmiths' shops ; in 
 many of them one, and sometimes two Ladies 
 at work ; all with smutty faces, thundering at 
 the anvil. Struck with the novelty, I asked if 
 the ladies in this country shod horses? but was 
 answered, " They are nailers."
 
 X741.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 41 
 
 Upon Handsworth heath, I had a view of 
 Birmingham. St. Phihp's Church appeared 
 first, uncrowded with houses, (for there were 
 none to the North, New Hall excepted) untar- 
 nished with smoke, and illuminated with a 
 Western sun. It appeared in all the pride of 
 modern architecture. I was charmed with its 
 beauty, and thought it then, as I do now, the 
 credit of the place. 
 
 I had never seen more than five towns ; 
 Nottingham, Derby, Burton, Lichfield, and 
 Walsall. The last three I had not known 
 more than two days. The out-skirts of these, 
 and, I supposed, of others, were composed of 
 wretched dwellings, visibly stamped with dirt 
 and poverty. But the buildings in the exte- 
 rior of Birmingham rose in a style of elegance. 
 Thatch, so plentiful in other places, was not to« 
 be met with in this. It did not occur to my 
 thoughts, that nine years after I should become 
 a resident here, and thirty-nine years after 
 should write its history ! 
 
 I was surprized at the place, but more at the 
 people. They possessed a vivacity I had never 
 beheld. I had been among dreamers, but now I 
 saw men awake. Their very step along the street 
 shewed alacrity. Every man seemed to know 
 what he was about. The town was large, and
 
 42 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [174<1. 
 
 full of inhabitants, and these inhabitants full of 
 industry. The faces of other men seemed tinc- 
 tured with an idle gloom ; but here, with a 
 pleasing alertness. Their appearance was 
 strongly marked with the modes of civil life. 
 
 How far commerce influences the habits of 
 men is worthy the pen of the philosopher. 
 The weather was extremely fine, which gave a 
 lustre to the whole; the people seemed happy; 
 and I the only animal out of use. 
 
 There appeared to be three stocking-makers 
 in Birmingham. Evans j the old Quaker, yet 
 in beings was the principal. I asked him, with 
 great humility, for employ ? " You are an ap- 
 " prentice." '^ Sir, I am not, but am come with 
 *^ the recommendation of your friend, Mr. 
 " Such-a-one, of Walsall." " Go about your 
 " business, I tell you, you are a run-away 
 " 'prentice." I retreated, sincerely wishing I 
 had business to go about. 
 
 I waited upon Holmes, in Dale-end ; at that 
 moment a customer entering, he gave me a 
 penny to get rid of me. 
 
 The third was Francis Grace, at the Gate- 
 way, entering New-street. This man was a 
 native of Derby, and knew my family. Four- 
 teen years after, he bestowed upon me a valuable 
 ivifc; his niece; and sixteen years after, he died.
 
 1741.] WFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON, 4t3 
 
 leaving me in possession of his premises anti 
 fortune, P^y^"g some legacies, 
 
 I made the same request to M»'- Grace that I 
 had done to others, aqd with the same effect. 
 He asked after his brother at Derby. I an- 
 swered readily, as jf I knew. One lie often 
 produces a second. He examined me closely ; 
 and, though a man of no shining talents, 
 quickly set me fast. I was obliged to tell three 
 or four lies to patch up a lame tale, which I 
 plainly saw would hardly pass. 
 
 I appeared a trembling stranger in that house, 
 over which, sixteen years after, I should pre- 
 side. I stood like a dejected culprit by that 
 counter, upon which, thirty-eight years after, I 
 should record the story. I thought, though 
 his name was Grace, his heart \yas rugged; and 
 I left the shop with this severe reflection, that 
 I had told several lies, and without the least 
 advantage. I am sorry to digress, but must 
 beg leave to break the thread of my narrative 
 while I make two short remarks. 
 
 I acquired a high character for honesty, by 
 stealing two shillings ! Not altogether because 
 I took two out of ten, but because I left the 
 other ei^ht. A thief is seldom known to leave 
 part of his booty. If I had had money, I 
 should not have taken any ; and if I had found
 
 44 I'IFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l?^!. 
 
 none, I should not have run away. The rea- 
 der will think that two shillings was a very 
 moderate sum to carry me to Ireland, 
 
 The other is, whether lying is not laudable? 
 If I could have consented to tell one lie to my 
 uncle, I should not only have saved my back, 
 my character, and my property, but also pre- 
 vented about ten lies which I was obliged to 
 tell in the course of the following week. But 
 that Supreme Being, who directs immensity, 
 whether he judges with an angry eye accord- 
 ing to some Christians, or with a benign one, 
 according to others, will ever distinguish be- 
 tween an act of necessity and an act of choice. 
 
 It was now about seven in the evening, 
 Tuesday, July 14, I74I. I sat to rest upon 
 the North side of the Old Cross, near Philip 
 street ; the poorest of all the poor belonging 
 to that great parish, of which, twenty-seven 
 years after, I should be overseer. J sat under 
 that roof, a silent, oppressed object, where, 
 thirty-one years after, I should sit to deter- 
 mine differences between man and man. Why 
 did not some kind agent comfort me with the 
 distant prospect ? 
 
 About ten yards from me, near the coiner of 
 Philip Street, I perceived two men in aprons 
 ?ye me with some attention. They approached
 
 1741.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 45 
 
 near. *^ You seem," says one, ** by your me- 
 " lancholy situation, and dusty shoes, a forlorn 
 " traveller, without money, and without friends/* 
 I assured him it was exactly my case. " If you 
 *' choose to accept of a pint of ale, it is at your 
 *^ service. I know what it is myself to be a 
 " distressed traveller." *^ I shall receive any 
 *' favour with thankfulness." 
 
 They took me to the Bell in Philip Street, 
 and gave me what bread, cheese, and beer, 1 
 chose. They also procured a lodging for me 
 in the neighbourhood, where I slept for three 
 half-pence. 
 
 I did not meet with this treatment twenty- 
 nine years after, at Market Bosworth, though 
 I appeared rather like a gentleman. The inha- 
 bitants set their dogs at me merely because I 
 was a stranger. Surrounded with impassable 
 roads, no intercourse with man to humanize 
 the mind, no commerce to smooth their rugged 
 manners, they continue the boors of nature. 
 
 Wednesday, July 15. I could not prevail 
 with myself to leave Birmingham, the seat of 
 civility ; but was determined to endeavour to 
 forget my misfortunes, and myself, for one 
 day, and take a nearer view of this happy abode 
 of the smiling Arts.
 
 46 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [I74l* 
 
 Thursday 16. I arrived early in the day at 
 Coventry, but could get no prospect of employ- 
 ment. The streets seemed narrow, ill paved ; 
 the Cross, a beautiful little piece of architec- 
 ture, but composed of wretched materials. The 
 city was populous ; the houses had a gloomy 
 air of antiquity ; the upper story projecting 
 over the lower, designed, no doubt, by the 
 Architect, to answer two valuable purposes ; 
 those of shooting off the wet, and shaking 
 hands out of the garret windows. But he for- 
 got three evils arising from this improvement 
 of art ; the stagnation of air, the dark rooms, 
 and the dirty streets. 
 
 I slept at the Star Inn, not as a chamber 
 guest, but a hay-chamber one. 
 
 Friday I7. I reached Nun-Eaton, and found 
 r had again entered the dominions of Sleep. 
 That active spirit which marks the commercial 
 race, did not exist here. The inhabitants 
 seemed to creep along, as if afraid the street 
 should be seen e!npty. However, they had sense 
 enough to ring tiie word ""prentice in my ears, 
 which I not only denied, but used every figure 
 in rhetoric I was master of, to establish my ar- 
 gument; yet was not able to persuade them 
 out of their penetration. They still called mc 
 a boy. I thought it hard to perish because I
 
 1741.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 47 
 
 could not convince people I was a man. I left 
 the place without a smile, and without a dinner: 
 perhaps it is not very apt to produce either. I 
 arrived at Hinckley about four in the afternoon. 
 The first question usually put was, " Where'^ 
 " do you come from ?" My constant answer 
 was, " Derby." " There is a country-man of 
 " yours," said the person, *' in such a street, 
 " his name is Millward." I applied, and found 
 I had been a neighbour to his family. He also 
 knew something of mine. He set up the same 
 objection that others had done, and I made the 
 same unsuccessful reply. 
 
 He set me to work till night, about two 
 hours, in which time I earned two-pence. He 
 then asked me into the house, entered into 
 conversation with me, told me he was certain 
 I was a run-away apprentice, and begged I 
 would inform him ingenuously. I replied with 
 tears that I was ; and that an unhappy differ- 
 ence with my uncle was the cause of my leaving 
 his service. 
 
 He said, if 1 would set out on my return in 
 the morning, I should be welcome "to a bed 
 that night. I told him that I had no objection 
 to the service of my uncle, but that I could 
 not submit to any punishment ; and if I were 
 not received upon equitable terms, I would 
 immediately return to my own liberty.
 
 48 LIFE or WILLIAM HUTTON. [l74L 
 
 He asked if I had any money r I answered, 
 '^ Enough to carry me home." He was amazed, 
 and threw out hints of crimination. I assured 
 him he might rest satisfied upon that head, for 
 I had brought two shiUings from Nottingham. 
 He exclaimed with emotion, " Two shiHings !'' 
 This confirmed his suspicions. 
 
 Wrapped in my own innocence, I did not 
 think my honesty worth vindicating ; therefore, 
 did not throw away one argument upon it. 
 Truth is persuasive, and will often make its 
 way to the heart, in its native simpUcity, bet- 
 ter than a varnished lie. 
 
 Extreme frugality, especially in the prospect 
 of distress, composes a part of my character. 
 
 Saturday, the 18th, I thanked my friend 
 Millward for his kindness, received nothing for 
 my work, nor he for his civility, and we parted 
 the friends of an hour. At noon I saw Ashby- 
 de-la-Zouch. It was market day. I had eight 
 pence remaining of my two shillings. My 
 reader will ask, with Millward, " How I lived?" 
 As he could not. Moralists say, " Keep desire 
 ** low, and nature is satisfied with little." A 
 turnip-field has supplied the place of a cook's 
 shop ; a spring, that of a public-house ; and, 
 while at Birmingham, I knew by repeated ex- 
 perience, that cherries were a half-penny a 
 pound.
 
 1741.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 49 
 
 I arrived at Derby at nine in the evening. 
 My father gladly received me, and dropped a 
 tear for my misfortunes. We agreed that he 
 should send for my uncle early in the morning, 
 who would probably be with us by four in the 
 evening. 
 
 Sunday 19. My father told me that I could 
 not have appeared before him in a more disad- 
 vantageous light, if I had said I was out of a jail : 
 that he should think of this disagreeable cir- 
 cumstance every future day of his life, and 
 that I must allow him to reprove me before ray 
 uncle. 
 
 As the time approached, he seemed greatly 
 cast down, and invited two of my uncle's old 
 friends to step in, and soften matters between 
 us. But I considered that my uncle was natu- 
 rally of a good temper, passion excepted ; that 
 I had left him suing for peace ; that I had re- 
 turned a volunteer, which carried the idea of 
 repentance ; that he must be conscious he had 
 injured me; that he considered my service as 
 a treasure, which he had been deprived of, and 
 which, being found, he would rejoice at, just 
 in proportion as he had grieved at the loss. 
 
 The two friends forgot to come. About nine 
 my uncle entered, and shook liands with my 
 father, for the two brothers were foud of each 
 
 E
 
 50 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [174<1. 
 
 other. While their hands were united, my 
 uncle turned to me, with a look of benignity, 
 superficially covered with anger, and said, "Are 
 not you to blame ?" I was silent. 
 
 The remainder of the evening was spent 
 agreeably ; and, in the course of it, my uncle 
 said, that if my father would make up one 
 half of my loss, he would make up the other. 
 My father received the proposal joyfully, and 
 they ratified the agreement by a second shake 
 of the hand. But, 1 am sorry to observe, it was 
 thought of no more by either. I considered it 
 peculiarly hard, that the promise to punish me 
 was remembered, but the promise to reward 
 me forgotten. 
 
 This unhappy ramble damped my rising 
 spirit. I could not forbear viewing myself in 
 the light of a fugitive. It sunk me in the eye 
 of my acquaintance, and I did not recover my 
 former balance for two years. It also ruined 
 me in point of dress, for I was not able to re- 
 assume my former appearance for five years. It 
 ran me in debt, out of which I have never 
 been to this day. Nov. 21, 1779. 
 
 THE END OF THE WEEK.
 
 174-2.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 5l 
 
 An old gentleman of the name of Webb, 
 who had passed a life in London, brought 
 ^.3000 into business, lived in genteel life, and 
 had filled many offices, but was reduced, came 
 to reside with us. He was one of the most 
 sensible and best of men, completely formed 
 for an instructor of youth. It was my fortune 
 to attend him, sleep with him, and love him. 
 I treated him as a father, a monitor, and en- 
 deavoured to profit by him. He had many 
 acquaintance, all men of sense, to whose con-* 
 versation I listened by the hour. 
 
 I began this year with an old remark — let me 
 close it with another : " One evil seldom comes 
 " alone." In addition to the distress arising 
 from running away, I was long and sorely af- 
 flicted with the ague, which still impeded a 
 rising spirit. 
 
 1742. 
 
 There was a contested election, March 6, at 
 Derby, between Lord Duncannon, who had 
 married the daughter of the Duke of Devon- 
 shire, and Germon Pole of Radburn. My 
 uncle being a burgess, was gone to vote. My 
 brother. Roper, and I, his three apprentices, 
 being Derby lads, set out, or ran away if you 
 please, to see the election. My uncle was 
 e2
 
 52 LIFE OF WILLIAM IIUTTON. [1743. 
 
 very angry : he could ^not stir a foot but we 
 must follow ! My father undertook our excuse, 
 succeeded, and the next day my uncle gave 
 us sixpence to carry us back. 
 
 Monday, July 18, my worthy friend Mr. 
 Webb complained he had had an uncomfort- 
 able night. He grew worse till Friday morn- 
 ing, the 22d, when he died. I saw him expire, 
 assisted in bearing him to the grave, and need 
 not observe, I mourned his loss. His friends 
 declined their visits, which added to that loss. 
 
 I had many agreeable acquaintances, with 
 whom I spent my evenings in athletic exercises, 
 which, in some measure, counterbalanced the 
 dull life of the frame. I was deemed the se- 
 cond in the class. 
 
 1743. 
 
 I began to make a small figure in dress, but, 
 much inferior to that two years ago. How- 
 ever, a young woman chose to fall in love with 
 me, daily sought me out, drew me for her Va- 
 lentine, talked of matrimony, lamented that I 
 had two years to serve, mentioned several such- 
 a-ones who solicited her hand, and with what 
 eagerness she had said no, I never answered 
 any of these remarks. At length she asked me
 
 1743.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 53 
 
 to marry her, in plain terms. Thus she took a 
 liberty totally forbidden to her sex, however 
 unreasonably. I asked her " What prospect 
 " there could be of future life ?" She replied, 
 in the low phrase of her sex, " I will please my 
 " eye, if I plague my heart." 
 
 My uncle fixed upon the son of Joseph 
 Knowles of Mackworth for an apprentice ; hired 
 a horse, fixed me upon him, and his wife be- 
 hind, to perform this journey of nineteen miles, 
 and employ the arts of solicitation. Whether 
 this was a prudent step, is doubtful. I had 
 never ridden a mile, therefore could guide a 
 horse about as well as a ship ; neither did he 
 know much more of the matter. Our family 
 are not naturally equestrians. He advised me 
 to keep a tight rein. I obeyed, and the horse 
 took it for granted he must stand still. I held 
 my legs close, for fear of falling. He danced. 
 I was in agonies, and held by the mane. The 
 beholders cried, '' Take your spurs out of his 
 " sides !" I did not know they were in. 
 
 We jogged on with fear and trembling. I 
 held the bridle with the right, and the pommel 
 with the left hand, which soon wore a hole in 
 the hand. My hat blew oflT. I slipped down 
 before to recover it, but could not mount again. 
 I walked with the bridle in hand, and my aunt
 
 64f J.IFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [17^3. 
 
 upon the pillion, to find a place to rise. The 
 horse went too slow. To quicken his pace, I 
 gave him a jerk. He started from under his 
 burthen, and left her in the dirt. 
 
 We were both frightened, but not hurt, and 
 came home safe, wind and limb. My uncle, 
 when he paid for the hire, blamed the horse ; 
 but the owner, with a smile, said, " Was there 
 " no defect in the rider ?" 
 
 At Whitsuntide I went to see my father, but 
 upon a safer bottom, my feet, and was favour- 
 ably received by my acquaintance. One of 
 them played upon the bell-harp. I was charmed 
 with the sound, and agreed for the price, when 
 I could raise the sum, half a crown. 
 
 I found that love, like a common flower in 
 the garden, would spring into existence, rise 
 to maturity, and die away. My father yet re- 
 sided with the widow ; they had courted each 
 other ten years, and their love, having had its 
 day, was withered, and had died of old age. 
 He had sought another woman, and she a man. 
 His mairiage was brought forth in a few weeks, 
 but hers proved still-born. My brother Sa- 
 muel, ten years old, went with us. So now 
 my uncle had all the three sons. 
 
 At Michaelmas I went to Derby, to pay for, 
 and bring back, my bell-harp, whose sounds I
 
 1743.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 55 
 
 thought seraphic. This opened a scene of plea- 
 sure which continued many years. Music was 
 my daily study and delight. But, perhaps, I 
 laboured under greater difficulties than any one 
 had done before me. I could not afford an 
 instructor. I had no books, nor could I bor- 
 row, or buy ; neither had I a friend to give me 
 the least hint, or put my instrument in tune. 
 
 Thus was I in the situation of a first inventor, 
 left to grope in the dark, to find out something. 
 I had first my ear to bring into tune, before I 
 could tune the instrument ; for the ear is the 
 foundation of all music. That is the best tune, 
 which best pleases the ear ; and he keeps the 
 best time, who draws the most music from his 
 tune. 
 
 For six months did I use every effort to bring 
 a tune out of an instrument, which was so 
 dreadfully out, it had no tune in it. Assiduity 
 never forsook me. I was encouraged by a 
 couplet I had seen in Dyche's Spelling-book : 
 
 Despair of nothing that you would attain. 
 Unwearied diligence your point will gain. 
 
 When I was able to lay a foundation, the 
 improvement, and the pleasure, were progres- 
 sive. Wishing to rise, I borrowed a dulcimer, 
 made one by it, then learned to play upon it. 
 But in the fabrication of this instrument, J had
 
 56 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [ly^-S. 
 
 neither timber to work upon, tools to work 
 with, nor money to purchase either. It is 
 saidj " Necessity is the mother of invention." 
 I pulled a large trunk to pieces, one of the 
 relics of my family, but formerly the property 
 of Thomas Parker, the first Earl of Maccles- 
 field. And as to tools, I considered that the 
 hammer-key and the plyers, belonging to the 
 stocking-frame, would supply the place of 
 hammer and pincers. My pocket knife was all 
 the edge-tools I could raise ; and a fork, with 
 one limb, was made to act in the double capa- 
 city of sprig-awl and gimlet. 
 
 I quickly was master of this piece of music ; 
 for if a man can play upon one instrument, he 
 may soon learn upon any. 
 
 A young man, apprentice to a Baker, hap- 
 pening to see the dulcimer, asked if I could 
 perform upon it ? Struck with the sound, and 
 with seeing me play with, what he thought, 
 great ease, he asked if I would part with the 
 instrument, and at what price ? I answered 
 in the affirmative, and, for sixteen shillings. 
 He gave it. 
 
 I told him, " If he wanted advice, or his 
 *' instrument wanted tuning, 1 would assist 
 " him." " O no, there's not a doubt but I shall 
 " do." I bought a coat with the money, and 
 constructed a better instrument.
 
 1744.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 57 
 
 Seeing him a short time after, " Well, how 
 " do you succeed ?" " O rarely well. I can 
 " play part of Over the hills and far awayT 
 This excited a smile of satisfaction in both. 
 
 Our next meeting produced the same ques- 
 tion, to which he rephed, *' O damn the music, 
 " I could not make it do ; which provoked me 
 " so much, that I took a broom-stick, and 
 " whached the strings till I broke them ; then 
 *' knocked the body to pieces, and burned it in 
 '' the oven." 
 
 1744. 
 
 This year was ushered in and ushered out 
 with the same pursuit after music. The relish 
 increased with the knowledge. I wished to 
 soar, but poverty clipped my wings. 
 
 The Corporation, attended by the Waits, 
 went in solemn procession to declare war against 
 France. I marched close by the music with 
 great attention and pleasure. 
 
 At Christmas my servitude expired. I must 
 now launch into the world upon my own bot- 
 tom. I had hitherto been under the care of 
 others ; but now I must attend to the compass 
 myself, and steer the vessel. The thoughj; 
 crossed me with anxiety.
 
 58 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [174-5. 
 
 I had served two seven years to two trades, 
 neither of which I could subsist upon. During 
 this servitude, I had earned about seven pounds 
 over-work, which, with a debt I had contracted 
 to my uncle, of thirty shiiings, had frugally 
 furnished me with apparel. 
 
 1745. 
 
 I continued a journeyman with my uncle. 
 I had a particular acquaintance, William Mar- 
 tin, who was extremely attached to me. We 
 never parted without, " When shall I see you 
 " again?" His parents also wished my com- 
 pany. I spent every Sunday evening at least 
 at their house, and was their main oracle. 
 
 He courted Miss Woolley, who resided with 
 an old aunt. As I could perform upon the 
 dulcimer, I was led there. Late in the even- 
 ing, the old lady, half tipsy, followed me into 
 the yard ; used all the rhetoric of the tongue, 
 sometimes laid her right hand on my left 
 shoulder, and once uttered, " I love thee. If I 
 " was but as young as thou, 1 would have thee, 
 " if thou wouldst but marry me." Had she 
 attempted a salute, I must, for once, have run 
 away from the embraces of a woman. How 
 will liquor expose what folly prompts !
 
 1745.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 59 
 
 My uncle took notice of me. I attended him 
 in his walks and his visits; had some know- 
 ledge of history, and could speak tolerably 
 well. 
 
 The Rebellion broke out, which produced 
 sufficient matter for inquiry and conversation. 
 I could not relish the thought of being a jour- 
 neyman for life ; and, should I let youth pass 
 by, all would be over. I asked my uncle to 
 permit me to set a frame in his work-room, 
 paying the usual price ; in which case I would 
 hire one, and work for a warehouse. This 
 would make me a master, though of the very 
 lowest order. He cheerfully consented. I 
 mentioned the affair, in conversation, a few 
 days after, when he refused me in anger, say- 
 ing, " I would sooner eat hay with a horse." I 
 knew this last sentiment was not his own ; his 
 wife was the prompter. The matter and my 
 ambition fell together. I loved him, and was 
 unwilling to leave him. The terms were com- 
 mon, and anywhere would have been accepted. 
 I thought it rather ungenerous to nip an open- 
 ing bud. 
 
 I finished the year with a visit to my father 
 at Derby, and seemed extremely acceptable to 
 mv friends.
 
 60 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [ 1 74(6. 
 
 1746. 
 
 The year, and the disagreement between my 
 sister and her husband, opened together. This 
 caused me to take many journeys to Mountsor- 
 rel, but to no purpose, except for the pleasure 
 of seeing her. Her husband, to win my favour, 
 offered to lend me ten pounds to purchase a 
 frame. I accepted it ; but, when the moment 
 arrived, he chose to charge it with interest. 
 
 My sister and he parted, as may be seen 
 in her life. The husband gave it out that I 
 should breakj and he should lose his money ; 
 and as she, while in service, had saved that 
 sum, and lent it to a person in prosperity, he 
 requested her to exchange the securities. She, 
 unwilling a brother should be stigmatized, con- 
 sented. It happened, a few years after, that I 
 paid my ten pounds ; the other person broke, 
 ttnd never paid a shilling. 
 
 Here again the husband was dissatisfied ; 
 and, to content him, she gave him ten pounds 
 of her own money. 
 
 An inclination for books began to expand ; 
 but here, as in music and dress, money was 
 wanting. The first article of purchase was 
 three Volumes of the Gentleman's Magazine,
 
 1746.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. Gl 
 
 1742, 3, and 4. As I could not afford to pay 
 for binding, I fastened them together in a most 
 cobbled style. These afforded me a treat. 
 
 I could only raise books of small value, and 
 these in worn-out bindings. I learnt to patch, 
 procured paste, varnish, &c. and brought them 
 into tolerable order ; erected shelves, and ar- 
 ranged them in the best manner I was able. 
 
 If I purchased shabby books, it is no won- 
 der that I dealt with a shabby bookseller who 
 kept his working apparatus in his shop. It is 
 no wonder too, if by repeated visits I became 
 acquainted with this shabby bookseller, and 
 often saw him at work ; but it is a wonder and 
 a fact that I never saw him perform one act but 
 I could perform it myself, so strong was the 
 desire to attain the art. 
 
 I made no secret of my progress, and the 
 bookseller rather encouraged me, and that for 
 two reasons : I bought such rubbish as nobody 
 else would ; and he had often an opportunity 
 of selling me a cast-off tool for a shilling, not 
 worth a penny. As I was below every degree 
 of opposition, a rivalship was out of the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 The first book I bound was a very small one, 
 Shakspeare's Venus and Adonis. I shewed it 
 to the bookseller. Me seemed surjirized. I
 
 62 LIFE OF WILLIAM MUTTON. [1746. 
 
 could see jealousy in his eye. However, he 
 recovered in a moment, and observed, that 
 though he had sold me the books and tools 
 remarhahly cheap, he could not think of giving 
 so much for them again. He had no doubt 
 but I should break. 
 
 He offered me a worn-down press for two 
 shillings, which no man could use, and which 
 was laid by for the fire. I considered the na- 
 ture of its construction ; bought it, and paid 
 the two shillings. I then asked him to favour 
 me with a hammer and a pin, which he brought 
 with half a conquering smile, and half a sneer. 
 I drove out the garter-pin, which, being galled, 
 prevented the press from working, and turned 
 another square, which perfectly cured the press. 
 He said, in anger, " If I had known, you should 
 " not have had it." However, I could see he 
 consoled himself with the idea that all must 
 return in the end. This proved for 42 years 
 my best binding press. 
 
 I now purchased a tolerably genteel suit of 
 clothes, and was so careful of them, lest I should 
 not be able to procure another, that they conti- 
 nued my best for five years. 
 
 My Uncle was indisposed ; had frequent fits 
 of the gravel ; Nature seemed exhausted. On 
 Wednesday, the 10th of September, I was told
 
 1746.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 6$ 
 
 that he was taken ill in the garden. I darted 
 in, and found him supporting himself against 
 a pillar. He instantly fainted, and I caught 
 him in my arms while falling. He had broken 
 a blood-vessel, and threw up about a quart of 
 blood. 
 
 The next day Michael Pare remarked that, 
 as tny uncle had discharged a load of blood 
 from the stomach, he would soon be well. 
 This was the judgment of a Quack. He for- 
 got that a depraved system could not bear so 
 great a' loss; that straining again would open 
 the wound ; and that an internal fracture is 
 hard to cure. 
 
 On Sunday several friends came to see my 
 uncle. He conversed freely with them. A 
 tender part of the conversation occasioned him 
 to drop a tear. His strength was spent ; I car- 
 ried him up stairs to his room ; he quitted it no 
 more, but died five days after. I was present, 
 and could not bear the shock. My sister was 
 obliged to support me. 1 was ignorant how 
 much I loved him till my sorrow for his death 
 informed me. 
 
 The stocking-frame being my own, and trade 
 being dead, the hosiers would not employ me. 
 They could scarcely employ their own frames. 
 I was advised to try Leicester, and took with
 
 64 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l?^^?' 
 
 me half a dozen pair of stockings to sell. I 
 visited several warehouses ; but, alas! all proved 
 blank. They would neither employ me, nor 
 give for my goods any thing near prime cost. 
 As I stood like a culprit before a gentleman of 
 the name of Bennet, I was so affected, that I burst 
 into tears, to think that I should have served 
 seven years to a trade at which I could not get 
 bread. 
 
 My sister took a house ; and, to soften the 
 rent, my brother and I lodged with her. 
 
 1747. 
 
 It had been the pride of my life, ever since 
 pride commenced, to wear a watch. 1 bought 
 a silver one for thirty-five shillings. It went 
 ill. I kept it four years, then gave that and a 
 guinea for another, which went as ill. I after- 
 wards exchanged this for a brass one, which 
 going no better, I sold it for five shillings; and, 
 to complete the watch farce, I gave the five 
 shillings away, and went without a watch thirty 
 years. 
 
 I had promised to visit my father on Whit- 
 sun eve, at Derby. Business detained me till 
 it was eleven at night before I arrived. Expec-
 
 J7"*8.] LIFE Ot WILLIAM HUTTOlf. CS 
 
 tation had, for some time, been upon the 
 stretch, and was now giving way. My father, 
 being elevated with hquor, and by my arrival j 
 rose in extasy, and gave me the first kiss, and, 
 I believe, the last, he ever gave me. 
 
 This year I began to dip into rhime. The 
 stream was pleasant, though I doubt whether 
 it flowed from Helicon. Many little pieces 
 were the produce of my pen, which, perhaps, 
 pleased : however, they gave no offence, for 
 they slept upon my shelf till the rioters burnt 
 them in 1791. 
 
 1748. 
 
 It is difficult for a young man to live with- 
 out love. I was intimate with a young widow, 
 but never touched upon the word Marriage. 
 She frequently dragged me to the test ; but I 
 observed, that I was between two trades, — one 
 of them, it was clear, I could not live by ; and 
 the other, at best, was uncertain. She replied, 
 she did not wish to be a burthen; but if she was 
 sure of me, I might take my own course, and 
 we might live separate till better times, hint- 
 ing that it might be as well to pursue my own 
 trade. I asked, if she ever knew two young 
 
 F
 
 66 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1748. 
 
 people, who loved each other, live asunder out 
 of choice ? I made no remark upon her advice, 
 of " following my own trade;" but I felt it. 
 
 As I would neither marry, nor promise, and 
 as she did not chuse to live single, she accepted 
 another, who followed her three or four years, 
 then left her ; and she never married. 
 
 Every soul who knew me, scoffed at the idea 
 of my turning bookbinder, except my sister, 
 who encourased and aided me ; otherwise I 
 must have sunk under it. I considered that I 
 was naturally of a frugal temper ; that I could 
 watch every penny ; live upon a little ; that I 
 hated stocking-making, but not bookbinding; 
 that, if I continued at the frame, I was certain 
 to be poor; and if I ventured to leave it, 1 
 could but be so. My only fear was, lest I 
 should draw in my friends; for I had nothing 
 of my own. 
 
 I had frequently heard that every man had, 
 some time or other in his life, an opportunity 
 of rising. As this was a received opinion, I 
 would not contradict it. I had, however, 
 watched many years for the high tide of my 
 affairs, but thought it never yet had reached 
 me. 
 
 I still pursued the two trades. Hurt to see 
 my three volumes of Magazines in so degraded
 
 1749-] LIFE OF WtLLIAM HUTTON. G7 
 
 a state, I took them to pieces, and clothed them 
 in a superior dress* 
 
 1749. 
 
 I became acquainted with another girl ; but 
 we were so indifferent to each otlier, that it was 
 easy to see love never cemented our hearts. 
 When a man begins to change, he soon be- 
 comes a rover. I had observed such severe pe- 
 nury among the married stockingers, that the 
 thoughts of a wife were horrid, unless I had 
 been in a situation to support one. 
 
 A bookbinder, fostered by the stocking- 
 frame, was such a novelty, that many people gave 
 me a book to bind, that is, among my friends 
 and their acquaintance ; and I perceived two 
 advantages attended my work. I chiefly served 
 those who were not judges ; consequently, that 
 work passed with them which would not with 
 a master. And, coming from the hands of a 
 stockinger, it carried a merit, because no stock- 
 inger could produce its equal. 
 
 Hitherto I had only used the wretched tools, 
 and the materials for binding, which my book- 
 seller chose to sell me ; but 1 found there were 
 many things wanting, which were only to be had 
 F 2
 
 6Sr LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l749. 
 
 in London ; besides, I wished to fix a corre- 
 spondence for what I wanted, without purchas- 
 ing at second hand. There was a necessity to 
 take this journey; but an obstacle arose, — I had 
 no money. 
 
 My dear sister raised three guineas ; sewed 
 them in my shirt collar, for there was no doubt 
 but I should be robbed; and put eleven shillings 
 in my pocket, for it was needful to have a sop, 
 to satisfy the rogues when they made the attack. 
 
 From the diminutive sum I took, it may rea- 
 sonably be supposed I could have nothing left 
 for purchase. 
 
 On Monday morning, at three, April 8, I set 
 out. Not being used to walk, my feet were 
 blistered with the first ten miles. I must not, 
 however, sink under the fatigue, but endeavour 
 to proceed, as if all were well ; for much de- 
 pended on this journey. Aided by resolution, 
 I marched on. Stopping at Leicester, I unfor- 
 tunately left my knife, and did not discover the 
 loss till I had proceeded eleven miles. I grieved 
 because it was tlie only keep-sake I had of my 
 vi'orthy friend Mr. Webb. Ten times its value 
 could not have purchased it. I had marked it 
 with W. H. July '22y I7IQ. 
 
 A mile beyond Leicester I overtook a travel- 
 ler, with his head bound. " How far are you
 
 1749.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 69 
 
 " going ?" he asked. " To London," replied I. 
 " So am I. When do you expect to arrive ?** 
 demanded he. " On Wednesday night." " So 
 " do I." '• What is the matter with your 
 " head ?" said I, " have you been fighting?" He 
 returned an equivocal answer, which convinced 
 me of the affirmative. I did not half like my 
 companion, especially as he took care to walk 
 behind me ; but, when I understood he was a 
 tailor, my fears rather subsided. 
 
 Determined upon a separation, I walked 
 apace for half an hour. " Do you mean to 
 " hold this pace?" said he. " It is best to use 
 " day-light, while we have it." I found I could 
 match him at walking, whatever I might do at 
 fighting. In half an hour more, we came to a 
 public-house, when he gave up the contest. 
 " Will you step in and drink ?" asked my com- 
 panion ? " No, I shall be moving on ; you may 
 " overtake me." 
 
 I stopped at Brixworth, having walked fifty- 
 one miles : and my whole expence for the day 
 was fivepence. 
 
 The next day, Tuesday the 9th, 1 rested at 
 Dunstable. Passing over Finchley common, 
 on the third day, I overtook a carter, who told 
 me I might be well accommodated at the 
 Horns, in St. John's street, Smithfield, by
 
 70 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1749, 
 
 making use of his name. But it happened, in 
 the eagerness of talking, and the sound of his 
 noisy cart, that he forgot to tell his name, 
 and I to ask it. .» 
 
 I arrived at the Horns at five ; described my 
 director, whom they could not recollect ; how- 
 ever, I was admitted an inmate. I ordered a 
 mutton chop and porter ; but alas, I was jaded. 
 I had fasted too long ; my appetite was gone, 
 and the chop nearly useless. 
 
 This meal, if it might be called a meal, was 
 the only one during my stay; and, I think, the 
 only time I ever ate under a roof. I did not 
 know one soul in London ; therefore, could 
 have no invitations. Nature is supported with 
 a little, which was well for me, because I had 
 but little to give her. If a man has any mo- 
 ney, he will see stalls enough in London which 
 will supply him with something to eat ; and it 
 rests with him to lay out his rrioney to the best 
 advantage. If he cannot afford butter, lie must 
 eat his bread without. This will tend to keep 
 up an appetite, which always gives a relish to 
 food, though mean ; and the scantiness will add 
 to that relish. 
 
 'i'he next morning I breakfasted in Smith- 
 field, upon furmity, at a wheelbarrow. Some- 
 times I had a halfpenny-worth of soup, and
 
 1749.] LIFE OF WILUAM IIUTTON. 7'1 
 
 another of bread. At other times bread and 
 cheese. When nature called, I must answer. 
 I ate to live. 
 
 If a man goes to receive money, it may take 
 him a long time to transact his business. If to 
 pay money, it will take him less ; and if he has 
 but a little to pay, still less. My errand fell 
 under the third class. I only wanted three 
 alphabets of letters, a set of figures, and some 
 ornamental tools for gilding books ; with lea- 
 ther, and boards, for binding. 
 
 I wished to see a number of curiosities, but 
 my shallow pocket forbade. One penny, to 
 see Bedlam, was all I could spare. Here I 
 met with a variety of curious anecdotes ; for I 
 found conversation with a multitude of charac- 
 ters. All the public buildings fell under my 
 eye, and were attentively examined ; nor was I 
 wanting in my inquiries. Pass where I would, 
 I never was out of the way of entertainment. 
 It is reasonable to suppose that every thing in 
 London would be new and wonderful to a 
 youth who was fond of inquiry, but who had 
 scarcely seen any thing. Westminster-abbey, 
 St. Paul's, Guild-hall, Westminster-hall, &c. 
 were open to view ; also both Houses of Par- 
 liament, for they were sitting. As I had always 
 applied deification to great men, I was sur-
 
 72 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1749. 
 
 prised to see a hawker cram her twopenny 
 pamphlet into a Member's face; and that he, 
 instead of caning her, took not the least notice. 
 
 I joined a youth who had business in the 
 Tower, in hopes of gaining adoiission. But 
 the Warders, hearing a Northern voice, came 
 out of their lodge ; and, seeing dust upon my 
 shoes, reasonably concluded I had nothing to 
 give ; therefore, with an air of authority, they 
 ordered me back. 
 
 The Royal Exchange, the Mansion-house, 
 the Monument, the Gates, the Churches, many 
 of which are very beautiful, the bridges, river, 
 vessels, &c. afforded a fund of entertainment. 
 I attended at Leicester-house, the residence of 
 Frederick Prince of Wales ; scraped acquaint- 
 ance with the sentinels, who told me, had I 
 been half an hour sooner, I should have seen 
 the Prince and his family enter the coach for 
 ^n airing. 
 
 Though I had walked 125 miles to London, 
 I was upon my feet all the three days I was 
 there. I spent haif a day in viewing the West 
 end of the town, the squares, the park, the 
 beautiful building for the fire-works, erected in 
 the Green Park, to celebr?ite the peace of Aix 
 la Chapelle. At St. James's I accosted the 
 guard at the bottpm of the stairs, and rather
 
 1749.] LIFE OF WILLIAM BUTTON. 73 
 
 attempted to advance ; but one of them put 
 forward the butt-end of his piece, to prevent 
 me from stepping over. At St. James's too, I 
 had my pocket picked of a handkerchief; so 
 that I went home rather hghter than I came. 
 The people at St. James's are apt to fill their 
 own pockets at the expence of others. 
 
 Seeing in one of the squares the figure of a 
 man on horse-back, I modestly asked a by- 
 stander whom it represented? He answered, in 
 a surly tone, " It 's strange you could see no- 
 " body else to ask, without troubling me : it 's 
 " George the First." 
 
 I could not forbear mentioning at night to 
 my landlord at the Horns, the curiosities I had 
 seen, which greatly surprised him. He replied, 
 " I like such a traveller as you. The strangers 
 " that come here cannot stir a foot without me, 
 " which plagues me to that degree I had rather be 
 '' without their custom. But you, of yourself, 
 " find out more curiosities than they can see, 
 " or I can shew them." 
 
 On Saturday evening, April 13, I set out 
 with four shillings for Nottingham, and stopped 
 at St. Alban's. Rising the next morning, 
 April 14, I met in the street the Tailor with 
 the muffled head, whom I had left near Lei- 
 tester. "Ah I my friend, what are you still
 
 74 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1749. 
 
 " fighting your way up ? Perhaps you will 
 ^' reach London by next Wednesday. You 
 " guessed within one week the first time!" He 
 said but little, looked ashamed, and passed on. 
 
 This was a melancholy day : I fell lame, 
 owing to the sinews of my leg being over- 
 strained with hard labour. I was far from 
 home, wholly among strangers, with only the 
 remnant of four shillings. The idea occasioned 
 tears ! 
 
 I stopped at Newport-Pagnell. My landlord 
 told me my shoes were not fit for travelling: 
 however I had no others, and, like my blistered 
 feet, I must try to bear them. The next day, 
 Monday the 15th, I slept at Market Harbo- 
 rough, and on the l6tl), called at Leicester. 
 The landlady had carefully secured my knife, 
 with a view to return it should I ever come 
 that way. I reached Nottingham in the after- 
 noon, having walked 40 miles. 
 
 I had been out nearly nine days, three in 
 going, which cost three and eightpence ; three 
 in London, which cost about the same; and 
 three returning, nearly the same. Oat of the 
 whole eleven shillings, I brought fotirpence 
 back. 
 
 London surprised me ; so did the people, 
 for the few with whom I formed a connexion
 
 1749.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 75 
 
 deceived me, by promising what they never 
 performed. This journey furnished vast mat- 
 ter for detail among my friends. 
 
 It was now time to look out for a future place 
 of residence. A large town must be the mark, 
 or there would be no room for exertion. Lon- 
 don was thought of, between my sister and me, 
 for I had no soul else to consult. This was 
 rejected for two reasons. I could not venture 
 into such a place without a capital, and my 
 work was not likely to pass among a crowd of 
 judges. 
 
 My plan was to fix upon some market-town, 
 within a stage of Nottingham ; and open shop 
 there on the market-day, till I should be better 
 prepared to begin the world at Birmingham. 
 
 I fixed upon Southwell, as the first step of 
 elevation. It was fourteen miles distant, and 
 the town as despicable as the road to it. I went 
 over at Michaelmas, took a shop at the rate of 
 twenty-shillings a year, sent a few boards for 
 shelves, a few tools, and about two hundred 
 weight of trash, which might be dignified with 
 the name of hooks, and worth, perhaps, a year's 
 rent of my shop. I was my own joiner, put 
 up the shelves and their furniture, and in one 
 day became the most eminent bookseller in the 
 place.
 
 76 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l750. 
 
 During this rainy winter, I set out at five 
 every Saturday morning, carried a burthen of 
 from three pounds weight to thirty, opened 
 shop at ten, starved in it all day upon bread, 
 cheese, and half a pint of ale, took from one to 
 six shillings, shut up at four, and, by trudging 
 through the solitary night and the deep roads 
 five hours more, I arrived at Nottingham by 
 nine ; where I always found a mess of milk 
 porridge by the fire, prepared by my valuable 
 sister. 
 
 Nothing short of a surprizing resolution and 
 rigid economy, could have carried me through 
 this scene. 
 
 In one of these early morning journeys, I met 
 upon Sherwood Forest, four deer-stealers, re- 
 turning with a buck. This put me in fear, lest 
 I should be knocked on the head to keep silence. 
 1 did not know them, but was afterwards in- 
 formed that they knew me. 
 
 1750. 
 
 I took a journey to Birmingham in February, 
 to pass a judgment on the probability of my 
 future success.
 
 1750.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 77 
 
 I found three eminent booksellers for mental 
 improvement, Aris, ffarren, and IVollaston, 
 I considered the town was crowded with inha- 
 bitants, and perhaps I might mingle in that 
 crowd unnoticed by three great men, for an ant 
 is not worth destroying. I must again confess, 
 I was pleased with the active spirit of the people. 
 
 Wishing to take Swithland in my return to 
 Nottingham, to visit my two aunts, I was di- 
 rected through Tamworth, where I spent one 
 penny ; then through a few villages, with blind 
 roads, to Charnwood Forest ; over which were 
 five miles of uncultivated waste without amf 
 road. To all this I was a stranger. 
 
 Passing through a village in the dusk of the 
 evening, 1 determined to stop at the next pub- 
 lic house; but, to my surprize, I instantly 
 found myself upon the Forest. It began to 
 rain; it was dark; I was in no road, nor was any 
 dwelling near. I was among hills, rocks, and 
 precipices, and so bewildered I could not re- 
 treat. I considered my situation as desperate, 
 and must confess I lost the fortitude of a man. 
 
 I wandered slowly, thouj^h in the rain, for 
 fear of destruction, and hollowed with all my 
 powers, but met with no return. I was about 
 two hours in this cruel state, when I thought 
 the indistinct form of a roof appeared against
 
 78 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. {1750. 
 
 the sky. My vociferations continued, but to 
 no purpose. 1 concluded it must be a lonely 
 barn ; but, had it been the receptacle of ghosts, 
 it would have been desirable. 
 
 At length I heard the sound of a man's voice, 
 which, though one of the most terrific, gave 
 me pleasure. I continued advancing, perhaps, 
 thirty yards, using the soft persuasives of dis- 
 tress, for admission, even under any roof, but 
 could not prevail. The man replied, that all 
 his out- buildings had been destroyed by a mob 
 of freeholders, as standing upon the waste. 
 He seemed to be six feet high, strong built, 
 and, by the sound of his voice, upwards of 
 fifty. 
 
 I could not, as my life was at stake, give up 
 the contest ; but thought, if I could once get 
 under his roof, I should not easily be discharged. 
 Though his manner was repelling as the rain, 
 and his appearance horrid as the night, yet I 
 would not part from him, but insensibly, at 
 length, wormed myself in. 
 
 I was now in a small room, dignified with 
 the name of a house, totally dark, except a 
 iilow of fire, which would barelv have roasted 
 a potatoe, had it been deposited in the centre. 
 In tliis dismal abode I heard two female voices, 
 one, that of an old aunt, the other, of a young 
 wife.
 
 1750.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 79 
 
 We all sat close to this handful of fire, as 
 every one must who satin the room. We soon 
 became familiarized by conversation, and I 
 found my host agreeable. He apologized for 
 not having treated me with more civility ; he 
 pitied my case, but had not conveniences for 
 accommodation. 
 
 Hints were now given for retiring to rest. 
 " I will thank you," said I, " for something to 
 " eat ; I have had nothing since morning when 
 " at Birmingham." " We should have asked 
 " you, but we have nothing in the house/* 
 " I shall be satisfied with any thing." " We 
 " have no eatables whatever, except some pease 
 ^' porridge, which is rather thin, only pease 
 " and water, and which we are ashamed to 
 " offer." '• It will be acceptable to a hungry 
 " man." 
 
 He gave me to understand that he had buried 
 a wife, by whom he had children grown up. 
 Being inclined to marry again, he did not 
 choose to venture upon a v.idovv, for fear of 
 marrying her debts ; he therefore had married a 
 girl thirty years younger than himself, by 
 whom he had two small children, then in bed. 
 This I considered as an excuse for misconduct. 
 
 While sup})er was warming, for /lot it could 
 not be, a light was necessary ; but alas the
 
 so LIFE Of WILLIAM HUTTOl^. [tjSO. 
 
 premises afforded no candle. To supply the 
 place, a leaf was torn from a shattered book, 
 twisted round, kindled, and shook in the hand 
 to improve the blaze. By this momentary 
 light, I perceived the aunt, who sat opposite, 
 had a hair-shorn lip, which, in the action of 
 eating, so affected me, that I was obliged to 
 give up my supper. 
 
 By another lighted leaf, we marched up to 
 bed. I could perceive the whole premisses 
 consisted of two rooms, house, and chamber. 
 In the latter was one bed, and two pair of bed- 
 steads. The husband, wife, aunt, and two chil- 
 dren, occupied the first; and the bedstead, whose 
 head butted against their bedside, was appro- 
 priated for me. But now another difficulty 
 arose. There were no bed clothes to cover me. 
 Upon diligent inquiry, nothing could be pro- 
 cured but the wife's petticoat ; and I could 
 learn that she robbed her own bed to supply 
 mine. I heard the rain patter upon the thatch 
 during the night, and rejoiced it did not patter 
 upon me. 
 
 By the light of the next morning, I had a 
 view of all the family faces, except the aunt's, 
 which was covered with a slouched hat. The 
 husband seemed to have been formed in one of 
 Nature's largest and coarsest moulds. His
 
 1J50.^ LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 81 
 
 hands retained the accumulated filth of the last 
 three months, garnished with half a dozen 
 scabs ; both, perhaps, the result of idleness. 
 The wife was young, handsome, ragged, and 
 good-natured. 
 
 The whole household, I apprehend, could 
 have cast a willing eye upon breakfast ; but 
 there seemed a small embarrassment in the 
 expectants. The wife, however, went to her 
 next neighbour's, about a mile, and in an hour 
 returned with a jug of skimmed milk and a 
 piece of a loaf, perhaps two pounds, both of 
 which, I have reason to think, were begged; 
 for money, I believe, was as scarce as candle. 
 Having no fire, we ate it cold, and with a relish. 
 
 When I left the house, I saw the devasta- 
 tions made by the rioters, a horde of monsters 
 I liave since had reason to dread. 
 
 My host went with me half a mile, to bring 
 me into something like a track ; when I gave 
 him a shake of the hand, a sixpence, and my 
 skicere good wishes. We parted upon the most 
 friendly terms. 
 
 Though I seemingly received but little, yet 
 a favour is great or small, according to the need 
 of the receiver. 
 
 I had seen poverty in various shapes ; but 
 tills was the most complete. There appeared.
 
 82 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1750. 
 
 however, in that lowest degree, a considerable^ 
 share of content. The man might have mar- 
 ried a widow and her debts with safety ; for no 
 creditor durst have sued him. Neither need 
 he have dreaded a jail, except from the loss of 
 liberty, for he would have risen in point of 
 luxury. 
 
 I had also seen various degrees of idleness ; 
 but none surpassed this. Those wants cannot 
 merit pity, which idleness might, but will not, 
 prevent. 
 
 Returning to Nottingham, I gave warning to 
 quit at Southwell, and prepared for a total 
 change of life. 
 
 On the 10th of April, I entered Birming- 
 ham, for the third time, to try if I could be 
 accommodated with a small shop. If I could 
 procure any situation, I should be in the way 
 of procuring a better. On the 11th, I traversed 
 the streets of Birmingham ; agreed with Mrs. 
 Dix, for the lesser half of her shop, No. 6, in 
 Bull-street, at one shilling a week ; and slept at 
 Lichfield, in my way back to Nottingham. 
 
 On May 13th, Mr. Rudsdall, a dissenting 
 minister of Gainsborough, with whom my sister 
 had lived as a servant, travelling from Notting- 
 ham to Stamford, requested my company, and 
 oflered to pay my expences, and give me
 
 1750.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 83^ 
 
 eighteen pence a day for my time. The after- 
 noon was wet in the extreme. He asked why 
 I did not bring my great coat ? Shame forbade 
 an answer, or I could have said I had none. 
 The water completely soaked through my 
 cloaths, but not being able to penetrate the 
 skin, it filled my boots. Arriving at the inn, 
 every traveller, I found, was wet ; and every 
 one procured a change of apparel but me. I 
 was left out, because the house could produce 
 no more. I was obliged to sit the whole even- 
 ing in my drenched garments, and to put them 
 on nearly as wet on my return the next morn- 
 ing! What could I expect but destruction? 
 Fortunately I sustained no injury. 
 
 It happened that Mr. Rudsdall now declined 
 housekeeping, his wife being dead. He told 
 my sister that he should part with the refuse of 
 his library, and would sell it to me. She re- 
 plied, " He has no money." " We will not 
 ** differ about that. Let him come to Gains- 
 " borough ; he shall have the books at his own 
 *^ price." I walked to Gainsborough on the 
 15th May, stayed there the l6th, and came 
 back on the lyth. 
 
 The books were about two hundred pounds 
 weight. Mr. Rudsdall gave me his corn chest 
 G 2
 
 84 LtFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [17-50. 
 
 for their deposit ; and, for payment, drew the 
 followincy note, which I signed. 
 
 " I promise to pay to Ambrose Rudsdall, 
 ** one pound seven shilHngs, when I am able." 
 
 Mr. Rudsdall observed, " you never need 
 " pay this note, if you only say you are not 
 " able." The books made a better shew, and 
 were more valuable, than all I possessed beside. 
 
 I had now a most severe trial to undergo ; 
 parting with my friends, and residing wholly 
 among strangers. May 23, I left Nottingham, 
 and I arrived at Birmingham on the 25th. 
 Having little to do but look into the street, 
 it seemed singular to see thousands of faces 
 pass, and not one that I knew. I had entered 
 a new world, in which I led a melancholy life; 
 a life of silence and tears. Though a young 
 man, and rather of a cheerful turn, it was re- 
 marked, " that I was never seen to smile." 
 The rude family into which I was cast added 
 to the load of melancholy. 
 
 My brother came to see me about six weeks 
 after my arrival, to whom I observed, that the 
 trade had fully supported me. Five shillings a 
 week covered every expence ; as food, rent, 
 washing, lodging, &c. Thus a solitary year 
 rolled round, when a few young men of ele- 
 vated character and ^ense took notice of
 
 17^0-] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON, 85 
 
 me. I had saved about twenty pounds, and 
 was become more reconciled to my situa- 
 tion. The first who took a fancy to me was 
 Samuel Salte, a Mercer's apprentice, who, five 
 years after, resided in London, where be ac- 
 quired 100,000/. He died in 179?. Our in- 
 timate friendship lasted his life. 
 
 In this first opening of prosperity, an unfor- 
 tunate circumstance occurred, which gave me 
 great uneasiness, as it threatened totally to 
 eclipse the small prospect before me. The 
 Overseers, fearful I should become chargeable 
 to the parish, examined me with regard to my 
 settlement; and, with the voice of authority, 
 ordered me to procure a certificate, or they 
 would remove me. Terrified, I wrote to my 
 father, who returned for answer, " That All- 
 " Saints, in Derby, never granted certifir 
 " cates." 
 
 I was hunted by ill nature two years. I 
 repeatedly offered to pay the levies, which was 
 refused, A succeeding Overseer, a draper, of 
 whom 1 had purchased two suits of clothes, 
 value 10/. consented to take them. The scruple 
 exhibited a short sight, a narrow principle, 
 and the exultations of power over the de- 
 fenceless.
 
 86 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1751. 
 
 17-51. 
 
 Among others who wished to serve me, I had 
 two friends, Mr. Dowler, a Surgeon, who re- 
 sided opposite me ; and Mr. Grace, a Hosier, 
 at the Gate-way, in the High-street, mentioned 
 in the year 1741. Great consequences often 
 arise from small things. The house adjoining 
 that of Mr. Grace's, was to be let. My friends 
 botli urged me to take it. I was frightened at 
 the rent, eight pounds. However, one drew, 
 and the other pushed, till they placed me there. 
 A small house is too large for a man without 
 furniture ; and a small rent may be too large 
 for an income which has nothing certain in it 
 but the smallness. Having felt the extreme of 
 poverty, I dreaded nothing so much ; but I 
 believed I had seized the tide, and I was un- 
 willing to stop. 
 
 Here I pursued business in a more elevated 
 style, and with more success. In August, my 
 sister came to see me, and brought a young 
 lady, as an intended wife. They staid a few 
 days. She was tolerably handsome, and ap- 
 peared agreeable. But love is a delicate and 
 shy bird, not always caught at first sight ; be-
 
 175^.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 87 
 
 sides, every thing formal operates against it. 
 We behaved with civility, but neither of us 
 taking fire, the matter died away. 
 
 I had been nearly a year in Birmingham, 
 and had not indulged myself with any new 
 clothes. My best coat now had been my best 
 coat five years. Frederic Prince of Wales 
 dying in March, I dressed in a suit of mourn- 
 ing. My new cloaths introduced me to some 
 new acquaintance; among others, to William 
 Ryland, one of the worthiest of men, with 
 whom I contracted a close and intimate friend- 
 ship, which has continued 46 years, and is 
 only to be broken by death. 
 
 1752. 
 
 I had now a smiling trade, to which I closely 
 attended ; and a happy set of acquaintances, 
 whose society gave me pleasure. As I hired 
 out books, the fair sex did not neglect the 
 shop. Some of them were so obliging, as to 
 shew an inclination to share with me the trou- 
 bles of the world. 
 
 Placed at ease, I again addressed the Muses; 
 and, as I thought, properly applied my talent, 
 and with better succesB than five years before.
 
 88 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l^SS. 
 
 Some of my productions crept into the Maga- 
 zines, and other periodical papers ; but all 
 plunged into the fire at the riots. 
 
 Attention enabled me to abstract a small 
 sum from trade, and I frequently amused my- 
 self with marshalhng, in battalia, fifty bright 
 guineas ; a sight I had not been accustomed to. 
 
 I was taken ill of a fever, and was attended 
 by my friend Mr. Dowler, who seemed to be 
 alarmed at my situation, and who alarmed me> 
 by inquiring whether 1 had any relations, and 
 whether I had made a will ? 
 
 As capital increased, I wished to extend the 
 trade. Tuesday being a leisure day, I thought 
 it might be beneficial to open a shop at Broms- 
 grove, where it was market-day. I put the 
 jjlan in practice ; followed it one year and 
 three quarters ; but finding I lost nearly as 
 much abroad, as I got at home, I declined it. 
 
 I also took a female servant, which proved 
 less profitable; for, when I was absent, she sold 
 the books for what they would bring, left the 
 ^hop, and got completely drunk with the mo- 
 nev. An instant separation was requisite. 
 
 In November, my friend, and next door 
 neighbour, Mr. Grace, being a widower, took 
 j'iis niece. Miss Sarah Cock, from Aston, near 
 Derby, to keep his house. I saw her the night
 
 17<54.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. SQ 
 
 she arrived, and thought her a httle, neat, de- 
 hcate creature, and rather handsome. It was 
 impossible, situated as we were, to avoid an 
 intercourse. Without my having the least idea 
 of courtship, she seemed to dishke me, which 
 caused a shyness on ray side, and kept us at a 
 distance. The intercourse continued ; for, as 
 I had no house-keeper, 1 dined with Mr. Grace 
 at a fixed price. A young woman of my ac- 
 quaintance, who had a lover whom she affected 
 to despise, repeatedly solicited me to begin a 
 sham courtship, " to plague him." " No," 
 said 1, " you know how to plague him suffici- 
 " ently, without my assistance." The man 
 who plays with edge-tools may, by chance, 
 cut his fingers. Courtship may begin in jest, 
 and end in earnest. She afterwards married 
 her lover. 
 
 1751. 
 
 I ventured upon another female servant ; for 
 business called me out. She was recommended 
 by the minister of the congregation, who as- 
 sured me that she would not cheat me, for she 
 feared the Lord. He might be right; but she 
 clieated my dumplings one Sunday, by setting
 
 90 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1754. 
 
 them to boil without water. When we returned 
 from Meeting, they were burned to a cinder. 
 I found her totally unable to conduct a family 
 even of two persons, and much inferior to a 
 shop. 
 
 Michaelmas arrived. Miss Cock and I had 
 not, of late, looked quite so shy upon each 
 other. Mr. Grace was gone to Worcester 
 market to buy hops. It was nine o'clock, he 
 not come, and she alone. The night was dark ; 
 we stood together at the door expecting him. 
 I thought she seemed to wish I would not leave 
 her. She kept me in conversation, and I was 
 not displeased to be kept. As he rode my horse, 
 I also was interested in his return. This did 
 not diminish our acquaintance. 
 
 I had been introduced to an amiable family 
 at Bromsgrove, situated within five yards of the 
 shop I kept, in which were two agreeable daugh- 
 ters. While the first year was rolling round, I 
 frequently stepped in, enjoyed a friendly chat, 
 and thought myself a favourite ; nor was I dis- 
 pleased when informed that the father had told 
 a friend of his privately, " that I was welcome 
 to either of his daughters." 
 
 I usually mounted my horse to return home 
 at four ; but business, one night in October, 
 detaining me till seven, I called at the house of
 
 1754.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 91 
 
 my friend, and found that daughter alone whom 
 I hked best, though she was not the hand- 
 somest. In our conversation I said, " I will 
 " stop in Bromsgrove to-night, if you will 
 ^' favour me with your company ?" " I never 
 " will,'* she replied, " keep company with any 
 " one, without my father's consent.^' This re- 
 mark struck me dumb, though I could easily 
 have replied to it. I consider a parent's con- 
 sent requisite ; yet it is but a secondary step» 
 How could I tell whether our tempers would 
 unite ? Whether my stock of prudence, or 
 manner of life, were suited to her taste ; whe- 
 ther they were likely to gain and keep her af- 
 fections ; and the same with regard to myself. 
 
 It is time enough to ask when the young 
 couple see a fair prospect. That trifling re- 
 mark, I really believe, broke a match. A few 
 insignificant words ensued, I took my leave, 
 returned home, and never renewed the attempt. 
 There is something extremely delicate in the 
 first approaches of love. Like an infant, it is 
 easily thrown down ; and, like that, too weak 
 to raise itself up. 
 
 While conversing with my next-door neigh- 
 bour, Miss Cock, in November, I remarked 
 that I perceived a grov.'ing affection for her, 
 and should take no pains to check it. She did
 
 92 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [lY^O, 
 
 not receive this short declaration with the least 
 disrespect. Our intimacy increased. 
 
 By the tinie Christmas arrived, our hearts 
 had united without efforts on either side. Time 
 had given numberless opportunities of observing 
 each other's actions, and trying the tenor of 
 conduct by the touch-stone of prudence. Court- 
 ship is often a disguise. We had seen each 
 other when disguise was useless. Besides, na^ 
 ture had given to few women a less portion of 
 deceit. 
 
 I never courted her, nor she me ; yet we, 
 by the close union with which we were ce- 
 mented, were travelling towards the Temple of 
 Hymen, without conversing upon the subject. 
 Such are the happy eifects of reciprocal Jove. 
 
 1755. 
 
 Although there was no formal courtship be- 
 tween Miss Cock and myself, nor did we ever 
 spend one evening together past ten, nor that 
 without company, yet Mr. Grace began to sus- 
 pect us. As the aff^air opened, his anger kindled. 
 He tried at a separation ; complained of ill- 
 treatment; had given up the thoughts of mar- 
 vi;i;;i,p, because suited with a house-keeper whom
 
 17^5.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. gS 
 
 he was likely to lose in so short a space as fifteen 
 months. 
 
 Though money has been in circulation many 
 thousand years, and its properties often exa- 
 mined, yet those properties are not fully known. 
 Mr. Grace had a doubtful debt, owing at 
 Moseley, of about seven pounds. He asked me 
 to accompany him to solicit payment. I con- 
 sented. He was very cross, and treated me 
 with scolding language all the way, expressive 
 of his aversion to the match. I was silent. 
 
 Unexpectedly he received the money, which 
 gave an instant turn to his temper ; and from 
 that moment he became good-humoured, and 
 promoted the marriage. Such are the wonder- 
 ful effects of money. He hinted, at the same 
 time, that I had been apt to change, but hoped 
 I would not use Sarah ill. I assured him I had 
 too much love for her to injure her. 
 
 Our courtship now went on publicly, though 
 always a day-liglit courtship. 
 
 March 21, Mr. Grace and I went to Aston 
 to treat with the parents of Miss Cock. As I 
 ever detested being a beggar, I wished to have, 
 in the first instance, as much as they chose to 
 give, for I knew 1 should never ask after. I 
 answered faithfully whatever questions were 
 asked, and shewed the progressive state of my
 
 94 UFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1755* 
 
 circumstances, which was now an accumulation 
 of two hundred pounds. They offered one 
 hundred. I rephed, '^ It is rather too little." 
 " You cannot/^ said her mother with mildness, 
 for she was one of the best women that ever 
 lived, " desire more than we can give." 
 
 Struck with this reasonable reply, I could 
 not call in one word to object. If she had of- 
 fered me nothing, I could not have given up 
 my dear girl. She asked, what settlement ? 
 The father was a yeoman, who farmed his own 
 estate, and the mother had a settlement. I 
 said a settlement was useless, for her daughter 
 had one hundred jxounds, and I had two ; so 
 ttiat she would be certain of her thirds, let 
 what v^'ould happen. The mother asked me 
 next morning, what were my sentiments of the 
 match r " I would consider of it." She little 
 suspected how near that living treasure lay to 
 my heart. 
 
 The next day I rode to Derby to see my fa- 
 ther, and some acquaintance, and the next to 
 Nottingham, to see my sister, whom I had not 
 seen for four years. I told her my errand, and 
 rather regretted that the fortune was small. 
 She replied, " A fortune is a trifle ; what is the 
 " woman ?" '•' To my wish." " Then she has 
 " a fortune within her."
 
 1755.1 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 95 
 
 During our intimacy, two young men came 
 from Derbyshire, who had been lovers, to re- 
 new their efforts, but in vain. No offers, how- 
 ever advantageous, I beheve, could have de- 
 tached one from the other. Thus was that pure 
 flame kindled which, forty-one years after, 
 gave rise to the following remarks : three 
 months before her death, when she was so 
 afflicted with an asthma that she could neither 
 walk, stand, sit, or lie ; but, while on a chair, 
 I was obliged to support her head, I told her 
 that she had never approached me without 
 diffusing a ray of pleasure over the mind, ex- 
 cept when any little disagreement had happened 
 between us. She replied, " I can say more 
 " than that. You never appeared in my sight, 
 " even in anger, without that sight giving me 
 " me pleasure." I received the dear remark, 
 as I now write it, with tears. 
 
 I parted with my dull house- keeper, gave 
 notice to quit at Bromsgrove, sold my horse, 
 and ate at the table of Mr. Grace with my dear 
 love, without any plan for the future. 
 
 June 23, I awoke before seven, and ruminat- 
 ing on the first object of my life, I thought to 
 myself, " What am I v^'aiting for ? I have no- 
 •' thing to expect, no end to answer, by delay. 
 " That wliich ninst be done, may as well be
 
 96 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1J55, 
 
 " done 710W. I will rise, and tell my love she 
 " must be no longer single. Fixing a future 
 " day, without some reason, is only fixing a 
 " shackle." 
 
 Mr. Grace and she received the information 
 as a thing unexpected. We applied for a 
 licence, and went through the marriage cere- 
 mony at St. Philip's Church. While her hand 
 was in mine, I pressed it, almost unknown to 
 myself; she told me, afterwards, the pressure 
 revived her spirits. 
 
 Thus I experienced another important 
 chancre, and one I never wished to unchansre. 
 
 No event in a man's life is more consequen- 
 tial than marriage ; nor is any more uncertain. 
 Upon this die his sum of happiness depends. 
 Pleasing views arise, which vanish as a cloud ; 
 because, like that, they have no foundation. 
 Circumstances change, and tempers with them. 
 Let a man's prior judgment be ever so sound, he 
 cannot foresee a change ; therefore he is liable 
 to deception. I 'was deceived myself, but 
 thanks to my kind fate, it vvas on the right 
 side. I found in my wife more than ever I 
 expected to find in woman. Just in proportion 
 as I loved her, 1 must regret her loss. If my 
 father, witli whom I only lived fourteen years, 
 who loved me less, and has been gone forty.
 
 17-56.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 9/ 
 
 never is a day out of my thoughts, what must 
 be those thoughts towards her, who loved me 
 as herself, and with whom I resided an age ! 
 
 1756. 
 
 My dear wife brought me a little daughter, 
 who has been the pleasure of my life to this 
 day. We had now a delightful plaything for 
 both. 
 
 Robert Bage, an old and intimate friend, 
 and a paper-maker, took me to his inn, where 
 we spent the evening. He proposed that I 
 should sell paper for him, which I might either 
 buy on my own account, or sell on his by com- 
 mission. As I could spare one or two hundred 
 pounds, I chose to purchase ; therefore appro- 
 priated a room for the reception of goods, and 
 hung out a sign : the paper warehouse. 
 From this small hint I followed the stroke forty 
 years, and acquired an ample fortune. 
 
 It appeared that, during the first year after 
 marriage, I had accumulated eighty pounds. 
 In May, Mr. Grace thought his breath short, 
 and sent for a surgeon, who opened a vein, and 
 made an orifice as wide as a water-cock. Two 
 basons were filled in about two minutes. A 
 
 H
 
 98 LIFE OF WILLIAM RUTTON. [17«^7- 
 
 fainting fit ensued. This brought on a dropsy, 
 A physician was called in, who prescribed a 
 medicine, which drew off the water. 
 
 Supposing health returned, and discontented 
 with his situation, on the 20th October he took 
 a wife. As the power of the medicine declined, 
 the disorder increased. 
 
 1757. 
 
 Mr. Grace grew worse, and February the 
 first departed, after having been married four- 
 teen weeks. The use of his property he left to 
 his wife ; and, at her death, it was partly to 
 be divided into legacies among his relations, 
 and the other part came to me, in right of his 
 niece, as residuary legatee. 
 
 As all his property was personalty, I judged 
 it precarious ; but the widow, perfectly honest, 
 agreed to assign all to me for an annuity, for 
 which I gave security. She enjoyed it only 
 one year and a half, when she was called away. 
 I paid the legacies, and then my wife might 
 be said to have brought in three, to my two, 
 hundred pounds. 
 
 Feb. 17, she brought me a son.
 
 1758.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 99 
 
 Attention will increase business ; and it was 
 not possible to avoid attention ; for the pleasure 
 of providing for a beloved family is inconceiv- 
 able. As room was wanted, I kept both houses 
 in my own hands, resided in Mr. Grace's, and 
 converted mine into a warehouse. 
 
 1758. 
 
 I perceived more profit would arise from the 
 new trade than the old ; that blank paper 
 would speak in fairer language than printed ; 
 that one could only furnish the head, but the 
 other would furnish the pocket ; and that the 
 fat kine would, in time, devour the lean. 
 These larger profits, however, could only arise 
 from larger returns, and these would demand a 
 larger capital. 
 
 Few men can bear prosperity. It requires a 
 considerable share of knowledge to know when 
 we are well ; for it often happens that he who 
 is well, in attempting to be better, becomes 
 worse. It requires resolution to keep well. 
 If there was a profit to the seller, I concluded 
 there must be one to the maker, I wished to 
 have both. Upon this erroneous principle I 
 longed for a paper-mill. 
 H 3
 
 100 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1759. 
 
 I procured all the intelligence I could rela- 
 tive to the fabrication of paper ; engaged an 
 artist to make me a model of a mill ; attended 
 to business ; and nursed my children ; while 
 the year ran round. On the 2nd of July, Mrs. 
 Hutton brought me another son, so that I had 
 now three to nurse ; all of whom I frequently 
 carried together in my arms. This I could not 
 do without a smile; while he who had none, 
 would view the act with envy. 
 Dec. 13, my father died. 
 
 1759. 
 
 Perfectly mill-mad, I continued to mature 
 this airy scheme. I ought to have been con- 
 tented with my present lot; for, upon taking 
 stock at Midsummer, we had saved in the past 
 year, exclusive of all expences, one hundred 
 and thirty-seven pounds. It pleased us both, 
 and sufficiently rewarded the hand which had 
 kept a steady stroke. 
 
 At Midsummer too, I took a lease of two 
 acres of waste land upon Handsworth heath, 
 of Mr. Wyrley, for ninety-nine years at twenty 
 shillings per annum, and began to build a mill. 
 Till now I had known what I was doing. My
 
 1760.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 101 
 
 property then, exclusive of furniture, &c. was 
 seven hundred and seventy-seven pounds. 
 
 1760. 
 
 Wanting a ^horse, I appUed to a neighbour 
 wlio had one to dispose of. After the usual 
 askings and biddings, I offered six guineas: 
 " No, he is worth ten. I will take him to 
 " Stourbridge fair." Being refused, I went to 
 Stourbridge fair, saw the horse, and bid the 
 same money again ; was refused, and came 
 back without him. He returned unsold. The 
 next day the owner offered him at my price, 
 and I closed. 
 
 We now enter a melancholy year. It is not 
 P9ssible to be connected with the world with- 
 out tasting its bitters ; but sometimes they are 
 administered in large draughts, which over- 
 come and cast down the individual. 
 
 My dear wife, while pregnant of her fourth 
 child, was afflicted with the jaundice, which 
 baffled remediesj and brought her low. Her 
 life was despaired of, and I unhappy. 
 
 Oneof our sons was taken ill ; continued so four 
 weeks, and on the 19th of May we lost him.
 
 IGS LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [I76I. 
 
 The next day, my dear love was delivered of 
 another son. Soon after, my eldest son was 
 taken with the measles, then with the small pox. 
 
 Before he recovered, my daughter fell ill of 
 both, and was reduced to great danger. Then 
 the infant was attacked. 
 
 Extreme grief for the loss of my son brought 
 the jaundice upon me; which kept me long 
 between life and death. Among other reme- 
 dies, my physician prescribed a bolus of such 
 magnitude, that I could not attempt to swal- 
 low it till it was cut in pieces. It produced 
 seventeen large pills. Many a tear did my 
 dear wife shed, for fear of losing me; and, to 
 preserve my life, ran the utmost hazard of 
 her own. 
 
 I got on horseback as soon as I was able ; 
 but 1 did not return to health till Michaelmas, 
 "when a journey to Nottingham recovered me. 
 In one of my airings, a pompous, unfeeling 
 man, who thought himself my superior, called 
 out, *' So ! you are going to the devil I see !" 
 
 1761. 
 
 I still pursued the mill scheme, till lost in a 
 labyrinth. The workmen saw my ignorance,
 
 1762.3 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 103 
 
 and bit me as they pleased, " Let us fleece 
 " Hutton, he has money." I discharged 
 them all, let the work stand, and left myself 
 at rest. 
 
 To confirm the health of my wife, entertain 
 my daughter a delightful prattler, and son 
 just put into breeches, I treated them all with 
 a journey to Aston and Nottingham, where 
 they made a stay of some weeks. This induced 
 me to make during that time six journeys. 
 In the first of these I saw the transit of Venus 
 over the Sun's disk. She appeared a small 
 black spot, the size of a large fly or bee, mov- 
 ing over the face of the sun. I think it was 
 the 6th of June. 
 
 It appeared plain, though / could not see it, 
 that the mill-wrights would not suffer me to 
 rest while my property lasted. One of them 
 was set on to persuade me, as I had given up 
 the paper-mill, at what a small expence it 
 might be converted into a corn-mill, and what 
 amazing profit would attend it! while I, un- 
 willing it should lie dormant, and still a dupe, 
 was caught in the lure. 
 
 1762. 
 
 In March Mrs. Hutton was delivered of a 
 still-born son. Her health was hurt, which
 
 104 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l762. 
 
 induced me to take her to Aston. We went in 
 a chaise, at sixpence a mile, the first time we 
 either of us had ridden in one. 
 
 I found that, as a miller, I was cheated on all 
 sides, which induced me again to discharge the 
 people, and suffer the mill to stand, with a 
 determintition never to move it again. I also 
 sold my horse for four guineas, resolving to 
 keep no more. 
 
 Mr. Honeyborn thought the mill would an- 
 swer his purpose, in polishing brass nails; and, 
 after much pro and con, I consented to sell it 
 for eighty guineas, and take his bond bearing 
 interest. 
 
 Upon examining my accounts, for they were 
 very minute, I found I had lost in cash, two 
 hundred and tioenty-nme pounds ! Add to 
 this the loss of tb.ree years of the prime part of 
 my life, when trade was prosperous, and at a 
 time when I had no opponent; I considered 
 myself a sufferer of, at least, ^.1000. 
 
 I was so provoked at my folly, that I fol- 
 lowed up my business with redoubled spirit, 
 cast up stock every quarter, and could not rest 
 till I had brought my affairs into a successful 
 line. The first quarter after the sale, which 
 was from Midsummer to Michaelmas, I aug- 
 mented my fortune twenty-nine pounds.
 
 1763.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 105 
 
 For all my inconsiderate follies, my dear 
 wife never once upbraided me; but I could not 
 forbear upbraiding myself. There is no need 
 to accuse the man who accuses himself. I had 
 drained the trade so much, to feed the mill, 
 that I had but few goods to sell ; the conse-^ 
 quence was, I lost the customers. 
 
 1763. 
 
 We took several pleasurable journeys; among 
 others, one to Aston, and in a superior style to 
 what we had done before. This is the peculiar 
 privilege of us Birmingham men : if ever we 
 acquire five pounds extraordinary, we take care 
 to shew it. 
 
 Business was prosperous, I had no rival, 
 and I struck the nail that would drive. I began 
 to doubt whether the mill had been any loss ; 
 for the disappointment had raised that com- 
 mercial spirit which would not have been raised 
 without it. 
 
 I never could bear the thought of living to 
 the extent of my income; never omitted to take 
 stock, or regulate my annual expences so as to 
 meet casualties and misfortunes.
 
 100 LIFE OT WILLIAM HUTTON. [1764-5. 
 
 1764. 
 
 Every man has his hobby-horse, and it is no 
 disgrace prudently to ride him. He is the 
 prudent man who can introduce cheap pleasure 
 without impeding business. 
 
 About ten of us, intimate friends, amused 
 ourselves with playing at tennis. Entertained 
 with the diversion, we erected a tennis-court, 
 and met on fine evenings for amusement, 
 without expence. I was constituted steward 
 of our little fraternity. 
 
 My family continued their journeys, and 
 were in a prosperous state. 
 
 1765. 
 
 When life glides smoothly on, incident is 
 not to be expected. The man who sleeps in 
 peace, has no tale to tell. 
 
 I was summoned upon the low bailifFs jury, 
 which was my first step towards public life. 
 
 With our friends, we made a party of plea- 
 sure to Dosthill Spa ; held various conversa- 
 tions ; played at various games ; boated on the
 
 1766.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. lOT 
 
 river ; went a fishing ; visited the neighbouring 
 curiosities, and drew much pleasure into a 
 small compass of time. 
 
 Our Derbyshire journeys continued. 
 
 1766. 
 
 There is nothinjj more common than for a 
 man to be discontented with his state. Some- 
 thing is always wanting; and that want, though 
 a trifle, becomes a balance, in his own esteem, 
 against the many things he enjoys, though any 
 one of them is equal to the thing wanted. By 
 good fortune, this was not my case : I, my 
 wife, two dear sons, and one daughter, were in 
 health, and they acted to my wish. Trade was 
 successful ; we enjoyed our little pleasures, and 
 lived happily. Dress, the tennis-court, and our 
 excursions, came of course. 
 
 Ever since 1 was eight years old, I had shewn 
 a fondness for land; often made inquiries about 
 it; and wished to call some my own. This 
 ardent desire after dirt never forsook me ; but 
 the want of money had hitherto prevented me 
 from gratifying my wish. Nothing makes a 
 man poorer, exce])t gaming. And, to buy land 
 yvithout money, is often followed with ruin.
 
 108 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [176?. 
 
 My trade would spare none. Yet this did not 
 expel the desire, particularly as the prospect 
 drew nearer. 
 
 A paper-maker at Alfrick, in Worcester- 
 shire, with whom I dealt, told me that a small 
 farm adjoining his own was upon sale. He 
 wanted land, and urged me to purchase. I 
 gave him a commission to buy it for ^.^50, 
 agreed to let it him for ^.20 per annum, and 
 I borrowed all the money to pay for it. Thus 
 I ventured, and with success, upon a most ha- 
 zardous undertaking. 
 
 1767. 
 
 This year opened with the purchase of ano- 
 ther estate, near Birmingham, copyhold, six 
 acres, for two hundred pounds. The same per- 
 son who advanced money for the last purchase, 
 was to advance it for this. My attorney, an 
 honest loggerhead, raised a dispute between 
 the lord of the manor and me. This, upon 
 the day of admission, stopped the proceedings. 
 The case was submitted to counsel, who gave 
 it against me. The lord threatened revenge. 
 I made the best apology I was able, which ra- 
 ther softened his resentment; and, when the
 
 1767.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 10^ 
 
 scale begins to turn, it subsides apace. He and 
 his son passing by the door, I invited them in. 
 They became tipsy ; we instantly agreed, and 
 1 was admitted. By this delay, I was able to 
 pay the money without borrowing. I let it 
 for a brick-yard at ^.18 per annum. I'he 
 clay failing, I reduced it to ^.13, and after- 
 wards sold it for ^.250, with a resolution 
 never more to purchase copyholds. 
 
 In the beginning of this year I was taken ill; 
 then Mrs. Hutton. We thought her under 
 the hand of death, when the three babes and I 
 mourned over her with tears. She recovered, 
 but one of our sons was attacked with a fever. 
 Through the ignorant treatment of the apothe- 
 cary's man, he grew worse ; languished from 
 the 1 5th March to the Sd April, and then de- 
 parted. 
 
 We were inconsolable for the loss of this 
 lovely boy, which was followed by daily tears. 
 I could observe thousands of faces pass by, 
 which carried every mark of serenity ; while 
 my inward oppression was beyond bearing. 
 Every article which had been his was carefully 
 kept from our sight ; nor durst my dear wife, 
 nor I, ever mention him to each other durinii 
 ten years, though he was not one day out of 
 either of our thoughts.
 
 110 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1768. 
 
 1768. 
 
 I bought three acres of land at Handsworth, 
 for ^.156 ; paid one hundred guineas down, 
 and gave my note, six months after date, for 
 the remainder ; let it for nine guineas, and 
 afterwards sold it for ^.250. 
 
 The day after this purchase, April 8th, I 
 was chosen overseer of the poor, and thought 
 myself elevated beyond my ancestors ; for none, 
 within the reach of tradition, had equalled it. 
 They had rather been the poor than overseers 
 of' the poor. My property was then about 
 ^.2000. 
 
 Perhaps I was the first overseer in Birming- 
 ham that ever rejoiced at the office. When, 
 in the evening, I met my five new brethren at 
 the Castle, they were all affected ; some pro- 
 voked, and some cast down ; while 1 kept up 
 the joke, and brought them to a smile. Some 
 of them afterwards acknowledged I did them a 
 service. 
 
 In the course of the year they had still greater 
 reason to thank me; for, '-v an active conduct, 
 I did not only my own duty, but a considerable 
 part of theirs. I kept th chair twenty-four 
 weeks, though my time was only eight. The
 
 1769.] WFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. Ill 
 
 most irksome part of the office was collecting 
 the levies. It grieved me to take people's last 
 shilling, which was often the case. I found 
 great pleasure in giving to distress ; but then, it 
 must be remembered, the money was not 
 mine. 
 
 I acquired an amiable character among the 
 dependant class ; and my successor told me 
 I was the favourite of all the old women. 
 
 The Lamp Act came upon the carpet. Great 
 opposition arose, and more by my means than 
 any other person's; and that for an obvious 
 reason. I occupied two houses w^hich formed 
 the gate-way entering New Street, and they 
 suited me. Both must come down if the Act 
 passed. All the terms the opposition could ob- 
 tain, and which were all I wanted, after many 
 hundred pounds had been spent, were that the 
 buildings should not come down, nor be in- 
 cluded in the Act. 
 
 1769. 
 
 I bought half an acre of land at Bennett's 
 Hill, near Washwood Heath, for ^.40, with 
 a view of erecting a house, which, twenty -nine 
 years after, was to be the spot where 1 write
 
 112 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l^^Q. 
 
 this history. The land cost the seller ^.12. 
 This year I built my house. I now quitted the 
 office of overseer, which had given me much 
 pleasure, and returned to my private station. 
 
 I entered upon a gambling scheme in the 
 purchase of land ; for all uncertain bargains 
 come under that description, i purchased the 
 reversion of a small estate at Erdington of seven 
 persons, for seventy- five guineas, and then 
 agreed with the possessor for possession. It now 
 lets for thirteen g^uineas. 
 
 I also made two purchases of Dr. Hinckley 
 at Smethwick. One, the Shire Ash, thirteen 
 acres, for ^.250. I sold the timber for ^.12G, 
 and let the land for thirteen guineas =*. 
 
 The other. Spring Dale, eight acres, for 
 which I gave ^.100. This was under a lease 
 of ninety-nine, years, twenty-four of which were 
 to come, at ^.3 per annum. It now lets for 
 ten guineas -|~. 
 
 The more attention a man pays to any under- 
 taking, the more he is likely to succeed. The 
 purchase of land was a delight, a study, and a 
 profit. We saved this year ^.479. 
 
 * This I sold, June 3, 1800, for 6^.500. 
 t I sold this, in May 1S03, for ^.400.
 
 1770.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON* 113 
 
 1770. 
 
 My worthy friend William Ryland, dread- 
 ing the office of overseer, offered me twenty 
 guineas to serve it for him. We went to 
 Hampsted to ask Mr. Wyrley's consent, who 
 gave it. And now I was reinstated in the 
 office ; but this second edition was unequal to 
 the first, for then I assumed a real character, 
 but now a borrowed one. Pride teaches a man 
 to aspire, but I was sinking. Besides, the no- 
 velty was gone. My brethren, if it will bear 
 the name, treated me with civility ; but, as I 
 was an interloper, and knew the pride of an 
 overseer was rather great, they might, as I had 
 no commission, have turned me out of the 
 vestry. As it happened, I passed the year 
 comfortably, and determined to be the tail-end 
 of an overseer no more. 
 
 I erected the wings of my house at Bennett's 
 Hill. I went to Nottingham races, and took 
 my son upon a poney. When I surveyed the 
 little man, and the little horse, the strong af- 
 fection of a father taught me to think him the 
 prettiest figure upon the race-ground. 
 
 We returned through Mountsorrel, and saw 
 my aunt Jane, whom I remembered a beauty.
 
 114 lATE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l??!* 
 
 and a haughty one, now a decrepid and depen- 
 dant old woman ; also, through Swithland, and 
 saw my aunt Eyre, both for the last time. Then 
 took our route through Market Bosworth, and 
 surveyed the fatal field where Richard fell. 
 
 1771. 
 
 The year opened with the purchase of a farm 
 at Stichford, ^.780. I mortgaged it for 
 ^.400, paid the remainder, sold the timber 
 for ^.50, and let the land for forty guineas a 
 year. 
 
 I planted the trees at Bennett's Hill, which, 
 having been carried upon my shoulder, and 
 planted by my hand, I have a thousand times 
 viewed with the delight of adopted children. 
 
 I treated my family with a visit to Aston as 
 usual. From thence, my son, daughter, and 
 I, went to Nottingham races. 
 
 1772. 
 
 I purchased a farm called Hollymore, seven 
 miles from Birmingham, seventy-four acres, 
 ^.850. It was already under mortgage for
 
 177^.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 115 
 
 ^.800, which remained, and I paid the ^.50. 
 I set out early one morning, went over the 
 grounds, marked and s'alued 600 trees, and 
 returned home to breakfast, without tasting 
 anything. 
 
 I sold the trees for^.220. The Commons 
 were inclosing. I had an allotment of eight 
 iacres, worth ^.100. I let the farm for fifty 
 guineas, lost about half the rent, and then sold 
 the place for nine hundred. 
 
 I had once resolved not to buy land without 
 paying for it, which would have prevented me 
 from running into debt ; but the bent of mind 
 was too strong for restraint. Every opening 
 caused a longing. I could not pass by what I 
 thought a bargain. 
 
 By an amendment of the Lamp Act, my 
 houses were to come down. It happened, that 
 the old house, on the spot where my son now 
 resides, was upon sale. I durst not let the op- 
 portunity slip. I considered it as a tool by which 
 I must carry on my trade. I purchased it fot 
 eight hundred and thirty-five guineas. It was 
 then under mortgage for ^.400. I was obliged 
 to pay the residue; and, as these premises would 
 be open to New Street if my two houses were 
 removed, I now wished them down, 
 I 2
 
 Il6 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [177^- 
 
 Thus purchase after purchase caused me to 
 contract debts wholesale. I was now chosen a 
 Commissioner of the Court of Requests, and it 
 was prophesied I should make an active one. 
 
 It may fairly be concluded, that there cannot 
 be a more useful service rendered to the public, 
 than that of doing justice between man and 
 man, giving every one his own in the mildest 
 way, and composing differences. If a judge 
 can keep clear of prejudice, as he is not inter- 
 ested, he will never decide wrong, except when 
 misinformed. If he happens to relish the em- 
 ployment, it will be much in his favour, as 
 well as in that of the public, because he will be 
 master of the subject ; and, if master, he will 
 execute the task with propriety. Should he 
 prove of a beneficent cast, he will never throw 
 oil into the fire, but endeavour to extinguish 
 the flame, which sets fire to two parties. 
 
 The Court of Requests soon became my fa- 
 vourite amusement. I paid a constant attend- 
 ance, and quickly took the lead. Responsibi- 
 lity, I knew, must follow ; for, standing in the 
 front, I was obliged to take it myself, which 
 excited caution. I had every party to watch, 
 that fraud might not creep in. 
 
 The management of the Court engrossed 
 nearly two days in a week of my time, inclu-
 
 177^-] *-IFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 117 
 
 ding the trouble it gave me at my own house ; 
 and for this I never had the least emolument. 
 That my government was not arbitrary will 
 appear from two facts : I never had a quarrel 
 with a suitor, nor the least difference with a 
 Brother Commissioner. 
 
 I attended the Court nineteen years. Du- 
 ring this time more than a hundred thousand 
 causes passed through my hands ! a number, 
 possibly, beyond what ever passed the decision 
 of any other man. I have had 250 in one day. 
 Though I endeavoured after right, it cannot 
 be supposed, in so large a number, they were 
 all without error. 
 
 1773. 
 
 As far as I have proceeded in my history, it 
 will easily be perceived, that my disposition 
 was for active life. Ambition, and the idea of 
 being useful, were the urging motives. 
 
 I was now chosen a Commissioner of the 
 Lamp and Street Act. This also I relished, 
 attended, and considered as a large field for 
 reform. The whole of the inhabitants, I found, 
 had been encroachers upon the public property, 
 and that for ages. But this Act gave a fine
 
 118 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l773« 
 
 opening to reduce things to order. My plan 
 was tQ execute the Act with Jirmness, but 
 with mildness. I would favour no man, but 
 oblige all equally to confofm. 
 
 But this plan, I found, could not be adopted. 
 There were clashing interests among the Com- 
 missioners. Some wished to retain their own 
 nuisances ; others, to protect those of their 
 friends ; then, with what face could (hey vote 
 down others ? A rich man also was favoured 
 beyond a poor one. The blame of some re- 
 movals was charged upon me, because I was a 
 speaker, an advocate for impartial reform, and 
 not supported by my Brother Commissioners, 
 I lost some friends, and declined attendance. 
 
 Tfte waste lands in King's Norton were di- 
 vided. As eight acres had fallen to my share, 
 which lay some miles from Hollymoor farm, I 
 purchased seven allotments, about fifty acres, 
 from others ; had thcra all laid together; built 
 a house and barn ; when, after sinking a con- 
 siderable sum, I raised an estate of twenty-nine 
 guineas a year. This was one of the blemishes 
 in my terra Jirma conduct.
 
 1774.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 119 
 
 1774. 
 
 My son had a poney, which he had nursed 
 with more care than sometimes a mother 
 nurses her child. Now one year had run round, 
 and he was two inches nearer a man, he chose 
 a horse to look more like a man ; and chose 
 that another should have the care of him. 
 This proved a family horse. He carried me to 
 Warwick, being summoned upon the grand 
 jury at the quarter sessions. 
 
 The waste lands upon Withall Heath em- 
 ployed much of my time, and more of my 
 money. I perceived I had missed the mark in 
 my calculations. The proprietors of land had 
 their allotments laid near their farms ; had 
 every convenience at hand to improve them . 
 and, being upon the spot, could watch and 
 promote that improvement at a small expence. 
 But I, who had no land near, no team to assist, 
 or servants that could oversee, was obliged to 
 hire all the work, and at a double price. 
 
 Every neighbour was my enemy ; for " What 
 " right had a tradesman to come among them?" 
 Whatever property could be touched was stolen. 
 Even the very fences which I had planted three 
 times over were destroyed. I sowed the seeds.
 
 120 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1775, 
 
 and found fourteen horses eating the crop. 
 There is no law that will support a single nian 
 against a country. 
 
 Thus circumstanced, I was obliged to let it 
 for a mere trifle, which was never paid. I af- 
 terwards granted a lease, at the low rent men- 
 tioned in 1773 ; and I did it with a determina- 
 tion never more to meddle with waste land. 
 
 My son and I went to Nottingham races, 
 having omitted this delightful visit three years. 
 The pleasure did not consist so much in the 
 races, as in seeing a dear sister, who tenderly 
 loved me. 
 
 As I had not seen my estate at Alfrick for 
 seven years, I took Worcester races in the way ; 
 but, as I had no sister there, the race was ^ 
 burthen. 
 
 1775, 
 
 Some years have glided on with pleasure, 
 some with affliction, some with profit, some 
 with disappointment, but this with fatigue. 
 
 I had now to take down the great old house 
 purchased in 1772, and lay out, I was told, 
 ^.1200 in building; and yet my trade was 
 unable to spare a shilling with propriety. All
 
 177-5.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 1^ 
 
 my neighbours, with whom I had lived in 
 friendship, were to quarrel with me for sup^ 
 posed injuries ; except a quarrelsome lawyer, 
 with whom 1 never contracted a friendship. 
 To rise above a friend, makes an enemy. 
 
 I have already remarked, that I purchased 
 the house subject to a mortgage of ^.400. As 
 I knew I should want money, I asked the mort- 
 gagee to advance ^.200 more. " Yes, if you 
 " will add another estate to the security ; for, 
 " if you pull this house down, how do I know 
 ^* you will build it up again ?" Struck with the 
 remark, I resolved to make no farther inqui" 
 ries, but to try my own strength, and not call 
 jn assistance till necessity obliged me. 
 
 Now I had to undergo the hardest bodily 
 labour I ever experienced. Up at four every 
 morning, I set the people to work, watched 
 over them, and laboured with them all day, and 
 frequently charged myself with the meanest 
 and most laborious parts of the employment. 
 
 It is amazing what a rapid progress may be 
 made in any undertaking, when the proprietor 
 conducts the work like a master, and labours 
 like a servant. 
 
 This work was begun April 28, and covered 
 in October 24. As 1 was obliged to quit my 
 other house at Christmas, we resided at Ben-
 
 122 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1776. 
 
 nett's hill till Whitsuntide ; when my family, 
 having paid a visit to Aston, entered the new 
 house on their return. 
 
 As I was closely connected with the building 
 the whole year, I have no incidents to fill the 
 page, but dirty clothes, wounded fingers, 
 bruised arms, waste of materials, drunken 
 workmen, cheating carpenters, and daily duns. 
 
 1776. 
 
 The inside of my house yet demanded at- 
 tention. This took me half the year to com- 
 plete ; and, being much larger than that I had 
 left, it demanded additional furniture; and this 
 required the other half. 
 
 My tenant at Stickford ran in arrears ; and 
 when bad, and getting worse, it is time to part. 
 I look his stock; suffered him to take his 
 household furniture, and we parted ; with a 
 loss on my side of fifty pounds. 
 
 Seized with a fond fit of farming, I took the 
 place into my own hands ; and, for two years 
 and a half, paid the utmost attention to it. I 
 also received much pleasure from it. But when 
 business has no profitable returns, it soon ceases 
 to be pleasure.
 
 1776.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 123 
 
 I paid my visits three or four times a week, 
 though distant four or five miles, always on 
 foot. I arrived there by five in the morning, 
 and was back by breakfast. Thus I became a 
 slave, in conducting what it was not in the 
 power of man to conduct properly at so great 
 a distance, and with the business consigned to 
 unprincipled people. 
 
 My accounts told me, at the end of the 
 above term, that I had lost ^actly the rent, 
 one hundred guineas. I let the place, with a 
 resolution to farm no more. 
 
 I bought the manor and estate of Chadwich, 
 for -^.4,500 pounds, upon a promise, from an 
 attorney, of supplying me with what money I 
 should want. I let it for ^.300 a year, and 
 kept it one year ; when it appeared that I 
 could not fulfil my bargain, because my attor- 
 ney had deceived me ; nor the seller his, be- 
 cause in some places he had charged near 
 twice as much land as there really was. He 
 was pleased that I had procured a tenant at an 
 advanced rent, and we mutually agreed to dis- 
 solve the contract. 
 
 My family rejoiced, but I lamented.
 
 124 LIFE OF WILLIAM BUTTON. [1777* 
 
 1777. 
 
 Although I could not borrow money, but 
 had conducted the building and the farm by 
 my own resources, yet I had so far impoverished 
 the trade, that nothing but time could recover 
 it from a consumption. 
 
 A person approached me, " Sir, 1 hear you 
 " sometimes purchase land. There is a small 
 " bit at Makeney, in Derbyshire, which is the 
 "joint property of three cousins, of whom I 
 '' am one. I never saw it, nor can I give any 
 " account of it, only I have heard it is three 
 " acres, give me what you pleas,e for it. It has 
 " been some ages in my family. My father is 
 " lately dead, and the deeds are in the hands of 
 " my mother." 
 
 If you can make me a freehold title, I will 
 give you seven guineas. We instantly agreed, 
 I drew the article, and gave one earnest. He 
 procured the deeds, and I made the conveyance 
 for a blind purchase, for I knew no more of 
 the place than himself. 
 
 Not having seen my [sister for three years, 
 I went to Nottingham races, and took Make- 
 v.ey in my \\s\\ I saw the place of which I
 
 177^0 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUITON. 125 
 
 had purchased a third, and which had been 
 three acres ; but the proprietors having paid no 
 attention to it, and the tenant having bought 
 the adjoining land, he had filched one half. I 
 could only accuse him of the fraud, for the re- 
 medy would have been a Chancery suit. I re- 
 ceived my share of the rent, twenty-seven shil- 
 lings ; let the matter sleep twenty-one years ; 
 and sold my part to the tenant for seventy gui- 
 neas. May 1, 1797. 
 
 1778. 
 
 The man who possesses any branch of useful 
 knowledge, may have customers enough to par- 
 take of that knowledge, provided he distributes 
 it gratis. A mercer in Birmingham, who had 
 purchased the stock of a shopkeeper in Dudley, 
 and had followed the various trades of booksel- 
 ler, draper, haberdasher, and hosier, requested 
 me to go over and value the stock. I consented, 
 but did not receive even thanks. 
 
 One of my services met with a better return. 
 A decent country woman came one market-day, 
 and begged to speak with me. She told me, 
 with an air of secrecy, that her husband be- 
 haved unkind! v to her, and sought the com-
 
 126 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1778. 
 
 pany of other women ; and that, knowing me 
 to be a wise man, I could tell what would cure 
 him. 
 
 The case was so common, I thought I might 
 prescribe for it without losing my reputation as 
 a conjurer. " The remedy is simple," said I. 
 " Always treat your husband with a smile.'' 
 The woman thanked me, dropped a curtesy, 
 and went away. A few months after, she came 
 again, bringing a couple of fine fowls. She 
 told me, with great satisfaction, that I had 
 cured her husband ; and she begged my accept- 
 ance of the fowls in return. I was pleased with 
 the success of my prescription, but refused the 
 fee. 
 
 It was Saturday, my son was gone to Not- 
 tingham races. I wished to follow, procured a 
 horse, and set out the next morning. A soft 
 wart had, for many years, been growing upon 
 the verge of the left corner of the right eye. I 
 had tried various remedies, but in vain. It was 
 painful and alarming. At length I determined 
 to try that dangerous remedy Aqua fortis. 
 Meeting with a friend at Shenston, " What is 
 '^ the matter with your eye ?" " It is a painful 
 '^ wart, which has been growing many years." 
 " There is no wart !" Upon examination, I 
 found it had tumbled out unknown to me, and
 
 1779.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 127 
 
 left an empty socket that would have admitted 
 a large pea. The cure was effected, 
 
 1779. 
 
 We now enter another year of misfortunes. 
 The carpenter, while erecting my house, would 
 never favour me with his account, but drew 
 money occasionally, and managed matters in 
 such a dextrous manner that it was impossible 
 to keep a check against him. The man, who 
 means fairly, will never hide his accounts. 
 Thinking I had disbursed enough, I withheld 
 payment. When his bill was delivered in, I 
 considered myself overcharged. We agreed to 
 leave it to reference. The referees appeared 
 warm in his favour, for, being all of a trade, 
 they might, like the lawyers, serve each other. 
 I was awarded to pay, without being consulted, 
 ^.200 in one month. I remonstrated, and 
 proved that they had charged, in many instances, 
 fifteen fer cent, more than was agreed upon. 
 All was in vain, I was obliged to submit. 
 
 I had erected a" house at Mill-pool hill. The 
 brick-maker who had supplied me, and liis 
 man, quarrelling, the man informed me " that 
 *^ he had, in every load, sent a deficient number
 
 128 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l779. 
 
 " of bricks by order of his master." " Will 
 " you prove this, when you come face to face?" 
 " I will." When the master came for payment, 
 I remonstrated in gentle terms ; was ignorant 
 of the matter ; wished to pay what was right ; 
 and begged he would wait till I could bring the 
 man. He made no reply, but instantly served 
 me with a writ; and, as I wished to avoid a 
 suit, I paid the demand and expence. 
 
 A paper-maker sent me an invoice of 35 
 bundles of paper, value thirty pounds, which 
 were sent off for me by Ashmore's waggon. I 
 frequently, during the space of six weeks, in- 
 quired of the carrier if the goods were come, 
 for they were wanted. The answer was always, 
 " No." At the end of that time, the book- 
 keeper told me I had received them. I was 
 alarmed. Upon farther inquiry, neither the 
 carrier, book-keeper, nor porters, knew where 
 they were delivered; nay, the porters at first 
 owned it. The carrier took his two porters to 
 a master in Chancery, who then swore they de- 
 livered them on the 15th of April to me. I 
 saw the evil that hung over me. I was not, in 
 a court of law, allowed to prove a negative, 
 though all my people were certain they never 
 came to me. I proposed that the maker, carrier, 
 and I, should equally share the loss. This the 
 
 90
 
 1779.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 129 
 
 carrier alone refused. The maker brought his 
 action for the money. I told the attorney, who 
 served me with the writ, to desist ; for I would 
 pay the money. He seemed to consent, but, 
 like a true lawyer, proceeded ; and, to my sur- 
 prise, served me with a second process, when I 
 paid the debt and about ten pounds cost. We 
 could all of us easily guess where the paper was 
 delivered ; but could bring no proof. 
 
 In addition to these evils my customers 
 failed in my debt. Almost every week one 
 fell. 
 
 This year too was the beginning of the worst 
 of my afflictions, the indisposition of my dear 
 wife, from which she never returned into 
 health ; but underwent a gradual increase of 
 disorder for seventeen years, till Nature sunk 
 under the weight. 
 
 One of my tenants broke, by which I lost 
 several hundred pounds. 
 
 My daughter was taken ill of a nervous com- 
 plaint, and struggled under great debility many 
 years. 
 
 I had, a few years before, agreed with a brick- 
 layer and carpenter, jointly, to erect a barn at 
 Withall-heath for 70 pounds. When finished, 
 I complained that they had pinched a little in 
 every one of the dimensions. They did not 
 
 K
 
 130 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l779. 
 
 deny the fact ; but, to cover the defect, one of 
 them said, they would each return me four 
 shillings. This the other would not agree to ; 
 so the mover returned me his four, but no 
 receipt passed. At this distant period of five 
 years, the carpenter demanded a guinea, which 
 he said was left unpaid. The bricklayer was 
 dead. I treated the demand as a joke. How- 
 ever the man put me into the hands of Free- 
 man, a notorious lawyer, which was deemed 
 nearly equal to putting into the hands of Satan. 
 I shewed a clear account, which seemed to 
 satisfy Freeman ; but the carpenter knew I could 
 not produce a receipt ; and, rather than dispute 
 with a poor rogue, I paid the money. I must 
 do Freeman the justice to say, he behaved like 
 a gentleman. 
 
 In eating a sallad, a small stone wounded a 
 tooth. Two days after, bein^ at the play, a 
 lady presented me vvith an orange. The mo- 
 ment the juice touched the wounded tooth, it 
 gave me exquisite pain. The nerve being af- 
 fected by the acidity, a swelling commenced in 
 the gums. My teeth loosened, and some came 
 out. An abscess formed in the throat, and a 
 fe^er ensued. A surgeon was called in, then a 
 physician. At length I broke out in boils. 
 My wife and daugliter were at Aston. My son 
 attended me with the most filial care.
 
 1779.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. iSl 
 
 At a meeting of creditors, upon one of my 
 insolvent customerSj a person said, " I '11 sell 
 " you an estate." " No, I have no money." 
 " I will not take much, for I have a mortgage 
 " upon it for ^.600, which shall lie at four 
 " and a half per cent, as long as you please ; I 
 " shall not want it." I examined the estate ; 
 bought it for ^.65S ; paid the fifty-three, and 
 continued the mortgage. Having linked me 
 fast, he said to me, six months after, '' I can 
 " make five per cent, of my money ; you must 
 *•' give me that, or pay in." I urged the unfair- 
 ness of the measure, but in vain. When the 
 second six months were elapsed, " You must 
 " pay that money in, I want it." Unhappy is 
 he who lies at the mercy of ungenerous men. 
 He afterwards boasted in company how cle- 
 verly he had bit me. Some have supposed a 
 fatality attends unjustifiable actions. He vvho 
 exhibits one, has more in reserve. This man's 
 fortune, by some means unknown to me, 
 dwindled away. Riding through Bromsgrove, 
 June 19, 1798, I saw him in old age, and in 
 rags. 
 
 Several attorneys were applied to for the mo- 
 ney. At length one agreed to supply me with 
 it. Upon inquiry, he told me that the estate 
 would not bear <^.600, and that I must add 
 « K 2
 
 132 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [I78O. 
 
 another estate to secure the mortgagee. This 
 I consented to ; for, hke Sterne's starhng, " I 
 " was caught in a cage, and could not get out." 
 Now the title to the added estate was defective. 
 " Will you advance ^.400, if I pay the other 
 " two ?" " Yes." This was done ; and he, 
 like an honest lawyer, charged three times as 
 much for transferring the mortgage as the con- 
 veyance had cost. 
 
 Thus I have gone through a year, replete 
 with the largest number of calamities, though 
 not the greatest, that ever occurred to me. I 
 had lost so much money, and paid so much 
 away, that I had bled the trade into a decline. 
 I was determined to purchase no more land ; 
 but keep all the money I could in business, 
 and attend to it in the best manner I was able. 
 1 had been draining it thirteen years, and had 
 realized a considerable income. 
 
 1780. 
 
 I was distressed in the midst of plenty. My 
 trade, like a man lamed, required time to reco- 
 ver ; and I, like an attentive surgeon, applied 
 the best remedies in my power. My efforts 
 ■•vore successful.
 
 1780.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 133 
 
 During the last unfortunate year I had kept 
 close at home ; but now with my son I visited 
 my sister and Nottingham races. We took 
 Bradby in our way to see the place where the 
 celebrated Lord Chesterfield was born and re- 
 sided : Lord Chesterfield, whose genius will be 
 had in repute when calumny shall cease. 
 
 We were treated with civility, told many 
 anecdotes, shewn his sleeping and sitting 
 rooms, his library, &c. ; the horse too which 
 he usually rode, and which was kept in the 
 park to graze his last in peace. 
 
 The first nine months of this year were em- 
 ployed in writing the History of Birmingham. 
 Fearing my ability, I wrote with dread. Rol- 
 lason the printer was pleased with it, and 
 shewed it to Dr. Withering, who pronounced 
 it the " best topographical History he had ever 
 " seen." I had for it seventy-five copies, the 
 profit upon which amounted to about forty 
 pounds. To venture into the world as an Au- 
 thor, without having had a previous education, 
 was a daring attempt. It was setting my know- 
 ledge against that of the public : the balance 
 very uneven. This was afterwards considered 
 the best book I ever wrote. I considered it in 
 a less favourable light.
 
 134 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1781, 
 
 Pleased as a fond parent with this History, as 
 my first literary offspring, I may be said, while 
 in manuscript, to have had the whole by heart, 
 Had a line been quoted, I could have followed 
 it up through the chapter. Frequently while 
 awake in the night I have repeated it in silence 
 for two or three hours together, without adding 
 or missing a word. Perhaps the critic will say, 
 '.' You were asleep and dreamed it." It corre- 
 sponds however with an expression in the pre- 
 face to the present work, that I wrote the his- 
 tory of my life with correctness of fact and of 
 date from unpremeditated memory. 
 
 1781. 
 
 I supped Jan. 31, with a large company at 
 the Bull and Gate. Rollason my bookseller 
 was there, spoke highly of my History, and 
 " made no doubt but the fine paper would, in 
 " twenty years, sell for a guinea." 
 
 This year commenced with a new duty on 
 paper ; consequently an advance of price. 
 Having, no engagements upon my hands but 
 business and the Court of Conscience, I made 
 almost daily visits to a farm I had purchased 
 near Sutton Coldfield ; a walk that delighted
 
 1782.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 135 
 
 me. These walks I always took very early in 
 the morning or late in the evening, that more 
 necessary pursuits might not be impeded. I 
 also superintended the correcting, enlarging, 
 and printing the History of Birmingham. 
 I attended Nottingham races as usual. 
 
 March 22, the History of Birmingham was 
 published. 
 
 A man may live half a century, and not be 
 acquainted with his own character. I did not 
 know I was an Antiquary till the world informed 
 me, from having read my History ; but when 
 told, I could see it myself. The Antiquarian 
 Society at Edinburgh chose me a member; and 
 sent me an authority to splice to my name, 
 F. A. S. S. Fellow of the Antiquarian Society 
 of Scotland. 
 
 During this Summer I made many visits to 
 places of antiquity within fifteen miles of home; 
 some of which were introduced into the second 
 edition of the History of Birmingham, pub- 
 lished the ensuing year.
 
 136 LIFE OF WILLIAiM HUTTON. [1783. 
 
 1783. 
 
 The man in health ought not to be difficult 
 in his choice of viands. If he wishes to relish 
 his food, let him wait till he is hungry. Fe- 
 bruary 8 I went to Wall, to examine the junc- 
 tion of the WatHng Street, and the Icknield 
 Street. I tasted nothing till noon. My land- 
 lord brought a homely dish upon the table, the 
 gleanings of the cup-board, remnants of beef, 
 ])ork, mutton, and potatoes, fried together. I 
 relished this blended meal as much as the Lord 
 Mayor his feast. On the l6th I went to Dud- 
 ley after dinner, and returned to tea, near 
 twenty miles, and found that tea as acceptable. 
 
 Rotten tradesmen are the bane of the indus- 
 trious. One labours that the other may live. 
 A person failed one hundred guineas in my 
 debt. After waiting six years, a final dividend 
 was squeezed out of the assignee. My share 
 came to four guineas. Another failed, and 
 owed me ^.110. I received thirteen shil- 
 lings in the pound. He afterwards had a for- 
 tune left him, when he did what the law could 
 not have obliged him to do, paid twenty, which 
 |)roves that we are not all rogues in Birmingham.
 
 1783. J LIFE OF WILLIAM IIUTTON. 137 
 
 My family was thrown into the utmost dis- 
 tress, by my suffering under an inflammation 
 in the bowels. On Sunday evening, Dec. 21, 
 1 began to feel slight pains, but was ignorant 
 of the complaint. On Monday I took jalap, 
 and grew worse. On Tuesday a conceited apo- 
 thecary was sent for, who was as unacquainted 
 with the disorder as myself. On Wednesday 
 Dr. Ash was called in, and told me it was an 
 inflammation in the bowels. He also informed 
 my friends, that there was little hope ; that 
 my blood was as thick as a jelly, and as yellow 
 as a guinea ; but added, " We must not lose 
 " him if we can help it, for he is a useful man." 
 He saw the case desperate, and acted a bold 
 part : bled me three times the first day, again 
 the next, repeating it to six times. I under- 
 went eight medical operations in one day, and 
 was still worse. Thursday I was put into a 
 warm bath. Friday the same. Death was 
 expected. I had no sleep during three days 
 and nights. A small symptom on Saturday, 
 at midnight, took place in my favour. The 
 doctor visited me on Sunday at noon, and hold- 
 ing the curtain in his hand, said, " You are as 
 " safe as a bug in a rug." 
 
 I was so reduced, that the information gave 
 me no pleasure ; nor would it have made the
 
 138 LIFE OF WILLIAxM HUTTON. [1784. 
 
 least impression, had he told me I should de- 
 part the next hour. Life was nearly extin- 
 guished. No newsj however important, could 
 have affected me. 
 
 This taught me a lesson I could not have 
 believed. I'he nearer the grave, the less the 
 terror. Health is the season to dread death, 
 not sickness. The world had lost every charm, 
 and futurity every fear. 
 
 My affectionate wife, though ill herself, sat 
 up with me three nights out of four. 
 
 1784. 
 
 Reduced as I had been to the last stage of 
 existence, and even to the last inch of that 
 stage, I continued in a debilitated state. The 
 doctor told me I should never be the man I had 
 been. But this proved the only point in which 
 this worthy man was mistaken. He had ex- 
 erted all his powers to save my life ; a life, I 
 am persuaded, I owe entirely to him. What- 
 ever errors, therefore, 1 shall commit in future, 
 let them, in return, be charged to him. 
 
 My son had, for some time, kept two horses, 
 chiefly to graze in the field, for they were sel- 
 dom out. The disorder, with which my dear
 
 1785.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. ISQ 
 
 wife was afflicted, was gaining ground. Riding 
 was recommended. Our horses were incapable 
 of carrying double. We frequently engaged a 
 person to take her an hour's ride, which was of 
 service. 
 
 April 27 her mother died, at the age of 
 eighty-seven. She was, like her daughter, one 
 of the best of women. Our visits to Aston were 
 chiefly on her account. 
 
 I was subpcBnaed, Dec. 1, as a witness upon 
 a trial, which was to come on in London the 
 next day. I was obliged to set out immediately, 
 and I staid thirteen days. 
 
 1785. 
 
 Deeming the rides for my afflicted wife too 
 short, I agreed with a person to hire me a 
 horse, I finding a man, to go four or five miles, 
 twice or thrice a week. I frequently attended 
 in this service. Some benefit, we thought, 
 was the result. 
 
 We now also extended our excursions ; vi- 
 sited Buxton, and were much pleased with that 
 gay place. Here we met with a variety of cha- 
 racters ; and a man may draw pleasure or profit 
 from all.
 
 140 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1785. 
 
 I tx)ok a ramble for one whole day, in which 
 I visited the Lover's Leap, a romantic cliff; 
 Che Tor, more romantic, said to be SQ5 feet 
 high, which I doubt. I climbed a master 
 mountain, in the centre of many, where the 
 tops appeared level with each other, which had 
 a most singular and beautiful appearance. They 
 were all bare. I mounted the Castle-hill at 
 Castleton, too steep for any attack. I exa- 
 mined the ruins of the Castle, Roman. The 
 town below, and the adjacent views, were 
 charming. I penetrated to the extremity of 
 Peak Hole, under the Castle-hill, more tre- 
 mendous than pleasant. I ascended Majn Tor, 
 or the shivering mountain, said continually to 
 moulder, but not diminish, which is totally 
 untrue, as may be seen by every observer. 
 The mountain has diminished one-third in size, 
 and a considerable hill has been raised from the 
 detached parts. It kept mouldering all the 
 time I was there. This cannot amount to the 
 smallest wonder, for every mountain will do 
 the same which has a perpendicular side, com- 
 posed of loose stones and a light soil. Upon 
 the summit is an extensive camp, not very se- 
 cure on one side, I returned by Elden Hole, 
 a most terrific spectacle, a chasm lined with 
 rock, thirty yards long, and five wide, guarded
 
 1785.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 141 
 
 by a wall. I threw down many stones, which 
 produced five or six sounds in their descent, 
 owing to the various bends in the passage, which 
 is not perpendicular. I got among the mines, 
 and the miners; made enquiries, and paid 
 money for making them. The Peak seemed 
 inhabited by none but beggars. I could not 
 ask a question, or even inquire my road, with- 
 out, " Please, sir, to give me something," 
 They seemed a tarnished, ragged, and happy 
 people. I had a delightful walk, in my return, 
 over Peak Forest ; but was affected at a village 
 called Dam, in the Forest, at the sight of a 
 body of people carrying to his house a young 
 man just killed in a mine. I returned in the 
 evening much indisposed, with having taken 
 liquors I was not used to drink. 
 
 My son and I went to Nottingham races this 
 year, attended by a servant. Of all the jour- 
 neys I ever undertook, this, of Nottingham 
 races, was the most delightful. For though I 
 knew nothing of the horses, the winners, or 
 the company, nor was interested in the event, 
 yet the body was at ease, the mind divested of 
 care, every thing was new, pleasant, and, above 
 all, I was accommodated by a sister whom I 
 loved. This, since 1770? vv^is my eleventh 
 time of attending that gay scene, but, unknown
 
 142 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTtON. [1785. 
 
 to me, the last ; for now my sister and I were 
 to part for ever. 
 
 Mrs. Hutton remarked to me, in one of our 
 rides, " That she was not likely, from the 
 " growing state of her complaint, to continue 
 " long ; and pointed out a lady who would suit 
 " me for her successor." I was affected, and 
 only replied, " I could not entertain such an 
 *' idea, but should stay till I found her equal." 
 If her dear shade should hover over me, and 
 observe my action, it will never see another in 
 those arms which have enfolded her. I have 
 now, July 19, 1798, lost her two years and a 
 half, and have never thought of offering that 
 violence to her memory, or my own feelings. 
 Can a cure be found for the man who has lost 
 half of himself ? 
 
 I had, in the preceding December, as I have 
 already observed, been subpoenaed to London 
 upon a trial. This gave me an opportunity of 
 seeing liiany curiosities, which I this year 
 gave an account of from memory, and printed 
 it under the title of The Journey to London, 
 being my second publication, price two shil- 
 lings and six pence.
 
 1786.] LIFE or WILLIAM HUTTON. 143 
 
 1786 
 
 Was ushered in with a melancholy event, 
 the loss of my sister, Feb. 26 ; a woman of an 
 extraordinary character, and as amiable as ex- 
 traordinary. Her age was sixty-seven. 
 
 My tenant at Hollymoor not paying his rent, 
 I went over to receive it ; but, to my astonish- 
 ment, I found the doors open, the furniture 
 gone, the family fled, and not a hoof in the 
 grounds. He owed me one hundred and fifty- 
 eight pounds, and had left the farm in such a 
 ruined state, that I could not let it except at a 
 reduced rent. I lost the whole of what he 
 owed me. 
 
 My brother and I were subpoenaed as wit- 
 nesses upon a trial at Warwick. The attorney 
 promised to reimburse the expence, the con- 
 tenders being poor. My brother and myself 
 went in a chaise. We won the cause. I was 
 obliged to bear all the expence, and never re- 
 ceived a shilling. So much for the faith of a 
 lawyer. 
 
 1 was subpoenaed toWorcester assizes to prove 
 a person's hand-writing. I told the attorney I 
 could do him no service, for 1 had iicver seen
 
 144 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1787. 
 
 the person write. This would not satisfy him. 
 I then told him that I had been bitten by two 
 of his brethren, and that I would not stir un- 
 paid. He paid me, I went, but was not called. 
 This year also we made a visit to Buxton. 
 The country romantic and delightful, the com- 
 pany agreeable, and the journey attended with 
 a small benefit to her I loved. In all our ex- 
 cursions, it was my happy province to take my 
 family, and attend them on their return. 
 
 1787. 
 
 Being master of the rules in the Court of 
 Requests, and wishing to instruct others, I 
 wrote a full history of the process in octavo, 
 with a variety of examples, some interesting, 
 being my third publication. 
 
 As the health of my wife declined, the air 
 of Birmingham became more unfavourable ; 
 and as my house at Bennett's Hill was not so 
 commodious for a constant residence as we 
 wished, an addition was requisite. I formed a 
 plan, which perhaps might have cost eighty 
 pounds ; then altered the plan a first, second, 
 and third time; till, when put in execution, 
 it cost more than ^.700. Mortar is rather 
 apt to corrode the pocket.
 
 1787.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 145 
 
 I wished to try exercise for Mrs. Hutton 
 upon a larger scale. In July, she, my daugh- 
 ter, and I, went in a chaise to Aberystwith, 
 in hopes that change of scene, amusement, 
 exercise, and sea-air, would have a desirable 
 effect. Thejourney was a pleasure to all, and 
 was performed in three days. Here I left them, 
 and returned by myself, as I did not chuse a 
 long absence from business. 
 
 There was but one post-chaise between Abe- 
 rystwith and Welch-pool, the whole breadth of 
 Wales ; and that post-chaise was twenty miles 
 off. I could not, without waiting, be accom- 
 modated at Aberystwith. I resolved therefore 
 to walk to Shrewsbury, with my great coat in 
 my hand, and to go in a stage coach from thence. 
 This took me two days and a half. The wea- 
 ther was extremely hot, and the roads dusty, 
 which overcame me to that degree, that I was 
 indisposed for a month, though able to attend 
 to my concerns. 
 
 I went again to Aberystwith, to bring back 
 my wife and my daughter. 
 
 Returning by Shrewsbury, we were treated 
 with great civility by Major Grant, who took 
 vis to the Castle, a place of strength when 
 strength was wanted, and shewed us the House 
 of Industrv, and the field where Hotspur fell. 
 
 L
 
 146 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [I788. 
 
 1788. 
 
 My tenant at Hollymoor having run away, 
 as before stated, and left the farm in so ill a 
 plight that I had no choice of tenants, I was 
 obliged to let it to a third man, little better 
 than the others. As I could not get the rent, 
 I sold the place. Thus what I thought one of 
 my best bargains, turned out bad. Instead of 
 getting ^.800 clear, I did not get ^.400. 
 
 We determined to change our watering-place. 
 and this year made a visit to Blackpool, in 
 Lancashire, found much company, much pride, 
 much vulgarity, accompanied with much good- 
 nature. I was struck with the place, wrote its 
 history, which was my fourth publication, price 
 one shilling. The landlords met, agreed to take 
 the whole edition, 7<50 copies, and I agreed to 
 sell them at prime cost, six-pence each. Hud- 
 son and Bailey stood joint pay-masters. These 
 worthy gentlemen, stationed at a distance, 
 which often tries a man's honesty, obliged me to 
 stay four years for the money. Bailey, in the in- 
 terim, broke. Hudson would only pay his own 
 share of the nine pounds. The other I lost. 
 
 We staid here near three months. In my 
 return I was very particular in my examination
 
 1789.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 147 
 
 of the size of Manchester. I thought the town 
 about one third less than Birmingham ; the 
 streets worse, but the buildings better ; per- 
 haps the inhabitants richer. 
 
 We stopped at Buxton, but, as it was far in 
 October, the company was thin. 
 
 A horse which I had purchased to carry- 
 double, while grazing in the field a few 
 days after our return, was set fast in the 
 watering-pit ; and though a strong animal, 
 the ignorant people, in getting him out, 
 broke his back. This deprived us of a horse 
 exactly suitable, and which we were never able 
 to replace. 
 
 This year I published the History of the 
 Hundred Court, being a supplement to the 
 Court of Requests, price one shilling: also. 
 The Battle of Bosworth Field, five shillings. 
 
 1789. 
 
 Writing a History from memory is a difficult 
 task, especially when memory presents hardly 
 any incident to the mind. 
 
 I purchased another horse at near twice the 
 money, but he no way answered my expecta- 
 tion. Dealing in horses is as precarious as 
 dealing in marriage. 
 
 L 2
 
 148 LIFE OF WILLIAM Hl/TTON. [1790. 
 
 Since the death of my wife's mother, our 
 journeys to Aston were given up; we resolved 
 therefore upon one to Halsted, in Leicester- 
 shire, to visit her brother, which we found 
 agreeable in every respect but the weather. 
 
 1700. 
 
 The cruel asthma made slow but certain ir?- 
 roads upon my dear love. She was now un- 
 able to sit upon a horse. I resolved to indulge 
 her with a chariot. But how to accomplish it 
 was to be considered. I had no coach-house, 
 nor ground to erect one, for I had no land but 
 the garden in which my house stood. Several 
 of my neighbours could have accommodated 
 me, but none would. There is a pleasure in 
 seeing a man who cannot help himself; and a 
 pride in being able to assist, and in refusing 
 assistance. 
 
 I applied to a lady, '^ Madam, your land 
 *' which joins me is appropriated to no particu- 
 '"' lar use, I shall be obliged to you for a few 
 '^ yards, fix upon it what price you please, and 
 '' I will give it." " No." 
 
 I applied to another in the same humili- 
 ating strain. " Will you give me fifty pounds 
 • for the small field that joins you, about one
 
 1791.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 149 
 
 *' third of an acre ?" " I will." This sum 
 was then refused because more might probably 
 be got. A hundred was demanded, and I paid 
 ninety! Thus the necessity of one man be- 
 comes a temptation to another. Pride may in- 
 duce the Philosopher and the Divine to expatiate 
 upon the dignity and the excellency of man, 
 but we take advantage of each other. 
 
 The coach-house, carriage, horses, &c. cost 
 about 635 guineas. 
 
 1791. 
 
 The canal frenzy in Birmmgham was at its 
 height ; a scheme that may benefit the next 
 «:eneration and ruin this. The Worcester canal 
 was set on foot, which met with great opposi- 
 tion during two Sessions of Parliament. I was 
 solicited to go as an evidence ; made five jour- 
 neys ; was examined by both houses, and ho- 
 nourably paid. 
 
 In one of these journeys I treated my wife 
 and daughter. But w^e had not been many 
 hours in London before the former was almost 
 deprived of breath. We were alarmed, took 
 apartments in an airy part of Princes-street, 
 Hanover-square. She was no better. We then 
 removed to Hampstead. Our distress was in-
 
 150 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1791. 
 
 conceivable. We expected every hour to lose 
 her. The people of the house were frightened, 
 and wished us gone. With difficulty we car- 
 ried her into a post chaise. The pure air 
 seemed to revive her, and she was better for 
 the journey. 
 
 This year began prosperously, as many had 
 done before it. Trade was extended and suc- 
 cessful. 1 had for twelve years desisted from 
 buying land, and kept my money in business, 
 so that I had been able to draw out a consider- 
 able sum to improve my houses, and to buy 
 furniture, a carnage, &c. without feeling it. 
 My family loved me; were in harmony. I 
 enjoyed the amusements of the pen, the court, 
 and had no pressure upon the mind, but the 
 declining state of health of her I loved. But a 
 calamity awaited me I little suspected : the 
 Riots in 1791, which hurt my fortune, destroyed 
 nny peace, nearly overwhelmed me and my fa- 
 mily, and not only deprived us of every means 
 of restoring to health the best of women, but 
 shortened lier days. 
 
 I wrote a History of that most savage event 
 at the time, with a view of publication, but my 
 family would not sufier it to see the light. I 
 shall now transcribe with exactness the manu- 
 ?5crint copy.
 
 A NARRATIVE 
 
 OF THE 
 
 RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM, 
 
 July 14, 1791, 
 
 PARTICULARLY AS THEY AFFECTED THE AUTHOR.
 
 ( 153 ) 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 TO THE 
 
 LOVERS OF RIOT. 
 
 JNoNE can have a claim to these sheets prior 
 to yourselves^ who are in reality the Authors. 
 
 I congratulate you upon your refined taste 
 for pleasure. You not only enjoy your own 
 mental resources, if such exist, but those of 
 your neighbours. Happiness and misery are 
 like baubles in your hands. You, cannibal like, 
 devour others to feed yourselves; or, like the 
 destroying angel, scatter destruction without 
 the controul of human laws. 
 
 It is among the dark-coloured savages of the 
 earth that a breach of law appears first, and 
 punishment follows ; but you have the art of 
 reversing this rule of nature, and punishing 
 prior to the crime. Why should we wonder 
 that you kindled a number of fires in Birming- 
 ham, for she, salamander-like, has subsisted for 
 ages by fire. By you she has risen in the
 
 ( 154 ) 
 
 annals of fame higher even than ancient Rome, 
 for Rome had but one hero to rejoice over her 
 flaming buildings, while Birmingham had ten 
 thousand. You have discovered a conciser way 
 of acquiring property than by the antiquated 
 mode of industry. Yours is the right to take 
 what property you please, destroy the rest, and 
 laugh at the sufferer.
 
 ( 155 ) 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 1 HIS Narrative was, perhaps, the first ever 
 w^ritten upon the subject, and will be the last 
 published. It was fabricated w^ithin three 
 weeks of the event, when the heart was deeply 
 impressed with the sad and unmerited conse- 
 quences. I must have been a peaceable citizen. 
 No lawyer ever became rich by my quarrels ; 
 and many men must have been gainers by my 
 labour. Yet the severe treatment I met with 
 from the vulgar, was enough to make me ques- 
 tion whether I myself was not the offender who 
 had burnt the houses, and destroyed the pro- 
 perty of others. 
 
 While I exercised a power over a numerous 
 class of people in the Court of Requests, I en- 
 deavoured to use that power with mildness. In 
 matters of right all men are equal. No eleva- 
 tion can warrant one man to domineer over 
 another. I have, in the History of that Courts 
 told the public, that I considered the suitors as
 
 ( 15C ) 
 
 my children ; and when any of this vast family 
 looked up to me for peace and justice, I have 
 distributed both with pleasure. But how un- 
 equal are the returns of favour for service ! The 
 man in office, with half the attention I paid, 
 generally acquires a fortune, while my reward 
 was destruction ! In that tribunal where 1 
 treated others with kindness, and met with the 
 reverse in return, my heart acquits me of every 
 fault, except errors of judgment. These are 
 incidental to every man, and may originate 
 from misinformation. No Judge can try one 
 hundred causes without a defect : how then can 
 he try a hundred thousand ? For this were my 
 houses destroyed, my person insulted, and my 
 life threatened.
 
 ( 1-57 ) 
 
 NARRATIVE, &c. 
 
 This is my eighth appearance before the 
 world as an Author, but with this difference 
 from the former seven : they were subjects of 
 choice, this of necessity ; then I wrote from 
 the head, now from the heart. They were 
 pleasing subjects, but this is most melancholy. 
 In those I was only a looker on, but in this an 
 innocent sufferer. 
 
 I thought I had been acquainted with man. 
 But after fifty years' study, new scenes opened 
 which I had not beheld. It is easy to account 
 for that temper which prompts to plunder, 
 when the plunderer is a gainer ; but that man 
 should be a wholesale dealer in destruction, 
 without benefit to himself, is diabolical. He 
 can have no claim to the word liuman but his 
 shape. His savage fangs tore me to pieces, 
 and ploughed up that even path of contentment 
 which time cannot again make smooth.
 
 lo8 NARRATIVE Of THE [1/91. 
 
 Birmingham, though nearly without a go- 
 vernment, had continued in harmony during 
 the forty years of my residence. Religious and 
 political disputes were expiring, when, like a 
 smothered fire_, they burst forth with amazing 
 fury. I have, in the history of this place, ce- 
 lebrated the mild and peaceable demeanour of 
 the inhabitants, their industry, and hospitality ; 
 but I am extremely concerned that I am obliged 
 to soil the fair page with the black cinders of 
 their burnt buildings. A stranger would be 
 tempted to inquire, whether a few Bonners 
 were not risen from the dead to establish reli- 
 gion by the faggot ? or, whether the church was 
 composed of the dregs of the universe, formed 
 into a crusade r or, whether the friends of the 
 king were the destroyers of men ? In the dark 
 ages papist went against protestant, but in this 
 enlightened one it is protestant against protes- 
 tant. But why should I degrade the word 
 religion ? He who either prompts or acts such 
 horrid scenes, can have no religion of his own. 
 
 The delightful harmony of this populous 
 place seems to have been disturbed by five 
 occurrences. 
 
 A public library having been instituted upon 
 an extensive plan, some of the members at- 
 tempted to vote in Dr. Priestley's polemical
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 159 
 
 Works, to which the Clergy were averse. This 
 produced two parties, and its natural conse- 
 quence, animosity in both. Whether the gen- 
 tlemen of the black gown acted with policy is 
 doubtful, for truth never suffers by investi- 
 gation. 
 
 The next was an attempt to procure a repeal 
 of the Test Act, in which the Dissenters took 
 an active but a modest part. Ever well-wishers 
 to their country, the Dissenters were foremost 
 in the quarrel with Charles the First, but thev 
 only meant a reform of abuses. Matters, liow- 
 ever, were soon carried beyond their intention, 
 and they lost their power. They who brought 
 him into trouble, tried to bring him out. They 
 were afterwards the first to place his son 
 Charles the Second upon the throne, who re- 
 quited them evil for good. After suffering va- 
 rious insults from the house of Stuart, the Dis- 
 senters were materially instrumental in promo- 
 ting the Revolution, and upon this depended 
 the introduction of the Hanoverian line, which, 
 to a man, they favoured. In a thousand mobs, 
 in 1714, to oppose the new government, could 
 have been found no more Presbyterians than 
 in the Birmingham Jury who tried the rioters. 
 Nor was there one Presbyterian in the rebellion 
 the following year, nor in that of 174.5. lu
 
 l60 NARRATIVE OF THE [1791 • 
 
 both periods they armed in favour of the house 
 of Brunswick. Their loyalty has continued 
 unshaken to the present day, without their ever 
 having been disturbers of their country. They 
 concluded, therefore, that they had a right to 
 the privileges of other subjects. They meant 
 no more. Those who charge them with de- 
 signs either against Church or State, do not 
 know them. No accusation ought to be ad- 
 mitted without proof. Can that people be 
 charged with Republicanism, who have, in the 
 course of one hundred and thirty-two years, 
 placed five Sovereigns on the British Throne ? 
 As I was a member of that committee, I was 
 well acquainted with the proceedings, and will 
 repeat two expressions uttered at the board. 
 Mr. William Hunt remarked, " That he should 
 " be as strenuous in supporting the Church of 
 " England as his own." The whole company, 
 about twenty in number, acquiesced in the sen- 
 timent. This gentleman verifies his assertion, 
 by subscribing to more than one Church. I 
 myself remarked, " That what we requested 
 " was our right, as well as that of every subject ; 
 " we ought to recover it, but rather than involve 
 '' our country in dispute, we would resign it." 
 This also was echoed by the whole body. 
 These were all the Presbyterian plots either
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. l6l 
 
 against Church or King, I ever knew. Hence 
 it appears, the Presbyterians are as true friends 
 to both as any set of men whatever, except 
 those who hold church lands or court favours. 
 
 Controversy was a third cause. Some un- 
 charitable expressions falling from the Epis- 
 copal pulpits, involved Dr. Priestley in a dis- 
 pute with the Clergy. When acrimony is used 
 by two sides, the weakest only is blameable. 
 To dispute with the Doctor was deemed the 
 road to preferment. He had already made two 
 Bishops, and there were still several heads 
 which wanted mitres, and others who cast a 
 more humble eye upon tithes and glebe lands. 
 The Doctor on his part used some warm ex- 
 pressions, which his friends wished had been 
 omitted. These were placed in horrid lights ; 
 and here again the stronger side ever reserves 
 to itself the privilege of putting what construc- 
 tion it pleases upon the words of the weaker. 
 However, if the peace of society is broken, we 
 cannot but regret it, whatever be the cause. 
 
 The fourth occurrence was an inflammatory 
 hand-bill, which operated upon the mind, like 
 a pestilence upon the body. Wherever it 
 touched, it poisoned. Nothing could be more 
 unjust than charging this bill upon the Dissen- 
 ters, and, in consequence, dooming them to 
 
 M
 
 l62 NARRATIVE OF THE [l791. 
 
 destruction. It appears from its very contents 
 that it could not proceed from a body. If it 
 was fabricated by a Dissenter, is it right to pu- 
 nish the whole body with fire and plunder ? 
 This is visiting the sins of one man upon ano- 
 ther. An established maxim is, a man shall 
 only be accountable for his own. It might be 
 written by an incendiary of another profession, 
 to kindle a flame. Perhap?, the unthinking fell 
 upon the Dissenters, because they were vexed 
 they could not find the author. I have been 
 tempted to question whether he meant any 
 more than a squib to attract pubhc attention; 
 but it proved a dreadful one, which burnt our 
 houses *. 
 
 The fifth was a public dinner at the hotel, 
 to commemorate the anniversary of the French 
 revolution. This, abstractedly considered, was 
 an inoflTensive meeting. It only became an 
 error by being ill-timed. As the minds of men 
 were ruffled, it ought to have been omitted. 
 Though a man is justified in doing what is 
 right, it may not always be prudent. We may 
 rejoice with any society of men who were bound 
 and are set free ; but the French revolution is 
 
 '^ It appeared afterwards that it was fabricated in Lon- 
 don, brought to Birnningham, and that a few copies were 
 privately scattered under the table at an Inn.
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 16^ 
 
 more their concern than ours. I do not ap- 
 prove all its maxims, neither do I think it 
 firmly fixed. One of its measures however I 
 admire, that of establishing itself without the 
 axe and the halter, a practice scarcely known 
 in revolutions. Should a Prince and his people 
 diflTer, the chief passion it would excite in me, 
 would be a desire to make peace between them. 
 To our everlasting dishonour, more mischief 
 was done in the Birmingham riots, than in 
 overturning the whole French government *. 
 
 Perhaps a preconcerted plan was formed to 
 disturb the dinner. Many hints were dropped 
 which seem to confirm it. 
 
 * With all these occurrences, I beUeve the riots would 
 not have taken place, had it not been for two men of des- 
 perate fortunes, who probably expected a place or a pen- 
 sion ; a hungry Attorney, and a leading Justice. The iirst 
 succeeded, and was appointed Barrack Master. To patcli 
 up a shattered fortune he drew accommodation bills. He 
 became a bankrupt, i-uined many persons, died about the 
 year 1794 many thousand pounds in debt, and his corpse, 
 if I remember right, was arrested. I have been informed 
 that his effects paid eighteen-pence in the pound. 
 
 The Justice had succeeded to an estate of about ^.600 a 
 year. He soon became poor, and was often arrested. He 
 died a year or two after the Attorney, and in March IS 10, 
 his effects, in a first and final dividend, paid two-pence in 
 
 the pound. 
 
 M 2
 
 l64 NARRATIVE OF THE [1791. 
 
 It is surprising that men of a liberal educa- 
 tion should persevere in the antient mode of 
 quarrelling for religion. She no where autho- 
 rizes it. The Christian religion teaches meek- 
 ness. Every thing which differs from this rule 
 is unchristian. A man possessed of the least 
 reflection well knows it is impossible to bring 
 the human race into one mind, neither is it 
 worth the trial. Disputes, instead of convert- 
 ing the man to my sentiments, tend to con- 
 firm him in his own. They may widen a 
 breach, but never close one. Besides, it has 
 never yet been determined what true religion 
 is. It has varied in all ages. What was right 
 to-day, was wrong to-morrow. Synods and 
 Councils have been doing and undoing from 
 the edicts of Constantine down to the convoca- 
 tions of the clergy. 
 
 As the true religion has its foundation in no 
 fixed ideas, it follows that true religion is that 
 which a man chooses himself, and not that 
 which another chooses for him. Conscience 
 can bear no controul. Can law hold dominion 
 over the mind ? To force a religion upon a 
 man is an unjust exertion of power. What 
 man has a right to direct his fellow men in 
 their worship ? What imperious mortal shall 
 say to his Creator, " You shall have no incense
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. l65 
 
 " but what passes through my hands. I will 
 " hold the keys of Heaven, and admit or repel 
 " what offerings I please !" 
 
 Were I to give a confession of faith, I should 
 readily pronounce, that every religion upon 
 earth is right, and yet none are perfect, for per- 
 fection is not with us. Infinite wisdom has 
 appointed many ways to happiness. The road 
 a man takes is of less consequence than his 
 conduct in that road. The different modes of 
 conducting worship are only ceremonials, which 
 are, in themselves, indifferent. Every species 
 of religion tends to improve the man, other- 
 wise it is not religion. Should a Jew cheat 
 me, I have no right to charge it to his religion, 
 but to his ivant of religion: he must have fallen 
 short of its principles. If a Presbyterian is 
 accused of lying, he falls short of his profes- 
 sion. If a Churchman is accused of swearing, 
 he will find it difficult to justify himself by the 
 liturgy. Hence it follows, that I cannot blame 
 either the King or the Church, though my 
 houses were destroyed in those names, for it 
 was done by people who would have sold their 
 King for a jug of ale, and demolished the 
 Church for a bottle of gin. The few among 
 them who were instigators, better understood 
 thirty-nine bottles of wine than the thirty-nine
 
 l66 NARRATIVE OF THE [l79l' 
 
 articles. These are the weeds of the Church, 
 the tares among wheat. The real members of 
 the Church of England disdain every idea of 
 wanton cruelty. If one religion merits a pre- 
 ference to another, that preference ought to 
 arise from an extension of benevolence. This 
 character, I am told, belongs to the disciples of 
 the celebrated Emanuel Swedenborg, for they, 
 with open arms, enfold the ivhole human race, 
 and treat them as brethren. Upon this princi- 
 ple a doubt arises, whether our national esta- 
 blishment is a true Church, for she has been 
 unfriendly to the Dissenters in England, and 
 the slaves in America. She has now been sup- 
 ported by ten thousand " d n your bloods," 
 
 armed with bludgeons and lighted faggots ; she 
 therefore seems under the necessity of justify- 
 ing what these members have done, or disown- 
 ing them as brethren. Should they be found 
 to be ^^ fellow churchmen^'' the Church stands 
 in need of purging, for her constitution is foul. 
 I am, however, a firm friend to our present 
 establishment, notwithstanding her blemishes. 
 When I attend its worship, for I occasionally 
 do, I can sincerely join in the petitions for her 
 prosperity, and that of the king ; and in convi- 
 vial moments have no objection to drink both ; 
 but not that church which was bellowed out of
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. I67 
 
 ten thousand filt!iy mouths, and chalked in dis- 
 grace upon as many houses on the 14;th of July. 
 This must be proved a church, before 1 can 
 either pray for, or drink to, its success. 
 
 I never attempted to make a convert, nor 
 ever will for this reason : I consider every per- 
 son as possessed of the powers of free agency, 
 and an absolute rigiit to his own faith. If he 
 asks my sentiments, I have a right to give 
 them, but in no case to force his own ; neither 
 am I a slave to other men's creeds, forms, or 
 articles of faith, for though they may be drawn 
 from the sacred fountain, that fountain is open 
 to me, and I can draw for myself. 
 
 It appears from the above confession of faith, 
 that I am not only a Presbyterian, but a 
 Churchman, a Quaker, a Baptist, aTloman Ca- 
 tholic, a Muggletonian, nav all the religions in 
 the alphabet: in other words, I would have all 
 perfectly free, because, as I wish to be sup- 
 ported in my own worship, I am bound to sup- 
 port every njan in his. I never despised another 
 because he differed from me ; it was part of his 
 birth-right, and I think it an honour that 1 
 have friends of every persuasion. The late 
 worthy Mr. Newling, Rector of St. Philips, 
 courted my friendship, had it, has taken my 
 arm and sheltered it under his own, with this
 
 168 NARRATIVE OF THE [1791- 
 
 affecting remark, " Though we pursue different 
 " roads, we may meet at last." 
 
 It would be happy if a man could enjoy his 
 own opinions, and let another alone in his. 
 " The ardent desire of making proselytes," as I 
 have observed in the History of Derby, " has 
 " been the bane of the Christian world." How- 
 ever just might have been Dr. Priestley's senti- 
 ments, yet, had he not promulgated them on 
 one side, and party violence opposed them on 
 the other, perhaps the peace of my life had 
 never been wrecked in the dreadful tempest of 
 ninety-one, but I had continued upon an equal 
 footing with my fellow-townsmen. If the Doc- 
 tor chooses to furnish the world with candles, it 
 reflects a lustre upon himself, but there is no 
 necessity to oblige every man to carry one. It 
 is the privilege of an Englishman to walk in 
 darkness if he chuses. 
 
 The fatal 14th of July was now arrived, a 
 day that will mark Birmingham with disgrace 
 for ages to come> The laws had lost their pro- 
 tection, every security of the inhabitants was 
 given up, the black friends of hell were whistled 
 together, and let loose for unmerited destruc- 
 tion. She has reason to keep that anniversary 
 in sackcloth and ashes. About eighty per- 
 sons of various denominations dined together
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. l69 
 
 at the Hotel. During dinner, which was short, 
 perhaps from three to five o'clock, the infant 
 mob collected under the auspices of a few in 
 elevated life, began with hooting, crying Church 
 and King, and broke the Hotel windows. 
 
 All the endeavours to stop this violence were, 
 " Do not break Dudley's windows, he is a 
 " Churchman.'' The inference is plain, You 
 may break Presbyterian ivindows. A few of 
 our leading people have been reproached for 
 their behaviour, and I must confess in all their 
 vindications there is a fallacy. Their conduct 
 divides itself into two parts, that while the mob 
 were assembling, and that when assembled. 
 
 Only the latter of these is touched upon. 
 There is too much reason to believe the supe- 
 riors wished to raise the mob, and fatally suc- 
 ceeded, and I believe they afterwards wished to 
 lay it but could not. 
 
 Tumultuous crowds seldom rise of themselves, 
 except to redress a supposed grievance of their 
 own, as a scarcity of work, oppressive taxes, a 
 want of provisions, to prevent an inclosure, or 
 raise the price of labour. If therefore they do 
 not 7'ise, nothing is plainer than that they must 
 have been raised. The Church and King must 
 have been put into their mouths, for they know 
 but little of either. The fine arts of raising a
 
 170 NARRATIVE OF THE [1791. 
 
 mob are well understood, A smile, a glance, a 
 word, nay even the presence of a snperior not 
 in professed opposition will do the work. 
 Those trifles which are so far from criminating 
 that they can scarcely be reduced to words, are 
 well understood by a willing mob, and will 
 accomplish the end. When a body of insur* 
 gents rose at Nottingham to demolish the 
 mills because bread was scarce, one who com- 
 manded the mi!«chievous tribe, said with a sig- 
 nificant side-glance, " Do not meddle with Mr. 
 " Wyre's mill." The true meaning was well 
 understood, the mill was instantly destroyed, 
 and the abettor safe. Had a mob asked the 
 late John Wyrley, "If he would allow them 
 " to knock the powder out of Dr. Priestley's 
 " wig ?" would he have smiled assent ? When 
 a rabble, assembled for mischief, look up to 
 their superiors, is it prudent to say, " We will 
 " always be friends to the Birmingham lads."* 
 This is a laudable expression taken in a literal 
 sense; but its meaning was fraught with de- 
 struction. If a Reverend Divine should in- 
 fluence half Birmingham, and should be told, 
 " The mob are now destroying Dr. Priestley's 
 ^' house," would it be prudent to say, " that's 
 
 * This was said by the Magistrate mentioned in Note, 
 page 163.
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 171 
 
 " right?" These two small words are sufficient 
 to prove his private sentiments, and half this is 
 sufficient to tire a street. Perhaps this gentle- 
 man has a taste for antiquity ; and as burning 
 was the voice of the pulpit ages back, he may 
 not wish to alter it. 
 
 As Mr. ChilHngworth walked by the Hotel 
 early in the afternoon of the 14th, twenty or 
 thirty people were assembled, all quiet ; he 
 heard one of the town-beadles say to another: 
 " This will be such a day as we never saw." 
 " Why so ?" says Chillingworth. After repeated 
 inquiries, one of them replied, " The Gentle- 
 " men will not sutfier this treatment from the 
 " Presbyterians, tliey will be pissed on no lon- 
 " ger." The beadles could not make this re- 
 mark without having^ heard hostile expressions 
 fall from the Gentlemen, which proves a pre- 
 concerted plan. 
 
 Every political mob has an owner. That in 
 the reign of Richard the Second had Wat Ty- 
 ler. That under Henry the Sixth, Jack Cade. 
 Those in the reign of Queen Anne were com- 
 manded by Dr. Sacheverel and his subalterns. 
 Those under George the First by the Jacobites. 
 That in I78O, by Lord George Gordon ; and 
 this, I am sorry to say, by some of our yrinci- 
 pal inhabitants.
 
 172 NARRATIVE OF THE [1791. 
 
 It was now between eight and nine, the 
 numbers of the mob were increased, their spi- 
 rits were inflamed. Dr. Priestley was sought 
 for, but he had not dined at the Hotel. The 
 magistrates who had dined at the Swan, a 
 neighbouring tavern, by way of counterbalance 
 huzzaed Church and King, waving their hats, 
 which inspired fresh vigour into the mob, so 
 that they verily thought and often declared, 
 they acted with the approbation at least of the 
 -higher powers, and that what they did was 
 right. The windows of the hotel being broken, 
 a gentleman said*, " You have done mischief 
 " enough here, go to the meetings." A simple 
 remark, and almost without a precise meaning, 
 but it involved a dreadful combination of ideas. 
 There was no need to say, " Go and burn the 
 " Meetings." The mob marched down Bull- 
 street under the smiles of magistrates. It has 
 been said that these were compelled to echo 
 the cry of the multitude, but it is not wholly 
 true. While the insurgents were intoxicated 
 with liquor and power, and carried vengeance 
 where they pleased, it was necessary to say as 
 they said ; and many persons damned the 
 Presbyterians who were their real friends ; but 
 
 * This gentleman was the Attorney mentioned in Note, 
 page 163.
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 173 
 
 till the New Meeting was condemned, this was 
 far from being the case; every smile, word, or 
 huzza encouraged them. Had the same wish 
 existed to repress, as did to raise them^ no 
 mischief had ensued. 
 
 An enraged mob is one of the greatest cala- 
 mities under heaven. One would think Lord 
 George Gordon had taught a lesson that would 
 have lasted for ages ! This many-headed mon- 
 ster was designed to be let loose upon us as a 
 gentle scourge only ; but what man would play 
 with a candle amidst gun-powder, because he 
 thinks heismaster of the blaze ? If destruction is 
 the consequence, does it palliate the evil to say, 
 " he never meant it ?" Nor is his striving to ex- 
 tinguish the flame, when the conflagration is 
 beyond his power, an extenuation of his folly. 
 
 The New Meeting was broken open without 
 ceremony, the pews, cushions, books, and pul- 
 pit were dashed to pieces, and in half an hour 
 the whole was in a blaze, while the savage 
 multitude rejoiced at the view. 
 
 I am now come to the second part of my 
 narrative, and entirely agree with the magis- 
 trates, that it was not in their power, by per- 
 suasions, to quell the mob. But let me ask, 
 when the spirit of a vile banditti is raised into 
 fury, were they ever known to listen to persua-
 
 174 NARRATIVE OF THE [l791' 
 
 sion ? Every one can tell that nothing short of 
 fire-arms can effect the purpose. This was the 
 moment to arm the willing inhabitants, and 
 send express for a military force. 
 
 The Old Meetip.g was the next mark of the 
 mob. This underwent the fate of the New; 
 and liere again a system seems to have been 
 adopted, for the engines were suffered to play 
 u{)on the adjoining houses to prevent their tak- 
 ing tire, but not upon the Meeting-house, 
 which was levelled with the ground. 
 
 The mob then undertook a inarch of more 
 than a mile, to the house of Dr. Priestley, which 
 was plundered and burnt without mercy, the 
 doctor and his family barely escaping. Exclu- 
 sive of the furniture, a very large and valuable 
 library was destroyed, the collection of a long 
 and assiduous life. 
 
 But the greatest loss that Dr. Priestley sus- 
 tained, was in the destruction of his philoso- 
 phical apparatus, and his remarks. These can 
 never be replaced. I am inclined to think he 
 would not have destroyed his apparatus and 
 manuscripts for any sum of money that could 
 have been offered him. His love to man was 
 great, his usefulness greater. I have been in- 
 formed by the faculty that his experimental 
 discoveries on air, applied to medical purposes,
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 175 
 
 have preserved the lives of thousands ; and, in 
 return, he can scarcely preserve his own. 
 
 A clergyman attended this outrage, and was 
 charged with examining and even pocketing 
 the manuscripts. J think he paid the Doctor 
 a compliment, by shewing a regard for his 
 works. I will farther do him the justice to 
 believe he never meant to keep them, to in- 
 vade the Doctor's profession by turning philo- 
 sopher, or to sell them, though valuable; but 
 only to exchange them with the minister for 
 preferment. There may be fortitufle in dying 
 for treason, but there is more profit in getting 
 a living by it. 
 
 Breaking the windows of the hotel, burning 
 the two Meeting-houses, and Dr. Priestley's, 
 finished the dreadful work of Thursday night. 
 To all this I was a perfect stranger, for I had 
 left the town early in the evening, and slept in 
 the country. 
 
 When I arose the next morning, July 15, 
 my servant told me what had happened, I was 
 inclined to believe it only a report; but coming 
 to the town, I found it a melancholy truth, 
 and matters wore an unfavourable aspect, for 
 one mob cannot continue long unactive, and 
 there were two or three floating up and down, 
 seeking whom they might devour, though I was
 
 176 NARRATIVE OF THE [l?^^' 
 
 not under the least apprehension of danger to 
 myself. The affrighted inhabitants came in 
 bodies to ask my opinion. As the danger ad- 
 mitted of no delay, I gave this short answer, 
 " Apply to the magistrates, and request four 
 *• things : to swear in as many constables as 
 " are willing, and arm them. To apply to the 
 '^ commanding officer of the recruiting parties 
 " for his assistance. To apply to Lord Beau- 
 ^' champ to call out the militia in the neighbour- 
 " hood ; and to write to the Secretary at War 
 *' for a military force." What became of my 
 four hints is uncertain, but the result proved 
 they were lost. 
 
 Towards noon a body "of near a thousand at- 
 tacked the mansion of my friend John Ry- 
 land, Esq. at Easy hill. He was not at the 
 dinner. Every room was entered with eager- 
 ness ; but the cellar, in which were wines to 
 the amount of .^.300, with ferocity. Here 
 they regaled till the roof fell in with the 
 flames, and six or seven lost their lives. I was 
 surprised at this rude attack, for I considered 
 Mr. Ryland as a friend to the whole human 
 race. He had done more public business than 
 any other within my knowledge, and not only 
 without a reward, but without ^ fault. I 
 thought an obelisk ought rather to have been
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 177 
 
 raised to his own honour, than his house burnt 
 down to the disgrace of others. 
 
 About this time a person approached me in 
 tears, and told me '' my house was condemned 
 " to fall." As I had never, with design, of- 
 fended any man, nor heard any allegations 
 against my conduct, I could not credit the in- 
 formation. Being no man's enemy, I could 
 not believe I had an enemy myself. I thought 
 the people, who had known me forty years, 
 esteemed me too much to injure me. But I 
 drew from fair premises false conclusions. My 
 fellow sufferers had been guilty of one fault, 
 but I of two^ I was not only a Dissenter, but 
 an active Commissioner in the Court of Re- 
 quests. With regard to the first my sentiments 
 were never rigid. There seems to me as much 
 reason to allow for a difference of opinion, as of 
 face. Nature never desimied to make two 
 things alike. Whoever will take tlie trouble 
 to read my works, will neither find a persecu- 
 ting, disloyal, or republican thought. In the 
 office of Commissioner I studied the "ood of 
 others, not my own. Three points I ever kept 
 in view: to keep order, do justice tempered 
 with lenity, and compose differences. Armed 
 with power, I have put a period to thousands 
 of quarrels, have softened the rugged tempers 
 
 X
 
 17S NARRATIVE OF THE [l79I. 
 
 of devouring antagonists, and, without expenc^ 
 to themselves, sent them away friends. But 
 the fatal rock upon which I split was, / never 
 could find a way to let both parties win. If 
 ninety-nine were content, and ane was not, 
 that one would be more solicitous to injure me, 
 than the ninety-nine to serve me. 
 
 It never appeared when the military force 
 was sent for, but I believe about noon this day. 
 The express, however, did not arrive in London 
 till the next, at two in the afternoon. What 
 could occasion this insufferable neglect, or why 
 the Riot Act was omitted to be read sooner, I 
 leave to the magistrates. Many . solicitations 
 were made to the magistrates for assistance to 
 quell the mob, but the answer was, " Pacific 
 '^ measures are adopted.'' Capt. Archibald, 
 and Lieutenants Smith and Maxwell, of re- 
 cruiting parties, offered their service ; still the 
 same answer. A gentleman asked, if he might 
 arm his dependants ? " The hazard will be 
 •' yours." Again, whether he might carry a 
 brace of pistols in his own defence ? " If you 
 '' kill a man you must be responsible." 
 
 I'hus sentenced and tied, we were to suffer 
 destruction without remedy. Had the inhabit- 
 ants been suffered to arm, there were people 
 enough willing to oppose the rioters ; but every
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM, Ijg 
 
 degree of courage was extinguished, and an uni- 
 versal damp prevailed. The same timid spirit 
 operated as was found in the ancient Britons, 
 when they called in the Saxons. 
 
 About noon also some of my friends advised 
 ine " to take care of my goods, for my house 
 " must come down." I treated the advice as 
 ridiculous, and replied^ " That was their duty, 
 *' and the duty of every inhabitant, for my case 
 *' was theirs. 1 had only the power of an indi- 
 *' vidual. Besides, fifty waggons could not carry 
 '* off my stock in trade^ exclusive of the fur- 
 " niture of my house ; and if they could, where 
 ^' must I deposit it?" I sent, however, a small 
 quantitv of paper to a neighbour, who returned 
 it, and the whole afterwards fell a prey to 
 rapine. 
 
 All business was now at a stand. The shops 
 were shut. The tov^n prison, and that of the 
 Court of Request?, were thrown open, and tlieir 
 strength was added to that of tlieir deliverers. 
 Some sentlemen advised the insurgents assem- 
 bled in New Street to disperse ; when one, 
 whom I well knew, said, " Do not disperse, 
 *' they want to sell us. If you will pull down 
 " Hutton's house, I will give you two guineas 
 " to drink, for it was owing to him I lost a 
 
 N ^
 
 180 NARRATIVE OF THE [1791. 
 
 " cause in the Court." The bargain was in- 
 stantly struck, and my building fell. 
 
 About three o'clock they approached me. I 
 expostulated with them. " They would have 
 " money." I gave them all I had, even to a 
 single half-penny, which one of them had the 
 meanness to take. They wanted more, " nor 
 " would they submit to this treatment,'* and 
 began to break the windows, and attempted 
 the goods. I then borrowed all 1 instantly 
 could, which I gave them, and shook a hun- 
 dred hard and black hands. " We will have 
 '^^ some drink." " You shall have what you 
 *^ please if you will not injure me." I was then 
 seized by the collar on both sides, and hauled a 
 prisoner to a neighbouring public house, where, 
 in half an hour, I found an ale-score against 
 me of 329 gallons. 
 
 The affrighted magistrates were now sitting 
 at the Swan in Bull-street, swearing consta- 
 bles, whom they ordered to rendezvous in St. 
 Philip's Church-yard, " where they would 
 " meet them." Here the new-created officers, 
 armed with small sticks, waited with impa- 
 tience, but no magistrates came. They then 
 bent their course, without a leader, to New 
 Street, attacked the mob, which had been with 
 me, most furiously, and in a minute dispersed
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 181 
 
 it. As my house was in the utmost danger, 
 they ought to have staid to protect it, instead of 
 which, they went to guard Mr. Ryland's, nearly 
 burnt down. Here the mob came upon them 
 with double force, took their weapons, totally 
 routed them, maimed several, and killed Mr. 
 Thomas Ash win. 
 
 My son wishing to secure our premises, pur- 
 chased the favour of Rice, one of the leaders, who 
 promised to preserve his person and property, 
 and assured him that his men would implicitly 
 obey him. Hearing Mr. Taylor's house was in 
 danger, they marched to Bordsley, one mile, 
 to save it, but found another mob had begun to 
 rob and burn it. I could assign no more reason 
 why they attempted Mr. Taylor's property than 
 Mr, Ryland's. No man could cultivate peace 
 and social harmony more. His is the art of 
 doing good by stealth. Offence was never 
 charged against him; but, alas, he was a Dissen- 
 ter. The sons of plunder, and their abettors, 
 forgot that the prosperity of Birmingham was 
 owing to a Dissenter, father to the man whose 
 property they were destroying. He not only 
 supplied thousands of that class who were burn- 
 ing his son's house, with the means of bread, 
 but tauoht tiieir directors the roads to inven- 
 tion, industry, commerce, and affluence ; roads
 
 182 NARRATIVE OF THE [1791, 
 
 which no man trod before him. Nay, when 
 the Meeting- houses were fallen, and the Church 
 was falling, even this violent outrage itself was 
 quelled by the vigilance of a Dissenter, Captain 
 Polhill. 
 
 Rice and my son, being too late to render 
 any essential service to Mr. Taylor's premises, 
 returned to save our own. But meeting in 
 Di^beth some of our furniture, i?fce declared it 
 was too late ; that he could have hept off the 
 mob, but could not bring them off. Perhaps 
 the instant view of plunder had changed his 
 sentiments. Meeting a rogue near the Swan, 
 with a bundle of paper worth five pounds, Rice 
 damned him, and ordered him to lay it down. 
 Tlie rogue instantly obeyed. Rice sat upon it, 
 while my son requested a neighbour to take it 
 in, who refused. He then applied to a second, 
 but received the same answer, and was obliged 
 to leave Rice and the paper to secure his own 
 person. 
 
 Rice then joined the depredators in destroy- 
 ing my house and its contents, and the next 
 morning was one of the leaders in burning my 
 house at Bennett's Hill. These facts were 
 proved against him on his trial by the clearest 
 evidence, and yet an alibi was admitted from 
 one who swore he was then drinking a pot of
 
 i7'9l-] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 183 
 
 ale with a soldier at a public house; but, had 
 he sworn he was drinking with the man in the 
 moon, the oath would have been freely ad- 
 mitted. 
 
 In this man we behold a curious picture of 
 the human mind. He could not keep out of 
 action, thougli that action was mischief. Left 
 to himself he would quickly destroy property 
 without the least animosity to the owner, and, 
 for a few shillings, would save it without the 
 Jeast love. Had he been time enough to pre- 
 vent the mob, I have no doubt of his fidelity; 
 but as he was not, he could not refrain from 
 becoming a plunderer. 
 
 , About five this evening, Friday, I had re- 
 treated to my house at Bennett's Hill, where, 
 about three hours before, I had left my afl^icted 
 wife and daughter, and had seen a mob at Mr, 
 Tukes's house in my road. I found that my 
 people had applied to a neighbour to secure 
 some of our furniture, who refused : to a 
 second, who consented ; but another shrewdly 
 remarking that he would run a hazard of hav- 
 ing his own house burnt, a denial was the 
 consequence. A third request was made, but 
 cut short with a vo. The fourth man consented, 
 and we emptied the iiouse into his house and 
 barn. Before night, however, he caught the
 
 J84 NARRATIVE OF THE [1791' 
 
 terror of the neighbourhood, and ordered the 
 princi])al part of the furniture back, and we 
 were obhged to obey. 
 
 At midnia;ht I could see from my house the 
 flames of Bordsley Hall rise with dreadful 
 aspect. I learned that after I quitted Birming- 
 ham the mob attacked my house there three 
 times. My son bought them off repeatedly; but 
 in the fourth, which began about nine at night, 
 they laboured till eight the next morning, when 
 they had so completely ravaged my dwelling, 
 that I write this Narrative in a house without 
 furniture, without roof, door, chimney-piece, 
 window, or window-frame. During this in- 
 terval of eleven hours, a lighted candle was 
 brought four times, with intent to fire the 
 house, but, by some humane foot, was kicked 
 out. At my return I found a large heap of 
 shavings, chips, and faggots, covered with 
 about three hundred weight of coal, in an under 
 kitchen, ready for lighting. 
 
 The different pieces of furniture were hoisted 
 to the upper windows to complete their de- 
 struction ; and those pieces which survived the 
 fall, were dashed to atoms by three bludgeoners 
 stationed below for that service. Flushed with 
 this triumphant exercise of lawless power, the 
 words, ^' Down with the Court of Conscience !"
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 185 
 
 " No more ale scores to be paid/' were repeated. 
 A gentleman remarked to the grand slauo-h- 
 terers of my goods, " You'll be hanged as the 
 " rioters were in I78O." "O damn him," was 
 the reply, " He made me pay fifteen shillings 
 ** in the Court of Conscience.'' This remark 
 was probably true, for that diabolical charac- 
 ter which could employ itself in such base 
 work, was very likely to cheat another of fifteen 
 shillings, and I just as likely to prevent him. 
 
 Burning Mr. Ryland's house at Easy Hill, 
 Mr. Taylor's at Bordesly, and the destruction 
 of mine at Birmingham, were the work of 
 Friday the 15th. 
 
 Saturday the l6th was ushered in with fresh 
 calamities to myself. The triumphant mob, 
 at four in the morning, attacked my premises 
 at Bennett's Hill, and threw out the furniture 
 I had tried to save. It was consumed in three 
 fires, the marks of which remain, and the 
 house expired in one vast blaze. The women 
 were as alert as the men. One female, who 
 had stolen some of the property, carried it home 
 while the house was in flames; but returning, 
 saw the coach-house and stables unhurt, and 
 exclaimed with the decisive tone of an Amazon, 
 *' Damn the coach-house, is not that down 
 " yet ! We will not do our work by halves !"
 
 IS() NARRATIVE OF THE [1791. 
 
 She instantly brought a lighted faggot from the 
 building, set fire to the coach-house, and re- 
 duced the whole to ashes. 
 
 The beautiful and costly mansion of George 
 Humphrys, Esq. was the next victim. He 
 had prepared for a vigorous defence, and would 
 most certainly have been victorious, for he had 
 none but rank cowards to contend with, but 
 female fears overbalanced manly courage. One 
 pistol, charged with powder, sent them aw^ay ; 
 and though they returned in greater numbers, 
 one blunderbuss would have banished them for 
 ever. His house was sacked, and the internal 
 parts destroyed. 
 
 The next sacrifice was the house of William 
 Russell, Esq. at Showell Green. He had pre- 
 pared men, arms, ammunition, and a deter- 
 mined resolution for defence ; but, finding his 
 auxiliaries rotten, he gave up his house and its 
 contents to the flames. 
 
 The house of Thomas Russell, Esq., and that 
 of Mr. Hawkes at Moseley-Wake Green, were 
 the next attacked. They were plundered and 
 greatly injured, but not burnt. To be a Dis- 
 ^•enter was a crime not to be forgiven, but a 
 rich Dissenter merited the extreme of ven- 
 geance.
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 187 
 
 Moseley Hall, the property of John Taylor, 
 Esq. and inhabited by Lady Carhampton, mo- 
 ther to the Duchess of Cumberland, was not 
 to be missed. Neither the years of this lady, 
 beingblindwithage,norheralliancetotheCrown, 
 were able to protect it. She was ordered by 
 the mob to remove her furniture, and told, if 
 she wanted help, they would assist her ; but 
 that the mansion must not stand. She was 
 therefore, like Lot, hastened away before the 
 flames arose, but not by angels. 
 
 As riches could not save a man, neither 
 could poverty. The mob next fell upon a poor 
 but sensible Presbyterian parson, the Rev. John 
 Hobson, of Balsall Heath, and burnt his all. 
 
 From the house of Mr. Hobson, the intoxi- 
 cated crew proceeded to that of William Pid- 
 dick at King's Heath, inhabited by an inoffen- 
 sive blind man, John Harwood, a Baptist; and 
 this ended their work on Saturday the l6th, 
 in which were destroyed eight houses, exclu- 
 sive of Mr. Coates's, which was plundered and 
 damaged. 
 
 Some of the Nobility, Justices, and Gen- 
 tlemen arrived this day, sat in council, drank 
 their wine, harangued the mobs, wished them 
 to desist, told them what mischief they had 
 done, which they already knew ; and that they
 
 188 NARRATIVE OF THE [1791. 
 
 had done enough, which they did not beUeve ; 
 but not cne word of fire-arms, a fatal proof that 
 pacific measures were adopted. To tell a mob 
 " They have done enough," supposes that some- 
 thing outfit to have been done. A clear rati- 
 fication o^ part at least of their proceedings. 
 
 On this day some curious advertisements ap- 
 peared. I shall insert one or two for the das- 
 tardly spirit they exhibit ; another for its sin^ 
 gular composition, 
 
 " Friends and fellow Countrymen. 
 
 It is earnestly requested that every true friend 
 to the Church of England, and to the laws of 
 his country, will reflect how much a continu- 
 ance of the present proceedings must injure 
 that Church and that King they are intended 
 to support, and how highly unlawful it is to 
 destroy the rights and property of any of our 
 neighbours. And all true friends to the town 
 and trade of Birmingham, in particular, are in- 
 treated to forbear immediately from all riotous 
 and violent proceedings, dispersing and return- 
 ing peaceably to their callings, as the only way 
 to do credit to themselves and their cause, and 
 to promote the peace, happiness, and pros])erity 
 of this great and flourishing town."
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 189 
 
 " Important information to the Friends 
 of Church and King. 
 
 Friends and Brother Churchmen. 
 Being conscious you are unacquainted that 
 the great losses which are sustained by your 
 burning and destroying of the houses of so 
 many individuals, will eventually fall upon the 
 County at large, and not upon the persons to 
 wliom they belonged, we feel it our duty to 
 inform you, that the damage already done, 
 upon the best calculation that can be made, 
 will amount to upwards of one hundred thou- 
 sand pounds! the whole of which enormous 
 sum will be charged upon the respective pa- 
 rishes, and paid out of the rates. We there- 
 fore, as yowv friends^ conjure you immediately 
 to desist from the destruction of any more 
 houses, otherwise the very proceedings of your 
 zeal for shewing your attachment to your 
 Church and King, will eventually be the means 
 of most seriously injuring innumerable families, 
 who are hearty supporters of government, and 
 bring on an addition of taxes, which yourselves 
 and the rest of the j'r lends of the Church will 
 feel a very grievous burthen. This we assure 
 you was the case in London, when there were so 
 many houses and public buildings burnt and de- 
 stroyed in the year 1?^^? 'iiiJ you may rely upon
 
 190 NARRATIVE OF THE [1791. 
 
 it will be the case on the present oceasion. And 
 we must observe to you, that any farther vio- 
 lent proceedings will more offend your King 
 and Country, than serve the cause of him and 
 the Church. 
 
 Fellow Churchmen, as you love your Ring, 
 regard his laws, and restore peace. 
 
 GOD SAVE THE KING." 
 
 This humiliating address, signed by sixteen 
 gentlemen, disgraces the pages which record it. 
 It was no more likely to soften the breast of the 
 savages, than reflect honour upon the Authors. 
 What should we think of the folly of that 
 farmer who, while swarms of vermin were de- 
 stroying his property, should call ihemj'riends 
 and brothers, tell them sedately what mischief 
 they had done, and humbly i)etition them to 
 desist ! I know not the authors, nor shall I 
 ever inquire ; but as I am well assured that 
 many of the names crept in without the con- 
 sent of the owners, I will not subject them to 
 tlie public eye, 
 
 " Whereas some detestable villains, from the 
 most wicked motives to injure Mr. William 
 Windsor, a tenant of Mr. Brooke's at Ashsted, 
 have circulated a report, that Mr, Windsor's
 
 1/91.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. I9I 
 
 buildings at Ashsted belong to the Corporation 
 at Coventry. As such report is evidently in- 
 tended to incense the friends of Church and 
 King to destroy the property of the said W. 
 Windsor, Mr. Brooke, whose most hearty at- 
 tachment is well known to the real friends of 
 Church and King, begs leave to address them 
 with the most solemn assurance, upon the word 
 and honour of a Church and King's man, that 
 the Corporation of Coventry, nor any Presby- 
 terian, have any concern or interest whatever 
 in the buildings and property of the said W, 
 Windsor, at Ashsted, nor any of the buildings 
 of Mr. Brooke, or any other person at Ashsted. 
 But that upon all occasions for the City of Co- 
 ventry, where the said W. Windsor lived be- 
 fore he came to Ashsted, he uniformly voted 
 against the Corporation and Presbyterian in- 
 terest, and always supported the real true bluCj 
 which is the Church and King party. Mr. 
 Brooke therefore is convinced that this address 
 will be attended to by the gentlemen of the 
 Church and King parti/, and offers a reward 
 of ten guineas for the detection of the rascals 
 who gave rise to so false a report. 
 
 rHUR( H AND KING FOR EVJiR "
 
 lD2 NARRATIVE OF THE [1791. 
 
 Some have suspected that this address, which 
 deems every man a detestable villain who is un- 
 certain whether W. Windsor or the Corpora- 
 tion are interested at Ashsted, and which tells 
 us the friends of the Church are the destroyers 
 of property, issued from a Spit- fire club. I 
 shall convey this specimen of modern rhetoric 
 to the next generation. The figures being in 
 teal true blue, cannot fade. 1 should suspect 
 that William Windsor was a Presbyterian, 
 from the great pains taken to shelter his build- 
 ings under the Church, and convince the world 
 he is a Church-and- Kings man, and a real 
 True Blue. I have read of blue hospitals, 
 blue boys, and blue devils, but never of a blue 
 church, or a blue king. As, therefore, the 
 Church of England is not of that colour, he 
 cannot, by his own confession, be one of her 
 sons. The man who supports the real True 
 Blue, can only be he who wears a blue coat; 
 consequently, as the Dissenters are, at this mo- 
 ment, the most depressed people in the whole 
 Island, and as they wear blue indiscriminately 
 with other denominations of Christians, he un- 
 doubtedly meant to elevate them to the rank of 
 their fellow citizens : as such, he deserves a 
 Vote of Plate equally with " The Gentlemen 
 '' of the Church and King party."
 
 17^1.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. IQS 
 
 Dissentions died away, under the apprehen- 
 sion of common danger. Half the watch-word 
 of the mob, the Church, was afraid ; for many of 
 the estabhshment had been plundered, and 
 horror was painted in every face. They might 
 say with Moses in the Mount, " I exceedingly 
 " fear and quake." Nay, it appears from the 
 above advertisements, that those who professed 
 the most " attachment to Church and King" 
 trembled. 
 
 Inquiries were made every moment, " When 
 " will the military arrive to defend us ?" but 
 not one thought occurred of defending our- 
 selves. Such is the infatuation of the mind, 
 and such the consequence when mobs are 
 masters. 
 
 With regard to myself, I felt more resent- 
 ment than fear ; and would most willingly have 
 made one, even of a small number, to arm and 
 face them. My family, however, would not 
 suffer me to stay in Birmingham, and I was, 
 on Saturday morning the l6th, obliged to run 
 away like a thief, and hide myself from the 
 world. I had injured no man, and yet durst 
 not face man. I had spent a life in distributing 
 justice to others, and now wanted it myself. 
 However fond of home, and whatever were my 
 comforts there, I was obliged, with my family.
 
 19^^ KARRATIVE OF THE [1791' 
 
 to throw myself upou the world without money 
 in my pocket. 
 
 We stopped at Sutton Coldtield, and as we 
 had no abode, took apartments for the summer. 
 Here I fell into company with a clergyman, a 
 lawyer, a country 'squire, and two other per- 
 sons> who all lamented the proceedings at Bir- 
 mingham, perhaps through fear, they being in 
 its vicinity, and blamed Dr. Priestley as the 
 cause. I asked what he had done ? " He has 
 " written such letters ! Besides, what shame- 
 " ful healths were drunk at the Hotel." As I 
 was not at the dinner, I could not speak of the 
 healths ; but I replied, " If the Doctor, or any 
 " one else, had broken the laws of his country, 
 '^' those laws were open to punish him, but the 
 " present mode of revenge was detested even 
 *' by savages." We left our argument, as ar- 
 guments are usually left by disputants, where 
 we found it. 
 
 Things passed on till the evening, when the 
 mistress of the house was seized with the fashion- 
 able apprehensions of the day, and requested 
 us to depart, lest her house should be burnt. 
 We were obliged to pack up, which was done 
 in one minute, for we had only the clothes 
 which covered us, and roll on to Tamworth.
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIR^f^NGHA^t. 195 
 
 I asked the people at the Castle Inn whether 
 they knew me? They answered in the nega- 
 tive. I had now a most painful task to undergo. 
 " Though I have entered your house," said I, 
 *' as a common guest, lam a desolate wanderer, 
 " without money to pay, or property to pledge." 
 The man who had paid his hills during sixty- 
 eight years, must have been sensibly touched 
 to make this declaration. If he has feelings, it 
 will call them forth. Tlieir countenance fell 
 on hearing it. I farther told them I was known 
 to Mr. Robert Bage, a gentleman in the neigh- 
 bourhood, whom I would request to pay my 
 bill. My credit rose in proportion to the value 
 of the name mentioned. Myself, my wife, son, 
 and daughter, passed the night at the Castle at 
 Tarn worth. 
 
 We now enter upon Sunday the 17th. I 
 rose early, not from sleep, but from bed. The 
 lively sky, and bright sun, seemed to rejoice 
 the whole creation, and dispel every gloom but 
 mine. I could see through the eye of every 
 face, that serenity of mind which I had lost. 
 
 As the storm in Birmingham was too violent 
 to last, it seemed prudent to be near the j)lace, 
 that I might embrace the first opportunity of 
 protecting the wreck of a shattered fortune. 
 We moved to Castle Bromwicli. 
 
 0^2
 
 196 NARRATIVE OF THE [1791* 
 
 Ranting, roaring, drinking, burning, is a 
 life of too much rapidity for the human frame 
 to support. Our black sovereigns had now held 
 it nearly three days and nights, when nature 
 called for rest; and the bright morning dis- 
 played the fields, roads, and hedges, lined with 
 friends and brother Church-men, dead drunk. 
 There were, however, enough awake to kindle 
 new fires. On Sunday the 17th they bent their 
 course to Wharstock, a single house, inhabited 
 by Mr. Cox, and licensed for public worship, 
 which, after emptying the cellar, they burnt. 
 
 Penetrating one mile farther, they arrived 
 at Kingswood Meeting-house, which they laid 
 in ashes. This solitary place had fallen by the 
 hand of violence in the beginning of George 
 the First, for which a person of the name of 
 Dollax wdis executed, and from him it acquired 
 the name of St. Dollax, which it still bears. 
 He was the first person who suffered after pass- 
 ing the Riot Act. 
 
 Three hundred yards beyond, they arrived 
 at the parsonage house, which underwent the 
 same fate. 
 
 Perhaps they found the parish of King's 
 Norton too barren to support a mob in afflu- 
 ence ; for they returned towards Birmingham, 
 which, though dreadfully sacked, yet was better
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 197 
 
 furnished with money, strong Hquors, and va- 
 rious other property. King's Norton is an ex- 
 tensive manor belonging to the King, whose 
 name they were advancing upon the walls, 
 whose honour they were augmenting by burn- 
 ing three places of worship in his manor, and 
 by destroying nine houses, the property of his 
 peaceable tenants. 
 
 The Wednesbury colliers now assembled in 
 a body, and marched into Birmingham, to join 
 their brethren under Church and Kins : but 
 finding no mob in the town, they durst not 
 venture upon an attack, but retreated in disap- 
 pointment. As they could not, however, re- 
 turn with a safe conscience without mischief, 
 they attacked Mr. Male's house, at BelleVue, six 
 miles from the town ; but he, with that spirit 
 which ought to have animated us, beat them 
 off. 
 
 While I was hidden at Castle Bromwich, a 
 gentleman sent up his compliments and re- 
 quested admission. We appeared personal 
 strangers. He expressed a sorrow for my mis- 
 fortunes, and observed in the course of our 
 conversation, " That as I was obliged to leave 
 " home abruptly, and had uncertainty before 
 *' me, perhaps I was not supplied with a suffi- 
 " ciency of cash ; that he was returning from
 
 19^ NARRATIVE OF THE [179 !• 
 
 " a journey, and had not much left, but that 
 " what he and his servant had was at my ser- 
 " vice, and to-morrow he would send him with 
 " whatever sum I should name." Surprized at 
 so singular a kindness, which I could neither 
 merit nor expect, I requested the name of the 
 person to whom I was indebted for so benevo- 
 lent an act. He replied, " John Finch, banker 
 " of Dudley." Those generous traits of cha- 
 racter fictitiously ascribed to heroes of romance, 
 were realized in this gentleman. With sorrow 
 I read in the public papers, in December fol- 
 lowing, the death of this worthy man, whom 
 I never saw before or after. I could not refrain 
 from going to take a view of my house at Ben- 
 nett's Hill, above three miles distant from 
 Castle Bromwich. Upon Wash wood Heath I 
 met four waggons, loaded with Lady Carhamp- 
 ton's furniture, attended by a body of rioters, 
 with their usual arms, as protectors. I passed 
 through the midst cf them, was known, and 
 insulted, but kept a sullen silence. The stupid 
 dunces vociferated, " No popery ! Down with 
 ^^ the Pope!": forgetting that Presbyterians 
 were never remarkable for favouring the religion 
 of that potentate. In this instance, however, 
 they were ignorantly right ; for 1 consider my- 
 self a true friend to the Roman Catholics, and
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 199 
 
 to every peaceable profession, but not to the 
 spiritual power of any ; for this, instead of 
 liumanizing the mind^ and drawing the affec- 
 tions of one man towards another, has bound 
 the world in fetters, and set at variance those 
 who were friends. 
 
 I saw the ruins yet burning of that once 
 happy spot, which had, for many years, been 
 my calm retreat ; the scene of contemplation, 
 of domestic felicity ; the source of health and 
 contentment. Here I had consulted the dead, 
 and attempted to amuse the living. Here I 
 had exchanged the world for my little family. 
 
 Perhaps fifty people were enjoying them- 
 selves upon those ruins where I had possessed 
 an exclusive right, but I was now viewed as an 
 intruder. The prejudiced vulgar, who never 
 inquire into causes and effects, or the true state 
 of things, fix the idea of criminality upon the 
 man who is borne down by the crowd, and 
 every foot is elevated to kick him. My pre- 
 mises, laid open by ferocious authority, were 
 free to every trespasser, and I was the only 
 person who did not rejoice in the ruins. It 
 was not possible to retreat from that favourite 
 place without a gloom u})on the mind, which 
 was the result of ill-treatment, by power with- 
 out right. This excited a contempt of tliQ 
 world.
 
 iOO NARRATIVE OF THE [179 !• 
 
 Returning to Castle Bromwich, the same riot- 
 ers were at the door of the Inn, and I durst 
 not enter. Thus the man, who, for miscon- 
 duct, merited the halter, could face the world ; 
 and 1 who had not offended, was obliged to 
 skulk behind hedges. Night came on. The 
 inhabitants of the village surrounded me, and 
 seemed alarmed. They told me it was dange- 
 rous to stay among them, and advised me for 
 my own safety to retreat to Stonnal. Thus I 
 found it as difficult to procure an asylum for 
 myself, as, two days before, I had done for my 
 goods. I was avoided as a pestilence ; the waves 
 of sorrow rolled over me, and beat me down 
 with multiplied force ; every one came heavier 
 than the last. My children were distressed. 
 My wife, through long affliction, ready to quit 
 my own arms for those of death ; and I myself 
 reduced to the sad necessity of humbly begging 
 a draught of water at a cottage ! What a re- 
 verse of situation ! How thin the barriers be- 
 tween affluence and poverty ! By the smiles of 
 the inhabitants of Birmingham I acquired a for- 
 tune ; by an astonishing defect in our police I 
 lost it. In the morning of the 15th I was a 
 rich man ; in the evening I was ruined. At 
 ten at night on the 17th, I might have been 
 found leaning on a mile-stone upon Sutton
 
 179 !•] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 20i 
 
 Coldfield, without food, without a home, with- 
 out money, and, what is the last resort of the 
 wretched, without hope. What had I done to 
 merit this severe calamity ? Why did not I 
 stay at home, oppose the villains at my own 
 door, and sell my life at the dearest rate! 1 
 could have destroyed several before I had fallen 
 myself. This may be counted rash, but unme- 
 rited distress like mine could operate but two 
 ways ; a man must either sink under it, or be- 
 come desperate. 
 
 While surrounded by the gloom of night, 
 and the still greater gloom which oppressed 
 the mind, a person seemed to hover about me 
 who had evidently some design. Whether an 
 honest man or a knave gave me no concern ; 
 for I had nothing to lose but life, which I es- 
 teemed of little value. He approached nearer 
 with seeming diffidence. " Sir, is not your 
 " name Hutton ?" " Yes." " I have good 
 " news. The light-horse, some time ago, passed 
 " through Sutton, in their way to Birmingham." 
 As 1 had been treated with nine falsehoods for 
 one truth, I asked his authority. He replied, 
 " 1 saw them." This arrival I knew would put 
 a period to plunder. The inhabitants of Bir- 
 mingham received them with open arms, with 
 illuminations, and viewed them as their deli- 
 verers.
 
 C02 NARRATIVE OF THE [l791. 
 
 We left the mob towards evening on Sunday 
 the lytli returning from King's Norton. They 
 cast a glance upon the well-stored cellar, and 
 valuable plunder, of Edgbaston Hall, the resi- 
 dence of Dr. Withering, who perhaps never 
 heard a Presbyterian sermon, and yet is as ami- 
 able a character as he who has. Before their 
 work was completed, the words light-horse 
 sounded in their ears; when this formidable 
 banditti mouldered away, no soul knew how, 
 and not a shadow of it could be found. 
 
 Exclusive of the devastations above-menti- 
 oned, the rabble did numberless mischiefs. The 
 lower class among us, long inured io Jiie, had 
 now treated themselves with a full regale of 
 their favourite element. If their teachers are 
 faithful to their trust, they will present to their 
 idea another powerful flame in reversion. 
 
 The reader will pardon mc if I draw a par- 
 allel between the great Lord Mansfield and 
 myself. He fell by a lawless mob in I78O, and 
 I in 1791. He said in the House of Lords 
 what I, with sorrow, say out : " I speak and 
 *' write from memory, for, alas I my books are 
 *• destroyed, never to be replaced." 
 
 The self-created law-givers, however, (the 
 mob) conferred upon me a dreadful kindness ; 
 they did not crucify me among thieves, for my
 
 J.791.1 RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 203 
 
 fellow-sufferers are men of the most respectable 
 characters. 
 
 As the prosperity of Birmingham depends 
 upon its commerce, and the security of the in- 
 habitants, every obstacle raised against these 
 acts with multiplied force. It is therefore 
 sound policy to give encouragement to one, and 
 stability to the other. The ten persons, who 
 claim redress for their sufferings, are masters of 
 nearly a million sterling, all arising from the 
 manufactures of the place. This property could 
 not have been acquired without an honour and 
 improvement to the town, and a benefit to 
 every inhabitant. Three of the sufferers, who 
 are merchants, employ more than ten thousand 
 people. The punishment inflicted on indivi- 
 duals becomes a public detriment, by injuring 
 the place, and a private one by cutting off the 
 bread of the laborious class. 
 
 Next morning, Monday the 18th, I returned 
 to Birmingham, to be treated with the sad spec- 
 tacle of another house in ruins. Every part of 
 the mutilated building declared that the hand 
 of violence had been there. 
 
 My friends received me with joy ; and though 
 they had not fought for nie, thev had been 
 assiduous in securing some of my property, 
 which, I v/as told, '' had paved hall' the streets 
 in Birmingham,"
 
 204 NARRATIVE OF THE [1791 • 
 
 Seventeen of my friends offered me their 
 own houses ; sixteen of them were of the esta- 
 blished church, which indicates that I never 
 was a party man. Our cabinets being rifled, 
 papers against government were eagerly sought 
 after ; but the invidious seeker forgot that such 
 papers are not in use among the Dissenters. 
 Instead, however, of finding treasonable papers 
 in mine, they found one of my teeth wrapped 
 in writing paper, and inscribed, " This tooth 
 " was destroyed by a tough crust July 12, 1775, 
 " after a faithful service of more than fifty- 
 " years. I have only thirty-one left." The 
 prize was proclaimed the property of a King, 
 and was conducted into the London papers, 
 in which the world was told, " that the Anti- 
 " quaries had sustained an irreparable injury ; 
 " for one of the sufferers in the late riots had 
 " lost a tooth of Richard the Third, found in 
 " Bosworth Field, and valued at ^.300." 
 
 Some of the rioters absconded. A thousand 
 might have been taken, if taking had been the 
 fashion, but the taker had every obstacle to 
 encounter. As their crimes glared in the strong 
 light of the sun, or rather the fire, the actors 
 were generally known, and the proofs full. 
 Fifteen were committed. Their trials were a 
 mere farce, a joke upon justice, and truly
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 205 
 
 laughable. It is a common remark, that " a 
 *^ man will catch at a twig to save his life ;" but 
 here the culprit had no need to seek for a twig, 
 he might be saved by a straw, a thread, or even 
 by the string of a spider. Every assistance was 
 thrown out, and every one was able to bring 
 a rioter out of danger. 
 
 The Sohcitor of the Treasury was sent from 
 London to conduct the trials of the rioters. 
 He treated me with civility, and said, " If Mr. 
 " Ryland and I would go to his lodgings at 
 " Warwick next Sunday morning at ten, he 
 " would shew us a Hst of the Jurv, and we 
 " should select twelve names to our satisfac- 
 " tion." I thanked him, and took the journey 
 accordingly. Upon perusing the list, I was \ 
 surprized to find they had but one sentiment. 
 I returned the paper with an air of disappoint- 
 ment. " They are all of a sort," said I, " you 
 " may take which i/ou please." At that mo- 
 ment John Brooke, the true blue Church and 
 King's man, and the attorney employed against 
 the suflferers, entered, and as silently as if he 
 had listened behind the door. He had, no 
 doubt, fabricated the list. Wc instantly re- 
 treated. 
 
 Rices case has been mentioned. Another 
 was saved, because he went to serve the sufferer.
 
 206 NARRATIVE OF THE [iT^l* 
 
 Whenever the ofTender procured a character, 
 and one may be picked up in every street, he 
 was sure to be safe. The common Crier rang 
 his bell while Mr. Ryland's house was in flames, 
 to call on the mob ; but at the trial, " he did 
 " it to call them offy Another was charged 
 with " Pulling down and destroying" but as 
 the house was afterwards burnt, it was wisely 
 inferred, " he could neither pull down nor de- 
 ** stroy that which was burnt.'^ 
 
 It was proved against Hands, " That he 
 " tore up Mr. Ryland's floor and burnt it ;'* 
 but he got clear by another attesting that there 
 was no floor. Careless stole the pigs, which 
 every one believed, but he was acquitted by his 
 sister swearing that, " he drove them out to 
 " save them." IVathins escaped, because the 
 evidence could not tell the number of the 
 rioters. Four witnesses, perfectly clear and 
 consistent, accused fVhitehead, but he was 
 acquitted by the evidence of one only, James 
 Mould, who denied all they had said, and ob- 
 served, " That Whitehead did all he could to 
 '^ save my property." The real fact was, I 
 hired Mould, with nine others, to guard my 
 house at Bennett's Hill, on Friday night. 
 When the riots were over, he was the man who 
 informed against Whitehead as a ringleader.
 
 i791-] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 20/ 
 
 described his person, name, trade, and place of 
 abode ; consequently was the sole cause of his 
 being taken. If, however, he swore him into 
 danger, he was allowed to swear him out. 
 How the Court loohed, and how the Juvyjelt 
 when facts were set aside, and oaths and cha- 
 racters took their place, I leave to those who 
 were present to decide*. 
 
 To acquit the guilty, is declaring him inno- 
 cent in the face of the world, and is injurious 
 to society. If the law takes its course, and 
 there be found room for mercy, let it flow from 
 its proper fountain, the Crown. By the false 
 lenity of the court, villainy became triumphant. 
 \ Some of the sufferers' witnesses were injured in 
 their property, others personally abused, and 
 others threatened witli death. Nay even the 
 sufferers themselves were daily insulted in the 
 streets. Nor did the behaviour of the insur- 
 gents end here; every master who offended his 
 servant^ in reality offended his master^ and en- 
 dangered his house. 
 
 Thus order is inverted, we are making large 
 strides towards anarcliy, and are perfectly ripe 
 for another tumult. As the fishes cannot live 
 
 * A gentleman, soon after this, hunting with Mr.Coibrtl's 
 fox-hounds, was so snre of killing- the fox, tliat h(^ cried, 
 " Nothing but a Ijinuingham Jury can save hiui !"
 
 €08 NARRATIVE OF THE [l791« 
 
 out of their element, so no class of men can act 
 with propriety out of their sphere. 
 
 Three criminals were executed ; Cook for de- 
 stroying the house of Mr. Russell; Field for 
 that of Mr. Taylor ; and Green for Dr. Priest- 
 ley's. Mr. Russell would have solicited a par- 
 don for Cook, but found his character so noto* 
 riously bad, that there was no ground for his 
 plea. Those of Field and Green are better 
 known to others than myself; they were re- 
 presented as infernals let loose among men. 
 The world will be apt to draw this conclusion, 
 INone were executed for the Riots. 
 
 The laws of England carry the same level 
 hand to every description of men, a local 
 agreement subsists between the whole body of 
 laws, and every individual : they demand obe- 
 dience, and he protection. This agreement 
 Cannot be broken without some mismanage- 
 ment. As by the late convulsions in Birming- 
 ham, every man was put in fear, many were 
 plundered, some burnt, some ruined, others 
 obliged to fly, two lost their lives, and all this 
 without one breach of the law ; this question 
 naturally arises, is our Police upon a respectable 
 footing ? 
 
 Although the public are in possession of the 
 toasts drunk at the Hotel, I shall subjoin them.
 
 1791 RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. g09 
 
 tbat the people both in and out of Sutton may 
 judge how far they were shameful. The com- 
 pany, out of respect to monarchy, had procured 
 from an ingenious artist three figures, which 
 were placed upon the table. One, a fine me- 
 dallion of the king, encircled with glory, on his 
 right an emblematical figure, representing Bri- 
 tish Liberty ; on the left, another representing 
 Gallic Slavery breaking its chains. These inno-j 
 cent and loyal devices were ruinous ; for a spy,| 
 whom / well know, was sent into the room,! 
 and assured the people without, " That the Re- ■ 
 " volutionists had cut off the King's head, and 
 " placed it on the table." Thus a man, with a 
 keen belief, like one with a keen appetite, is " 
 able to swallow the grossest absurdities. 
 
 1. The King and Constitution. 
 
 ^. The National Assembly, and Patriots of 
 France, whose virtue and wisdom have raised 
 twenty-six millions from the meanest condition 
 of despotism, to the dignity and happiness of 
 freemen. 
 
 3. The Majesty of the People. 
 
 4. May the Constitution of France be ren- 
 dered perfect and perpetual. 
 
 5. May Great Britain, France, and Ireland, 
 unite in perpetual friendship ; and may their 
 
 p
 
 510 NARRATIVE OF THE [l79l. 
 
 only rival ship be, the extension of peace and 
 liberty, wisdom and virtue. 
 
 6. The rights of man. May all nations have 
 the wisdom to understand, and courage to 
 assert and defend them. 
 
 7. The true friends of the Constitution of 
 this country, who wish to preserve its spirit by 
 correcting its abuses. , 
 
 8. May the people of England never cease 
 to remonstrate till their parliament becomes a 
 true national representation. 
 
 9. The Prince of Wales. 
 
 10. The United States of America; may they 
 for ever enjoy the liberty which they so honour- 
 ably acquired. 
 
 1 1 . May the revolution in Poland prove the 
 harbinger of a more perfect system of liberty 
 extending to that great kingdom. 
 
 12. May the nations of Europe become so 
 enlightened as never more to be deluded into 
 savage wars by the ambition of their rulers. 
 
 13. May the sword never be unsheathed but 
 for the defence and liberty of our country ; and 
 then, may every one cast away the scabbard 
 till the people are safe and free. 
 
 14. To the glorious memory of Hampden, 
 Sidney, and other heroes of all ages and na- 
 tions, who have fought and bled for liberty.
 
 179 1-] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 211 
 
 15. To the memory of Dr. Price, and all 
 those illustrious sages who have enlightened 
 mankind in the true principles of civil society. 
 
 16. Peace and good will to all mankind. 
 17» Prosperity to the town of Birmingham. 
 18. A happy meeting to the friends of liberty 
 
 on the 14th of July 1792. 
 
 The sum total of the above toasts amounts to 
 this, a solicitude for the perfect freedom of 
 man, arising from a love to the species. If I 
 were required to explain the words Freedom 
 and Liberty in their full extent, I should an- 
 swer in these simple words, that each indivi- 
 dual think and act as he please, provided no 
 other is injured. 
 
 The military and security arriving, the run- 
 away sufferers returning, and every man in this 
 land of liberty having the free use of his tongue 
 and judgment, it was curious to observe the 
 difference of sentiment. TheDissenters, perhaps 
 to a man, were deeply affected with the melan- 
 choly event, as breaking that harmony which 
 had never been disturbed since the fiery days of 
 Sacheverell. The members of the Establish- 
 ment were divided into three classes : the first, 
 lamented the treatment offered to their neigh- 
 bours, assisted them in distress, wished a repa- 
 ration of their loss, and a re-establishment of 
 p 2.
 
 212 NARRATIVE OF THE [l79h 
 
 harmony. These are the mild, the peaceable, 
 and the real members of the Church of Eng- 
 land. I am willing to hope they are the most 
 numerous, although the mOst silent. The l^xt 
 class looked on with indifference, awhile our 
 houses were in flames, were rather pleased with 
 the novelty, and laughed at us when the scene 
 was over. Tlie thir^, at the head of whom 
 stood the bigoted part of the clergy, thought 
 our sufferings too mild, called them in the pul- 
 pit, " wholesome correction," and wished the 
 same tragedy acted again. These have but two 
 fears; one, lest church preferment should not fall 
 into their hands, and the other, the fear of death ; 
 for then the words of our Saviour may be ful- 
 filled : " With whatever measure ye mete, it 
 *' shall be measured to you again." 
 
 If I were asked the difference between a bigoted 
 and a moderate clergyman, I should explain 
 both in two instances. The Sunday subsequent 
 to the riots, a sermon was preached in one of 
 our Churches from the words of St. Paul, " Let 
 " every soul be obedient to the higher powers." 
 Here those absurd doctrines of the Stuarts, 
 passive obedience, and non-resistance, flamed 
 as warmly as our buildings had done a few days 
 before. Scarcely having a coat to my back, it 
 could not be expected 1 should attend this ser-
 
 1791.] RIOTS IN BIRMINGHAM. 213 
 
 mon. But a constant hearer declared, *' That 
 " he went to church with a happy disposition 
 " to improve by social worship ; but, had he 
 *' followed the dictates of the preacher, he must 
 *' have come back a ruffian.'' 
 
 In the evening, another clergyman took the 
 pulpit, and harangued from the words of the 
 same Apostle, " Let your moderation be known 
 " unto all men." And now the fatal doctrines 
 of the morning were hoisted over-board, and in 
 their stead was placed that mild and Christian 
 temper which ought to adorn every hearer,' 
 and be cultivated in every pulpit. 
 
 The Application to two Sermons. 
 Thus the good priest, to make men wise, 
 
 Employs his talents and his hours ; 
 While sycophants, who wish to rise, 
 
 Fawn, spaniel-like, on higher powers. 
 
 We have now taken a concise view of the 
 rise and progress of a species of punishment 
 inflicted on innocence, which would have been 
 insuflferable for the greatest enormities ; and 
 with a tear I record the sorrowful thought, 
 that there appeared afterwards no more repent- 
 ance on one side, than there had been faults on 
 the other. 
 
 End of the Narrative of the Riots of July 1791. 
 Written in Anifust that year.
 
 ( 2i4 ) 
 THE HISTORY 
 
 OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 1791 CONTINUED. 
 
 JriAviNG now no place of abode, I attempted 
 to hire a house at Ashsted, which Hes between 
 my two former habitations ; but Brooke, who 
 was the proprietor, refused to let it to me : 
 whether from the fear lest he should not be 
 able to protect his own house from the violence 
 of his own party, if occupied by a Dissenter, I 
 know not; but I believe it. After several other 
 fruitless applications, Richards, the master of 
 Vauxhall tavern and bowling-green, consented 
 to lodge and board my family at the hazard of 
 his own property. We stayed there till Christ- 
 mas, and found the utmost civility. 
 
 The cruel treatment I had met with totally 
 altered my sentiments of man. I had consi- 
 dered him as designed to assist and comfort his 
 species ; to reduce the rough propensities of his 
 nature, and to endeavour after perfection, though 
 he could not reach it. But the return I met
 
 1701.] LIFE OF WILLIAM BUTTON. 215 
 
 with for having sacrificed nearly two days a 
 week of my time, and no small portion of my 
 talents, to the gratuitous service of the public, 
 during nineteen years, convinced me that the 
 nature of the human species, like that of the 
 brute creation, is to destroy each other. 
 
 These considerations determined me to with- 
 draw from all public business, to spend the 
 imall remainder of existence with my little fa- 
 mily, and amuse myself with the book and the 
 pen. 
 
 It is curious to consider to what a vast extent 
 popular prejudice will run. Very few men 
 were more liberal in their religious and political 
 sentiments than myself, but now the slightest 
 actions of my life tended " to sap Government, 
 " and pull down the Church." As a deer, se- 
 lected from the herd to be run down, I was for- 
 bidden the society of man. Three or four 
 friends met me once a week to sup at Vauxhall. 
 We were charged with scheming against Go- 
 vernment. We were threatened with an attack, 
 and the house with being burnt. We were 
 obliged to desist. Even so lately as April I798, 
 as I passed at three in the morning through 
 Woodcock-lane, in my way to Mamble, to con- 
 sult with a tenant about the repairs of a house, 
 1 was accosted in the dark by three men, whom
 
 216 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1791 
 
 I did not know, but took for night strollers. 
 They asked whither I was going ? Not accus- 
 tomed to such a salutation, I replied, '•' Not 
 " far." I understood afterwards they were the 
 patrol. They knew me, and reported " That 
 " I was going to some Jacobin Club which 
 " was plotting against Government, and they 
 " had a good mind to have followed me." If 
 they had, I should have led them a dance of 
 twenty miles to breakfast at Kidderminster. 
 
 The fatal 14th of July, 1791, was by far the 
 most important era of my life. The tide of 
 existence was turned into another and a bitter 
 channel. A black cloud was raised over my 
 head, which the sun of prosperity can never 
 disperse. I entered Birmingham July 14, 1741, 
 as a runaway 'prentice, a forlorn traveller, with- 
 out money, friend, or home." And that day 50 
 years began those outrages, which, when a 
 wealthy inhabitant, drove me from it, and left 
 me in a more deplorable state of mind than at 
 the former period. 
 
 These events occasioned the disorder of Mrs. 
 Hutton to make rapid strides. We were 
 alarmed, and determined to take her to the Hot 
 Wells near Bristol. My daughter accompanied 
 her in the carriage, and this was the first jour- 
 ney in which my attendance was omitted, 
 owing to the confused state of my affairs.
 
 1792.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 217 
 
 During this interval, 1 purchased for ^.300 
 the little cottage which is near me at Bennett's- 
 hill, to hide our heads, while we rebuilt our own 
 house. We repaired and entered the cottage, 
 Dec. 18, quitting Vauxhall with gratitude for 
 the kind treatment we had met with there. 
 
 Two months prior to the riots, I had pub- 
 lished the History of Derby, price seven shil- 
 lings. 
 
 1792. 
 
 The sufferers at the riots were numerous, 
 and their situations various. The attack was 
 so suddehy and the case so uncommon, that 
 they wer^'as little acquainted with the mode of 
 proceeding, to obtain restitution, as with the 
 Act of Parliament by which they were to be 
 guided. Every sufferer had endeavoured to 
 save all the property he was able, but this 
 proved the worst method he could have pur- 
 sued. We supposed the reimbursement was 
 to equal the loss ; but the act, originally in- 
 tended to cover all, might be restricted to 
 what was destroyed within the building, and 
 what the rioters took out. Large quantities of 
 property removed by the owners, and after-
 
 !J18 XIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l792. 
 
 wards found and destroyed by the mob, were 
 lost. A poor reward for activity and expence \ 
 Some of the sufferers understanding this, de- 
 clined a suit ; and others declined it from the 
 cost of suing. 
 
 There is a latitude in the determination of a 
 Jury, to take in the whole damage, or narrow 
 it to a part. In the riots of 1780, the country 
 being favourable to the sufferers, the Jury re- 
 paired the whole of their losses. 
 
 It is inconceivable what trouble and anxiety 
 we underwent in preparing for the trials to re- 
 cover our lost property. Every obstacle of hu- 
 man invention was thrown in our way. I was 
 induced to wish I had given up my claim, and 
 lost all. 
 
 At the trials every insult was offered to the 
 sufferers that the malice of an enemy could 
 contrive. The two judges, Baron Thompson 
 and the Lord Chief Baron Eyre, were shocked 
 at the foul treatment ; and the latter remarked 
 that, " He had never, in his whole life, seen 
 " so much rancour and ill-blood." 
 
 I shall give the claim of every sufferer, and 
 the amount of the verdict. 
 
 My son's claim, being trifling, was allowed 
 without any deduction ; which was so contrary 
 to the feelings of the Jury, that one of them
 
 1792.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 2l$ 
 
 was heard to say to the foreman, after they had 
 returned into Court, " We must go out again ; 
 ** ypu have made a mistake ; you have given 
 *' the whole of the claim !" 
 
 Name. 
 
 John Taylor, Esq. 
 Thomas Russel, Esq. 
 William Piddock 
 John Harvvood 
 Thomas Hawkes 
 
 Cox 
 
 Parsonage House 
 
 H. Dollax 
 
 William Russel, Esq^. 
 
 John Ryland, Esq. 
 
 Old Meeting 
 
 Geo. Humphreys, Esq, 
 
 Dr. Priestley 
 
 Thos. Hutton (my son) 
 
 Wm, Hutton (myself) 
 
 Claim. 
 
 £. s. 
 12,670 9 
 
 285 11 
 
 556 15 
 
 143 12 
 
 304 3 
 
 336 13 
 
 267 14 11 
 
 198 8 9 
 1971 8 
 3240 8 
 1983 19 
 , 2152 13 
 3628 8 
 
 619 2 
 6736 3 
 
 Allowed. 
 
 ^. s. 
 9902 2 
 
 160 O 
 
 300 
 60 G 
 90 15 8 
 
 254 
 
 200 O 
 
 139 17 « 
 1600 
 ^495 11 6 
 1390 7 
 1855 11 
 2502 18 
 
 619 2 
 
 5390 17 
 
 ^.35,095 13 6 26,961 2 3 
 
 The loss of some of the sufferers, particularly 
 of Mr. Taylor, Dr. Priestley, and myself, was 
 considerably more than the claim. The real 
 loss of Mr. Taylor amounted to upwards of 
 ^.22,60(3 ; that of Dr. Priestley to upwards of 
 ^A/jOO ; and my own to ^.8,243. 3s. '2d,
 
 Q20 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [IJO^-Z. 
 
 exclusive of the loss I sustained by the inter- 
 ruption of my business, owing to my stock in 
 trade being chiefly demolished. The verdict of 
 some of the sufferers did not cover the expence 
 of the suit. My part of the expences of my 
 own trial amounted to ^.884. 15^. 9d. 
 
 The sum allowe-d was paid with as much re- 
 luctance as if the sufferers had destroyed their 
 own property. It was two years before we 
 received it ; and I am of opinion that we never 
 should have had it at all, but for the vigilance 
 of Lord Aylesford, and some of the county 
 gentlemen, who seemed determined that the 
 Hundred of Hemlingford should not lie under 
 the stigma of so vile a fraud. 
 
 As the beams of the sun create a number of 
 irksome flies, so my former success had raised 
 lip a worthless fellow to pursue the same trade. 
 Being now depressed, this man tried every me- 
 thod to ruin me, or to drive nie. Among others 
 he hired a paltry engraver, who had cheated 
 me of ten pounds, and was consequently my 
 enemy, to exhibit me in a caricature, to excite 
 the ridicule of the populace. 
 
 Another misfortune, but a far less, attended 
 me. One of my coach-horses was stolen, and 
 the other fell lame.
 
 1793.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. ^Ql 
 
 1793. 
 
 My dear wife grew worse, owing to the 
 prevalence of the disorder, and the frowns of 
 the world. 
 
 In September the money was paid by the 
 Hundred. A part of this I was resolved should 
 never enter the trade again, but be laid out in 
 land. And it soon appeared, through the de- 
 cline of trade, it would have been ill-em- 
 ployed. 
 
 Sept. 5, my son married ; and as I ever 
 thought it the duty of a father to bring forward 
 and aid his son, at Christmas I gave him the 
 trade, reserving the estates for my own use. 
 
 As I had spent a long life in activity, and 
 had observed many, who, having declined bu- 
 siness, seemed half lest, and had pined away 
 with inaction, 1 chose to assist my son gra- 
 tuitously, which he as gladly accepted as I 
 offered. 
 
 This year I r.-riused myself with writing 
 verses, and produced twenty-six poems, several 
 of which have been published.
 
 2?2 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [iTO-*- 
 
 1794. 
 
 My dear wife was in extreme pain ; choaked 
 up ; she could not breathe ; she wished to be 
 released. There is a degree of anguish to which 
 death is preferable. She felt that degree. We 
 thought her under the operations of death, and 
 the physician told us, March 8, that he believed 
 she could not continue above forty-eight hours. 
 He might be right in his conjecture, though 
 the event did not take place, for at the expira- 
 tion of that time she appeared to be in the con- 
 vulsions of death, and was every moment ex- 
 pected to breathe her last, when the door of her 
 chamber was forced open by the wind. The 
 noise rouzed her, and she gradually recovered, 
 so that she lived nearly two years after, though 
 in a state of great suffering, being unable to 
 bear her own weight, or lift up her hand ; and 
 what was much worse, unable to lie down. 
 
 April 24. The day was fine. We carried 
 her over to the new house. She seemed to be 
 entertained, and '* wished she might not return 
 " to the cottage." We took the hint, instantly 
 set about a removal, and accomplished it that 
 afternoon to her wish.
 
 1795.] LIFE or WILLIAM BUTTON. 223 
 
 The poetical productions this year were 
 eighteen. 
 
 1795. 
 
 If the body is unemployed it becomes the 
 nursery of disease. If the mind is unemployed 
 a languor commences, and the man becomes a 
 burthen to himself. Both were designed for 
 action. As I had done with public concerns, 
 which had engrossed much of my time and 
 thoughts, I was reduced to a circumscribed 
 circle ; something therefore must supply the 
 place. Walking and assisting my son, em- 
 ployed the body ; studying and writing, the 
 mind. 
 
 Oct. 1, I went into Herefordshire, in conse- 
 quence of an estate being advertised for sale, 
 which was likely to suit me. I rose early and 
 walked to Tenbury, thirty-eight miles. This 
 my friends considered as too large a step, but 
 /considered, that as Providence had favoured 
 me with limbs, it was but gratitude to use 
 them. These are human tools, which, like 
 files, may be worn out by hard labour ; or, 
 like them, may lie by till they become useless 
 with rust.
 
 224 LIFE OF WILLIAM hUtton. [1796. 
 
 Here within five miles of the estate, I might 
 probably learn some particulars concerning the 
 land ; for though common fame is the greatest 
 liar we know, yet, when uninterested, she will 
 often tell truth. 
 
 I conversed with the tenant, I applied to the 
 vendor, and I purchased the estate* 
 
 During this year Mrs. Hutton was extremely 
 ill. Not a moment's comfort through the 
 whole. All the time I could spare was devoted 
 to her assistance, and all, we both thought, 
 too little. It was now she uttered that endear- 
 ing expression mentioned in 1755, which I can 
 scarcely think upon without tears. 
 
 The amusements of a restless pen this year 
 were eleven poems* 
 
 1796. 
 
 My practice had long been to rise about five, 
 relieve the nurse of the night, by holding the 
 head of m}^ dear love in my hand, with the 
 elbow resting on the knee. At eight I walked 
 to business at Birmingham, where I stayed till 
 four, when I returned. I nursed her till eight, 
 amused myself with literary pursuits till ten, 
 and then went to rest.
 
 1796.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 225 
 
 Jan. 23, I had left her as usual with the 
 waker and my daughter, and had slept two 
 hours. The sitter-up called me gently. I 
 awoke in surprize. " Don't be frightened." 
 " Is she gone ?" " Yes.'^ She had departed 
 at half an hour past eleven. 
 
 I arose. My dear treasure, whom they were 
 preparing to undress, was laid upon the carpet. 
 Grief stops the pen. The scene is afiecting. I 
 am undergoing a second death. lean stop the 
 pen, but not the tear. 
 
 There were but three women in the world 
 who loved me. My sister, wife, and daughter. 
 I have lost two. How rarely do we find a 
 pure affection which springs from the heart, 
 and not only flows pure, but increases with 
 time. 
 
 My daughter, whose aflfection and sorrow^ 
 were equal to mine, lost her health. Her mo- 
 ther and she had been close and intimate friends. 
 This alarmed me. For her recovery we took a 
 journey in July to Barmouth in Wales, which 
 in some measure answered the purpose. The 
 excursion was but melancholy : we had lost a 
 dear companion, who had always been of the 
 party. 
 
 Favoured with a memory beyond most men, 
 I procured a book in qvuirto, divided, by ruling.
 
 296 LIFE OF WILLIAM BUTTON. [1797« 
 
 into 365 columns, according to the days of the 
 year, with the month and day to each ; and 
 endeavoured to recollect an anecdote, as insig- 
 nificant and remote as I was able, for every 
 day, rejecting all under ten years old. I began 
 March 9, 1796. When eight months were 
 elapsed, Nov. 9, I had covered all, except 21 
 days. I then gave up the pursuit, leaving the 
 rest to chance. I afterwards recollected eleven 
 more, and there now remain ten columns open. 
 Unhappy if my time was not filled up, and 
 as unwilling to do mischief, the year brought 
 forth nineteen poems. 
 
 1797. 
 
 My daughter lost her health when she lost 
 her mother. This, added to a cold caught by 
 keeping on wet clothes, brought her into an 
 alarming state. She had been six weeks under 
 the care of a physician, and had been daily 
 growing worse, which gave rise to another 
 journey into Wales, contrary to the advice of 
 every friend. But if she stayed at home death 
 seemed inevitable ; and if she went out, it could 
 not be worse. A bold venture might save her 
 life.
 
 1797-] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 227 
 
 We fixed upon Caernarvon, and set out 
 Aug. 5, as we had done the year before, on 
 horse-back, the servant riding before her, and 
 I single. She could barely sit upon the horse. 
 We slept at Wolverhampton. The next day 
 we dined at Shiffnal, where she was obliged to 
 repose three hours upon the bed. 
 
 She arrived at the Inn at Haggate, at the 
 foot of the Wrekin, eight miles farther, quite 
 exhausted. It was impossible to pursue our 
 journey. We called in Mr. Cartwright, an 
 apothecary of eminence at Wellington, who 
 seemed to understand her case, and told her, 
 what she already knew, that she had been 
 roughly treated by her physician. 
 
 The people at the Inn shewed us great civi- 
 lity. Here we concluded to stay, and see what 
 time and change of air would bring forth. I 
 left her a fortnight. On the 19th I returned; 
 and we pursued our march with some pleasure, 
 going one stage a day. 
 
 In October I went to conduct her back ; she 
 was amazingly recovered. 
 
 This year I purchased an estate in Hereford- 
 shire, adjoining that bought in 1795 : and this 
 year the Muse brought forth thirteen poems. 
 
 a 2
 
 228 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [179^, 
 
 1798. 
 
 Suppose an animal, a jackass for instance, 
 should eat, move, and sleep, during a whole 
 day, and every day the same, what author durst 
 write his life? His shaking, braying, and 
 browzing, would scarcely produce anecfJciesirf- 
 ficient for history. 
 
 This is exactly my case. If my actions were 
 observed round the day, the observer would 
 see nothing. And yet he would see as much, 
 should he watch me round the week. He 
 might as well write the progress of a clock. 
 
 I have now, July 24, passed through nine 
 months of my seventy-fifth year, without one 
 incident of moment. 
 
 As I cannot state what is to come, I must 
 stop here, after mentioning my poetical pro- 
 ductions of the present year, which are eight 
 in number ; and giving my religious and poli- 
 tical sentiments. 
 
 What pleasure the effusions of my fancy will 
 give the world is not tried, but I have had my 
 full share in their fabrication. They have a 
 moral tendency.
 
 I798i] LIFE OF WILLIAM BUTTON. ^?9 
 
 Religion and Politics are the two grand hinges 
 upon which human hfe turns. I can assure the 
 reader, that my sentiments on these two points 
 differ from most men's, perhaps from his own. 
 
 All denominations of religion, I apprehend, 
 ought to be free. Give freedom, and they will 
 never plot. A national church is general^ in 
 partnership with a state. They serve as crutches 
 to each other. This will be found an unna- 
 tural alliance, for they are very distinct things. 
 One is to set matters right in the next world, 
 the other to guide and protect in this. Reli- 
 gion is a meek and humble thing, it never 
 seeks after trappings, nor are they ever encou- 
 raged in the New Testament, which we accept 
 as the foundation of religious practice. Lands 
 appropriated to the Church are unnecessary : 
 they encourage idleness. Every congregation 
 ought to choose, and support its own pastor. 
 
 The whole of religion is comprized in two 
 words : a man's duty to the Supreme Beirjg, 
 and to man. Both are laid down in the Scrip- 
 tures. If it is thought presumption to interfere 
 between one man and another, what power 
 ought to controul the intercourse between a 
 man and his Maker ? 
 
 It has long been disputed, but never deter- 
 mined, whether monarchy, aristocracy, <ltn)o-
 
 230 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1798. 
 
 cracy, or a mixture, is the best mode of govern- 
 ment ? Perhaps that is best which is the best 
 executed, because most happiness will be the 
 result. All have been tried, and all have been 
 dismissed. 
 
 If we look into the history of the World, 
 we shall find that a new institution is tolerably 
 pure ; but, as time corrupts all things, it be- 
 comes burthensome by its degeneracy, and the 
 people try a change. This may set matters 
 right for awhile, time will derange that, and 
 then we fly to another. 
 
 Thus I have written the history of nearly 
 seventy-five years of my life ; and, what I have 
 hot seen in any other writer, have kept every 
 year distinct. Whether I shall continue to 
 make any further progress, or another shall lay 
 the cap-stone upon the building I have erected, 
 must be left to time. 
 
 Perhaps not one in a thousand of the human 
 race has been favoured with so long an exis- 
 tence; nor one in that number enjoyed the 
 health I have been favoured with ; nor one in 
 ten thousand enjoyed equally the benefits of 
 Providence, notwithstanding I felt most severely 
 the loss of my dearest friends, and fell under 
 the calamities of 1791.
 
 1798.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 231 
 
 I have lived to see one person an infant^, and 
 his son an old man ! Have observed about three 
 generations pass by, and five times the number 
 of the present human race sink into the grave ! 
 Perhaps not one in twenty of the now hving 
 remember the transactions of seventy-three 
 years, accompanied with precise dates. 
 
 When I consider that within my memory 
 the surface of the earth is totally altered, that 
 the old buildings upon that surface have disap- 
 peared, and the new become old, that the 
 former inhabitants have given way to the pre- 
 sent, whose opinions and manners are different, 
 I may say with Dr. Young, '^ This is not the 
 *^ world in which I was born." 
 
 Juii/ 24, 1798 *. 
 
 1798 CONTINUED. 
 
 Since I concluded the history of myself some 
 time has elapsed ; and I thought life would 
 probably roll on in silence to its ultimate pe- 
 riod, which cannot be far distant. I lost the 
 
 * My father began to write the Ibregoiiig History of Lis 
 family on the 8th of May, 1798 ; and he iinishcd his own 
 History at the above date, July the 24th, in the same year. 
 After this period he continued hib reniurkb annually. Kr .
 
 932 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l799. 
 
 pen * with which I wrote the whole Volume, 
 without suspecting that I should take up ano- 
 ther. But incidents arise which a man cannot 
 foresee, though none, except an hermit, can 
 be a more perfect recluse than myself. Walk- 
 ing, business, reading, and writing, generally 
 fill th^ day. 
 
 On the 17th September I walked forty-six 
 miles, ten the next day, and forty-two the 
 third. About two or three days afterwards I fell 
 lame in the internal part of the left heel, having 
 injured the tendon Achilles. 
 
 Thus I limped out of this year, and limped 
 into the next. 
 
 1799. 
 
 I tried a variety of applications for my heel, 
 without any apparent benefit. Not being able 
 to walk, I purchased a little horse, but instead 
 of curing the foot, he fell down and lamed 
 a hand. I tried Buxton, which amused at 
 least ; and I do not know whether Time was 
 not the most skilful surgeon. 
 
 * This pen was afterwards found, and is kept as a relic.
 
 1800.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 233 
 
 Being advised to try sea-bathing, I took a 
 journey to Caernarvon, but found no relish for 
 the sea, except so far as it pleased the eye. 
 
 During a stay of six weeks I traversed the 
 country daily, and saw a variety of curiosities. 
 I attended to men, manners, and occurrences ; 
 was highly delighted, and arranged my remarks^ 
 which I intend as a present to some bookseller, 
 should he judge them worthy of notice. 
 
 The pleasure of such a tour does not termi- 
 nate with the tour itself; for the mind, during 
 a long season, returns with avidity to the repast. 
 Nor is this all : the end of one journey opens 
 the prospect of another. Having tasted deli- 
 cious fruit, we long to taste it again. Besides, 
 go where we will, something is left unseen, or 
 not seen enough. The delight of the last jour- 
 ney gave rise to another the following year. 
 
 1800. 
 
 May the 1st I lost my brother, aged seventy- 
 eight. We had resided peaceably together 
 sixty-nine years, as I have recorded in the his- 
 tory of the family.
 
 234 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1800« 
 
 However secure a man may think he treads, 
 yet he may fall by unforeseen events, against 
 which prudence itself cannot guard. 
 
 While sitting in the shop with my son on 
 Friday, June 27, two men entered, followed 
 by about twelve others, all strangers, and asked 
 to " see the warehouses." 
 
 « Certainly." 
 
 " Your secret warehouses." 
 
 " We have no secret warehouses," answered 
 my son, with all the confidence of innocence. 
 One of the people was stationed at each door, 
 and each avenue ; while the remainder entered 
 every warehouse, thirteen in number, and every 
 room, closet, and recess in the house. They 
 seized and carried off all the boards for carding 
 buttons that they could find, damaged the 
 goods as much as they pleased, and seemed to 
 wanton in power. 
 
 They sent away eighteen cart-loads, to the 
 value of about five hundred pounds ; and were 
 so intent upon the work, that they would not 
 allow me time to take an account of the plun- 
 dered property. I could not forbear remarking 
 '^ That this was a second edition of rioting ;" 
 in which they, with much composure, ac- 
 quiesced.
 
 1800.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 235 
 
 " They gave us to understand that they were 
 " officers of Excise ; that they had an order 
 " from the Board to procure a warrant from the 
 " Justices, to seize all the button-boards, and 
 " paste-boards, they could find in Birming- 
 " ham ; that they had applied to my son first 
 " as the principal dealer ; that though the but- 
 " ton-boards were exempt from duty by the act, 
 *' yet that the Excise officers who surveyed the 
 " Lancashire mills, which had furnished the 
 " Birmingham market, would not suffer button- 
 *^ boards to be made, without charging them 
 " with the same duty as paste-board ; and this 
 " having totally destroyed their trade, the ma- 
 *' kers had complained to the Board of Excise, 
 " which had ordered this seizure to institute an 
 " inquiry." 
 
 Thus, without the least fault committed by 
 us, our characters were traduced, and we were 
 branded for rascals. 
 
 Two days after I received a hint " that ano- 
 '^ ther visit was intended us." We instantly 
 procured assistance, and removed all the boards 
 the officers had refused to take, to the amount 
 of six hundred pounds, into a neighbour's 
 house. 
 
 When two davs more had elapsed, we saw, 
 with the utmost astonishment, the same offi-
 
 936 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTOK. [l800< 
 
 cers surround the neighbour's house, and seize 
 this large deposit ! Nothing but sorrow stared 
 lis in the face. We had not acted amiss, yet 
 must be the victims of tyranny. We had now 
 more than eleven hundred pounds worth of 
 property fraudulently taken from us, and our 
 only prospect was, a loss of trade, and a de- 
 structive suit with the Crown. 
 
 We were given to understand, that a false 
 friend had lodged an information, in hopes of 
 a prize. I stated the ease, and the clauses of 
 the Act, in a letter to the Commissioners of 
 Excise. They were struck with astonishment, 
 and observed that, " It was improper to meddle 
 " with us, who were not makers." 
 
 Men in power have as much right to trifle, 
 as to act in an arbitrary manner. After a lapse 
 of three months, we were informed that we 
 might have all our property again, paying the 
 expences of seizure, which amounted to up- 
 wards of forty pounds. This was complied 
 with. 
 
 We durst not apply to justice for redress, 
 having too mighty a power to contend withl 
 
 Struck with the beauties of Caernarvon and 
 its environs, my daughter and J, attended by 
 the servant and horses, in the style of last year, 
 made a tour of six weeks. The journey was
 
 1801.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 237 
 
 delightful. I made remarks additional to my 
 last year's tour, which lies ready for somebody. 
 
 1801. 
 
 April the 14th, my brother Samuel died, 
 and, like my father and sister, at the age of 
 sixty-seven. I am now the only survivor of a 
 generation consisting of nine. 
 
 My year runs round like a boy who beats his 
 hoop round a circle, and with nearly the same 
 effect, that of a little exercise, 1 rise at six in 
 Summer, and seven in Winter; march to Birm- 
 ingham, two miles and a quarter, where my 
 son receives me with open arras. I return at 
 five, in one, and four in the other, when my 
 daughter receives me with a smile. I then 
 amuse myself with reading, conversation, or 
 study, without any pressure upon the mind, ex- 
 cept the melancholy remembrance of her I loved; 
 for although six years are nearly passed since I 
 lost her, yet her dear image adheres too closely 
 ever to be forgotten, even for one day. How 
 different my case from his who rejoices at no- 
 thing so much as the loss of a wife, except the 
 liberty of procuring another.
 
 S38 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON, [I8OL 
 
 I am now in my 79th year. I have only 
 two incidents to record; a journey, and the loss 
 of a friend. 
 
 In June 1800, some friends paid us a visit, 
 and agreed with my daughter to make a tour 
 to the Lakes in Cumberland, the following 
 June. They wished me to be of the party. 
 My consent was quickly obtained, for, having 
 many years had a strong inclination to see the 
 famous Roman Wall, which crosses the Island 
 of Britain from the German ocean to the Irish 
 sea, I embraced the plan ; because, while they 
 were engaged at the Lakes, I could take a trip 
 to my favourite object. The year winged 
 away in feasting upon a pleasure to come. 
 
 June arrived, when our friends declined the 
 tour, but we would not be disappointed. My 
 daughter was to mount behind her servant, 
 upon one of the horses, and I to walk on foot, 
 a mode of travelhng, which, of all others, I pre- 
 fer. Many arguments were spent upon me to 
 ride, but in vain. I comforted myself that, 
 being upon a stage coach road, I could be taken 
 up if unable to perform. We agreed not to 
 impede each other on the way, but to meet at 
 certain inns for refreshment and rest. 
 
 July 4, we set out, and continued together 
 till we came to. Penrith in Cumberland, when
 
 1801.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 239 
 
 my daughter turned to the left for the remain- 
 der of the Lakes, and I proceeded to CarHsle, 
 where the Wall runs. I went down to the 
 Irish sea, returned through Carlisle to New- 
 castle, marched to the IFalVs End, and back 
 again, through Newcastle to Carlisle, having 
 crossed the kingdom twice in one week and six 
 hours, melted with a July sun, and without a 
 drop of rain. 
 
 I then returned to Hest Bank, three miles 
 North of Lancaster, the place of rendezvous, 
 where I found my dear girl. From thence, by 
 easy marches, we arrived at Birmingham Aug. 7, 
 after a loss on my part of perhaps one stone of 
 animal weight by perspiration, a lapse of thirty- 
 five days, and a walk of 601 miles. My re- 
 marks upon this journey are now printing by 
 John Nichols, Esq. 
 
 As so long and singular a journey on foot 
 was, perhaps, never wantonly performed by a 
 man of 78, it excites the wonder of the town, 
 and causes me frequently to be stopped in the 
 street, to ascertain the fact. 
 
 The second occurrence was the loss of my 
 worthy friend Robert Bage, whom I had known 
 66 years, and with whom 1 had lived upon the 
 most intimate terms of friendship during 51 ; 
 a person of the most extraordinary parts, and
 
 240 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1802. 
 
 who has not left behind him a man of more 
 honour or generosity. I have lost my oldest 
 friend. He died September 1. Mr. Bage was 
 the Author of Mount Heneth, Barham Dotvns, 
 James Wallace, The Fair Syrian^ Man as he 
 is, and Man as he is not ; all much favoured 
 by the world. I wrote, by public desire, the 
 memoirs of his life, which were published in 
 the Monthly Magazine for December 1801, 
 
 1802. 
 
 In June, the History of the Roman Wall 
 was published in octavo, price seven shillings ; 
 and in October, I saw an extract of my life 
 appear in Phillips's Annual PuhlicCharacters* . 
 Twenty-two pages are employed to flatter my 
 vanity. My worthy friend Mr, Pratt, the cele- 
 brated Gleaner, had a prior idea of writing my 
 life, and had procured materials. He requested 
 my daughter to furnish him with any minute 
 incidents which occurred in our journey to the 
 Lakes and the Wall. I shall transcribe her 
 answer. 
 
 * Sir Richard Phillips's account of my father was ex- 
 tracted from the History of his Life, and is given frequently 
 in his own words. My father lent the manuscript to a per- 
 son employed by Sir Richard. Y.u,
 
 1802.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 241 
 
 To Samuel Jackson Pratt, Esq. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Our Summer excursion in 1801, was ardently 
 wished for by both. My father's object was to 
 see the Roman Wall; mine, the Lakes of Cum- 
 berland and Westmoreland. We talked it over 
 by our fire-side every evening the preceding win- 
 ter. He always insisted upon setting out on foot, 
 and performing as much of the journey as he 
 should be able in the same manner. I made 
 little objection to his plan, reserving myself for 
 a grand attack at last. 
 
 When the time drew near, I represented to 
 my father that it was impossible he should walk 
 the whole way, though I agreed with him that 
 he could walk a considerable part; the only dif- 
 ference between us was, whether he should ride 
 to prevent mischief, or after mischief vi as done. 
 I besought him with tears to go as far as Liver- 
 pool in a carriage, and walk afterwards, as he 
 might find it expedient; but he was inflexible. 
 All I could obtain was a promise that he would 
 take care of himself. 
 
 I rode on a pillion behind the servant, and 
 our mode of travelling was this : my father in- 
 formed himself at a night how he could get out 
 of the house the next morning, before the ser- 
 vants were stirring. He rose at four o'clock, 
 
 R
 
 242 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1802. 
 
 walked to the end of the next stage, breakfasted, 
 and waited for me. I set out at seven, and 
 when I arrived at the same inn, breakfasted 
 also. When my father had rested two hours, 
 he set off again. When my horse had fed 
 properly, I followed, passed my father on the 
 road, arrived before him at the next inn, and 
 bespoke dinner and beds. 
 
 My father was so careful not to be put out of 
 his regular pace, that he would not allow me to 
 walk by his side, either on foot, or on horse- 
 back, not even through a town. The only 
 time I ever did walk with him, was through 
 the streets of Warrington, and then, of my own 
 accord, I kept a little behind, that I might not 
 influence his step. He chose that pace which 
 was the least exertion to him, and never varied 
 it. It looked like a saunter, but it was steady, 
 and got over the ground at the rate of full two 
 miles and a half in an hour. 
 
 When the horse, on which I rode, saw my 
 father before him, he neighed, though at the 
 distance of a quarter of a mile, and the servant 
 had some trouble to hold him in. He once 
 laid the reins upon his neck, and he trotted di- 
 rectly up to my father, then stopped, and laid 
 his head on his shoulder.
 
 1809.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 243 
 
 My father delivered all his money to me be- 
 fore we left home, reserving only a few pieces 
 of loose coin, in case he should want on the 
 road. I paid all bills, and he had nothing to 
 do but walk out of an inn when he found him- 
 self sufficiently refreshed. 
 
 My father was such an enthusiast with regard 
 to the fVall, that he turned neither to the 
 right nor the left, except to gratify me with a 
 sight of Liverpool. Winander Mere he saw, 
 and Ullswater he saw, because they lay under 
 his feet, but nothing could detain him from his 
 grand object. 
 
 When we had reached Penrith, we took a 
 melancholy breakfast and parted, with a tear 
 half suppressed on my father's side, and tears, 
 not to be suppressed, on mine. He continued 
 his way to Carlisle, I turned Westward for 
 Keswick. After a few days' stay there, I went 
 back to Hest Bank, a small sea-bathing place 
 near Lancaster, where we had appointed to 
 meet. 
 
 While I remained at Hest Bank, I received 
 two scraps of paper, torn from my father's 
 pocket-book ; the first, dated from Carlisle 
 July 20, in which he told me he was sound in 
 body, shoe, and stocking, and had just risen 
 from a lodging among fleas. The second, from 
 
 R 2
 
 244 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1802. 
 
 Newcastle, July 93, when he informed me he 
 had been at the Wall's end ; that the weather 
 was so hot he was obliged to repose under hedges, 
 and that the country was infested w ith thieves. 
 But lest I should be under any apprehensions 
 for his personal safety, he added, they were 
 only such as demolished his idol, 7'he Wall, 
 by stealing the stones of which it was composed. 
 
 On the fifth morning after my arrival at 
 Hest Bank, before I was up, I heard my father 
 hem ! on the stairs. I answered by cahing out 
 Father! which directed him to my room, and a 
 most joyful meeting ensued. He continued 
 here four days, wondered at, and respected by 
 the company. We set out on our return home 
 in the same manner as before, and reached it 
 in safety. 
 
 During the whole journey, I watched my fa- 
 ther with a jealous eye. The first symptom of 
 fatigue I observed was at Budworth in Cheshire, 
 after he had lost his way, and been six hours 
 upon his legs, first in deep sands, and then on 
 pavement road. At Liverpool his spirits were 
 good, but I thought his voice rather weaker. 
 At Prestou he first said he was tired ; but hav- 
 ing walked eleven miles farther to Garstang, he 
 found himself recovered, and never after, to 
 the best of my remembrance, uttered the least
 
 1802.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 245 
 
 complaint. He usually came into an inn in 
 high spirits, ate a hearty meal, grew sleepy after 
 it, and in two hours was rested. His appetite 
 never forsook him. He regarded strong liquors 
 with abhorrence. Porter he drank when he 
 could get it : ale and spirits never. He mixed his 
 wine with water, but considered water alone as 
 the most refreshing beverage. 
 
 On our return, walking through Ashton, a 
 village in Lancashire, a dog flew at my father 
 and bit his leg, making a wound about the size 
 of a sixpence. I found him sitting in the inn 
 at Newton, where we had appointed to break- 
 fast, deploring the accident, and dreading its 
 consequences. 1 hey were to be dreaded. The 
 leg had yet a hundred miles to walk in extreme 
 hot weather. I comforted my father. '' Now," 
 said I, " you will reap the fruit of your tem- 
 " perance. You have put no strong liquors or 
 " high sauces into your leg ; you eat but when 
 " you are hungry, and drink but when you are 
 " thirsty, and this will enable your leg to carry 
 ^' you home." The event shewed I was right. 
 The wound was sore, and the leg round it was 
 inflamed, as every leg under such circumstances 
 must be, but it never was very troublesome, nor 
 ever indulged with ^ plaster.
 
 246 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1802. 
 
 From the time we parted at Penrith, till we 
 reached home, the weather was intensely hot. 
 My father frequently walked with his waistcoat 
 unbuttoned, and the perspiration was so exces- 
 sive, that I have even felt his coat damp on the 
 outside from the moisture within ; his bulk 
 visibly diminished every day. When we arrived 
 at Wolsley bridge, on our return, I was ter- 
 ribly alarmed at this, and thanked God he had 
 but one day more to walk. When we had got 
 within four days of our journey, I could no 
 longer restrain my father. We made forced 
 marches, and if we had had a little farther to 
 go, the foot would fairly have knocked up the 
 horse ! The pace he went did not even fatigue 
 his shoes. He walked the whole six hundred 
 miles in one pair, and scarcely made a hole in 
 his stockings. 
 
 I am J Dear Sir, 
 
 Your very sincere friend and 
 obedient servant, 
 
 Catherine Hutton. 
 
 Thus, while I give a faithful history of our 
 journey, my daughter gives as faithful a one of 
 myself. 
 
 Poets have often drawn a happy life in their 
 wishes, and painters in the delineation of their 
 pictures; but, by the complaints of individuals,
 
 1802.] LIFE OF WILLIAM BUTTON. 247 
 
 we should be apt to conclude that happiness is 
 only to be found in the pen and the pencil! 
 The truth is, we groan under the cloud, and 
 forget the blight day. Happiness is more in 
 our own power than we apprehend. Like a 
 shy nymph, she must be courted, may be won, 
 is soon offended, and then disappears. 
 
 What is a happy life ? 
 
 Suppose a man endeavours after health, and 
 his endeavours are blessed with such success 
 that, by a proper use of his animal powers, he 
 can, at fourscore, walk thirty miles a day. 
 Suppose him, by assiduity and temperance, to 
 have obtained a coinplete independence, that he 
 can reside in a house to his wish, with a garden 
 for use and amusement, is blessed with a son 
 and a daughter of the most affectionate kind, 
 who attentively watch his little wants with a 
 view to supply them : add as an appendage to 
 this little family a pair of old and faithful 
 horses, who are strangers to the lash, and whose 
 value increases with their years. Still add to a 
 taste for reading, the benefits arising from a 
 library of choice Authors. Would you pro- 
 nounce this a happy man 9 That man is my- 
 self. Though my morning was lowering, my 
 evening is sunshine.
 
 24S LIFE or WILLIAM HUTTON. [1802. 
 
 A DAY. 
 
 To Dr. Withering, who inquired 
 Hoxt) I spent my Time. 
 
 So much one day is like another, 
 It might be taken for its brother. 
 
 At six o'clock I raise my head, 
 Toss the warm covering off my bed. 
 Dress, and, if thoughts sprang in the night. 
 Distinguish them in black and white; 
 Survey the skies with half a scowl. 
 And prophecy if fair or foul. 
 Then to my Girl I softly creep. 
 To steal a kiss whilst fast asleep ; 
 For when the foot but lightly moves. 
 We stand a chance to win the gloves. 
 
 My hat put on, I quit my door. 
 Set out to walk two miles or more ; 
 Animal povvVs now set a-going, 
 The mental powers sets a-flowing. 
 They orderly begin to chime, , 
 Ending in measure tipp'd with rhyme. 
 
 At Birmingham I meet my Boy, 
 And never met him without joy ; 
 For life to melancholy tends. 
 If 'tis not ciieer'd by valued friends. 
 Nay, if to solitude we give. 
 We scarcely can be said to live.
 
 ISOS.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 249 
 
 Thoughts of the pen I now lay by, 
 On paper only cast an eye. 
 
 My glasses, newspapers, and I, late, 
 Enter the parlour to be private. 
 " Let's see what statesmen are contriving, 
 " How the politic nags they 're driving." 
 But how can I men's actions view, 
 Who know so little what they do ? 
 
 My joyous breakfast come at last in, 
 I relish like a ploughman fasting ; 
 i Chat with all comers on each head, 
 But after all there's nothing said. 
 The servant finishes debates, 
 Opens with, " Sir, the dinner waits." 
 Who would not enter with all his heart. 
 To taste plumb-pudding, tart, dessert ? 
 Let me with these sweet dishes join. 
 And you, my friend, may take sirloin. 
 
 Nought now remains (the floor well trod). 
 But warm m}^ shins or take a nod ; 
 Till gloves are on, hat o'er the eye, 
 ** 'Tis striking five, and so good bye.'* 
 
 The bulky town recedes from view, 
 I meet with bows, and " How d'ye do?" 
 The rain and I each other chase, 
 We're often found in close embrace. 
 Though fair without and pure within, 
 I like her not to touch my skin. 
 When Aston steeple strikes my eye, 
 It steals for her I lov'd a sigh.
 
 S50 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1802. 
 
 An intercourse, now lost, I mourn, 
 How to forget I ne'er can learn. 
 
 One mile walk'd o'er, the traveller sees 
 My little cot peep through the trees. 
 Dear cot ! in which I ever fiod, 
 That best of blessings, peace of mind ; 
 Which ne'er gave anxious thought or sigh, 
 Until the fourteenth of July ; 
 When laid in ashes by ill men, 
 But, phoenix like, thou rose again. 
 
 Hid from the world, from care, from din, 
 I cast a pleasing look within. * i 
 
 There I, with truth it may be said. 
 Write for the living, wake the dead ; 
 Converse with those who liv'd of yore. 
 And feed on what they fed before. 
 Transactions at command appear. 
 Bringing to view each distant year. 
 
 Now, in heroic verse, I'll state, 
 How, as I enter through my gate. 
 Old Cerberus bounces from his bed. 
 Not grac'd with three, but with one, head; 
 Bullies, in thund'ring strains, about, 
 Resolv'd to keep invaders out : 
 But the discov'ring who I am. 
 Converts the monster to the lamb. 
 He greets me with that mouth and eye, 
 Rais'd, the past moment, to destroy ; 
 Makes his tremendous jaws expand. 
 And gently leads me by the hand.
 
 i 
 
 1802.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 251 
 
 Severity might give him blows, 
 Humanity the pat bestows. 
 
 The birds my little grove retain, 
 Welcome me with their pleasing strain. 
 In gratitude they sitig their best, 
 Because they hold a peaceful nest ; 
 For neither nest nor bird has been 
 Disturb'd, since first my grove was seen: 
 A place, perhaps, by right divine, 
 As much their freehold as 'tis mine; 
 And, as we both are now possessors, 
 Both may bequeath it our successors. 
 Nor shall it in the frost be said, 
 I e'er withheld a crumb of bread. 
 
 My pair of greys the Muse engage, 
 They, in my service, see old age. 
 They hear my voice, they make no stand, 
 But take the bread from master's hand ; 
 Perceiving an exhausted store, 
 They follow me in quest of more. 
 I turn, which their slow footstep checks, 
 " So, my poor lads !" and pat their necks. 
 They never knew a treatment harsh, 
 Strangers to want, as to the lash. 
 
 I meet my servants growing old, 
 But never meet them with a scold. 
 My equals in an eye divine, 
 Why not m}' equals then in mine ? 
 
 Puss cocks her tail, begins to crawl, 
 And rubs her side aijainst the wall.
 
 % 
 
 252 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1802. 
 
 She ne^er in all her life has spoke, 
 
 Or she would say, *' Give me a stroak." 
 
 But what that pleasure can surpass, 
 When my Girl sees me through the glass. 
 Rises to meet me, while her joy 
 Takes full possession of her eye ? 
 Whatever comfort age can find. 
 Lies in the storehouse of her mind. 
 
 Now garden, converse, book, or pen. 
 Tea, supper, music, please till ten ; 
 Wheii the bell rings, to " bring a light," 
 I rise and burrow for the nic^ht. 
 
 o 
 
 Of blessings can I wish for more?' 
 They amply satisfy fourscore: 
 And I enjo}', others partaking, 
 A little heav'n of my own making*. 
 
 Nov. 20, i 802. 
 
 Last year I treated the reader, or rather my- 
 self, with an unfashionable journey on foot, 
 while my carriage slept in the coach-house, 
 and my horses grazed in the field. From walk- 
 ing being" so disgraceful, we should conclude that 
 feet were not made for conveyance ; that there 
 was a pride in being unable to walk, and that 
 pride was hurt if caught in the act. 
 
 * These verses have been published in the Volume of 
 Poems, but, at my Father's particular ret^uest, they are 
 inserted here. Eo.
 
 1802.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. ^53 
 
 I now consented, however, to take our an- 
 nual excursion in the usual mode, in a visit to 
 Derby, Matlock, Leicester, aqd Fotheringay. 
 We commenced our tour June 19, stopped at 
 Derby to view the scenes of my childish adven- 
 tures, and ruminate on transactions, none of 
 which bore a shorter date than sixty-seven years. 
 Here memory had her full scope in examining 
 ten different places of my residence, and those 
 of my ancestors for a hundred and fifty 3'^ears. 
 I was a stranger at home. T knew no soul ; 
 not a soul knew me. The generation to which 
 I was once united was orone. 
 
 o 
 
 After two days stay we drove to Keddleston, 
 were admitted on sending in my name into that 
 scene of wonder, the Hall. Every thing was 
 grand and expensive, and every thing new ex- 
 cept the books and the plate. The Park is 
 most beautiful, and the oaks of a magnitude 
 seldom seen. Lord Scarsdale, I was told, had 
 been offered one hundred pounds each, for nine 
 trees, and seventy pounds each for thirty. 
 Perhaps some of the trees are as old as the fa- 
 mily, which came over with William the Con- 
 queror. I perfectly remember the old hos- 
 pitable hall in my infancy, and the owner 
 in his.
 
 S54 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [180^. 
 
 We arrived at Matlock, which, though I had 
 before visited, I had not seen. The man of 
 taste will be delighted with the variegated walks 
 and scenes. Mr. Arkwright's improvement 
 of the rocks is most charming, and is only- 
 equalled by his kindness in exhibiting them to 
 the public eye. 
 
 On the side of a Hill called the Heights of 
 Abraham, is a favourite serpentine walk of 
 about half a mile, where the prospect varies at 
 every turn, and is always pleasing. A spacious 
 alcove accommodates the wanderer, in which 
 I paid the following tribute : 
 
 The fools write on, the fools blot out, 
 Some with a pencil, some a clout. 
 Scribblers, refrain your idle talk, 
 And thank the owner for this walk ; 
 For should the want of health appear. 
 Who seeks that gem may find it here. 
 
 Some amusement may be drawii from the 
 various characters assembled at a public table. 
 In one man we could observe a silent hearer, 
 though not wanting in intellect. In another, 
 a harmless head upon the shoulders of a law- 
 yer. Another had acquired the gout, and a 
 thousand a year, by the sale of tobacco ; yet had 
 not forgotten the important value of a shilling. 
 A fourth, an officer just returned from killing
 
 1802.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. Q55 
 
 the French, now attempted to kill the ladies, 
 but perhaps succeeded in neither. In one lady 
 we saw nothing charming but the outside of 
 her face. In another, the inestimable treasures 
 of good sense, prudence, and temper, within. 
 In a third, a Venus of Medicis tipsy. The 
 Clergy are sometimes charged with an unsocial 
 behaviour, with keeping at a distance, preserv- 
 ing the rust of the College, and not suffering 
 lis to approach so near as to rub it off. During 
 a fortnight's stay at Matlock, we were favoured 
 with the company of six Sons of the Church 
 who reversed this charge, for they were all 
 open and friendly. In one might be observed 
 the extreme of modesty. In another, good 
 judgment, with now and then an oath. A third 
 was a jolly soul, contented with his glass and 
 his poverty. A fourth united riches, civility, 
 and dignity. Another never uttered a sentence 
 of his own, but followed his leader ; yet pos- 
 sessed one of the best hearts that ever filled a 
 human breast. The sixth was a buck of the 
 first magnitude, whether in person, song, glass, 
 or joke; but all were good-natured. One evil 
 attends a watering-place, we contract friendships 
 which are shipwrecked in a day. 
 
 An inhabitant of Matlock has, by the labour 
 of seventeen years, added another wonder to
 
 ^6 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l802. 
 
 the place, by penetrating a rock in the hill 
 called Proud Masson, which, opening from 
 cave to cave, leads the traveller tliree or four 
 hundred yards, with the sparry lustres shining 
 by his candle. He has named it Cumberland- 
 cave. Admittance one shilling. 
 
 But the greatest wonder I saw was Phebe 
 Brown. She is five feet six inches in height, is 
 about thirty, well-proportioned, round-faced 
 and ruddy, has a dark penetrating eye, which, 
 the moment it fixes upon your face, sees your 
 character, and that with precision. Her step 
 (pardon the Irishism) is more manly than a 
 man's, and can cover forty miles a day. Her 
 common dress is a man's hat, coat, with a 
 spencer over it, and men's shoes. As she is 
 Wrt-married, I believe she is a stranger to 
 breeches. 
 
 She can lift one hundred weight in each 
 hand, and carry fourteen score ; can sew, knit, 
 cook, and spin, but hates tliem all ; and every 
 accompaniment to the female character, that 
 of modesty excepted. A gentleman at the 
 new bath had recently treated her rudely, 
 " She had a good mind to have knocked him 
 " down." Slie assured me, " she never knew 
 " what fear was." She gives no affront, but 
 oflTcrs to fight any man who gives her one. If
 
 1802.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 9.5^* 
 
 she never has fought, perhaps it is owing to the 
 insulter having been a coward, for the man of 
 courage would disdain to offer an insult to a 
 female. 
 
 Phebe has strong feense, an excellent judg- 
 ment, says smart things, and supports an easy 
 freedom in all companies. Her voice is more 
 than masculine, it is deep-toned. With the 
 wind in her favour she can send it a mile. She 
 has neither beard nor prominence of breast. She 
 undertakes any kind of manual labour, as hold- 
 ing the plough, driving a team, thatching the 
 barn, using the flail, &c. ; but her chief avoca- 
 tion is breaking horses, for which she charges 
 a guinea a week each. She always rides with- 
 out a saddle, is thought to be the best judge of 
 a horse or cow in the country, and is frequently 
 employed to purchase for others at the neigh- 
 bouring fairs. 
 
 She is fond of Milton, Pope, and Shake- 
 speare, also of music, is self-taught, and per- 
 forms on several instruments, as the flute, vio- 
 lin, harpsichord, and supports the bass-viol 
 in Matlock church. She is a vs\-dx\'&- woman ^ 
 and carries the gun on her shoulder. She eats 
 no beef or pork, and but little mutton. Her 
 chief food is milk, which is also her drink, dis- 
 carding wine, ale, and spirits. 
 
 s
 
 258 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1802. 
 
 Curious to see the burying-place of the great- 
 est subject that ever lived in England, Cardinat 
 fVblsey, nay, he who even governed the most 
 absolute king, Henry the Vlllth, we drove to 
 Leicester. Great part of the front of the Abbey 
 is standing, and discovers the vestiges of former 
 grandeur; but I sought in vain for the Chapel. 
 Could I have found that, I could have found 
 the Chancel, which, no doubt, was the place 
 of Wolsey's interment. Tradition pointed out 
 the spot, but on this I could not rely. 
 
 I had, during many years, an ardent desire 
 to see Fotheringay ; a place celebrated in all 
 our histories, as the depository of two Princes, 
 the birth-place of a King, and the scene of the 
 murder of a Queen. 
 
 Visiting a friend in this tour, twelve miles 
 north of Leicester, and being only twenty-eight 
 from the favourite spot, I determined to walk 
 thither, though every j)erson I consulted, as- 
 sured me there was nothing to be seen. Ap- 
 proaching the place, 1 thought the steeple one 
 of the handsomest I had remarked. In the 
 Chancel, at the Communion-table, are the mo- 
 numents of the two Princes opposite each other, 
 exactly alike, of stone of a fine texture, painted 
 white. Both were erected by Queen Elizabeth 
 in 1573. On the right is that of the second
 
 1802.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 2.59 
 
 Edward, Duke of York, grandson to Edward 
 the Third, and great uncle to Henry the Fifth. 
 He resided at this Castle, was killed at the bat- 
 tle of Agincourt, and interred in a religious 
 house here, founded by his father, and endowed 
 by himself. Here he rested till Henry the Eighth 
 destroyed the house ; when his remains lay 
 neglected forty years, till deposited under his 
 monument at the above date. 
 
 On our left, and facing the other monument, 
 is that of Richard, Duke of York, and Cicely 
 his wife. He was nephew to the above Duke, 
 and father of Edward the Fourth ; was killed 
 at the battle of Wakefield in 1460, in figliting 
 for a crown which he ought to have enjoyed 
 without fighting. This is a lesson to kingS; 
 never to violate the rules of justice; for the quar- 
 rel between the Roses totally destroyed the 
 family of Henry the Fourth, who was the ag- 
 gressor. It is also a lesson to subjects, to let 
 contending kings fight their own battles; for 
 this cruel contest ruined one hundred thousand 
 families ! 
 
 An old inhabitant of Fotheringay assured me, 
 that he had seen a written agreement between 
 the Duke of York and an Architect, in which 
 the latter was to erect a church for three hun- 
 
 s2
 
 260 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1802. 
 
 dred pounds, the Duke finding materials ; but 
 he was killed before the work was completed. 
 
 In the pulpit are the royal arms carved in 
 wood, which my guide told me were those of 
 Richard the Third, who perhaps put a finishing 
 hand to the church. The pulpit is as old as 
 the building, and on each side of the sup- 
 porters was a boar, Richard's crest : one of 
 these is still perfect. He was born in the 
 Castle in 1452. His character I have deline- 
 ated in the Battle of Bosworth Field. 
 
 I saw the place where the Castle had stood, 
 adjoining the village. It is about eight acres, 
 upon a flat, of an oblong form, and remarkably 
 strong, but there is not one stone left upon 
 another, and yet I had all the satisfaction I 
 wished. The trenches are wide, deep, and 
 nearly perfect. Tlie river Nen washes one side, 
 and fills the other three. The whol area is 
 in grass, a farm-house and a few nettles ex- 
 cepted. With the soil thrown out to form the 
 trenches is composed a conical hill, whose 
 round base perhaps covers an acre. This rises 
 twenty yards, and terminates in a flat, thirty 
 yards in diameter. On this flat, in the centre, 
 has stood a tower, circular as the hill, which 
 covered a diameter of fifteen yards ; and this 
 tower was surrounded by about eighteen tur-
 
 1802.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. S6l 
 
 rets, which stood upon the verge of the mound. 
 Fifteen of their foundations I counted. 
 
 At the foot of this artificial hill stood the 
 Castle. The people of the country have stocked 
 up the stones to the very foundation for build- 
 ing and the roads ; and left the trenches so 
 complete, that the various rooms may be dis- 
 covered. Exclusive of many apartments for 
 private use, I could particularize three state 
 rooms ; in one of these, no doubt, Kichard the 
 Third was born. 
 
 The Great-Hall, in which the unfortunate 
 Mar}', Oueen of Scots, was beheaded in 1587? 
 appeared very conspicuous. It is tliirty yards 
 by twenty-four, and had two entrances. I 
 sought for the benches on which sat her 
 thirty-six insulting Judges; r»nd the scaffold, 
 raised two feet high, at the upper end of the 
 Hall, where she suffered, but could find no 
 traces of either. 
 
 What will unprejudiced posterity say of Eli- 
 zabeth, when they are told that Mary in distress 
 fled to her for protection, upon a promise of 
 safety ; but, instead of finding an hospitable 
 reception, was, through a mean jealousy, kept 
 a prisoner eighteen years, and then destroyed ? 
 Every sham plot laid to her charge ended in a 
 vapour, except that of plotting for her own
 
 S62 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1805'. 
 
 liberty, of which none had a right to deprive 
 her. Perhaps no scheme was ever carried on 
 with more deceit than that of her destruction. 
 If her son, James the First, was not an actor 
 in this base tragedy, he was pleased with the 
 piece and the performers, though he endea- 
 voured to establish a contrary opinion. He 
 pulled down the harmless castle of Fotheringay, 
 out of revenge for his mother's death, but took 
 the murderers into favour ! Perhaps he was as 
 jealous of his mother as Ehzabeth. He loved a 
 crown as well as she, to which his mother had 
 a prior right. The two sovereigns well under- 
 stood each other, while the scape-goat was 
 being destroyed. 
 
 Deeply impressed with former transactions, 
 while standing upon the very spot on which 
 Mary suffered, I left the place with regret and 
 with a sigh. 
 
 1803. 
 
 Having arrived at fourscore, allow me to 
 state some of the feelings attendant upon that 
 advanced age. 
 
 I am strongly attached to old habits and old 
 fashions, even though absurd. Instead of long-
 
 1803.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. ^63 
 
 ing for a new coat, I part with an old one as 
 with an old friend. 
 
 I forget some lessons, and cannot learn 
 others. One lesson however I must learn, to 
 eat without teeth. 
 
 The farther we advance in years, the more 
 we are affected with both heat and cold. In 
 early life our feelings are but little influenced 
 by either. 
 
 I can better remember the transactions of 
 seventy years, than of yesterday ; pour liquor 
 into a full vessel, and the top will run off first. 
 Perhaps 1 can recollect being in a thousand 
 companies, every person which composed them 
 is now departed except myself. Upon what- 
 ever family 1 cast a distant eye, I remark in 
 that family a generation has sprung into life, 
 passed through the bloom of the day, and sunk 
 into the night. My old friends have slipped 
 off the stage, and I am as unfit to unite with 
 new, as new cloth with old. 1 bus I am be- 
 come a stranger to the world which I have long 
 known. 
 
 As age /'/?creases, sleep decreases ; when a 
 child in health enters upon life, it can sleep 
 twenty-two out of the twenty-four hours. Its 
 sleep will diminish about three hours upon the 
 average every year during the next three, when
 
 264f LIFE OF WILLIAM HCTTON. [1803. 
 
 activity will enable it to nurse itself. That re- 
 duction will afterwards be nearly one hour 
 every ten years, till he arrives at eighty, vi'hen 
 four or five will be his hours of sleep. 
 
 It is curious to contemplate the fluctuation 
 of property. I have seen the man of opulence 
 look with disdain upon a pauper in rags. I 
 have seen that pauper mount the wheel of for- 
 tune, and the other sink to the bottom. I have 
 seen a miserable cooper not worth the shavings 
 he made, place his son to a baker, and his son 
 become a rich banker, a member of parliament, 
 and a baronet. 
 
 The indisposition of my daughter induced us 
 to try the effect of air, water, and sea-bathing, 
 at Scarborough. During the first four weeks 
 of our residence there, she found no improve- 
 ment of health, but afterwards she gradually 
 mended for the seven weeks following, the time 
 of her abode. This improvement continued 
 about five months. The success prognosticates 
 another tour. 
 
 As I made remarks upon this most agreeable 
 journey, which I communicated to John Ni- 
 chols, Esq. who is now printing them in octavo, 
 I shall here decline the subject.
 
 1804.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. ^65 
 
 1804. 
 
 This year opened, as the nine preceding 
 years had done, with melancholy reflections 
 upon the loss of an excellent woman, who had 
 acted a principal part in the drama of my life, 
 which produced the following poem*. 
 
 To the memory of a dear Girl, once named 
 Sarah Cock, who died Jan. 23, 1796. 
 
 Sarah, when thou first came over. 
 Though no smile upon me came, 
 
 I assum'd the faithful lover. 
 Two hearts united in one flame. 
 
 During forty years possessing, 
 Whene'er thou approach'd my sight, 
 
 My heart, as conscious of the blessing, 
 Felt a ray of pure delight. 
 
 Pity was to love united. 
 When came seventeen years of pain, 
 
 Thy drooping head my hand invited. 
 Which my dear could not sustain. 
 
 When ill-natured time bereav'd me 
 Of thyself, the source of joy, 
 
 Two dear treasures thou bequeath'd m?, 
 Dear as sight is to my eye. 
 
 * These verses have also been published in the volume 
 •f Poems.
 
 ^66 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l804. 
 
 O ! I mourn the day I lost thee, 
 As the year winds round its way, 
 Many a sigh and tear thou cost me, 
 • Sorrow never sleeps a day. 
 
 Gentle spirit, can I find thee, 
 When the lamp of life shall cease, 
 
 To my anxious bosom bind thee, 
 Where thou long possess'd a place ? 
 Jail. 23, 1804. 
 
 My tour to Scarborough was published in 
 June, and arrived there a few days before us, 
 in our second journey. This visit of twelve 
 weeks gave as much delight as the last, and 
 more health to my dear girl, which foretels a 
 third in 1805. 
 
 In this second tour to Scarborough, 1 made a 
 more minute inquiry into the particulars of the 
 dreadful battle of Toivton field. The whole 
 country, as observed, was uninclosed. That 
 spot which sustained the heat of the conflict, is 
 now an inclosure of about twenty acres, rather 
 hollow, but upon elevated ground, and is called 
 Towton Sliide. The land adjoining the Slade, 
 on the North, descends to the place where 
 some springs rise that form the rivulet which 
 was tinged with blood, not that blood shed in 
 the battle, but in the pursuit, in which, to the 
 disgrace of the age, no quarter was given.
 
 1804.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 267 
 
 I was shewn two tumuli where the slain were 
 deposited. In Saxon church-yard, half a mile 
 from the Slade, I saw the tomb of Lord Dacre, 
 who fell on that fatal day. His epitaph is in 
 the old English character. 
 
 In November my volume of Poems was pub- 
 lished, " not by the advice of friends," but the 
 contrary, for the advice was, " To keep the 
 " piece to myself." Whether this offspring of 
 the brain can support itself, or, whether I have 
 produced a cripple which cannot make its way 
 through the world, must be left to the judg- 
 ment of others. 
 
 There is an inconsistency in the character of 
 man. In youth he sets but a small value upon 
 his property, and is much inclined to spend it, 
 while, having life before him, there is the ut- 
 most reason to save it for future use; but in old 
 age, when he cannot from the shortness of his 
 day use it, he is anxious to accumulate and keep 
 it. I am strongly tinctured with this unphilo- 
 sophical bias; for though in early life I did not 
 spend money because I had none, yet I am as 
 willing to acquire as if my date was that of Me- 
 thusalem. 
 
 From earlv infancy land was my favourite 
 object, and though a thousand pounds in the 
 stocks may be as productive as a thousand in
 
 268 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1805. 
 
 land, yet I should despise the one and grasp at 
 the other. My desire, like a bottomless pit, 
 cannot be filled. This year closed with pur- 
 chasing the manor of Woonton, joining my own 
 in Herefordshire. 
 
 It is curious to observe the rapid rise of land. 
 I gave for the land on one side of the hedge in 
 1795, eleven pounds per acre, and on the other 
 in 1804, twenty-four pounds ! 
 
 December the 24th, died an ingenious Artist, 
 Moses Hauglrton, whose productions as a pain- 
 ter will live longer than he lived himself, sixty- 
 six years. He painted nineteen portraits of my 
 family, five of which were of myself. Eleven 
 of these portraits embellish the grand manu- 
 script copy of my own History, and that of my 
 family, in my son's library. His son has 
 erected a beautiful monument to his memory in 
 St. Philip's Church, in which is exhibited a 
 medallion of statuary marble, with an excellent 
 likeness of the father, in basso relievo. 
 
 1805. 
 
 Nothing occurred this year except another 
 journey to Scarborough. I believe it will be 
 my last. I found greater difl^iculty in perform- 
 ing the walking part of it from Sheffield to 
 Scarborough than before.
 
 1806.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 269 
 
 1806. 
 
 The efforts of memory are surprising. I 
 can remember my mother dandUng me on the 
 knee, feeding me with the infant spoon, and 
 nursing me in the arms. I also remember the 
 form and colour of my dress. But although 
 eighty-two years have passed by, yet that space 
 of time seems amazingly short; the reason is 
 obvious, memory only brings the two points of 
 then and now into view, and skips over every 
 incident between the two. But when we look 
 forward, if but for one year, the time appears 
 long, because we foresee an infinite number of 
 incidents between the two points. 
 
 In February I ate a dinner which proved too 
 rich for the stomach to digest. It produced a 
 slight surfeit ; the first indisposition during 
 twenty-three years. A few weeks after, I was 
 attacked with a violent fit of the ague. These 
 gave a shock to the constitution, which it 
 perhaps will never recover. Twice in the win- 
 ter, in reading by candle-light, I set fire to the 
 book by holding it too near the blaze, my sight 
 failing. 
 
 April 4, I walked from Bilsdon in Leicester- 
 shire to Atherstone, thirty-two miles, which I
 
 270 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [I8O7. 
 
 accomplished with tolerable ease, but believe it 
 will be my last material walk. 
 
 I was never more than twice in London on 
 m}^ own concerns. The first was April 8, 1749, 
 to make a purchase of materials for trade, to 
 the amount of Three Pounds ! The last, 
 April 14, 1806, fifty-seven years after, to ratify 
 the purchase of an estate which cost ^.11,590. 
 One laid a foundation for the other, and both 
 answered expectation. 
 
 I807. 
 
 Of all the afflictions attendant upon the hu- 
 man frame, the cancer stands in the first class. 
 It is generally terminated by death or the knife. 
 About the year 1777? a small exuberance ap- 
 peared on the top of my thigh, which, after ten 
 years growth was not bigger than a large pin's 
 head, and of no consequence. During the next 
 ten 3^ears it grew to the size of a pea, looked 
 angry, and exuded a small degree of moisture. 
 But not being painful, or impeding action, it 
 was disregarded. As time advanced, it pro- 
 ceeded with greater rapidity till about 1804, 
 wiieii it iiad reached die size of a shilling, and 
 O: . i&rutd copiouj^ly a watery fiuid. I con-
 
 1807-] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 271 
 
 suited an eminent surgeon, who said, " I do 
 " not like its appearance. Perhaps it may not 
 " shorten your life, but you had better let me 
 " take it out,'' Upon consulting a Physician, 
 he replied, " there is no immediate danger, but 
 " there is a chance of its becoming a cancer." 
 Two years elapsed, when I shewed it again, 
 now as large as a half crown, to the surgeon, 
 my worthy friend John Blount. It appeared 
 with horrid aspect. In surprise he pronounced 
 it a cancer. " You must," said he, " submit 
 " to the knife or the coffin. You may live one 
 " year, or you may live one month, but the 
 " whole of your existence will be miserable." 
 I considered that which must be done, had bet- 
 ter soon be done. February 1, two surgeons 
 laid me on a table, in about twenty minutes 
 finished the cutting, and in ten more sewed 
 up, dressed the wound, and carried n^e to bed. 
 This 1 kept about six days. In seven days 
 more I was able to walk abroad, and in twelve 
 more the cure was completed. 
 
 I paid a visit in July to Bosworth Field, but 
 found so great an alteration since 1 saw it in 
 1788, that I was totally lost. 
 
 August 4, I lost my p or horse Cobler, at 
 the age of 22. I considered him as one of my 
 family, had sung his praise in verse, had fed
 
 27^2 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [I8O7. 
 
 liim with pleasure, and he had served me fifteen 
 years with fidehty. 
 
 If we carry a cheerful face into company, it 
 naturally excites cheerfulness in that company ; 
 we see them pleased, and feel happy returns 
 in our own bosom. We made a visit to Mat- 
 lock of about a fortnight, in which we found 
 much delight, and contracted so many friend- 
 ships that we were unwilling on all sides to 
 part. 
 
 In the History of my ancestors, I mention 
 that a person came from Northallerton to Derby, 
 in about I7OI, to bring my Grandfather back 
 to the former place, to take possession of an 
 estate, to which he was become heir at law. 
 My Grandfather entertained, and then con- 
 ducted the messenger one mile on his return, 
 and dismissed him with this remark, *' Let them 
 *' take the estate who will, I would not go so 
 " far for a better." My daughter wishing to 
 spend a month at Coatham, in the North of 
 Yorkshire, and Northallerton being nearly in 
 the road, I requested her to make inquiry after 
 the Hutton family. It was extinct in that 
 place; but four miles distant, she found a gen- 
 tleman resident upon his own estate, who 
 seemed to be a relation. It is probable, from 
 circumstances, that liis may be the identical
 
 1807.] ^IFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 27^' 
 
 land my Grandfather refused, but I have nei- 
 ther the means nor the wish to attempt to reco- 
 ver it. 
 
 At the very moment of writing this, time is 
 completing my 84th year : four times tlie 
 space which forms the man. When I compare 
 the two extremities of this long period, it ex- 
 hibits a total change of life and manners. In 
 the morning of my days, 1 ate when Fortune 
 chose to suffer me, for she fed me with a spar- 
 ing hand ; I could at any time have gladly at- 
 tacked a second dinner, immediately after a 
 first : but now plenty awaits me. — In that early 
 period I had an utter aversion to letters, which 
 wholly precluded improvement: but now one of 
 the greatest pleasures of my life is reading, and 
 I have the gratification of a library to my wish. 
 — In former times dress was eagerly coveted, and 
 not easily attained : but now, having dress fully 
 in my power, I have totally lost the relish. — 
 Money ! that darling of every one, which buys 
 all things except health and content, was hid- 
 den from my eyes. I once saved every farthing 
 I could procure, which, at the end of two years 
 amounted only to fourpence halfpenny ! This oc- 
 curred between the age of four and six. But now 
 I command more than I can use. — Punishment 
 was an unwelcome attendant. My father, though 
 
 T
 
 274 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l807' 
 
 he loved me, was too much attached to the 
 whip; he forgot that a gentle word properly ap- 
 plied, was a better excitement. But now I am 
 under no chastisement, no not even that of the 
 pen. 
 
 The Authors of the Monthly Review, criti- 
 cizing my tour through North Wales, bestow 
 upon the work some encomiums, after which 
 they remark, " We believe that this veteran 
 *' traveller has at length taken a longer jour- 
 " ney, the important details of which he will 
 " not transmit to us poor wanderers below." 
 This occasioned the following : 
 
 To the Authors of the Monthly Review. 
 My Dear Friends, 
 
 I learnt from your Review for the last month 
 that I was dead. I cannot say I was very 
 sorry, though I had a great respect for the 
 man. Your kind expressions will not be 
 charged with insincerity, for praise is lost upon 
 the defunct. You may as well, by these pre- 
 sents, bring me to life in your next, for till 
 then I cannot attain my former rank among 
 the living. Your fiat musters my friends about 
 me, some in tears, but all terminate with a 
 smile. Others, as I walk the street, cast at me 
 a significant glance, as if surprised to see me 
 above ground, and uncertain whether the ghost
 
 1807-] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 275 
 
 or the body moves ; but a moment determines 
 that the ghost holds its proper place. Three 
 verses addressed to you, inoffensive as your 
 own remark, will probably be found in the 
 Gentleman's Magazine. 
 
 I am, with sincere respect, 
 
 Yours, till a second death, 
 
 W. HuTTON. 
 
 From my Shades, at Bennet's Hill, 
 near Birmingham, Aug. IS, 1807. 
 
 In the Gentleman's Magazine. 
 To the Authors of the Monthly Review. 
 No wonder a man, when his courtship is o'er, 
 Should enter his name as a wed-mzx\ ; 
 
 The wonder consists, when a man is no more, 
 He should still write his name though a dead-man. 
 
 Your work for July tells ti)e world that I'm dead. 
 And have ceas'd to become an inditer, 
 
 But, by praising mj- book it will rather be said. 
 That you keep me alive as a writer. 
 
 Shall I drop the pen who am but eighty-four. 
 And smother a tale if worth telling ? 
 
 I have long'd and still long to take one journey 
 more. 
 And foot it to Johnny Groafs dwelling. 
 
 Aug. 12, 1807. 
 
 In the next number the Reviewers published 
 my letter with the following remark. " We 
 t2
 
 f276 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1807. 
 
 '' insert the above with much pleasure ; and as 
 " we have now a contradiction of the report to 
 " which we alluded, under our venerable friend's 
 " awn hand, we will engage, if he requires it, 
 •^ never again to state an event which we hope 
 " is yet distant, till we have, in like manner, 
 ** his oivn certificate of it." 
 
 This year my son gave me my birth-day 
 dinner, and with the dessert, my daughter pre- 
 sented to me the following lines, which, I must 
 own, are more remarkable for affection than 
 elegance. 
 
 Dear Father, 
 Allow me to congratulate you and myself on 
 
 your birth-day. 
 The interest we feel for your life and health 
 
 will make it a mirth-day, 
 Eighty-five times have you seen the eleventh 
 
 of October, 
 You have risen from poverty, and liv'd in 
 
 plenty, with a mind always sober. 
 You have lov'd your children, indulg'd your 
 household, and never treated us with rigour. 
 You have kept your health and good humour, 
 
 and still retain your vigour. 
 May God, of his infinite mercy, long spare 
 
 these blessings, 
 And I promise you, my dear Father, you shall 
 not want for caressings,
 
 1808.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 277 
 
 I should have acquitted myself better had it 
 been my lot to make your plumb-pudding, 
 
 For writing verses is a thing I never could do 
 any good in. 
 
 If they are not poetry, they are truth, so I 
 don't care a button. 
 
 And am, your most affectionate daughter, 
 
 Catherine Hutton. 
 
 1808. 
 
 Time is equivalent to money. I remarked, 
 in the History of the Riots, in 1791j that I had 
 lost more than one day in a week during nine- 
 teen years, in serving the public. It follows, 
 that I have lost a fortune by acting for the be- 
 nefit of others. 
 
 Perhaps there is not one in ten thousand 
 who lives to the age of eighty-Jive ; but where 
 is there one, who, at that age, begins to write 
 a book? I launched into Authorship at the 
 late period of fifty-six, a season in which most 
 writers land on the shore of retirement ; but as 
 I began late, suffer me to retire late. Had I, 
 instead of being bred in the cold damps of pe- 
 nury, been trained to letters, more than four- 
 teen books would have issued from my pen. I 
 never wrote for profit, and yet the world has
 
 278 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [l SOS- 
 
 am ply rewarded me ; nay, the pen itself has 
 rewarded its own labour, for the pleasure of 
 writing is inconceivable. 
 
 August 7) this year my daughter and I set 
 out for Coat ham, a watering-place upon the 
 Northern coast of Yorkshire, distant 184 miles. 
 We were absent six weeks ; and I am now writ- 
 ing the memoirs of that excursion, which will 
 make the fourteenth book I shall have.published 
 in the period of thirty years. 
 
 As this is the last I shall exhibit to the world, 
 
 T will particularize each, with the name and 
 
 date : some of them, I believe, are out of print. 
 
 The History of Birmingham 1781 
 
 Journey to London 1784 
 
 The Court of Requests 1787 
 
 The Hundred Court I788 
 
 History of Blackpool I788 
 
 Battle of Bosworth Field I789 
 
 History of Derby I79O 
 
 The Barbers, a Poem 1793 
 
 Edgar and Elfrida, a Poem 1793 
 
 The Roman Wall 1801 
 
 Remarks upon North Wales 1801 
 
 Tour to Scarborough 1803 
 
 Poems, chiefly Tales 1804 
 
 Trip to Coatham 1808 
 
 Some of tliem have since risen to double their 
 
 original ])ricc.
 
 1809.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 279 
 
 1809. 
 
 The infirmities of age inform me that I am 
 drawing towards a conclusion. Much has been 
 said, but little is known, of futurity. The 
 subject is too deep to be fathomed, but none 
 can escape the trial. 
 
 When a man is ushered into the world, he- 
 possesses talents fitted for that world : he knows 
 many, he converses with many, and is a man 
 among men ; but when he draws towards eighty 
 or ninety, his talents become blunted, his viva- 
 city is lost, his powers are fled, his former ac- 
 quaintance are swept off the stage, he cannot 
 associate with new, and he is no longer a man 
 amonff men. 
 
 I have lived to bury two generations, and 
 among them many friends whom I loved. I 
 do not know^ nor am known by any soul living 
 prior to my twenty-seventh year. But although 
 I barely live myself, I may have taught others 
 to live. I was the first who opened a Circu- 
 lating Library in Birmingham, in 17«'51, since 
 which time many have started in the race. I 
 was the first who opened a regular Paper Ware- 
 house in 1756 : there are now a great number. 
 I was also the first who introduced the harrow
 
 280 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1809» 
 
 with hvo wheels : there are now more than one 
 hundred. I may, in another view, have been 
 beneficial to man, by a Hfe of temperance and 
 exercise, which are tbe grand promoters of 
 health and longevity. Some whom I know 
 have been induced to follow my example, and 
 have done it with success. 
 
 The entertainment we met with at Coatham 
 last year, induced us this year to make another 
 visit to the same place. We began our jour- 
 ney with a design of being absent six weeks, as 
 before, which was effected. Some circum- 
 stances of this second visit will be found in the 
 Trip to Coatham, now in the press. 
 
 While travelling between Derby and Burton, 
 I remarked to my daughter, " That we were at 
 " that moment passing over the identical spot 
 " of ground, on the same month of the year, 
 *' the same day of the month, the same day of 
 " the week, and hour of the morning, on which 
 " I had travelled over it sixty-eight years be- 
 " fore; but with this difference, I then walked 
 " in the bloom of eighteen, but now moved in 
 " the withering age of eighty-six. Then, I 
 " appeared as a run-away apprentice, but now 
 "as a gentleman. Then I travelled with 
 " blistered feet, but now at ease in my own 
 '• carriage."
 
 1810.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 281 
 
 1810. 
 
 A faithful friend is a real treasure. His sen- 
 sations are mine. If he is wounded, I am 
 hurt. By his cares mine are reduced. Hia 
 happiness augments mine. Friendship is a 
 partnership of sentiment, and one that is sure 
 to profit, for by giving we are gainers. 
 
 May loth, 1 lost my valuable and worthy 
 friend William Ryland, after an intimate con- 
 nection which continued, without the least 
 interruption, more than 59 years. While bat- 
 chelors, we daily sought each other out. While 
 passing through the married state, which con- 
 tinued in each about 40 years, the same friendly 
 intercourse continued; and while widowers, the 
 affection sufTered no abatement, the secrets of 
 one were the secrets of both. His life was a 
 continued series of vivacity, good humour, and 
 rectitude. I have reason to believe he never 
 did a bad act knowingly, or uttered a bad word. 
 
 A man may have many friends, but seldom 
 has, at the same time, more than one bosom 
 friend ; the cabinet is generally fitted for one 
 jewel only. In taking a retrospective view of 
 a protracted life, I find six of these cabinet 
 counsellors, from whom nothing was hidden ;
 
 i*S2 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1810. 
 
 five were separated by removal of place, and 
 one by death. 
 
 We took, this year, a third journey of six 
 weeks, into the North of Yorkshire ; but the 
 Hotel at Coatham being shut up, we took up 
 our residence at the Red Lion, Redcar, and 
 were completely accommodated. My Trip to 
 Coatham had made its appearance about a 
 month, and attracted some notice, and I re- 
 spectfully accepted as much praise as the com- 
 pany chose to give. Mr. Christopher, Book- 
 seller at Stockton, told me he had purchased 
 100 copies, and did not doubt the sale. 
 
 The ladies were intent upon scrutinizing the 
 characters mentioned, page 128 of that work, 
 and thought they had succeeded in making 
 cvQvy cap fit the proper head, except the widow 
 with ^.700 a year, which set them fast. 
 
 Passing through Derby, Aug. 23, I saw 
 workmen taking down an old house, between 
 the Town Hall and the Corn market, which 
 brought to remembrance, that eighty- five years 
 before, when I was two years old, I went to 
 school in that house with my brother, one year 
 older, both in petticoats, John Jackson master. 
 I saw the very room, a chamber, laid open. I 
 recollected that the servant-maid took, and 
 brouoht us back. On Market-davs she brou«[ht
 
 1811.] LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 28S 
 
 our dinner to school, and I well remember 
 we had buttered oat-cakes. This little anec- 
 dote, which shews the extent of memory, 
 should have appeared in 1725, but was not 
 recollected. Perhaps I am the only man who 
 had seen this house eighty-five years before, 
 and who saw its end. 
 
 The workmen found a bottle of Red-port, of 
 a remarkably fine flavour, under some rubbish. 
 
 I was present at a dispute, whether this 
 spirited bottle had slept ip silent security fifty 
 or one hundred years r But the important ques- 
 tion could not be determined. 
 
 1811. 
 
 At the age of eighty-two I considered my- 
 self a young man. I could, without much 
 fatigue, walk forty miles a day. But, during 
 the last six years, I have felt a sensible decay ; 
 and, like a stone rolling down the hill, its velo- 
 city increases with the progress. The strings 
 of the instrument are, one after another, o-ivins 
 way, never to be brought into tune. 
 
 My father died of the gravel and stone at the 
 age of sixty-seven : his brother of the same dis- 
 order, at fifty-one. I first perceived the gravel
 
 S84 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1811. 
 
 at twenty-seven, but it was for many years of 
 little consequence. In 1804 I went to Wor- 
 cester, to the sale of an estate ; which being 
 ended, I spent the evening with five or six 
 gentlemen, all strangers to me. The conversa- 
 tion turning upon the above complaint, I re- 
 marked that, during the last twenty or thirty 
 years I had been afflicted with the gravel, and 
 had had three or four fits every year, which 
 continued, with excruciating pain, from one 
 to four or five days. , " I will," said one of the 
 gentlemen, " tell you a certain cure. Abstain 
 " from spirits, wine, and malt liquor ; drink 
 "cyder, perry, or milk; and, although it will 
 " not totally eradicate the gravel, you will 
 " never have another fit." I replied that I 
 never drank spirituous liquors, and seldom 
 wine, but daily used the produce of malt; that 
 though I had four cyder farms, I could not 
 conveniently be accommodated with cyder or 
 perry, but was fond of milk. 
 
 Though I had but little expectation from 
 this tavern prescription, I have followed it du- 
 ring the last seven years ; in which time I have 
 not drank a quart of malt liquor, or had a fit of 
 the gravel. The only evil attending this change 
 of beverage is that, when I call for milk upon 
 a journey, it is apt to cover my landlady's face
 
 1812.] LIFE ^OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 285 
 
 with a cloud, but her countenance brightens up 
 when I pay the price of wine. 
 
 Lines written to a gentleman who requested 
 my worthy friend Mr. Blount, to procure for 
 him a specimen of the hand-writing of Dr. 
 Priestley, Matthew Boulton, Esq. and William 
 Hutton, 
 
 Priestley and Boulton, learn'd and sage, 
 
 Rank with the foremost of the age ; 
 
 And to such company invite 
 
 The man who ne'er was taught to write, 
 
 Is like to him, of whom 'tis told. 
 
 He dirty farthings mix'd with gold. 
 
 Whether my lines are bent or straight, 
 Excuse the hand of eighty-eight. 
 No praise can ever be their due ; 
 But my best thanks belong to you. 
 
 November 17^ I walked twelve miles with 
 ease. 
 
 1812. 
 
 In 174s I attended divine service at Castle 
 Gate Meeting, in Nottingham. The Minister, 
 in elucidating his subject, made this impressive 
 remark : that it was very probable, in sixty 
 years, every one of that crowded assembly
 
 286 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. [1812. 
 
 would have descended into the grave. Seventy 
 years have elapsed, and there is more reason to 
 conclude that I am the only person left. 
 
 This day, October 11th, is my birth-day. 
 I enter upon my ninetieth year, and have 
 walked ten miles.
 
 ( 287 ) 
 CONCLUSION, 
 
 BY CATHERINE, DAUGHTER OF 
 WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 iVliNE is the melancholy task of " laying the 
 " cap-stone on the building." I undertake it 
 with tears to the memory of my father and 
 friend. 
 
 Minute as the foregoing Narrative is, I hope 
 a few additional particulars of its author and 
 subject will not be unacceptable. These may 
 be the more readily pardoned ; as I look upon 
 my father's history to be the most complete 
 picture of human life, from its springing into 
 existence, to its wearing out, by the natural 
 exhaustion of the vital principles, that ever was 
 drawn by man ; and the few touches that are 
 added, will be chiefly such as mark Ihe pro- 
 gress of decay, and put the finishing stroke to 
 the whole. 
 
 In the year 1791 my Father carefully in- 
 spected the remains of the City of Verulam, and 
 had begun a history of that place, which was
 
 288 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 undertaken with the same ardour and spirit of 
 research, as his History of the Roman Wall. 
 This he intended for his friend Mr. Nichols ; 
 but his remarks were destroyed at the riots, and 
 he could never resume the subject. 
 
 In 1796, after we had lost my beloved mo- 
 ther, my Father's affection and mine being 
 less divided, centered more upon each other. 
 On our journey to Barmouth, it was so evident^ 
 that we were sometimes taken for lovers, and 
 sometimes for husband and wife. One person 
 went so far as to say to my father, " You may 
 " say what you will, but I am sure that lady 
 " is your wife." 
 
 At Matlock at the age of seventy-nine, my 
 father was a prodigy. He was the first acquaint- 
 ance and guide of new comers, and the oracle 
 of such as were established in the house. Easy 
 and gay, he had an arm for one, a hand for 
 another, and a smile for all. When he was 
 silent, he was greatly admired for his placid and 
 benign countenance. 
 
 At table my father spoke little; but one 
 night after supper he asked me for a glass of 
 wine. I felt some surprize at the unusual de- 
 mand, but I poured it out. He drank it, and 
 pushing his glass to me again, said, ^' Give me 
 " another." « I dare not, Father," said 1, " I
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 289 
 
 *^ am afraid it will make you ill." " I tell thee 
 " give me another," said he smiling, " It will 
 *' do me no harm." I gave it him in silence, 
 and with fear. 
 
 The effect of two glasses of wine upon my 
 father's temperate habit was extraordinary. He 
 spoke of his former life, he became animated, 
 his eyes sparkled, his voice was elevated, every 
 other sound gradually died away. Tlie com- 
 pany looked at him with astonishment. The 
 near heard him with attention, the distant bent 
 forward with anxiety ; of twenty-three persons 
 at table every one appeared a profound and 
 eager listener ; and, in the pauses of my father's 
 voice, a pin might have been heard to fall to 
 the ground. 
 
 After my father had published his Tour to 
 Scarborough, the principal inhabitants of tliat 
 place courted his acquaintance. Several of 
 them visited him, and invited him to their 
 houses. He was pleased with their attention, 
 but declined their invitations. One of them 
 said to me, " We do not know how to shew 
 " our respect for your father. He will not 
 *' dine with us, he will not drink with us. 
 " Will you tell me what we can do for him ?" 
 I replied, that the esteem they had already ma- 
 nifested for my father was all he could desire. 
 
 u
 
 !290 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 In his eighty-third year my father walked to 
 visit his new purchase in Leicestershire. On 
 one day, as he has mentioned in his Narrative, 
 he walked thirty-two miles. On the next he 
 walked eighteen, which brought him home. 
 I met him as he entered the house, pale, ex- 
 hausted, and scarcely able to mount the stairs. 
 He said it would be the last long walk he should 
 take ; and his prediction was verified. 
 
 Nine days after, my father set out for London,, 
 in a mail coach, and travelled all night. As 
 soon as he had breakfasted in town, he walked 
 from Duke Street, Manchester Square, to King- 
 Street in the Borough, to deliver a letter that 
 had been committed to his charge, and then 
 walked back to Duke Street. 
 
 We remained in London a week, and my 
 father was walking the greater part of every 
 day. I endeavoured to convince him that his 
 strength was less than it had been, and his 
 need of rest was greater ; but he could not be 
 made to comprehend me, though he exhibited 
 evident marks of fatigue. The eflects of what 
 lie called his surfeit still remained, and made 
 him loathe his food. On his return home he 
 was sick for four-score miles, and tasted nothing 
 the whole way. The confinement of the coach 
 during so many hours, occasioned his legs to 
 swell.
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. $91 
 
 A walking journey was now impracticable. 
 My father expressed no desire to go another 
 way, and I thought rest was better for him 
 than going from home in any way ; I therefore 
 went to Scarborough without him, to the ex- 
 treme regret of us both. 
 
 On my return 1 found my father in posses- 
 sion of more strength, more bulk, more appe- 
 tite, and more cheerfulness, than when I 
 went. 
 
 At the age of eighty-four my father was in 
 high spirits at Matlock. He walked and talked 
 with every body, was caressed and admired by 
 every body, was the principal charm of the so- 
 ciety, and the bond that held us together. To 
 be beloved and reverenced by a man's own fa- 
 mily is not always the lot of eighty-four years ; 
 but to be idolized by strangers is a thing scarcely 
 before heard of. 
 
 From Matlock I proceeded to Coatham, and 
 my father returned home. My account of that 
 place pleased him so much, that the next year 
 he determined to see it himself. We went to- 
 gether in the carriage. After examining San- 
 dall Castle he had a bilious attack ; and, I 
 believe, never would have reached Coatham 
 without my nursing and purveying. 
 U 2
 
 299 MFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 Arrived at Coatham my father was well. He 
 conversed, played his part with the chickens, 
 and two parts with the puddings. He was 
 still determined upon long walks, and I was 
 anxious to circumvent him. I heard him in- 
 quiring the way to Wilton Castle. I took no 
 notice ; but I begged him to go an airing with 
 me, and I set him down at its foot, leaving him 
 to walk back at his leisure, and thus cheating 
 him of one half of the way. He would then 
 walk to Skelton Castle, seven miles distant ; 
 but he was aware of my contrivances, and gave 
 me no other notice of his intention than by 
 saying, " I shall not ride with thee to-morrow." 
 I suspected the secret, extorted it from him, 
 and met him six miles of the way with the car- 
 riage. It was well I did, for he joined me, 
 heated and worn down with fatio;ue. 
 
 My father never having been called upon, 
 during more than four-score years, to submit to 
 weakness or inability, pursued a track he was 
 no longer able to tread, and smiled at my re- 
 monstrances. His answer to them was, " I 
 '^ will endeavour to take care of myself." 
 
 On our second journey to Coatham at the 
 age of eighty-six, my father always staggered 
 at first getting out of the carriage, and would 
 probably have fallen if he had not been stopped.
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. QQS 
 
 I got out first, and directed the assistants how 
 to proceed ; for he could only bear to receive 
 help in conjunction with his own strength, and 
 not to have his own strength replaced by that 
 of another. His health, spirits, and appetite, 
 were good. I dreaded his walking over Mars- 
 ton Moor, thinking it might prove no less fatal 
 to him than it had done to Prince Rupert; but 
 he came off with flying colours, and highly 
 delighted with the discoveries he had made. 
 
 At Coatham my father measured himself 
 against what he was at Coatham last year, and 
 we both grieved to find how much he had lost. 
 
 His sight, his heal'ing, his strength, both 
 internal and external, his powers of motion 
 and of conversation, were impaired. He was 
 still, however, the admiration of a respectable 
 company. The elderly sought him, and the 
 young, both men and women, pressed forward 
 to serve him. 
 
 The following winter was the first that my 
 father sat whole evenings by his fire-side un- 
 employed, because he could not see to read or 
 write. He did both at times by the help of a 
 very glaring lamp, but it was painful to him. 
 He walked daily to and from Birmingham, and 
 walked about the streets when there ; but he 
 could scarcely rise from his chair without assist-
 
 S94 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 ance, and could not bend his arm back, to put 
 on or pull off his coat and waistcoat. 
 
 At Redcar, the ensuing summer, my father 
 was generally silent, except when land was the 
 topic. He sat much in his own room, in com- 
 pany with a volume of old magazines, but he 
 was content^ He still walked to Marsk, a dis- 
 tance of five miles, out and in, before breakfast. 
 
 In the winter i perceived my father's joints 
 grow stiffer, his limbs grow weaker. He did 
 not sleep so much or so soundly as formerly, 
 and his spirits were not low, but gone. Cheer- 
 fulness had given place to silence. On the 
 other hand his appetite was excellent, and, if 
 he had a bad night, there remained no traces 
 of it on the following day. He suffered a fort- 
 night's confinement with a broken shin without 
 injury to his health, and, in the mean time, 
 the shin got well. 
 
 During the winter neither my father nor my- 
 self dared to mention a future journey, a sub- 
 ject that had formerly enlivened our fireside. 
 In March he said, " Would you venture on 
 '•' another journey in summer, if we should be 
 " no worse than we are now ?" My reply was, 
 " I should like it." My father said, " So should 
 " 1." I had n^any fears that the journey would 
 be too much for him, but 1 was determined
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. Q95 
 
 not to express them, if he chose to make the 
 trial. 
 
 In June my father's faculties remained un- 
 impaired, except the faculty of comprehending 
 what was said. If there are nerves which con- 
 vey ideas to the mind, these nerves were 
 blunted by time. His body began to bend, 
 his step was shortened, his sight was confined 
 to one object at a time, and frequently to a part 
 even of that. 
 
 In July, when we went to Redcar, my father 
 did not know his weakness, till he tried his 
 strength. I do not believe it would have been 
 possible for him to have got through the jour- 
 ney, if the coachman's box-coat had not been 
 folded in the form of a cushion, and laid at his 
 back, which kept him in a reclining posture ; 
 yet he walked a mile and a half on the sands as 
 soon as he got there. 
 
 My father s slowness of speech and appre- 
 hension threw him much out of society at Red- 
 car. In a large company few would have the 
 patience to wait for his observations, or to 
 make him a partaker of their own. The man 
 who, tv/o years before, had been the principal 
 object of attention, was now seldom addressed 
 by any body, and, if he spoke, was not heard. 
 We are no longer estimable in society, than
 
 296 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 while we are caj)able of contributing eitiier to 
 its profit or amusement. 
 
 There were some strangers, however, who 
 took the trouble to understand, and who duly 
 appreciated my father. And there were two 
 sensible interesting young women. Miss Great- 
 heads of Darlington, who had met us one sum- 
 mer by accident, and two by appointment, who 
 retained all their veneration for my father, with 
 a mixture of pain for the neglect of some of the 
 others. 
 
 The last evening of our stay at Redcar, the 
 party happened to be small, and was composed 
 of such as, if this meet their eye, will not be 
 displeased at my calling them our friends. My 
 Father was again the first person of the com- 
 pany. He desired me to sing the wife's part 
 of Burns's song of Mij spouse, Nancy, and, at 
 the age of eighty-eight, he sung that of the 
 husband. He went from home no more. 
 
 In November my father still rose from his 
 bed without help ; and bending, and almost 
 tottering, under the weight of four-score and 
 eight years, he walked to Birmingham. When 
 there, he seldom went out, as his sight was so 
 imperfect that he hardly knew where he was, 
 in streets that he was not accustomed to.
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 297 
 
 About four o'clock I saw him approaching 
 his house with a short step ; generally a little 
 fatigued, sometimes a great deal. After empty- 
 ing his pockets of newspapers, and of money, 
 if he had any, if there were a little sunshine 
 left, he read ; but that was now become a great 
 difficulty, even by a good light, and, by an 
 indifferent one, or by candle-light, it was im- 
 possible. \Vhen he could not see to read, he 
 dropped into a quiet sleep, which lasted about 
 half an hour, and greatly refreshed him. 
 
 Though rjiy father could not rise from his 
 chair without assistance if he had sat any time, 
 yet, on the 27th of October, Sunday, on which 
 day of the week he had ceased to go to Bir- 
 mingham, his walks round the drive before his 
 door amounted to ten miles, and on the 18th 
 of November to twelve, taking three walks each 
 day. He had neither sickness nor pain. He 
 was fat, looked well, ate well, slept tolerably, 
 and was never out of humour. 
 
 At the age of eighty-nine my father was well 
 in health, and what was extraordinary at that 
 pge, increased in size, but his infirmities in- 
 creased also. He still walked to and from Bir- 
 mingham, and I believed that his walks and his 
 life would finish nearly together.
 
 298 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 Fear and uncertainty had kept us both si- 
 lent through the winter respecting another 
 journey ; but in April my father owned that he 
 should like to go to Redcar if he were no worse. 
 I believed the journey would be of service to 
 him, as it had been before, if he were able to 
 undertake it ; and though I dared not take the 
 responsibility of an adviser, I was most willing 
 to encounter the fatigue of a nurse. Silence 
 again prevailed. 
 
 When a month only was wanting of our 
 usual time of setting out, I broke the spell by 
 saying, " Father, I must write to Miss Grcat- 
 " heads : what shall I say about our going to 
 " Redcar ?" The question shook his whole 
 frame. It was not, " Shall I, or shall I not 
 " go to Redcar?" It was, " Am I able to go 
 " again from home, or is my circle brought 
 *' down for ever to two miles and a quarter from 
 " my own house ?" 
 
 After some conversation it was agreed that 
 my father should take a week to consider of the 
 matter. That expired, I meant to have asked 
 for his determination, but he prevented me, by 
 saying that he durst not venture to go. 
 
 As my own health required change of air, I 
 went to Swansea, and though I could not leave
 
 LIFB OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 999 
 
 my father without anxiety, I left him without 
 terror. 
 
 In the manuscript life of my father the hand- 
 writing changes in 1808, and the lines cease 
 to be straight. In 1809 and 1810 the hand 
 becomes very unsteady, and the pen frequently 
 touches the paper where it was not intended to 
 do so. In 1811 and 1812 it was scarcely legi- 
 ble, and at the end of each of these years he 
 made use of my pen to express his thoughts. 
 The last letter he ever attempted to write was 
 the following, addressed to me at Swansea ; 
 and it was the last time he ever attempted to 
 write any thing but his name. 
 
 " Bennett's Hill, Aug. 25, 1812. 
 My dear Love, 
 
 I have taken up the pen, but know not how 
 to use it. Things are much as when you left 
 us, except that we are fifteen days older. 
 
 The servants are extremely attentive to me ; 
 they forestall my wishes. 
 
 If a worthy man, named William Spencer, 
 should catch your eye, shake hands with him 
 upon my account. I cannot proceed. 
 
 W. H." 
 
 My father had lived to see himself twice in 
 fashion in Birmingham. Till the riots he was 
 courted and respected. For some time after
 
 500 UFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON, 
 
 the riots he was insulted. He was now 
 reverenced and admired. Two portrait-painters 
 in Birmingham, requested him to sit to 
 them, and one of them placed his picture in 
 the public library of the town. Mr. Pratt, 
 seeing it, wrote some very handsome lines un- 
 derneath, which he desired might be inserted 
 in the new edition of the History of Birming- 
 ham. As that work has met with some inter- 
 ruption, I shall insert the verses here. 
 
 EXTEMPORE LINES, 
 
 JfYitten under the Portrait ^William Hutton, 
 in the Library, Union Street, Birmingham. 
 
 The well-known form, and venerable grace. 
 Here mark the sage Historian of the place. 
 Though ninety winters round his reverend head 
 Have roU'd their tempests, and their snows have 
 
 shed ; 
 And these with Time, imperious Time, combin'd 
 To waste at once the bodi^ and the 7nind ; 
 This their confederated power defies. 
 And that the manly action still supplies : 
 While gently sloping to a soft decay. 
 We still behold the Nestor of the day I 
 The Ajax too ! for still a native force 
 Keeps the fair tenor of his daily course.
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 30l 
 
 His morn, his ev'ning walk, preserve their 
 
 length, 
 While many a noon-tide feat of hardy strengih 
 Remains, to shew intemperate Age and Youth, 
 This living moral of eternal Truth, 
 That, ere to half his honour'd years they come, 
 Indignant Death shall sweep them to the tomb. 
 
 With strangers my Father was never out of 
 fashion. While he was able to walk to Birm- 
 ingham, he was seated, during a great part of 
 the day, on a bundle of paper, by the fire-side 
 of my brother's warehouse, which was facing 
 the street door. This Mr. Pratt called " Mr. 
 " Mutton's Throne."' No day passed in which 
 strangers were not observed to pass and repass 
 several times, looking in, so as to leave no 
 doubt that their object was to obtain a sight of 
 the Historian of Birmingham. 
 
 As my Father was to be seen near a door 
 always open, so he was to be spoken with in a 
 shop always ready to receive customers ; and a 
 multitude of persons, from different parts of the 
 kingdom, have introduced themselves to him, 
 as readers and admirers of his works. The 
 late Duke of Norfolk, the late Mr. Goutjh. 
 Dr. Priestley, Dr. Kippis, Mr. Pratt, Mr. Ber- 
 rington, Dr. Mavor, and Mr. Kemble, were of 
 the number. One gentleman presented his
 
 S02 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 son, a child of four years old, to my Father, 
 bidding the boy take especial notice of Mr. 
 Hutton, that, when he grew old hitnself, he 
 mis^ht remember he had seen him. 
 
 After the year 1812, my Father mentioned 
 his Memoirs no more. 
 
 In his ninetieth year, my Father's strength 
 and activity gradually diminished. He still 
 walked to and from Birmingham, but he was a 
 machine hard to set a-going, and, when going, 
 not to be stopped. The end of his walk be- 
 came a short run, in which he leaned forward 
 in proportion to his velocity. In May he fell 
 several times, but he was desirous to hide it 
 from his family, because he feared that my bro- 
 ther and myself might endeavour to throw 
 some obstacles in the way of his walking. 
 
 On Tuesday, the 5th of October, when my 
 Father wanted six days of completing his nine- 
 tieth year, he set out on his accustomed walk 
 to Birmingham. When he had reached half 
 way, his strength began to fail. When he got 
 into the streets, his helpless situation attracted 
 the notice of numbers of people, who offered 
 him their assistance. He was afraid he should 
 have been overturned by their kindness, for a 
 touch would have thrown him off his balance. 
 He took the arm of one, and at length reached
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 305 
 
 the Paper Warehouse, which now belonged to 
 his grand ncphevVj Samuel Hutton. He had 
 been two hours in walking two miles and a 
 quarter. On his return, he was lifted into his 
 carriage by three men, and out of it by two. 
 In both cases he was perfectly sensible, silent, 
 passive, and helpless. 
 
 I met my Father at his gate, and leanino- 
 upon me and a servant, he walked into the 
 house. " Now," said he, bursting into tears, 
 " I have done with Birmingham !" Too surely 
 did I believe him, and most sincerely did I 
 weep with him ! 
 
 My Father had always a surprising facility 
 in recovering fatigue. Rest was sure to succeed 
 it immediately, and the happy consequences of 
 rest were soon visible. 
 
 The three following days my Father accom- 
 plished several walks in his own ground, with- 
 out difficulty; on the Saturday, therefore, he 
 ventured to walk to the nearest part of the 
 town, which is only a mile and a half from his 
 house. He performed it with ease. He re- 
 turned half way tolerably well, when he began 
 to run backwards, and must have fallen, had 
 not a woman servant, whom I had sent to watch 
 him, and whom he would not have suffered to 
 be so near him had he known it, caught hold
 
 304 LtFE OF WILLIAM HUTTOk. 
 
 of liim. With great exertion on both side^ 
 she led him till they were within three hundred 
 yards of his own house, when, finding it im-- 
 possible to proceed any further, she supported 
 him in the best manner she was able, and sent 
 for a chair, in which he was carried home by 
 two men. He was the model of Patience when 
 he was set down. 
 
 This was the last walk my Father ever at- 
 tempted out of his own ground, except to the 
 cottage of my brother, whose ground and my 
 Father's were only separated by the turnpike 
 road. 
 
 My Father was totally free from pain and 
 uneasiness. He moved round and round his 
 gravel walk, being careful to accomplish his 
 Birmingham distance, and his mind accommo- 
 dated itself to a small circle, when a larger one 
 was no longer in his power. \ 
 
 In January 1814, my Father was attacked 
 with the cramp. He was frequently obliged to 
 be got up, after having been one, two, or three 
 hours in bed, and to pass the remainder of the 
 night in a chair. As soon as he quitted the re- 
 cumbent posture, the pain left him. He dozed 
 through the day, and hung his head almost to 
 his knees as he sat upon his chair. It was me- 
 lancholy to contemplate the ruins of a strong
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 305 
 
 man, and most melancholy when that man was 
 my Father. 
 
 My Father's pain went with the frost. He 
 was again in perfect health, slept quietly, ate 
 manfully, and walked three miles a day in his 
 kitchen, but his limbs performecj their offices 
 slowly, and with difficulty. His mental facul- 
 ties had not suffered, and I would have taken 
 his judgment, or trusted his memory, rather 
 than my own. 
 
 Summer renewed my Father's life. It took 
 him again into the air, and brought with it th^ 
 enjoyment, though not the strength, of the 
 preceding summer. On the 1st of August I 
 left him, with a view of passing a month at 
 Malvern Wells. I believed it would be the last 
 time I should leave him. 
 
 On Thursday the 11th, I received a letter 
 from my brother. I opened it with suspense, 
 bordering upon terror, and was not able to fix 
 my eye upon the beginning. The first that 
 caught my sight was the end, " If you do not 
 " come home, I shall write again in a post or 
 "two." It was enough. I left the room, and 
 when I was able to read my letter, I found it 
 in substance as follows. 
 
 My Father had dined at the cottage on Sun- 
 day in good health. On Monday he had eaten
 
 306 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 but little, and had had no sleep during the 
 night. On Tuesday he had fallen three times, 
 and had persisted in walkings notwithstanding 
 the intreaties of those about him, saying, " If 
 " I once give up my walking, I shall never re- 
 " cover it again." In the night of Tuesday, he 
 had raved and talked incessantly, and twice got 
 out of bed, though he was not able to stand. 
 Three times he vomited. At five o'clock on 
 Wednesday morning he was quite still, and the 
 tittendants believed him dying. At twelve 
 o'clock on Wednesday, when the letter was 
 written, my Father was got up, and was better, 
 but my brother concluded his account by say- 
 ing, " How can we expect a return to health at 
 " ninety-one ?" 
 
 I was in my gig before six o'clock the next 
 morning, and at home before eight in the 
 eveniticr. 
 
 I passed the day in sad composure, prepared 
 to undergo all the fatigue my nature could sup- 
 port on the road, and all the sorrow that might 
 await me at home. I neither felt pain nor hun- 
 ger. Food did not seem necessary to my ex- 
 istence. 
 
 As I passed through the village near our 
 house, I expected, every moment, that some 
 kind neighbour would stop me, to tell me of
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 307 
 
 my Father's death ; and, as soon as the house 
 was in view, I looked for the same intelligence 
 through an open window. 
 
 I found my Father dressed, and sitting on 
 the sofa. 
 
 llie scenes that had presented themselves to 
 my Father's imagination during the tumult of 
 Nature, made a more vivid and lasting impres- 
 sion on his mind than if they had been real. 
 The day after I came home, he amused him- 
 self with relating them to me. 
 
 " I was in the Narrow Marsh, in Notting- 
 " ham," said my Father, " in a room where 
 " twelve men were drinking and smoking. I 
 " remember their faces well, and even their 
 " cloaths, though they were all strangers to me. 
 " The cause of our meeting was to fix the price 
 " of frame-work hose. When the business was 
 " discussed, they divided into parties of three 
 *^ or four, and I got into a boat, and sailed 
 *' among them. At first the motion was de- 
 *' lightful ; but I was soon carried on with such 
 " rapidity, that I was in the utmost terror lest 
 " I should run foul of some of the men. By 
 " great good luck, however, ray boat, though 
 " going with prodigious swiftness, crossed from 
 " one side of tlie room to the other, and 1 
 "■ missed them all." 
 
 X '1
 
 308 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 A thought instantly struck me, on mention 
 of the boat. " Pray," said I to my brother, 
 " what had my Father for dinner on Sunday ?" 
 
 " Harico of mutton and gooseberry pudding; 
 " and he ate very heartily." 
 
 " Then," said I, " the whole is accounted 
 " for. He has eaten a dinner he could not di- 
 " gest, he has retained it with increasing mi- 
 " sery ; the motion of the boat was occasioned 
 " by sickness ; when the stomach was relieved 
 " of its burden, my Father sunk into repose, 
 " and was supposed to be dying, and he has 
 '^ been recovering ever since." 
 
 The apothecary whom I sent for confirmed 
 all I had said, and added that my Father would 
 be as well as before, which was really the case. 
 
 This event altered my opinion of the pro- 
 bable duration of my Father's life. I'he j)rece- 
 ding winter I had been under daily apprehen- 
 sions of discovering some symptom that might 
 indicate a speedy change ; but now, having 
 weathered such a storm, I concluded he had 
 great internal strength left, and I was blind to 
 danger when it actually stared me in the face. 
 
 My Father was now well, but so infirm that 
 he could not sit down on his chair, or lie down 
 on his bed, or rise from either, without assist- 
 ance. He continued his walks in the kitchen.
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 309 
 
 but they were performed with difficulty, and 
 not without danger. 
 
 Oa the 11th, the 19th, and the 24th of De- 
 cember, my Father fell. By one fall he was 
 not hurt, by another his hip was bruised, by 
 another he received a severe contusion over the 
 eye ; but Nature still retained her happy pro- 
 pensity to make all well again. In these re- 
 peated falls my Father never uttered cry or 
 groan. He lay immovable till he could be 
 lifted up, and the calm character of his coun- 
 tenance was never disturbed. These warnings 
 were too many to be slighted. Such a number 
 of falls could only ^^roceed from the utter ina- 
 bility of the frame to support itself. He 
 walked no more alone, but leaned on the arm 
 of a servant. 
 
 In the Winter my Father had frequent re- 
 turns of the cramp. A frost never failed to 
 bring it, and a thaw generally took it away. 
 Not being able to pass the night in a chair, as 
 he had done the last Winter, he lay in bed, 
 groaning under excruciating and irremediable 
 pain. 
 
 The tcm})orary alienation of mind under 
 which he had laboured in August, now attacked 
 my Father at intervals, but only in the night. 
 It was not delirium, it was not insanity, it was
 
 310 XIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 not childishness — it was a kind of illusion. 
 Imaginary objects presented tjiemselves before 
 his eyes, and made a much stronger impres- 
 sion upon his mind than those he really saw. 
 In the dead of night he saw candles burning in 
 his room, though there was no light but the 
 fire ; and a number of persons conversing toge- 
 ther, though there was no one but the servant 
 who attended him. 
 
 My Father's belief in these appearances was 
 firm, and he related them to me as facts, with 
 a fluency of speech that he was not capable of 
 on any other subject. Sometimes they were 
 ludicrous. I shall give one in his own words 
 as a specimen. 
 
 On the 14th of January, 1815, my father 
 !?aid, " I observed one thing this morning that 
 " I never saw before. You know the fire draws 
 " every thing into its vortex. I got into the 
 " current, and it drew me towards itself, in 
 " spite of all my resistance ; and, when I got 
 " near, it turned me half round, and seated 
 " me on the fire !" 
 
 " You found it a warm seat, did not you?" 
 said I. 
 
 " Yes," replied my Father, " I made an ef- 
 " fort, and got ofl^ immediately. One does not 
 " like to sit upon the fire, if it be only a few 
 " embers."
 
 UFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 311 
 
 *^' I suppose," said I, " you are now con- 
 " vinced that it was not really so ?" 
 
 " I am as sure as I live," replied my Father, 
 in a tone of reproach for my incredulity, " that 
 " it was so." 
 
 I could have wept at this wavering of a nohle 
 mind, and I could have laughed at the oddity 
 of the incident. I did neither; I proceeded 
 seriously to shew my Father that he was mis- 
 taken. He listened, doubted, inquired, and 
 was convinced he had been deceived. In con* 
 sequence of my pursuing this method, hi§ 
 doubts arose before he communicated his vi- 
 sions to me; and he asked whether the circum- 
 stances he detailed were truth or fiction. SomC' 
 times he would say, " I do not see how this 
 " could have happened ; yet every thing ap- 
 " peared so perfect at the time, that I was as- 
 " sured of its reality." He was always dis- 
 turbed by these imaginations, and restored to 
 serenity when I had convinced him that they 
 were not truths. 
 
 In March the cramp and the illusions quitted 
 my Father. After his morning walk he came 
 up weary, grew sleepy, and was laid down on 
 his bed, where he rested quietly. In the even- 
 ing my brother passed two hours with us, and 
 readini^ and conversation amused mv Father.
 
 312 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 He made judicious remarks on the one, and 
 joined in the other occasionally, though not in 
 a very articulate voice. At ten o'clock he was 
 undressed, and lifted into bed, where he could 
 not turn himself, however uneasy he might lie. 
 
 In May my Father's estates in Herefordshire 
 were in a perplexing situation, and my brother 
 was in London. One tenant paid no rent, and 
 answered no letter that was sent to demand it ; 
 another had lately entered on his farm, and 
 wanted a reduction of rent; and another wished 
 to transfer his lease to a new tenant : repairs 
 too were wanting. My Father was conscious 
 of his own inability to manage these matters, 
 and his mind was struck with the dread of mis- 
 fortune, without being capable of ascertaining 
 whence it might arise. He grew hot and rest- 
 less, passed many nights wholly without sleep, 
 and part of them in great confusion ; became 
 thinner, paler, and had not so good an appe- 
 tite. His legs, which hitherto had preserved 
 their shape and bulk, now shrunk. Notwith- 
 standing all this, he still walked, and Summer 
 had taken him from the kitchen into the open 
 air. 
 
 I am inclined to think that a natural decay, 
 and the untoward circumstances of the He- 
 refordshire farms, operated upon each other;
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 313 
 
 that the vexation would not have produced 
 such violent effects, if life had not been draw- 
 ing near its close ; and that life would not have 
 ebbed away so rapidly, if it had not been for 
 the anxiety. 
 
 I looked upon Winter as the season when 
 my Father's dissolution would take place, be- 
 cause he had recovered a greater degree of 
 health in the two preceding Springs, and I 
 think that Nature made several efforts now to 
 heal the wounds that had been made, but they 
 were counteracted by fresh incidents. 
 
 In June my Father performed no action of 
 his life without assistance, except carrying a 
 spoon to his mouth. His walks were reduced 
 to a quarter of a mile each, but he took four 
 in the day. He passed the greatest part of the 
 afternoon, as well as the morning, on his bed. 
 
 I now perceived a wheezing, a cough, and a 
 shortness of breath, after getting up stairs. As 
 soon as I heard these, I knew they were the 
 ministers of death, the agents appointed to con- 
 vey my Father to another world, though I 
 could not guess at the time they would take in 
 performing their office. 
 
 On the 26th of July I set out for Malvern 
 Wells. I knew I should be within call ; and 
 believing my Father in no immediate danger, I
 
 514 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 consigned him to the care of persons I could 
 trust: I thought my own health required change 
 of air, and that it was necessary to arm me for 
 the mournful scenes I might have to go through. 
 
 I returned home on the 24th of August, and 
 found my father thinner, weaker, and more spi- 
 ritless than I left him. How far he had felt 
 my absence I know not. I rather think Nature 
 was so far worn out, that it did not afford him 
 matter of lasting regret. When I had been 
 gone three weeks, he said to the person who 
 attended him in my place, "Our folks" (mean- 
 ing me and the servant) " will be at home to- 
 " morrow." " No," replied she, " you know 
 " they were to sta}'^ a month." My father said, 
 •'^ Is a month so long ?" 
 
 From my return on the 24th of August, to 
 the 13th of September, my father declined 
 apace. He took a very small quantity of food, 
 and did not relish even that. He was a shorter 
 time out of his bed, and did not rest so well 
 when in it. He had great difficulty in uttering 
 the few sentences he spoke, and we had not 
 less in understanding them. His cough was 
 become extremely troublesome. He listened 
 with attention to the anecdotes I related of 
 Malvern ; and when I told him that Lady (ires- 
 ley had expressed a desire of being introduced
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 315 
 
 to me because I was his daughter, he said, 
 " It is a feather in my cap." 
 
 For some time past my father had found it 
 extremely difficult to lower his foot, so as to 
 touch the first stair ; on Thursday the 14th of 
 September, he found it impossible. He stood, 
 holding by the bannisters, and could not move. 
 The servant who was waiting- at the bottom of 
 the stairs came up, and, laying hold of the leg, 
 endeavoured to make the foot descend ; it was 
 not to be done. I led my father back. 
 
 During the last week my father had several 
 times expressed a wish to see his friend and 
 apothecary Mr. Blount, particularly on account 
 of his cough. As I was assured that my fa- 
 ther's case was out of the reach of medicine, 
 and no less certain that when he ceased to 
 cough he must die, I delayed sending for Mr. 
 Blount. Yesterday I had sent for him, and 
 this eveninii: he came. 
 
 My father's purpose was now evident, though 
 his explanation of it was very inarticulate. It 
 was to ascertain, positively, whether there were 
 any hope of relief, or whether he were arrived 
 at that stage of existence where hope is extinct. 
 While Mr, Blount was feeling his pulse, niy 
 father said to him, " I suppose I am worn out:'" 
 Mr, Blount's answer was, " No, not yet."'
 
 Sl6 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 On Friday the 15th, my father performed 
 his four accustomed walks round the circle of a 
 quarter of a mile each, but with great exertion 
 and fatigue. I had not the least apprehension 
 of the melancholy catastrophe that was ap- 
 proaching. On Saturday the l6th, my father 
 had had a very restless night. He took his 
 first walk round the circle, and came in very 
 much wearied, and out of breath, though not 
 more so than I had seen him before. He was 
 put into bed, and slept as usual He was 
 roused to his dinner, but did not attempt to'^go 
 down stairs. He ate only two small apples 
 made into sauce, which I gave him with a 
 spoon. I offered him minced beef, cream 
 cheese, and preserved fruit. At last he said 
 rather hastily, " I have no appetite, and I '11 
 "eat nothing more!"* an expression that was 
 fatally verified. 
 
 I led my father to the top of the stairs on his 
 way for his second walk, and with great hesita- 
 tion and tardy movements he got to the bot- 
 tom. I then placed myself at a window that 
 overlooked his promenade. I watched him 
 with silent anguish as he was gently hauled 
 along by the servant. His countenance was 
 pale, his chin rested on his bosom, his body 
 was bent, and he was scarcely able to drag one 
 leg after the other.
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON, 317 
 
 When my father was going his second round, 
 the servant who had hved with him twenty- 
 years, who had been his faithful attendant in 
 every journey he had taken during that period, 
 and whom he liad treated as a friend, looked 
 up to me, and shook his head, saying in a voice 
 understood by me, though not by my father, 
 " Very bad !" I went down immediately, 
 '• Father," said I, " I am afraid you are tired, 
 " you had better not go your six times round." 
 '• I am tired," replied he, " but I will go one 
 " more, however." That one was his last. 
 He was brought into the house quite exhausted. 
 I placed a chair behind him, and he was let 
 down upon it. 
 
 Having rested a few minutes, my father got 
 up stairs — to go down no more. By the time 
 he could be laid in bed, he was in such agony 
 that he groaned aloud, and exclaimed, " Oh ! 
 '' God, think on me !" He did not rest, being 
 harassed by a perpetual cough. At the end of 
 two hours, he was, at his own desire, taken out 
 of bed. It was now- the time of his third walk, 
 and as I believed that his doors were for ever 
 shut upon liis walks, I a^ked if he would take 
 a turn in the next room. He said, " i '11 try." 
 
 A woman servant led my iatlier by botli 
 hands, and I su])]jcrted him on the back, ill?
 
 318 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTOS. 
 
 feet could not be gotten into any thing like a 
 perpendicular line with his body. When we 
 were returning, he cried, " I am got to my 
 " last, I cannot walk another step !" By our 
 taking almost all his weight, he reached his 
 chair, but as it had a small foot- step, we were 
 not able to place him in it. My brother, who 
 then entered the room, tried to lift the foot so 
 that it might stand upon the step — it was im- 
 movable. My father was then seated on his 
 chair by my brother and myself taking him un- 
 der each arm, and the servant lifting his knees. 
 When he sat, his legs shot forward. The 
 joints of his knees bent no more ! 
 
 My father's breathing was so short and diffi- 
 cult, that we were not without apprehensions 
 that every breath might be his last. Every 
 breath was an agony, and attended with a 
 cough, an unavailing effort to bring up the 
 mucus that oppressed him. The struggle occa- 
 sioned a fever, 
 
 INly eyes were now completely open to the 
 event that was approaching. A waistcoat was 
 laid for my father to wear the next day. " No,'* 
 said I, " take it away, he will never want a 
 **' waistcoat more.'' I knew he had nothing to 
 do but to j)erform the last sad task of mortality 
 — 'to die.
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 819 
 
 My father articulated nothing, but a very 
 indistinct " Good night, my love," to me. His 
 groaning and coughing continued all night, 
 with very little intermission. 
 
 On Sunday the lyth, about nine o'clock, 
 he was carried in his bed-cloaths to the 
 sofa. He passed the day in coughing and 
 groaning, and about three o'clock he cried out 
 in agony, " Oh ! God, relieve me!" He sucked 
 half a peach with avidity, saying, " It will give 
 " me cold." " Do you want cold ?" said I. 
 He answered, *' Yes." 
 
 I think, after this day the bitterness of 
 death was over. At seven o'clock in the even- 
 ing my father was carried to bed, as he had 
 been taken from it, in the bed-cloaths. He 
 did not cry out, nor groan," during the whole 
 night, and nothing seemed to disturb him. 
 
 On the morning of Monday, my brother read 
 to my father for I believe two hours. When 
 he was asked if he chose to have the reading 
 continued, he answered, " Yes." But, whe- 
 ther he understood what was read, whether the 
 voice soothed him, or whether it was a mecha- 
 nical fondness for a bock that still remained, I 
 am not able to determine. 
 
 My father drank more than a quart of milk 
 in the course of the day. He remained in }jed
 
 3'20 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 till seven o'clock in the evening, when he was 
 carried to the sofa, where he continued about 
 an hour and a half. He lay awake till about 
 two in the morning, with little coughing or 
 groaning. It is believed he slept a little about 
 three. — He slept no more. 
 
 I went to my father at seven o'clock in the 
 morning of Tuesday the 19th, and found him 
 in a bath, with excessive perspiration. He 
 looked red, he felt hot, and he breathed very 
 short and hard. He was supported by bolsters. 
 As hitherto the best repose he had taken had 
 been in the natural posture of lying down, I 
 had the bolsters removed, and himself laid 
 down gently. But no sooner had his head 
 sunk on the pillow, than he cried, " I shall be 
 " dead ! I shall be dead !" He was instantly 
 raised up, to lie down no more. 
 
 About ten o'clock my father spoke for a con- 
 siderable time, as if he were uttering connected 
 sentences, but my utmost efforts could not dis- 
 tinguish what he said. He discovered a great 
 desire to make himself understood, and some 
 disappointment when he found he could not. 
 
 I wept violently. " Father/' said I, " you 
 " are very ill ; it grieves my heart to see you so." 
 He said, " There is only one pinch more to 
 '• come." He then made me comprehend that 
 he wished to be moved to the sofli.
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 321 
 
 From this time till half-past two o'clock he 
 was placed against the end, the corner, and the 
 back of the sofa, by turns, as he exhibited 
 symptoms of restlessness. He could not arti- 
 culate his words, and my brother and I, who 
 attended him, had great difficulty in finding 
 out his wants. He was perfectly sensible, but 
 took little notice of what was passing in his 
 room. He drank a little milk, and nothing 
 else. 
 
 At three o'clock my father was shaved as he 
 sat bolstered up on the sofa, and he stretched 
 his under-lip while its beard was taken off. 
 
 From about half-past-two o'clock till ten at 
 night, my Father neither moved head nor foot, 
 and his looks seemed to say, " Do not move 
 " me." His eyes were open during the whole 
 time, and sometimes wandered round in a 
 manner not usual to him. His breath was ex- 
 cessively hard, quick, and short, but his coun- 
 tenance was composed, and he neither coughed 
 nor groaned. Once I asked him if he sat easy ? 
 His answer was, " O yes." He spoke no more. 
 
 Believing his end approaching, my brother 
 and I determined not to remove our father if 
 he remained at ease. But between ten and 
 eleven, when I had placed his bolsters in a 
 manner that I thought calculated to afford him 
 
 Y
 
 322 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTOK. 
 
 more support, he began to discover symptoms 
 of uneasiness. Shocked at the idea of his hav- 
 ing a hard sofa for his place of repose through 
 the night, I insisted upon his being put into 
 bed. He suffered very httle by the removal. 
 
 I looked at my father's pale countenance, 
 and open unmeaning eyes, and wished him, 
 what 1 knew he could not have, a good night. 
 He seemed insensible of the vain wish. 
 
 Samuel Hutton,- the grand-nephew of my 
 father, and the present possessor of his hotise 
 and business at Birmingham, a most deserving 
 young man, who reverenced my father as a 
 parent, and by whom he was beloved as a son, 
 earnestly intreated permission to sit up with 
 his uncle. After making every arrangement 
 that I thought could contribute to the comfort 
 of both, I left them. 
 
 My cousin did not perceive any alteration in 
 my father during the night. He quitted the 
 room at half-past five o'clock in the morning, 
 and a woman servant, who had been accus- 
 tomed to attend my father, took his place. 
 
 At half-past five in the morning of Wednes- 
 day the 20th of September, the servant observed 
 a slight convulsion in my father's legs. This 
 lasted about a minute, and returned twice 
 at'terwnrds. A little before six his breath was 
 heard in bis throat.
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 32-3 
 
 About a quarter before seven the servant fre- 
 quently cast her eyes upon her master, and 
 thought he breathed rather quicker and shorter. 
 Soon after she observed him open his mouth, 
 as if gaping a verv httle for breath. He did 
 not do this more than six times. There nas, 
 at this time, such long intervals between each 
 breath, that she tried to hold her own breath 
 so long and could not. She then thought the 
 breath had stopped, but was not certain : she 
 put her ear to the face and could not hear it. 
 She called the man servant, who ran up stairs 
 instantly, and said his master was gone. 
 
 The tidings were soon brought to me. I 
 rushed into my father's room half dressed and 
 half frantic. Me was fitting in bed exactly as 
 I had left him. Not a thread that was near 
 him had been disturbed. I remember his fixed 
 eyes, and his pale serene countenance. I kissed 
 his warm forehead, but 1 know not what I 
 said. 
 
 Bitter sorrow has been my portion while 
 J have been tracing the events of tlie last four 
 days. 
 
 Perhaps I have been too circumstantial in 
 my relation of my father's decease. To die is 
 ihe lot of every mnn, and n)y father has done 
 )io more : but 'Mr. Bl')unt said, that it seldom
 
 324 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 happened to a medical practitioner to witness 
 such a case : a human being quitting the world 
 from the natural and total wearins; out of the 
 structure, without any mixture of disease. If 
 this, and the interest my Father may have ex- 
 cited in the course of his Narrative, do not 
 make my apology, 1 have greatly erred. 
 
 Since I have lost my father, reflection has 
 pointed out many things left undone that I 
 ought to have done ; but I do not recollect any 
 that I did, and ought not to have done, or that 
 I did not do to the best of my power. I have 
 the satisfaction of his own testimony in my fa- 
 vour. He has said to me more than once, *' It 
 ** is impossible to be better nursed than I am." 
 He said once, " Thou dost all thou canst to 
 " smooth the rugged way I have to go." And 
 he said once, " 1 was thinking a few days ago 
 " what faults thou liadst." " Pray, father," said 
 I, " Do not think too much on that subject." 
 Without noticing my interruption, he added in 
 a solemn manner, " To my great satisfaction I 
 *' could find none." 
 
 I am not so infatuated as to believe I have no 
 faults. I know them, and I feel them ; but I 
 am grateful to Almighty God that my parent's 
 fondness could cover them.
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 3^5 
 
 I shall be censured for reciting my own 
 praises. Be it so. They are the praises of my 
 father, and 1 will not lose an atom of them. 
 
 My father recollected with gratitude to Pro- 
 vidence the success that had crowned the exer- 
 tions of his youth. " How thankful ought I 
 " to be," he would say, " for the comforts that 
 " surround me. Where should I have been 
 " now if I had continued a stockin^er ? I must 
 " have been in the workhouse. They all go 
 " there when they cannot see to work. I have 
 " all I can wish for. I think of these thing's 
 " every day." 
 
 My father seldom spoke of his death ; but I 
 have reason to believe he constantly watched 
 its approach, and was sensible of every advance 
 he made towards it. Some expressions I have 
 mentioned tend to prove this; and while I was 
 at Malvern he said to his attendant, " I shall 
 " not be long for this world." 
 
 My father has delineated his own character 
 in the history he has written of his life. Little 
 more remains to be said, and I hope that little 
 will not be too much. 
 
 I think the predominant feature in my fa- 
 ther's character was the love of' peace. No 
 quarrel ever happened within the sphere of his 
 influence, in which he did not act the part of
 
 355 LIFE Of WILLIAM HUTION. 
 
 a mediator, and endeavour to conciliate both 
 sides ; and, I believe, no quarrel ever happened 
 where he was concerned, in which he did 
 not relinquish a part of his right. The first 
 lessons he taught his children were, that the 
 giving up an argument ivas meritorious, and^ 
 that having the last word teas a fault. 
 
 My father's love of peace made him generally 
 silent on those inexhaustible subjects of dispute 
 and animosity, religion and politics. His suf- 
 ferings at the riots drew his sentiments from 
 him, and he gave them without reserve. They 
 v.ill be found too liberal for the present day. 
 Public opinion, like the pendulum of a clock, 
 cannot rest in the centre. From the time of 
 the riots it has been verging towards bigotry 
 and slavery. Having reached its limits, it will 
 verge towards the oj)posite extremes, infidelity 
 and anarchy. Truth is the centre ; and, per- 
 haps, my father's opinions may not have been 
 wide of the mark. 
 
 The few lessons of good breeding that reached 
 niy father in earlv life were never forgotten by 
 liim. His friend Mr. Webb had said, " Billy, 
 ••' never interrupt any person who is speaking.'' 
 My fattier was a patient hearer. He waited 
 till his turn came; and frequently, in the cla- 
 mour of a public table, his turn did not come.
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. SQ.'J 
 
 and what he had to say was lost. I never knew 
 him make one of two persons speaking together. 
 He did not begin till another had ended, and 
 he stopped if another began. 
 
 My father's conduct towards his children was 
 admirable. He allowed us a greater degree of 
 liberty than custom gives to a child ; but, if he 
 saw us transo-ressing; the bounds of order, a 
 single word, and that a mild one, was suffi- 
 cient to bring us back. He strongly inculcated 
 the confession of an error. A fault acknow- 
 ledged was not merely amended : in his estima- 
 tion it almost became a virtue. 
 
 My father was an uncommon instance of 
 resolution and perseverance, and an example 
 of what these can perform. Another, I might 
 almost say, every other, would have sunk un- 
 der supposed inability, when he was falling to 
 the ground ; and would, therefore, have been 
 irrecoverably in bed, while he was still walking. 
 My father was so tenacious of his activity and 
 independence, that he performed every one of 
 his accustomed actions, till it was not possible 
 for him to do it once more. I have no doubt 
 that he prolonged his powers and his life by 
 these exertions. The ill consequences of exer- 
 cise are precarious, those of sitting-stjll are 
 certain.
 
 528 LIFE OF WILLIAM HUTTON. 
 
 My father was nearly five feet six inches in 
 height, well made, strong, and active ; a little 
 inclined to corpulence, which did not diminish 
 till within four or five months of his death. 
 From this period he became gradually thin. 
 His countenance was expressive of sense, reso^ 
 lution, and calmness; though when irritated 
 or animated he had a very keen eye. Such was 
 the happy disposition of his mind, and such the 
 firm texture of his body, that ninety-two years 
 had scarcely the power to alter his features, or 
 make a wrinkle in his face.
 
 THE 
 
 HISTORY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON, 
 
 FROM 1570 TO 1798, 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM HUTTON, f. A, S. S,
 
 ( 531 ) 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 He who writes the History of his Family 
 brings himself into a premunire. He must 
 either be unfaithful, or divulge the errors of his 
 dearest friends. As all have defects, he must 
 accuse them, by laying those defects open ; or 
 himself, by concealing them. True judgment 
 lies in endeavouringp to steer clear of both. 
 
 The memoirs of a private family bear but 
 little weight in the scale of history. Few 
 anecdotes offer. An Author ought to be blessed 
 with a double portion of genius to be entertain- 
 ing. He may be said to write upon nothing: 
 like the Israelites, to make bricks without straw. 
 And when his work is finished, like that of the 
 brick-maker, it may be burnt. 
 
 The writer of a private history, like a man 
 in a mist, sees but few objects, and the reader 
 Mauders over a dry desert without relief. Such
 
 ( 332 ) 
 
 a work is seldom read out of the family ; nay, 
 I am inclined to think it is seldom read in it. 
 Hidden from the light, it sleeps in silence; often 
 in the strong box, with the title-deeds of the 
 family. 
 
 The principal transactions of the heroes of 
 the Hutton race, may be comprised in a tomb- 
 stone history. They were born, they lived, 
 and they died. But though the characters 
 were placed in still life, some of them were 
 very singular.
 
 ( 333 ) 
 
 THE HISTORY, &c. 
 
 When a man has written a book and lost it, 
 I know nothing more difficult than to write it 
 again. Dr. Priestley assured me he never 
 could. The past efforts of the mind are almost 
 as hard to be recalled as the past hour. 
 
 In 1779 I wrote the History of the Family 
 of Hutton, which slept very quietly upon my 
 shelf for twelve years. But in 1791 3 when tlie 
 rioters chose to amuse themselves with the de- 
 struction of every kind of property, land ex- 
 cepted, which I had spent threescore years in 
 collecting, the History of my Family fell in the 
 general ruin. I was more affected at the loss 
 of this history than it merited; and, for seven 
 years, endeavoured to prevail upon myself to 
 begin another, but was never able to succeed, 
 though solicited by friends.
 
 334 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 Sometimes the most important incidents in 
 a man's life spring out of trifles. " Do you 
 " court Miss Simpson r" said Mrs. Adams to 
 her friend. " Not I : I shall never have any- 
 " thing to say to her." " Nay, you may do 
 •'' worse." From this simple word he began 
 the lover, which ended in the husband. A 
 week ago, May 1, 1798, a letter dated 1779, 
 from one relation to another, accidentally fell 
 into my hands, in which it was said, " That 
 " Mr. Hutton had written the history of the 
 " family, and that it was a good one."' This 
 trifling remark raised up that resolution which 
 had lain dormant for seven years. 
 
 Authors tell us, " that all families are equally 
 " ancient, as being descended from Adam." 
 However, none can pass current without proof 
 impressions in their favour ; and, I am appre- 
 hensive, many counterfeits are offered in cir- 
 culation. 
 
 If I cannot penetrate into the dark ages of 
 antiquity, yet my fiunily, like every other of 
 long standing in England, no doubt carries 
 the blood of the Britons, the Romans, Saxons, 
 Danes, and Normans. 
 
 Most families have an attacliment to a fa- 
 vourite i::ame, which descends with the heirs 
 of the house. Thus the family of Gresley
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTO^J. 3SS 
 
 retain that of Nigel, Ferrers that of Sewell, and 
 Blount that of Walter ; all prior to the Con- 
 quest. Ours never forsakes those of Thomas 
 and Catherine. These names, though in a 
 plain style, have existed for ages, and it would 
 be deemed a family transgression to infringe 
 upon them. There were, in I786, but six 
 males, and four of them were Thomas ; three 
 females, and two of them were Catherine ; so 
 that the present generation may always be said 
 to represent the last. 
 
 If they have not had an estate entailed upon 
 them, they have had a name. 
 
 Again, some families have had their propen- 
 sities and dishkes to a profession, or an amuse- 
 ment. A family, I well know, has pleaded at 
 the bar during four generations, without ad- 
 vancing or sinking a step. Another has filled 
 a pulpit, and to as little purpose. In a third, 
 the sporting-bag and the gun have been handed 
 down from one generation to another. 
 
 Something like the reverse has been the case 
 of my family. My grandfather's grandfather 
 made hats, but none of his descendants ever 
 touched one, except to wear it. His son, my 
 great grandfather, was a shearman, and the 
 last who handled the shears. He afterwards 
 kept a public-house, but none of his descend-
 
 536 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 ants cared to sell ale. His son, my grand- 
 father, was famous for dressing flax, catching 
 fish, keeping pigs, and writing down sermons. 
 He was the last of the family that had any of 
 these propensities. My father was a wool- 
 comber, but with him the family bid an eter- 
 nal farewell to the fleece. He placed his three 
 sons (two brothers and myself) to a stocking- 
 maker; they forsook the trade, and perhaps 
 are the last that will ever have occasion to for- 
 sake it. 
 
 The characteristics of the family were ho- 
 nesty and supineness. The last was fatally ve- 
 rified in my grandfather, who refused to travel 
 from Derby to Northallerton to possess an es- 
 tate, although his household was upon the verge 
 of want. 
 
 My ancestors have been steady in religion, 
 for they were Dissenters from the first establish- 
 ment of that sect under Bishop Hooper. They 
 have been as steady in their love of peace, and 
 of pudding ; remarkable for memory ; not 
 much given to receive, keep, or pay money ; 
 often sensible, always modest. The males in- 
 active, the females distinguished for capacity. 
 All these important points will be proved upon 
 them as I relate their history. They are out- 
 lines of the few pictures I shall draw.
 
 FAMILY OF HtTTON. 337 
 
 THE FIRST GENERATION, 
 FROM 1586 TO iCoG. 
 
 That branch from which I am descended 
 was resident at Northallerton, but at what time 
 they settled there is uncertain, and whether 
 originally of Yorkshire or Cumberland equally 
 uncertain ; but, I believe, they were all from 
 one stock. The first of whom we have any 
 certain knowledge was 
 
 Thomas (perhaps), 
 
 A Hatter of eminence at Northallerton, who 
 lived in repute, and employed many workmen. 
 With him sunk the elevation of the family. 
 
 Second Thomas, 
 FROM 1616 TO 1691. 
 
 The son of the first Thomas, and, I have 
 reason to think, not the eldest, was my father's 
 grandfather, born at Northallerton in lCl6, 
 and bred a shearman. 
 
 The civil wars breaking out in 1642, between 
 Charles the First and his Parliament, he en- 
 tered into the service of the latter, under the 
 
 z
 
 o58 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 Earl of Manchester, as a private trooper, and 
 served afterwards under Sir Thomas Fairfax 
 and Ohver Cromwell. From these famous 
 Generals he learned the art of Victory, was at 
 several engagements, as Marston-moor, Nase- 
 by, Worcester, &c,, and was one of the de- 
 tachment sent in pursuit of the unfortunate 
 Charles the Second, when secreted in the oak 
 at Boscobel. I have heard my father say, the 
 troops nearly guessed where the King was, but 
 did not choose to search. 
 
 In 1647, the regiment in which Thomas 
 served, marchins: over St. Marv's bridge at 
 Derby, in their way to Nottingham, he ob- 
 served a girl of fifteen a few yards below the 
 bridge, lading water into her pail, while stand- 
 ing upon her batting-lag (beating-log), upon 
 which the dyer stands to beat his cloth. Some 
 soldiery jokes ensued, when our trooper dis- 
 mounted, and cast a large stone with design to 
 splash her ; but not being versed in directing a 
 stone so well as a bullet, he missed the water, 
 and broke her iicad. 
 
 Alarmed at this unexpected result of his rude 
 attack, he hastened towards the front of the 
 regiment to avoid the consequence. Thus the 
 man who had boldly faced an enemy in the 
 field, fled with fear from a harmless female.
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 339 
 
 Offered Injuries disarm. She instantly^ with 
 cries and tears, left her pail and went home, 
 for her residence was only at the bridge foot, 
 where her mother was frightened to see a stream 
 of blood. 
 
 The unknown consequences of this adven- 
 ture hung upon the trooper's mind. He left 
 the regiment in 1658, after a service of sixteen 
 yearSj when, " the world being all before him 
 " where to chuse," he fixed upon Derby, fol- 
 lowed his occupation, courted a young woman, 
 and in 1659 married her. In the course of 
 their conversations he proved to be the very 
 man who had cast the stone, and she the girl 
 with the broken head. Her name was Cathe- 
 rine Smith*. She was sixteen years younger 
 than her husband. 
 
 Their residence was about the middle of 
 Bridge-gate, where they kept ale and harmony 
 about thirty years. During that period they 
 produced ten children. He died in 1691, at 
 the age of seventy-five. A well-made man, 
 about five feet nine. 
 
 Three pieces of antiquity belonging to this 
 warrior fell into my possession, which I pre- 
 served as relics. A brass spoon of a singular 
 
 * This anecdote has been extracted from the present 
 work, and published in my History of Derby,
 
 340 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 construction, ill suited to the shape of the 
 mouth, graced with the image of a Saint at the 
 top. This he carried in his pocket for his own 
 use during his military peregrinations. — His 
 broad-sword, drawn for liberty, his companion 
 and guard during sixteen years' service. These 
 were both taken from me at the Riots. — The 
 third was a fragment of a mug that had been 
 daily used for fourscore years, which the Rioters 
 did not think worth taking, because it was 
 empty. 
 
 THE THIRD GENERATION, 
 
 Comprehending the time from the birth of the 
 first to the death of the last, that is, from 
 1659 to 1734. 
 
 Thomas, 
 
 My Grandfather, the eldest son of the second 
 Thomas, born in 16.59. He never resided out 
 of St. Alkmund's parish, nor one hundred 
 yards from the Church. Neither did he ever 
 travel more than twelve miles from home, and 
 that but once; or more than thirty yards to 
 procure a wife. 
 
 While an infant in arms, a neighbour's female 
 child, three or four years older than himself,
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 341 
 
 was very fond of him, frequently nursed him, 
 and taught him to walk. Their parents observ- 
 ing this tenderness between the two infants, 
 said to each other, " Who knows but these two 
 " may one day make a match ?" which really 
 happened twenty-two years after. Thus it may 
 be fairly said, he was beloved by one female 
 from the day of his birth to that of his death. 
 Her name was Elinor Jennings. She was born 
 in St. Alkmund's church-yard, where, seventy 
 years after, she was interred. Her father was 
 a baptist preacher one day in the week, and a 
 shoemaker the other six. I knew her in I726. 
 She died in October the ensuing year. 
 
 Thomas, the present subject of my pen, was 
 bred a flax-dresser, which occupation he fol- 
 lowed through life. He was a man remarkably 
 quiet, easy, and inofl^ensive, totally unfit for 
 business, or the protection of his property, 
 though very small ; not adapted to combat the 
 rough passions of man, but formed for a milder 
 world, a kind of cypher in the creation. 
 
 He married about the age of twenty-four 
 Elinor Jennings, as above related, and resided 
 in one of those small houses in Bridge-gate, 
 which front St. Alkmund's church on the 
 North, and which you leave close on the left as 
 you cross Bridge-gate from the Church-yard,
 
 342 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 entering the foot road to Darley. I think 
 those dvvelHngs each consist only of a room on 
 the ground floor^ and a chamber over it. Here 
 was as much love as the house could contain, 
 which was excellent furniture ; and here my 
 father was born. 
 
 With all Thomas's simplicity, he was fond 
 of indulging in his little pleasures. The fish- 
 ing-rod was his dear delight. Not a fish swam 
 in the Derwent but he knew it; nor had it a 
 recess or a hole but he knew where to find it. 
 
 Their various sorts of food were as familiar 
 to him as his own, and he had rather want food 
 himself' thsiu be unprovided with theirs. Three 
 or four days a week he attended with his rod to 
 the detriment of his family. Not satisfied with 
 the time given by the Sun, he followed up his 
 favourite amusement by the light of the Moon, 
 and often found his way home with an empty 
 stomach after midnight. 
 
 Fond of pigs, he could not bear to see the 
 sty empty. I have heard my father say, that 
 the frequent pressure of the pail upon his own 
 head, in bringing food for the swine, damped 
 his growth two inches. 
 
 I'he consequence of this bristly predilection 
 was, sometimes a loss of money, and always of 
 time.
 
 FAMILY OF BUTTON. 3h3 
 
 Strongly biassed by religion, he made a prac- 
 tice of takinsf down the sermon in short hand. 
 At his death he had accumulated a sack full, 
 so that he might be said to have collected the 
 religion of an age into a hempen focus. 
 
 In or about I7OI, a person came to Derby to 
 bring him to Northallerton, to take possession 
 of an estate, then of ^.40 a year, now, perhaps, 
 worth ^.^200, to which he was become heir at 
 law. He thanked the messenger for his kind- 
 ness, entertained him, and told him, '^ He 
 " would not travel so far for an estate of much 
 " greater value ; neither did he care who pos- 
 " sessed it." I mentioned this anecdote to a 
 friend some years back, and observed, I would 
 have gone to America for an estate of that va- 
 lue. He replied, he would have gone to the 
 devil. 
 
 When a man can take up a fortune at one 
 grasp, it is something easier than sweating out 
 a life to raise one. My Grandfather's neglect 
 of the Yorkshire estate was not his sole over- 
 sight. A person of the name of Hutton, about 
 a second cousin, had sjjent 40 years as coach- 
 man in the Curzon family, and saved about a 
 thousand pounds. Thomas, though his nearest 
 relation, and urged by his friends, who made 
 no doubt of his having all, refused the acquaint-
 
 344> FAMILY OF HUTTOK. 
 
 ance of this man. The consequence was — he 
 had nothino^. 
 
 This quiet being, this milk-and-water cha- 
 racter, who was extremely respected as having 
 never been concerned in a quarrel, done an ill 
 thing, or said an ill-natured one, died of a de- 
 cline three weeks before Christmas, in I7O8, at 
 the age of forty-nine. He was about five feet 
 three inches. 
 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 Of the remaining nine children, who were 
 contemporary with the present Thomas (my 
 Grandfather) and descended from the last, I 
 can give but little account ; some of them, I 
 apprehend, died in infancy. The eldest was 
 Elizabeth, afterwards married to one Gilbert, 
 a blacksmith. She was said to have enjoyed 
 the honour of supplying Derby with oat-cakes 
 during threescore years. She survived the 
 other nine. I personally knew her; a little old 
 woman, as cross in her temper as ill-nature 
 could make her. She died in 1734, at the age 
 of seventy-three, without a mourner. 
 
 James 
 
 nother, of w 
 silent. 
 
 was another, of whom I am obliged to be
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 345 
 
 John, 
 
 another. This man purchased the house E!ast 
 of St. Mary's bridge, now the site of the China 
 works, for^.So, but being master of only^.28j 
 he mortgaged the premises to Mr. Crompton, 
 a banker, for the other seven. Becoming old, 
 poor, and inheriting the indolence of the Hut- 
 ton family, he suffered the trifling interest to 
 remain unpaid, till the mortgagee seized the 
 premises. The freehold, in 1743, became the 
 property of my father, who assigned over his 
 interest to Mr. Crompton for a guinea. Thus 
 it appears that my family were as little able to 
 keep as to acquire property. 
 
 Catherine 
 
 was the youngest of the ten children. She mar- 
 ried a Boltbee, whom I knew. He died in 
 1728. They left a daughter, who died in 1743 
 unmarried. 
 
 Thus we have wandered through the third 
 generation, consisting of something like this, 
 0000000000, ten cyphers. No issue survives 
 except from the eldest, my Grandfather, the 
 third Thomas, so that we are again reduced to 
 a sinp-le head.
 
 ol6 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 THE FOURTH GENERATION. 
 
 FROM 1685 TO 1768. 
 
 The children of the third Thomas (my 
 Grandfather) were six. The two first died in 
 very early life, of whom nothing can be said; 
 except that they slept before their time ; nor is 
 it of much consequence whether a man sleeps 
 at one, or one hundred. When the candle is 
 out, no matter how long it has burnt. The 
 other children were, Thomas, William (my 
 father), George, and Catherine, of whom in 
 order. 
 
 Thomas, 
 
 The eldest of the surviving children, was 
 born in I687. He was one of the finest cha- 
 racters I ever heard of; and, in point of tem- 
 per, filial duty, amiable manners, prudent con- 
 duct, industry, and religion, he stands at the head 
 of the Hutton family. His genius was singular, 
 in executing whatever he undertook; his hand- 
 writing surpassed that of most masters, his me- 
 chanical knowledge was wonderful. 
 
 Arriving at man's estate, he paid his addresses 
 to a mr\ of the name of Catherine Mas'son, hut
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 347 
 
 the affair terminated in addresses. Afterwards, 
 the next brother Wilham (my father) courted 
 her, but their love ended as the last. These 
 weighty concerns being finished, the flame of 
 love kindled in the breast of George, the 
 youngest brother, but it expired like the two 
 former. I knew this woman twenty-five years 
 after, in 1743, and was not surprized that they 
 desisted, but that they ever made the attempt. 
 I thought her one of the most large and mas- 
 culine of her sex. I concluded she rather 
 courted them than they her. I saw her handle 
 a sword with the "I'^^ces of a dragoon. How 
 this could tally with domestic happiness is 
 doubtful. What may we expect when a wo- 
 man steps out of her sex ? I thought this 
 Amazonian female better adapted to kill with 
 her hand than her eye. 
 
 Thomas, from the age of twenty, when he 
 lost his father, supported a poor mother and a 
 3^onng sister by his hand labour. From the 
 same source he paid all his father's debts. 
 
 He died of a mortificalion in tlie bowels, in 
 17175 ^t the age of twenty-nine. He was 
 about five feet ten inches. 
 
 William (my fatiier,) 
 
 Tlie second son of t!ie third Tliomas, born 
 July '2o, lOlJl. His name would have been
 
 348 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 James, after his uncle, but party spirit running 
 high at the revolution between the contending 
 sovereigns, James and William, and his father 
 being a partizan of William, he called him 
 after that monarch, which introduced the 
 name into the family. 
 
 During his minority, he swept the school 
 for his education, and was farther employed in 
 procuring food for his father's hogs, play for 
 himself, and apples by ev^ery means he could 
 devise. One of these was as follows. His fa- 
 ther's landlord not having room to deposit his 
 crop of apples from the adjoining orchard, re- 
 quested the tenant to let them lie till wanted in 
 his garret, which was guarded by a trap door. 
 No cunning exceeds that of a child when inte- 
 rest prevails. William procured a long stick, 
 which terminated in a hook, and, rising one 
 stair higher than his own height, raised the 
 door with his head, and drew as many apples 
 every day as he chose to eat. He soon looked 
 pale, lost his appetite, and seemed approaching 
 a consumption, but the heap of apples was 
 found in a real one. Many bushels were miss- 
 ing, and his father gave him the most severe 
 of all his corrections. 
 
 He was bound apprentice to Moses Orme. a 
 woolcomber, Jan. 1, 1709, three weeks after
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. M9 
 
 the death of his father^ and at the age of 
 seventeen and a half; consequently his servitude 
 could not expire till he arrived at the mature 
 age of twenty-four and a half, which further 
 indicates the supineness of the Hutton temper. 
 
 During his servitude, he acquired thirty 
 pounds over-work, which supported him in a 
 creditable style of dress, and enabled him to 
 purchase a watch, rare in those early days. In 
 the interval between the expiration of his ser- 
 vitude and his marriage, which was two years, 
 he dressed gaily, took care of his person, played 
 at bowls, carried the finest head of hair in 
 Derby, and at the same time carried within a 
 considerable share of pride; and nothing is 
 more laudable than pride, guided by reason : it 
 keeps a man out of many a mischief. The 
 girls thought him a handsome man. 
 
 Unfortunately, in this interval, a cold set- 
 tling in his right eye, he was directed to one 
 Finney, an eye-doctor, who undertook to cure 
 him, with the blessing of God, and whenever 
 he applied a nostrum, put up a prayer for its 
 success. But auxiliary powers were needless ; 
 for, by his own applications, he drew the very 
 eye-ball out of his head, and it hung upon the 
 cheek by the two ligaments, like the egg of a 
 bird upon a strirg. I heard him say, that
 
 350 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 through excruciating pain, he had not on^' 
 hour's sleep during three weeks. The eye was 
 again deposited in its socket, and moved with 
 the other, but was for ever deprived of sight, 
 and continued to increase in size during hfe. 
 
 Feb. 8, 171 8, he married Anne the daughter 
 of Mathew Ward^ Grocer, of Mountsorrel, by 
 whom he had nine children, who will compose 
 our fifth generation. Whether my parents 
 married from loiw or custom is uncertain, for I 
 never saw any endearments pass between them. 
 My mother was approaching the middle size, 
 had very dark hair, was a brown beauty, with 
 eyes perfectly black. 
 
 Soon after marriage, my father became a 
 master in the little way, as every man must 
 who begins with nothing. But his family 
 rapidly increasing, and he having no economy 
 or talents for trade, he failed in six years for a 
 few trifling debts, amounting in the whole to 
 about fifty pounds, most of which his effects 
 discharged. 
 
 And now poverty stared him in the face. 
 Employment, as well as prutlence, was want- 
 ing, to which was added tl<e dead weight of 
 five small children. This iKM'^Jened in the 
 year 1725.
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 351 
 
 Every future view of prosperity was now 
 closed ; and the mind, sinking under misfor- 
 tunes, became incapable of exertion. His oc- 
 cupation taught him to drink, which he learned 
 with willingness, while his family wanted bread. 
 Memory could point out many a dreadful situ- 
 ation in which we were placed during the eight 
 ensuing j^ears. My poor mother more than 
 once, one infant on her knee, and a few more 
 hanging about her, have all fasted a whole day; 
 and when food arrived, she has suffered them, 
 with a tear, to take her share. Time produced 
 nothing but tatters and children. 
 
 On Christmas-day 1728, a knife was wanted 
 for dinner ; and as my father was never in the 
 habit of buying, except ale, he sent my sister 
 from King's Street to the Morlege to borrow 
 one. She did not succeed ; but on her return 
 she found one, which proved exactly the thing 
 wanted : and I well remember there was great 
 joy over a trifle. Success supplied the want of 
 value. 
 
 My mother was an exceedingly prudent wo- 
 man, but prudence itself can never make the 
 marrias^e state happy, except practised by both 
 parties. She was praised and respected by all 
 who knew her. My father and she lived toge- 
 ther fifteen years, when she died of her ninth 
 child, March 9, J7'^-3, at tlie age of 4 1,
 
 3.52 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 And now the restraints of a wife ceasing-, 
 and the children being too young to influence, 
 my father seemed to rehnquish the cares of a 
 parent. At her death he was left with five 
 children, Catherine, aged fourteen years, resi- 
 ding with her aunts at Swithland, Thomas ten, 
 William (myself) nine, Anne two, and Samuel, 
 five weeks, which last was put out to a wet 
 nurse. 
 
 My father was peculiarly circumstanced in a 
 love affair. While a bachelor, about the year 
 1716, he had paid his addresses to a young 
 woman who favoured his suit. It happened 
 that she married another man, and he another 
 woman, both less beloved. She buried her 
 husband, and he his wife, and in 1735 they 
 became lovers again ; but this, like the first 
 attempt, miscarried, and each married another 
 a second time. He assured me in 1747j that 
 " he loved her better than any woman he ever 
 " saw." In 1753 I first saw her, and became 
 acquainted with her ; she appeared to be a per- 
 son of good sense. By this time she had had 
 three husbands, and he three wives. I asked 
 her if she had loved my father, and why the 
 match did not take effect ? She assured me he 
 had her whole heart ; but gave me to under- 
 stand that her father's consent, in the first in- 
 stance, had been wanting.
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 353 
 
 My mother being gone^ and my father's ta- 
 lents no way adapted to house-keeping, he im- 
 mediately sold up, spent the money, ond, with 
 his three remaining children, took lodgings 
 with Mary Sore, a widow, who also held the 
 freehold of three young sons and one daugh- 
 ter ; and now his three forlorn children suffered 
 all those evils which naturally flow from the 
 neglect of a parent. Though my brother and 
 I laboured daily, we experienced the want of 
 bread, of apparel, and seemed little beings 
 whom nobody owned. But the poor child 
 Anne fared much worse. Unable to use her 
 feet, she lay neglected upon the floor, or fixed 
 in a chair during the day, till I returned from 
 the silk-mill in the evening, when she rejoiced 
 to see me ; for the little remaining time was 
 devoted to her amusement. But, alas ! it was 
 of little avail, for in five months she died 
 through neglect. My father loved her, and 
 wept sorely at her death, as I weep now at the 
 remembrance ; but, overwhelmed with poverty, 
 he lost all command over his conduct. 
 
 Mary Sore, I thought, rather rejoiced at the 
 death of my poor little sister ; perhaps for two 
 reasons, to divert my father, but chiefly, be- 
 cause one obstacle was removed which might 
 retard a future union. 
 
 A A
 
 S54> FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 With Mary Sore, who was a fine figure, to- 
 lerably handsome, and intolerably ignorant, 
 completely vulgar, and completely filthy, he 
 continued ten years. It may fairly be supposed, 
 that a man and woman thus situated would be- 
 come lovers. He faintly courted her, she stre- 
 nuously courted him, and, which is a common 
 case, the more she advanced the more he re- 
 treated. However, matters, I believe, would 
 have terminated in a matrimonial issue, had 
 not half a dozen children stood in the way. 
 Love, if not founded upon the purest princi- 
 ples, will, like your coat, wear to rags. This 
 was the case before us. 
 
 We might reasonably suppose, a man of 
 forty-three, who had lost an eye, and was en- 
 cumbered with four or five children, would 
 stand upon the lowest terms of favour with the 
 fair sex. But the very reverse was the fact. 
 During the ten years of his being a widower 
 he courted several women, both maids and wi- 
 dows, and governed them all, yet all loved him. 
 
 Mary Sore was extremely jealous of these 
 women, often dreamed on the subject, and sent 
 for the old damsels of the neighbourhood, skilled 
 in dreams, to interpret them. Coffee-grounds 
 were most earnestly wished for, but they were 
 out of the reach of the pocket. However, a
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 35^ 
 
 fusty pack of cards was procured, which was 
 the grand iirim and thummim. These, by cat- 
 ting, shuffling, and placing in various direc- 
 tions, were to solve every question in love. 
 They were to tell what he would say to Mary, 
 and if out, whether he was gone to one of her 
 rivals, and what would be the result. Though 
 the sorceress, for a pipe of tobacco, chose to 
 prophesy favourably, yet the queen of hearts 
 and the king of spades were often in malign 
 aspect. 
 
 My father was informed in the beginning of 
 1743, that Benjamin Gudger, a person he had 
 well known forty years, was taken ill, and could 
 not recover. His wife entering a public house 
 one morning where my father was drinking, he 
 behaved to her with uncommon civility, pressed 
 her to stay, and he would treat her with a glass 
 of whatever she should chuse. She was sur- 
 prized at this singular attention, which followed' 
 former cold civility. He understood it, and 
 so did she, six months after, when the husband 
 was dead, and he offered her another. 
 
 He married her at Michaelmas that year, and 
 she paid him good interest for staying ten, for 
 she was a most excellent woman. I am sorry 
 I cannot bestow the same epithet upon him. 
 He observed at her funeral, " She might have 
 
 A a2
 
 S5t) FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 " human infirmities, but she had not one fault." 
 We may reasonably conclude, if a wife has no 
 faults, a husband ought to behave as if she had 
 none. Two amiable wives are more than one 
 man has a right to expect, especially if he ven- 
 tures upon widows, the remains of whose first 
 love are not extinguished. They lived together 
 five years, and he lost her in November 1748, 
 after giving her many a bitter pill. 
 
 Losing his second wife, he continued a wi- 
 dower four years ; when, in 1752, he ventured 
 upon a third wife, another widow ; but, alas ! 
 his authority began to fail ; diseases began to 
 approach, particularly the stone, attended with 
 a paralytic affection, which entirely broke up 
 his constitution. And now the tables were 
 turned ; for, instead of that attention which he 
 experienced from his two former wives, this 
 treated him with great unkindness ; and, as he 
 could not make resistance, he often felt the 
 weight of her hand. This ought to be a lesson 
 against marrying in advanced life, for love is 
 not aj>t to take root after forty, especially in a 
 second venture. After a miserable life, pressed 
 down by affliction, he departed Dec. 13, 1758, 
 at the age of sixty-seven. Five feet seven, 
 corpulent, weighing about sixteen stone.
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 357 
 
 The powers of his mind were strong. His 
 memory was tenacious, and his head well stored 
 with knowledge. His judgment was frequently 
 sought after in critical cases. I remember at 
 Christmas 1738 being in his company, when a 
 dispute arose concerning a point of law. He 
 decided the question, and, as I thought, fairly ; 
 but was contradicted, which always hurt him. 
 He remarked, '* From a gentleman the decision 
 " would have passed, but not from a poor wool- 
 *' comber." It afterwards appeared he was right. 
 He was fond of reading, but never purchased 
 a book. He supported his literary existence 
 by borrowing, and often forgot to return. He 
 spoke as correctly as if trained to letters. Had 
 he been born in affluence, he might have fi- 
 gured in the world, but penury damps every 
 risino; idea. 
 
 . He was by far the most eloquent speaker 1 
 ever heard in low life, and nearly the best 
 in any life. His manner was decisive, his 
 words were well adapted to the subject, and 
 flowed with ease. Perhaps this was a loss 
 to his family ; for his company was coveted 
 by all v/ho knew him. But with all these 
 accomplishments he had no idea of business or 
 economy. Severity to children was one of his 
 maxims, which I have since found erroneous ;
 
 358 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 for reason opens in a child at a very early }3e- 
 riod, and he is easier drawn than driven. But, 
 with ail my father's errors I cannot forbear re- 
 vering his memory. 
 
 He was of an even temper. Not addicted to 
 laughter himself, yet could, when he pleased, 
 make others laugh. He said many smart 
 things, and knew how to set the company upon 
 the tip-toe of mirth. 
 
 Like his ancestors he was an advocate for 
 religion, and he attended public- worship when 
 liquor suffered him to take care of his person. 
 He read, and taught his children to read, reli- 
 gious books; and made many resolutions against 
 intemperance, which were dispersed by a pot 
 of ale. 
 
 I went from Nottingham, March 6, 17^2, 
 to see a contested election between Pole and 
 Duncaunoii, and, looking into my father's 
 pocket-book, I found this resolution written a 
 month before : " O Lord, by thy assistance, 
 " I will not enter a public house on this side 
 " Easter." This proves how heavy his conduct 
 hung upon his mind. This resolution, like 
 n>any others, was forgotten. He was intoxi- 
 cated during the whole of my stay, which was 
 from Saturday morning till Sunday night. 
 When in liquor he was good-natured. His
 
 FAMILY OF nUTTON. 359 
 
 children knew his weak side, and omitted to 
 ask a favour till the barrel worked. 
 
 George, 
 
 (The third son of the third Thomas, my 
 grandfather.) 
 
 I have now a shorter life to write, but a most 
 amiable character to draw. Of the three bro- 
 thers, the eldest and the youngest were among 
 the best of the human race, the middle one 
 excelled in mental powers. The two former 
 might be held up to guide the passenger in the 
 right way, and the last to avoid the wrong. 
 
 George was born March 11, \695. I never 
 heard that he entered upon any employment 
 till put apprentice to a stocking-maker. 
 
 During his apprenticeship, the rebellion in 
 1715 broke out, when he entered as a dragoon 
 in the service of the crown, under General 
 Carpenter. The regiment was at the battle of 
 Preston, but he, with the rest of the recruits, 
 was left to guard the baggage. 
 
 The rebellion being quelled, he, with many 
 others, was discharged, without having been 
 long enough in the service to assume the uni- 
 form. This flimsy contest being over, he re- 
 turned to his master during the remainder of
 
 360 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 his time, which was two years, and attended 
 so closely to husiness that he earned near ten 
 pounds over-work. At his out-come, the mas- 
 ter, sensible of his merit, declared " he would 
 " walk one hundred miles for a servant as va- 
 « luable." 
 
 This worthy and industrious son and brother 
 then entered upon house-keeping; and, as his 
 eldest brother was dead, maintained his sister 
 till she married in 1726, and his mother till her 
 death in I727. 
 
 Although he had no pretensions to a hand-^ 
 some person, I am apprized of three amours 
 which he had upon his hands while a bache- 
 lor. The first was with a country girl, of very 
 plain manners. Those who are adepts in 
 courtship are well acquainted with the httle 
 arts of winning; as, the pleasing smile, the 
 meaning look, the gentle tap, the soft squeeze 
 of the hand, the endearing word, the embrace, 
 and the harmless kiss. She, however, would 
 suffer none of these, but ordered him to keep 
 his distance, " for she could hear him if he 
 '•' stood two yards off." The prohibitions of the 
 fair are sometimes disregarded. George forgot 
 to keep them, and made his approaches beyond 
 the line, but n^et reproof in the following dia- 
 lect : " Luc yo now, conna yo ston there, and /
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 36l 
 
 "^ ston here, I con hear wot yo han to se.** 
 George, dishking the distance, dropt the pursuit. 
 A person of the name of Abraham Taylor, 
 whom I well knew, had observed George's con- 
 duct, and wished him to marry his daughter, 
 but did not know how to open the affair, for 
 they were no farther acquainted than a bow, as 
 attending the same place of worship. He 
 watched an opportunity of opening a conversa- 
 tion, accompanied with a smile, and, in the 
 course of chat, told George he was going three 
 miles into the country, and should be glad of 
 his company. The offer was accepted. While 
 on the road, words seemed to labour in Tay- 
 lor's breast, from which he knew not how to 
 deliver them. This being observed by my 
 uncle, " You seem, sir, to have something to 
 " say to me." This broke the ice, and con- 
 cluded with offering his daughter and a fortune 
 many times larger than his own. A courtship 
 opened, which soon closed, when Mr. Taylor 
 quarreled with my uncle, and was near striking 
 him for ill-treating his daughter. But George 
 modestly told him, " if he did strike, he would 
 " not return the blow, that he had no disre- 
 " spect to the girl, or any of the family, but 
 " that he thought the first requisite in a mar- 
 " ried state was love, and, as he could not fix
 
 S6^ FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 " his affections upon her, he had too much 
 ** regard for her to be the author of her misery." 
 The third (exclusive of Catherine Magson 
 mentioned in the life of Thomas) was Miss 
 Betsey. Whether she was handsome I cannot 
 say. At the age of forty-five I knew her well, 
 but the time to decide the question was past. 
 She had many lovers besides my uncle, and, 
 hke a miser, was still grasping at more. She 
 was a wholesale trader in human beings. Va- 
 nity prompted her to form a muster-roll of her 
 lovers. Vanity then did a worse thing, for it 
 tempted her to shew the list. The circum- 
 stance reached the ears of her parents, who de- 
 manded a sight of the roll. It was found to 
 contain exactly twenty names. Her parents 
 shewed great displeasure, ordered her to quit 
 this vile recruiting trade, and instantly fix 
 upon the man she preferred to the others for a 
 husband. She named George Hutton. Mv 
 uncle was then given to understand that he 
 might marry Miss Betsey; but, by this time, 
 the list had been handed about, and my uncle, 
 who had heard of it, was afraid of being one 
 of twenty, though the first. He thought, if she 
 retained twenty men while single, one might 
 not satisfy her when married; he, therefore, de- 
 clined the blessing.
 
 FAMILY OF BUTTON , 363 
 
 Being unfortunately reduced to nineteen 
 lovers. Miss Betsey was now required to name 
 the next upon the roll. She fixed upon John 
 Hall. He gloried in disappointing eighteen 
 anxious expectants, and eagerly seized the 
 prize. The little loves that wait upon mar- 
 riage flew around the happy pair ; but it was 
 soon found tliey were birds of passage, for they 
 flew away. She often struck fire, and he 
 quickly caught the flame. Each passed through 
 life with a clog at the heels, and both ended 
 their days in the workhouse. 
 
 In 1728, (ieorge Hutton married Elizabeth, 
 the daughter of Thomas Spiby, of Nottingham, 
 who brought him neither money nor children. 
 This union induced him to quit Derby, and 
 reside there. Notwithstanding: these female 
 taxes upon his industry, of a mother and sister, 
 he liad acquired, by the year 1732, nearly 
 ^.100. 
 
 One Tortoishell, an intimate acquaintance, 
 entered into the hosiery line in London, and 
 having purchased goods of George and others of 
 his friends to a large amount, he decamped 
 with the whole, and defrauded them all. I 
 believe my uncle got notliing in return but two 
 useless journeys to London. Thus, at one 
 blow, went his little caj)ital, which had cost
 
 S64 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 him many years in accumulating, and he was 
 left totally unable to satisfy his creditors. 
 
 Honest in principle, and not accustomed to 
 be dunned, he laboured night and day at the 
 most unproductive of trades till he had paid all 
 their demands. Fourteen years after, he re- 
 marked to me, while on his death-bed, that 
 Tortoishell had left him fourscore pounds 
 worse than nothing, but that he had paid it^ 
 and acquired fourscore since. 
 
 I served seven years as an apprentice to this 
 worthy man, whose person I loved, and whose 
 memory I revere, notwithstanding he once beat 
 me to that degree, and with an unmerciful 
 broom-stick of white hazle, that I thought he 
 would have fractured my bones and dislocated 
 my joints, and for a trifling error, scarcely de- 
 serving a reprimand ; but he was influenced by 
 passion, and possessed of power, and I was 
 obliged to submit. I shall relate this more at 
 large in my own life. Notwithstanding this 
 circumstance, I never knew a better husband, 
 son, brother, or master. 
 
 There has been something peculiarly melan- 
 choly in the latter days of the existence of the 
 members of the Hutton family. The little 
 good fortune experienced through life, if any, 
 has vanished, tliiiir remaining moments have
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 365 
 
 been embittered, and they have departed in 
 wretchedness, want, and distress. Their weekly 
 earnings being small, and consumed as soon as 
 earned, nothing has remained for sickness, age, 
 or accident. Deprived of the benefits of their 
 own labour, they have been dependant on the 
 scanty succour of others. My Grandfather, the 
 third Thomas, sustained a long decline, and, 
 as the maintenance of his wife and children 
 chiefly arose from the labour of his hands, dis- 
 tress and dependance followed. His son, my 
 father, during the last six years of his life, 
 groaned under the palsy, the stone, severe po- 
 verty, and the greater severity of a cruel wife. 
 His brother, my uncle George, the present sub- 
 ject, was a man of a cheerful temper, who, in 
 his passage through the world, did all that 
 prudence could suggest, to keep things together, 
 and secure independence. Two years prior to 
 his death, disorders began to rise, and Nature 
 sink. He had five apprentices, meant to assist 
 in family support. During the first six months 
 two became out of their time, whom he could 
 not replace ; and a few weeks after, the other 
 three ran away without cause, and never re- 
 turned, but to harass him. I could enumerate 
 other instances.
 
 366 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 My uncle George died Sept. 19, IT'l-G, owing 
 to the breaking of a blood-vessel, by straining 
 to vomit, in a fit of the gravel, at the age of 
 fifty-one, and thus escaped the poverty which 
 began to stare him in the face. He was about 
 five feet seven inches, of a thin habit, and dark 
 complexion. 
 
 Catherine (my aunt), 
 
 Tlie only daughter and youngest child of the 
 third Thomas, was born in l699j in the same 
 house as her brother George, at the bottom of 
 St. Helen's walk. She was supported by her 
 brother, as observed above, till mature age, 
 when she was employed at the silk-mill. 
 
 She possessed a large share of sense and 
 beauty; and her brother still maintaining her, 
 gave her an advantage beyond her equals ; for 
 while other girls divided their daily earnings 
 between their back and their stomach, she laid 
 all hers upon the former. This made her for- 
 tune ; for as the best in every sphere holds a 
 pre-eminence, she was singled out by a master 
 of the works, Samuel Fletcher, who married 
 her in 17-t), and retired to his estate at Stand- 
 bach, in the county of Hereford. Here she 
 enjoyed affluence and happiness. She died of
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 367 
 
 an asthma in I768, at the age of sixty-nine, 
 leaving two sons and two daughters. Her son 
 now enjoys the estate. 
 
 Her person was of the larger size, brown and 
 ruddy, with dark eyes ; her gait and manner 
 were majestic, her judgment just, and her 
 sense mascuHne. She spoke with fluency, and 
 much to the purpose. Yet with all these qua- 
 lifications she was tinctured with a most unac- 
 countable species of paltry pride. Tims one 
 scabbed sheep spoils the flock. She was so 
 ashamed of her mean origin, that it was kept 
 a profound secret from the world, and particu- 
 larly from the neighbourhood where she re- 
 sided. Nay, her children knew no more of her 
 life before marriage, than the children born in 
 Egypt. The more she endeavoured to conceal 
 it, the more the neighbours tried to make the 
 discovery. This proved a continual worm upon 
 the mind. As poverty is no crime, she ought 
 not to have been impressed with shame. Her 
 smile would have disappointed malignant re- 
 flection. She secretly prohibited a visit from 
 her relations, except they could appear in a 
 creditable style, and even then they were en- 
 joined silence. My father, in the momentary 
 effusions of love, mentioned a visit. " She 
 " wished he would come well dressed, and oti
 
 S.6S FAMILY OF HUTTOJ/. 
 
 " horseback, because all her husband's rela- 
 " tions were genteel." My brother visited her 
 on foot : his reception did not strike him with^ 
 joy. She understood I kept a horse. " Why 
 " did not William come ?" Had I visited her 
 in my own carriage, I must have been received 
 with open arms. 
 
 Thus we have drawn our hne through four 
 descents. As Thomas, the eldest son in this 
 generation, died a bachelor, and as George, 
 the youngest, never had issue, we are again 
 reduced to one stem, William (my father), 
 which shews we are not a prolific race, and 
 that we can barely keep the name alive. 
 
 William, by his first wife Anne, had nine 
 children: Catherine, Anne, who died young, 
 Thomas, William (myself), Matthew, George, 
 a second Anne, and John, who all four died in 
 infancy, and Samuel. Of the four surviving 
 children, in order. 
 
 THE FIFTH GENERATION. 
 From I7I8, and not yet defunct. May 15, 1798, 
 
 Catherine (my sister), 
 
 The daughter of William, born Dec. 11, 
 I7I8, was early bred by her mother to indus •
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 369 
 
 try, and in infancy acquired a character for 
 sense and conduct. At ten she left her mother, 
 whom she ardently loved, but saw no more, to 
 reside with two cross aunts at Swithland near 
 Mountsorrel, who carried on the tripartite call- 
 ing of mercer, grocer, and village milliner. 
 
 Being handsome, Catherine w-as, at twelve, 
 singled out by William Perkins, a neighbour, 
 and a taylor, a personable figure with a slender 
 capacity, of astonishing industry and complete 
 economy, who for thirteen years adhered as 
 closely to her as to himself. 
 
 At twenty she chose to enter into service, 
 and lived with a Dissenting minister at Reresby 
 in Leicestershire, about five years, when he 
 died. In this servitude she gave the utmost 
 satisfaction, for she was never bidden twice to 
 do the same thing. As the family declined 
 house-keeping, they recommended her to the 
 service of Mr. Ambrose Rudsdall, another Dis- 
 senting minister, at Gainsborough. 
 
 During the interval between quitting one 
 service and entering upon the other, William 
 Perkins had the address to gain her consent to 
 a private marriage, which she granted upon 
 three express conditions: that he should resign 
 the office of clerk of Swithland Church; that 
 she would reside wherever he pleased except 
 
 B B
 
 370 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 Swithland ; and, as she had promised to serve 
 at Gainsborough, she would not break her 
 word, but would serve one year. All which 
 were readily granted on his side, and the mar- 
 riage on hers, in August 1743. 
 
 She resided two years in this service, when 
 her mistress died ; the master quitted the place, 
 William took a house in Mountsorrel, and they 
 resided together three months. 
 
 In January 1746 she came to Nottinghanl 
 to see her friends. My uncle George, among 
 other remarks, hoped she was happily mar- 
 ried. She replied in a tone of dissonance, and 
 shook the head, though I cannot, after fifty- 
 two years, give the expression. And now 
 opened a sorrowful scene ; disagreement fol- 
 lowed disagreement for more than three months, 
 without any alledgment of consequence on 
 either side ; but it was easy to see the heart 
 was wanting. 
 
 Her friends promoted a reconciliation, in 
 which I took the lead ; and Wilham Perkins 
 purchased a house in Mountsorrel, where they 
 were to be happy during life. Still matters re- 
 turned to their former untoward state. An 
 unwillingness for the house began to appear on 
 his part. The title was defective. He would 
 reside no where but at Swithland, where she
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 371 
 
 Would not. The separation continued, without 
 plan, without design. She never quitted Not- 
 tingham, nor did they ever after hve one day 
 together. This disagreement upon nothing, 
 astonished the friends of hoth. 
 
 Her aversion seemed to increase. He ap- 
 proached her with a small degree of fear, and I 
 have seen her turn sick at the sight. From 
 1746 to 1750 she resided in Barward-lane, la- 
 boured hard at the spinning-wheel, and my 
 brother Thomas and I resided with her as 
 lodgers. All thoughts of a union were given up. 
 
 In March \'J55 I paid her a visit at Notting- 
 ham, after an absence of five years. One even- 
 ing when she and I were left alone, the unfor- 
 tunate marriage was brought up. I could not 
 forbear expressing my surprize that two pru- 
 dent people, who could agree with every one 
 else, could not agree with each other. She 
 told me she never had an affection for any man ; 
 that she had thought so little upon the subject 
 of love, that she scarcely deemed it necessary' 
 in marriage, and could not conceive how she 
 was persuaded to give her hand. That the 
 cause of disagreement between her and William 
 Perkins (for she could not call him husband, 
 as she conceived they were not lawfully mar- 
 ried;,} lay within her own breast, and never was 
 bb2
 
 372 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 or should be revealed to any one. That she 
 had written down her sentiments, and at her 
 death a writing would be found, specifying the 
 reasons of her conduct; 
 
 She lived thirty-three years after this decla- 
 ration, followed in retired life the drapery bu- 
 siness, and acquired a fortune of more than 
 ^.1.500, although she passed a life of bodily 
 affliction, which proved expensive. 
 
 She died Feb. 26, I786, at the age of sixty- 
 seven, much lamented, when the writing al- 
 luded to thirty-three years before was found, 
 containing nearly these words : " I never could 
 " consider William Perkins as my husband, 
 " by any law divine or human ; for the design 
 " of marriage is to increase and multiply ; there- 
 " fore I cannot be deemed his wife> because 
 " / never knew hitn as a husband." 
 
 Thus the fatal secret was disclosed, which 
 modesty had concealed forty-three years. 
 
 Her person was tall and slender, her com- 
 plexion fair, her hair light. In youth she was 
 very handsome. Her conduct in domestic life 
 was a perfect pattern of prudence, her temper 
 even, her manner commanding. Her judg- 
 ment, in difficult cases, was solicited by all 
 who knew her. She was fond of retirement, 
 vmd of reading, had a most retentive memory,
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 373 
 
 was punctual in her dealings, extensive in her 
 charities, to which she appropriated the daily 
 sum of sixpence, exclusive of charities of the 
 larger kind, such as ^.20 towards erecting a 
 Meeting-house, &c. I apprehend she left the 
 world without an enemy, except it was those 
 who, in the line of business, had cheated her. 
 
 The following is her character, drawn by my 
 daughter Catherine Hutton : 
 
 My aunt had a spirit of dominion which 
 drew every human being round her into its 
 vortex. Born with talents to command an 
 empire, she governed every creature that ap- 
 proached her. But as this spirit of domination 
 was directed by a judgment that was always 
 right, and accompanied by a benevolence that 
 was always sincere, she was more beloved than 
 feared. 
 
 After she had determined not to live with 
 her husband, she was left without friends, ex- 
 cept her two brothers, something younger than 
 herself. To these one would naturally imagine 
 she would have looked for protection and assist- 
 ance. No. She took a house, maintained 
 herself by spinning, lodged her brothers, and 
 though both are the most sensible men ever 
 found in that station, and my father one of the
 
 ^74) FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 most sensible ever found in any, she prescribed 
 to them their way of life, regulated their ex- 
 pences, dictated what they should pay to her, 
 and governed them like children. 
 
 When my father found the stocking-frame 
 too narrow for his talents, she was the only one 
 of his friends who encouraged him to quit it, 
 and settle as a bookseller in Birmingham ; every 
 one else threatened him with ruin. Her compre- 
 hensive mind took in his capacity and frugality, 
 and the probability of his success. But she not 
 only encouraged him by her advice, she assisted 
 him with money to purchase his stock, and 
 defray necessary expences, and without her 
 ever possessing any other means of accumu- 
 lating money than servitude and spinning. He 
 left Nottingham fifteen pounds in her debt. 
 She also lent him a uniform set of the Spec-- 
 tator, Tatler, and Guardian, which Mr. Ruds- 
 dall, her former master, had made her a pre- 
 sent of, like the monsters in the shop of Shake- 
 speare's apothecary, to make up a show ; but, 
 like the guineas in the pocket of the Vicar of 
 Wakefield's daughters, with strict orders never 
 to part ivith them. In this, however, he ven- 
 tured to disobey her, and was severely chidden 
 for it.
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTOy. 375 
 
 After my Father had left her, May 24, 1750, 
 my uncle Hutton still continued to lodge with 
 her, and she took an illness in consequence of 
 removing to a damp house, as extraordinary as 
 the subject of it. The circumstances cannot 
 now be remembered, but I think I recollect 
 her saying she had no evacuations for six weeks. 
 She kept her bed nearly a year, during which 
 time she subsisted upon her former earnings. 
 She was attended by Dr. Davison, the first 
 physician in Nottingham, who at last said to 
 her, " Madam, I confess I do not understand 
 " your case, and I can do nothing for you." 
 
 She then procured Owen's Dictionary, read 
 night and day in bed, sent at times my uncle, 
 and a woman who attended her, and who both 
 obeyed her orders with the greatest punctuality, 
 for different remedies, which she thought might 
 suit her complaints. At last she cured herself, 
 to the great astonishment of her physician, who 
 occasionally visited her as a friend. In the 
 course of her illness there was one night on 
 which she thought she felt death approaching, 
 and believed she should not live till morning. 
 She directed her brother where to find her 
 money, and delivered it to him, bidding him 
 keep it ; and, in case his brother Samuel should 
 ever return from the army, share it with him.
 
 576 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 It was ten pounds, all in silver. He kept it 
 about five weeks, when she was recovering, and 
 he returned it. 
 
 The first time she went out was in a sedan 
 chair, and she could not bear the light of day, 
 but was obhged to draw the curtains. This 
 illness happened in 17«56. On her recovery 
 she laid by spinning, and commenced draper 
 and haberdasher ; kept no shop, but sold her 
 goods in a private manner at her own house to 
 those who knew her ; and at a covered stall in 
 the market on a Saturday to all comers. Here 
 her ascendancy again shewed itself. She got a 
 set of customers, chiefly of the poorer sort, to 
 whom she dictated ichat they wanted, hoiv 
 much they wanted, and by what instalments 
 she would be paid. And in this latter part of 
 the convention, such was the love they bore 
 her, and such the awe in which they stood of 
 her, they seldom failed. I'o chance customers 
 there was something of dignity in her manner, 
 and, if they gave unnecessary trouble, of haugh- 
 tiness. 
 
 In 17.58 my father, established in business, 
 thought he could do better for his brother than 
 his own slow motions, though counteracted by 
 industry and frugality, could do at the stocking- 
 frame ; and he sent for him to Birmingham.
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 377 
 
 It was now that my aunt Perkins fitted out her 
 eldest brother for his launching into the world, 
 as she had before done her second. She fur- 
 nished him with necessaries, and made him 
 out a bill which came to three guineas. " Bro- 
 '* ther," said she, " this is what you owe me. 
 " If you are ever able to pay me, I expect you 
 " will ; if not, I forgive you." She then made 
 him a present of half a crown, and bade him 
 farewell. It is needless to say he paid her, as 
 my Father had done before. This circum- 
 stance my uncle told me to-day, June 10, 
 1798, while the tears ran down his cheeks, 
 and his voice was interrupted by his emotion. 
 
 Her youngest brother, Samuel, alone now 
 remained to be provided for. He who had 
 relished a soldiers life while a bachelor, grew 
 weary of it when encumbered with a wife and 
 two children. In 1763 she bought his dis- 
 charge, bore his expences out of Scotland, sup- 
 ported his family, and set him up in his trade 
 of whip-making. Thus did this extraordinary 
 ■woman throw the golden ball into the lap of 
 each of her three brothers ; but the youngest 
 had neither the spirit and activity of my father, 
 nor the patient endurance of labour of my 
 uncle, nor the frugality of either. He was a 
 tax upon her bounty as long as she lived.
 
 SJS FAMILY or HUTTON. 
 
 During the last twenty years of her life my 
 aunt lived alone. She would not be troubled 
 with a servant, and no friend, or even customer, 
 dared to call at certain hours. Indeed her habit 
 of body, since her illness, would not always 
 allow of interruption. One of her nieces, Sa- 
 muel's daughter, was let in at a regular hour to 
 do the daily work of the house, and go on 
 errands, and dismissed when these were over. 
 
 My aunt was naturally devout, and for the 
 first fifty years of her life, was a rigid Calvi-^ 
 nist, believing that religion alone right, though 
 not condemning those who went wrong. She 
 then became a zealous Sandemanian, a sect 
 who form themselves on the example of the 
 Apostles, without considering that the brother-^ 
 ly love and common right of property, which 
 were necessary in an infant church, would be 
 absurd in an extensive one. How far my aunt 
 conformed to these principles I know not. She 
 was above deceit. No doubt the brethren were 
 satisfied with what she distributed, and what 
 she withheld. I am sure that her own consci- 
 ence would be her sole director, and I know 
 that her sense and fortune made her one of the 
 chief pillars of this little church. (Thus far 
 my daughter, Catherine Hutton.)
 
 FAMILY OF BUTTON. 379 
 
 Thomas (my brother,) 
 
 The eldest son of WiUiam, was born June 20, 
 1722, and, during infancy, and his Father's 
 misfortune in trade, was taken under the pro- 
 tection of his uncle George, who behaved to 
 him with the greatest tenderness. 
 
 He was put to school, but had no need of 
 being taught his book, for he seemed, by a kind 
 of instinct, to learn without. By the time he 
 was seven, he was master of the Jewish history, 
 as recorded by Moses and the succeeding rulers 
 of the Jewish empire. He then began the 
 Latin tongue; but, alas, fortune was unfavourable 
 to letters, for at eight he was obliged to forsake 
 every pursuit for bread, and was forced to 
 attend the Silk-mill as an apprentice for seven 
 years, from five in the morning till seven at 
 night. Thus a rising genius was cramped, and 
 every prospect of future life clouded. 
 
 I well remember, at this early period he was 
 singularly well acquainted with the History of 
 England, had imbibed a set of political opi- 
 nions, and frequently, in conversation with the 
 masters of the mill, with the utmost modesty 
 in some cases, he set them right, and in others, 
 set them fast. He bore the character of a boy
 
 S80 FAMILY or HUTTON. 
 
 of peace and knowledge, but never had the art 
 of putting himself forward. During eight 
 years attendance upon that place, remarkable 
 for ignorance and vulgarity, I do not recollect 
 that he ever had the least difference with any 
 one. 
 
 In I7S8, he quitted the mill, and was bound 
 apprentice to his uncle George Hutton, a 
 stocking-maker at Nottingham. These seven 
 years he served with the same steadiness and 
 peace as he had done the former seven at the 
 mill. Slow in action, constant at his work or 
 his book, but clumsy at his play, which he 
 never courted, and in which he never shone, 
 his life was a scene of clock-work, and, like the 
 clock, he had but one pace. 
 
 His servitude being expired on his birth-day, 
 June 20, 1745, at the age of twenty-three, for 
 he was sixteen before he was placed out as an 
 apprentice, another instance of family neglect, 
 he commenced journeyman, and lived upon the 
 frame, or rather starved, during thirteen years. 
 From the steady stroke he kept up, of rising, 
 working, eating, resting, this long interval does 
 not affbid me one incident to record. How dif- 
 ficult then is the historian's task, to write upon 
 nothing!
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 381 
 
 In 17-58, I invited him to reside with me 
 at Birmingham, in quahty of an assistant. He 
 has now, July 1, 1798, his birth-day, been my 
 faithful servant forty years, my staunch friend 
 seventy-one, and my worthy brother seventy- 
 five. Out of the above seventy-five, we have 
 resided together sixty-seven. 
 
 Life in him is slow in all her motions. I do 
 not recollect that he was ever in a hurry, or 
 performed one quick action. In 177^? ^t the 
 age of fifty, an age when the generality of men 
 decline matrimony, he entered into it. But 
 though his actions diflfered from those of the 
 world, they rarely differed from prudence. 
 After the moderate courtship of tivice seven 
 years, he married Martha Parkes of Wordsley, 
 in the county of Stafford, who perfectly an- 
 swered his wish. By her he had two sons, 
 George, who died in infancy ; the other, Tho- 
 mas, who is extremely handsome, and ex^ 
 tremely idle, will be reserved for the sixth 
 generation. 
 
 This amiable, but most uncommon charac- 
 ter, my brother, has much the size and tem- 
 per of his Grandfather. Like him, I believe 
 he would not have ventured to Northallerton 
 for the same estate. He never thought riches 
 contributed to happiness ; therefore, though an
 
 382 FAMILY OF HUtTON. 
 
 economist, he never wished for them, but often 
 weighed his own portion of content against the 
 affluence of others, and found his scale prepon- 
 derate. 
 
 Man's hfe is said to be chequered. His has 
 been as even as a fine-spun thread ; an extended 
 age without novelty. The history of a day is 
 the history of his life. It may be said of him, 
 
 He work'd and ate, he read and slept, unknown 
 
 to sorrow, 
 Will work and eat, will read and sleep, just so 
 
 to-morrow. 
 
 No man perhaps ever lived 76 years in a 
 narrower circle. Inoffensive as an infant, he 
 never said, or did harm, except by mistake. 
 He is a man of thought, and possessed of a 
 most astonishing memory. Every incident, 
 date, and character of moment, in the History 
 of England, during the last seven hundred 
 years, he retains without trouble to himself. 
 
 One of the singular traits of his character 
 proceeded from his own mouth. He remarked, 
 while standing at the fire with my son, and 
 Samuel Hutton, a child of eleven. Grandson to 
 my brother Samuel, that he had lived 76 years, 
 and had never been asked for money ! neither 
 had any man, probably in his station, accumu-
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 383 
 
 lated a Library equal to his! This consisted 
 of about 200 volumes*. 
 
 William (myself,) 
 
 The second son of William, born Sept. 30, 
 1723. As my life differs materially from the 
 lives of my ancestors, — ^as rising to greater eleva- 
 tion, conducting a Court of Requests during 
 nineteen years, and being an Author, have 
 
 * May 2, 1 800. — I have now the melancholy task of re- 
 cording the last event of this worthy brother. 
 
 After enjoying a series of health during seventy-six 
 years, a decline gradually approached, but equanimity 
 never forsook him. His rational and animal powers 
 sunk together, till they fell even beneath those of an 
 infant. No physical art was administered, because he 
 knew he was beyond its reach. 
 
 He daily attended the scene of business, through an 
 ardent wish and long habit, though unable to act, till 
 Dec. 18, 1799> but continued to sink under the farther 
 pressures of decay nineteen weeks, till yesterday. May 1, 
 1800, when he departed at the age of seventy-eight. 
 
 His portrait, which is an admirable likeness, was drawn 
 in April 1799, in the dress he wore, and may be said to 
 have been taken in the last hour in which his visage was 
 his own, uninjured by decay. It is one of the illustrations 
 of this History of the Hutton family, in my own hand- 
 writing, in my son's library.
 
 384 FAMILY OF HUTTOK. 
 
 brought me upon the public stage, — the inser- 
 tion of my History, in its proper place, would^ 
 by its length, have broken the line of descent. 
 
 Samuel, 
 (The third son of William, my Father,) 
 
 Born Feb. 2, 1733. That day at noon, 
 Friday, my mother said to me, " Perhaps you 
 " will have a little brother by the time you 
 " return from the mill at night." This hap- 
 pened accordingly. I was so pleased with the 
 sight of the little red-faced dear, that I de- 
 clared " he should never want money while I 
 " had any ;" but I have since seen reason to 
 repent the promise. My mother died the day 
 five weeks after her delivery, of a cold caught 
 by rinsing clothes in cold water during her 
 lying-in. 
 
 As she saw her end approaching, she cast a 
 melancholy eye upon her two babes in arms, 
 Anne and Samuel, and wished, with a sigh, 
 they might go before her, for they would be 
 neglected if left. Her remark, without the aid 
 of prophecy, was ratified, for Anne was carried 
 to the grave five months after, through bad, or 
 rather 710 nursing; and Samuel, the subject of 
 my pen, who has now lived 65 years, has seen
 
 0^ 
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 385 
 
 many sorrows. The parent's favourite is usually 
 the youngest^ but the reverse was his lot. 
 
 My Father had no violent love for any of his 
 children, but the least of all for the last^ 
 although deprived of the tenderness of a mo- 
 ther, which ought to have excited compassion. 
 I have reason to believe he never gave him a 
 kiss daring his whole life, and I have the same 
 inducement to believe he never gave me one, 
 till I was 23 years of age, nor should I have 
 been favoirred with that, though the favourite 
 son, had he been sober_, but we all know liquor 
 inspires the man. 
 
 Samuel was sent to nurse with Joseph and 
 Sarah Knowles, at Mackworth, and was treated 
 with all the tenderness humanity could wish 
 during three years, for eighteen pence a v.eek. 
 
 My Father courted ?vlary Sore, a seltish wi- 
 dow with whom we lodged, and as he thought 
 eighteen pence too much, she, the better to 
 secure his affections, offered to board him for a 
 shilling. Bargains between lovers are smoothly 
 contracted, and my brother Thomas and I vvere 
 sent to Mackworth, to bring Samuel back. 
 Nothing could surpass the bitterness of soul in 
 the afflicted nurse, at ])arting vvith him. She 
 saw the result, offered to al)ate her price rather 
 than part with the child ; but ttars are vain 
 c c
 
 S86 FAMILY OF HUTTON, 
 
 when profit steps in. We brought him from a 
 state of perfect happiness to complete misery. 
 His Father treated him with severity ; the 
 widow, with the worst of food that could be 
 bought or begged, with lodging beneath that 
 of a dog, and with punishment whenever she 
 pleased. His father's hand was in her power. 
 This scene continued seven years. If ever love 
 subsists between a parent and child, the parent 
 must begin first, then the building rises from 
 its proper foundation. 
 
 In 1743, at the age of ten, he was placed as 
 an apprentice to his uncle George Hutton at 
 Nottingham. Thus through the indolence of 
 my father, in not procuring proper trades, all 
 his three sons were brought up in one house to 
 that starving business, weaving of stockings. 
 
 It soon appeared that this dull occupation 
 was very unsuitable to the active spirit of fhe 
 child. He followed it three years, during 
 which period he ran away about ten times, and 
 in 17'lG f»r the last. 
 
 The conduct of many fathers and masters in 
 training up children is very censurable. The 
 child's temper is seldom attended to, and the 
 rough hand is employed to force, instead of the 
 smooth tongue to guide: hence we take ten 
 times more trouble to r-tiin than would save.
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 387 
 
 When a teacher draws, he treads upon sure 
 ground, but when he drives, nineteen wrong 
 ways are taken for one right. Nay, as every 
 human being wishes to be master of his own 
 actions, the best mode of education is to guide 
 without seemiu" to guide. 
 
 Samuel did not return till 17.51. Durins: 
 these five years his adventures and hardships 
 were innumerable and astonishing, such as 
 would well become a circulating library, but 
 they are too voluminous for admission here. 
 He appeared an animal cut off from the only 
 world in which he was made to exist. 
 
 At the above date he was bound apprentice 
 to a collar and whip maker, at the advanced 
 age of eighteen, but it was now too late to begin 
 a new life, and correct those wandering thoughts 
 which had strayed for seven years. And as the 
 master was as great a rover as himself, they 
 both went into the army, the man first in the 
 12th regiment of foot, and the master into a 
 regiment of dragoons. They met in Germany 
 in the war of 17^6, under Prince Ferdinand. 
 The master lost his life. 
 
 At the battle of the grena- 
 diers were marching three deep up a hill, Sa- 
 muel in the rear rank. The front man, directly 
 before him, was shot dead. The centre man, 
 c c 2
 
 588 FAMILY OF BUTTON. 
 
 marching to the spot, took up the dead man's 
 knapsack, and, at that instant was shot him- 
 self. Samuel, in three seconds, arrived at the 
 same spot, and expected the same fate. 
 
 During Samuel's stay upon the Continent, 
 he married the widow of a soldier who had fallen 
 in battle. By her Samuel had two sons and 
 two daughters, who will compose part of our 
 sixth generation. After marching in the regi- 
 ment twelve years as a grenadier, and part of 
 that time as a petty officer, he quitted the 
 service in 1763. 
 
 Family consultations were now held relative 
 to his future mode of life. AVhip-making was 
 adopted, and followed in a desultory style du- 
 ring some years ; but it appeared the soldier 
 had s])oiled the tradesman, for now he found 
 no way but that of retreating. When com- 
 mercial talents have long lain dormant, it is 
 difiicult to revive them, and more difficult to 
 create what never existed. I cannot forbear 
 considering that man's case as most unhappy, 
 vvlio is able to labour, unwilling, yet must 
 subsist by labour *. 
 
 ■" April IS, ]8ri. — I have now to record the termina- 
 tion of existence of this, my younge&t brotlier, who died 
 the 14th instant, at the age of sixty-eight, after an indis- 
 position of ten days : worn out after many scenes of advcr-
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 389 
 
 We have now drawn the line through five 
 descents of the Hutton family. These gene- 
 rations were continued by a single stem. Only 
 one in an age left descendants. But now the 
 family divides itself into three branches, as all 
 the three sons have issue. 
 
 THE SIXTH GENERATION, 
 
 The issue of Thomas, the first son of William 
 (my father.) 
 
 The first of this generation is Thomas, the 
 son of Thomas, my elder brother, an only 
 son, a spoiled child, master of his parents be- 
 fore he ought to have been master of himself. 
 From his birth to the age of seven he did as he 
 
 sity, and only one of prosperity^ which he did not know 
 how to improve, that of a legacy of s^.50O bequeathed by 
 his sister. An inclination to ramble in early life, and 
 having spent the prime of his days in the army, rendered 
 him unfit for the acquirement even of a livelihood, Like 
 others of his family he was sensible and ])eaceable. 
 
 Of the nine children proceeding from William (my fa- 
 ther), I am now the only survivor. Catherine and Thomas 
 were generous economists, I more frugal ; Samuel knew 
 but little how to get, and less how to keep money. His 
 portrait in the great folio manuscript U an excellent 
 likeness.
 
 390 FAMILY OF HUTTOxV. 
 
 listed, from thence to fourteen as he pleased, 
 and from fourteen to twenty-one there has been 
 no health in him t. 
 
 The issue of William (myself), 
 the second son of William. , 
 
 I perceive this work, contrary to expectation, 
 will be extended to a considerable length. But 
 of all its parts I am now entering upon the 
 most difficult, the delineation of my children. 
 Faithfulness ought to be the guide of the histo- 
 rian, but prejudice will be suspected. I con- 
 fess my children are my treasure, my happi- 
 
 * Nov. 26, 1808.— This day the above Thomas Hutton 
 finished his earthly career, at the age of thirty-two. He 
 had a handsome person, a modest deportment, an enga- 
 ging manner, and an excellent understanding, but he was 
 nursed into more than the inactivity of the Hutton family. 
 Apprenticed to one of the manufactures of Birmingham, 
 he wanted application to pursue his trade. With a taste 
 for the stage, and possessing the requisites to ensure thea- 
 trical success, he wanted resolution to become an actor. 
 He lived with his parents a life of idleness, dissipating their 
 fortune, and preying upon their constitutions, till they 
 both sunk under the burthen ; and the money, which was 
 considerable, owing to a legacy from my sister, was nearly 
 consumed. A dram-bottle finished liimself. Had he pos- 
 sessed a moderate share of prudence^ the fortune of tbe 
 family would have been his.
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 391 
 
 ness. I have ardently wished I might not be 
 separated from them. I have hitherto had my 
 wish. The world would only exhibit a barren 
 desert without them. That I may not split 
 upon the rock I see before me, I shall, as far 
 as I am able, confine myself to facts. 
 
 Catherine, 
 the daughter of the second William (myself), 
 
 Came into the world before her time, and 
 perhaps was the smallest human being ever 
 seen. She was so very diminutive, that even 
 a pregnancy in her mother was scarcely discern- 
 ible. Curiosity led me, when a month old, 
 to shut her up for a moment in the small drawer 
 of a bureau, with all her habiliments : nay, I 
 should have put her in my pocket and shut the 
 lid over her, but through fear of her sustaining 
 some injury. Though she afterwards grew to 
 a proper size, yet she always carried a delicate 
 frame. 
 
 This dear little animal had been two days in 
 the world before I took the least notice of her. 
 So intent upon the mother whom I knew and 
 loved, I disregarded the daughter who was a 
 stranger.
 
 39^ FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 It soon appeared that what she wanted in 
 body was given in vivacity. Her spirit was so 
 animated, that the body seemed to be no clog. 
 An astonishing capacity opened, which might 
 be said to take in knowledge without instruc- 
 tion. One instance among many was, that 
 she never was taught to read. She went to a 
 writincr-school at nine, where her fame had 
 gone before her ; for when she first stood up 
 with the History of England in her hand, Mr. 
 Baker the master said, " Now let us hear a 
 '"' Bishop read." 
 
 In temper she is most amiable. Her wish 
 is to do good to all, and she gratifies that wish 
 as much as lies in her power. Her domestic 
 economy is equal to her other qualities. Her 
 filial love was exemplified in attentively watch- 
 ing over a declining mother during seventeen 
 years, the last five of which she was her con- 
 stant nurse. Whatever lies within the bounds 
 of female reach, she ventures to undertake, and 
 whatever she undertakes is well done. 
 
 I cannot refrain from inserting in this place 
 a copy of her Dedication of " The Miser Mar- 
 '^ ried," a Novel published by her in 1813. 
 Though its insertion here will have the appear- 
 ance of Paternal Vanity, I give it as a proof of 
 Filial Affection.
 
 family of hutton. 393 
 
 Dedication. 
 
 TO MY FATHER. 
 
 My beloved and respected Father, 
 
 To you, from whom I inherit the Faculties 
 which have enabled me to compose a Book, to 
 whose Industry I am indebted for the means of 
 leisure, and by whose Kindness I am permitted 
 to enjoy it, do I dedicate that Book, as I have 
 dedicated my life. 
 
 Of your Talents, which have broken through 
 the Fetters of Ignorance, I will say nothing. 
 They are before the World, and the World has 
 judged favourably of them. Of your Conduct, 
 I may be allovved to say that its tenor is Inde- 
 pendence for yourself, and unhmited Indul- 
 gence to all around you. I trust mine has 
 proved that I am not insensible of the Blessing. 
 
 To you it is unnecessary, but in this place 
 it is proper, to add that 
 
 I am. 
 
 Your most grateful 
 
 And affectionate Daughter, 
 Catherine Hutton.
 
 39-^ FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 Thomas, 
 Son of the second William (myself.) 
 
 A dreadful tumour in the right breast of his 
 mother, during pregnancy, which threatened 
 to become a cancer, broke at his birth, and 
 denying that nourishment necessary for the 
 child, he dwindled, became rickety, and his 
 life seemed in danger. 
 
 My affections were engrossed by the dear 
 little Catherine, who played about me like a 
 puppet. It was some time before I could take 
 my boy into favour. The first emotion of the 
 heart was pity, and this was soon followed by 
 all the endearments of a father. No care was 
 wanting to set him on his feet. As soon as 
 this can be done a child becomes a better nurse 
 to himself than all the world can be to him. 
 We find him always in action, which soon 
 straightens his legs, reduces his bulky wrists, 
 gives him strength, sets him a growing, and 
 forms the man. 
 
 Bathing, sliding, schooling, romping, at- 
 tended with health, carried him to the age of 
 eleven, when his employments were reduced to 
 business and play. He was soon master of 
 figures, and kept his father's accompt-books.
 
 FAMILY OF BUTTON. 39-5 
 
 till they, and the trade, in 1793, became his 
 own. 
 
 Rising towards manhood, my son was first a 
 reader of books, and then a purchaser. His 
 library is now such as few men in his station 
 ever possessed. It contains the best editions of 
 all the best English authors, in the best bind- 
 ings possible. His collection of prints is no 
 less remarkable, and his book-cases are of a 
 piece with what they inclose. Thus, of a fa- 
 mily fond of books, Thomas surpasses all. 
 None of his predecessors have had either the 
 spirit, the taste, or the means, to accomjjlish 
 what he has done. No day passes without 
 reading, but the necessary duties are not in- 
 fringed upon by the book. 
 
 He married, September the 5th, 1793, Mary 
 Reynolds, of Shiffnall, in the county of Salop, 
 bv whom he has no issue. 
 
 We are told that a candle ought not to be 
 hidden under a bushel. My son has not at- 
 tended to this precept. Excellent in principle, 
 sound in understanding, rapid in execution, he 
 is calculated to make a shining character. His 
 internal powers are well adapted to please, if 
 they were not forbidden, 
 
 I think the supineness of the Hutton family 
 has not descended to my children.
 
 396 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 The children of Samuel, my youngest brother. 
 
 Samuel as before observed, married in Ger- 
 many a widow, whose husband had fallen in 
 battle. She had no children. Samuel was 
 pleased with the prospect of not being encum- 
 bered with a military family himself; but our 
 Avell-laid schemes are often frustrated. His 
 wife quickly brought him recruits, ill adapted 
 to a soldier's life. The eldest^ 
 
 Thomas, 
 
 Was born in camp at Earph in Germany. 
 He was upon the verge of falling, by the fate 
 of war, soon after he was born. While on his 
 mother s knee, by the fire in the tent, a cannon 
 ball flew so near the child, as to carry him se- 
 veral yards by its force. 
 
 Thomas was brought up a cabinet-maker in 
 Nottingham, which occupation he now pur- 
 sues. He is full of vivacity, humour, and, what 
 is better, good sense, good nature, and huma- 
 nit}-. While he passes through life, he enjoys 
 it. He supports the characters of a kind son, 
 husband, and father, is respected by all who 
 know him, and carries that rotundity of figure 
 which betokens a plentiful table, and a mind at 
 ease. His talent at cutting and uniting timber
 
 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 397 
 
 may be seen in the magnificent book-cases of 
 his fabrication in my son's hbrary. 
 
 Catherine, the eldest daughter of Samuel, 
 was born at Edinburgh. She is a sensible wo- 
 man, and a prudent wife. 
 
 Anne, the second daughter of Samuel, was 
 born at Nottingham. She is open and unde- 
 signing. 
 
 Th.^se three children, Thomas, Catherine, 
 and Anne, had each a legacy left by their 
 aunt Ptrkins in 1786. Each married a few 
 months after her death, and in eleven years 
 they have jointly produced about twenty-two 
 cl:-ildren. 
 
 I'hus we have gone through the sixth gene- 
 ration, consistinj^ of three males all named 
 Thomas, and three females, two of them Ca- 
 therine. 
 
 THE SEVENTH GENERATION, 
 
 Consisting solely of the descendants of the 
 children of Samuel, my youngest brother. 
 
 Though the present generation is numerous, 
 its history wil! be siiort. I must give up anec- 
 dote and character, for, as infmts, they pro- 
 duce neither. I must leave their various his-
 
 398 FAMILY OF HUTTON. 
 
 tories to be recorded by my successor to the 
 pen, and shall only notice 
 
 Samuel, the eldest son of Thomas, 
 
 Who, at the age of eleven, came from Not-' 
 tingham to Birmingham, with the view of 
 being trained to my son's business, and inherit- 
 ing our fortune. He appears, at this day, 
 April the 10th, 1799, to be worthy of both. 
 His behaviour, as a child, is excellent, and 
 seems to promise an amiable and wealthy man. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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