Untitled - University of Toronto

Untitled - University of Toronto

THE Cecentttc fll.FLECTJNO A faithful andintcrcstirfi Delineation of MALE AND FEMALE CHARACTERS, ANCIENT AND MODERN, Who liavc been particularly...

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THE

Cecentttc fll.FLECTJNO

A

faithful andintcrcstirfi Delineation of

MALE AND FEMALE CHARACTERS, ANCIENT AND MODERN, Who liavc been

particularly distingtmhcd

by extraordinary

AND

QUALIFICATIONS, TALENTS,

PROPENSITIES,

Natural or Acquired, Comprehending singular Instances of

LONGEVITY, CONFORMATION., BULK, STATURE. POWF.R5 OF MIN'D AND OF BODY, Wilh

ADVENTURES. HABITS, PROPENSITIES,

ENTEKPKlSiNG PURSUITS, &c. &c.

r.injfcstcd

in

or sixa ULA n IT v,

Lives and Canduct of Characters wlio haro

tlic

eminently conspicuous by The

cc.

a faithful Narration of

E VE nr IXSTA XCE. '

WONDERFUL EXPLOITS,

[I

rc:.e!:?ri;d

t!icms<:!v

vlteir r'.cceiUiiciiiL^.

and

ifhTlf exki'>!.:>.'g nil infer:, t'--tg

WONDERFUL DISPLAY OF HUMAN ACTION IX TUB

Grand

d and

Tit ea I re

re collected,

of the. World.

from

tlic

most

-vri

I3Y

G. IN

T

//.

WILSON.

FOUR VOLUMES,

VOL.

I*

R1

III.

Vf D FOR JAM Ii

Ivy-Lxnt, A-

1807-

:.'.

s

<

:

pt f f c? /

Mlfl

^"

/,

-^QV:/

THE

ECCENTRIC

MERROR.

THOMAS TOPHAM. "

IT

is

curious," observes the venerable and

ingenious Mr. William Hutton, in of the extraordinary subject of this

liis

account

article,

ff

to

observe Nature step out of the common road To and enter the precincts of the marvellous. in her usual track excites no admiration; but when, in her wanton moods, she forms an O'Brien of eight feet, and a Bovuwlaski of three,

march

an admirable Crichton with every accomplishment and a thousand other men with 'none, 'tis by these deviations that she raises astonishment."

Thomas Topham,a man whose

feats of strength

might have figured beside those of Homer's heroes, was born in London about the year 1710.' His father who was a carpenter, brought him up* same profession. Though his stature was

to the

not remarkable, being, at his full growth, five feet ten inches in height, yet he was endowed by nature with muscular powers so extraordinary us toexceed any thing of the kind on record.

VOL. in.

so, a

i...

A. a.

THOMAS TOPHAM.

He fojlowed the profession of his father till he had attained the age of twenty-four years, when he exchanged it for the less laborious employment of a publican. That Topharn was fond of athletic exercises, and that the practice of them contributed 10 give him that superior strength for which .he

for

was so remarkable, can scarcely be doubted; we find that the house he first took was the.

llrd-Li...-]!,

at

the corner of the City Road, nearLuke's Hospital, in order that he

ly opposite St.

-might be near the ring in Mooi fields, at that time the theatre of gymnastic exhibitions, such as cudgelling, wrestling,

backsword and boxing*

was here that he gave the

first public display of his astonishing corporeal powers, by pulling ;\gainst a horse, with his feet placed against a low xvall, which divided upper and lower Moorfields.

It

lie next tried his strength, against two horses, but his legs not being properly placed, he received

an injury in one of his knees from a jerk.

But

4hc most extraordinary feat in point of magnitude was that which he performed in Bath Street,

Cold Bath Fields, on the 28th of May, 1741, when he lifted three hogsheads of water, weigh-" ing )8f>6 pounds, in the presence of thousands of spectators, assembled to witness this uncommon exertion.

The

various performances of this prodigy of strength are of such a nature as almost to exceed credibility,

undoubted

were they not attested by persons of veracity and who were themselves

eycwitnr.-sc* uf the tact? they relate.

Dr. Dcsu-

THOMAS guliers assures us, that

lowing

feats

:

With

TOPHATvI.

5

he saw him perform the foLhe rolled up a very

his fingers

large and strong pewter dish. Thrusting the bowl of a strong tobacco-pipe under his garter, his legs being bent, he broke it to pieces with the ten-

ham. He broke another bowl of the same kind between his first and second finger, A table, by pressing them together sideways. six feet long, with half a hundred weight fastened to the end of it,- he lifted with his teeth, and held

-dons of his

a considerable time in a horizontal position. He struck an iron poker, a yard long and three inches thick, against his bare left arm, between the elbow and wrist, till the instrument was bent so as nearly to form a right angle. Taking another poker of the same kind, he held the ends of it in his hands, and placing the middle against the back of

made both ends meet before him, after which he pulled it almost straight again. He broke a rope two inches in circumference though he was obliged to exert four times the strength that was requisite for the purpose, in consehis neck,

quence of ed.

He

.the

awkward manner which he adopt-

lifted a stone roller,

weighing eight hun-

ched pounds, by a chain to which it was fastened, with his hands only, and standing on a frame

above

it.

These exhibitions probably, took upTopham's time, and drew his attention from his business, for we find that he failed at the Golden Lion after which he took another house in the same ;

line at Islington.

His fame for strength A 3

now

THOMA

G began

S

TOril A

31.

to spread all over the country,

and he

vi-

sited various provincial towns for the purpose of his wonderful feats. His performexhibiting

ances at Derby are thus described by Mr. Hutton of Birmingham; who, at that time,, was an inhabitant of the former place.

"

We

learnt," says he, from private accounts

well attested, that

Thomas TopUam,

a

man wha

kept a public house at Islington, performed surprising feats of strength, such as breaking a broomstick of the largest size

bare arm

;

lifting

by striking it against histwo hogsheads of water; heav-

ing his horse over a turnpike-gate ; carrying the beam of a house, as- a soldier his firelock; and others of a similar description. However belief

might at first be staggered, all doubt was soon removed when this second Sampson appeared at Derby, as a performer in public, and that at the, On applirate of a shilling for each spectator. cation to Alderman Cooper for permission to exwas surprised at the feats he appearance resembled that proposed, he other of men, requested him to strip that he he was made like them. whether examine might

hibit, the magistrate and as his

was found to be extremely muscular; what were hollows under the arms and hams of others were filled up with ligaments in him. " He appeared to be nearly five feet ten inches in height, upwards of thirty years of age, wellmade but without any singularity. He walked He had formerly laid a wawith a small limp.

He

ei

the usual decider of disputes, that three.

THOMAS TOPHAM-. 'horses could not

draw him

fioin

7

a post, which he

should clasp with his feet: hut the driver giving them a sudden lash, turned them aside, and the

unexpected jerk broke

whom

in

his thigh.

The performances

(f

of this wonderful man, were united the strength of twelve,

up a pewter- dish of seven up a sheet of paper holda arm's at length and squeezing ing pewter quart the sides together like an egg-shell lifting two hundred weight with his little finger and moving it gently over his head. The bodies he touched consisted

in rolling

pounds, as a

seemed

man

rolls

lost their power of gravitation a He also broke rope, fastened to the floor, that would sustain twenty hundred weight ; lifted an

to

have

oak-table six feet long with his teeth, though half a hundred weight was hung to the extremity:, a piece of leather was fixed to one end for his teeth to hold, two of the feet stood

upon

his

knees, and he raised the end with the weight higher than that in his mouth. He took Mr.

Chambers, vicar of All his

head being

laid

who weighed twenhim with one hand ;

Saints,

ty-seven stone, and raised

on one chair and

his feet

on

another, four people, of fourteen stone each, sat

upon his body, which he heaved at pleasure. He struck a round bar of iron one inch in diameter against his naked arm, and at one stroke bent it like a bow. Weakness and feeling seemed fled together.

"

Being a master of music, he entertained the

company with

Mad Tom.

I

heard him sing a

THOMAS TOl'HAM

8

solo to the organ in St.

Werburgh's church, then the only one in Derby; but though he might perwith the form, voice, more terrible judgment, yet than sweet, seemed scarcely human. Though of a pacific temper, and with the appearance of a

gentleman, yet he was

The

liable to the insults of the

Inn, where he resided, having given him some cause of displeasure, he took one of the kitchen spits from rude.

hustler at the Virgin's

the mantle-piece, and bent

it

round

his

neck

like

a handkerchief; but as he did not chuse to tuck the ends in the hostler's bosom, the cumbrous-

ornament excited the laughter of the company, he condescended to untie his cravat. Had he not abounded with good-nature, the men might have been in fear for the safety of their persons,, and the women for that of their pewter-shelves, as he could instantly roll up both. One blow with his fist, would for ever have silenced those heroes of the bear-garden, Johnson and Mendoza." These, however, were only the usual performances of Topham, when he went about for the

till

Many other purpose of shewing his powers. occasional demonstrations of them are related by One night perceiving a persons who knew him. asleep in his box, he raised them both from the ground, and carrying the load with the

watchman

greatest ease, at length dropped the wooden teneits inhabitant over the wall of Tin-

ment with

The consternation of the dall's burying-ground. watchman on awaking from his nap, may be more easily conceived than described.

THOMAS TUPHAM. window of a low public Chiswell Street, a butcher passed by half an ox. tottering under the burden of nearly much case him with so relieved this .Of Topham and dexterity, that the fellow swore that nothing Sitting one clay at the

house

in

but the devil could have flown away with his load.

On a

another occasion, having gone on board lying in the river, he was pre-

West Indiaman

sented with a cocoa-nut, which to the no small astonishment of the crew he cracked close to the

with the same facility as an ordinary person would crack an egg-shell.

ear of

oneof the

sailors,

The mate having made some remark displeasing to Topham, the latter observed that, if he had pleated,

lie

could have cracked the bowsprit over

his head.

Toplmm having one day gone

to witness a was run on the Hackney road, the spectators were greatly annoyed by a man in a cart, who endeavored to keep close to the contend-

race

that

ing parties. Topham at length resolved to stop the career of this disagreeable intruder and laying hold of the tail of the cart, drew it back with the greatest eose, in spite of all the exerti-

ons of the driver to make his horse advance.

The rage of

the latter was equalled only by the delight and astonishment of the beholders ; while nothing but the fear of being crushed or torn to pieces prevented the fellow from exercising hi* whip on the formidable cause of his mortification.

THOMAS TOPHAM.

10

Notwithstanding to have been a

Topham seems

his superiority,

man

of a quiet and peaceable disand never to have made a wanton or imposition, use of his proper extraordinary strength, to the

He

detriment of his fellow-creatures.

even pos-

sessed a greater share of patience than falls to While he' the lot of the generality of people.

kept a public-house he was visited by two men who were so exceedingly quarrelsome, that though Topham quietly put up with their humor for a considerable time, yet, at last, nothing would satisfy them but fighting the landlord. They

probably mistook his forbearance for cowardice, but they Hvere soon undeceived for Topham, :

finding it impossible to appease them in any other had way, seized them both by the neck as if

they

been children and knocked their heads together, till they asked pardon with as much abject submission as they had before shewn of insolence in giving offence.

Topham however was

not endued with forti-

A

tude of mind equal to his strength of body. faithless woman embittered the concluding portion of his life, as it did that of his prototype of old.

Unable

to

endure the reflections occasioned by

his wife's inconstancy,

Topham,

at length en<-

braced the desperate resolution of putting an

end

to his life in the flower of his

age.

11

ELEANOR GWYNNE. THIS

celebrated female, better

known by

the

familiar appellation of Nell, was of the lowest extraction, and at her first setting out in the world,

sold oranges in the play-house. Nature seems to have qualified her for the stage. Her person,

though below the middle she had a good natural

was well-turned ; and a sprightliness

size,

air,

that promised every thing in comedy. Under the instructions of Hart and Lacy who were

both actors of

distinction, she in

a short time

became eminent herself in the same profession. She acted the most spirited and fantastic parts, and spoke a prologue and epilogue with admirable address. She rarely appeared in tragedy, but is known to have acted the part of Almahide, and to this Lord Lansdown alludes in his, " Progress of Beauty," when he says: " And Altnabide once more by kings ador'd."

Her

profession as an actress was the means of introducing her to the notice of the great, and her

charms made such an impression on Lord Buckhurst that a connexion ensued, which was only interrupted by the more flattering solicitations of a royal lover. She is said to have been introduced to King Charles II. by the duke of Buckingham, with a view of supplanting the duchess

ELEANOR

12

of Cleveland.

G WYNNE.

any credit may be given to a. manuscript lampoon dated ]6SG, Lord Buckhurst refused to part with his mistress till he was reimbursed the expence he had lavished upon If

The King,

at length as the price of his compliance, created him earl of Middlesex., or in the words of the satirist,

Her.

/Gave him an earldom

to resign his

b^tch.

The immediate cause of her- becoming

the ob-

ject of Charles's affection is, however, related in a different manner, as follows: At the duke's theatre,

under Killigrew's patent, the celebrated

Nokes appeared

hat larger than that usually assigned to Pistol, which diverted the audience so much as to help off a bad play. Dryden, in rein a

turn, caused a hat to be

made

of the circu infer-

ence of a large coach-wheel, and made G wynne deliver an epilogue under it, with ihu brim stretched out in its utmost horizontal extension.

No

sooner did she appear in this strange was convulsed with laughter.

dress, than the house

Among

the

rest,

the

King gave her

the fullest

behind the proof of his approbation, by going scenes after the play, and taking her home in his

The pert and vivato sup with him. cious prattle of the orange-wench, had been by such wit as could please the degrees refined into monarch. After this elevation she stiil continu-

own coach

ed on the stage, and shewed great talents in exfantastic and sprightly produchibiting the airy, tions of the

comic muso.

ELEANOR GWYNNE.

13

Nell, who knew how to mimic every thing ridiculous about the court, presently ingratiated herself with her meny sovereign, and retained a

considerable place in his affection to the time of It could scarcely be supposed that Charles would have given her a place about the

his death.

person of his queen, but nevertheless such was the fact. his

"

I

Curialia,

am "

ashamed," says Mr. Pegge in confess I find Mrs. Eleanor

to

the ladies of the Privy Chamber Queen Catherine. This was barefaced enough besure! Had the King made a momentary

Gwynne among to to

connection with a lady of that denomination, the offence might have been connived at by the queen; but the placing one of the meanest of his creatures so near the Queen's person,was an insult that nothing could palliate but the licentiousness ,ef the age, and the abandoned character of the lascivious monarch." 1.

Mr. Pennant, in his account of London informs us that Mrs. Gwynne's residence was in Pall-Mali, and that, within memory, the back room on the ground

floor

was entirely of looking-glass, and

the ceiling was said to have been composed of the same material. Over the chimney was her picture,

and that of her

sister

decorated another

room.

The royal favorite after her elevation betrayed neither ostentation, avarice nor She re* pride. membered all her theatrical friends, and rendered them

services, generously discharging her debt of gratitude to Dryden, and proving a zealous VOL. 3. NO. 21. B

ELEANOR GWYNNE.

14

patroness to Otway and Lee. Dr. Burnet, bishop of Salisbury mentions that the duke of Bucking-

ham

told

him, when Nell was

first

introduced to

the king, she asked a settlement of 5001. a year, which Charles refused; but he adds from the

same authority

that, in the space of four succeedno less

ing years, the king had lavished on her

than sixty thousand pounds.

sum was

Nor was

this large

dissipated entirely in useless purposes. most munificent in her charities, and

single act of instigating the

King

She the

to crectChelsea

Hospital, as an asylum for disabled soldiers, must entitle her memory to no inconsiderable respect. it stands is generally admitted to have been given by her as an encouragement to the design. public house in the vicithe of by its tenants, frequented Hospital, nity

The ground on which

A

exhibits a rude representation of her head ; first toasts drunk after their din-

still

and one of the

ner acknowledges their gratitude to their patroness Nell

Gvvynne.

either was or affected to be extremely orthodox, and a friend to the clergy and the church.

She

It

th

is

a

known

fact

that going one day through bailiffs hurrying a worthy on which she paid the debt

some city, she saw to prison

clergyman and restored the captive divine to liberty. Mrs. Gwynne possessed a great fund of wit and good-humor; indeed she sometimes carried them to extravagance; but even her highest ;

were so natural that they rather provoked insulted in laughter than excited disgust. Being flights

ELEANOR GWYNNE.

15

her coach at Oxford by the mob, who mistook her for the duchess of Portsmouth, a French favorite of the King's, she looked out of the winsaid " Pray good people be civil ; I am

dow and

:

the protestant whore." This laconic explanation converted the execrations of the populace into blessings, and they suffered her to proceed without farther molestation.

Another anecdote of a similar nature is related " " by Mr. Pennant. I remember," says he ihat when I was a boy I was brought by my mother into a

very great glass shop,

a

little

beyond

Wimbledon House, in the Strand (where DoyThe keeper of il ley's warehouse now stands). was an aged man full of, the garrulity often attendant on the advanced period of life. He gave us the following curious anecdote of the lively Nell Gwynne. " When I was an apprentice, Mrs

G

wynne came into our shop. She had not been there long before a violent noise was heard in the

On

enquiry

battle

between

street.

from a

it

was found

to

proceed

Nell's footman, a

country and one of the mob, in which the lad got a bloody nose. His mistress asked him. what was

]ad,

the cause of the quarrel Why, lady, they called your ladyship a w e Poh Poh you fool, said Nell, you should never mind that, for

my

!

!

many people call me so That may be, replied her champion, but they shall never call me a

wh

re's

Mrs.

whom

man."

Gwynne had by

the king two sons, of

the elder was successively created earl of

MARTIN VAN BUTCELL.

16

Burford and duke of

St.

Albans.

Lord Bcau-

claire, the younger, died at Paris in 1680. It is reported that before the duke of St. Albans was

ennobled, his mother, calling to him

in the

King's

" Come hither, you little baspresence, said tard." For this the king gently reproved her, on which she replied with her usual bluntness, that :

she had no better

name

to call

him by.

He

was

soon afterwards created Baron of Hedington and Earl of Burford. A son of the duke attained to the

honor of the prelacy, and became the in-

habitant of the episcopal palace contiguous and nearly adjoining to the humble cot where his

grandmother

first

drew breath.

her royal protector a few years, and died in 1691* a true penitent for the frailties of her past life.

This celebrated favorite survived

MARTIN VAN BUTCHELL. SINGULARITY of manners and appearance has been assumed by some to excite that attention which they did not deserve, and to gain credit for qualifications they never possessed.

method has been employed

to

By such this

make themselves

known and to acquire a reputation, which by the unaided by talents,, ordinary mode of conduct, Such is not the they could never have obtained. case with Mr. Martin Van Butchell, one of the

MAHTIN VAN BUTCHELL.

1?

most eccentric characters to be found in the British metropolis, and a gentleman of indisputable science and abilities, but whose strange humors and extraordinary habits, have rather tended to obscure than to display the talents he pos sessed.

The

Van Butchell was originally from and the father of Martin \vas well

family of

Flanders,

luiown at the beginning of the reign of George the Second, as tapestry-maker to the king. Martin Van Butchell, was born on the 5th of Febrnary 1735, in Eagle Street, Red Lion Square, but afterwards removed with his family to a large house, then called the Crown House, situated a short distance on the Surry side of Westminster Bridge. Having received an education suit-

ed to the circumstances of his parents, and disliking his father's profession, he obtained a re-

commendation

to

Thomas Robinson,

Sir

to his son.

travelling companion sion the candor, integrity

On

as a

this occa-

and independent chawhich have racter, distinguished Mr. Van Butchell were through life, remarkably displayed for an unfavorable, and as it happened an hearing account of the temper and disposition of unjust Sir Thomas, he declined the engagement. He ;

soon afterward entered in the capacity of groom of the chambers into the family of Lady Talbot, in which he lived nine years.

The economy

of Mr.

tuation enabled him,

Van

Butchell,, in this si-

on leaving B 3

it,

to devote

MARTIN VAN UUTCHELL.

18

himself to his favorite studies, mechanics, medi-

and in particular anatomy. Under the tuition of those eminent masters, the late celebrat-

cine,

ed Doctors William and John Hunter, he enjoyed an excellent opportunity of obtaining a competent knowledge of the various branches of the The latter gentleman he has thus healing art.

commemorated

one of the singular advertisements, which he has for many years been in in

the habit of sending forth into the world.

" The

And

first Magistrate other sincere lovers of this State

Are now informed most respectfully That some years ago MARTIN VAN BUTCHELL had an appointment to meet At Lady Hunloke's house in Stralford Place) ( his able teacher

Who overtook

him

JOHN HUNTER

Esq.

Grosvenor Square, and bade him get into his chariot Soon as he was in

:

seated

John

said

:

What mischief are

you about now ?

Martin. Curing the king's evil. John. I can't cure the king's evil.

Martin.

I

know you

can't cure the king's eviL

you could cure the king's evil, I should not but 1 want trouble myself about the king's evil

If

:

to

do

What you John. That

is

right.

carmot do

Do you

(we know nothing compared

to

!

try to get

first,

what we are

ig-

MARTIN VAN BUTCUELL.

JQ

norani of) make yourself of consequence, and then every body will make you of consequence; but if you dont make yourself of consequence,

do assure you many are in full practice that (comvery high esteem and very know no more about healing than I

else will.

nobody

paratively)

have not powers. dray-horses: they

You try The ell

first

was

to

be

first!"

public appearance of

Mr. Van Butch-

in the profession of a dentist,

make human

having been

a principal object of his attention, by the accidental breaking of one of his own. It is related that in a very early, and

led to

teeth

consequently not the most lucrative period of his practice, a lady being dissatisfied with some teeth with which he had furnished her, he voluntarily

returned the

paid for fore she

them.

It

(ten guineas) she had was not long, however, be-

money

came back, requesting as a

favor, that she

might have them again at the original price. So eminently successful was Mr. Van Butchell in a complete set of teeth, he is have received so high a price, as eigh-

this line, that for

known

to

ty guineas.

Mr. Van Butchell next turned

his attention to

the treatment of ruptures; and in this practice acquired so extensive a reputation, that a Dutch

physician paid a visit to this country, for the express purpose of placing himself under his care. In return for the relief he received, he instruct-

ed

Mr Van

Butchell in the art of curing

fistulas,

MARTIN VAN BUTCHELL.

20

whicbhehas since practised with unparalleledsuccess.

The numerous ell,

inventions of

Mr. Van Butch-

arc sufficient demonstrations of a mechani-

cal genius.

While he was engaged

in the

ma-

king of trusses for ruptures, he contrived what he denominated elastic bands, or braces for small clothes ; but being necessarily of a high

He

price, they have not come into general use. also the inventor of spring girths for saddles, of cork bottoms to iron stirrups to prevent the is

from slipping, similar description. feet

and

many other

things of a

The ingenuity and eccentricities of Mr. Van Butchell, have often attracted the notice even of Majesty. He says of himself, in one of his curious advertisements,, that " your Majesty? petitioner, about ten years

high honor,

before

your

ago, had often the Majesty's nobles, of

conversing with your Majesty, face to face, when we were hunting of the stag, in Windsor Forest." It is said that at one time, this extraordinary character aspired to the honor of being appointed dentist to the king, and applied for that purpose,to

the Marquis of Salisbury, then lord chamberlain of the houshold. His wish was intimated to his

when Van majesty, whose consent was obtained, some from unaccountable whim, wound Butchell, a with notice, that *ip a public advertisment, Lord Salisbury, had no occasion to trouble himof self, about procuring him the appointment dentist to the King.

MARTIN VAN BUTCHELL.

21

The conduct of Mr. Van Butchell

after the

wife, served to render

him more

death of his

first

We

have than ever an object of public notice. heard of an Irish gentleman who was so distractedly fond of a beautiful wife prematurely sn-atched from him death, that he had her

by embalmed, and kept her

in a closet adjoining

room. He never sat down to table without having a chair and a plate, with knife and fork, placed for her nay, so powerful was the effect of his grief on his intellects, that when he wished

his

;

perfectly to enjoy himself, he would place her in a chair opposite to his own, and talk to her as

though she had still been alive. Whether Mr. Van Butchell was actuated by the same feelings as this fond and unfortunate husband, we cannot pretend to decide, but certain it is that he had the corpse of his wife embalmed, and kept it for many years in a parlor in his house, where it was inspected by great numbers of curious visitors. rise to a report, that by a

This singularity gave

clause in the marriage settlement he was entitled to the disposal of certain property as long as shs

remained above ground. Like the late Lord Rokeby, Mr. Van Butchell is a decided enemy to the razor, which has not touched his chin for sixteen years. It has been asserted that

this singularity

is

not the mere

effect of caprice, but the result of a philosophical conversation with Dr. John Hunter, in which

was agreed that this natural appen lage ducive to the strength and vigor of the

it

is

con-

human

MARTIN VAN BT TCI! ELL.

22

His allusions

body.

to this

ornament

in the ec-

centric compositions, of which we have already given some specimens., are frequent and amusing.

He

is fond of using the following quotation from the entertaining Mr, D'Israeli's Curiosities of

Literature:

" Beards "

When

the Delight

of'ancient Beauties.

the fair were accustomed to behold

their lovers with beards, the sight of a shaved chin excited sentiments of horror and aversion.

" To obey the injunctions of his bishops, Louis the Seventh of France cropped his huir, and shaved his beard. Eleanor of Acquitaine, his consort, found him, with this

uncommon

ap-

pearance, very ridiculous, and very contemptible.

She revenged herself, by becoming something more than a coquette. The king obtained a divorce.

who

She then married the count of Anjon,

shortly after ascended the English throne. for her marriage dower the rich

She gave him

provinces of Poitou and Guienne; and this was the origin of those wars which for three hundred

France, and which cost the three millions of men. All which, nation French never taken place, if Louis the probably, had

years

ravaged

Seventh had not been so rash as to crop his hair and shave his beard, by which he became so disof the fair Eleanor." gustful in the eyes

In another of his advertisements he says

"

Girls are fond of hair

See

their

bosom friends

:

(and love comjorters.}

:

:

large waists

muffs*

MARTIN VAN BUTCH ELL.

23

Let your beards grow long, that ye mayin mind and body." Again lie exhorts " leave off his readers to deforming each himwear the marks of men iucontestself reform ible. Jesus did not shave: for he knew better.

tippets.

be strong,

:

:

:

should be bare, it been proper our chins would hair be put there by wise Jehovah, who

Had

made

all things good ?" But the most extraordinary, and perhaps the

the most unintelligible of Butchell's effusions on this subject, is not I the first healer (at the following: "

may conceive

reader

Mr. Van

Am

this

day) of bad

fistulye

like

beard,

?

With an handsome The .combing I sell

Hippocrates! one guinea each hair. (Of use to the fair, that want fine children: I can tell them how; it is a secret.)

Some

white:

full

are quite auburn; others silver-

half-quarter long, growing (day and night ) only fifteen months." This appears, from the concluding words, to have been written only a year and a quarter after he first began to cherish the excrescence, and when it had at-

tained the length of half a quarter of a yard, or four inches and a half. About two years afterwards he describes himself as " a British Christian man, with a comely beard, inches long."

The

favorite exercise

Butchell

is

retains his

riding.

full

eight

and recreation of Mr. Vanr principle on which he

The

beard he extends also to animals,

which, he contends, should never be docked, nicked, or trimmed. His steed is a grey poney,

MARTIN VAN BUTCHELL.

24 which,

it

is

said,

he sometimes takes

it

into his

head

to paint with spots or streaks of purple, black, or other colors. Thetout ensemble of the rider with

a shallow, narrow-brimmed hat, nearly white with age, a venerable flowing beard, a rusty

brown coat, and boots of the same complexion, and the poney with the above-mentioned whimsical decorations, has a most ludicrous effect, and often attracts a considerable number of specstriking representation of this singular couple is prefixed as a vignette to the second tators.

(A

volume of our

collection.)

A

bridle,

which he

A

occasionally uses, is a curious contrivance. blind is fixed to the head, and this he can let

over the horse's eyes and draw up again at pleasure, in case the animal should take fright, or to prevent him from seeing any particular

4own

object.

Mr. Van Butchell has resided between

thirty he at present occuforty years in the house Mount Street, Berkley Square, the sinpies in gular inscription on which often arrests the atten-

and

tion of the passenger. His success in the various branches of his practice has been very great, and

the sphere of his fits,

utility, as well as his

might have been

much

own pro-

increased,

had he

not taken the resolution to which he has inflexibly adhered, of seeing patients only at his own

On this subject it is related, that he was sent for to attend a gentleman of eminence

house.

once

in the law, but he referred to the notice in his

advertisement"

I

go

to none."

Five hundred

MARTIN VAN DITCHELL.

2o

to alter bis guineas were offered to induce him The sum was doubled, resolution, bat in vain.

but with truly admirable consistency, he " I plied, go to none."

'From one Butchell

ii

of"

the

whims

for

which

still

ISlr.

re-

Van

so remarkable, he used, a fe\v years

and ago, to sell cakes, gingerbread, apples, nuts, door. It lias his been at children to like the suggested, that his motive for engaging in this line of business, might be to afford employment to his

own

children, of

whom

family. In his domestic habits, he

is

he had a numerous said to preserve the

characteristic singularity as marks the rest of his conduct; making it an invariable practice His wife and children also to dine bv himself.

same

by themselves, and the only method in which he calls the latter' is by whistling. It is dine

likewise reported, that on his marriage with ea<:li of his two wives, fie gave them the choice of the

two extreme colors for clothes, white or black; and after they had made their election, never suffered

them

to

wear any other. The first, chose in which she con-

black and the second while, stantly appears.

The

may

political sentiments of Mr. Van Butchell be gathered from the following facts. Du r

ring the agitation produced in the kingdom by the writings of Paine and the artifices of designing men, he thus commenced one of his adver-

tisements: " Corresponding Lads remember Judas, and the year 80." At the same period* VOL. 3. NO. SI. c

MARTIN VAN BUTCH ELL.

6

he was a, frequent attendant at the Westminster 'Forum, where he exercised the right belonging to every individual

by reading a chapter ot'"tlie Testament, probably, by way of antidote to the infidel principles which many of the visitors

New

of that place had imbibed. He hc^Vr failed to act his part with extraordinary gravity, and from this circumstance undoubtedly originated the report of his having occasionally performed the functions of a preacher. Nevertheless, so far is he from being bigotted to a party, and such is

the humanity of his disposition, that he paid many friendly visits to Newgate while the persons apprehended for seditious practices were

confined in that prison. Mr. Van ButchelFs good state of health at his

advanced time of to his

and and

manner of

]ife,

living.

may

He

perhaps be ascribed retires early to rest

betimes; takes no' wine or strong drink, The tea used by his eats but little flesh.

rises

family, a fragrant, wholesome beverage, by himself.

is

pre-

pared

We

cannot dismiss the remarkable subject of without noticing the severe domestic affliction which befel him in the summer of 1806,

this article,

in the death of one of his sons, an amiable

young

inan, of twenty-two, while on a party of pleasure in a boat on the Thames. The same accident

two young ladies of the comend of the youth was the pany. The premature more deeply regretted on account of the act in Which he lost his life. The boat was overturned, also

proved

fatal to

5

JOHN PHILIP BARRKTIEK. and perceiving

his

^7

mother sinking, he directed aty

his efforts to her preservation. Rising with her in his arms, he struck his head against the side

of a barge with such force ns to fracture his skull, which occasioned his immediate death.

JOHN PHILIP BARRETIER. vv E had recently occasion to notice a youthful character distinguished for extraordinary attainments, but many of our readers will probably be

of opinion that the remarkable talents of the admirable Cricbton were equalled, if not exceeded

by the precocious acquirements of the subject of the present article. The following account, the most complete of any that we are acuqainted with, was collected by the celebrated Dr. Johnson from letters written by the father of young Barre tier.

John Philip

Barretier was born at

Sehwabaeh,

17-0-C1. His father was a Calvinist minister of that place, who took upon himself the

January care of lie

If),

bi.s

education.

used, or

\V~lmt arts of instruction

by what method he regulated the

studies of his SOLI,

Mr. Le

we

are not able to inform the

method ill which he taught his children, worthy to be communicated to the learned world, how justly may Mr. Barretier claim the universal attention of public

;

mankind

if

to a

Fevrc: thought the

scheme of education

that has pro-

JOHN PHILIP BAfcRETlER. duced such a stupendous progress! The authors, endeavored' to teach certain and unrules for obtaining a failing long life, however have in failed their they attempts, are universal-

who have

have at least, the merit of a great and noble design, and to have deserved gratitude and honour. How much more then is due to

ly confessed to

Mr.

Barretier, who succeeded in what they have only attempted ? for to prolong life, and improve If to have all that riches it, are nearly the same. f

:

-.u

purchase,

done

in

is

a long

to be rich is

;

if to

do

to live long

all

that caa be

he

is equally benefactor to mankind, who teaches them to protract the duration, or shorten the business of

life,

;

,;i

fovv things more worthy our cuthan this method, by which the father asriosity sisted the genius of the son, every man will be

That there are

Convinced, that considers the early proficiency at which it enabled him to arrive; such a profi-

ciency as no one has yet reached at the same age,

and

which

therefore probable that every circumstance concurred. advantageous At the age of nine years he not only was masto

it is

ter of five languages,

an attainment

in

itself

al-

most incredible, but understood, says his father, the holy writers, better in their original tongues, than in his own. If he means by this assertion,

passages in the were obscure in the translation, original, which the account, however wonderful, may be admit-

that he

knew

ted; but

if

the sense of

he intends to

many

tell

his

correspondent

JOHN PHILIP BARRETIE-R

2'J

better acquainted with the two of the Bible, than with his own, lie languages must be allowed to speak hyperbolically, or to that his son was

his son had somewhat neglected the native language; or we must own, of his study that the fondness of a parent has transported

admit that

him

some

into

Part of

natural exaggerations.

this letter

am tempted

I

to suppress,

being unwilling to demand the belief of others to~ that which appears incredible to myself; but as incredulity may, perhaps, be the product rather of prejudice than reason, as envy may beget a disinclination to admit so immense a supe-

my

riority,

and

as

an account

ately censured as derful,

I shall

ther's relation, 1

He

7 '29-30.

false,

proceed from his speaks,

is

not to be immedi-

merely because

it is

to give the rest of letter of the

3d of March

continues he,

Latin, and French, equally

won-

his fa-

German,

He

well.

can, by laying before him a translation, read any of the books of the Old or New Testament in its original language, without hesitation or perplexity. He is no stranger to biblical criticism orpfyiloso-

phy, nor unacquainted with ancient and modern geography, and is qualified to support a conversation with

learned

men, who frequently

visit

and correspond with him. In his eleventh year, he not only published a learned letter in Latin, but translated the travels of Rabbi Benjamin from the Hebrew into French,

which he

illustrated with

notes,

nied with dissertations; a woik c 3

and accompawhich his fa-

iri

JOHN PHILIP EARRETIER.

30 ther, as

he himself declares, could give him

tle assistance, as

he did not understand the

lit-

ral

binical dialect.

The

reason, for which his father enna^ed C? O

him

work, was only to prevail upon Imn to write a fairer hand than he had hitherto accus-

in

th'is

tomed himself if

to do, hy giving him hopes, that, he should translate some little author, and of-

fer a fair copy of his version to some bookseller, he might, in return for it, have other book* which he wanted, and could not afford to pur-

chase.

Incited hy this expectation, he fixed upon the " Travels of Rabbi Benjamin," as most proper his for purpose, being a book neither bulky nor common, and in one month completed his translation, applying only one or two hours a day to that particular task. In another month, lie drew

up the principal notes; and, in the third, wrote some dissertations upon particular passages which seemed

to require a larger examination.

This copy was, however, far from being written nor with the neatness which his father desired ;

whom

was offered, make to the expectations of proposals very agreeable the young translator; but after having examined the performance after their manner, and deterdid the booksellers, to

mined

it

it upon conditions not very adit to be transcribed, that returned vantageous, not be embarrased with a cojhe printers might

py

to print

so difficult to read.

now advanced to the latter end and had made great advances ) ear,

Barretter was

$f

h,is

twelfth

JOHN PHILIP BARHETIER. in his studies, notwithstanding an

31

obstinate tu-

hand, which gave him great pain, and obliged him to a tedious and troublesome method of cure and reading over his performance, was so far from contenting himself with the greatbarely transcribing it, that he altered

mor

in bis left

;

the disseipart of the notes, new-modelled to twice its book the and tations, augmented

est

former bulk.

What

applauses are due to an old age, wasted a in scrupulous attention to particular accents

and etymologies,

appear, says his father, by time is required to arrive at

may

seeing how little such an eminence

in

these studies as

many even

of those venerable doctors have not attained, for want of rational methods and regular application. is doubtless just upon those whe too much of their lives spend upon useless niceties, or who appear to labor without making any

This ceasure

but as the knowledge of language is -necessary, and a minute accuracy sometimes reprogress

:

by no means to be blamed, who, with the particular bent of their compliance own minds, make the difficulties of dead languages their chief study, and arrive at excellence quisite, they are

in

proportionate to their application, since it was to the labor of such men that his son was indebted for his

own

The

first

learning.

languages which Barretier learned .were the Frencb, German, and Latin, which he was taught not in the common way, by a multitude of definitions; rules, and exceptions, which

'

JOHN PHILIP BARRET1ER. fatigue the attention, and burthen the

menu

without any use proportionate to the time which

they require, and the disgust which they create. instructed was easy

The method by which he was

and expeditious, and therefore pleasing. He learned them all in the same manner, and almost

same time, by conversing

at the

in

them

indiffer-

ently with Ijis father. The other languages of which he was master, he learned by a method yet more uncommon.

The only book which he made

use of was the

him

in the

language that he, then proposed to learn,

accom-

Bible, which his father laid before

panied

with

a

translation,

being

taught

degrees the inflexions of nouns and verbs. method, says his father, made the Latin familiar to

him

in his fourth

by This

more

year than any other

language.

When

he was near the end of his sixth year,

he entered upon the study of the Old Testament in its original language, beginning with the book of Genesis, to which his father confined him fot six months; after which he read cursorily over the rest of the historical books, in which he found very little difficulty, and then applied himself to the study of the poetical writers and the prophets,

which he read over so often, with so close an attention and so happy a memory, that he could not only translate them without a moment's hesitation into Latin and French, but turn with the

same

facility the

translations into the original

language in his tenth year.

JOHN PHILIP BARIH^TIER.

S3

weary of being confined to could almost entirely repeat, he deviated by stealth into other studies, and, as his translation of Benjamin is a sufficient evidence,

Growing

at length

a book which

lie

he read a multitude of writers of various kinds. In his twelfth year he applied more particularly to the study of the fathers, and councils of the

make a regular read every author in the original, having discovered so much negligence or ignorance in most translations, that he six first centuries,

and began

collection of their canons.

to

He

paid no regard to their authority.

Thus he continued

his studies, neither

drawn

aside by pleasures, nor discouraged by difficulties. The greatest obstacle to his improvement was

want of books, with which bis narrow fortune could not liberally supply him; so that he was obliged to borrow the greatest part of those which his studies required, and to return them when he had read them, without being able to consult them occasionally, or to recur to them

when

his

memory

should

fail

him.

observable, that neither his diligence, unintermitted as it was, nor his want of books, a It is

want of which he was sible,

ever produced

in the

in

him

sendecree highest o p that asperity,

which

a long and recluse life, without any circumstance of disquiet, frequently creates. He was always

gay, lively, and facetious, a temper which contributed much to recommend his learning, and

which some students much superior in age would consult their ease, their reputation; and their interest,

by copying from him.

JOHN PHILIP BARRETJER.

34

In the year

be published Anti-ArtemoEvangelii S. Joamiis, adversus Ai'temouimn riwlicatiim, and attained such a degree of reputation, that not only the public, but 17.35

tuns, sive Initium

princes,

merit

who

are

commonly

the last by

whom

began to interest themselves in his success, forjthe same year the king of Prussia, who had heard of his early advances in literature on account of a scheme for discovering is

distinguished,

the longitude, which had been sent to the lioyal Society of Berlin, and which was transmitted afterwards by him to Paris and London, engaged to take care of his fortune, having received further proofs of his abilities at his own court.

Mr.

Barretier being promoted to the cure of

the church of Stettin, was obliged to travel with his son thither from Schwabach, through Leipsic

and Berlin, a journey very agreeable to his son, as it would furnish him with new opportunities of improving his knowledge, and extending his acquaintance among men of letters. For this purpose they staid some time at Leipsic, and then travelled to Halle, where young Barretier so distinguished himself in his conversation with the professors of the university, that they offered

him

degree of doctor in philosophy, a dignity correspondent to that of master of arts among his

Barretier drew u<) that ni^ht some positions philosophy and the mathematics, which he sent immediately to the press, and defended the nexl

us. in

day, in a crowded auditory, with so much wit, of thought, and strength of reaspirit, presence son, that the whole university was delighted arni

35

JOHN PHILIP BARRETIER.

to his degree, and attended hy the whole concourse to his lodgings with compliments and acclamations.

amazed he was then admitted ;

His Theses or philosophical positions, which he t

the practice of that printed in compliance with editions in a few several ran through university,

weeks, and no testimony of regard was \vanting that could contrihute to animate him in his career. When they arrived at Berlin, the king ordered

him to he brought into much pleased with his

and was so conversation, that he sent his presence,

him almost every day during his stay at Berlin and diverted himself by engaging him in conversations upon a multitude of subjects, and in disputes with learned men on all which occasions

For

;

;

he acquitted himself so happily, that the king formed the highest ideas of his capacity, and fu-

And

thinking, perhaps with was the noblest sphere of a great genius, he recommended to him the study of modern history, the customs of nations, and those parts of learning, that are of use in ture

eminence.

reason, that active

life

public" transactions

and

civil

employments, de-

claring that such abilities, properly cultivated, might exalt him, in ten years, to be the greatest

minister ther

we

of state in attribute

it

Europe.

Barretier,

to his moderation

whe-

or inex-

perience, was riot dazzled by the prospect oF such high promotion, but answered, that he \vastoo much pleased with science and quiet, to leave

diem

for

such inextricable studies, or such har-

A

resolution so unpleasing to rassing fatigues. the king, that his father attributes to it the delay

of those favors

WhiS

they had hopes of receiv-

36

JOHN PHILIP BARRET1ER.

ing, the king having as he observes, determined to employ him in the ID in is try.

Whatever was originally intended, and bv whatever means these intentions were frustrated ;

having been treated with the highest regard by the whole royal family, was dismissed with a present of two hundred crowns; Barretier,

after

and his lather, instead of being fixed at Stettin, was made pastor of the French church at Halle; a place more commodious for study, to which they retired; Barretier being

first

admitted into

the royal society at Berlin, and recommended by the king to the university at Halle.

At Halle he continued

his studies

with his usual

application and success, and, either by

his

own

reflections or the persuasions of his father, was prevailed upon to give up his own inclinations to those of the king, and direct his inquiries to those subjects that had been recommended bv him. He continued to add new acquisitions to his

learning, and

to increase

his reputation

by new

performances, till, in the beginning of his nineteenth year, his health began to decline, and his indisposition, which, being not alarming or violent,

was perhaps not

at first sufficiently regard-

ed, increased by slow degrees for eighteen months,

during which' he spent days

and neither neglected ety,

till

among

his studies,

his distemper, ten

nor

his books, lost his gai-

days before his death, his limbs: he then

deprived him of the use of

prepared himself for bis end, without fear or emotion, and on the 5th of October 1740, renaivU of his Saviour, signed his soul into the with confidence and trunqujjiity.

"

LOUISA, on THE

LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

ASSUMING

that the origin of this daughter of misery was such as is rendered exby the circumstances detailed irt as a fact,

tremely probable

the following pages,her melancholy history hold* gut an awful and important lessou to all those whose hearts are not dead to the tender feel It may operate on the. ings of natural affection. one hand as a warning to the giddy and the gay against ,the indulgence of unhallowed love, or

at least

it

should induce them to

make

a

suita-

ble provision, while they are able, for the innocent fruits of illjcit passion. It is impossih.' to .-

foresee the afflictions that Providence

may have

the cup of any individual, .id itia* out of the of man to provide consequently power but it is the sacred duty of every against them in

mingled

;

:

parent to

path of

smooth, as far as he is capable, the to his offspring whether legitimate

life

or otherwise, and to neglect nothing which maycontribute to render them useful and respecta^ ble

members of

VOL.

3.

NO.

society.

<22.

We y>

now proceed

to

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK. the truly remarkable history of the unfortunate Louisa.

In the year 1770, a young woman stopped at the village of Bourton, near Bristol, and begged the refreshment of a little milk. In her

whole appearance there was something that irresistibly engaged the attention of every one who beheld her. She was young and beautiful, and to a countenance highly interesting, she added She was alone, graceful and elegant manners. a stranger and in extreme distress, yet she uttered no complaint, and used no arts to excite compassion. Her whole deportment exhibited visible signs of superior breeding

;

but a certain

\vildness and want of consistency marked all her words and actions. As she could not be induced to make known even her name, she was dis-

tinguished by that of Louisa. All day she wandered about in search of a lay her wretched head, and at night took up her lodging under a hay-stack. In vain the neighbouring ladies remonstrated with her

place to

on the danger of siuh an exposed situation. Their bounty supplied her with the necessaries of life, but neither threats nor intreaties could upon her to sleep in a house. As she prevail

at times discovered

was conveyed ter's

to

hospital, in

symptoms of

insanity, she

and confined in St. PeShe was released : that city.

Bristol,

the speed her small remains of strength allowed, she hastened to her favorite hay-stack, six miles distant from the place of her

with

all

though

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

3

Her rapture was inexpressible, roAnnement. on finding herself again at liberty, and once more

safe beneath this miserable shelter.

Four years

this forlorn creature

devoted her-

without knowing the comfort of a bed, or the protection of a roof. this desolate life,

self to

Hardship, sickness, cold un
an

still

she was an interesting figure, and had sweetness in her air and manner.

uncommon

She was above the vanity

so

common

to her

would neither wear nor accept' of or ornaments., but hung them on the

sex; for she

any

finery

bushes as unworthy of her attention. Her way of life was the most harmless and, inoffen-".\v; every fine morning she walked about rhe village, conversed with the poor children, made tfieni presents of such things as were given her, and received others in return, but would take no food

except milk,

tea,

No mg ladies

means were

and the most simple clivt. untried by the neighbour^

left

to prevail on'her to live in a house, but her constant reply was, " that trouble and misery dwelt in houses, and that there was no

happiness but

in liberty

and fresh

air."

From a

peculiarity of expression, and a slight tincture in her foreign pronunciation, and in the construction of some sentences, it was con-

certain

jectured that she was not a native of England; and various attempts were made, but in vain, to

A

draw from her some knowledge of her origin. gentleman who went to see her, addressed c 2

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK. her

.

m

the languages of the continent, at which she appeared uneasy, restless and embarrassed; but when he spoke in German, her emotion was

too -great to be suppressed; she turned from

and burst into

At

him

tears.

length, but not without great reluctance part, the unfortunate Louisa was remov-

on her

ed to the village of Bitton, in Gloucestershire* Here she was placed under the care of Mr. Heiir deison, the keeper of a private mad-house, and supported by a subscription under the manage-

ment of the benevolent Miss Hannah More, and her

sisters.

sician, her

By the attentions

of a skilful phv-

health improved, but her intellects

became more and more impaired and she displayed more of idiotism than lunacy in her manners and behaviour. As it had been concluded from her accent ;

German origin, all the particucould be collected concerning her were translated into that language, and transmitted that she was of

lars that

to the newspapers of Vienna, and of other large cities in Germany, in the hope that they might,

lead

to

The narrative was some discovery. in. most of the great towns,

likewise published

of France.

These precautions, however, reflected no certain light on the history of poor Louisa: but in the vear 1785, a pamphlet, without either name or place, appeared in the French language, un-, der the title of The Stranger, a true history. It.

was supposed

to

have been, crig'mally .published.

THE LADY OF THE HAY- STACK. in some part of the Austrian dominions. By an affectway of introduction, the author gives the of the of recital poor female sufferings ing in the neighbourhood of Bristol, transstranger, lated from the

account published in the En-

glish newspapers, leaving

it

to the public to de-

termine, whether the unhappy Louisa and the subject of his narrative, were or were not one

and the same person.

The same

question

we

of 'our readers, after made themselves have acquainted with the they circumstances of this extraordinary history, shall leave to the decision

whieh we In the

shall now present them. summer of the year 1768, Count Co-

benzel, the Austrian minister at Brussels, receivletter from a lady at Bourdeaux ; in which

ed a

the writer requested him not to think it strange, and advice were eagerly sought,

if his friendship

adding, that talents

and

ff

the universal respect which his

his interest at court

commanded,

in*

dnced her to address herself to him; that he should soon know who it was that had presumed to solicit his good offices; and that he would perhaps not repent of having attended to her.'* This letter was written in very indifferent French,

and signed La Friilen. The count was requested to return an answer to Mademoiselle La Fiiilen, at Bourdeaux. Not long afterwards, he received a letter from Prague, signed Count J. von Weissendorf, in which he was in treated to give the best advice in bis

power

to

Mademoiselle La

Juiilen, to in-

THE LAB\

01'

TUB HAY-bT ACK*

hims,]f warmly in her behalf, to write to in her favor, and even to advance

terest

Bourdeaux Uer if

money

to the

u an ted

she-

it.

amount of a thousand ducats The letter concluded thus :

when you shall know, is, you will be delighted * f

ed her,

anil

grateful

Sir,

who

to think

to those

you an opportunity of doing

this stranger

you have

serv-

who. have given

it."

count assured her was highly sensible of her good opinion ? that he should be proud of assisting her with his, Iri

that

his reply to the lady, the

he.

advice, and of serving her to the utmost of his power, but that it was absolutely necessary he

should in the real

lirst

instance, be informed of her

came.

After

,

this,

the. count received a

.

letter from,

Vienna, signed Count Dietrichstein, in whichr he was likewise requested to pay every possible^ attention to Mademoiselle La Friilen, and ii\ particular to recommend to her the practice of as well as the letter. from. frugality. This,

Prague,

Mas answered by the count, but no notice

was-

taken of the. reply to either. Iri

t^e

the

mean

time, his correspondence with*

young lady -at Bourdeaux continued.

To-

wards the end of the year Madame I'Englurne, the wife of a tradesman of Bourdeaux, went on business to

Brussels,

and that business having

introduced her to Count Cobenzel, she spoke to him in terms of the highest praise of hi

She extolled and above all, tha elegance,

youn^ unknown correspondent. her beauty,

her.

THE 1.ADY-OF THE

HAY-STACK.

7

did prudence and propriety of conduct, which tender a so much honor to a person left at such

4

She added,, that the age, at her own disposal. young lady had a house of her own; that she was and even magnificent ; generous, expensive, that she had been three years at Bourdeaux ; that the distinguished attention with which she was treated by the Marshal de Richelieu, the those of the great resemblance of her features to late emperor Francis, and the entire ignorance of the world concerning her birth, had given occasion to strange conjectures ; and that though the young lady had often been questioned concerning her family, she persisted in observing the most scrupulous silence on that subject. In one of her letters to Count Cobenzel,

demoiselle

La

Fru'len declared her

Ma-

readiness

to

inform him of every particular concerning herself; but as the secret was too important -to be

Ausand acquaint him with her She meanwhile sent him her picture,

trusted to chance, she intended to visit the trian Netherlands,

history.

which she desired him attentively to examine, it might lead him to some conjectures concerning what she had to relate. The count saw* as

in ly

nothing more than the features of a lovewoman, but Prince Charles of Lorraine

it

thought the portrait bore a strong resemblance to the late emperor, his brother.

Count Cobenzel continued in a polite, and even an

ters

to

answer her

affectionate

let-

man-

ner, but was particularly guarded in his expres-

3

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK. sions. On one occasion she informed him, that she would send him two more pictures, with one

of which, she requested him to compare her own. Soon afterwards, he received the portraits of the

emperor and empress; the former of which was. known by Prince Charles to have been painted

by

Liotard.

month of December, the count received an extraordinary letter, dated " Vienna From my bed, two in the morning ;" in which he was highly commended for the good advice he had given the young stranger, and requested to continue his attentions. He was likewise desired to inculcate economy, and particularly admonished of the importance of the secret. This letter was without signature. In the beginning of the year 1769, Count Cobenzel received dispatches from Vienna, con* In the

taining several extraordinary circumstances relaThe court of Vienna had tive to the stranger.

applied to that of Versailles to apprehend Mademoiselle la Friilen, and to send her to Brussels to

be examined by Count Cobenzel, and jhe first president M. de Neny. At the same time Prince Charles received a*letter from the empress, enjoining him to be careful that the prisoner should

not escape, and concluding with these words ; to pass for the daughter of our late royal master. If there was the least in the story, I would love her and

" This wretch wishes probability

treat her like

one of

convinced she

is

my own children

an impostor.

I

vr ish

;

but

I

am

every pos-

THE LADY

be made

effort to

jsibl.e

THE HAY-STACK.

01

to

this

prevent


unhappy

creature from profaning any longer the dear and .venerable name of our departed lord." Her ma-

Jestv reeommended the strictest secrecy, adding, that the adventure had already made too much noise, and that all Europe would soon ring of it.

The manner

in

which the

affair

had come

to

the knowledge of the court of Vienna was as folWhile Joseph II. was on his travels in lows. Italy, the

King of Spain received a

porting to have been written by jesty,

had

informing him

left

in

letter

his imperial

pur-

ma-

confidence, that his father

a natural daughter, whose history was to his sister, the Archduchess Ma-

known only

rianne, himself, and a few intimate friends; that

she had been most earnestly recommended to him

The by his father, and resided at Bourdeaux. to send for intreated to Was her, king pla<:e her with some lady of rank at Madrid or in a convent, where she might be treated with the respect due to her birth, till some plan should be adopted, for the future happiness of her

life.

This mark

of friendship he requested of his catholic majesty, because he himself durst not undertake the office, lest the

his

affair

should

mother, the empress,

come

whom

to the ears

of

he wished to re-

main

in perpetual ignorance of the The story. of this so letter extraordiKing Spain thought nary, that he transmitted it to the emperor, -re*

questing,

some expkination.

not written affair,

it,

serit'it

and was

to his

Joseph,

totally

mother,

who had

ignorant, of

the"

whumadeum mediate

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

10

enquiries concerning the stranger, and dispatch-

ed a messenger to Bourdeaux to seize was arrested in her own house in

her.

She

August, Mfy)*

by M. de Fcraud, lieutenant of the nwrechaussee of the province. Fear and distress beauty.

greatly impaired La Friilen's Continual spasms, attended with a spitblood, obliged her to travel very slowly.

ting of' Just before she quilted the French dominions, a stranger, in the habit of a courier, put a note into her hand at the coach window, .and retired

with the utmost precipitation. She begged the officer by. whom she was accompanied to read the note which contained only these words: "

My

clear girl, every thing has

keep up your

spirits,

been done

to save

and do not despair." She

afterwards declared, that she neither courier, nor the hand-writing.

On

you;

knew the

her arrival at Brussels, she was immediate-

Her figure ly taken to Count Cobenzei's hotel. Was sufficient to interest the hardest heart in her Sbe was tall and of an elegant figure, her was simple and majestic; her complexion fair; her arm? were delicately turned; her hair was brown, and calculated to display the emfavor. air

of art to the greatest advantage. freshness of colour, which art cannot

bellishments

She had a

imitate, fine dark eyes,

and a look that expressed every emotion of her soul. She spoke French with a German accent, and appeared much con-

fused, but betrayed no* particular

female weakness.

symptoms ef

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

11

Her alarm was soon dissipated by that confidence which the count well knew how to inspire* In her letters she had always called him father, continued to address him hy the same endearing name. He told her to make herself

and

still

the kindperfectly easy, as she should experience est treatment, if she

truth.

would

strictly

adhere to the

All her distress appeared to arise

from

the circumstance of the debts she had contracted at Bourdeaux, which she considered as the sole

cause of her being apprehended. She expressed no concern at being a prisoner, and only asked the count whether she might not remain at his house. This he frankly told her wag impossible,

same time assuring her, that she should be treated with the highest respect, in an apartment he had prepared for her at the fortress of Monte-

at the

where she should be supplied with every thing He promised to wait on h?r the next day; on which she took her leave, and was conducted to the fort by Major de Camerlang, and M. de Neny provided for her a female at-

rel,

she wanted.

tendant.

The next day the count found her

in

good

spi-

she seemed delighted with her apartment, and the treatment of those about her. The

rits

;

count offered her the use of any books from his She thanked him, but said, she never library.

had a moment that hung heavy on her hands, so much was her time taken np with visionary projects for her future

life.

neither read nor write,

The as

fact was, she could

M.

de Camerlang

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

12

*

v

tauglit her to sign her

name

while she was in

confinement.

The

following day her examination commenCount Cobenzel and Count de Neny 1re> paired to the fort, and the latter, who had not .

ced.

before seen the prisoner, was extremely struck with her iesemblance to the late emperor. They asked were she was born. She answered, thatshe knew not, but had been told the place where

she had been brought up, was called Bohemia. She-. was asked if that place was a town, and what was the

earliest

circumstance of her

life

that she

She said the place where she was brought up was a small sequestered house in the country, with neither a. town nor a -villagenear it, and that before she* inhabited this hoiise^ she had no recollection of any thing that had could recollect.

happened

to her.

the care of two

In infancy she had been

women, one about

under

years old, former she called

the other about thirty: the mamma, and the latter Catharine.

fifty

She

slept in

the apartment of the first, and both treated her with great kindness and affection. An ecclesiastic came from time to time to say mass in an apartment of the house, and to teach her the cate-

chism: and the person

whom

she called

mamma

had begun to instruct her in reading and writting; but no sooner did the priest know of this, than he opposed it, and she was taught no more.

He, however, always xespcct.

treated her with very great

,

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

13

She said that about a year afterwards a handsome man in a hunting-suit, accompanied by a gentleman dressed in the same manner, came to the the house where she lived. She was called stranger placed her on his knee, caressed her, and exhorted her to be good and obedient. She supposed that this person had seen her before, ;

she recollected that he thought her grown and altered, but she did not remember to

as

taller

have ever seen him

any former time.

at

In,

a half he returned, with the same attendant, and in the samekind of dress. At this second interview the features of her unknown,

about a year

arid

made such an impression on her mind, she never seen him more, she should had that, not have forgotten them. He was of the mid dling stature, rather corpulent, had an open

visitor

countenance, a ruddy complexion, dark beard, and a small white spot on one of his temples.

She observed that M. de Neny bore a distant resemblance to this person, particularly in the lower part of his face.

At

thii

second

visit,

she

remarked something red about the stranger's neck, under his riding coat; she enquired what it was he replied, that it was a mark of distinction worn by officers. Ignorant in every particular, she enquired what he meant by officers. ;

He

answered, try and spirit,

*'

They

are

men of honour,

whom you must

gallanlove, because you

are yourself the daughter of an officer. She this visit she felt a attachstrong ment to the stranger, and when he tpok leave,

added, that at

VOL.

3.

NO. 22.

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK,,

14

she burst into tears, at which he appeared and promised -to return soon.

much

affected,

was not, however, till two years afterwards and when she reproached him for his long absence, he told her, that at the time he had fixed for coming to see her, he was It

that he returned,

very

.consequence of over-heating himself Prince Charles recollected, that,

in

ill

in the chace.

above-mentionwas taken reill on his Emperor actually turn from hunting. at a time corresponding with that

ed, the

At the be

left

third interview, the stanger desired to alone with her. When he informed her

she shed tears. He was himself and moved, enquired why she wept; on which she replied, " Because I love you." He declared he likewise loved her, that he would take care of his

illness,

of her, make her rich and happy, and give her a palarce, money, and attendants, who should

wear yellow -and blue

liveries.

He

afterwards

she should not like to see the queen* You would love her much if you knew

asked her

if

"'

adding, her, but that for

luer peace of mind, you must never do." He t'hen presented her with the two pictures she had sent from Bourdeaux to Count

Cobenzel. his

own

She

the stranger, that one was which he allowed, and bade

told

pir.ture,

her keep it as long as she lived, as well as that of the Empress, and a third picture, which he afterwards gave her, of a female whose features

'were partly concealed by a veil. This he informed Fier was her own mother, The pictures were :

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

13

silk purse, which contained a great On quitting her, the stranducats. of quantity she should soon be happy*, that her assured ger and all her wishes should be gratified ; but she

in

a blue

must promise him never to marry., and always He then keep that vow in her remembrance. took leave of her with the utmost tenderness,

and she was herself extremely affected. She related that, in the interval between the first and second visit of this stranger, a lady, acsee her. companied by two men, came one clay to She was dressed with great simplicity, was of middling stature, fair, of a pleasing countenance, and rather inclining to corpulence. This and began to lady looked at her very earnestly, indifferent her several she asked questions, weep and then kissing her twice or three times, said, :

"

My child, you are indeed unfortunate !" 11 et emotion was so great, that she called for a glass of water to keep herself from fainting; and after She could drinking it, immediately departed. not positively say whether the picture the stranger gave her at his last visit, bore any resemblance to this"' lady or not.

When the examination

had proceeded thus far, was found that the young prisoner began to prevaricate about the circumstances of her hisYet even after this was discovered, she tory. it

persisted^ solemnly declaring, that her narrato her quitting the house in which she was educated, was faithful in tive of the events previous

every particular; and though questions were put to her in every possible form, she always repeat-

16

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

ed the above facts with the same circumstances

and the same simplicity. She then related the story of her departure from the place of her education, to the following effect: Soon after the stranger's last visit, the ecclesiastic who had attended her from her

came

infancy,

to inform her that her protector

was no more, and that before he expired, he had ordered her to be conducted to some convent in France, adding, that she must set out on her A week afterwards he journey in a few days. returned in a post-chaise, into which he handed her and Catharine, and then got into it again himself. She wept much at parting with the woman she called mamma; not entirely on account of the pain she felt at the separation, but likewise because she was terribly afraid of the for the enquiries she had made in the week preceding her departure had given her the most frightful ideas of the life to which she thought herself condemned. She could not tell what towns she passed through; but on her ar-

convent

;

Hamburg, the priest dismissed her attendant, and made her embark on board a The moment vessel freighted for Bourdeaux. rival

at

she took ship, a man, apparently about fifty years old, offered her his services, and said that

he would take care of her during the voyage. On their arrival at Bourdeaux, this man took her to the house of a German merchant; his wife placed her with Madame Guillaumot with, whom she had lived during the whole of her resi-

dence at Bourdeaux.

A

fortnight after her re-

THE LADY OF TH E "HAY-STACK.

I?

was brought Mademoiselle Felicia Juliana de Schonau, which name the priest on her in future to leaving Bohemia, told her she was

TO oval to that lady's house, a letter

to her, addressed to

consider as her own. This letter to her

by

her desire.

It

Madame G. read

contained directions for

her conduct, and assurances that she should be amply supplied with money; she was advised to

remain with Madame Guillaumot, and to persuade her to dismiss atl her other boarders, and to devote her "whole attention to her alone. letter

This

had neither date nor signature, and en-

joined her to forbear making too curious inquiries. Some days afterwards, a gentleman called

upon her, and without any preface, put into her hand a purse of a thousand louis-d'ors, whicl^ he said, he was directed to advance her for the purchase of furniture. She asked whence the money came, on which he begged her to make herself easy, and not to be inquisitive. She now took a house, and furnished it; Madame Guillaumot went with her us her companion, and she

lived at

Bonrdeaiix

among people

of the

the day of her confinement. consequence, The manner in which she related the circum-

first

till

stances of her embarkation at

.

Hamburg appearing improbable, Count Cobenzel told her, it was evident her stoty was untrue. He bade her to

remember what he had before to obtain the favour

told her, that the

and protection of only way the empress, was to be ingenuous and sincere. On this condition alone, he had offered her bisE 3

18

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

best services, but having deceived him, be would her to the consequences of her im-

now abandon

She was much confused, and the Count having risen as if to depart, she held him by his clothes, threw herself at his feet, and with many posture.

tears, said she

proceed tary.

in the

When

had much

to relate, but could not

presence of

M.

that gentleman

de Neny's secrehad withdrawn,

on her knees, and entreated the take compassion on her, confessed that she had deceived him in the account of her she again

Count

fell

to

embarkation at Hamburg, but called heaven to witness, that all she had said concerning her residence in Bohemia, was true to the minutest circumstance.

She then

told

anew the

story of

her departure, in the following manner. When the priest came to take her from her in Bohemia, he said he was going to conThe little duct her tp a convent in France. which she had heard from Catharine and her mamma, taught her to consider a convent as a

house

from which there was no^ escape; force did this idea operate on her mind, that she formed the design of delivering frightful prison

with such

herself by flight from this captivity.

No

oppor-

till her artunity for executing this plan occurred, rival at Hamburg, where her alarm was so much

increased by the sight of the sea and the ships, that the night preceding the day fixed for her departure, she rose from Catharine's side as she slept,

made

a small parcel of

some

linen, took

the blue purse with the three pictures, and one hundred ducats given her by the stranger, and

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK. at day-break, left the city.

She walked a

19 loi?g

exhausted with fatigue, she took rebarn of a farmer, and fell asleep. in the fuge Here she was discovered by the owner, who> struck with her youth and figure, civilly offered her the use of his best bed, and a small room,

time,

till,

Tvhich she accepted. Her fears not suffering her to continue so near

Hamburg, she

quitted her host,

who

refused to

accept any remuneration for his kindness. Mounting a wretched carriage, she then took the road

towards Sweden, but, the third day of her journey, she fell from the vehicle, and received such a dangerous

wound

in her head, that

it

was found

necessary to take her to a neighbouring inn, and to procure .the assistance of a surgeon. Dutch

A

family happened to stop at this inn on their way to Pomeraniaand Sweden. These people defray-

ed the expences of her cure, and permitted her

She mentioned their names to join their party. and likewise that of a Lutheran clergyman, who was with them, and who, when this narrative made its appearance, was tutor to the children of a merchant at Hamburg.

Proceeding to Stockholm,

&he quitted her fellow-travellers, and took a lodging at the house of a German woman, whose hus-

band held a small post under the government. Fortunately, this woman was a person of great integrity, and conceived the strongest attachment for her. During Mademoiselle La Friilen's residence here, she was one day informed by her hair-dresser, that the Count Belgioioso, the imperial

ambassador at Stockholm, was making

20

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

enquiries after a young lady who had eloped from Hamburg. La Friilen, who began to form some idea of the consequences of her and was more terrified by the apprehensiflight,,

ons of poverty than the thoughts^ of a convent, declared that she was the person, and permitted her informant to make

discovery to the following day she received a note from the Count, inviting .her to his house.

ambassador.

this

The

to her by a girl who attended on her, named Sophia, and she hesitated not a moment. to comply w ith the Count's invitation.

This note was read

r

He received her with great respect, enquired the circumstances of her departure from Hamburg, and conceiving from her replies, that she must be the person of whom he was in search, he told her that he was instructed to take the greatest care of her, and would call upon her to see whether she was in convenient lodgings. He offered her money, which she accepted, for the blue purse was empty ; and visited her the next day, when he told her that he would procure her more

commodious apartments nearhis own house. Two days afterwards she took possession of these apartments> which weie in the house of a trades-

man. Sophia continued with

her,

and the Count

sent her a lackey, arjd furnished her with provi-

Not long after this, sions from his own table. she removed by his desire, to his own house, having as he informed her, been still more strongly

recommended She

to his protection. farther said, that while

she was at the

house of the Count Belgioioso, she was so

affect?

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

St.

ed at the sight of a picture resembling the stranwhom she had seen in Bohemia, that she was coninstantly swooned. (This circumstance

ger,

Count, who likewise, was the picture of the EmpeShe was with difficulty brought to

firmed in a letter by the

mentioned, that ror Francis.) herself,

when a

nearly proved

it

violent fever succeeded,

fatal.

Her

illness lasted six

and

weeks,

during which she grew taller, and was so much altered, that she appeared to be thirty years old* though- she could not have been more than sixteen.

About the time of her elopement from Ham. burg, the daughter of a merchant of that city had gone off with a young Englishman, This

adventure coming to the ears of Count Belgioioso, excited suspicions in his mind of the truth of her story, and led him to believe, that she

might be the merchant's daughter, and not the young lady who had been so earnestly recommended to his care. Accordingly, on her recovery he told her, he had received advice from Hamburg, that she had quitted that city in the company of a -young Englishman. She most solemnly denied the charge, but the Count persisted

in his

accusation,

till

being wearied

constant persecution on the subject, she confessed herself guilty of what she knew to

out with

be falsely laid to her charge. The consequence of this imprudence was such as might naturalbe The Count her he was told ly expected. mistaken as to her person, and advised her to reHamburg. He gave her twenty five louis

turn to

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK. d'ors, to defray the expences of her journey, and entrusted her to the care of a merchant, who -

was returning to that

Hamburg,

she

city.

On

her arrival at

anxiously inquired after the perso abruptly quitted, and walk-

whom she had

sons

ed every day on the quay, and in the most frequented parts of the town. In one of these walks j

who appeared to be about fifty years and had followed her at a distance for seveold, ral days, at length accosted her, ami proposed to her to go to Bourdeaux. She consented the more readily, as this was the place for which the priest had wished her to embark, and she a man,

conceived that by following the plan originally down for her, she should the more easily

laid

meet her

who inteiested themselves The man embarked with her, and

with- those

fate.

tended her during the voyage, in

had

tl*e

irt

at-

manner she

related. The prisoner always perdeclaring, that every circumstance she

at first

sisted in

had mentioned concerning her arrival and at Bourdeaux, was strictly true.

resi-

dence

She then continued her history as follows; Soon after she had taken a house of her own, to which she was accompanied by Madame Guillar.mot, she received

an anonymous

letter,

hi

which- she was directed to go to the Duke de Richelieu, and ask that protection of which she*

much in need. This the writer pressed her the more earnestly to cto, as the duke was She acalready acquainted with her history. stood so

that nobleman, cordingly repaired to

who

in*

THE LAI>Y OF THE HAY-STACK. formed her that he had received a

letter

from

the Princess of Anersberg, recommending Made*moiselle de Schonan, in the strongest terms, to He made her a thousand offers his protection. of service, and according to his custom, said virtuous female ought to hear. She burst into tears, and on her knees implored his

more than a compassion

;

when the duke on

his part, apolo-

gized for his imprudence. few days afterwards he called upon her, and her to learn the French earnestly recommended to her several other visits, and He paid language. treated her with the highest respect. She

A

always,

was a constant guest at all his entertainments, and when questioned concerning her, he invaria" She is a lady of great distincbly replied :

tion."

During her residence at Bourdeaux, she had two very advantageous offers of marriage, one of which was from the nephew of M. de Ferrand, a counsellor of the parliament of Bourdeaux but she refused both, conceiving her;

bound to perpetual celibacy by the promise she had made to the stranger in Bohemia. As to her pecuniary circumstances, it has already been observed, that a person unknown pre-

self

sented her with a purse containing a thousand Through the same channel she at

!ouis d'ors.

different times, received

thousand

about one hundred and

fifty (6250/. sterling) without i?eing able to discover to who'm she was indebted
this

livres

munificent allowance.

These circuin-

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

<24

stances corroborated

her supposition, that she

belonged to a very wealthy family, and she Spent the

money

as fast as she received

Her

it.

re-

mittances suddenly stopped, and as she made no alteration in her style of living, she soon contract-

ed debts to the amount of sixty thousand livres, at the time of her being

which remained unpaid arrested.

In the distress to which the threats of her cre-

reduced her, she took the resolution of fabricating several letters, which, when read at ditors

her examination, she acknowledged to have been dictated by herself. These were, the' letter to

Count Cobenzel, dated " Vienna

from

my

bed two morning ;" that signed Count J. de Weissendorff ; another to, the ernperor, in the

Baand lastly the letter to the king of Spain, which had led to her appredirected to

him

4

at Florence; anothei to the

varian minister at

Paris,

hension.

she frankly confessed that she she at the same time de-

Though

had sent all these

letters,

clared -her perfect

ignorance

of that

signed

" Count Dietrichstein," and of several others which the Counts Cobenzel and Neny had received concerning her. Such was her simplicity, that

make her

it

was impossi-

how

highly criminal she had been, in procuring letters to be forged on a subject of such importance. Nay, she even ble to

sensible

that she thought persisted in declaring

acted right, and

she had

defended her conduct on the

following grounds.

The

extraordinary xna/mer

6

THE LADY OF

TlIC

HAY-STACK*

2.>

which she had been brought up, the conjeelures she had formed concerning her parentage, the portraits which gave such weight to those conjectures, and the considerab e sums that had

in

been remitted

tended to excite

to her, naturally

actually. was

and confirm the suspicion, that she

This suspicion she had never communicated to anv person but finding

the emperor's daughter.

;

once entirely forsaken, she concluded that the person who had been commissioned to furnish her with money was dead, and

herself

at

all

that her

supplies ceased only because her

resi-

dence was not known, as he alone might probably have been acquainted with the nlace of her abode. As she, however, conjectured that her father might have intrusted more than one person with the secret of her birth, she hoped that by writing to all the most illustrious servants of the house of Austria, she should meet

with some one acquainted with her history, by whom she might be placed in the situation originally designed letters she did

for

These

her by her father.

not write in her

own name, being

unwilling to expose herself to the troublesome curiosity of those, who not being in the secret,

would immediately make inquiries concerning her birth. She concluded that if only one of these letters should fall into the haads of any person acquainted

with her history,

would know more particulars of her possibly could

suspicions

VOL.

:

but in the

mean

that life

person than she

time,

as bee

were unsupported by positive proof

ill.

NO.

<2.

P

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

0.6

r_ all she could say would not prevent her being considered an impostor. She added, that a strong-

argument of' her conscious innocence, and of her firm persuasion that she was the emperor's daughter,, might he drawn from the circumstance of her having pointed out the place of her abode all her letters that all of them tended to put

in

;

her in the power of the court, of Vienna, which alone was interested in punishing any deception. She declared that she had never consulted any

person concerning the steps she had taken, and particularly denied having sent' the letter to the Duke de Richelieu, signed " The Princess of Auersberg." It should he observed, that immediately on the receipt of this letter, the duke returned an answer to the

{<

princess, stating,

that in consequence

other recommendation, he would

treat

Made-

moiselle de Schonau, with all possible respect, and would render her every service in his power."

M.

de Chatelet, the French ambassador at

Vienna, delivered this letter to the princess, by whom it was not answered. Had she not writit is natural to suppose, that she would have immediately replied, she knew no such person as Mademoiselle de Schonau. Hence it may be justly concluded, that the princess did

ten to the duke,

write the letter of recommendation, and was con-

with sequently acquainted birth.

the mystery of the

The presumption

is

confirmed

stranger's by the subsequent conduct of the empress,

who

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

27

ask the Prinexpressly enjoined her ministers to or' Auersberg no questions whatever on the subject. The information nfiven by the prisoner in the course of her examinations concer'mg the iate

cess,

Duke

of York,

tance.

On

likewise of considerable impor-

is

his arrival at

Bourdeaux,

his

royal

highness sent to inform Mademoiselle de Schonau, that he had something of great consequence to communicate to her, requesting her to

appoint some time when he might see her withShe reout the knowledge of any other person.

he wished for secrecy, she thought plied, that as the most suitable hour would be at six in the

was to be given by the His royal highness came at the appointed time, and told her, that the object of his visit was to enquire the amount of morning,

Duke

after a ball that

de Richelieu.

her debts, as

lie

was commanded by a lady of

sum of money.

distinction to give her a acknowledged, that her

creditors

She

importuned

her greatly for sixty thousand livres. He desired her to make herself easy, and the same day sent her seven hundred louis d'ors; informing her that he would soon furnish her with a sum sufficient to discharge all

day the duke

Soon

left

her debts.

The next

Bourdeaux.

after this

while her secretary

she

M.

fell

sick:

one morning,

Ger, was by her bedside, a letter was brought from the Duke of York, dated " Monaco." St. Ger began to read as St.

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

'2S

follows

"

I

der of the

was about

money

;

to

send you the remain-

but after I had

left

your

house, I received a letter which strictly enjoined me to give you only a part. I have written tr the Princess of Au ," Here she snatched the letter from the hand of her secretary, and suffer him to proceed. Being asked the reason of her conduct on this occasion, and who was the princess mentioned in the letter,

would not

she replied, that

she.

it

was the Princess of Auersberg,

herself did not

know

her, but the

Duke

of York had told her, that the princess interrested herself greatly in her behalf, and was

acquainted with the secret of her birth. When she heard the first syllable of her name, she was

be something in the apprehensive lest there might more letter the remainder of immediately conor lest it might betray her cerning the princess,

own

story, with

which she wished

St.

Ger

to

remain unacquainted. She then took from her pocket the Duke of York's letter, which M. de Neny read aloud. " I have written The remainder was as follows to the Princess of Auersberg, and have request:

ed permission, at least to remit you the sum you want, to relieve you from the importunities of " Here' the letter abruptof your creditors, but few days after she received it terminated. ly

A

she was informed of the duke's death.

She sent

to the persons appointed to examine his papers, that her picture and her letters might

requesting

THE L/VDY OF THE HAY-STACK.

G
One letter only was found; it was transmitted to her, together with the picture, and a portrait, which she afterwards presented be returned.

to AI.

de Camerlaug.

Such was the substance of

the information

obtained in the twenty-four sittings occupied by the examination. The Counts Cobenzel and

Neny now

seriously considered what steps were, to be taken, and they agreed that it would be

most prudent a

on

convent,

to place

till

the unfortunate girl

time should throw

some

in

light

This opinion they mysterious affair. were about to transmit to Vienna, w,hen Count iseny received a letter from his father, who this

was private secretary to the empress, stating, that from the particulars of the examination, her imperial majesty had formed a very disadvantageous idea of the stranger, and was determin-

ed to treat her with the utmost severity. Soon after this, Count Cobenzel was attacked

by an

illness

which proved

fatal.

The day

be-

fore his death, after he had received the sacra-

ment, he told a friend who had been made acquainted with all the circumstances relating to the stranger, that he had just received dis-

patches from Vienna, charging him to acquaint the court with the prisoner's whole history, by

no means

to

dismiss her, and not to take any He alluded to a letter

step without fresh orders.

he had received from Prince Kaunitz, which after, he had read he immediately burned., ad-

THE LADY OF TH E

30 ding,

"

You

see an

H A Y-ST ACIv.

honest man's opinion wil^

sometimes prevail."

The it

following day the count expired, and had not been for this event, the affair would pro-

bably have taken a different turn. If similar orders were sent to any other person, they arrived too late, for four days after the count's death, the stranger was taken out of prison, and conducted by a sub-lieutenant of the marechamste of

Brabant

to Quievraing, a

Mons and

small town between

fifty louis d'ors were and she was adancloned to Such was the account communi-

Valenciennes;

into her hands,

put her destiny.

cated to the author by

the Count Coroniny,

to Count Cobenzel, who was present at the twenty-four examinations, of which it is a This narrative brings down faithful abstract.

nephew

the h'rstory of Mademoiselle la Friilen to the year 1769: if we suppose her to have been the same

person as Louisa, there is a chasm of seven years till her discovery near Bristol in the year 1776, which it is more than probable will never be iiiled up.

Louisa as we have already stated, was placed

under the care of Mr. Henderson, the keeper of a private mad-house at Bitton, near Bristol*

From

the accounts of different persons

who

vi-

sited her, the following particulars are collected.

They contain so many

striking coincidences with

the foregoing narrative, as scarcely to leave a doubt, thut the female who is the subject of it

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

31

was the same afterwards known by the name of If this first conclusion be correct, a Louisa. second which results from

it is,

that in

all

proba-

a natural daughbility the wretched Louisa was ter of Francis 1. emperor of Germany.

A

gentlewoman, a native of Altona, and wife

to the captain of a Danish ship, once went to see Louisa when she was under the hay-stack.

With

German, and told had been in. a and Sleswiek, which she from had escaped with her convent, lover. This foreigner, who was a genteel, wellher she conversed

her she had lived

in

at.

bred woman, was by misfortune Fedueed

.o

be a

superintending servant in the very hor.se where Louisa was confined, and had the chief care of her. Louisa recollecting the former confidence she had reposed in her, was offended at the sight of her, and could never be prevailed upon to renew the conversation, though she would frequently speak short sentences to her in German, particularly if she had any favors to ask.

She never could be persuaded to look in a Being once pressed to it, she exclaimed,

book.

"

No, reading is study, and study makes me mad." Books were often left in her room, and though narrowly watched, yet she never was observed to open any of them. Louisa had a particular passion for bracelets

and miniature pictures, but shewed the utmost Of a contempt for every other ornament. Queen Anne's half crown she was extremely fuad j she sometimes desired to have one sewed

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

32

on a black ribbon, said that it much resembled mamma, would wear it 'on her arm, and kiss

her

with great delight, After the appearance of the translation of the French 'narrative, more

it

particular attention was paid to search her person for the scars described in the account of Made-

moiselle la Friilen.

It

was found that she had a

very large one on the lower part pf her head behind her ear; another on her breast, which

appeared to haVe been occasioned by a very considerable wound, was suspected to have been a mark of violence.

She seldom rose from her bed of straw, on which she lay very quietly, and was perfectly harmless and stupid, except on any attempt to dress her, or to put her on a comfortable bed. Notwithstanding the injuries which her situation

and mode of

life

must have occasioned

to

her looks, she had still a very pleasing and inShe had fine, exteresting countenance. pressive, black eyes and eye-brows ; her complexion was -wan, but not sickly; her under-jaw a little, and some even fancied they projected could distinguish something of the Austrian lip,

but

it

was not decidedly marked.

Her nose had

nothing particular, being neither aquiline nor retrousse; her hair was very dark, if not black ;

.

not thick, but coming down on her forehead j her arm and hand were delicate, arid her fingers small and long.

On

being addressed, says a gentleman

\vent to visit her, she raised her eyesj arid

5

who

haying

LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

'THE uttered

$\

herself.

few incoherent words, again composed Being told that \ve were friends who

and moved her some time without pronouncing a This action, which exhibited more of the

had come under

to see her,, she smiled,

lip for

word.

idiot than

soon

33

any other part of her behaviour, she when we began to draw her into a

left off,

kind of conversation.

We that

first

requested her to reach out her hand^

we might have an opportunity of observ

ing the grace with which she had been said to move it. Her manner of giving it Was attend-

ed with a certain delicacy, and we had likewise occasion to remark, that as far as her posture would permit, her motions and attitude were those of a person of a superior rank in life. Instead of giving a direct answer to the questions that were asked, she more usually talked of

mamma's coming oilier expressions

to take her away, and used which we were informed she

was in the habit of uttering. Some other questions, with her replies, were as follow : \Y e are your friends ; we are come to take

you

from

Louisa. place; will you go with us? mamma must but come and Yes; (with emotion), this

bring me clothes, and I must be dressed (pointing towards her neck and shoulders, and ^-Hiving

her fingers about, as female dress.)

We

if

describing the finery of

go in a coach with four horses, and we will make them gallop, and the people slKill admire us as we pass. At this she burst into a shall

THE LADY OF THE HAY-STACK.

36

an object of the strongest During her abode in the hospital,

active, rendered her

compassion.

Miss Hannah More and her

modations of the poor till

of.

having

lost

most others, still supply the extra wants and accom-

continued to

expence

sisters,

assistance of

the pecuniary

solitary stranger,

more than

her decease. after

an

ten

at

the

pounds per annum,

This event took place rather of some duration, on the

illness

suddenly JSth of December 1801, and on the 23d, her remains were interred in the ground belonging to the hospital ; the expences of her funeral being defrayed by her former benefactress. After perusing this narrative, the intelligent reader will not

fail

to

admire the bountiful

dis-

pensation of Providence, in withdrawing from Had the unfortunate Louisa the gift of reason.

she retained the faculties of her mind unimpair ed, the acuteness of her reflections on the vicissitudes she was destined to

undergo, must have life almost

embittered her days, and rendered her

Compared with such sufferings insupportable. the poor maniac enjoyed a state of comparative of her childish fancies, felicity in the indulgence and

in

tion.

her insensibility to the woes of her condiPeace to thine ashes, thou daughter of mis-

fortune, and

may

thy

ciimb ranee and the

spirit,

frailties

freed

from the

in-

of mortality, taste

those regions were the care uninterrupted of an all-seeing Father provides for the happiness even of the meanest of his children! bliss in

JOHN E1TWE 5 g E .

gl

Q.

JOHN ELWES,

ESQ.

OF

all the passions that reign in the human breast, avarice, under certain circumstances, is one of the most unaccountable. That the man

who

has once felt the miseries of poverty, should* on the acquisition of wealth, exhibit a disposition

somewhat more than It

surprizing. tude to prevent

is

frugal, 'cannot

lout just to ascribe

it

appear

to solici-

a recurrence of the evils to which, he was once exposed. But how shall we exexistence of that inordinate propensity which sometimes marks the cha-

plain the to accumulate,

racter of persons, born in the lap of riches and succeeding without any exertion of their own, to

the possession of almost boundless wealth. Such was the case of John Elwes a

name

which has become proverbial in the annals of avathe circumstances of whose remarkable life rice incontestibly prove that not vast heaps of hoarded gold, or wide-extended possessions can give

happiness and content to such as want spirit to make use of them. Who would exchange the

Man

of feelings with the scanty fortune of the for o celebrated the Ross, by Pope, feelings Elwes, even though coupled with his immense property

VOL.

i

S.

NO. 23.

G

JOHN E LAVES, ESQ.

5

history of Mr. Elwes likewise furnishes an example, as memorable as an v recorded in his-

The

It shews that tory, of the inconsistency of man. the most sordid parsimony may be combined with the most extravagant negligence and profusion^

and that principles of the purest honor may be associated with a meanness that is degrading to the

human

character.

But we

an-

shall cease to

ticipate the reflections that will not fail to occur to every intelligent reader while perusing the following pages, and introduce in thetn this extra-

ordinary

compound of

frailty

and excellence.

The father of Mr. Elwes, whose family name was Meggot, was an eminent brewer in Southwark. He died when his son was only four years eld, so that little of the penurious character by which he was afterwards distinguished, can be attributed to his father. The precepts and ex-

ample of his surviving parent doubtless exercised jnore influence ; for though she was left nearly one hundred thousand pounds by her husband, it is

Ano-

said that she starved herself to death.

ther cause, which will presently be noticed, doubtJess contributed to instil into the mind of Mr.

EKves that saving principle by which he was so eminently distinguished. At an early period of life he was sent to Westminster School, where he remained ten or twelve vears,

and became a good

classical scholar

;

yet

extraordinary, that at no ufture life was he ever seen with a book, his of period nor did he leave behind him at all his different it

is

not a

little

Bouses, two pounds worth of literary furniture.

JOHN ELWES, ES.

-

Of accounts he had no knowledge whatever, and may perhaps have been, in part, the cause of his total ignorance of his own concerns. From

this

Westminster School ho removed to Geireva, to complete his education, and after an absence of two or three years, returned to England.

At this time his uncle, Sir Harvey Elw.es, resided at Stoke, Fn Suffolk, the most perfect picTo ture of penury that perhaps ever existed. this

gentleman he was introduced, and as he wai it was of course policy, to endea-

to be his heir,

A little disguise was now vor to please him. sometimes necessary even in Mr. Elwes, who, as he mingled with the gay world, dressed like other This, however, would not have gained people. him the

favor of Sir

\ised, therefore,

a

little

Harvey

when he

:

his hopeful nephew him, to stop at

visited

inn at Chelmsford, where he dressed in a

manner more likely to ensure his uncle's approbation. He made his appearanee at Stoke in a pair of small iron buckles, darned worsted stockings, an old worn-out coat, and tattered waistcoat, and was contemplated, with a miserable satisfaction

Harvey, who was delighted to see his heir bidding fair to rival him in the accumulation of useless wealth. There they would sit with a single stick on the fire, and indulge occasionally with

by

Sir

one glass of wine between them, while they inveighed against the extravagance of the times; and when night approached, they retired to bed because they thus saved the expence of candlelight.

The nephew however, had G 2

then, whai

JOHN

ELW-ES, ESQ.

he never

lost, a very keen appetite, and this in the opinion of his uncle, would have been an un-

pardonable offence. He therefore first partook of a dhiner with some country neighbour, and then returned to his uncle with a little diminutive appetite,

which quite charmed the old gen-

tleman.

And

here

we

shall take the liberty

of digressing of purpose introducing to the reader a few farther particulars of Sir Harvey Elwes, a

little,

for the

\\ hose portrait alone is worthy of being a companion to that of his penurious nephew.

Sir tate,

Harvey, on succeeding to the family esfound himself in the nominal possession of

seine thousands a year, but actually reduced to. an income of not more than one hundred. On

mansion of Stoke, he declared it, till he had entirecleared the This he lived to estate. ly paternal fulfil, and to realize above one hundred thousand his arrival at the

that he never would leave

pounds in addition. But he was formed of the very materials for making an accomplished miser. In his youth he had been given over for a consumption so that He lie had no constitution and no passions. was timid, shy, and diffident, in the extreme, of 'a thin, snare habit of body, and without a friend ;

in the world.

Having no acquaintance, no books, no inclination for reading or study, his whole delight consisted in hoarding up and counting his money

9

Next

to this the

highest gratification he could

JOHN

ELV/ES, ESQ.

was his dexenjoy was partridge setting. Such that time, at was game terity, and so plentiful hundred five take that he has been known to lived he But brace of birds in one season. upon with his whole houshold, compreWhat they hending one man and two maids. could not eat, he turned out again, as he never

partridges,

gave any thing away.

During the partridge season, Sir Harvey and man never missed a single day when the weather was tolerable; and his breed of dogs being remarkably good, he seldom failed to take great He always wore a black quantities of game. bis*

velvet cap much over his face, a threadbare, fulldress suit of clothes, and an old great coat, with drawn up over his knees. worsted

He

stockings

vode a lean thorough- bred horse, and the horse and his rider looked as if a gust of wind would have blown them away together. When the wea-

him from going abroad, he would walk backward and forward in his old hall to save ther prevented

tbe expence of

fire. If a farmer of the neighborhood came in, he would strike a light in a tinder-box which he kept by him, and putting one single stick upon the grate, would not add another till the first was nearly burned out. As he had but little connection with the me-

tropolis, Sir

Harvey

wa,s

never without three

01-

A

four thousand pounds in his house. set of felafterwards known the lows, by appellation of the

Thaxted gang, and who were all hanged, form* ed a plaa to rob him. It was the custom o 3,

JOHN ELWES, ESQ. to

Harvey

go up chamber, where,

at eight o'clock into bis bedt rafter taking a bason of wateri.-

.gruei by the light. of a small to save the unnecessary

fire,

he went

:

to

-

i

bed

extravagance of a candle. The gang knowing the hour when his servant went to the stable, left their horses in a small grove on the Essex side of the river and concealed themselves the

man

in

pass by.

the church porch till they s-aw They then rushed from their

hiding place, and after some struggle, bound and gagged him ; on which they ran tovvard-the house, tied the two maids together, and going

up to Sir Harvey, presented their demanded his money. Never did .Sir Harvey behave so this occasion.

any answer, servant,

till

pistols

well as

and ou

He

refused to give the robbers they had assured him that his

who was

a great favorite, was safe.

He

them the key of a drawer in which were fifty guineas. Knowing but too well that he had much more in the house, they again then delivered

life, unless he discovered where was deposited. He, at length, shewed them the place, and they turned out a large drawet containing seven hundred and twenty guineas* This sum they packed up in two large baskets

threatened his it

and carried off. On quitting Sir Harvey, they told him they should leave one of their number behind to dispatch him if he stirred or made the With great calmness and simplicity, least alarm. he took out his watch, for which they had not asked him and said;

<(

Gentlemen j

I

do

JOHN ELWES, ESQ. want

to take

escape

;

any of you; therefore, upon my you twenty minutes for you?

will give

I

honor,

7

after that time

nothing

shall

prevent

me

from seeing how my servant does." He was as good as his word for at the expiration of the but though time, he went and released the man some search was made by the village, the robbers were not discovered. ;

;

Being apprehended some years afterwards fcfc other offences, and found to be the men who robbed Sir Harvey, he refused to appear against

To his attorney, who pressed hini to ga Chelmsford to identify their person's, he re" No, no; I have lost my money, and plied: want me to lose ray time also." now you them. to

Notwithstanding Sir Harvey's dislike of society, he was a member of a club which occasion-

met at his own village of Stoke, and to which belonged two baronets besides himself, Sir Cordwell Firebras, and Sir John Barnardis-

ally

In spite of their riches, the reckoning -was always a subject of investigation. One day when

ton.

they were engaged in settling this difficult pointy a wag, who was a member, called out to a friend that was passing: " For heaven's sake, step

up

and

poor! Here are three baronets, worth amillion of money, quarrelling about

stairs

assist the

a farthing." In the chastity and abstinence of his

Harvey Elwes was a ton

;

for

rival to

life,

the celebrated

he would have held

.have given even his affections

it ;

Sir

New-

unpardonable to and as he saw na

JOHN ELVES, tSQ. whatever, he was under no temptation to

kdy

them matrimonially for money. His ordinary annual expenditure was about one hundred and ten pounds. His clothes cost barter

him nothing;

for

where they had

he took them out of an old chest, gay days of

lain ever since the

his grandfather Sir Jervaise.

His houshold he

kept principally on game and the fish of his owr* ponds: while the cows which grazed before his door, supplied them with milk, butter and cheese,, and his woods furnished all the fuel that he burned. Sir

Harvey was a remarkable instance of what

temperance can

effect. Though given over for a consumption at an early period of his life, he attained to the age of between eighty and ninety

At

years.

ped upon

was dropfrom the eye of his ser-

his death, the only tear that

his

grave

fell

vant, who had long arid faithfully attended him. To that servant, and to his heirs, he bequeath-

ed a farm of

pounds per annum. he lay in state, such seat at Stoke, on which occasion

fifty

Previous to his interment, as

it

was, at his

some of

his tenants,

wkh more humor

" cency, observed, that it." could not see

The contemplation of Sir

it

than de-

was well Sir Harvey

of such a character as that

affords a very mortifying The contrast of so infirmity.

Harvey Elwes,

picture of human much wealth, and so

much abuse of it is disgustLet those who fan-c^ ing, but yet it has its uses. *
JOHN ELWES, here view

all

their inability

9

ESQ.

and

failure,

and ac-

mind alone makes or mars In an age when the comforts, if

knowledge that the our

felicity.

not the luxuries of

life,

are almost regarded as

inseparable from happiness, and as the foundation of our pleasures, it cannot fail to excite the Sir Harvey Eiwes> and fifty thousand hundred of two possessed should live above sixty years in solitude pounds,

greatest astonishment, that

expence of company should almost fire and candle ; should wear the clothes of his predecessor, and live in

to avoid the

;

deny himself cast-off

a house where the wind was entering at every broken casement, and the rain descending through the roof voluntarily imposing upon himself a v

condition

little

alms-house

better than

the

pauper of an

!

Harvey left his name and his whole property, amounting to at least two hundred and Sir

thousand pounds, to his nephew, who time possessed a fortune very little inferior.

fifty

at

the

For

event, Mr. Ehvesthe fashionable circles of the

fifteen years previous, to this

was known

in

all

His numerous acquaintance and metropolis. large fortune conspired to introduce him into every society he was admitted a member of a ;

club at Arthur's, and various other clubs of that period.

by

His passion for play was only exceeded and it was not till late in life that

his avarice,

he was cured of the

inclination.

Few men,

ac-

cording to his own acknowledgment, had played He once. deeper and with more various success.

JOHN ELWES, ESQ.

JO

two days and a night without intermission, and the room being small, the party, one of whom was the late Duke of Northumberplayed

land, were nearly this sitting

up to the knees in cards. Mr. Eiwes lost some thousands.

At

No one wiil be disposed to deny that avarice is a base passion. It will therefore be the more difficult to conceive how a mind organized like Mr. Elwes, could be swayed by honor and delicacy

that of

ples of such peculiar

princias often

influenced his conduct; the theory which* he professed, that it was impossible to ask a gentle-

man

money, he adhered

for

to in practice,

and

he never violated to the last. Had he received all he won, he would have been this feeling

many thousands, for many sums owing him by persons of very high rank were never Nor w.as this the only pleasing trait lio^idated. his manners in the character of Mr. Elwes richer by

;

were so gentlemanly, so mild and so engaging, that rudeness could not ruffle them, nor strong ingratitude oblige him to cease the observance of his usual attentions.

After sitting up a whole night at play for thousands, with the most fashionable and profligate

men

of the

time, surrounded

with

splendour

and profusion, he would walk out about four in the morning, not towards home, but to Smith* field, to meet his own cattle winch were coming to market from Thaydon Hall, a mansion he possessed in Essex. There forgetting the scene*, he had just left, he would stand in the cold oi

JOHN ELWES rain

'11

ESO,.

butcher for a squabbling with a carcase had not yet beasts the if Sometimes,

shilling.

he would walk on in the mire to meet and more than once he ha.s gone on foot them; the whole way to his farm, which was seventeen miles from London, without stopping, after sit-, arrived,

ting np the whole night. The principal residence of

period of his life, Cham in Berkshire.

by Elizabeth Moren,

Mr. Elwes,

at this

MarHere he had two sons born was his

at

his

seat

at

housekeeper; and these

natural children at his death, inherited

the greatest part of his

by will, immense property. He,

however, paid frequent visits to his uncle Sir Harvey, and used to attend him in his favourite

amusement of partridge-seiting. He always travelled on horseback, and to see him preparing His for a journey was a matter truly curious. first

care was to put two or three eggs, boiled

hard, into his great-coat pocket, together with a few scraps of bread; then mounting one of his hunters, his next care \vas to get out of London

where there were the fewest turnpikes. Stopping on these occasions, under any where hedge grass presented itself for his horse, and a little water for himself, he would sit down and refresh himself and his beast together. On the death of his uncle, Mr. Elwes went to reside at Stoke, in Suffolk. Bad as was the mansion-house he found there, he left one still worse behind him at Marcham, of which his nephew, the late Colonel Timras used to relate

into that road

JOHN ELWES, ESO>

J2

A few days after he following anecdote thither, a great quantity of rain falling in the night, be had not been long in bed before tlie

:

went

he found himself wet through, and perceived that the rain was dropping from the ceiling on the He rose and moved tbe bed; but he hr.d bed. not

lain

long before

much exposed

lie

found that he was just as

At length after making the tour of the room with his bed, he retired into a corner where the ceiling was better securas before.

there he slept till morning. At breakhe told Ehves what had happened. " Aye,

ed, and fast

aye," said the old

man

"

seriously,

I don't

mind

myself; but to those that do, that's a corner in the rain/'

it

On

his

removal into Suffolk Mr. Elwes

first

nice,

be-

keep fox-hounds, and his stable of hunters at that time considered the best in the king-

to

gan \vas,

dom.

This was the only instance of liis ever sacrificing money to pleasure ; but even here, every thing was managed in the most frugal manner. His huntsman led by no means an idle

he rose at four every morning, and after milking the cows, prepared breakfast for his master and any friends he might happen to have \vith him; then slipping on a green coat, he hurlife

:

ried into the stable, saddled the horses, got the

hounds out of the kennel, and away they went After the fatigues of hunting, he refreshed himself by rubbing down two or three horses as quickly as possible; then running into into the field.

the house,

he would

lay

the cloth and wait at

JOHN fcLWES, Esg.

13

This business being dispatched, he into the stable to feed the horses, hurried again and the evening was diversified with an interlude

dinner.

of the cows again to milk, the dogs to feed, and eight horses to

litter

down

for the night. It

may,

perhaps appear extraordinary, that this man should live in hfs place some years, though his

master often used to call him an idle dog, and nosay, the rascal wemted to be paid for doing establishthe whole Thus fox-hunting thing.

ment of Mr. Elwes, huntsman, dogs, and horses, did not cost him three hundred pounds a year. In the summer, the dogs always passed their lives with the different tenants, where they had

more meat and

less

work, and were collected

together a few days before the season began. While he kept hounds, which was for a period

of nearly fourteen years, Mr. Elwes resided almost entirely at Stoke, in Suffolk. He sometimes made excursions to Newmarket, but never

engaged on the turf. A kindness which he performed on one of these occasions, ought not to Lord Abingdon, who was pass unnoticed. slightly known to him, in Berkshire, match for 7000/. which it was

had made a supposed he would

be obliged to forfeit, from inability to produce" the sum, though the odds were greatly in his favour. Unasked and unsolicited, Mr. Elwes made him an offer of the money, which he accepted, and won his engagement.

On

the day

when

this

match was

to take place,

a clergyman agreed to accompany Mr. Ehves, to

VOL.3.

NO. 23.

H

JOHN KLWES,

14

to seethe issue of

and

as they

were

it.

ESO.

They went on horseback morn;

to set off at seven in the

ing, the gentleman took no refreshment, imagining that they were to breakfast at Newmarket.

About eleven they reached that place, where Mr. Elwes was occupied in enquiries and conversation till twelve, when the match was decided in

His companion favor of Lord Abingdon. should move to the town, off expected they

now

some breakfast, but Eiwes still continued to ride about. The hour of four at length arriv-

to take

ed, at which time the gentleman became so impatient, that he mentioned something of the

keen

air

of

Newmarket Heath, and

of a good dinner.

f<

"

Very

the comforts

true," said old Elwes,

very true. So here do as I do," at the same time offering him from his great coat pocket a piece of an old crushed pancake, which he said

he had brought from

months It

his

before, but that

was nine

in

house at it

was

as

Marcham two good

new.

as

the evening before they reached

home, when the gentleman was so fatigued, that and lie could think of no refreshment but rest ;

who

morning had risked seven thousand pounds, went to bed happy in the reflection that he had saved three shillings. He had brought with him his two sons out of Ferkshire, to his seat at Stoke, and if he ever manifested a fondness for any thing it was for But he would lavish no money on those boys. often that " their Elwes,

in

the

education,

tilings into people's

'

declaring,

heads was taking

putting out

money

JOHN ELWES,

15

lSt>.

That he was not, however, of their pockets/' with natural overburthened affection, the followOne cla^ he had to prove. ing anecdote appears sent his eldest boy up a ladder, to get some ladder slipping, grapes for the table, when, the side his hurt he fell down and against the end of

the precaution to go up to the On his and get blooded. village to the barber it.

The boy took

he ha-d been, and arm, he informed " Bled bled. bled

behig asked where

return,

what was the matter with his father that he had got

!

" but what did you " Pshaw !" answered the boy. shilling,"

cried the old gentleman

"

his

;

A give ?" returned the father, " you are a blockhead part with your blood !"

;

never

An

inn upon the road, and an apothecary's were bill, equal objects of Mr. Elwes's aversion^ The words " give" and "pay* were not found in and therefore, when he once his vocabulary ;

received a very dangerous kick from one of his horses, who fell in going over a leap, nothing

could persuade him to have any assistance. He rode the chase through, with his leg cut to the

bone

and it was only some days afterwards, was feared an amputation would be necessary, thai lie consented to go up to London,

when

;

it

and, hard day! part with some

money

for ad-

vice.

From

the parsimonious manner in which he and the two large fortunes of which he lived, was possessed, riches rolled in upon him like a torrent bal as he knew scarcely any tiling of. ;

JOHN ELVVLS,

16

ESO.

accounts^ and never reduced his affairs to writing, lie was obliged, in the disposal of his money., to trusrmuch to memory, and still more to the

suggestions of others. Every person who hud a want or a scheme, with an apparently high interest, adventurer or honest, it signified not, was

prey to him. He caught at every bait, and to this cause must b*e ascribed visions of distant property in America, phantoms of annuities on lives that could never pay, and bureaus filled with bonds

of promising peers and senators. In this manner Mr. Elwes lost at least one hundred and fifty

thousand pounds. Thus there was a reflux of some portion of that wealth which he* was denying himself every

comfort to amass.

All earthly enjoyments he vorenounced. When in London, he would luntarily walk home in the rain rather than pay a shilling for a coach ; and would sit in wet clothes rather

than have a

fire

dry them.

to

He

would eat

stage of putrefaction, rather than have a fresh joint from the butcher; and at one time he wore a wig above a fortnight his provisions in

the

last

which he picked up out of a rut in a lane, and which had, apparently, been thrown away by some beggar. The day on which he first appeared in this ornament, he bad torn an old brown coat which he generally wore, and had therefore been obliged to have recourse to the old chest of Sir Jervaise, (his uncle's father,) from which he selected

a

full-dress

green velvet coat, with slash

sleeves; auxi there he sat at dinner in boots, the

JOHN EL WES,

ES'O.

17

above-mentioned green velvet, bis own white hair appearing round his face,, and the black stray wig ,at

the top of

all.

Mr. Elwes had inherited from

his father

some

houses in London, particularly about property the Haymarket. To this he began to add by enin

gagements

for building,

which he increased from He was the

year to year, to a very great extent. founder of great part of Mary bone Place,

;

Pcrtman,

Portman Square, and many of the adja-

cent streets rose out of his pocket: and had not 'American war put a stop to bis rage for building, much of the property he then possess-

'the fatal

ed would have been laid out tar.

He

judiciously

became

in bricks

his

own

and mor-

insurer,

He

stood to

all

his losses

became

a

philosopher

by conflagrations. upon fire; and,

and

soan on a

public house which belonged to him being consu" med, he said, with great composure, Well, theie

no great harm done the tenant never paid me, and I should not have got rid of him so quickly is

in

;

any other way." was the custom of Mr. Elwes, whenever he

It

came

occupy any of his premises that then chance to be vacant. In this manmight ner he travelled from street to street, and whento town, to

ever any person- wished to take the house in which he was, the owner was instantly ready to move into any other. A couple of beds, the same number of chairs, a table and an old woirran, comprized all his furniture, and he moved them -about at a minute's warning. Of all these

H 3

JOHN ELWES, ESQ.

18 old

woman was

trouble; for she that

the only one that gave him any was afflicted with a lameness,

made

it difficult to get her about quite so he chose; and besides, the colds she took were amazing for sometimes she was in a small house in the Haymarket, at another in a great

fast as

;

house

in

room with

Portland Place a coal

fire,

;

sometimes

in a little

at other times with a

few

m

rooms of chips which the carpenters had left, most splendid, but frigid dimensions, and with a oiled paper in the windows for glass. It with truth be of said the old that woman, might Jittle

she was " here to-day, aud gone to-morrow ;" the scene which terminated her life, is not

the least singular of the anecdotes recorded of Mr. Elwes.

He

had come to town, and as usual had taken abode in one of his empty houses. Coloup nel Timms, who wished much to see him, accidentally learned that his uncle was in London ; but how to find him was the difficulty. In vain he enquired at his banker's and at other places; some davs elapsed, and he at length learned from his

'

a person whom he met by chance in the street, that Mr. Elwes had been seen going into an un-

inhabited house,

in

Great Mai borough Street.

This was some clue to the colonel, ately posted to the spot.

As

who immedimode of

the best

gaining intelligence he applied to a chair man, but he could obtain no information of a gentleman Colonel Timms then descricalled Mr. EUves. bed fcis person, but no gentleman had been seen*

JOHN ELWES, ESQ.

))

A

pot-boy however, recollected that he had seen a poor old man opening the door of the stable, and locking it after him, and from the descrip-

tion

it

agreed with the person of Mr. Ehves

;

the

colonel proceeded to the house, and knocked very loudly at the door, but could obtain no answer,

though some of the neighbors said they had seen such a man. He now sent for a person to open the stable door, which being done, they entered the house together. In the lower part all was shut and silent; but on ascending the staircase

they heard the moans of a person seemingly in distress.

They went

on an old parently in

to the

chamber and

there,

they~found Mr. Ehves apthe agonies of\death. For some time

pallet bed,

r but on some cordials being administered by a neighboring apothecary who was sent for, he recovered sufficiently to say

he seemed quite insensible

-

that he believed he had been ill two or three days, " that an oM woman who was in the house, for

some reason or other had not been near him; she had herself been

ill;

that

but he supposed she had

got well and was gone away." The poor old woman, the partner of all his journies, was, howe-

on a rug upon the floor, in ojie had to all appearance, bceu dead about two days. Thus died the servant, and thus, had it not been for his providential discover,

found

lifeless

of the garrets, and

very,

would have perished her master, Mr. Elwes;

who though worth was near expiring want.

at least half in.

his

a million sterling,, of absolute

own house

JOHN ELITES, ES.

20

Mr.

El \veshad resided thirteen years in Suffolk, the dissolution of parliament, a contest

when on

appeared likely to take place for Berkshire; t>ut, to preserve the peace of the county, he was no-

minated by Lord Craven. Mr. EKves consented, but on the express stipulation, that he was to be in for nothing:. All he did was to din-e brought O O at the ordinary at Abingdon, so that he actually; obtained a seat in parliament for the moderate eighteen pence. At this time he was

'-sum of

nearly sixty years old, but was in possession of all his He now left Suffolk, and again activity. went to his seat at Marcharn. He took his foxhounds with him, but finding that his time was likely to be much employed, he resolved to pare with them, and they were soon afterwards given

away to some farmers in the neighbourhood. He was chosen for Berkshire in three successive parliaments, and sat as a member of the House of

Commons

about twelve years.

It is

to his

ho-

nour, that in every part of his parliamentary conduct, and in every vote he gave, he sought no

other guide than his consience, and proved himself to be an independent country gentleman.

In his attendance on his senatorial duties, Mr.. EKves was extremely punctual he always staid out the whole debate, and let the weather be ;

what of

it

might, he used to walk from the House to the Mount CofTeee-bouse. In.:

Commons

one of these pedestrian returns, a circumstance occurred which furnished him a whimsical opportunity of displaying his disregard of his person,

JOHN ELWES,

"Si

ESQ.

night was extremely dark, and hurrying along, he ran with such violence against the pole

The

of a sedan-chair, that he cut both his legs very He, as usual, never thought of having deeply.

any medical assistance, but Colonel Timrns, at \vhose house he then was, insisted on some one being called in. At length he submitted, and an. apothecary was sent for, who immediately began to expatiate

on the

ill

consequences of breaking

the skin, the good fortune of his being sent for> and the peculiarly bad appearance of the wounds.

"

" but Very probable," replied Mr. Elwes; Mr. 1 hitve one thing to say to you. In my opinion my legs are not much hurt now you think they are; so I will make this agreement: I will take one leg and you shall take the other; you sfeall do what you please with your's, I will do nothing to mine and I will wager your bill ;

;

that

my

leg gets well before

your's."

He

ex-

ultingly beat the apothecary by a fortnight. Mr. Elwes, when he conceived that he had

obtained a seat in parliament for nothing, had not taken into account the inside of the house ; for he often declared that three contested elections could not

have cost him more than he

lost

brother representatives, whicJi by were never repaid. His parsimony was the chief loans to

his

cause of his quitting parliament, for such was the opinion his constituents entertained of his integrity, that a very small restored him to his seat. rily retired

expence would have

He

therefore volunta-

from a parliamentary

1

lif*.

.

JOHN EL WES,

ESQ.

time he

famous servant of

t2S

About

this

lost his

He

died as he was following his master on a hard trotting horse into Berkshire, and he died empty and poor; for his yearly wages all

work.

were not above five pounds, and he had fasted the whole day on which he expired. The life of this extraordinary domestic certainly verified this which Mr. Elwes often used: " If

you

saying,

keep one servant your work is done; if you keep two it is half done but if you keep three you may do it yourself." For some years Mr. Elwes had been a member ;

at the Mount Coffee-house; and a attendance on this meeting, he, constant by for a time, consoled himself for the loss of par-

of a card club

The play was moderate, and he had an opportunity of meeting many of his old acquaintances in the House of Commons; and he liament.

experienced a pleasure, which, however trivial may appear, was not less satisfactory that of

it

enjoying fire and candle at the general expence. Mr. Elwes therefore passed much of his time

Mount

Coffee-house. But fortune seemed on some occasions, to disappoint his hopes, and to force away that money from him v. hich no power could persuade him to bestow. He still retained some fondness for play, and imagined he had no small skill at picquet. It was his ill luck, however, to meet with a gentle-, man who thought the same, and on much better grounds; for after a contest of two days and a wight, in which Mr. Elwes continued with a perin the

resolved,

JOHN EL WES, ES.

$3

severance which avarice will inspire, he rose a loser of a sum which he always endeavoured

though there is reason to believe* was not less than three thousand pounds. Some part of it was paid by a large draft on

to conceal

that

it

Messrs Hoares, and was received very early the next morning. This was the last folly, of the and kind, of which Mr. Ehves was ever guilty ;

but justice to the members of the club to say, that they ever after endeavoured to discourage any wish to play with him. Thus, while it is

of

art

by every

human

mortification

he was sa-

and sixpences, he would kick down ving in one moment the heap he had raised. Though the benefit of this consideration was thrown away shillings

for his

upon him, repeated

>

were made be

maxim which he

always was,

(<

That

frequently

all

great fortunes by saving: for of that a man could

sure.''

Among

the

sums which Mr. Elwes

injudici-

ously vested in the hands of others, some solitary instances of generosity arc upon record. When his son

was

in the guards,

he was

in the

habit of

The dining frequently him his rendered manners politeness of generally agreeable, and in time he became acquainted at

the officers'

with every officer of the corps.

table.

Among

these

was Captain Tempest, whose good humour was almost proverbial. A vacancy happening in a majority, it fell to this, gentleman to purchase, but as money cannot always be raised immediately on landed property, it was imagined that he

JOHN

24

ESO,

ELVTES,

would have been obliged to suffer some o truer officer to purchase over his head. Mr. Elvves one day hearing of the circumstance, sent him the

any and

money

the

next morning, without asking

He

had seen Captain Tempest security. liked his manners; and he never once spoke

him afterwards concerning the payment ; but on the death of that officer, which soon followed, the money was replaced. At the close of the spring of 1785, he again, wished to see his seat at Stoke, which he had not visited for some years; but the journey was

to

now

a serious object. The famous old servant was dead; out of his whole stud he had remain-

ing only a couple of worn-out brood mares; and he himself no longer possessed such vigor of body as to ride sixty or seventy miles, with two boiled eggs. At length, to his no small satisfaction, he was carried into the country, as he had been into parliament, free of expence, by a gentleman who was certainly not quite so rich as himself.

On

his arrival

he found

fault

with the

expensive furniture of the rooms, which would have fallen in but for his son John Elvves, Esq.

who had

resided there. If a

window was broken

there was to be no repair, but that of a little brown paper, or piecing in a bit of broken glass-;

and

to snve fire he would walk about the remains of an old green-house, or sit with a servant in the kitchen. .During the harvest, he would amuse

himself with going into the corn on the grounds of his

fields, to

own

glean the

tenants;

and

JOHN ELWES, ES, than common to they used to leave a little more as eager after who was the old gentleman, please it

as

any pauper

When his

in the parish.

the season was

still

morning employment was,

farther advanced, to

pick up any

straw, chips, bones or other things, to carry to the fire in his pocket; and he was one day surin the act prised by a neighbouring gentleman of pulling down, with some difficulty, a crow's

The gentleman expressed wonder why he gave himself this trouble, to which he replied, " O Sir, it is really a shame that these creatures should do so. Only see what

nest for this purpose. his

waste they make." To save the expence of going to a butcher, he would have a whole sheep killed, and so eat

end of the chapter. When he ochis river drawn, though sometimes horse-loads of fish were taken, he would not suffer one to be thrown in again, observing that if

mutton

to the

casionally had

he did, he should never see them more. Game in the last stage of putrefaction, and meat that walked about his plate, he would continue to eat, rather than have new thiags killed before the old With this diet his provisions were exhausted.

When

any friends who might him, were absent, he would carefully put out his own fire, and walk to the house of a neighbour, making one fire serve

dress kept pace. happen to visit

His shoes he never would suffer to be cleaned, lest they should be worn out the sooner. When he went to bed, he would put five or tea VOL. in. NO. <23. i both.

JOHN ELWES, ES.

CG

guineas into a bureau, and would rue sometimes middle of the night, to go down stairs and

in the

see if they were safe. There was nothing but the life which he did riot deny

common necessaries of himself.*,

and

it

would have admitted of a doubt

whether, if he had not held in his own hands manors and grounds which furnished him a subsistence, he would not have starved rather than

have bought any thing. He one day dined on the remnant of a moor-hen, which had been brought out of the river by a rat, and at another ate the undigested part of a pike, which had

been swallowed by a larger one taken in this state in a net. On the latter occasion, he observed with great satisfaction two birds with one stone."

:

'"

this is killing

Aye!

Mr. Ehves passed the spring of 786 alone, at Stoke, and had it not been for some little daily scheme of avarice, he would have passed it without one consolatory moment. His temper 1

his thoughts were incessantly to give way occupied with money, and he saw no person but what, as he imagined, was deceiving and deAs he would not allow himself frauding him.

began

;

by day, so he retired to bed at it's close, and even began to deny himself In short, he had now the luxury of sheets. the moral of his whole a to climax nearly brought

any

fire

to save candle;

]jfe

_,

On

the perfect vanity of wealth

!

removing from Stoke, he went to

his

farm

at Thaydon-hall, a scene of greater ruin and desolation, if possible, than either of his houses in

Suuolk or -Berkshire.

It stood

alone ou the bov-

JOHN ELWES,

ESO.

27

and woman, Epping Forest, and an old man whom he with the were his tenants, only persons fell he Here converse. ill, and could hold any

4ers of

and had not even a servant, he lay, unattended, and almost forgotten, indulging, even in the prospect of death, It that avarice which nothing could subdue. was at this period he began to think of .making his will; as he was probably sensible, that his as

he refused

all

assistance,

sons could not be entitled by law to any part On his his property, should he die intestate.

of

London, he put his design in execution, and devised all his real and personal estates^to his twJ sons, who were to share the whole of his arrival in

vast property equally between them.

Soon after this Mr. Ehves gave, by letter" of attorney, the power of managing all his concerns into thf hands of Mv. Ingraham,- his ?.ttorrley,

and

his

chief agent for

youngest son, who Uarl been his time. This step had become

some

highly necessary, for he entirely forgot ail recent occurrences, and as he never committed any thing to writing, the confusion he made was

Of this the following anecdote inexpressible. as nn serve instance He had one evening may :

given a draft on Messrs. Hoare's, his bankers, for twenty pounds, anclhaving taken it into his head

during the night, that he had overdrawn his acHe left his count, his anxiety was unceasing. bed, and walked about his room with that feverish irritation that always distinguished him., waiting with the utmost impatience for the- mom*

JOHN ELWES,

2*

ig; when/ on going

ESfJ.

to his banker, with an

logy for the great liberty

apo-

had taken, he was assured there was no occasion to apologize, as he happened to have in his hands at that time, the small balance of fourteen

lie

thousand seven hun-

dred pounds.

However appear,

it

singular this act of forgetfulness may serves to mark that extreme conscien-

tiousness which, amidst all his anxiety about money, did honour to his character. If accident placed him in debt to any person, even in the

most

manner, he was never easy till it was and he was never known on any occasion paid, to fail in what he said. Of the punctuality of his word he was so scrupulously tenacious, that no trivial

person ever requested better security. The summer of 1788 Mr. Elwes passed at his house in Welbeck Street London, without

any other society than that of two maid-servants. His chief employment used to be that of getting

up

early in the morning, to visit his houses in

rybone, which were repairing.

As he was

Mathere

generally at four o'clock in the morning, and of course long before the workmen, he used to sit

clown contentedly on the steps before the door, The neighto scold them when they did come. bors, who used to see him appear so regularly

every morning, and concluded from his apparel, that he was one of the workmen, observed, that t

there never was such a punctual

man

as the

Old Carpenter!" Mr. Elwes, had now attained the age of seven-

JOHN ELWES,

CQ

ESQ.

and began for the first time, to feel some He experienced bodily infirmities from age. some occasional attacks of the gout; on which, with his accustomed perseverance and antipathy" ?y-six,

to apothecaries and their bills, he would set out While to walk as far, and as fast as he could.

engaged ly lost

mode of cure, he frequentnames of which

inihis painful

himself in the streets, the

he no longer remembered, and was as often brought home by some errand-boy or stranger of whom lie had enquired his way. On these occasions, he would bow, and thank them with great politeness> at the door, but never indulged them with a sight of the interior of the house. Another singularity was reserved for the close of Mr. Elwes's

life,

which considering

his dis-

position and advanced age, was not less extraor-

dinary than

had during

many his

already recorded. life, been such an

whole

He, who enemy to

giving, now gave away his affections. of the maid-servants w ith whom he had

One for

some time been acenrstomed to pass his hours in the kitchen, had the art to induce him to fall in love with her, and had it not been discovered, it is

doubtful whether she would not have preupon him to marry her. From such an act

vailed

of madness, he was however saved by good fortune, and the attention of his friends,.

During the winter of 1788, the last .-Mr. Elwes was fated to see, his memory, visibly weakened every day

;

and from

his

money, he now began i

3

to

unceasing wish to save apprehend he should

30

JOHN ELWES, ELQ.

die in

ed

want of

it.

Mr. Gibson had been appointroom of Mr. Adam and

his builder in the

day when

;

gentleman waited upon him, he said with apparent concern, " Sir, pray consider in what a wretched state I am ; you see in what a good house I am living, and here are five ojne

this

guineas, which is all I have at present ; and how I shall go on with such a sum of money,, puzzles

me

to death

now .you

see

I

dare say you thought

how

it

I

was rich:

is!"

this time Mr. George Elwes, his elder a young lady, not less distinguished married son, for her engaging manners than for her beauty.

About

She was a Miss dy of

whom

Alt, of Northamptonshire, a laany father might be proud ; but

pride, or even concern, in these matters, were not passions likely to affect Mr. Elwes.; as a cir-

cumstance which happened a few years before,

in

a case not dissimilar, will prove. His son at that time had paid his addresses to u niece of

Dr. Noel, of Oxford, who, of course,

thought proper to wait upon old Mr. EKves, to apprize him of the circumstance, and to ask his He had not the least objection to the consent. match. Doctor Noel was very happy to hear it,

between the young people might Old Mr. be productive of happiness to both. Elwes had not the least objection to any body as a marriage

" This ready acquiescence " But doubtis so obliging !" said the Doctor less you feel for the mutual wishes of the parties." " I dare I do," replied the old marrying whatever.

say

gentleman.

JOHN ELWES,

31

ESQ.

Doctor Noel, " you have no objection to an immediate union ? you see I talk Old Mr. EUves had no freely on the subject."

"

Sir," said

Then,

objection to any thing. served Doctor Noel, " to settle

;

and you are

"

my ?"

then, Sir," ob-

as I shall behave liwhat do you mean to give " sure I Give .'" said

difficulty-about the matter berally to

Now

we have only one thing so kind, there can be no ;

niece

"

Elwes, your son did not say anything about giving; but,

wish

it

so

much,

I will give

my

if

you

consent"

Mr. George Elwes, having now married and Marcham, was naturally de-

settled at his seat at

sirous that in the assiduities of his wife, his fa-

ther might at length find a comfortable home. journey with any expence annexed to it was

A

however, an insurmeun table obstacle. This was fortunately removed, by an offer from Mr. Para gentleman of the law, to take him to his ancient seat in Berkshire, with his purse perfecttis,

ly

whole.

not a

little

Still

there was another circumstance

distressing; the old

gentleman had

now

nearly worn out his last coat, and could not His son therefore with afford to buy a new one.

pious fraud, requested Mr. Partis to buy him a Thus forcoat, and make him a present of it. a a then had bad one^ coat, good merly having

and at last no coat at one of a neighbour.

On and

all,

he was glad to accept

the arrival of the old gentleman, his son nothing that was likely U

his wife neglected

render the country a scene of quiet to him. 3

But

JOHN EL WES,

ESO.

be carried that within his hosom, which baffled every effort of the kind. His mind, cast away on the vast and troubled ocean of his property, extending beyond the bounds of his calculation, amused itself with fetching and carrying a few guineas, which in that ocean were indeed but a drop.

The first symptom of more immediate decay, was his inability to enjoy his rest at night. He was frequently heard at midnight, as if struggling with some one in his chamber, and crying " \ will out, keep my money, I will; nobody shall rob me of my property !" if any one of the family entered the room, he would start from his fever of anxiety, and as if waking from a troubled dream, hurry into bed again, and seem unconAt other times scious of what had happened. when

perfectly awake,

he would walk to the

spot where he had concealed his it

was

money

to see

if

safe.

One

night, while in this waking state, he missed the sum which- he had carried with him

guineas and a had wrapped it up inof paper that no part of his treasure

into Berkshire

amounting

half and half a crown.

various folds

to five

He

The circumstances of his loss might be lost. were these. His attorney, who had accompanied and still remained with him at his house inBerkshire, was waked one morning about twoo'clock by the step of some one walking barefoot about his chamber with great caution. Some, what alarmed at this unexpected intrusion fo&

J

JOHN EL*VES,

J

"

ESO.

33

Who

is there." The person, coining up towards his bed, replied with great

naturally asked

" civility:

Sir,

r

my name

is

EKves;

I

have been

unfortunate" enough to be robbed in this house which I believe is mine, of all the money I have

"

of five guineas and a half and " Dear Mr.

the world

in

half a crown." I

hope you

self uneasy."

gentleman;

Sir," replied are mistaken; do not

"

Oh!

with such a sum*

seen the end of

no,

true

it's all

;

Partis*

make your-

no," rejoined the old

and

really,

Mr.

Partis,

I

should have liked to have

it,"

This unfortunate sum was a

clays afterwards found in a corner behind the window-shutter.

few

In

gone

the autumn entirely

;

his

of

1789>

senses

his

memory was

sunk rapidly

into

decay, and his mind became unsettled, gusts of the most violent passion began to usurp the place of his former command of temper. For six

weeks previous

to his death,

he would go to

in his clothes, as perfectly dressed

rest

as during the

He was one morning found fast asleep between the sheets with his shoes on his feet, his stick in his hand, and an old torn hat on his

day.

head.

On this circumstance being discovered, a servant was set to watch, and take care that he undressed himself; yet so desirous was- he of continuing this custom, that he told the servant, with his usual providence about money, that if

he would not take any notice of him, he would him something in his will.

leave

JOHN ELWES, ESO.

34

His singular appetite he retained till withlew days of his dissolution, and walked on foot twelve miles only a fortnight before he died, ,

in a

On

the 18th of

of that

total

November, he manifested signs debility which carried him to his

grave in eight days. On the evening of the first day he was conveyed to bed, from which he rose

no more.

His appetite was gone: he had but a about him, and

faint recollection of every thing

the last intelligible words he uttered were adto his son John, hoping " he had left

dressed

him what he wished." On the morning of the 26th of November \\** expired without a sigh leaving property to the amount ofabove OO,(>OOl. ;

The

value of that which he had bequeathed to two sons, was estimated at half a million, and

his

the remainder, consisting of entailed estates, devolved to Mr. Timins, son of the late Lieutenant-Colonel Timms, of the second troop of

Horse Guards.

One strange circumstance should not be omitSome days previous to the death of his

ted.

father,

Mr. John Elwcs was returning from an

estate he had just, purchased,, in Gloucestershire, with a clergyman, to whom he had given the

On

journey a strange presentiment came across his mind, that he should see his father but once again. The idea was so strongly living.

his

impressed upon his thoughts, that lie set out in he the middle of the night to reach Marcham did reach it, and was in time to be witness of :

JOHN ELWES,

35

ESQ.

that sight which most afflicts a good son, on the he beheld him expire. subject of a, father

The

following Epitaph on Mr. Elwes, is coIts beaufrom tiie Chelmslbrd Chronicle. pied ties, and the striking picture of the man whose memory it is intended to perpetuate, will be a sufficient

apology for introducing

it.

HERB, to man's honour, or to man's disgrace. Lies a strong picture of the human race In ELWF.S' form whose spirit, heart, and mind. ;

Virtue and vice in firmest tints combin'd

;

Rough was the rock, but blended deep with ore, And base the mass that many a diamond bore :

Meanness

to

grandeur, folly join'd to sense, av'rice coupled with benevolence :

And Whose

lips ne'er

broke a truth, nor hands a

trust,

\Verc sometimes warmly kind and always just 'With power to reach Ambition's highest birth,

He

sunk a mortal groveling to the earth Lost iu the lust of adding pelf to pelf, Poor to ihe poor still poorer to himself :

Whose

wants, that nearly bent to

Ne'er in

his country's)

all

;

but stealth,

plunder dug for wealth but call'd without expense, ;

Cali'd by her voice His noble nature rous'd in her defence

And

:

;

Senate labouring in her cause, The firmest guardian of the fairest laws

He

in the

stood

;

and each

instinctive taint above,

To every Yet

still

bribe prcferr'd a people's love with no stern patriotism fir'd,

Wrapt up

iu wealth,

to

wealth

-.igain retir'd.

from Pride's sickly Living a length of days without &pain, And adding to the millions never tried,

By Penury guarded

Lov'cl

pitied

scoru'd

;

and honour'd

train,

ELWES

die

1

!

JOHN ELWES, Learn from

Man is

a

this proof,

compound of

that, in life's

tempting sceue,

the great and

mean;

Discordant qyalitics together

tied,

Virtues in him and vices are allied

The

We

:

sport of follies, or of crimes the heir, all the mixtures of an EL.WKS share.

then ne'er his worth disown,

Pondering

his faults

But

nature recollect thine nwn;

in his

And think Were God

for life

not

and pardon where

MERCY* when

to trust,

his creature's dust.

MESSENGER MONSEY.

MESSENGER MONSEY was born in

theyear

1693, at a remote village in the county of Norfolk, of which his father was rector ; -but at the

by declining the oaths, he forfeited He was more fortunate than the his preferment. of the nonjuring clergy, as he had generality some resource in a paternal estate, which is still in the family, and pieserved him from those revolution,

difficulties

tered,

which too many

wko

dy adherence

The

time encoun-

to their principles.

subject of these memoirs received a

classical education,

which

perintended himself. St.

at that

sacrificed temporal interest to a stea-

Mary

Hail,

He

good

his father

chiefly suwas then .removed to

Cambridge, and,

after five years

spent at the university, studied physic some under Sir Benjamin Wrench,, at Norwich,

time

from

which place he went and settled as a physician at tiury St. Edmund's, in Suffolk. Here he married a widow, with a handsome jointure, who et her death, left him one daughter. This lady became the wife of a gentle-

man

of a reputable mercantile family, in the city of London.

At Bury, Dr. Monsey experienced in cm fate of

VOL.

3.

country physicians, NO. 24; K

the

com,

,

MESSENGER MONSEY. submit to constant fatigue, long journies, ant! an inadequate income. He has been heard to confess, that with the utthe inconveniences of

most exertion of unwearied application, his receipts never exceeded three hundred pounds a year, by efforts, which, in an easy chariot, and in the streets of London, secured Dr. Warren Here had it nearly twenty times that income. not been for a fortunate accident, his merits might have been confined to a provincial newspaper, and his fame to a country church-yard. Lord Godolphin, the son of Queen Anne's lord treasurer, was seized with an apoplectic complaint, on his journey to his seat near Newmarket the nearest medical help was at Bury, and Dr. Monsev, either b\* the assistance of nature or his own skill, was so successful as to save Lord Godolphin's life, and secure his warmLord Godolphin was single, not est gratitude. :

T

**

very young, nor

He

much

addicted to

company

or

that by attaching himself dissipation. to worth so superior to the situation in which he found it, he should obtain a rational companion felt,

for his leisure hours,

and a medical

sirable in the decline of

life.

friend, so de-

During the

inter-

vals of illness his regard for the doctor increased ; and, after his lordship's recovery, his behaviour

was so unassumingj and his patron's offers so beral, that he immediately accompanied him Here he was not doomed the metropolis.

li-

to to

of hope struggle with the painful disappointment at Lord Godophiu's deiened, for he was treated

3

MESSENGER MONSEY. as a friend

and companion, and introduced to

of the

many

3

first

characters of the age.

Among

Robert Walpole assiduously cultivatacquaintance; and the late Earl of Ches-

others, Sir

ed

his

terfield

benefit

always acknowledged, with gratitude, the he derived from his medical skill and

assistance.

Ho- thus trod the pleasantest part of life, the midway between leisure and fatigue, while friendship, polished societ}-, might be said to strew

and it

literary

amusement, He was

with flowers.

made

a Fellow of the Royal Society, though his great age, for many years before his death, prevented his attendance at their meetings; and, on the death of Dr. Smart, physician to Chelsea

Alhospital, he was appointed to succeed him. though Lord Godolphin readily embraced every

opportunity to forward the interest of his friend Monsey (as he always used to call him), yet he could not persuade himself to lose his agreeable

which he was frequently heard to dewas the solace and comfort of his life. He, therefore, on Dr. Monsey 's appointment to Chelsea, procured leave for him still to reside in town, on condition of visiting the hospitalas oc-

society, clare,

casion required.

He

was

at

one time

in

the habit of the closest in-

timacy with the late David Garrick, whose fascinating powers of conversation and elegant

manners, formed a striking contrast to Dr.

The

Mou-

latter, during a long intercourse with' sey the great and the gay, ever preserved a certain K 2 's.

MESSENGER. MONSEY. plainness of behaviour, which, to those sociated with him, was by no means r.n

He

couU_ never be persuaded

cerity, at the shrine

of adulation

who

as-

pleasing.

to sacrifice sin;

he spoke the

and, which sometimes gave offence, the whole truth. This frequently afforded occasion to ignorance and malignity to cry him down as a truth

;

cynic; but his censure, though severe, wa? generally just, vice, folly,

and

and

his shafts

affectation.

were directed against /

This difference of manners between him and the manager produced a mutual, but not unto raise a laugh friendly, exchange of raillery :

at the~

many

doctor s expense, was the amusement of a h'nppy hour at Hampton.

Garricfe told -him one evening, after his return from performing at Drury-lane, that, wishing to gee a favorite scene acted by a performer at Covent-gardeu, then much in fashion, he had and trusted an slily slipped from his own stage, under actor, known by the name of Dagger i)

Murr, for a few minutes to supply his place, which was only to stand silent and aloof; and that, having satisfied his curiosity, he returned time enough to resume his

[".art.

The doctor

credulously swallowed the story, and circulated it with a. degree of serious wonder; the town enjoyed the joke, and he was heartily laughed at for his pains. At the time

when

the Doctor was in the firm-

Garrick, there was met in company with but day they

est habit of friendship with

seldom

a

MESSENGER MONSEY.

i>

They two being two others and once Hogarth, a picture of they were lamenting the want of " I could "I said some other geniuses of the

age.

at a tavern with

Garrick,

think,"

Fielding.

make

which he did accordingly. " For heaven sake hold, David !" said Ho" remain as you are for a few minutes." garth, Garrick did so/ while Hogarth sketched the outlines, which were afterwards finished from their mutual recollection; and this drawing was the his face/'

original of

all

the portraits

the admired author of

we

have* at present of

Tom Jones.

" Now, David, as Hogarth afterwards said, in the right humour, and T am in a proare you per temper, do sit for your picture, and I will take

it

off in five minutes."

Garrick complied

;

but, while the painter

proceeding, he mischievously altered

was

his face,

with a gradual change, so as to render the por-

Hogarth blamed himself, a and began second time, but with the same sucAfter swearing a little, he began a third cess. time, and did not discover that Garrick had trait entirely unlike.

played the trick upon him till the fourth time. Hogarth then found it out, flew into a violent passion, and would have thrown palette, pencils, and brush, at Garrick's head, if he had not made his escape from the variegated storm of colours that pursued him. Nor would the painter be reconciled with his friends who were then present, because they enjoyed the scene, and

were highly

gratified at his expence.

K 3

MESSENGER M'ONSEY. Those who knew Mr. Garrick, admired and lo* but they knew, and universally confes-

red him

;

sed, that although he eagerly sought and enjoyed a joke at the expence of another, he was most

seriously nettled if a laugh was raised at his Monsey frequently retorted with success. little

own.

The

manager was sore, and, on a particular oc-

casion],

allowed himself a most unjustifiable as-

perity of reply, that called forth the latent spark of resentment in his friend.

The Bishop of Sodor and Man \vho preceded Dr. Wilson,) Garrick certainly meant to

"

He

never will do

it,"

(Dr. Hildesly,

was saying that quit

the

stage

;

said MoDsey,-"" as lon,g cross on one side, and

he knows a guinea is an expression proverbial pile on the other." in Norfolk. This was industriously reportas

ed.. The violence with which it was resented proved that it was true ; and the long acquaintance w^s closed by an anonymous letter, sent by Garrick, containing the frequently quoted extract from Horace Absentem qtyi rodit amiaim, &c. a :

sentiment which Roscius ought to have been the last man to quote, as the eccentric oddities of his friend, as all

them, afforded him at places, an inexhaustible fund

he used to

times, and at

all

call

of ridiculous anecdote. Intimate friends are said to

make

the most in-

veterate enemies; and Garrick, by his repeated and widely diffused sarcasms, certainly imbittered

Mutual recriminations, produced by the interference of some officious meddlers,

the enmity.

x

MESSENGER MONSEY.

7

\vho enjoyed their quarrel,, passed between to the very last.

Some

them

unfinished stanzas were penned by the

illness, in which called had been in; but, as physicians soon as Garrick died, which Monsey did not expect, they were instantly destroyed, and he could never be prevailed on to repeat them. A gentleman who was favored with a sight of them, has given from memory the following pas-

doctor, during the manager's several

sages,

which afford a tolerable specimen of the

satirical talents

of the doctor.

Seven wise physicians

To save

met

lately

a wretched sinner

:

Come, Tom, says Jack", pray Or I shall lose my dinner.

The

let's

be quick,

consultation then begins, and the case of

the patient

is

stated; after which, tr

Some

roar'd for rhubarb, jalap some, Ary.1 some cried out -for Dover,

Let's give him something, each one said,

Why

e'en let's give him

over.

This desperate council is, however rejected by one of the medical sages, who, after some neflections on the life and habit of the patient, declares that he has great confidence in chink ^

Not dried up chinks, you ninnies The chinking that I recommend, ;

J.s

the famous chink of guineas.

;

adding,

MESSENGER MONSEY.

8

A humorous mine by whom

now

altercation

ensues to deter-

auricular application of the he should made. With a humility and popurge lireness to each other, for which pRysicknis are so this

remarkable, each declines the honor to the supeneighbour; but the poet

rior rank or years of his

shrewdly guesses, that this backwardness arose from the majority of them not chusing to exhibit the comfortless state of their pockets. At last, a physician in vogue prides himself

on

replenished with guineas, which he had weighed, found heavy, and not returned to his purse,

his patients as light; in the

ke exclaims I and

moment

of exultation

:

my

long

To earn

tails

seldom

fail,

a score a day.

After due solemnity he approaches the bedthe curtain is withdrawn, and the glitter; ing gold shaken in the sick man's ear. side

Soon

as the fav'rite

One

sound he heard

faint effort he tried

;

He op'd his eyes, he stretch'd his He made one grasp, and died.

hand,

I

Lord Bath

in vain attempted to reconcile them. thank yon," said Dr. Monsey, " but, why will your lordship trouble yourself with the squabbles of a merry andrew and a quack doctor ?"

"

I

On

the death of Lord Godolphin, Dr.

Mon-

sey was obliged to retire from the courtly air of

MESSENGER MOiNSEY. "St.

James's, and to

uil

i t

9

the splendftl equipage,

and retinue of a peer, together with a moslngreable circle of London friends, fora solitary apart-

ment

at Chelsea,

his plate at the hall-table, his

his old woman. As age and all its additional cares came on, an of decorum was asperity of manners and a neglect observed in Dr. Monsey it became the fashion

time piece and

;

young, the delicate, and Ihe gay, to exclaim against him as an interrapter of establishfor the

ed forms, and as a violator of those minute rules of good .breeding, which, however trifling they may appear to the sage and the philosopher, contribute essentially to the ease and comfort of modern life. The character which usual ty passes un-

der the denomination of an odxlity, has been defined, as a

man, who

of others to his own

sacrifices the

whim and

good opinion

conveniency.

Nor

can Dr. Monsey be wholly exculpated from these charges. In his intercourse with mankind he met with so many trifling and worthless characters, that he was apt to suspect that what such persons so much valued was beneath his attention ; but idie, fantastic,

vain

women, and womanish men,

always excited in hinuthe most violent emotions of anger and contempt. lie was acquainted with a clergyman of this class, a near neighbor, remarkable for puerile anc(.

behaviour, and very much in the habit of contradicting the doctor, without learning, or even a single idea to support his argument. " If you have any faith in your opinion, will you vensilly

MESsENGEll MONSE'V.

10

ture a small wager on it :"-r-I could, but t " Then won't/' was the answer. you have very little wit, or little said very money," Mousey.

A military man, more famous for his wheelbarrow amours with the cast-off mistress of a royal

duke, and the marked contempt of his wife, solace in the arms of a fortunate Irish-

who found

man, than

much

for his achievements, contributed ve-

so render the doctor's situation at Chel-

ry sea uncomfortable. It was owing to the following

circumstance: This hoary veteran,

who pretended

to

reform

jvhen no longer able to sin, was in a very illiberal manner abusing a friend of the doctor's, in his as a coward and "ft -debauchee, and the absence, doctor for defending him. silenced the form;;], but

words

you have

:

The

latter instantly prater, by these right to abuse him

empty

little

for gallantry, for you attempted to debauch mother ; and, as to his courage, he did

stay at

home, whoring and drinking, and get

bones broken

in

an affray under

his

not his

the Piazzas,

while his regiment was cut to pieces in Germany, and then hurry over thither just time enough to

hear peace proclaimed,

bring

home

infirmities

and boast of them, as the conproduced by of wounds received in the service of his sequence vice,

country."

With respect to religion, after much reading, Dr. Monscy was a

long study and staunch and ra-

and earimbibed an unconquerable aversion to Bishops

tional supporter of the unita.rian doctrine, ly

MESSENGER MON3EY. and establishments,

when (as

and

to creeds

11 to

tests;

but

"

blasphemous Athanasian doctrine" he called it) was mentioned, he burst into the the

most vehement expressions.of abhorrence and

dis-

gust.

.During his abode at Lord Godolphin's, he was fine day riding in Hyde-park with a, Mr. Ro-

one

binson, a well meaning man, who was lamenting the deplorable state of the times, and concluded
" And with people who believe there is no God.' the talk with I, -Mr. Robinson (replied doctor) 7

people who believe there are three" The frightened trinitarian immediately set spurs to his horse, and would never after speak to the author of such a prophane reply. Sir Robert Walpole knew and valued the worth of his " Norfolk doctor/' as he called him he

knew it } and neglected it. The prime minister was fond of billiards, at which his friend very

much

excelled him.

((

How

happens

it,"

said Sir

" that Robert, in his social hour, nobody will beat meat billiards, or contradict me, but Dr.

"

They get places," said the doctor a dinner and praise." I'get At one time the late ingenious Mrs. Montague was intimate with Dr. Monsey, so much so, that

Mousey r"

"

.

for

cal

years she received from him compliment on her birth-day.

many

from

his

lines at

last

a

poeti-?

Whether

nor having compliment

enough, or from his coolness with Garrick, their acquaintance declined, he was always

silent

on

MESSENGER MONSEY.

1'2

the subject; but it was suspected to be owiinr mi extreme parsimony which appeared in the laconduct ever since she built her magnificent cly's house in Portman-square. t

Dr. Monsey was always strangely infatuated with fears of the public funds, a bugbear that drove him to risk his money on troublesome securities,,

He-used

and ultimately produced heavy

losses.

to

speak feelingly (as losers always do) of the villainy of a Welsh parson and a London attorney.

The doctor was frequently anxious in his absence from his apartment, for a place of safety in which to depos4t his cash and notes: bureaus and strong boxes he was conscious had often failed of security. Previous to a journey to ^91-folk, to visit his brother and friends, during the hot weather in July, he chose the fire place of his sitting room for his treasury, and placed banknotes and cash to a considerable amount in -that

unusual situation, in one corner under the cinders

and shavings. sence, he found

On

his return after a

his old

\voman

(as

month's ab-

he always cal-

led his housekeeper) preparing to treat a friend or two with a cup of tea; and by way of shewing

respect to her guests, she had made a fire parlor (or master's sitting room) fir* place t

i:i >

the

male

the kettle boil, as she never expected her m;.-r<'r till she saw him. The fire had not long been sighted,

when Monsey

When pany had

arrived at the critical

moment. com-

the doctor enteVed the room, her scarcely

begun

tea:

he ran across the

MESSENGER MONSEY.

13

"

D n your blood for ever; you me mined have b h, you you have burned all my Bank notes!" First went the room

like a

madman,

saying,

contents of the slop-bason-, then the tea-pot, and pump in the kitchen, and

then he rushed to the

brought a pail of water, which he threw partly over the fire and partly over the company, who in the utmost consternation retreated as speedi-

His housekeeper cried out " For God's, sake sir, forbear; you will spoil the steel stove and fire irons." " D n the stove, irons, iy as possible.

you, your company and all!" replied the doctor; " you have ruined and undone me for ever you :

have burned my bank notes." t( Lord, sir," said the half drowned woman, "who'd think of putting Bank notes in a Bath stove, where the fire is

ready laid?"

"

And

cl

n you," said he

sc

who'd think of making a fire in summer time, where there has not been one for these several months?" He then pulled out all the coals and cinders, and at one corner

he found the remains

Bank notes, for, being twice folded, one quarter of them so doubled, and wrapped in brown

of

his

paper, were entire, so as to be legible. Next day Dr. Monsey went to Lord

Godol-

phin's, told his lordship the story,

producing the remains of the notes, and with such energetic gestures in acting the part of finding them, as made

him ready to burst his sides with laughter. He was, however, so well pleased, that he told him he would go with him to the bank the next da}', and get the cash for him through VOL.3, NO. 24. L

his influence,

MESSENGER MONSEY.

14

and would be collateral security for the doctor's integrity and honesty as to their value. Lord Godolphin having occasion to see the king (George II.) that day on business, told his majesty the story of Monsey and his bank notes. Being well acquainted with the doctor's strange character, the king resolved to go to Lord Godolphin's next morning, and conceal himself in a closet. When Monsey came, it was agreed that Lord Godolphin should get him to repeat the story, which, upon his arrival, he effected with much His majesty was so highly diverted, difficulty. that, in attempting to stifle the mirth it excited, and to withdraw unperceived, he stumbled and

the closet door opened. The doctor was much chagrined with Lord Godolphin for running the

laugh on him, and just broke out" God" when bis majesty appeared, and on seeing him, the doctor continued " bless your majesty this may be a joke with you and his lordship, but to me !

:

of near 400/." " No, no," replied Lord Go" for I am ready to go with you immedolphin, and get your notes renewed, or the modiately His lordship orderedhis carriage, for them." ney

a

loss

and agreed to meet the doctor at the room in the Bank, where some of the directors daily attendThe doctor being, obliged to go to the Horsetook water at Whitehall for guards, on business, the bank.

In going

down

the river his curiosity

to pull out his pocket-book, to see if the remains of his Banknotes were safe; when

excited him

MESSENGER MONSEY.

15

a sudden puff of wind blew them out of his pocket-hook into the river. te Put back, you sons of G---d d n you, put back (cried s! b the doctor)

was

my

instantly

bank notes are overboard

obeyed;

and.,

!"

He

when they reached

them, he took the hat from his head and dipping it in the river took up his notes, together with In this state he put it under his arm, and desired to be set on shore inHe was landed at the Three Cranes, toed lately. walked straight to the Bank, and was shewn in-

half a hatful of water.

i

to the

room where Lord Godolphin had

fore arrived,

just be-

and had given notice of Dr. Mou-

sey *s coming.

"

What have you

Godolphin. tor,

" The

onder your arm

r"

said

damned notes," replied

Lord

the doc-

throwing the hat with the contents on the among all the books and papers, and with

table

such force as made the water fly in the faces of who were standing near it. " There," said the doctor, " take the remains of your damned notes, for neither fire nor water will consume those

them!" A burst of laughter succeeded on being informed of the last adventure, and the doctor was obliged

to repeat the original story over again with the addition of the water scene. An order

was then made out

for the whole amount, on the and Lord Godolphin's assurance of hrs integrity and singularity. All this time the watermen were very noisy for their fare, swearing that the doctor was a mad When he left the place with Lord Godolraan.

doctor's veracity,

L2.

MESSENGER MONSEY.

1(3

phin to return to his carriage, they even laid hold him, and the doctor was so absent that he

011

entirely

their

forgot

and

errand,

knocked one of them down with

absolutely

his stick for in-

Lord Godolphin interfered; when sulting him. he recollected that he came by water, and had not paid the men, on which he gave them a crown to drink for the mistake, and half-a-crown for their fare.

Experience, for which he paid so dear, at last taught him to put as much confidence in public

and he invested property

03 in private faith,

considerable

amount

to a

in the funds.

was a prevailing opinion that he was avaricicharge often bestowed on prudence by If he was so, it was the foolish and profuse. It

ousa

not a principle that pervaded his whole conduct; for he has been known in two instances to burn a

bond

which he had advanced

for 100/.

trious tradesmen,

who were

to indus-

able, but would have

been distressed,

to repay it. of the doctor's, possessed of a large sinecure, used to be fond of ridiculing him in all companies for his meanness and love of

A neighbour

money

;

though the doctor professed and proved on all occasions, both to him

himself a friend

and

his wife.

He

attended them both at differ-

ent times, for some years, without a fee being thought of, or offered-; tii'id on one occasion at

some

distance

chaise-hire cost

time,

when him seven guineas.

from town,

this abuser

and

practise!'

the

doctor's

After some

of sordid

actions..

MESSENGER MONSEY. sent his friend a ten-pound "Dr.

ney

which

note,

"

that the

directly returned, saying a friend cannot be repaid with

Monsey

attentions of " plate,

Bank

l?

adding,

worth

"

if

he had sent

forty

shillings,

me I

thought myself obliged to him." was ever ready to advance

He

should

sums

often with

inferior tradesmen,

mo-

a piece of

have

to assist

little

prosvery Not long pect of receiving the money again. before his death, he advanced a servant, retiring from a gentleman's service, a hundred

pounds to set him up in business. The tradesman had applied for assistance to his master, a finical, delicate, woman's man, who trembled at a breeze; he generously lent him twenty pounds? The which he made him repay in a fortnight:. performer of this generous action has been heard to exclaim against the doctor as

a.

miser

and a brute.

Among a number related of Dr.

of instances that might be the fol-

Monsey 's absence of mind,

lowing is one which he frequently mentioned, and laughed at very heartily, when in a good

humour,

the

at

same time observing,

thai his

brother was as bad as himself.

Being once on a folk, in the

to set

oft*

visit to his

beginning of

for

brother in Nor-

winter:,

and intending

London the next day,

his brother

proposed go and shoot wild ducks early in the he might take two or three couple that morning, to

fresh killed to

London with him.

liad orders to clean the long l,

3

The

servant

fowling-piece, get

MESSENGER MONSEY.

18

plenty of powder and shot, and to grease their Every thing being in readiness, accord-

toots.

ing to their desire, about an hour before dayJight the doctor and his brother set off for the place where the ducks resort, in order to be there by break of day, when they generally take

wing

to

goto

feed.

They had walked nearly three miles; and it having rained in the night, the clay-mud wall Was very dirty and greasy, when they heard the of the ducks. They were now obliged to get cry over the wall and a gate across a sluice into the

The rain had marsh, where the ducks were. It was then proraised the water about a fool. posed that one should go over, and the other re" main behind. Says the doctor, George, do vou go over, for I have forgotten my boots." By G d, doctor, so have I," said his brolose our sport, as we have So both waded through, and got and advancing over the gate into the marsh

ther,

come

te

but

we won't

thus far."

:

the

along duck. " doctor.

fleet,

You

they

are near

"Aye,"

at

length perceived

enough, George,"

replied George,

not above one hundred yards the doctor. " Do

lire,"

says

"


off."

you

I

think

fe

the

said the

we are

'Why, then,

fire,"

returned

Why, have not got the gun, do you George. " fire I fire. why d n it, I have not got the " I the brother, thought you had it. gun," said I

!

A V hat a fine opportunity less

is

lost!

Here

are not

than thirty ducks within shot, and neither

of us have got the gun

!"

Thus,, after rising very

MESSENGER MONSEY, early,,

I&

walking at least three miles in a most dirty and wading mid-

place, along the salt marshes,

that leg in water above fifty yards, they found they had both forgot to take the gun, as well as their boots.

By way of ridiculing family pride, Dr. Monsev used to relate that the first of his ancestors, of any note, was a baker and dealer in hops, a trade which enabled him with some difficulty to To supply an urgent

support a large family.

de-

mand, he robbecj his feather beds of theii con-^ tents, and supplied the dificiency with unsaleable hops.

A

few years afterwards, a severe blight

hops became very scarce, The hoarded treasure was ripped out of the beds, and a good sum was procured for hops, which, in a plentiful seauniversally prevailing, and excessively dear.

son, would have been, unsaleable, and thus said the doctor our family hopped from obscurity. Of Dr. Monsey's eccentric character, the fol-

lowing circumstances

may

serve as an addition

to the examples that have already been given:

One

time,

when

the doctor was

coming from

Norfolk up to London, in the Norwich coach, during the Christmas holidays^, the inside of the coach was crowded with game, his brother's

in

as presents from country-gentlemen to their friends in town. As there was just room for only

one passenger, the doctor would gladly have deierred his departure, although it was on particular business, as there were no living passengers; feut, as

they refused at the coach-office either to,

MESSENGER return his earnest money, or to permit it te stand a part of his coach-hire to town next day, he entered the coach. When day-light appeared, seeing that the game had different assignments., he thought it better to be doing mischief than nothing at all ; therefore, to amuse himself, he altered all the directions the pheasant that were going to my lord, or his grace, were sent to some tradesman. In short, every thing had a :

from what was originally on the delivery of the parcels Thus,

different destination

assigned

it.

an universal confusion took place>

and those

who by

advice in a letter expected one thing> received another; but the doctor observed, that

he always took care to send a good turkey to the tradesman.

The doctor once going along Oxford market ob* served a poor woman, far advanced in pregnancy at a butcher's shop, asking the price of a fine piece

of

beef.

The

brute answered the

woman, " one

penny a pound," thinking, no doubt, <{ Weigh that piece of good for her.

it

was toa

beef," said

the doctor.

Ten pounds and a half," said Mr. Butcher. " Here, good woman," cried the doctor hold up your apron, and take that beef home to you? f(

"

family."

"

God

Go

bless

your honour!"

home: no compliments! directly Here, Mr. Butcher (says the doctor), give me change out of this shilling for that poor
beef/'

off,

21

MESSENGER MONSEY. " What do you mean,

sir:" replied

the 'but-

cher.

" Mean,

why to pay for the poor woa penny a what man's beef, you asked her, and haste make give me three pound. Come, halfpence

:

sir

1

"

Why,

"

No why

!

am

in a hurry."

sir,"

said the butcher.

with me/' answered the doctor, change instantly, or I will break

sirs

ee

give ine my to exyour head." The butcher again began and the doctor struck him with all hispostulate, force with his cane.

by

this

A

number of butchers had time gathered around him. The doctor

told the story, and they could not refrain from The butcher laughing at their brother steel.

vowed he would summons the doctor before the court of conscience. The latter gave the man his address, but never got his change, or

any more of

heard

his butcher.

A particular

apartment in Dr. Monsey^s house mechanics, and displayed a confused collection of pendulums and wheels, nails, and saws, hammers and chissels; and r as long as age and sight allowed, he amused himself almost

was devoted

to

every day in

pleased work.

in

this recess,

executing

and was particularly

any necessary

joiner's

It was always his pride to have an excellent watch and a good clock he possessed a timepiece of great value, and exquisite workmanship, partly put together by Mr. Barber. To two of his favourite clocks he had a stringy ;

MESSENGER MONSEY. vrhich he could pull as he lay in bed

he could not sion of his

;

and when

nclusleep, which, towards the conclu-

was too often the case, it was 'his have recourse to his nocturnal companions, and count the tedious hours. A mischievous rogue, just as the doctor was going to bed,, put a feather into each of the clocks, and stopped them. In the night, his old friends, in life

amusement

to

spite of all the doctor's applications, were both ; he rung his bell, instantly rose himself,

silent

called his servants, and the whole house

was

in

the night was in for and spent searching removing the cause of tins misfortune; but the author of the joke was confusion.

The remainder

of

forbidden his house for ever.

The doctor had a particular mode of drawing his own teeth: it consisted in fastening a strong piece of catgut firmly round the affected tooth the other end of the catgut was, by means of a strong knot, attached to a bullet, with a hole made through it with this bullet, a pistol was ;

;

charged, and, when held in a proper direction, by touching the trigger, a troublesome compani-

on was got

rid of,

and a disagreeable operation

evaded. Though he declared that he never knew

method attended with any ill consequence, yet he scarcely ever met with any body who would adopt it, notwithstanding his frequent this

persuasions. The doctor,

who

dearly loved a smart repartee > his servant in his owu

was one day riding with

MESSENGER MONSEY.

2$

Bounty when be observed a shepherd tending his (f Harkee, friend," flock, with a new coat on. "

who gave you that coat:" The shepherd (taking him for a parson, as he was

said the doctor,

dressed

in

black) replied

"

The same

that,

the parish" The doctor, highly clothed you pleased with the answer, rode on a little way, and then desired his man to go back, and ask

the shepherd if he wanted a place, as he wanted a fool. The servant went and delivered his message.

herd.

Why, are you going away? said the shep" No," answered the servant." Then

" that your master, replied the shepherd, his living, I am sure, cannot maintain three of us" This answer being brought to the doctor, he dis-

tell

patched the fellow off again to the shepherd, with a crown for the joke. Such, was Dr. Monsey; but at length infirmity clouded his faculties garrulous old age came ;

on, and languor, pain, and petulance, succeeded to that gaiety and wit which had very often set the table in a roar, and to those sallies of ironi-

which no, " power of face" could He had far exceeded the usual as;e resist. o of the of his man; accomplishment century was near at hand; and he declared, in the querulous A'oice of decrepitude, that he had out-lived his Nature was at last pleasures and his friends. and exhausted he coinpletly expired in his 96th

cal sarcasm,

year.

His .

of the

might be expected, had a tincture and oddities of his life. He leit

will, as

traits

5

MESSENGER MONSEY.

24

the bulk of his fortune, 16,0001.

amounting

to his daughter for her

life,

to

about

and

after-

wards by a long and complicated entail, to her female descendants. He also mentions a young Jady, with the most lavish encomiums on her wit, taste, and elegance, and bequeaths her an old battered snuff-box, scarcely worth sixpence.

He whom,

mentions another young woman, to he says, he meant to have left a legacy ;

but discovering her to be a pert, conceited minx, with as many silly airs as a foolish woman of quality,

he was induced to

He

alter his

mind,

be anatomized, and the skeleton to be kept at Chelsea hospital, bequeaths an old velvet coat to one friend, and the buttons directs his

body

to

; inveighs most vehemently against bishops, deans, and chapters ; and gives annui-

to another

two clergymen, who had resigned their preferment on account of the Athanasian doc-

ties to

trine.

The doctor cian

at

lived so long in his office of physi-

Chelsea-hospital,

that,

during

many

changes in administration,the reversion of thegrant had been promised to several of the medical friends of the different paymasters of the forces.

The

doctor, one day looking out of his window, gentleman examining the house and

j&nd seeing a

gardens, who he knew had just got a reversion of the place, came out to him, and thus accosted

him: " Well, sir, 1 see your are examining your house and gardens that are to be, and I you they

are both very pleasant anil very

JOHN convenient; But

I

must

CASE. tell

25"

you one circumstance,

you are \hzjifth man that has got the reversion of the place, and I have buried them, all ; and what

is

more

(said the doctor, looking very arch-

ly at him,) there is something in tells 1 shall bury you too."-

your face that

me

The event justified the doctor's prediction, as the gentleman very soon after died; and what was still more extraordinary, at the time of. Dr. Monsey's death, there was no person who bad the promise of the reversion.

JOHN KNGLAND

is

CASE.

a country in which th< arts of

empiricism and quackery have long experienced To whatever extraordinary encouragement. ,

may be

owing, whether to the creduof the people, or to excessive concern for

cause this

lity their health, or to the superior ingenuity of the

impostors by

whom

they are duped, certain

it is

that the Lillys, the Bookers, the Partridges, and the Cases of the seventeenth century, were not less celebrated tlian the

Solomons and Brodmns

of the present day.

Case was a native of Lime Regis in Dorsetand was many years, during the reign of Charles II. and his successor, a noted practitioner in physic and astrology. He was looked upshire,

on as the successor of Lilly, whose magical utenM VOL. III. NO. 24.

JOHN CASE.

26

These he would sometimes his intimate friends, and particularly the dark chamber and pictures by vhich Lilly used to impose on simple people, under the pretence of shewing them persons who were absent. lie

possessed.

expose

in derision

sils

to

a man of singular humor, or not improbable, he adopted the appearance of eccentricity in order to make himself

The doctor was

what

is

known and acquire popularity. was the following couplet:

Over

his

door

Within

this place Lives Doctor Case.

By

this distich

Dryden

did by

have got more than He was no doubt composing that which he affix-

he

also well paid for ed to his pill-boxes Here's fourteen

Enough

in

is

said to

all his

works.

:

pills for thirteen

any man's own con

pence, ence.

sci

" The Case was the author of a work entitled Men and Women their Angelical Guide, shewing in this chance lot and elementary life." It was in 1097, and is one of he most pro1

published

found astrological pieces that the world ever beThe diagrams would have puzzled Euclid, held. even though he had studied astrology. The Rev. the JNlr. Granger informs us, lhat he has seen these amidst a in doctor's head pasted port-folio, strange diagrams, with the following motto:

JOHN CASE. " Thi-ou'd

in the ceutre of his

This book contains,

among

intelligible hieroglyphic,

passage which of the work.

this

is

men

" Thus

Adam

dark designs."

other

tilings.,

an un-

after which*

immediately be selected as a speci-

may

was created

in that pleasant place

called Paradise, about the year before Christ 4002, viz. on April 24th, at twelve o'clock or midnight.

Now

this

place,

the sun

Paradise,

is

in

Mesopotamia,

elevated 34 deg. 30 min. and riseth four hours sooner than under the

where the pole

is

elevation of the pole at London. Now our curious reader may be inquisitive concerning this If you will not credit these reasons laid down, pray read Josephus; there you will see something of this matter viz. of the first prim urn mobile or moving posture of the world, and place of Paradise and elevation of its pole. Many controversies have been about the time and season

matter.

of the year, therefore I shall not trouble my reader any further with them. Let the scripture be our guide in this matter. 'Let there be, saith the

word, and there teas: and also the fifth day's work of the creation, when the grass-hoppers were, and the trees sprang out; this may give us to understand, that the time of the creation must have beginning in the spring. or centre of the earth from

its

serve

the poles as

tamia, where

God

Now

for the place

whence we may obafore-mentioned in Mesopo-

Adam

placed

M

2

:

so

the spring

JOHN CAS*. two months sooner than here with us, the elevation of the pole at London."

is

This passage

is

so

totally

unconnected with

book, except we suppose

in the

else

any thing

*

under

some abstruse meaning

in the hieroglyphic, that

Jt must be presumed to be self-evident, or the author must have acted like James Moore, who wrote " the Rival following reader

Modes/' who introduces the dialogue between himself and his

:

R. What makes

M. Because R. But JW.

yo\i write

there's no

Wiry

and

trifle

so

?

I'v* nothing eJse to do.

meaning

to

be seen.

that's lUe very thing I

mean,

The following authentic anecdote of Case, was communicated to the Rev. Mr. Granger, by the Rev. Mr. Gosling, in these terms: Dr. Maundy, formerly of Canterbury, told

me

that, in his

some eminent physician, who had England, gave him a token to spend at

travels abroad,

been

in

his return with .Dr. Radcliffe and Dr. Case.

They

fixed on an evening and were very merry, when Dr. RadclifTe tli;s began a health: ' Here, bro*

ther Case, to

all

the fools your patients.'

you, .good brother/ replied Case; the fools, and you are heartily rest of the practice.'

all

'

let

'

Thank

me

welcome

have

to the

In Pope's account of the phrensy of John Dennis, the poet introduces Dr. Case, as being sent for to attend him. It should also be observed that, as his name was latinized to Casern, it was upon

JOHN LACEY. no slight ground supposed by some foreigners have been Cheese.

The time

of Dr. Case's death

is

to

uncertain, but

that event probably took place during the reign of Queen Anne.

JOHN LACEY. IN the beginning of the last century, a considerable agitation was excited in the public mind in England, by the fanaticism of certain French refugees, phets.

who pretended

As nothing

is

to the character of pro-

more catching, than

reli-

gious enthusiasm, it is not surprizing that they should find followers and supporter^ though we should scarcely expect to find among them, men

of learning, talents, and consequence. however was the case, in this instance.

Such,

Government, at length thought fit to take some notice of these fanatics, and several of them were sentenced

to

the pillory as impostors.

In

such a cause, persecution only produces the con* accordingly trary effect to what it is intended :

punishment was so far from convincing these pretended prophets of their errors, that it served but to strengthen them and their followers in this

their delusion.

After the people, and rents,

first

prosecution of these infatuated

when Mr. Emms, one of

had not

risen

M

from the dead 3

their adheas they

had

JOHN LACEY.

30

foretold that he would on a particular day,, go* vernment determined to proceed against them with greater severity. Orders were therefore given to the attorney-general to prosecute Sir Richard Bulkely, and others, who were ringleaders in

the affair. However before any farther measures were pursued, Lord Godolphin and Mr. Harley* who were then hjgh in office, sent a gentleman to Dr. Calamy, an eminent divine, to consult the subject. The doctor answered that,

him on

having fully considered the matter, he was thoroughly convinced that it would be much the best for government to remain quiet, and not after

give the least disturbance to the new prophets or This advice kfe in forced with such

their abettors.

.strong arguments, that

it

was attended

to

and

fol-

little Jowed. The consequence was, time these enthusiasts sunk into contempt and dwindled away to nothing. Sir Richard Bulke-

that, in

a

a gentleman of considerable learning, who was very short and crooked, expected under the new dispensation to be made straight and hand-

jy,

some

in a

nwraculous way

;

but to his great disap-

pointment and mortification he died before the miracle was accomplished. Among the followers of these prophets none appeared

more

zealous than

John Lacey Esq.

He* a gentleman of Dr. Calamy 's congregation. not only supported the doctrines of the enthusiasts, but pretended himself to be divinely inspired. Dr. Calamy, had once an opportunity of seeing Mr.

Lasey

in

one of

his

fits,

"

I

went/' says be-" ia-

.

JOHN LACEY.

31

room where he sat, and walked up to him and asked him how he did, and took him by the hand, and lifted it up, and it fell down flat upon his knees as it lay before. He took no notice to the

me

of me, nor made the

humming

noise

any answer; but I observed grew louder and louder by de-

and the heaving in his breast increased, till it came up in his throat, as if it would have suffocated him, and then he at last proceeded to speak, or as he would have it taken, the spirit spake in him. The speech was syliabical and there was a distinct heave and breathe between each syllable; but it required attention to distinguish the words,. I shall here add it as far as my grees,

;

memory serves. ' Thou hast vant I

and

:

been have ho

I

do

not

take

est

and

op

mes

and with

great

take

thou vants,

vere

"

ser

gers.

If

thou

wilt

go

thou

dis

When

van ts,

ser in

this

dis

thee

as

to

my thee

on wilt

to fall

ser

thou

pen a

but

:

thou

my

use

est

thee

est

of

care

ful

red

pos

men t

stru

faith

that

my

will

I

no

well

it

things

and in

sen

these

my

slight-

vauts fall

in

shalt

do

sa

tion

:

glori

ous

and

will

praise

;

and

thine.

op pose un der

I

But

my my

if

ser se

sure/

plea the speech was over, the

humming

find heaving gradually abated ; and I again took him by the hand, felt his pulse, which moved pretty quick, but I could not perceive

by

his

hands

MARGARET FINCH.

3t2

like sweating, or

any thing

more than

common

heat."

Some

time after this, Mr. Lacey, without givthe least notice, got tip one morning, left his ing in bed, lady quitted his house and children, and a few necessaries with him, went to live taking

Here he took to h itnself one Betty Grey, who had "been a snuffer of candles in the playhouse, but now passed for a person inspired. This transaction, in on

among

the prophets.

for a wife

0f his inspirations at which Dr. Calamy was present,

he called quitting Hagar and betaking himSarah and declared that he did it by the

self to

;

At length Mr. Lacey retired woman, by whom he had several chil-

rder of the Spirit.

with

this

dren, into Lancashire, where he died in 1730. He persisted in his prophetis notions to the last,

and never manifested any concern and children whom he had deserted.

MARGARET BEFORE

we

for his wife

FINCH.

present the reader with

some ac-

remarkable person, a few leading facts relative to the extraordinary race of people to whom she belonged, may not perhaps, prove un-

count of

this

Germany,

The

Gipsies are called, in mosfc continent, Cingari or Zingari ; in Zigenner ; and by the Spaniards, Gita-

acceptable. parts of the

MARGAKET FINCH. It is uncertain

nos.

33

when they first appeared in is made of them in Hun-

Europe, but mention

gary and Germany, so early as the year

14'17.

Within the ten succeeding years, we find them The date of in France, Switzerland and Italy. still more is uncertain in their arrival England a century not till about it was but most probably ;

In 1530 they are noticed in the penal " Forasmuch as before statutes in these terms: later.

time, divers and

this

many

outlandish people,

calling themselves Egyptians, using no craft nor feat of merchandize, have come into this realm,

and gone from shire

to shire and place to place used great, subtle and and company, great to deceive the means crafty people; bearing them in hand that they, by palmistry, could tell men's and women's fortunes; and so, many times by craft and subtlety, have deceived the people of their money and also have committed many heinous felonies and robberies to the great hurt and deceit of the people they have come among," Sec. This is the preamble to an act, by which

in

;

the Gipsies were ordered to quit the realm under

heavy penalties. Two subsequent acts, passed in l.j,> ) and 1563, made it death for them to remain in the kingdom, and to the disgrace of the legisit remains lature, upon record that thirteen were executed under these acts in the county of Suf;

folk, a

few years before the Restoration. expelled France in

The Gpsies were

1.560,

and Spain in 1591 but it does not appear that they have been exterpated in any country. Tbeir :

MARGARET PINCH.

34

numbers in every quarter of the glob* have been calculated at seven or eight hundred thousand. They are most numerous in Asia, and collective

in the northern parts of Europe. Various opinions have been given relative to their origin. That

they came from Egypt has been the most prevalent. This opinion, from which is derived their appellation of Gipsies, arose from some of the who arrived in Europe pretending that they

first

came from that country; which they did, perhaps, to heighten their reputation for skill in palmistry and the occult sciences. It is now generally agreed that they originally

came from

Hindostan since their language so far coincides with the Hindostanee, that even now, after a lapse of more than three centuries, during which ;

they have been dispersed in various foreign counnearly one half of their words are precise-

tries,

ly those of Hindostan is to

:

and scarcely any variation

be found in vocabularies procured from the

Gipsies

in

Turkey,

Hungary,

Germany

and

England. The manners of the Gipsies, for the most part coincide, as well

as their language, in evtry of the quarter globe where they are found; be-

ing the same idle, wandering race, -and seldom professing any ostensible mode of livelihood excqpt that of fortune-telling. Their religion ii always that of the country in which they reside, and though no great frequenters of mosques or churches, they generally conform to rites and ceremonies as they find them established. Grell-

MARGARET FINCH. man

35

History of the Gipsies, says, thai in Germany they seldom think of any marriage ceremony; but their children are baptized and the mothers churched. In England their children are baptized and their dead buried according to the rites of the church. Perhaps the marriage more regarded than in ceremony is not much in his

Germany, but

it is

certain that they are

some-

times married in churches. Upon the whole, as Grellraan says, the Gip" sies may certainly be regarded as a singular

phenomenon in Europe. For the space of between three and four hundred years, they have pandered about like pilgrims and strangers; yet neither time nor example has made any alteration in them. They remain in every age and in every country precisely what their fathers were. Africa makes them no blacker nor does Europe

whiten their complexions."

Among

this

Finch had the

extraordinary people, Margaret of Queen. She was born at

title

Sutton in Kent, in the year 1631, and after travelling over various parts of the kingdom, for nearly a century, she settled at Norwood, whither her great age and the fame of her fortunetelling talents attracted numerous visitors.

From

a constant habit of sitting on the ground

with her chin resting on her knees, generally with a pipe in her mouth, and attended by her dog, her sinews at length became so contracted, that she was unable to rise from Ui at posture. Accordingly, after her death, it faithful

2

MARGARET FINCH.

36

was found necessary to inclose her body in a deep, square box. She died in October, 1740, at the

Her remains were congreat age of 109 years. a in attended two hearse, veyed

by mourningKent, where a sermon was preached on the occasion to a great concourse of people who assembled to witness the! coaches, to

Beckenham

in

ceremony.

The picture of Margaret Finch adorns the sign of a house of public entertainment at Norwood, called the Gipsy-House, which is situated on a small green, in a valley, surrounded by woods. On this green, a few families of Gipsies

have pitched their tents for a great number of years in the summer season. In winter they either procure lodgings in the metropolis, or take up their abode in barns in some of the more

In a cottage adjoining the the Rev. Mr. Lysons, from, Gipsy-House, says whom these facts are principally taken, lives an distant

old

counties.

woman, grand-daughter, of Queen Marga-

She is niece to ret, who inherits her title. Queen Bridget, who was herself niece to Margaret Finch, and was buried at Duhvich in 1768. It does not appear that the Gipsies pay her any particular respect, or that she differs from the rest of the tribe in any other point than that of being a householder.

GEORGE HANGER.

FEW

characters better deserve

a

collection like the present than the

George Hanger. lars

of his

life

place in a

Honorable

the subjoined particunot exhibit so many or so

Though

may

extraordinary traits of eccentricity as we have already had occasion to introduce in some of our narratives, yet

it

should be recollected that there

are singularities which it is as impossible to describe, as it is for the painter to transfer to his canvas the rolling of the eyes, the play of the

muscles, or the sudden changes which take place in the hitman countenance under the influence

of pain or passion. With these deductions the life of George Hanger may perhaps appear

more strongly marked with profligacy and improvidence than with eccentricity ; but, at least, his example may afford a useful lesson to others,, to avoid the rocks of dissipation

on which

his

fortunes were wrecked.

Scarcely any private individual of the present day, is more universally known than George

Hanger ; nor can this be wondered at, for he himself informs us that " he was early introduced and often kept both good and bad company, associating with men and women of evny description and of every rank, from the highest into

.

life,

VOL.

3.

NO. 25.

N

GEORGE HANGER,

2

to the lowest, from St. James's to St. Giles's; in palaces and night-cellars., from the drawing-room

to the dust-cart."

George Hanger,,

who succeeded

is

the third son of Gabriel

honors of the Barony of the eccenColeraine. Speaking of his family, tric account of his life and adventures, he says, to the

i

mention hy what means his f( His sister Miss Anne married to was Hare, Lord Coleraine. Hanger But my father was not in the most distant degree Lord Colerelated to him, except by marriage. it

may he

well to

father obtained a peerage.

raine, however, dying without issue, or heir to the title, my father claimed it, with just as much

After right as the clerk or sexton of the parish. the same manner as Jupiter overcame the beautiful Danae did he prove an undoubted right to

and was created a peer of Ireland. A of lady high rank, and of no inconsiderable influin the days of that excellent king, George ence the second, is supposed to have been benefited the

title,

by one of those glistening showers." Our hero was born at his father's

seat in the

country, and was Berkshire. Here no persuasons could induce him to apply to his studies, and the consequence \vas first

sent to school at Heading, in

that his master had recourse

to severe

methods.

This gentleman, whose discipline was far from agreeable to young Hanger, is stigmatized by we cannot pretend to lu:ii, with what justice with the of brute, tyrant and savage. ay, epithets The following circumstances are adduced to

GEORGE HANGER.

3

Whenever he prove that he deserved them. found out that two of the higger boys had been to their shirts fighting, he caused them to strip in the public school-room. He then gave to each a rattancaneabout three feet long, and ordered them to strike at each other with all their force, when he presided with a similar weapon, and \vheneverthereappearecl to be a relaxation of activity in either of the unwilling combatants,

he compelled them by his own violent strokes, to renew theirs. Again, if a boy had not washed la is face very clean, lie used to have it rubbed with the coarsest hair-cloth that could be made. There is often .a greater portion of eccentricity in a man's opinions and way of thinking than :

in his actions.

By way

George Hanger, we

of illustrating those of quote his observations

shall

on the mode of treatment described above. " A
him when he

rights, his tutor

be ordered to give him a crown every battle he delivers, and half-a guinea if he is victorious and should he beat a boy much in the combat shall

:

bigger and older than himself, he shall receive a guinea. Yet at the same time he shall not be

encouraged to fight tor the sake of money to be awarded him, but only to resent injuries. Such instilled into him at an early age, I principles, am convinced will teach him, in maturer life, to resent insults

with a proper K 2

spirit,

but

will

not

GEORGE HANGER*

4

by any means dispose him to be quarrelsome. Take two boys of equal age and equal dispositions: let the one be kept under the master's eye and never out of his sight ; forbid him positively to fight,

and

let all

him be punished

those

his schoolfellows,

who let

strike

the other

or insult

mix with

severely and if struck or insulted, resent ;

the injury by the forinstantly delivering battle will contract and habits cowardly tyiannical

mer

which

will accompany and disgrace him through and the latter will be bold and liberal, but by no means more quarrelsome than his neigh-

life;

bors."

From Reading, young Hanger was removed on the representation of his brothers, and was then sent to the Rev. Mr. Fountain's at Mary3e-bone, where he was treated with great kindness and attention. At this early age his mis-

A

chievous disposition began to display itself. dentist used to attend at certain times to ex-

amine the

children's teeth.

He

of Hanger's which gave him

proposed

to

had drawn one great pain, and

on another, from approving. Findineffectual, he endeavored to

repeat the operation

which the owner was ing persuasion

far

effect his purpose -by artifice. instrument in his handkerchief

Concealing his he prevailed on

the boy to open his mouth, and permit him just was loose or not. No

to feel whether the tooth

sooner had he placed his thumb on George's lower jaw than he attempted to hold his mouth open by force, and had nearly fixed the instru-

GEORGE HANGER.

5

inent on bis tooth, when the youngster gave h'un a violent kick on the shins, which somewhat de-

ranged him and at the same instant caught his thumb fast between his teeth, and gave the operator a small item to remember him by as long as

he lived.

Eton was the next theatre of George Hanger's Here he made considerable p /ogress in studies. the Latin tongue, but to Greek he took such a decided aversion, that he never would learn it. From the moment he entered the fifth form, howHis ever, he studied every thing but his books. vacant hours in the day were employed in the sports of the field, being already very fond of his dog and gun. By night game of a different kind

Ovid's Epistles engrossed his whole attention. were totally laid aside, for his Art of Love, in which our student made considerable progress ;

and frequently did he

risk

his

neck

in

getting

over the roof of his boarding-house, to pass a few hours witlvsome favorite grisette of Windsor.

On

leaving Eton, young Hanger resolved to embrace the military profession, to which a Ger-

education was thought best adapted. He was accordingly sent to perfect himself in those

man

acquirements necessary for the career he had chosen at the celebrated university of Gottingcn iu

Germany. After a year's application to mathematics, fortification and the language of the country, he quitted Gb'ttingen for Hanover and Hesse Cassel., where he spent the remaining two years which

GEORGE HANGEK. he fassed on the continent, and formed an quaintance with

ac-

distinguished characters. Dining his residence abroad, he held a commission as ensign in the foot-guards, and manifested

many

the strongest attachment to the profession. Soon after his return to England, our hero was in an adventure which had well nigh been productive of fatal circumstances, and the very thought of which, he tells us, still fills him with alarm. It would considerably diminish the

engaged

interest of the narrative,

were we to relate

any other words than his own. " It was much the fashion very

it

in

in those days,"

" to walk on Sunday evenings during the summer in Kensington Gardens. They were

says he,

much crowded and

frequented by well-dressed particupersons of all ranks and descriptions. lar friend of mine came to me in the morning,

A

and desired that I would be in the garden that evening, as he had something particular to inension to me which he would impart when we met. 1 was there to my appointment, and joined him on the promenade. for asking

me

.p.xious to

He

then told

me

his reason

accompany him, was, that he have some conversation with a

to

would be in company \\it-h a female whrse attention to what rniuht pass be-

v.iio

frieml,

'.vished

me to divert by my

attention-

We

did not join them till near dusky when, drawing off from the public walk, -we pass< :d to that .--.irden, near to the palace, pa: to her.

Mhere

for':;

-

.

Iks

.vcre

bordered

GEORGE HANGER.

7

with very thick and high yew-hedges, which f trees and shrubbery behind them were

from the

rendered impervious to the view.

It

was almost

We

were dark, the night being much overcast. of the one at on some seats, when, garden sitting

we saw a man coming down the gravelThe women proposed getting up and re-

distance, \\alk.

tiring

by one of the small passages between the

yew-hedges into the shrubbery, lest the person, approaching us might know them. It was now half past nine at night; and my friend and the two ladies retired into the shrubbery. I stood before the opening of the yew-hedge, as this man came opposite to me on the gravel walk; and when he was at the distance of six or seven paces, he

wards

lire.

made I

a dead halt and faced about to-

spoke not a word for

at least

two or

three minutes, while he kept walking a few paces

backwards and fonvards, viewing me, and seeming as if he wished to see what was behind me.

At length, quitting the centre of the gravel-walk, lie advanced two or three paces nearer to me. It was then time decide to what I should high do. Bat before I proceed, it is necessary to mention, that I had very imprudently put my glove in my mouth to disguise my voice; for had I spoken to him in my natural tone, on perceiving could not be the person he sought after, he might have gone away. On his advancing, I again I

said Sir, you cannot pass this way upon which he immediately put his hand to his sword, nor did A dela/ 10 draw mine when I retired with"* :

;

GEORGE HANGER

8.

the narrow passage of the hedge, to make sure, he w#fc determined to force an entry, that I

if

should have the advantage of parrying a thrust from him, when he could not prevent my acting He immediately advanced close to against him. at .the hedge, with his sword half through it the same time grumbling inwardly, and absoluteI could ly snorting and blowing with anger. ;

have run him through the body with the greatest facility, in

which he was

;

the disadvantageous situation in but instead of acting, I said.: ' For

God's sake Sir, do not advance. You cannot want any thing of me. It is impossible that I should be the person you are looking for ; but I swear, if you advance one step farther, I will At this moment my friend came up kill you.' on one side of me, and in alow voice said ' My :

dear George, for God's sake don't kill him.' lit those days I was much in the habit of fencing^

and being very strong in the arm and wrist, I was ever prepossessed with an idea, that if I could, unobserved, change from the one side of my adon it, I versary's blade to the other, and beat should be certain of hitting the very best fencer. This was a favorite coup of mine ; and I now put it

in practice,

cess, that if

which

I

it

with such velocity, force and suchad not been for- the hedge, into

drove his sword, and

momc;U

in

which

it

was for

believe sincerely I should entangled, have forced it out of his hand. At, the instant i

a

I

beat upon his blade, slightly

opposing

my

I

made

sword

a gentle boUathim,, to his

body, and just

GEORGE HANGER.

9

pricked him, at which he started back a couple of paces. I never advanced, but kept my position within the hedge, knowing that, from the

advantage of it, I could do any thing with him I chose; and had he advanced again, I was resolved not to attempt to run him through the bedy, but to gather his blade arid attempt to disarm him-.

Notwithstanding of

feel the point

my having made him lightly my sword, he never spoke one

word, but stood snorting and puffing with rage. ' I then said: Sir, for God's sake go away; I do hurt you. You must be conscious could have run you through the body if I had been so disposed; let me therefore intreat

Kot wish to that

I

you to go away, I know you not nor can you want any thing of me or of any person with me.' At my solicitations and intreaties, he put up his sword, and walked back the same way he came, I watched him out of sight; but it may well be ;

credited I did not follow him.

what pleasure

I

must have

felt

Judge, reader,

when he AY as gone

!

Reflect only on my horrid situation Had I killed this man, one half at least of the censorious world, !

would have believed that my friend and I had If he had killed me, the conbeen very disagreable to would have sequences all the and women parties my friend, at all events must have come forward. During the conflict, a thousand horrors and fears rushed into my mind and unstrung my soul. As to the matter of 'a duel, had it been in day light with a second, I should not have thought more than others ou assassinated him.

;

GEOBGE HANGEH.

10

such an occasion, having fought three duels beI was twenty years old. i solemnly declare I

fore

was so dismayed,

that,

had

it

not been for disco-

women, and had I been there alone, to meet some kind fjir one, I should expecting have taken to my heels and have run away as fast vering the

as

my legs would

been

in

have carried me.

some disagreable situations

I

have certainly

in life since that

my days have 1 been so not possible for me to describe

period, but never in

alarmed:

it

is

suffered. To end this narrative my carwas riage waiting at the palace gate, and we walked down to the gardener's house, and pre-. vailed on him to let us out, for it was then past

what

ten.

were

I

We set

in

women

into the carnage, they at their own house not London,

put the

down

as may be \ve)l imagined, and my friend and I walked home rejoicing on having escaped so well

out of so ticklish a situation." After a few Jyears' enjoyment of everv O sratifiJ * life of pleasure, dissipation and ^

cation which a

extravagance could afford, Mr. Hanger, conceiving himself unjustly treated relative to a promotion, resolved, in spite

of the remonstrances of

his friends, to quit the guards,

an appointment

lie then solicited

one of the Hessian corps, that were raising for the British service in America, where the war of the revolution was commencing. in

His application was successful; the landgrave of Hesse sending him a captain's commission ill his corps of Jagers.

GEORGE HANGER.

11

Previous to his setting out for America, the extravagance of our captain had involved him in difficulties.

His

dress-clothes

in

one winter

cost him, as he informs us, nine hundred pounds, and for the same article only for one birth-day,

an expence of two hundred and never was fond of play, but sixty pounds. in the pleasures of the turf he indulged to a veHe accordingly found himself ry great extent.

he put himself

to

He

under the necessity of mortgaging an estate of about eleven hundred pounds per annum left him by his aunt Lady Coleraine, and soon after his departure for America, tile mortgagee procured it to be sold before a master in chancery by public

auction, but the produce of all his debts.

it

was not

suffi-

cient to discharge

In America Captain Hanger was employed

in

1

various critical services, in which he displayed great courage and address. By General Sir Henry Clinton he was appointed major in the British legion ; but in the progress of the armv under Lord Cornwallis to the upper parts of North

Carolina, he had the misfortune to sicken of the

yellow fever. This disease, added to the fatigue of travelling, reduced him to a perfect skeleton. He was so weak as to be unable to turn himself, but

was forced to be moved by his attendants when he wanted for ease to change his posture. In this miserable situation he Jay so long, first on one side then on the other and then on his back, that, as he assures us, the bones of his back and each hip came fairly through the skin. Pie had

GCORGE HANGER-.

12

then no posture to

lie in

but on his stomach with

The disorder at length pillows to support him. fell into his on which he began to recover, legs, it

though

was a considerable time before he could

dispense with the assistance of crutches. On the conclusion of the peace, Major

Han-

ger returned to Europe, and arrived in the Downs after an absence of nearly seven years. Previous to his

leaving America, he had

Mac Mahon

lonels Tarleton

and

rangement of

his affairs, as

he should wait at Calais matters stood in England.

till

empowered Coto attempt an ar-

it was agreed that he should hear how

Under these circum-

stances he experienced particular friendship from Mr. Richard Tattersall, who not only invited

him

to

make

his

house his home, but promised

to discharge any debts be unable to pay.

He now

which he himself might

determined to return to England. The

prince of Wales had by this time launched into public life, and Major Hanger was one of the jovial characters

He

whom

he selected

for his asso-

conferred on him the appointment f equerry ,with a salary of three hundred pounds a year, which, however, Hanger lost on the retrenchments that were afterwards made in ciates.

also

the houshold of his royal highness.

\Ye

shall subjoin principally in his

own words

an account of the remainder of the chequered career of George Hanger. The mixture of singularity

and good sense that prevails

in

many

of

HAN-GETSr

3-tiO-RG.E

his ideas

and expressions cannot

1$

fail to

strike the

re a tier.

" the England/* says he, contested election for Westminster, (Fox, flood and Wray candidates) took place. The walking " The year

I

came

to

and Stewart, the Abyssinian Bruce who has feasted on steaks cut from the rump of a living ox and various others, who, in their extensive travels, have encountered wild beasts, serpents and crocodiles; breakfasted and travellers Spiliard

;

mouth of a volcano

toasted muiiins at the

the leavings of a lion

dead '

alligator

whom

hanquet with joy on or tiger or the carcase of 'a

hunger has compelled

to

who can

hoast of

smoking

'the

pipe of peace with the Little Carpenter and the Mad Dog on having lived in terms of the strict-

intimacy with the Cherokees, the Chickasaws, the Chuctaws, and with all the aivs and ees e est

that

immense continent

who from

the

more

temperate shore of the Mississippi have extended their course to the burning soil of India, and- to the banks of the Ganges, from the Frozen Ocean,. to the banks of the more genial Po, may boast, their experience of the

world and their know--

ledge of human life ; but no one, in my opinion,, has seen real life, or can know it, unless he has

taken an active part in a contested election for Westminster. In no school can a man be taught a better lesson of human life. There can

he view human nature in her basest attire; riot,; murder and drunkenness are the order of the day VOL. 3. xo. 25. o

GEORGE HANGER.

*

and bribery, and'purjury, walk hand-in-hand for bad no pretensions to vote, were to be ;

men who found

and

in the

Garden

at a very

A gentleman,

in as

great plenty as turnips,

moderate rate were induced

to poll*

make

himself of any considerable use to either party, must possess a number of to

engaging, familiar and condescending qualities: he must help a porter up with his load, shake

bands with a fish-woman,

pull

hU

hat off to an

a ballad-singer and be famioyster-wench, liar with a beggar. If, in addition to these amiable qualities, lie is a tolerably good boxer, can the evening drink a play a good stick, and in kiss

of all sorts of liquors in going the rounds pailful to solicit voters at their various clubs, then, in-

deed, he is a most highly finished and useful agent. In all the above accomplishments and sciences,

except drinking, which

have

I

never was fond

the vanity to believe that

than

of

I

my any perfection ** I should be ungrateful indeed, if testify

my

thanks

of,

I

arrived nearer to

rivals.

I

did not

to those ga'.lant troops of

high

.rank and distinguished fame, the knights of the the black-diamond knights (the Irish strap and chairmen and coal- heavers) who displayed so

At. bravery and attachment to our cause. that time I formed a great intimacy with them

much

which has continued to this day between us, for I never forget my old acquaintances whenever I meet them, or look upon my old friends with a new face, which js too much, in general, the custom of the world."

fcEQRGE HANGER-.

1;5

For some years Major "Hanger was employed in raising recruits for the East India Company,, an occupation the armual profits of which he About the same states at six hundred pounds. time that he

lost

his

salary

as equerry to the of this source of

prince, he was also deprived income, in consequence of a change which the ' in the whole sysgovernment thought fie to make Jem of recruiting for die Company's army in? India*

By

the sudden privation of these resources the lie w^as reduced to the greatest distress,

major now began gradually

measure his steps towards the King's ^Bench. In June, 1-708, he surrendered at that prison, where he remained till April the year following,

when

to

a considerable

sum of mo-

ney gained by a family lawsuit enabled him to He eome to a composition with his creditors. declares that in " those blessed regions of rural retirement," he never spent more than three shillings

on any one day, being of opinion that

a prisoner for

de-bt

should not squander

money

and being likewise determined to ascertain how cheap a gentleman could live/ and yet want for nothing necessary to his maintenance.

Long before his surrender to the King's Bench, made repeated applications to be. em-

the major

ployed on active service. He also proposed to form a corps from the convicts, shewing how they might be provided for after the war, without He sug"being turned adrift again in the world. gested the permission for the militia to enlist into o 2

-

CEO ROE HANGER.

J<3

the regiments of the line two years before the act for that purpose took place; and likewise presented a proposal for drafting one thousand volunteers,, at a small bounty, from the militia and trailing them in the use of the rifle-gun, a science which he has

made

his study

ever since

be was sixteen years old. Finding every channel-shut up to his solicitations for employment, the major resolved to apply himself to trade and in the year 1800 comIt was reported that inenced coal-merchant. be received a certain commission, on sitch orders as he might procure, but he himself informs us that he was allowed by a generous friend a yearly salary,

with prudence, to keep him.

sufficient,

from want. of his own

He

thus exemplified an observation " in so that, large a capital as London,

gentleman be tiot too proud to follow various occupations, he may very readily and with no

if a

great trouble, find some employment, which will prevent him' from falling into the miseries of want,

although the

produce

business he undertakes

sufficient

emolument

to place

may not him

in

an

nfriuent situation,"

In 1801 appeared a whimsical work in two crtavo volumes, from the pen of our hero, en" titled the Life, Adventures and Opinions 'of ^Colonel George Hanger." performance, destitute of

all

Into this desultory order, method or

regularity, he has introduced divisions containing Advice 'to the Prelates and Legislators how to

f{

correct the Fm morality

and Jacobinism of the

SAMUEL STRETCH.

17

present age, and at the same time to increase the

Advice to the lovely Cyprians,, and to the fair sex in general how to pass their lives in future to their better satisfaction, and to enjoy ."Revenue

with discretion the three cardinal virtues

Ob-

servations on

matrimony, compulsive wedlock, and polygamy-^ On the misery of female prostitution The History of the Lovely .ZE^yptia, the Pamela of Norwood and paragonof the ^Egyptian race; the author's marriage with her, and her cruel infidelity and elopement with a travelling

And a History of the King's Bench Prison, written by the author during his custody under the marshal of that prison, descriptive of Tinker

the miseries endured by the prisoners, and the extravagant expence incident to their confine-

ment."

To

work, in which some good grains are scattered certainly through a large proportion of chaff, we are indebted for the foregoing particulars this

of- this

remarkable character; but we have been

careful to exclude every thing that savored of a spirit

of romance, which he seems on some occa-

He announces his to indulge. intention of presenting the public with a third

sions inclined

\olume, but

it

has not yet

made

its

appearance.

SAMUEL STRETCH, IN the catalogue just ice be

of eccentric misers may. with

ranked Mr. Samuel Stretch, who died

a Madeley in Staffordshire, on the 15th

o 3

.of

No-

SAMUEL

18

vember,

1

804.

STTlE*TCtt.

He was a

native of

DrnvMarket-Drav

ton, in Shropshire, and the early part of his life was spent as a private in 'the army, in which ca-

pacity he experienced some service, in fighting the battles of his country. He long resided in an obscure dwelling at Madeley, into which he had not for many years

previous to his death admitted either male or female; and this habitation was a scene of perfect

About fifteen years before he a of coals, part of which he left load purchased His chief employment at the time of his death.

Wretched ness.

was

go round to the neighbouring towns, carrying letters and parcels, and performing any little commissions with which his neighbours might entrust him. His person bespoke the most to

abject penury; he usually appeared in an old slouched hat and tattered garments, scarcely sufficient to

bung on a

little

cover his nakedness, with a ragged bag his shoulder

parsley or

in

which he mostly carried

some other kind of her.b, the These he generally

produce of his garden.

where and when accepted

offered as a present at the different places

he had business lie

to transact,

took care to deal them out with a very sparing This shew of generosity, together with

hand.

and conversatipn, usually On searching tenfold return.

his eccentric address

produced him a

his tattered satchel, after his death,

to contain

it

was found

old bones, soles of shoes, pieces of articles of the like kind which he

'paper and collected

3

m

his

peregrinations,

His

'CHARLES MARTIN,

19

stock of linen consisted only of two old shirts and a pair of sheets', though several articles of

were found in his hut. His death was occasioned by a violent cold, brought on by his falling into a ditch in a state silver plate

of intoxication. In consequence of his penurious disposition, he had amassed a considerable sum of money, exclusive of a loss of 500/.

which he experienced some years before.

He

purchase an additional bell 'for !the church of Madeley, and an annual salary for part of

'left

it

to

the

it

to

be rung every nigh Vat nine o'clock during at eight in winter; a

autumn months, and

chandelier for the church

;

a

bell for

the use of

the free school; five pounds per annum towards the salary of the organist of that place; a like

sum

Drayton a farther sum and repairing the alms-house of Madeley, and clothing and educating two poor children, until of a proper age to be put apprentice, and to his relations two shillings and six-pence each. for the organist of

;

to be applied to the enlarging

CHARLES MARTIN. IN

the present state of society, the total and voluntary seclusion of an individual from the -rest

of his fellow creatures,

may

justly be consi-

dered as a very extraordinary circumstance. A resolution so unnatural can alone be accounted

20

CHARLES

MAE.TS--X.

by the supposition, of a mind highly diseased* and whose propensity to melancholy aiid misan-

for

thropy

is

strengthened by the injuries, real or im-

aginary, which a person has to endure on the part of his fellow-men. If farther demonstration of the justice of this opinion were wanting, it would he fully confirmed by the following particulars concerning the recent discovery of a savage man in the island

of Jamaica.

In the month of January 1S07, Mr. Win-. Weston of St. Ann's Bay was informed that awild, white

wich-Park

man, residing in the woods of Greenhad interrupted the negroes in

estate,

the cultivation

of their provision-grounds, or

when, engaged in other employments. On en. quiry Mr. Weston- found that the residence of this recluse in the woods had not been a secret, but that some late depredations which he had .committed induced the sufferers to complain. It appeared that he occasionally molested the feslaves but always ran away from the men. This intelligence induced Mr. Weston to send out a party with a guide who knew his haunts.

male

x

The

party divided, with a view to surround his hut; and in the deepest recesses of the woods they discovered him sitting on the projecting

He attempted to escape by. point of a rock. but after a short pursuit was overtaken, and secured. He was naked, excepting the scantlight,

ty remains of a doublet; his beard had attained the utmost point of its growth; his feet and

hands were callous

as leather, his

skin

was

dis-

.

'CHARLES MARTIN.

21'

filth, and altogether he exhibited the most ImfnHiating object that anachoretical

colored with

debasement can possibly furnish. When taken he affected to be dumb, but Mr. 'Weston afterwards obtained from him the foltils' name is Charles M:u*tin. lowing particulars in Piedmont, where his fa'Nice He was born at ther is a wine-merchant. He was himself tducated at Caen in Normandy, and some years ago :

kept a store at Port-au-Prince in the island of He imagined that he had been St. Domingo.

two or three years in the "woods, which he entered at PortMaria, thirty miles distant from the During that inplace where he was discovered. terval he

had never seen a white

habitation and

>fi'!

enjoyed why he

shrugged

hands, as

'his

.

tv it'll

:

.

,

d

poss;

as u

e

IK

trived to escape.

tunity of being victuals set

:<\>me."

;

ul

!

i

i.

ing celerity 'towards

>r lio

v rpose of

t'u:

objr

t'ue

:d

to-'

whi'.'ii

and

cloihing,

rconnclence. \\

;

retire-i ibi fit

cordial

.ipioyed to dispel

iijjprfiifnsioi^ftjir! tr

Weston

A

him, on

,

he r?p!ted '*< THe was pr6v%

society, up his

ed

caution not

rtte

!

him

;u-d

,

the act of adoration.

if in

were, howev

human

'

si-

was given to him "but drink much.

all

or a

f;erfe'

'

'

I>lc
far* 3

!

S0 oner

his

They had Mr.

lecommenJing

hospital, than he con-

watched

for

an oppor-

cd,

when he

ILK!

ran off with amaz-

woods.

The

seized

dosjs

the

were

,

CHARLES MARTIN.

.

alarmed and pursued him but as they approached, he threw down pieces of meat to divert their ;

attention,

found his

and

to

check

their course.

When

he he sud-

efforts

denly stopped

to escape unavailing, and ran to his pursuers.

he was expostulated with, on

When

want of confidence after the kind treatment he had experienced, he shook his head, heaved a deep sigh and said " Man is my enemy; I am afraid." Tie was now sent to the hospital, where a room was assigned him; he was kindly treated and in-, his

:

dulged with an extra allowance of food

:

but so

incorrigibly savage were his habits, that what civilized man considers as comfort was to him in-

On the night of the 2d of tolerable insipidity. February he made his escape through a small aperture in the wall of the apartment in which he was confined, leaving not a vestige by which to

trace his flight.

A

fortnight afterwards, he was found by accident, in the centre of a cane piece, about half a mile from the hospital, surrounded with cane trash, the refuse of his subsistence.

He

had

di-

vested himself of the incumbrance of dress, and had, for fourteen- days, been exposed to the in-

clemency of the weather, which the island

is

peculiarly severe at

in that part of

that season of

His appearance was squalid and exthe year. tenuated ; and although perfectly naked, he apand peared before numbers of people unabashed, with an unblushing composure of countenance,, which evinced that the sense of shame in. him was

CHARLES MARTIN,

23

He was re-conch.cted to entirely extinguished his old quarters, and asked in what manner he He

lived.

more than cupied slept

;

ans.vered, that he hud never moved a few yards from the spot lie first oc-

that he ate

weU (although

two canes daily that he had unsheltered, and nightly ex;

"

the peltings of the pitiless storm;") posed to and that he felt himself happy, because he was safe. Being asked whether lie would abide in

the Court of the Hospital, were liberty,

he said

he allowed his

make no promise.

he would

When he was questioned \\liy he had deserted the comforts of society, to submit to the privations of a savage^and solitary life, he eagenv replied, that the very sight of

mankind pave him

pain.

The

intellects of this

to be sound,

tance.

He

unhappy being appeared though he spoke with great relucwrites a legible hand, and speaks

Norman dialect with great fluennot cy. improbable that some imminent peril which may have threatened' his life, reduced French

in the

It is

him

present situation, for he seems to be with a notion that he is reserved for possessed some ignominious death and neither the kindto his

;

ness nor the encouragement he has received has been able to eradicate this impression, which seems to be indelible. He is a well made man, has blue eyes, and is about five feet eight inches in height. On examining the hut which was his former habitation, in the woods,

it

was found to be

fa-

JOHN ANGELL,

24

ES<*.

shioned >jke an Indian wigwam. Around it v, growing thirteen Alicada pear plants, and from the size of the largest, it was interred that his residence there must have exceeded two years, which corresponded with his own account of the

time he had spent in this solitary abode. He had contrived^ subterraneous kitchen with great ingenuity, and his habitation was surrounded with springes to catch birds, one of which, when he was discovered, he had prepared for his breakfast, lie

had farther exercised

his talents in the

fabrica-

and what appeared particularly remarkable, no iron, not even a knife was found in his possession.

tion of various kind of baskets,

It

is

to be

hoped that the endeavors of those

around him to reconcile

this child

the enjoyments of social

life,

of sorrow to

may

ultimately

prove successful, and that the remainder of his days may compensate for the afflictions, which., it. has probably been his lot to experience.

JOHNANGELL, IT

ESQ.

appears doubtful whether the singularities of (with a complete account of whose

Mr. Angell,

life we regret that we cannot present the reader^ proceeded more from a natural eccentricity of disposition, or were the effect of an unfortunate cir

cumstance

in

which he was involved.

Mr. Angell was educated

at the imiwp&ity of.

JOHN ANGELL, ESQ.

,

25

Oxford, and was designed for holy orders; but on the death of his elder brother, becoming heirapparent to considerable estates in the counties of Suny, Sussex, Kent and Berkshire, he had no occasion to seek the emoluments of a profes-

On succeeding to the paternal properly, resided at Binfield in Berkshire, and here the

sion. lie

affair happened which is*supposed to have operated with such powerful influence on his mind during the remainder of his life.

Suspecting by mistake a boy in his neighborhood, of having stolen one of his dogs, he charged him with the theft but the boy denied it, sau;

cily affirming that the

animal was his own.

An-

gry words followed, and Mr. Angell was irritated

to

such

blows, but not

a,

degree,

at length as to strike several

so violent as

to endanger the a in few weeks seized however, boy's with a fever, which proved fatal and after the funeral, a report prevailing that his death was occasioned by the chastisement he, had received life.

He was,

;

from Mr. Angell, the body was taken up, an inquest was held by the coroner, and a verdict extremely unfavorable to Mr. Angell was returned

To avoid the horrors of a conlong; finement he retired into Wales, but surrendered himself at Reading on the first day of the ensuby the jury.

ing assizes. The trial lasted eight hours, and a verdict of guilty was returned by the jury con-, trarytothe opinion of the judge, who declared himself perfectly satisfied that the deceased died

a natural death.

VOL, in.

NO.

He, of course, 25,

p

directed tbeju-

JOHN ANGELL, ESQ.

26

ry to re-consider their verdict, and by the second verdict the prisoner was Duracquitted.

ing

this tedious

and alarming

state of suspense,

Mr. Angell was observed to be much distressed and agitated, and a variety of circumstances proved that the incident made a strong and lasting impression on his mind. Two servants who lived with him many years, never remembered his having mentioned either Binfield* or Berkshire, and as often as his estate there obliged him to vithat county, they could always perceive him to be more uneasy and ill tempered than when he was at Stockwell or Temple Ewell. In his will he appears to have purposely avoided mentioning his estate at Binfield, and it is observable, that

sit

Berkshire

is

not specified

from which the fellows of

among

.the

counties

his intended college

might be chosen. Mr. Angell married the eldest daughter of Sir John Gresham, Bart, of Titsey, a truly excellent woman, who died some years before him, and

whose days were probably shortened by her union with a man of a temper so capricious, perverse and morose. Among the many peculiar and unaccountable whims which were discernible in him, the following are particularized. For years he was not known to open a letter himself. As long as Mrs. to her, Angell lived, all his letters were carried and when she had read them, she laid them up-

on the

floor of the

ally sat.

room where her husband usu-

After her decease, a female servant was

JOHN ANGELL, ESO. employed

to

open them, and

the floor; and he constantly read

27

them on them on his knees,

to place

without taking them into his hand.

The

solici-

who

transacted business for him, was not allowed to enter his apartment, but received in-

tor

structions at the door, without seeing his principal.

He

was very abstemious

drinking more than some davs not any.

in

his diet,

never

three glasses of wine, and on

To

stronger liquors he pro-

bably had an aversion, but on one day, and only one in the year he would have a small glass of spirits, which, however, he only slightly tasted.

He

never associated with any of the neighboring gentlemen, and it was not often that Mrs. An-

was permitted to receive visitors. Possibly she might not wish to be more frequently gratified with this indulgence, becau-e as the parlors

gell

were at a small distance, it rarely happened that it was not followed by a rebuke, not couched in the gentlest language. The complaint was, that his head was disturbed by the noise of the ladies Nevertheless, no sooner talking over their tea.

was Mrs. Angell removed from him by death, than he became sensible of the irreparable loss he had sustained. After an interval of three years he was often known with tears in his eyes to bewail his being deprived of her, and in his will her as a Christian co?isort.

he just-

ly describes

To judge from his will, of which some extracts are subjoined, and from his conduct, his notions of law and equity must have been very confused. Creditors were not seldom obliged to recover just p-2

JOHN A,NGELL,

8

ESQ.

debts by legal process, and one of the arrests to \vhich he submitted, wason a Good Friday, when

he was coming out cf Lambeth -Church. officers followed

way home

The

him

into his carriage, but ia the he ordered the coachman to stop, and

bailiffs, he walked to his- banker's where he either discharged the debt London,

escorted by the in

or found security.

Mr. Angeil

much

is reported to have employed of his time in reading books of law and

Fiom. some expressions which he dropped., his wife was apprehensive lest he should be converted to the Romish religion ; but as he constantly received the sacrament on controversial divinity.

the three principal festivals in his parish church, it

may

through

fairly life,

a

be inferred

that

he continued,

member of the church of England.

The dress and equipage of Mr. Angeil, were not among the least striking of his singularities; In giving directions for the dress of the fellows of his intended college, he seems to have had his own apparel in his thoughts, doubtless conceiving ccut, in

to be very becoming and genteel. His the cut of which he never conformed

it

to any change of fashion, was of cloth of the highest color, and there was an edging of gold lace to his hat.

His wig was made of

hair of a

flaxen hue, and thick set with small curls in eveHis coach, a curious ry part except the crown.

was surmised on tradition to have been built, when Mr. Angell's father was high sheriff cf Berkshire; but the materials were so durable xeiic,

JOHN ANGELL,

ESO.

2$

and so substantially framed, that the son every sumtravelled in it to and from Temple Ewell, near

mer

Its antique figure was very remarkable, Dover. and on the Kentish road it acquired the appellation of Angell's Ark. Mr. Angell died in 1784, His will was made

dated September 21st In It contains many curious clauses.

ten years

1774.

before, being

that which relates to his funeral

is

a ridiculous

minuteness of direction, which affords a remarkable instance of human weakness and vanity extending beyond the grave. It is as fallows " Imprimis, I resign myself wholly to God almighty. Item, I would be interred in the man:

ner following I would be wrapped in a woolleri sheet only; then without a shroud, be put into a leaden coffin, which shall riot be soldered :

down, but only screwed. On this coffin shall be a large plain inscription on lead, expressing who 8cc. Then to be put into a black cloth cofwith usual ornaments only I would have a plate of copper or brass, instead of su h as is

I

am,

fin,

;

usually put.

Then

be well engraved the

shall

family coat of arms, properly blasoned and as I now bear, with- a full inscription in Latin> as this:

John, the son of John and Caroline, gui'coufsortern habuit carimmam, &c. I desire ttf lie open, in

my chamber so long

as

I

decently

mav

;

after-

about a fortnight, or rather above, ward, would be carried to Crowhurst (a village near Battle, in Sussex) k> a hearse with six horsesin

Pressed properly with shields, and escutcheons

*

a

JOHN ANGELL,

3O but no other

trifling shall follow with one

ESQ.

ornaments.

My own cor.ch

footman he hind it, and one and besides, two mourning coachriding before; es only, 'with six horses, in one of which I would have my executors or near friends, in the other my maid servants. I would desire the tenants, and neighbors of Crowliurst, and in that neighborhood, would meet me at the hottom of Uidcllesdowne, as usual heretofore; and they are to have there gloves and hat-bands. And I would desire

as

such of the neigbors

before me,

in

and about StockwelJ,

me

that regard, to ride two by two as far as the farther end of Croydon,

would shew

accordingly to have gloves and hat-bands. And my will and desire that if the college and

it is

chapel which

I

intend to erect be finished and

gentlemen and the chaplain and miand the whole choir, afterwards the servants of the college, atten<]on foot to the top of Brixton Causeway, singing as they proceed some settled, the nister,

proper

hymn

or

anthem

as shall be appointed oil

the occasion."

The

clause by which he bequeaths his estates, affords an endless source of litigation, and has

perpetuated the

name of Angell

in

Westminster

Hull, and in the records of assize in the counties It thus begins: in which he possessed estates. ff such there be), I give to the male heirs, (if any of William Angell> the first purchaser of Crowgreat grandfather, John lands A"gell, and their beirs male for ever, all my

Lurst, and father of

autl

elates/ &c,

my

He

thea makes a

JOHN AN CELL, ES>.

3f

in favor of the heirs male (if prolix provisions remote branches of the family; in other of any) case no heir he found to the said William Angel!.

provision of this clause is par" One chief worthy of observation:

The concluding ticularly

condition, besides what I have mentioned is, I would have Stockwell or Crowhurst made the

chief residence of the farryly.

my

will is, that

all

things

And

particularly

at Stockwell,

where

I chiefly now inhabit, be kept at least for one season as they are, and no alteration made in the housekeeping or expences thereof, nor ever after

any servant put away without good reason, or any tenant or agent removed, or put out of their bargains without due consideration and special reasons. And it is my desire, will, and order, that no oak, elm or ash, or any timber tree on any of the estates he lopped or cut down till it be of the growth of four load of timber round measure,

full

of its boughs shall be manidecayed and rotten ; and it is my desire that no fir-tree whatsoever, that is timber or near it, without a particular reason for 'it, shall unless a fourth part

festly

be cut down or destoyed so long as it will stand ; nevertheless any timber, except fir, muter forty feet in measure, may be felled and taken for repairs and buildings on the estate on which it grows." It has been observed that in 1738, there were standing at the bottom of the garden then be-

longing to Mi*. Angell in the Wash way, near Stockweli Lane by Bj'ixton Causeway, some

32 ]o\v trees,

JOHN ANGELL, ES. perfectly straight, several yards taller;

and their circumference much larger than that of anv mast.

The

following clause bespeaks a character devoid of be nevolence if I give to all my vants that came to me since 175 1/ ai) d staid whole year, and did not g;o. away abruptly, or :

not ser-

one

put .away for any misdemeanor, 5/f and to all that served three years or upwards, 10/; and to such as married

and went away with

my

consent and

approbation, 10/; and 5/. to each of their children. Item, I give to all my servants mourning."

Besides some trifling charitable legacies, 1o the poor of Stockwell, he makes provision for the building and endowment of a college at that

He gives to the archbishop .of Canterthe lord chancellor, and the archbishop of bury, York for the time being 100/. per annum, out place.

his estate at Ewell ; 100/. per annum out of of his estate at Lambeth; SoOl. per annum out of the collections of the Spurn Lights at Newcastle and 250/. out of the light-houses at Sunder-

of

]and in trust, to be paid half-yearly without any deduction," for the maintaining a college or society of seven decayed or unprovided-for gentle-

men, that shall be such by th-r.ee descents, and two clergymen, an organist, six singing inea, and twelve choristers, and a verger or chapel clerk; also three domestic servants, viz. a butler,

baker and groom. One of the gentlemen may have been a merchant. They shall be called th

JOHN ANGElL,

33

,'.

John's College, near Stockwell. of the seven gentlemen shall be styled pre-

gentlemen of

One

ESQ.

St.

and shall be superior to the rest the gentlemen and the two clergymen shall eat together, and the charges of their board and liquors each sident,

;

shall come to about '261. yearly for their clothing, which' shall be of light-Colored cloth, shall be and for a hat with a narrow gold yearly allowed, This it should be observed was o'L" lace/about the dress Mr. Angell himself usually wore. ;

^

He then

from which the

specifies the counties are to be chosen. These 'are Surry,

gentlemen Kent, Northampton, Somerset, Sussex, Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, Lincoln, Northumberland, Staf* ford, Salop,

Herts,

Leicester,

Bedford,

Cam-

and one out of bridge, Backs and Worcester; the counties of Brecknock, Carmarthen uiid

Carnarvon

in

Wales.

He

leaves GOOOl. to build the college in the middle of a piece of ground at Stockwell called

The sum of 1500/. out of the above GOOOl. he appropriates to the erection of the chapel, to be of stone 60 feet by 40. The middle part of the mansion to be for the apartments of the gentlemen and clergymen, four on

Burden Bush.

each

and one in the centre for the presibrick covered with stone on each side a house for the singing men, at the end of which on the south side, is to stand a house where they are to eat together, under which is to be a cellar; at the east end the office, an^ at the side,

dent, built with

;

JOHN ANGELIC

34 other

end the

organist's

ESO.

apartment and

the

the out offices, and stables on school; behind, the north side against the hall and chapel. On all

surplice days divine service to be performed according to the pattern of the best ordered cathedrals. If not built in his life-time, the buildall

ing to be

set

about immediately after his inter-

ment; and if in times to come this college should ever be dissolved by "government, the revenues are to revert to the possessor of his estates. He assigns as a motive for this foundation, that for

the good of the public a society should be established, in which there should always be patterns of piety and of genteel behavior.

These extracts from Mr. Angell's

will

certainly

betray great eccentricity, especially as it can scarcely be supposed that he was nnapprized of the laws enacted to restrain alienations in mort-

main.

It

should seern that he, at times, really

flattered himself that

his darlinginstitution

;

he might live to complete he not only mentions, aswe

have seen, the field where the buildings were to be erected;" but, it has been said, that he traced the ground-plot of some of them and had procured stones from a northern county for the chapel.

The propensity of Mr. Angell

to litigation,

and

his disposition to perpetuate suits at law after his decease, appear from the clauses of his will that to be reserved out enjoin large sums of money and of his estates appropriated to that use*

He

JOHN ANGELL,

ESQ.

35

directed that 100/. a year should be applied to regain the estate at Crowhurst, withheld from

him by mortgage contrary to all equity, and JOG/. a year to cancel and extinguish the demand upon the Spurn Light; and his successors were never to desist from their attempts to accomplish both He likewise took the most effecthese points. means to entail law-suits upon them by his random devise of his estates to the heirs male tual

.

It might not, (if any) of his remote ancestors. however occur to him that he would give occasion to a combination of projectors to try to be-

nefit themselves by supporting the claims of persons not in circumstances to defray the charges of a contest, and who might not, in fact be relat-

ed to the

which has actually been the in Chancery relative to his will is yet undetermined, and the foundation of the college at Stockwell has never been carried event.

testator,

A law-suit

into effect.

36

WILLIAM EVANS. MR. WILLIAM EVANS

wa^ upwards of

for-

ty years the principal clerk in the prothonotary's office for the counties of

Anglesey, Carnarvon, and Merioneth and was well known to all counsel and practitioners for his eccentricity of character. His death took place in February, 1795, in the

75th year of his age. He had been spending the evening previous to that event with a few boon companions, one of whom is said to have had recourse to that mistaken joke, that bastard species of wit, an infusion of jalap in the beverage,

which operated so powerfully on the constitution of poor Evans, that he literally died of a diarrhrea. Among other peculiarities, he was ft sort of epicure in wigs and walking-sticks! and for many years back had been so laborious in enlarging both his wiggery and stickery, that he left a com-

petent number for the heads and hands of all the ancient gentlemen of taste in the principality. In the early part of his life he felt a tender passioa for three amiable fair ones, and, as an abundant

proof of the warmth of his attachment, even till death, he left among other curious bequests, to

each of these virgin

pullets

both wisdom and sup-

port, namely, a wig and ^.walking-stick.

WILLIAM HOGARTH.

THIS

great and original genius

was descendHis had three sons,

ed from a family settled in Westmoreland.

grandfather, a plain yeoman, the youngest of whom,, after keeping a school in the country, went where he resumed

at an

early age to London, former occupation. He married in London, and one of the fruits of this union, was the celebrated William Hogarth,

who was .born Though himself,

his

in 1698.

the father was a

man of some

learning

he does not seem to have been anxious

same qualification. His outwas not the most promising. He was bound apprentice to a silversmith, to learn the single branch of engraving arms and cyphers on

to give his son the set in life

metal, but before his time was expired he felt that the impulse of his genius directed him to painting.

This was manifested on various occa-

One Sunday, he

set out with two or three on an excursion to Highgate, and companions the weather being hot, they went into a public house,\vhere they had not been long before a quarrel arose between some persons in the same room.

sions.

One of the disputants struck the other on the head with a quart pot, and cut him very much, The blood running down the man's face, together with the agony of the wound, which had VOL. in NO. 26. o .

\\JLLIAMttOGAHTIl.

il

distorted his features into a

most hideous

grin,

Hogarth, who seemed

thus early to he presented of the which Nature intended him path apprised 10 pursue, with too laughable a subject to he overlooked. He took out his pencil, and on the

This spot produced a most ludicrous figure. piece was the more valuable, as it exhibited an exact likeness of the man, with the portrait of his antagonist, and the figures in caricature of the principal persons collected round them.

His apprenticeship had no sooner expired, than he entered into the academy in St. Marf< tin's Lane,, and studied drawing from the life, in " he never which," as Mr. Walpole observes, It was character, attained to great excellence. the passions, the soul, that his genius was given, In coloring he proved no greater to copy.

him

master

:

his force lay in

expression, not in tints

and chiaro scuro."

At

this

period of his

life

Hogarth was doomed

to experience the distresses which never fail to result from the union of indigence and ambition.

While be was laying

the foundation of his future

all the contempt celebrity, he was exposed to said that, being is It can that penury produce. one day at a loss for so trifling sum as twenty

shillings, in

who her

order to be revenged of his landlady

strove to

compel him and

u> ugly as possible,

to

payment, he dre\v

in that single portrait

gave marks of the dawn of superior genius. Unlike many who are desirous of burying in oblivion the scantiness of their early fortunes,

Ho-

W

I

L LI

AM HOGARTH.

3

garth was always fond of contrasting the necessities youth, with tire affluence of his ma-

oh^

"

ture r age. ((

when

remember the

I

time/' he would say

have gone moping into the city without a shilling in my pocket; hut as soon as I had I

received ten guineas there for a plate, I have returned home, put on my sword, and sallied out again with all the confidence of a man, who had ten thousand pounds in his pocket. Hogarth began business on his

about

17'20.

Kis

first

own account

employment appears

to

have been the engraving of arms and shop-bills. He next agreed to design and furnish plates for booksellers, but except a set of plates, executed in 17^6 for a duodecimo edition of Hiufibras,

none of

his

early productions

could claim the

least notice.

On

however, Hoof pora and garth painter, painter man traits fora ill-suited the mo.st employment whose turn certainly was not flattery, and whose talents were not adapted to look on vanity withthe success of those

plate.s,

commenced

out a sneer.

Yet

his

facility in

catching a like-

ness, and the method he chose of painting families and conversation picccsin small, then a novelty,

drew to him a prodigious business for .some time. This however did not continue, cither because he resolved to follow the

real bent of his disposior his customers tion, apprehended that a satirist was too formidable a confessor for the votaries

of self love.

4

ILL!

AM HOGARTH.

custom to sketch out on the any remarkable face which particularly struck him, and of which he wished to preserve the remembrance. A gentleman being once in his company at the Bedford Coffee House, Covent It \vas las

Garden, observed him drawing something with a pencil on his nail. Enquiring what had been the artist's employment, he was shewn a whimsical miniature of the countenance of a person who was then at a small distance. In the early part of Mr. Hogarth's life, it happened that a nobleman who was uncommonly ugly and deformed, came to sit to him for his picIt was executed with a skill that did hoture.

nor to the

artist's abilities

;

but the likeness was

rigidly observed, without the slightest attention

to

compliment or

flattery.

The

peer, disgusted

at this counterpart of his dear self, never entertained an idea of sending for a reflector, that

would only

him with his deformities. The some time to elapse before he ap-

insult

artist -suffered

plied for his

money

;

but afterwards

made many

unsuccessful applications for payment. At length he contrived an expedient, which alarmed the

nobleman's pride, and thus answered

He

sent

him the following card

;

his purpose.

" Mr.

Ho-

; finding that garth's dutiful respects to Lord heroes not mean to have the picture which was. drawn for him, is informed again of Mr. H's

necessity for the

money

ship does not send for

it

;

if,

therefore hfs lord-

in .three days, it will

be

WILLIAM HOGARTH.

5'

and some disposed of, with the addition of a tail other little appendages to Mr. Hare, the famous

man ; Mr. H. having given that gentleman a conditional promise of it for an exhibiThis intion picture, on his lordship's refusal,"

wild beast

timation produced the desired effect. His Lordship sent for the obnoxious picture and committed

it

On

to the flames.

another occasion a nobleman, not remark-

Hogarth and desiron one of the compartments on a stair-case, Pharoah and his host drowned in the Red" Sea. At the same time he' hinted that no great price would be given for the able for generosity, sent for ed that he would represent

performance.

Hogarth however

agreed..

Sooiv

afterwards he applied for payment to his employ-
had only been daubed over with red, declarhe had no idea of paying a painter-when he hacL ed proceeded no farther than to lay his ground. " Ground!'* exclaimed " There is no

t'ure

Hogarth,

ground ceive

the case, my lord. The red you perthe Red Sea* Pharoah and his host are

in

is

drowned

as you desired, and cannot be made obof jects sight, for the sea covers them all." in 1/30 Hogarth; formed a matrimonial' connection with the only daughter of Sir James Tliornhil], himself an artist of considerable emi-nonce. This union wns ti stolen one and conse-

quently

\vitiu, ut

the approbation- of the father,

who, considering the youth of his child, then bare-htocii, and die slender finances ol' her bus-

WILLIAM HOGARTH. ban dj who had not emerged from obscurity,

\vrx-.

not easily reconciled to the match. Our about this time began bis scries of prints entitled the Harlot's Progress, and was advised by Lady Tnornhill to have some of the scenes in it pla-

ced

in the way of bis father-in-law. AccordingMrs. ly Hogarth undertook early one morning to some of them into his dining room. On convey his rising he enquired whence they came, and

being told by whom they were introduced, he observed: "Very well; the man who can furnish representations like these, can also maintain a wife without a portion," This remark

designed as an excuse for keeping his own purse-strings close, but it was not long before he \vas

became both reconciled and generous to the young couple. Another stii! more beneficial effect of this exercise of his talents, was, that it introduced him to the notice of the public and laid a solid foundation for his future fame. after his marriage, Hogarth had summer lodgings at South Lambeth; and being intimate

Soon

with Mr. Tyers, the proprietor of Vauxhall Gardens, he contributed to the improvement of that

agreeable place, by the hint of embellishing it with paintings, some of which were sketched by A gold ticket of ad_ his own truly comic pencil.

minion

for

himself and-his friends, bespoke the

gratitude of the proprietor for his assistance. The Harlot's Progress was succeeded by the

Makes Progressed other performances of a like demust be too well known to evescription, tthich

MIL LI AM HOC

sary

ider to render

any

in this place.

The--,

Leicester

ip

7

'-

(fen

ch;

i.ul

fields

putation rewarded his e: Soon after the con el r la

of that optha: e >uLtry he It'

In portunity to visit Frat.f manifested a narro.v\?hose iy adheres to ,

.

5

.

not been rem

>\

,1

elegant eircuiv the ornaments of a ervin:i

all gilt

ither

<

r.

Inn

:

M

and b

cor-

Vrene: In

t.

He

or travel.

If an

ited out as

his

is

it

iiave

-

p:

the furniture or

in

,

approbation,

tl-.en

>vnich fre-

thing he saw.

\vasdissa:

"\Vhat

re-

of Aix

'

1

Chupelle,

r

n>n at his

itit

'

Their h

th(> stieois

A

de-

reply was:

he was often or a pair of

tattered :ij. rudely clamorous. silk stockings with holes in them, drew from him a torrent ot

i

imprudent language. In vaia was he

more cautious in his public main Scotch and Irish refuexis were often \\ithin hearing of these reproaches, i:::d would

advised to be aa

V'Moiee, at

least, in

the opportunity to

^et

the

lie laughed at the admonitioir, painter mobbetl. vl the person u ho offered it as a pa-illani,

mou> try,

unworthy of living in a free counand made him the butt of his ridicule ,

:

vcral evenings -

afterwards.

This un>er.
however completely

exttiu;.

an unexpected event. Hog-anii was taking a sketch \Ba

when he was

seized

of the gale of

and carried as

a-

spy

WILLIAM HOGAETH.

-8

before the governor of the town. After a rigorous examination, the innocence of bis designs was rendered perfectly apparent by the other

sketches that he had about him, and which were by no means such as could serve the purpose of an engineer. He was nevertheless, told

had

not the peace been actually signed, he should have been oblig*--

by the commandant,

hang him up immediately on the ramparts. guards were then provided to convey him on ship-board,, nor did they quit him till he was ed

v

that,

to

Two

three miles from the shore.

round

was

like

atop on

at liberty to

They then spun him him he

the deck; and tokl

proceed on his voyage without, and molestation. Hogarth

farther attendance

was

from being pleased

far

stance of

it

his

own

" picture entitled gland!" In J7-53 our

O

artist

with the slightest

but the leading circum-r pencil has recorded in his

allusion to this affair,

the Roast

appeared

character, of an author, and

Beef of Old En-

to the

world

in the

published a quarto

of The Analysis of Beauty. he was assisted by which of composition Dr. Morrel. This and Mr. Hoadly, Ralph

voli'.me

under the

title

in the ])r.

Wai pole

remarks, had many sensible, hints and observations, but it did not carry the conviction nor meet with the universal acquies-

book, Mr.

cence he expected. As he treated his contemporaries with scorn, they triumphed over his publication,

him.

and

irritated for the

purpose of exposing,,

WILLIAM HOGARTH. Hogarth certainly bad one

<)

failing in

common

with most people who attain to wealth and eminence,, without the aid of a liberal education. He to despise every kind of knowledge, \vhich he did not possess, and having established his fame with little or no obligations to literature,

affected

he either conceived it

because

brated artist

it

to

be needless, or decrietl

lay out of his reach.

it

commenced

Till this cele-

author, he did not

seem

have discovered that even spelling was a necessary qualification, though he had ventured hi one of his pieces to ridicule the deficiency of to

Kich

in that particular.

With open

to

respect to flattery* no one could be more illusions than The followHogarth.

ing anecdote

will

evince

how much

easier

it

is

to detect ill-placed or hyperbolic adulation wl>en others to than to ourselves. applied Being at

dinner with the celebrated Cheselden, he was inFreke, surgeon of St. Bartho-

formed that

MR

lomew's Hospital asserted, that Greene was as eminent in musical composition as Handel. i( That fellow Freke," exclaimed Hogarth, " is always shooting his bolt absurdly in one way or the other! Handel is a giant in music; Greene only a light Florimel kind of a composer."

"

" but at Ay," rejoined the artist's informant, the same time Mr. Freke declared that you were "

There good a portrait painter as Vandyke." was in the right," replied Hogarth " and so by G d, I am, give me my time, and let ir^ as

lie

chuse

;

my

subject!"

WILLIAM HOGARTH.

10

With

Hoadly, chancellor of Winchester, Hogarth always cu terms of the stneu-^f and friendship, frequently visited, him at his va-Dr.

\vas

rious residences

in

Humpshire.

The doctors

fondness for theatrical exhibitions was so great, that few visitors could H'timln long in his house, before they were solicited to accept a part in

some

interlude or other.

Fie himself with Gar-

and Hogarth once performed a ludicrous parody on the scene in Julius C^sar, in which the

rick

Giiost appears to Brutus. Hogarth personated the spectre, but so unretenlivj ws his memory, that though his speech consisted only of two lines,

he was unable

to get

them by

heart.

At

length they adopted ihe following expedient. The words he was to pronciuice were inscribed on the outside of an illuminated pa-per-ianthoru, in letters, thai he could read them wiieu

such lurge

he entered with this

occasion,

Oa it in his hand on the stage. Hogarth painted a scene repre-

senting a suttling booth with the JJw/t (Duke) of Cumberland's head by way of sign, and also pre-

pared the ments.

play-bill,

with characteristic

orna-

Our artist was one of the most absent of men. Attable he would sometimes turn round hischairl as if he had finished eating, and as suddenly reHe once diturn it and fall to his meal again. " To. the thus to Dr. Hoadly This epistle, fortunately, did not miscarry, and it was preserved by the directed a

Doctor

letter

at

Chelsea."

WILLIAM HOGARTH. vine as a pleasant memorial of his friend's extra-

ordinary inattention.

Another no

remarkable instance of Hoon record. Soon after he set

less

garth's absence

is

he had occasion to pay a visit When he went the weather to the lord-mayor. was fine; hut he was detained by business till a violent shower of rain came on. Being let out

up

his carriage,

of the Mansion-house by a different door from that at which he had entered, and seeing the rain,

he immediately began to call for a hackney- coach. ISot one co-uld be procured at any of the neighboring stands, on which our artist sallied forth to brave the storm, and actually reached vhis

house

in Leicester

a thought on

his

Astonished to see

where he had

own him

left

Fields without bestowing carriage, till Mrs. Hogarth sked so wet and bemire

it.

The indulgence of Hogarth's length began to involve him in cumstances. Feast, S'iKU'd

he

In

a

picture

satirical talent at

disagreeable cirthe Miser's

called

thought proper to pillory Sir Isaac

a gentk'niiiu proverbially avaricious.

His

son, a high-spirited

young man, just returned front his travels, hearing of this, called at the painter's to see the picture, and other

among

asked tbe

cicerone,

if

that

odd

figttre

questions

was intend-

ed for any particular person. On his replying it was thought to be very much like one Sir Isaac Shard, the gentleman immediately drew his sword, and slashed the canvas. Hogarth im* that

mediately appeared in the most violent passion 5

WIJLLIAM HOGARTH.

12

but Mr. Shard calmly justified what he had done,

saying that it. was a very un \yarran table licence; that he \\~as the son of the injured partv, and was

ready to defend any

might think

fit

to

suit.

,at

institute.

law which the artist

No

such measure

was, however, adopted by. Hogarth, \vho might

perhaps have experienced iVuai It a loss unpleasant than that of his p.cune.

still

more

This inclination to satire is said to have once him a legacy. It seems that the figure of the Old Maid, in his print of Morning was takcost

en either from an acquaintance, or a relation of the painter* At first she was well enough satisfied with the resemblance; but some designing people teaching her to be angry, she struck the painter out of her

will,

which had been made

considerably in his favor. Hogarth used to boast,

he could take a most extraorthis line, was per-

that

likeness in three minutes: but the

dinary effort or his genius in haps, his drawing of Henry Fielding, a pen

some time

\vriter.

He

made with

after the death of that celebrated

often promised to

sit

to his friend

whose good

qualities and superior Hogarth, he always entertained so high an esteem, genius, that lie has left in his works many beautiful memorials of his affection. It so happened however for

that no picture of Fielding was ever drawn; but traces of his yet, as if it was intended that some

countenance should be perpetuated, and that too by the very artist whom lie himself preferred to all others, after Hogarth had lui.g tried to produce

I

X

WHLLIAM HOGARTH.

IS

a likeness of him from memory, said just as he was despairing of success for want of some rules in the dimensions and outlines of the to

by chance threw the grand disideratum in the way. A lady, with a pair of scissars, had cut a distances and proportions profile which gave the face,

of

his face sufficiently to restore his lost ideas

of

/

Delighted with an opportunity of payingtins last tribute to the memory of an author him.

whom

he admired, Hogarth caught at this outand worked with all the at-

Jine with pleasure,,

tachment of friendship, till he finished the drawing placed at the head of Fielding's. woiks, and.

which was acknowledged by seen the

original,

to

all,

who had

ever

present a corresponding

image of the man. This

is

the authentic relation of

but a different account of

Mr. Garrick,

given.

Mr. Murphy,

this portrait has

it is

been

said, dressed himself

a suit of his old friend's clothes, and presented himself to the painter in the attitude and * Garrick howewith the features of in

ver,

Fielding. interfered no farther in this

business

thaix

by urging Hogarth to attempt the likeness as a necessary accompaniment to Fielding's works The artist begaa and finished the head in the

*

The

we were

reader will perceive that it was by the above account misled in the relation of this circumstance civen in our

Life of Dr. Mousey. There cannot be a doubt of the accuracy of Mr. Murphy's statement.

VOL.

3.

NO. 26.

R

H

WILCTAM nOGA-RTH.

presence of his wife and another lady, having no assistance but from

his

own memory, which on

such occasions was remarkably tenacious. About the year 1757. Hogarth's brother-in-

Mr. Thornhiil resigned his place ofserjeantpainter to the king in favor of our artist, who soon afterwards ventured upon an

law,

experiment

which involved him

in

some

disgrace.

" From

a contempt of the ignorant virtuosi of the a^e," " Wai says Mr. pole, and from indignation ai the

impudent

tricks

of picture-dealers,

whom he

continually saw recommending and vending vile copies to bobble collectors, and from having never studied, indeed having seen few good pictures of the Italian masters, he persuaded himself that the praises bestowed on those glorious

works were nothing but the

effects of prejudice. till he believed it; and this talked He language heard it asserted, as is often true, that having

time gives a mellowness to colors and improves them, he not only denied the proposition, but

maintained that pictures only grew black and worse by age, not distinguishing between the the propositions may be degrees in which

He deHe went farther. false. rmined to rival the ancients, and unfortunately chose one of the finest pictures in true or

ter

his competition. England as the object of was the celebrated Sigismunda of Sir Luke Schaub, said to be painted by Corrcggio no matter by whom. probably by Furino, but

This

It

is

the picture, or read Dry* impossible to see

WILLIAM

HTOGAiiTH..

den's inimitable tale,

and not

soul animated both.

After

garth at

last

produced

his

?

v

feel that the

many

essays,

Sigismunda,

same

Ho-

but no

more like Sigi-smunda than I to Hercules. Not to mention the wretchedness of the coloring, it was the representation of a maudlin strumpet red just turned .out of keeping, and with eyes with rage and usquebaugh, tearing off the orna-

ments her keeper had given her.

None

of the

sober grief, no dignity

of suppressed anguish, no involuntary tear, no settled meditation on the fate she jneant to meet, no amorous warmth turn-

ed holy by despair ; in short all was wanting that should have been there; all was there that such a

mind capable of such woe ; woe so sterncomplicated conceiving and felt so ly yet tenderly. Hogarth's performstory would have banished from a

ance was more ridiculous than any thing he had ever ridiculed.

He

set the price

pounds on it, and had by the person far whom

returned on his hands

it

was [ ainted.

subscriptions for a plate of at last, to suppress it."

From

this failure

of four hundred

it

it,,

He

took

but had the sense r

of Hogarth may be deduced men, even of superlative

this useful lesson, that

genius, cannot step beyond the bounds in which, nature designed them to move, without betraying the weakness of their understanding and covering themselves with confusion, ridicule and

contempt.

The artist

last

was

memorable event in the life of our Mr. Wilkes. Though. R 2

his quarrel with

WILLIAM HOGARTH.

1O

Hogarth, did not commence direct rhat

he, at least,

hostilities

gave the

first

on of-

gentleman, fence by an attack on his party and friends. This conduct was the 'rnore surprizing as he had

Avoided dipping his pencil in political had early refused a very lucrative and contests, oiler that was made to engage him in a set of It has prints against the head of a court-party. however been surmised that his conduct on this all

his life

occasion was guided by the expectation of obtaining an addition to his salary as serjeant-

Be

this as it

in

September, 1?02> Hogarth published his print of The Times, which satirized Lord Temple and Mr. Pitt, afterwards Earl of Chatham. This called forth the pen of Mr. Wilkes, who in the next number of the North Briton, in vindicating his friends, made a direct attack on the King's serjeant-painter. painter.

may,

Wilkes, Churchill and Hogarth had been intimate friends, and such they might have continued," had not the daemon of politics and party gown discord among them and dissolved their union.

No

enemies are so inveterate as those united in the bonds of

who have once been

So it proved in this case the breach once made, daily grew wider and wider. In revenge for the animadversions of Mr. Wilkes in tbe North Briton, Hogarth exhibited a carica-

friendship.

;

Churchill then engaged in and the war, published an epistle to Hogarth, in which the severest strokes fell on a defect which the puinte had neither caused nor could ture of the writer.

WILLIAM HOGAHTH'. his age,

though

it

IF

was neither remarkable nor

In revenge for this epistle Hogarth decrepid. caricatured Churchill under the form of a

canonical hear with a club and a pot of porter.

"Never"

men

says

of their

Mr. Walpole, "did two angry throw mud with less dex-

abilities

terity."

At

the time these hostilities were carrying on in

a manner so virulent and so disgraceful to all the parties, the health of Hogarth was visibly declinIn 1762 he complained of an inward pain, ing. which brought on a general decay that proved incurable. The last year of his life he employed in retouching his plates, with the assistance o several engravers whom he took with him to his house at Chiswick, where he for many years resided during, the summer. In 1?(J4, a few months before he was seized with the malady which was the immediate cause of his death, he proposed to his matchless penthe work he has entitled Finis or the Tail Piece, the first idea of which is said to have cil

"been started in

company

while the convivial glass

was circulating round his own table. " My next " shall be the undertaking," said Hogarth, end of all things."" If that is the case," replied one of his friends, " your business will be finished ; an end of the painter." " There

for there will be

so" answered Hogarth with a deep sigh, " and therefore the sooner my work is done, the

will

"better."

He accordingly

began the next day, and; prosecuted his design with a diligence \\hichu

WILLIAM HOGARTH.

J8

seemed

an apprehension that he should he had completed it. This however he did with the utmost ingenuity, grasping every to indicate

not live

till

object which could denote the end of all things a broken bottle an old broom worn to the

'slump the butt end ofan old musket a cracked bell a bow unstrung a crown tumbled in pieces

towers

in ruins

the sign-post of a tavthe moon

End tumbling map of the globe

ern, called the World's

in her wane the burning-^a gibbet falling, the body gone, and the chain which held it dropping down Phoebus and his

horses dead in the clouds

Time, with

a vessel' wrecked'

hour-glass and scythe broken, ain his mouth, the last whiff' of

his'

tobacco pipe "smoke going out Jl.i'citJit

purse

a play book opened, witli omncs, stamped in the corner an empty and a statute of bankruptcy taken oufe

against nature

f<

So

far,

so

good,'* exclaimed


Nothing remains but this" taking Hogarth, his pencil in a sort of prophetic fury, and dashing off the similitude of a painter's pallet broken (f

Finis

over!"

mo!*th

"the deed is done all is remarkable that he died about a

cried" he,

\"

It

is

after

the

completion of

this tail-piece,

and it is also well known that he never afterwards took a pencil in his hand. " It is worth observing that in Independence," a pooui which was not published by Churchill till the last week in September, 1764, Fie consider*. \iis

antagonist as a departed genius

:

Hogarth would draw him (envy must allow) J'en lo the liie, ivaz Hogurth lining now.

WILLIAM HOGARTH.

19

that the sporting satirist little imagined in both, cease power of pleasing was so soo ton after the publiweeks four died within Hogarth cation of this poem, and Churchillsurvived him

The

only nine days. On the 25th of October^ our

artist

was con-

in a veyed from Chiswick to Leicester Fields, but remarkably cheerful. weak condition, very On retiring to bed the same night he was sudtwo denly taken ill, and expired in the space of hours. His body was interred at Chiswick, where

a

monument

is

erected to his

memory.

SIXTHS THE JTFTFL IN

thelonglineof pontiffs who have successivethe chair of St. Peter, few are so re-

ly filled

mark-able not only on account of their exaltation to that honor from the meanest condition in life,

but

also

for

the

which he contrived

extraordinary expedient by to raise himself to the papal

dignity, as Sixtns the Fifth. He was born in 1521 at La

Marca

a village in

the signiory of Montalto. His father, Francis Peretti followed the humble calling of a gardener, arid hie mother was a servant maid. He was their eldest child and was called Felix. At the age of nine years he was hired out to an inhabitant of o/ the village to keep sheep, but having disoblig;-

20

SI

XT US THE FIFTH.

ed

his master, he was degraded to be keeper of the hogs. In this servile employment young Felix wa

engaged when Father Michael Angelo

Selleri,

a

enquired of him the road to Arcoli, to which place he was going- to preao-h.

Franciscan

friar,

The boy conducted was so struck with

him. thither, and the father conversation and eager-

his

ness after knowledge, that he |o the fraternity

which he was

recommended him visiting. Felix

was

Accordingly received among them, invested with the habit of a lay-brother, aixl placed under the sacristan, to assist in

sweeping the church,

light-

ing the candles, and otlier offices of that nature, for which~~services he was to be taught the res-

ponses and the rudiments of grammar. gress in learning

was so

His pro-

surprising, that at the

age af fourteen he was thought qualified to begin his noviciate, and the following year admit-

make his profession. With such unwearied assiduity

ted to

did he prose-

he was soon reckoned equal to the best disputants. In 1545 he was ordained priest and assumed the name of Father Montal,cute his studies, that

to

;

and

soon after which he took his doctor's degree appointed professor of theology at Sienna,.

\\as

The severity and obstinacy of his temper involved him in continual disputes with his monastic brethren

by

,

this

friends.

but his reputation for eloquence, being time spread over Italy, gained him

Among

and Father

these were the Colonna, family

Gaisiiieri,

by whose recomraenda-

SlXTUS THE FIFTH.

21

he was appointed inquisitor-general at Venice; but he exercised the office with such severity that he was obliged to make a precipitate retreat from that city. He then went to Rome, tion

and soon afterwards accompanied Cardinal Buoneompagnoto Spain^ as chaplain and consultor to the inquisition.

During

his

residence in that country,

Pope

Pius the Fourth died, and was succeeded by Father Ghisilieri (who had been previously made a cardinal), under the name of Pius the Fifth. The intelligence of this event gave the greatest pleasure to Father Montulto, who was immediHe was made ately invested with new dignities.

general of his order and bishop of St. Agatha ; it was not long before he was appointed a cardinal and received a pension. About this

and

time he was employed by the Pope to draw up the ^bull of excommunication against Queen Elizabeth.

Montalto had now acquired

sufficient conside-

encourage him to turn his eyes toward the papacy, and in order to obtain it he formed ration to

a deep-laid plan of hypocrisy, which he executed with unparalleled constancy and success. He be-

came humble,

patient and affable.

He changed

his dress, his air, his

words and his actions so completely that his most intimate friends declared him to be a new man. Never was such an absolute victory gained over the passions ; never was a fictitious character so long maintained; never

were the

foibles of

human

nature so ably con-

SIXTUS THE FIFTH.

%

eealed. He had formerly treated his relations with the greatest tenderness, but he now changed his behavior altogether. When his brother

Anthony came to visit him, lie lodged him in an inn and sent him home next day, charging him to inform his family that he was now dead to his relations

On

and to the world. 1572 Monconclave with the other cardi-

the death of Pius the fifth in

talto entered the

but seemed totally indifferent about the new pontiff, and never left his apart-

nals,

election of a

ment except

for the ..purposes of devotion.

When

to.jomany party, he declined h, saying that he was of no consequence, and that he would leavethe choice of a pope entirely to persolicited

sons

the

greater knowledge and experience;, Cardinal Buoncompagno, who assumed

of

When

name of Gregory

the Thirteenth was elected,

Moutalto assured him

much

that he never wished for

and

would never forget his kindness and the favors he had conferred on him in Spain. The new pope, how-

any

thing so

in his life,

that he

him with the utmost contempt, and even took away his pension. The cardinals also, deceived by his artifices, paid him no greater respect,, and used to call him by way of ridicule the ass of La Marca.

ever, treated

He now

assumed

all

the infirmities of old age.

His head hung down upon his shoulders: he tottered as he walked and supported himself upon a staff. His voice became feeble and was interrupted by a cough so extremely severe, that

it

SIXTHS THE FIFTH.

23

seemed every moment to threaten his dissolution^ He interfered in no public transactions, but spent all his time in acts of devotion and benevolence.

Mean

he employed the ablest spies intelligence of every thing that

wliile

who brought him occurred.

On

the death of Gregory the Thirteenth, in Montalto entered the conclave with the greatest reluctance, and immediately, shutting 158,5,

1

in his chamber, was no more thought he had never existed. When he went

himself up

of than

if

which purpose alone he left his he appeared as before perfectly inapartment, different about the election. He joined no to

for

mass,

party

but flattered

He knew

all.

would be great diviand he was aware that conclave, when the leaders of the different parties were dissions in

appointed

agreed

early that there

the

in tneir

own

in the election

views, they ail frequently of some old and infirm

cardinal, the length of whose life would merely enable them to prepare themselves sufficiently

These views directed

for the next vacancy.

hi*

conduct, nor was he disappointed in his hopes of success.

Three cardinals, the leaders of opposite factions, unable to procure the election which each of them wished, unanimously agreed to make choice of Montalto. When they came to acquaint him with their intention, he fell into such a violent fit of coughing, that all present thoughc he would expire oa the spou

He b

told

them

that his reign.

SIXTHS THE FIFTH

24

would last but a few clays ; that, besides a continual difficulty of breathing, he wanted strengtli to support such a weight, and that his small experience rendered him very unfit for so important a charge. He conjured them all three not to abandon him, but to take the whole weight upon their own shoulders, and declared that, he would

never accept the mitre- upon any other terms.

"

If you are resolved to

"

he,

it

throne.

the bare I

will

For title.

make you

authority."

7

make me pope/ added

only be placing yourselves on the my part I shall be satisfied with

Let the world

welcome

me

pope, and

to the

and

call

power heartily The cardinals swallowed the bait,

and exerted themselves

so effectually

that

Mon-

was elected. He now at once pulled off the mask which he had worn for fourteen years.

talto

No

sooner was his election secured, than he startseat, threw down his staff in the

ed from his

middle of the hall, and appeared almost a foot taller than he had done before. When he was asked according to custom if

he would accept of the papacy, he is

trifling

to

"

replied

;

ask whether I will accept what

have already accepted.

It I

to satisfy any you that 1 accept another it with great pleasure, and would accept if 1 could get it; for I find myself able, by the divine assistance, to manage two papacies." His

scruple that

may

However,

arise, I

tell

former humility disappeared with his infirmities, and he now treated all around him with haughtiness and reserve.

25

SIXTXTS'THE FIFTH.

The first care of Montalto, who assume^ name of Sixtus the Fifth, was, to correct

the

the

abuses and check the enormities which were daily committed in every part of the ecclesiastical of the government of his predecessor having introduced a general licentiousness of manners. It had been usual with former

states, the lenity

to release popes on the day of their coronation accustomed to therefore were delinquents, who imsurrender themselves voluntary prisoners,

mediateJy after the election of the pope. At the coronation of Sixtus, they were, however^

When the governor of the keeper of the castle of St. Angelo his holiness to enquire his pleasure in

fatally disappointed.

Rome, and waited on


this particular,

:

it not sufficient that our predecessor has suffered the judges to remain unemployed these thirteen years ? Shall we also stain our pontificate have too long with this neglect of justice?

Is

We

seen, with inexpressible concern, the prodigious degree of wickedness that reigns in the state to think of granting pardons. Let the prisoners be trial, and punished as they shew the world that divine provi-

brought to a speedy deserve, to

dence has called us to the chair of St. Peter to reward the good and chastise the wicked that ;

we

bear not the sword in vain, but are the minister of God, and an avenger to execute wrath on those that do evil"

He

accordingly enacted very severe laws

VOL. in.

NO. 26

ie.

-

SIXTHS THE FIFTH.

26

specting the administration of justice and the correction of public morals. His execution of justice was as

prompt as his edicts were rigorous. Haying ordered the syndics of all the towns and signiories to make out a complete list of the dis-

orderly persons within their districts, on pain of the stiappudo for the smallest omission, he, in consequence caused the syndic of Albino to be

scourged

in the

nephew,

an incorrigible

market-place for having left his libertine, out of his

list.

A Swiss one day happening to give a Spanish gentleman a blow with his halbert was, in return, struck by* him so violently with a staff that he expired on the spot. Sixtus having been informed of the circumstance, sent word to the governor of Rome that he was to dine early, and that justice must be executed on the criminal before he sat down to. table. The Spanish am-

bassador and four cardinals entreated him not to disgrace the gentleman by causing him to die on a gibbet, but to order him to be beheaded. " He " but I will shall be hanged," replied Sixtus, alleviate his

disgrace by doing

him the honor

to assist personally at his death." the gibbet to be erected before his at

He

ordered

own windows,

which he continued sitting during the whole He then ordered his servants to

execution.

bring in dinner, declaring that the act of justice

he had witnessed had given him a better appeWhen be arose from table, he exclaimed tite. :

"God which

be

praised for the I have dined."

good appetite with

S1XTUS THE FIFTH.

27

After his accession to the pontificate, Sixtus sent for hi family to Rome, with the express inin a decent and junction that they should appear His sister Camilla, accommodest manner.

panied by her daughter and two grandchildren, Some of the accordingly repaired to that city. cardinals, in order to pay court to the pope, went out to meet her, and introduced her in a very magnificent dress. Sixtus pretended not to know her, and asked twice or thrice who she

One of

was.

"

his sister.

the cardinals replied that

have but one

I

it

sister," replied

was Six-

and she is a poor*woman at have introduced her in this you yet I disguise, I declare I do not know her think I should know her again, if I saw her in

tus with a frown,

Le Grotte

;

if

;

the clothes she used to wear." at last

found

it

Her conductors

necessary to return

with her to

When strip her of her finery. she was introduced a second time, Sixlus tenderly embraced her, saying: " Now we know indeed an inn and to

it is our sister: no body shall make a princess of you but ourselves." "lie stipulated with his sister that she should neither ask any favour in matters of government, nor intercede for crimi-

that

nor interfere

the administration of justice, that declaring every request of the kind would meet with certain refusal. These terms

nals,

in

being and punctually observed, he made the most ample provision not only for Camilla, but agreed for

all

It

to,

his relations.

was to the indulgence of a disposition nas a

28

.SIXTHS

turully fects of

ed.

formed tliis

THE FIFTH.

for severity that

most of the de-

extraordinary maji were to be ascrib-

Clemency was

a stranger to his

bosom, and

bis punishments sometimes

seemed, to border on revenge. The reader, probably, needs not to be informed that there are two statues at Rome,, by means of which the people have for ofthaf city ages assumed the liberty of making very severe

on the government. These are called and Martorio. Pasquin was, one mornPiisquin ing dressed in a very dirty shirt, and being asked by Martorio why he wqre such dirty linen, he replied, tl^it he could get no other, for the pope had made his washerwoman a princess, alluding reflections

to Camilla, who had formerly been a laundress. The pope ordered strict search to be made for the

author of this lampoon, and offered hil2 his !?& and a thousand pistoles if he would discover himself. The author was simple enough to make his

" It is true," appearance and claim the reward. " we made such a promise, and said the pope, we shall keep it, your life shall be spared and you

monej presently but we have reserved the power of'otting offcyour hands and shall receive the

:

boring your tongue, io prevent your being so witty for the future." Tliis cruel sentence was

immediately executed. JSixtws died in 1590, after a reign of little more than five years. His death was ascribed to poison, said to have been administered by th
storv seems rather improbable.

DANIEL DAY.

THE

man who

contributes ever so small a por-

tion to the happiness of his fellow creatures possesses juster claims to the.ad miration of posterity

than the conqueror, who, inflamed with projects of ambition^ spreads desolation and terror over half the world. The genuine philanthropist will in this point of view, peruse witli

more sincere

pleasure the account of the innocent oddities of Mr. Daniel Day than the'history of the achieve

ments

of

an Alexander, a Tamerlane or a

Buonaparte. Mr. Daniel Day, was well known many years as an eminent pump and engine maker, in the parish of St. John's,

Wapping

;

where, to this

memory respected as that of a great benefactor, particularly \u his gift of the great clay, his

bell

at the

1760.

is

consecration of the

Mr. Day was bora where

in

St.

new church

Mary

in

Overy's

was an opulent brewer. But the circumstance for which the subject of parish,

his father

this article is particularly distinguished, was the institution of an annual fair, which, from the ve-

nerable tree near which

it was held, received the of Fair. appellation Fairlop For the information of such readers as may not

be acquainted with this celebrated tree, we shall here introduce a few particulars concerning it. s

3

DANIEL DAY. Fairlop oak stands in Hainault Forest, about ten miles from London ; about three from Ilford

and two from the

village of Chigwell, in the county of Essex. The trunk or main stem of this ]ord of the forest, measures in girth sixty-six

feet or twenty-two feet in diameter,

from which

seventeen large branches issue, each of the dimensions of a tree of moderate growth, and most of them measuring not less than twelve feet in girth.

For many years past

ly decaying, yet

it still

it

has been gradual-

retains periodical

of vegetation, though the

loftiest

powers

parts of the

boughs are withered. About twenty years ago, the whole shadow extended at noon over an acre of ground. Mr. Day had a small estate near the oak, and thither he yearly repaired a few days after mid-

summer

to

receive his rents.

The

conviviality

temper would not suffer him to receive the good things of this world alone, and it was his custom to invite a few of his neighbours to accompany him, and he would treat them with a repast of beans and bacon, under the canopy of the oak the accommodations were provided from an adjacent small public-house, the May Pole. Mr. pay's friends were so well pleased with the rural novelty, that they one and all of

his

;

pledged themselves to accompany him on. the same occasion every year, on the first Friday in July, during their. lives. In the course of a few years this amicable meeting greatly increased, and became known to

3

DANIEL DAY.

31

the neighbouring gentry, farmers and yeomanry; and a Yast number of them annually, on the day of Mr. Day's jubilee, visited the place. Suttling

booths were soon found to be necessary for their

accommodation, which naturally produced various other booths for sale, arranged around the huge oak and about the year \1 15 } this charm1

;

ing spot began to present every appearance of a regular

As wild

it

fair.

progressively encreased, puppet-shews, fruits, ginger-bread, ribbons and

beasts,

toys of

all

descriptions, attended with the usual

pastimes of a country wake soon succeeded, and in a very few years it became one of the most respectable, and well regulated fairs round the metropolis.

This new institution of Mr. Day's creation behis prineipal hobby-horse, and he found

came

himself highly flattered by the attentions of his

numerous

visitors.

The open and generous

heart of

Mr. Day ex-

panded with inexpressible delight at, being the cause of happiness to others, and he thought some little return due to those who treated him with such respect. He therefore provided several sacks of beans, and a sufficient quantity of bacon dressed ; the bacon was mixed in slices with the beans, and distributed from the trunk

of the tree to the multitude

custom he continued

in

pans

full.

This

to his death.

In the early part of

Mr. Day's

life,

he usually

DANIEL DAY.

32 walked to

this favourite spot and he used to ride on

later years

back again

;

in

horseback, but he declared he horse,

having a fall from his would never cross another. He kept sold his horse, and purchased a mule stinate animal, also threw his rider in

his ;

vow, ob-

this

the mire,

on which Mr. Day discarded his mule as he had done his horse, and determined never more to

upon the back of a four-legged aniHis next resource was a post-chaise or a coach ; in one of these he also met with an accident, and ever after refused to enter into either. This last circumstance induced him to direct his remains to be conveyed by water to the place of " if he was burial, saying, conveyed in a hearse, be awakened." he should He next invented a the aid of to mechanical powers ifcachine go by without horses, which after two years successful trust himself

mal.

broke down in attempting the third expeHis dernier resort was a jocky cart, in dition. which, attended by music, he took his annual trial

trip

up

to the July

preceding his death.

Long previous to that event, Fairlop Fair was known all over Essex, and the adjoining counThe engine-makers, pump-makers, and ties. block-makers of Wapping, and other places conto the number of about tiguous to the river, thirty or forty, every }ear

made of one

went to the

fair in

a

piece of in tire fir, covered with an awning, mounted on a coach carriage, drawn by six horses, with flags, streamers, and pendants

boat

A:NIEL DAY. flying,

.13

and a band of musif, attended by

many persons on horseback,

a great

in carriages,

and

00 f0t. eccentricities, but in their were nature, and no unoffending they ipan was ever injured by his hobby-horse. He had a widowed house-keeper who lived with him for thirty years, and died at a very advanced age.

Mr. Day had many other

She had two very strong' attachments, one to her wedding-ring and garments, and the other to when she died, Mr. Day would not permit tea " If that was he her to be taken ;

off,

ring

said,

attempted, she would come to life again," and directed that she should be buried in her wedding suit

and a pound of tea

in

each hand

directions were literally obeyed. few years before Mr. Day's

A

and theoC

;

(Jecease, a

branch of the old oak received a shock, either by decay, by lightning, or storm. This operated upon Mr. Day as the warning of an old friend, it

pointed out to him the instability of and he received the

the effects of time

;

life,

and

call

with

the resignation of a Christian, and the fortitude of a man, who was conscious of having perform-

ed

his allotted part with propriety. set about with alacrity, a task

He

which to some men would have been an awful preparation.

By the favour of the lord of the manor, he procured the dismembered limb of his favourite tre^, and employed a Mr. Clear, a carpenter, to measure him for a coffin, and to make it out of this oak. Mr. Clear .executed his job, and

BANIEL DAY.

34

brought home his work, which was neatly pannelled, and highly rubbed and varnished with bees-wax. Mr. Day viewed his future habitation with the utmost serenity and philosophy, and addressing himself to the carpenter, said, "Mr.

have heard that when a person dies he

Clear

I

much

stretched, and consequently

than when

living.

Now

Mr. Clear,

is

much it is

longer not very

clear to me that you have made this coffin long enough, but however we'll try and laying himself down in the coffin, he found it too short.
;

In bequeathing his property, as Mr. Day ever remained a batchelor, the fatherless children of

number, became his principal carried his harmless oddities to the

his niece, eight in

heirs.

He

action possible, in ordering his executors to convey his corpse to Barking, in Essex, by water,

last

accompanied by sixjourneymen pump and blockmakers, as bearers, to each of whom he gave a

new white

leathern apron, and a guinea in

mo-

ney.

Mr. Day, though by some persons deemed formal, was an amateur in music, as it applied to to fashionable refinements, however, dancing he had an insuperable aversion for being once :

;

invited to a ball, vflierehe was informed

it

would

be necessary to wear ruffles of the finest point lace, and a pair being presented to him, he viewed them with some degree of contempt, and said.

WILLIAM LYON

35

+

"

was the custom he must comply but it own way :" and ordering his to get the lace dyed green, he wore -housekeeper if it

;

should be in his

them

at that assembly,

and upon

all

similar oc-

casions.

With all his facetiousness^Mr. Day, asan oldfashioned tradesdman, was a constant attendant own parish-church and as much as possiwould enforce the attendance of his nephews and nieces, their children, and his own servants,

at his

;

ble

upon divine worship. Mr. Day retained his health until within a day or two of his death, and his faculties to the last. As he lived so he died a devout Christian, a sincere friend, a good master, and an honest man ; he was just without austerity, liberal without profusion,

free

and intemperance, lived he fine, merry and

without

lively without excess: in

and died universally revered and lamented on the nineteenth of October, in the eightyfourth year of his age, and was buried agreeably to his will, in his oak coffin, in the church-yard

wise,

of Barking, in Essex.

WILLIAM LYON. THIS man

was a strolling player and consehad neither quenly great abilities nor much reThe putation. faculty of memory he however in a most uncommon degree, as the possessed following circumstance evinces.

WILLIAM LYON.

36

One evening while taking his glass with some of his brother performers, he proposed a wager of a crown bowl of punch, that ijext morning, at rehearsal he would repeat a Daily Advertiser

beginning as a

mere

from

The

to end.

players considering this boast, p*iid*no great attention to it,

one of them at Next morning at length accepted the rehearsal, conceiving that as Lyon was iu^

but as Lyon persisted in

his offer,

the wager.

toxicated the preceding night, he must certainly

have forgotten the wager, he reminded him of the circumstance, at the same time rallying him for bragging in such a ridiculous manner about Lyon, however, pulled out the pato look at it, and to judge himself whether he did or did not win his wager. Notwithstanding the discordance and want of conhis

memory.

per, desired

him

nection between the paragraphs, the variety of advertisements and confused mass of heteroge-

neous matter which composes a newspaper, he repeated it from beginning to end without hesitation or mistake.

Such an instance of strength of memory

can-;

not probably be paralleled by any age or nation; and there is little doubt of its an then city as Baker, ticu,

who

records

it

in his

Biographia Drama-

was either a witness of the fact or had good

authority for introducing it into his work. Lyon died at Edinburgh, where he frequently

performed, about the year 1748.

THE PRINCE OF MODENA. A.S

the real

name

tures are recorded in all

human

of the person whose advenin the following pages, vriU,

probability never be ascertained,

we

have thought fit to distinguish him by that tille under which, aided by an extraordinary concurrence of circumstances, he contrived to obtain

some degree of celebrity. The

air

of mystery which

prevails throughout the life of this young adventurer, who, about the middle of the last century,

made

his

appearance

in the

French West India

island of Marcinico, gives it additional interest. The narrative is from the pen of an eye-witness, who, having escaped the contagious influence of

public credulity, had an opportunity of observing, all the extraordinary incidents which

unbiassed,

paved the way postor.

to the success of the youthful

What

appears

perhaps the

im-

most rehe seems

markable is, that from first to last, to have had in view no end, no object whatever in his o(>erations. The commission of crime or the practice of imposture generally results from a desire to gain some favorite point, tending either to

promote private

interest or to gratify

some

ruling passion. Nothing of this kind seems to have influenced the pretended prince of Modena, unless he can be to have been so weak

VOL.

111.

supposed NO. 27.

T

THE PRINCE OF MODENA.

2

as to sacrifice the happiness of his whole life to the enjoyment of a short-lived ambition and the temporary gratification of sensual appetites,

of which the discovery of his imposture must inhim. Whether he had any fallibly deprive

motive for his conductor whether he was merely the puppet of a fortuitous combination of circumit is impossible, particularly at. this distance of time to decide. shall now proceed to the narrative.

stances,

We

At the commencement of the year 1748, while France was yet at war with Britain, a small French merchant ship rrom Rochelle, bound to Martinico, was so closely pursued by the j^nglish which blocked up the harbour of the

cruizers

island, that the Captain, finding

it

impossible to

and cargo, resolved at least to an make attempt to escape being taken. He therefore betook himself with his whole crew to his boat, by means of which they arrived on. save the

shir>

shore in safety, but with the loss of

all

they pos-

sessed.

His crew was not numerous, and he had on board one passenger, a young man, 18 or 19 years of age, of a iigure rather pleasing than regular, of dignified deportment,

handsome and

though of the middling stature, but particularly remarkable for the extreme delicacy of his skin, which seemed to denote that he was a person of rank. He said that his name was the Count de Tarnaud, and that his father was a Field Marshal ; and the respectful behaviour of the crew, ap5

THE PRINCE OF MO DEN A.

3

peared to announce a person of still more elevated dignity. He had embarked without any attendant, and tlie only person who appeared "particularly attached to him was a young sailor,

Rhodez, with

called

whom

he became acquaint-

Though Rhodez seemed

ed during the voyage.

to pos.sess the unlimited confidence of the strang31*, yet on his part this intimacy never produced familiarity, as

he treated him on

with the most marked

all

occasions

demonstrations

of re-

spect.

As soon as he had landed, the youth enquired some creditable inhabitant of the island,, in whose house he might find lodging and relief. for

He was directed to the habitation of an officer whose name was Duval Ferrol, situated near the place where he landed. Thither he repaired, with no other recommendation than the misfortune he had so recently experienced. Being received with the utmost hospitality, he fixed his residence At this place there, together with Rhodez. every respect was paid him

;

to take these attentions as his

them

as favours

tions

;

and

to the

that were asked, he

he appeared rather due than to receive

abundance of quesgave vague

replies. alive

The mysterious conduct of Rhodez kept

and increased the curiosity thus excited, and it to be directed the more powerfully towards

began the

young

stranger, as the captain

when question-

ed concerning him, absolutely refused to give any answer whatever. He only informed the gor vernor of the cul-de-sac Marin, the of Mai> port

THE PRINCE OF MO I) EN A.

* tinico

as to

brought ly

a secret, that the youth had been him by a merchant, who had private-

recommended him, without entering into any him with great at-

farther explanation, to treat

tention, as, he said,

he was a person of distinc-

tion.

Eveiy thing indeed, relating to this individuappeared mysterious and extraordinary, lie had been seen to arrive at 'Rochelle, as it was

al,

afterwards discovered, sometime before his 'embarkation. He was then accompanied by an el-

grey-headed man, who appeared to act It. Tfas not known by what had Both were dressed com?.. conveyance they derly,

the part of a Mentor.

witU the greatest simplicity. On their arrival at hired "Rochelle, they asrnallapartmentat a private

which

house, their

they immediately furnished

own expence, without luxury

at

or splendour,

a very decent manner. During his resithe had lived very retown, youth never no tired, going abroad, seeing person, and-

"but

in

dence

in that

on scarcely any thing but shell-fish, and extretneprincipally fresh water crabs, which are

living

at Rochelle. ]y scarce and dear The old man, on the contrary, often

abroad

;

it

went

as if his principal business of embarking his pu-

appeared an opportunity

was

to find

pil,

which since the commencement of the war

An England, did not very often occur. the on final and offered at ; length opportunity the purpose oferndeparture of the youth for of the of the house at whieb baiking,the mistress with

THE PRINCE OF MOD EN' A.

2

he lodged, asked him what he intended to do with his furniture, to which he replied, " Keep His remember me by." conductor, a witness this to though generous proceeding, This scarcely appeared to take notice of it. it

to

present might be estimated at about five hundred but what was still

livres (about twenty, guineas)

;

more extraordinary, the donor did not take with him money and effects to a much greater amount, and from at Martinico,

it

his

conduct on his

first

arrival

could not be presumed that he

Nothing, howpossessed any certain resources. to him uneasiness seemed any ever, give during the passage.

His manners had been constantly

The crew being generous, without profusion. reduced to great extremity by hunger, at the time when, to were obliged

avoid the English cruizers, they keep close along the coast, in

to.

the boat, in which they had not time to take provisions with them, he bought of one of the na-

who was passing in his canoe, the refresh* ments which lie was conveying to his habitation, and distributed them among the sailors. The latter, as may be easily conceived, were inspired tives

wiih increased respect for the young passenger, whom they had before concluded to be a person of distinction, from the mysterious recommendations given to-the captain;,

These circumstances were soon reported in the and the crew added, that the young passenger had been taken ill on board the ship that be was treated with the utmost care and at-tcciisland,

;

T 3

THE PRINCE OP MO DEN A.

C)

lion,

which he received with great benignity,

but mixed with a certain degree of haughtiness.

During

this illness,

Rhodez, by the captain's dithe patient, and it was

rections, never quitted

on this occasion that the confidence of the one, and the extraordinary attachment of the other, seemed to have commenced. These particulars were more than sufficient to attract attention and excite curiosity. It was instantly known, throughout the whole that a person of high rank had arrived

colony, ;

all

the

circumstances attending his embarkation were related ; the facts were altered, exaggerated, and been multiplied ; and before the stranger had four days in the island he was the subject of an infinite number of ridiculous suppositions, of ro-

mances each more astonishing than the other, all of which were repeated with equal assurance, and heard with equal avidity. In a few days Duval Ferol informed the stranger chat as he did not know him, and was ouly a subaltern, he was under the necessity of acquainting the king's lieutenant, who commanded at the cul-de sac Marin, of his arrival and ;

him at his house. The young rnr.n complied and presented himself as the Count de Tarnaud. The commandant that the latter requested to see ;

having heard the reports that were propagated concerning the stranger, determined to unravel the mystery, and with that view offered him the use of his house and table, which was accepted

by Tarnaud.

Rhodes did not leave him, but

re*

I

THE PRINCE OF MO DEN A. moved

with

M. Nadau,

him

to the

7

house of the commandant, avowing a kind of

thus apparently

voluntary depen deuce, which he did not endeavour to conceal.

Two

days after young Tarnaud's removal to house of the commandant, the latter had' company to dinner, and just as they were sitthe

ting down to table, the young man found thai he had forgotten his handkerchief, on which lihottez got up and fetched it for him. The company

gazed at each other in astonishment for in the West Indies it was considered an unheard-of, a ;

dishonourable submission

for

a

white to wait

were a prince, or at least the governor of the island,) to which not even the meanest colonist would submit. It was

upon a /white, (except

it

immediately surmised that Rhodez, a

man

pf a

respectable family, of a liberal education, and acquainted with the custom of the place, would

not certainly thus degrade himself for a mere

gentleman.

Another circumstance soon occurred

to

renew

and increase the astonishment of the governor. In the middle of dinner, Nadau received a letter from Duval Ferol to the following effect "You wish for information relative to the French pas:

senger nature I

with me some days more than I am able

who lodged will furnish

enclose you a letter

;

I

his sig-

to give,

have jnst received fYoia

him."

Nadau threw by Duval

j

it

his eye over the letter inclosed contained nothing but expressions

THE PRINCE OF MODBNA-*. of thanks, written in a very bad style, but he was confounded to find that it was signed Est and not Tarnaud. Immediately after dinner, he took aside one of his friends, to whom he communicated the contents of the note. The latter

house of the marquis which was at no d'Eragny, great distance. The was still at table with several persons Marquis

instantly repaired to the

who were

dining with him ; the conversation soon turned on the young stranger, and the person

who had

last

arrived

mentioned what had

On hearing the name happened of Est they were astonished ; they endeavoured lo discover who it could be, and by the assistance

just

at Nadau's.

of the calendar, concluded that the stranger was no other than Hercules Renaud d'Est, hereditary Prince of Modena, and brother of the Duchess of Penthievre.

It

was thought extremely easy

to ascertain whether this was the fact, for one of

the company, whose name was Bois-Ferme, and who u as brother-in-law to the commandant, de-

com-

clared that he had several times been in

pany with the prince only the year before and another had seen him with the army. They and therefore resolved to ascertain the matter ;

;

meanwhile pushed about the bottle, till the ing, when the whole company, mounting horses, proceeded to the house of the

everir

their

commanr

who was just going to supper, They rixed their eyes on the stranger, and Bois-Ferme exclaimed, that it was certainly he. Bois-Ferme, dant,

indeed, never spoke a word of truth, not even

THE PRINCE OF MODENA.

if

had a negro called La JMumc, who waited on "him at table, and whom word he. taught to pronounce only the French " Oui." " Is it not true, La Plume r" said his \*hen he was drunk.

He

master, turning towards him whenever he had been practising with the long- how. " Oui," invariably and laconically replied La was supported by the other officer,

Plume.

Me

who went up

"

You have in your bouse the hereditary Prince of Modena." The company- was scarcely seated at table, when the sound of instruments was heard they were to the governor,

and said

;

:

bugle horns, brought by Bois-Ferme who, with his friends, drank with" repeated cheers to the :

health

of Hercules Ileuaud

Prince

of

count

this

Modena.

d'Est, hereditary

The person on whose

scene was acted, at

first

ac-

appeared

astonished and embarrassed, and afterwards testiried his dissatisfaction at

At

such an indiscretion.

French colonies, and in a very critical siwere especially Martinico, tuation. It was blocked up by the English, and in extreme want of provisions, which could be procured only from Curacoa and St. Eustatia > but this resource, which of itself was extremely expensive, was rendered still more so by the avidity of a few, who were intent only on inthis

juncture, the

creasing their private fortunes by ihe public misery. At the head of these men was the Marquis

who

cle

Cay Ins, governor of

the

resided at Martinico, a

duced by the derangement of

windward

islands,

man, who was

in-

his atlhirs, to listen

THE PRINCE OF MODENA.

)0

number of' projectors, who involved speculations, oF which they derived aii the profit, and he had. to bear all the odium. general discontent was thus excited against him ;

to a great

him

in

A

was aggravated by the alarming prospect of a famine, arid waited only for a proper opportunity

it

to burst forth.

-Minds thus prepared eagerly hailed the intelligenee of the arrival of the supposed prince. What should bring a prince of Modena to Mar-

was a question they never thought of asking theirimaginations were wholly engaged with the advantages which tho colony was likely to derive from his presence. Nadau, who enter-

tinieo ;

tained a private pique against the governor, eagerly seized the opportunity fco lay before his-

guest the complaints of the colony, to acquaint him with the tricks of interested men to raise

the price of provisions, and to describe the misery resulting from such conduct. The prince, indignant at the recital, swore that he would put

an end to such those

who

villainy, that

thus abused

he would punish

the confidence of the

king; aud should the English effect a landing, he would himself head the inhabitants to repulse the invaders.

This declaration, which Naclan did not fail toenthusiasm. The repeat, augmented the general fermentation extended

'to

Fort

St. Pierre,

where

The go-

the Marquis de Cayhis then resided. vernor fkitu red himself that he should extinguish hi

a

moment,

the faction created against him,

THE PEINCE OF MO DEN A. and ordered Nadau

11

to send the stranger to St.

returned for answer, that there was no doubt but the youth was the hereditary Prince of Modena on which the governor sent two officers, addressed to the Count a letter

JSadau

Pierre.

;

by de Tarnaud, and inviting him

to repair to his master," replied the your " that to the rest of the world I am the prince, Count de Tamaud, but that to him am Her-

" Tell

residence.

I

Rcnaud d'Est. If he wishes to him come half-way. Let him repair

cules let

see me, to Fort

or five days ; I will he there." Royal, The go ,-ernor, struck with the report made by the officers of the stranger's resemblance to the in tour

Duchess of Penthievre, (sister to the hereditary Prince of Modena) began to yield, to the general conviction. He set out for Fort Royal, but Changed

The

his

mind, and returned to

St.

Pierre.

his

appointment, reRoyal, and not finding the go-

prince, agreeably to Fort

to

paired vernor there, proceeded to St. Pieire, which he entered in triumph, attended by seventeen or

eighteen gentlemen.

He

sent

to prepare for his reception

;

word to ihe Jesuits and on his way pas*

moment he saw him, exclaimed,, that he was the very image of his mother and sister; and, as if sed before the governor's house, who, the

panic-struck instantly quitted St. Pierre, and retired to Fort Royal, leaving the field to his antagonist.

prince, who now fixed his abode at the convent of the Jesuits, appointed his household.

The

THE PRINCE OF MODENA.

1'2

The Marquis d'Eragny was

his

grand equerry

;

Duval Ferol and Laurent Dufont were his gentlemen and Rhodez his page. He kept a court, and gave regular audiences, which were attended by all who had memoirs to present against the ;

government, or such officers, of the administrawho wished to pay their court to him. The Duke de Penthievre possessed consider-

tion

able property in the hands of an agent at Martinico. This man was not one of the last to present himself to his master's brother-in-law. The

prince received him very graciously, and had a conversation of half an hour with him, the result

of which was, that

in his possession, his highness. Had

all

the cash and property

were placed at the disposal of any doubts remained, relative

to his right to the title he had assumed, this circumstance would have been sufficient to remove them. Liewain, the agent of the Duke, was regarded as an honest and a prudent man ; he was

perfectly acquainted with the affairs and connections of the house of Penthievre, in consequence

of which, it was surmised, that he would not have taken such a step without very strong reasons.

The Dominicans were jealous of the honor conferred on the Jesuits, and the prince^ to satisfy them, on his return from a short excursion, changed his residence to their convent. He was there entertained with the greatest magnificence. table of thirty covers was daily laid for him,

A

those

whom

he chose to invite

;

he dined in

THE PRINCE OF MODENA.

IS

the sound of trumpets ; and the public, amidst people flocked in such crowds to see him, that

not been for

had

it

the

hall,

rails

placed in the middle? of risk of beiug

he would have run the

suffocated.

Never was such a spectacle exhibited at St. never was confusion more complete, and

Pierre

;

of governjoy more general. The operations ment were entirely suspended, but its absence

was perceived only in the cessation of the opMoney again pression which it had exercised. made its appearance in abundance provisions arrived from all quarters ; and at length, the ;

news of the peace completed the general intoxication.

Vessels had in the

mean time been dispatched

The

prince had written to his family, and had entrusted the captain of a merchant No vessel, sent by Liewain, with his letters. answer arrived, and the prince seemed very unThe governor, on his part, had sent to easy. the minister, the engineer Des Rivieres, to inform him of what had happened, and to request instructions how to act. Six months had elapsed since the departure of Des Rivieres, and he had not returned his arrival might, hovyevei*, be but this gave the prince no hourly expected concern. He amused himself with defying the governor, who had in vain endeavoured to insito France.

;

;

nuate himself into his good graces. He paid hi* court to all the women; gave way to even exVOL. in. NO. 27. u 7

THE PHINCE OF MODENA.

34

eating and drinking ; and indulged all his caprices. Among the rest, he one day took it s in

into his head to assume the blue ribbon, which,

had he been the heir to Modena, would have been perfectly ridiculous. This absurd pretension he grounded on a story still more absurd which, however, did not on that account obtain ;

the

of

Had he declared himself the son and the Duchess of Modena, he would

less credit.

God

have been believed. It cannot however be denied, that he was an astonishing youth. Amidst the most childish and absurd fancies, his actions always displayed a certain degree of dignity. Never, either in the company of the women, of whom he was fond to distraction, or in

the

unfortunate

fits

of intoxication, or in in which he was

situations

afterwards placed, did he for a moment relinquish that haughty and dignified character which

He always appeared disinbut without profusion ; living liberal, at the expence of another, as if at his own cost, without seeking to amass for the future, and with-

he at

first

terested

assumed.

and

out squandering, like a man who has but a short time to enjoy prosperity. His education, which had only been commenced, seemed to have been

co nducted with extraordinary care. He had confused ideas of various sciences ; spoke French, kalian, and German, but not very well, and understood something, though still less, of Latin. He wrote very ill, but drew tolerably, and was a capital horseman. His understanding was

live-

THE PRINCE OF MODENA.

T-5

Iy and just; and excepting the ridiculous fables' and vague assertions with which he was obliged" to support h'is pretensions, he always answered any thing serious that was said to him, with But great dignity, good sense, and precision. the most inexplicable part of his character was the uniform serenity and tranquillity which he manifested. So far from entertaining apprehend sions on account of the arrival of the numerous

strangers, who in consequence of the peace repaired to the island, he eagerly sought their com-

A new acquaintance was a treat to him, and among these strangers, chance directed that he

pany.

should not find one

who was

able to detect him.

One of them had

seen the prince at Venice, but time before. He had met with a considerable

him

where his highness had unmasked breaking for sport, glass to the value of fifteen hundred pounds, which he afterward? in a shop,

after

paid

for.

might

He who

was capable of such a

easily take a fancy to

go

frolic,

to Martinico,

and

a person who had played such tricks, might still be the prince ofModena. Des Rivieres had not returned and the rainy ;

season approached.

The

prince began to be apprehensive for his health ; and the inhabitants to discover that his residence was rather ex-

pensive to them. and they were not

He wished to leave the less

islandj

desirous that he should.

After a stay of seven months at Martinico, he for France, in the Raphael, of Bour-

embarked

deaux, taking with him

all

his

household, aa-

THE PRINCE OF

16

MODBJNTA.

almoner, and Gamier, the king's physician at the colony. When he went on board, he hoisted

an admiral's

flag,

cannon of the

and

after

being saluted by the

fort,

departed. fortnight afterwards arrived Des Rivieres, with orders to put his highness in confinement, tut these orders had been six months in prepar-

A

,

and the inhabitants surmised that this delay was intended only to give him time to leave the island, his visit to which was probably nothing more than a youthful frolic. Liewain's messenger had likewise returned,, and his story had been ing,

treated


Paris with as

DCS Rivkres.

He

little

ceremony

as that of

brought Liewain a letter from

Duke

of Penthievre, reprimanding him for himself to be duped ; but, considering suffering that his conduct was the result of his zeal, and the

that his credulity might be excused by the example of those who were at the head of the co-

lony, the duke consented to share the loss with him, confirmed him in his situation, and assured

him of

his protection. The money advanced by Liewain amounted to 50,000 crowns; and this Idndness of the duke appeared to be a further

confirmation of the reality of the prince's pretensions.

The Raphael meanwhile proceeded towards Europe, and arrived at Faro, in Portugal, where the prince was received with a salute of'artillery.

He demanded

a courier, to send off to Madrid,

to the charge d'affaires of the Duke of Modena, ajjd likewise required the means of .repairing,

PRINCE OF MODENA-.

17

with his retinue, to Seville', where he intended All his to wait the return of his messenger. set out for he with and were wishes complied ;

Seville as tranquil and as cheerful as ever,, intent only on paying his court to all the handsome

he met with on the way. He arrived, in safety, at Seville, preceded hy a great reputation

women

for gallantry. All the females were at the

windows

to see

him

pass, and all the first people of the town went to pay their respects to him. Sumptuous entertain-

ments were prepared in his honor, and he returned them with such magnificence and grace, that he soon tnrned the heads of the inhabitants of Seville, particularly the females, as he had before done those of the inhabitants of Martinico. During the day, he was almost always in public ; but at night he was not so easily to be found ; and though he observed but little secrecy in his intrigues, yet his attendants sometimes lost all traces of him, so thai the

Marquis d'Eragny, be suspicious, was afraid lest he might give them the slip. For his .part he,manifested no concern except on account of the delay of his courier, whose return he seemed to await with the utmost impatience.

who began

to

At

length an order arrived for his confinement, the king should decide concerning his fate;, which being communicated to him by the gotill

vernor, the prince appeared much astonished but not disconcerted, and replied, t( I was born a sovereign as well as he he has no control ;

THE PRINCE OF MO DEN A

18 over

but he is master here, and I sliatt with his desire." comply He was then conducted to a small tower occupied by a lieutenant and a few invalids. Here

me;

he was

left

without being locked up and was even

permitted to send for such of his retinue as

he

wished to have with him.

After examining his new habitation, he declared he could not remain there, or he should die. The lieutenant represented to him that he

was on his parole. "I have promised/*" remain in a habitable place ;" to tvhich the lieutenant replied, " he had no orders said

he^

(C

to

to use force." The prince then privately sent to the Dominicans to request a lodging, and permission to wait in their convent for the king's orders.

The

friars

consented to receive

be removed without molestation

him,,

and

to the convent.

In Spain these institutions are privileged places, and whoever takes refuge in them cannot be removed by force. It was therefore necessary to a negociation with the provincial of the order, and the archbishop of Seville. The Dominicans at length consented to the removal

enter into

of the prisoner, if it could be effected without the effusion of blood. The officer charged with this business entered his apartment with his hat in one hand, and his drawn sword in the other, requiring him in the

The youth inof the king to surrender. his and arms, gaining one of the stantly seized

name

corners of the room, protested he would kill the He was irst who should venture to touch him.

THE PftrNCE OF MODENA.

19

surrounded with bayonets, which he parried with his sword, and defended himself with such resolution, that it would have heen impossible to

him without

take

Lad been tired

;

violating the condition whichr The soldiers therefore restipulated.

but in the mean time the people had col-

lected at the gate, and

the report of the affair

The governhad spread throughout ment was censured what it had done, and what it had not done the women, in particular, fired ivith. indignation- at the outrages committed on all Seville.

;

the young stranger, exclaimed against such unworthy treatment of a young man so handsome,,

" He is a noble, generous, and brave. prince,"
manner

p> .

This fermentation convinced the government of the necessity of bringing the affair to a speedy issue. They renewed their negociatiofis with the Dominicans, their guest; but

matter.

He

who were willing to deliver up it had now become a difficult

never went without a brace of

his pockets ; at night he kept them under his pillow ; at dinner he placed one on each side of his plate; and for the greater secu-

pistols in

rity

he took his repasts only

ment opposite

to the dooj*.

ever, at

contrived.

last

in his

own

apart-

A method was, howA young lay- brother,

gay, vigorous and active, had been directed to wait upon him. His services were very agreeable to the prisoner, who was likewise much di-

2

THE PRINCE OF MODENA, verted with his gaiety. One day the monk, who always stood behind him when at table, had been relating a verry

merry story, at which the prince not forbear laughing very heartily. The monk, seizing the opportunity, laid hold of both his arms behind, and stamped with all his force. could

Some

alguasils instantly

the

unfortunate

appeared, and hurried prince, into the most

away gloomy dungeon of the most infamous prison

in

Seville, where they fastened a chain round his inidclle, and others round his legs and arms. In about twenty-four hours he was sent for, to be examined, but he refused to answer to the inter-

His irons were taken rogatories of his judges. and instead of being sent back to his dunge-

off,

on, he was allowed the best apartment in the prison, in which a guard, commanded by a captain

and lieutenant, was placed expressly on his His retinue were meanwhile examined

account.

relative to the

supposed design of withdrawing Martinieo from its allegiance to France, and without farther ceremony the principal person

was condemned

to thegallies, or to labour at the fortifications in Africa, and his attendants king's

were banished the dominions of Spain. The time at length arrived when the prince was to set off for Cadiz, where those sentenced to labour at the fortifications at Ceuta in Africa

were collected.

A

carriage

drawn by

six

mules

appeared at the gate of the prison, and the whole under arms. The prince> garrison of Seville was entered* -gypported by the captaiu and lieutenant,

THE PRINCE OF MODENA. the carriage, and

between two

files

21

proceeded through die city of infantry which lined the

streets.

has been asserted that apprehensions were It is entertained of a commotion in his favour. It

certain that the imaginations of the people were highly inflamed, and that at this time wagers to

the amount of sixty thousand piastres were depending in Spain on the question, whether he \vas really the prince

of

Modenaoran

impostor. extraordinary, the court prohibited the laying of wagers. Some of the parties then went in quest, of the real prince of

What

appeared not a

Moclenu covered.

:

little

was long before he was diswas neither at Modena nor at

but

it

He

Reggio, nor at Massa-Carrara. It was reported that he was gone to Venice; but four notaries attested that he had not made his appearance in that city, so that it might almost have been surmised that he concealed himself for the purpose

of keeping alive the doubts and uncertainty of the public. On the prisoner's arrival at Cadiz, he was con* ducted to the Fort of la Caragna, which com-

mands

the port.

The commandant was informed,

that he must be answerable for the prisoner ; but his orders at the same time directed that he

should treat him con manicra, with politeness. The commandant a native of France, named Devau, who had raised hirnself'by his merit to the situation held, after reading his orders, observed ; "When I am to be answerable for -the

THE PRINCE OF MODRXA.

22 safety,

of any person., I

treating

him and

that

know but one manicra of is to put him in irons.'*

The moment having arrived for the departure of the convoy for Ceuta, the prince was put into a vessel separate from the other galley-slaves.

When

they were setting sail, the secretary of the governor appeared. He brought what remained from the sale of his effects after deducting

The

that had been expended on his account. surplus amounted to seven or eight hundred

all

i( Aha !" said he, (about ten guineas.) the governor takes me for his almoner." rThen " Sailors, the N raising his voice, he continued

reals,

((

:

governor very generous, he has sent you some money," and distributed the whole among is

them

in the presence of the secretary.

Nadau who had been ordered home

to

France

to give an account of his conduct, received on his return to JVIurtinico, a pair of pistols of the finest accompanied with a letter

workmanship, from the prince, in which, after some excuses for the uneasiness he must have caused him, he informed that officer that he was at Ccuta in the convent of the Cordeliers, where he was very well

treated, and under

little restraint.

from

He

pretended

Obaba, the brother. of the Emperor of Morocco, .who had offered him 40,000 men and artillery to attack the Spaniards ; but motives of honour and of him to refuse his assistance. religion obliged that he had received a

visit

All

After relating the particulars of his interview with AH Obaba, he informed Nadau that he had

THE PRINCE OF MODENA. named Louison, chambre who had at-

received a letter from a mulatto

one of the two valets cle tended him to Europe in which the unfortunate man had stated that he was out of place, and afflicted with a disease, the cure of which was ;

very expensive. In consequence of this intelligence he had caused him to be placed under the hands of an able surgeon at Cadiz, whom he had directed to be paid, and had transmitted to Louihim to return to Marti-

ton sufficient to enable nico.

Thus both by

his actions

and

his words,

supported the character he had originally assumed ; which is certainly not the least remark-

lie

able part of his history. Liewain likewise received a letter, in which

he lamented the losses he had suffered on his account, and held out hopes that he should one day make him a compensation for them. These letters were the first and the last. It appears that tired of his prison, however comfortable it might have been made for him, the young man found

About this time an opportunity of escaping. a merchantman came to an anchor in the road of Gibraltar.

The

captain,

who was

an Englishman

went on shore, and informed the governor that he had on board his ship the person known by the

name of the Prince

of

Modena, who demanded

permission to land. "Let him beware of coming on shore here," replied the governor, " I should

him con maniera, in the English style he would be apprehended immediately." The captain took him at his word he set sail, and with

treat

;

;

JOHN METCALF. him

disappeared for ever this extraordinary youth, leaving behind him no trace of his^ existence except the recollection of a mystery, which in

all

probability will never be explained.

JOHN METCALF.

-

almost invariably find that nature in withman the benefit of one sense, com-

holding from

pensates the deficiency by the superior perfection in which she bestows others. The extraordinary particulars related in the followingpages strikingly exemplify this observation and

shew

to

what a degree the power of habit and a

good understanding are capable of overcoming For impediments apparently insurmountable. instance, who would expect to find a man totally blind from his infancy superintending the building of bridges and the construction of high

roads, an occupation for which his defect would

have wholly disqualified him. These, however, were undertakings that Metcalf sucthat with many singular cessfully executed, and

seem

to

adventures

in

which he was engaged, cannot

fail

excite no small degree of astonishment and admiration. to

John Metcalf was born in 1717, at Knaresin Yorkshire. At the age of four years, his parents, who were labouring people, put him to school, where he continued two years, when borough,

he was seized with the small-pox, which deprived

J0HN METCALF. kim of

sight in spite of

his

were employed for

its

all

5 the

means

that

preservation.

months after his recovery, he wa able to go from his father's house to the end of the street, and to return without a guide and in about three years he could find -his way alone to any part of Knaresborough. About this period

About

six

;

he began to associate with boys of his own age, among whom he acted a distinguished part in the and robbing juvenilepranks of taking bird's nests, to ride,

As

his father kepi horses, he learned soon became a good horseman, a and

orchards.

At the age of gallop being his favorite pace. thirteen he was taught music, in which he made a great proficiency, though the cry of hound or a harrier was more congenial to his taste than the

sound of an instrument. Me kept hounds of his own, and frequently hunted with Mr. Woodbum

who kept a pack, and was always very desirous of Metcalf s company in the

of Knaresborough, chase.

When

about fourteen years old, his activity, his enterprises were

and the success with which

attended, led him to imagine, that he undertake might any thing without danger, and consoled him for the want of sight ; bat greatly usually

he was taught to regret that defect by a severe wound he received in consequence of a fall into a gravel- pit, while making his retreat from a plumb-tree iri which he had been surprised by th* wner.

VOL.

111.

NO. 27

X

JOHN METCALF.

26

About this period, he learned to swim, and soon became so very expert, that his companions ciid not chuse to come near him in the water, it being his custom to seize, plunge them to the bottom, and swim over them by way of diversion. In this year two men being drowned in the deeps

of the river Nidd, Metcalf was employed to seek for their bodies, and succeeded in bringing up one of them.

A friend of his named Barker, having carried two packs of yarn to wash at that river, they were swept away by a sudden swelling of the current, and carried through the arches of the bridge, which stands on a rock. A little below a piece of still water, supposed to be about twent3 -one feet in depth as soon as the yarn came to this place it sunk. Metcalf promised

there

is r

:

friend to recover his yarn, but the latter smiled at the supposed absurdity of the attempt.

his

He, however, procured some long cart-ropes, hook at one end, and leaving the other to be held by some persons on the high bridge, be descended, and by degrees recovered the fixed a

whole of the yarn.

He

continued to practise on the

violin,

till

he

country dances. During the winter season he performed as a waiter at Knares-

was able

to play

borough, with three others; he likewise attended the assemblies which were held every fortnight,

and frequented many other places where there was public dancing. .Notwithstanding this application, he found

JOHN METCALT.

2?

a number opportunity for playing his neighbours of mischievous tricks, and fora long time escaped

At length, however, his expertness suspicion. became known, and when any arch trick had been played, it was always the first enquiry where Metcelf was at the time. Though he was fully engaged he still retained his fondness for hunting, and also began to keep game-cocks. Whenever he went to a cock-pit, it was his custom to place himself on the lowest seat, near some friend who was a good judge, and who, by certain motions, enabled him to bet, hedge, &u. In 1732, he was invited to Harrowgate, to play at the assembly, as successor to a poor old man, who, borne down by the weight of one hundred

years, began to play too slow for country dances. Here he was well received by the visiting no-

and gentry. In this employment he passed his evenings, and the mornings he spent in bility

hunting, and coursing. About this period, also, he bought a horse, and often ran him

cocking,

for small plates; and his he took a partner who

engagements increasing, was likewise a good per-

former. '

In summer he often played

at

bowls, and

singular as it may seem, was frequently the winner ; cards likewise began to engage his attention,

and he generally won the majority of the games, But these achievements were far from being the limits of his ambition or capacity, for he now

began

to

attend the races at York, arid other

x 2

1

JOHN METCALF. places

among

;

at the race

ground he commonly rode in

the crowd, and was often successful

in

which he was however assisted by several gentlemen to whom he was known. Having once matched one of his horses to run three miles for a considerable wager, and the

his

bets, in

parties agreeing e'ach to ride his own horse, they set up posts at certain distances on the Forest

Moor, describing a circle of one mile ; having consequently to go three times round the course. Under the idea that Metcalf would be unable to keep the course, great odds were laid against His ingenuity furnished him with an ex-

'him.

pedieat in this dilemma. He procured some and placing a man with one of them at each

bells,

post, was enabled by the ringing to judge when to turn. By this contrivance, and the superior

speed of his horse, he came in winner, amidst the applause of all present, excepting those who

had belted against him. At different times he bought horses to sell them again, which he often did with a large profit, so accurate was his judgment. In 1738, Metcaif attained the age of twentyone he was extremely robust, and six feet one inch and a half in height. He about this time acquired considerable celebrity as a pugilist from :

tne following circumstance.

A friend of his being

insulted in a public-house, by a man, who, from his ferocious temper and great strength, was the Metcalf general dread of the neighbourhood,

bestowed on him such discipline as soon extorted a cry of mercy

i

JOHN METCALF.

9

"Returning one day on foot from Harrowgate, he had proceeded about a mile, when he was

overtaken by a Knaresborough

who proposed

two

for

man on

horseback,

worth

shillings

f

punch

to let him ride in turn, dividing the distances Metcalf agreed, upon condition that equally.

he should have the

man

first,

ride a

little

which

ride, to

assented, on these terms

:

his

towns-

that he should

beyond Poppleton Field, where

on.

his right hand he would see a gate, to which he should fasten the horse. Metcalf however rode

forward to Knaresborough, which was seventeen miles from the place where he

The

left

his

fellow

was greatly enraged at being to so walk but Metcalf pleading in far, obliged excuse that he never saw the gate, the man found

traveller.

it

latter

his interest to join in the laugh. was now in the prime of life,

He and possessed a peculiar archness of disposition, with an uncommon flow of spirits, and an unparalleled contempt of danger; and though his conduct was long marked by a variety of mischievous tricks, yet he afterwards planned and brought to perfection several schemes, both of private and public

utility.

When the

Harrowgate season was over, Metcalf a few days, and passed his evenremained always at or one other of the different inns. At the ings

Royal Oak, now the Granby, he attracted the notice of Miss Benson, the landlady's daughter, whose constant attention and kindness soon in)

spired

him with a

reciprocal affection,

X

3

Knowing

JOHN METCALT.

3$

however,, that her mother would oppose their union, various successful devices were employed to conceal their mutual partiality and frequent

meetings.

An

event however occurred

which

obliged Melcalf to quit not only the object of his attachment,, but likewise that part of the country.

Metcalf s whose men, young

Among

acquaintances were two lived with them as

sister

housekeeper. One evening in her usual jocular way, she apprised Metcalf of her intention to pay

him

a visit in the night, desiring him to leave his Knowing the mirthful propen-

door unlocked.

sity x)f this female,

he was inclined to consider

hut on the other hand thinking a that real assignation might be intendpossible

this as a joJ
ed, and being too gallant to disappoint a lady, he told her, he would obey her orders. The lady

was punctual

to her appointment, and the conof her sequence imprudence was evident in a fevr

months.

She

intreated

Metcalf to marry her,

but she having made the first advances, he did not feel his conscience interested, and refused,

Her

only resource was to apply to the parish, which finding she had done, he with some difficulty obtained an interview with Miss Benson, proceeded to Whitby, and went on board an alum-ship bound to London. After an absence of seven months, he returned

Knaresborough, where he found 'the woman been the cause of his journey comfortably situated, and not inclined to trouble him.

to

who had During

his

absence a Mr. Dickinson had paid

JOHN METCALF. bis addresses to

31

Miss Benson, and now urged

his suit with such ardour, that the banns were published, and the wedding-day appointed to the

no small mortification of Metcalf, who thought himself secure of her affection. Though he loved her tenderly, his pride, prevented him from manifesting his feelings, or attempting to prevent the match.

On

the day preceding that on which the nupwere to be solemnized, Metcalf riding past the Royal Oak, was accosted with, " one wants to

tials

speak with yon." He immediately turned towards the stables of the Oak, and there to his joy and surprize, he found the object of his love, who had sent her mother's servant to call him. After

some explanation, an elopement was

resolved

upon, which Metcalf with the assistance of a friend, effected that night, and the. next morning they were united. The confusion of his rival, who had provided an entertainment for two hundred people may easily be conceived. Mrs. Benson being much enraged at her daughter's conduct, refused either to see her or to give up her clothes ; nor was she reconciled to her

till

she was delivered of her second child,

on which occasion she stood sponsor

to

it,

"and

presented Metcalf with twenty guineas. He now.' purchased a house at Knaresborougb,

and continued season.

to play at

Harrowgate during the

He

likewise set up a four-wheeled chaise, and a one-horse chair, for public accommodation,

which were the 3

first

of the kind kept there.

JOHN METCALP.

32

These vehicles he kept two summers, but the

iniv-

keepers beginning to run chaises, he relinquished that sheme, and with it racing and hunting He

then bought horses and went to the coast for fish, which he took to Leeds and Manchester, and was so indefatigable, that he would frequently walk for two nights and a day, with little or no rest. But the profits of this business being smal! > and the fatigue excessive, he soon abandoned that likewise.

At the commencement of the

rebellion in 174o>

he exchanged his situation as violin player at Harrowgate, for the profession of arms. This singular event was brought about in the following

manner William Thornton, Esq. of Thornville, having resolved to raise a company at his own expence/ asked Metcalf, who was well known to him, :

whether he would join the company about to be raised, and whether he knew of any spirited fellows likely to

make good

in the affirmative,

plying ant to a serjeant

Upon

his re-

he was appointed

assist-

soldiers.

ons ; hundred and forty men, out of whom the Captain, drafted sixty-four, the number of privates he

and

in

two days

raised

wanted..

With calf as

company, among whom was Met* musician, Captain Thornton joined the this

army under General Wade.

In the

first

battle

which they were engaged, twenty of the men, the lieutenant and ensign were made prisoners*. in

and the Captain himself very narrowly escaped.

JOHN METCALF.

33

Metcaif, after a variety of adventures rejoined his patron, and was akvays in the field during the

After

engagements which succeeded.

different

the battle of Culloden, he returned to his family at

Knaresborough. Being again at liberty to chusehis occupation, he attended Harrowgate as usual. During his Scotch expedition he hud become acquainted with

various

articles

manufactured

that

in

country, and judging that he might dispose of some of them to advantage in England, he repaired in the spring to Scotland, and furnished himself with a variety of cotton and worsted articles, for

which he found a ready

tive country.

Among

sale in his na-

a thousand articles he

what each cost him, from a

^particular'

knew

mode of

marking them.

Pie also dealt in horses, directhis choice, by feeling the animal ; and ening gaged pretty deeply in the contraband trade, the profits of

which were then much more consider-

able than the risk. In the year 1 76 1, he commenced a new employ ; set up a stage-waggon between York and Knaresborough, being the first on that road, and

he

drove

it

himself twice a week in the summer, and This business, with the oc-

once in winter.

casional conveyance of army baggage, employed till the period for his first contract-

his attention

ing for the making of roads; which suiting better, he relinquished every other pursuit.

During

his leisure hours,

suration in a

way

him ,

he had studied men-

peculiar to himself; and

whea

JOHN METCALF.

34

certain of the girth and length of any piece 'of he was able accurately to reduce its contents to feet and inches, and could the di-

timber,,

bring

mensions of any building into yards and feet. The first piece of road he made was about three miles of that between Fearnsby and Minskip. The materials for the whole were to be procured from one gravel-pit he therefore provided deal boards, and erected a temporary house at the pit, ;

took a dozen horses to the place, fixed racks and mangers, and hired a house for his men at Minsk ip.

He

often walked from Knaresborough in

the morning with four or five stone of meat on

and joined his men by six o'clock. completed the road much sooner than was

kis shoulders,

He

expected to the entire satisfaction of the surveyor

and trustees. Soon after

he contracted for building a bridge at Boroughbridge, which he completed with great credit to his abilities. The business of

making

this

roads, and building and repairing bridges

in Yorkshire, Lancashire, Derbyshire, and Cheshire, he continued with great success- till the year

17&2, when he returned to his native county. In the summer of 1788, lie lost his wife in the of sixty-first year of her age, and the fortieth

She was intheir union, leaving four children. terred in the church-yarl of Slockport, in Cheshire,

where she then resided.

After

some

unsuccessful speculations in the

cotton trade, Metcalf returned to Yorkshire, and for waut of other engagements,, he bought hay to

JOHN METCALF.

35

again, measuring the stacks with bis arms, and having learned the height, he could readily tell what number of square yards were contained in a stack of any value between five and one hundred pounds. Sometimes he bought a little

sell

wood

standing, and if he could get the girth and height, would calculate the solid contents.

In addition to

this brief history

of the

life

of

this singular character, the reader will not be displeased to find the following anecdotes, which

are of a nature too extraordinary to be omitted: Metcalf had learned to walk and ride very readily through most of the streets of York ; and

being once in that city, as he was passing the George, the landlord called to him, and informed him that a gentleman in the house wanted a " \ know guide to Harrowgate, adding, you can

do

as well as

calf agreed,

any one." To this proposal Metupon condition that his situation

should be kept secret from the gentleman, might otherwise be afraid to trust him.

who The

stranger was soon ready, and they set off on horseback, Metcalf taking the lead. When they

came

to Allerton-Mauleverer, the

gentleman enthat was on the light, whose house quired large to which Metcalf replied without the least hesitation.

A

little

farther the road

is

crossed by that

from Wetherby to Boroughbridge, and runs along by the lofty brick wall of Allerton Park.

A

road led out of the park opposite to the gate

the Knaresborough road, which Metcalf was afraid of missing; but perceiving the current

upon

JOHN METCALF.

3

of wind that came through the park gate, he readily turned hishorse towards the opposite one. the difficulty in opening

Here he found some

gate, in consequence, as he imagined, of some alteration that had been made in the hanging of

he had not been that way for several months. Therefore, backing his horse, he exclaimed, " Confound thee, thou always goes to the heel it,

as

of the gate instead of the head." The gentleman observed that his horse was rather awkward, but that his

own mare was good

at

coming up

to a

gate, on which Metcalf cheerfully permitted him to perform that office. Passing through Knares-

borough, they entered the uninclosed, nor was there

forest

which was then

as yet

any turnpike road upon it. Having proceeded a little way upon the forest, the gentleman observed a light,

and asked what

it

was.

Metcalf took

it

for

granted companion had seen what is called a Will-o'-the-Wisp, which frequently appears in alow and swampy spot, near the road ; but fearful of betraying himself, did not ask in that his

what

direction the light lay.

To

divert his at-

tentioh from this object, he asked him if he did not see two lights, one to- the right, the other The stranger replied that he saw but to the left.

one, on the ealf,

" that

then, Sir/' says MetHarrowgate." Having arrived at

right." Well is

their journey's end, they called the Gran by,

stopped at the house

where Metcalf, being well acquainted with the place, led both horses into the stable, and then went into the

now

JOHN M ETC ALP.

37

house, where he found his fellow traveller comof negus, in which fortably seated over a tankard he pledged his guide. Metcalf took it of hiai verv readily the first time, but the second time he was rather wide of his mark. He therefore

withdrew, leaving the landlord to explain what companioa was yet ignorant of. The latter hinted to the landlord his suspicion that his guide must have taken a great quantity of spirits since

his

their arrival,

reason

his

"

upon which the landlord enquired for entertaining

such an opinion

the traveller, " from the

I

judge so," replied appearance of his eyes" do not you know that he you mean by that r" not see ?" " Blind Sir, as

blind as

<(

!

a

I

Eyes is

mean

gracious

stone,

!

bless

blind?"

by

"

you

Sir, that "

God

Sir

!

What do

!

heaven

he can" Yes, !"

The

stranger desired Metcalf to be called, and upon " Had I the landlord's account

his

confirming

known

:

t(

would not have ventured with you for a hundred pounds." " And a would not have lost I, Sir," said Metcalf, my

way

thaf," said

for a

he,

thousand."

I

The

services of the even-

ing were rewarded with two guineas, and a plentiful entertainment the next day by the gentleman, who considered this circumstance as the

most extraordinary adventure he had ever met with.

Metcalf happened once to be at Scriven, at house of one Green, an innkeeper, \vheie two persons had a dispute concerning some sheep, which one of liieai had put into the peuVOL. 3. NO. 8. the

JOHN METCALF.

38 fold.

The owner of

the sheep, a

townsman of

MetcalFs, appeared to be ill-treated by the other party, \vho wished to take an unfair advantage.

Metcalf perceiving that they were not

likely

to agree about the damages, departed. It being about, midnight, he resolved to perform a good turn for his

penfold

friend before

being

he went home.

The

walled round, he climbed over,

and laying hold of the sheep one after the other, he fairly threw them over the wall. The difficulty umlcT'.aking encreased as the number diminishedj as they were not so ready to catch ;

of the

but not deterred by that circumstance, he completed the business. On the return of day, when the penfold was found untenanted, though the

door was

fast

locked

surprize was

;

excited,

a considerable degree of and various conjectures

relative to the rogues who had liberated the sheep: but Metcalf passed unsuspected, and enjoyed the joke in silence.

were formed

Passing once through Halifax, he stopped at an inn called the Broad Stone. The landlord's

and some others who frequented Harrowheard of MetcalPs exploits, expresgate, having son,

He consed a wish to play at cards with him. he rewhich a was and sent for, sented, pack the landquested permission to examine but as lord was his friend, he could rely upon him- to ;

and Metprevent any deception. They began, calf beat four of them in turn, playing for liquor Not satisfied with this, some of the comonly.

pany proposed

to play for

money, and

at shilling-

JOHN M ETC ALP. v/hkt, Metcalf

won

39

fifteen shillings.

The

losing

but party then pro-posed to play double or quit, he declined playing for more than half-a-guinea

At length

points. \\e

engaged

yielding to their importunity,

and being favoured by and a shilling for liquor

for guineas,,

won each game. The

fortune, he

ten,

loser taking up the cards, went and returned with eight guineas more, soon out, which soon followed the other ten. Among the numerous roads which Metcalf

contracted to make, was part of the Manchester As Black- Moor to Standish-Foot.

road from

was not marked out, the surveyor, contrary took it over deep marshes, out of which it was the opinion of the trustees, that it would be necessary to dig the earth till they

it

to expectation,

came

to a solid bottom. This plan appeared to Metcalf extremely tedious and expensive, and

liable

to

other

disadvantages.

He

therefore

argued the point privately with the surveyor, and several other gentlemen, but they were all imin their former opinion. At their next and addressed them Metcalf attended, meeting " in the following manner Gentlemen, I propose to make the road over the marshes after my own plan, and if it does not .answer, I will beat

moveable

:

the

expence of making

your's."

To

this proposal

over, again after they assented. Having it

engaged to complete nine miles in ten months he began in six different parts, having nearly four hundred in.en employed. One. of the places was. Pule and .Standish Common, whfeh was a deep bog, and over which it was thought imprae-

Y 2

JOHN M ETC A IF.

40 ticable to

make any

road.

teen yards wide, and raised

Here be it

cast

it

in a circular

four-

form.

The water, which in many places ran across tne road, he carried off by drains; but found the greatest difficulty in conveying stonesr to the spot on account of the softness of the ground. Those

who passed that way to Hud dersfield Market/ were not sparing of their censure of the undertaking, and even doubted whether it would ever be completed. Having, however, levelled the piece to the end, he ordered his men to collect heather or ling, and bind it in round bundles \vhich they could span with their hands.

These

"bundles were placed close together, and anoiher TOW laid over them, upon which they were well

pressed

down and covered with stone and

gravel.

This piece, being about half a mile in length when com pleated, was so remarkably fine, that

any person might have gone over in winter unshod without being wet and though other parts of the road soon wanted repairs this needed none ;

for twelve years.

These particulars concerning this extraordinary man and useful member of society are taken from a narrative published by himself, since his return to his native county. residence at Spofforth near

daughter and

happy

in the

dustrv, as his

son

in

law

He

there fixed his

Wetherby, with a

who kept

his

house,

of his inenjoyment of advanced age prevented him from the fruits

engaging in the more active occupations which he had been accustomed. We believe

to

him

to

be

still

living.

JONATHAN

IN

no

class

:

of mankind do we

f.ncl

more

fre-

quent instances of eccentricity than among men of extraordinary genius and talents. To an atlives of the majority of beings would probably furnish abundant of singularities, but they pass -unnoticed and un-

tentive observer the

human

recorded, as attracted

guished abilities.,

rl^Tv?

the attention of the biographer

is

by those characters that are distinfrom the general mass by particular qualities

perhaps

or

has

passions.

Among

these

rendered himself more con-

spieiUnis by the indulgence of the most unaccountable caprices and the most whimsical singulari-

than the celebrated Dean Swift. The grandfather of .Dr. Swift was- the Rev. Thomas Swift, vicar of Goodridge in HerefordOf these shire, who at his death left six sons. ties

Jonathan, the fifth, married Mrs. Abigail Erick of Leicestershire, and practised, as an, attorney in

Oae of the fruits of this union was tlie of the present article, who came into the subject world on the 30th of November, 1667, two months after the death of his father, who Dublin.

.

having

left

barely sufficient

to

support his widow, the care of Jonathan and his orphan .sister devolved <

v

JONATHAN SWIFT.

fi

I

upon

their uncle

Godwin.

six years old to school at

He

sent the son

Kilkenny, and

when

at fourteen

entered him a student at Trinity College, Dublin. Jn his academical studies, young Swift was either not diligent or not happy. It must disappoint the expectation of every reader, that when,

he claimed the Batchelorship of Arts, he was found too conspicuously deficient for regular admission, and obtained his de-

at the usual time,

gree at

last

by

special faror,

a term used

in that

university to denote want of merit.

Of this disgrace it may easily be supposed that he was much ashamed, and shame had its proper effect in producing reformation. He resolved from that time to study eight hours a day,

and continued his industry for seven years, with what improvement is sufficiently known. This part of his history well deserves to be rememberit ed may afford useful admonition and powerful encouragement to men, whose abilities have ;

been made

useless, for a time, by their passions or pleasures, and who, having lost one part of life in idleness, are tempted to throw away the

remainder

in despair.

In this course of daily

application he continued three years longer at Kublin, and in this time he drew the first sketch of his " Tale of ^Fub." At the age of about twenty one, being left

without subsistence by the death of his uncle who had supported him, he went to consult his mother, who then lived at Leicester, about the future course of his

life,

By

her direction he

.

JONATHAN solicited the

SV.TTT.

patronage of Sir William Temple, of her relations. By this

who had married one

gentleman Swift was received \vith considerable kindness, and so much pleased was Sir William with his young kinsman that he kept him two

Here he became known to years in his house. the William Third, who sometimes visited King was disabled by the gout, and he when Temple Swift in the garden^ shewed attended by being

him how to cut asparagus in the Dutch way. This prince's notions were all military, and he expressed his kindness to Swift by offering to

make him

a captain of horse; a favour which he

however, declined. Before he

left

Ireland, he contracted a disorder

as he thought, by eating too much fruit. Whatever was the cause of his indisposition, certain it is that on this occasion he first experienced that

giddiness which attacked through the whole of his

nated

in

him from time life,

and

to

time

at laot termi-

the most afflicting of maladies.

Having removed with

his patron to Moor-* Park, and being much oppressed by his disorder, he was all vised to try the effect of his native air,

but finding no benefit, he returned to Sir William at whose house he continued his studies. He

thought exercise of great necessity, and used to run half a mile up and down a hill every two

The mode

in which his first degree was him no great fondness for ihe university of Dub.in, and he therefore took his degree of Master of Arts at Oxford, in

hours.

conferred,

left

1

JONATHAN

4 his

During

SWIFT.

residence with Sir William

Tem-

ple, Swift used to pay his mother at Leicester a He travelled on bot, unless theyearly visit. J

violence of the weather drove him into a waggon ; and at night he would go to a penny lodg-

where

lie purchased clean sheets tor sixThis practice Lord Orrery imputes to his innate love of grossness, and vulgarity. Some

ing,

pence.

may

ascribe

nature in

it

all its

to his desire of

surveying

human

and others, perhaps with a passion which seems to

varieties,

equal probability to

have been deeply fixed

in his heart,

the love

-of

a shilling. In time he began to think that his attendance at "Moor- Park deserved some other recompence pleasure, however mingled with improvement, of Sir William Temple's conversation,

than the

and became so impatient that

away

in discontent.

He returned

in

1694 he went

to Ireland

and

re-

solved to enter into the church, in which he had at first no higher hopes than of the en a plain sin j>

:

to

the factory at

mended

to

but being recomthat time Lord Lieute-

Lisbon,

Lord Capel,

at

nant, he obtained the prebend of Xilroot, worth.

about one hundred pounds per annum. The infirmities of Sir William rendered such a

companion as Swift so necessary, that he invited him back, with a promise to procure him Engpreferment in exchange for the prebend, which he desired him to resign. With this request Swift complied, and they passed four years together with mutual satisfaction, till, in

lish

JONATHAN

SWIFT.

5

William died, leaving a legacy together with the publication of his manuscripts to Swift, for Sir

\vhon of the

lie

obtained from King William a promise vacant prebend at Westminster or

first

Canterbury. In order to remind the king of this promise, Swift dedicated to him the posthumous works, with which he was entrusted but neither the dedication nor tenderness for the mail whom :

he had once treatdwith confidence and fondness revived in William the remembrance of his promise.

Swift attended the court for

some time,

but soon found his solicitations hopeless. He was then invited by the Earl of Berkely to

accompany him

his chaplain and but after private secretary; having done the business till their arrival in Dublin, he then found that one Bush had persuaded the Earl that a to Ireland as

clergyman was not a proper secretary, and had obtained the office for himself. He had another severe

mortification to endure from

the

same

quarter; through the influence of Bush, supposed to have been secured by a bribe, the deanery of

Berry, which Swift expected to have obtained, was conferred on another, and he was dismissed with the livings of Laracor and Kathbeggan,

which together were worth two hundred and pounds a year, not half the value of the

sixty

deanery.

He now

went

to reside at

Laracor and gave

public notice to his parishioners thai he intended to read prayers every Wednesday and Friday. On the subsequent Wednesday the bell was runjj,

JONATHAN SWIFT.

.6,

and the rector attended at his desk when, after sat some time, and finding he congregation to consist.'only of himself and Roger his ;

having clerk,

i

lie

began

" :

Dearly beloved Roger, the

me in sundry places" and then proceeded regularly through the whole scripture

rnoveth you and.

service.

Soon

after bis settlement at Laracor, Swift in-

vited to Ireland the unfortunate Stella, a

young

woman whose

nsime was Johnson, the daughter of the steward of Sir William Temple, who, .in consideration of her father's integrity,

left

her a

thousand pounds. She was accompanied by a Mrs. JDingiey. With these ladies Swift passed the hours of relaxation, but they never resided in the same house, nor did he see either without a witness. They lived at the parsonage when he was away, and when he returned, removed to a lodging, or to the house of a neighboring clergy-

man

.

In 1/04 appeared the " Tale of a Tub," which has been universally attributed to the pen of Swift,

and though he never claimed the perform-

ance, he did not deny

bishop of York, and

shewing

it

to

it

trie

when Dr. Sharpe, archduchess of Somerset, by of a

Queen Ann, debarred him

bishopric.

Previous to this, on the accession of that and prequeen, Swift had repaired to England, ibr the conspicuous part which a himself pared few years afterwards he acted on the theatre of In i;XM, though the extent of his politics.

J.O

NATHAN

SWIFT.

7

was known to

many in private life, and were much, and conversation company was his name and after admired, yet sought

talents his

known either in ^the republic of letters, or to any of the wits of the age, except Congreve and one or two more, with whom he'had con-

little

tracted an acquaintance at Sir William Tern pie's. The knot of wits used at this time to assemble at

Button's Coffee-house, where

Swift's first

ap

pearance excited considerable notice on account of the singularity of his manners. For several successive days they observed a strange clergyinto the corTee-house, who seemed

man come

any of those by whom it was It was his custom to lay his frequented. hat down on a table and walk to and fro at a good

utterly unacquainted with

hour or an hour, without speakmortal, or seeming to attend in the least to any thing that was going forward. He would then take up his bar, pay his money at the

pace

for half an

ing to any

bar,

and walk away wiihot

t

opening

his lips.

After having observed his singular behavior for some time, they concluded him to be out of his senses,

and accordingly distinguished him by the

appellation of the rnad parson. They now became more attentive than ever to his motions, and one evening while they were observing him,

they saw him cast his eyes several times on a gentleman in boots, who seemed to be just come

from the country, and at last advance towards him. as if to address him. They were all eager U> hear what the dumb, mad divine had to

say,

JONATHAN

-O

SWIFT.

and immediately quitted their seats to get near him. Going up to the country gentleman, Swift, in a very abrupt manner, and without any previous " salute, asked him Pray, Sir, do you remember any good weather in the world ?" The coun:

after staring a little at the singuof his manner and theoddity of the queslarity " Yes Sir, I thank God, I rememtion, replied

try

gentleman :

ber a great deal of good weather in my time." " than I can " That is more," returned Swift, say; I never remember any weather that was not too cold or too hot, too wet or too dry but however God almighty contrives it, at the end ;

of the year, 'tis all very well/' On saying this, he took up his hat, and without uttering another word, or taking the least notice of any one,

walked out of the coffee-house, leaving all the spectators of this odd scene, staring after him

and

still

more confirmed

in

the opinion of his

insanity.

A

curious anecdote of what passed between Swift and Dr. Arbuthnot at the same place is thus related. The doctor had been in great haste scribbling a letter which was

much

blotted,

odd parson near him, with a de" to Pray, Sir, play upon him, he said: sign " have you any sand about you ?" No, replied " but I have the Swift, gravel, and if you will me I'll letter, your p s upon it." Such give was the extraordinary commencement of their acquaintance, which afterwards ripened into the

and seeing

this

closest friendship.

After these adventures they

JONATHAN SWIFT.

9

saw him no more at Button's, the Tale of a Tub had made its appearance, when in the person of the author of that performance they recognized In 1709 commenced his intitheir mad parson. macy with the Earl of Oxford, and from that time

1713 he was constantly employed iu

till

maintaining the cause of the ministry in pam-

poems and weekly publications. He rationforward to the completion of his looked ally wishes for ecclesiastical preferment in England* when, in 17 13 he was presented with the deanery phlets,

of

St. Patrick. Though disappointed, Swift was too well acquainted with the precarious nature of courtly promises to refuse the offered dig-,

nity.

Swift went to Ireland to take possession of his deanery, on which he immediately returned to.

England, where he in vain attempted to heal the breach which had begun to take place betweea his great friends Lords Oxford and Bolingbroke. Perceiving that his services were useless, he retired to the house of a friend in Berkshire, where

he remained all

his

caused

till

the queen's death put an end to

England. That event immediate return to his native coun-

expectations in his

try, with

a mind doubly harassed by grief and

discontent.

Swift now, Irishman for

much life,

against his will, commenced to contrive how he

and was

might best be accommodated he considered himself as in a

in a country where state of exile.

He

opened his house by a public table two days aVOL. in. NO. 28. z

10

JONATHAN

week, and found

SWIFT.

allv his entertainments gradually

frequented by more and more

visitants

of learn-

amonsf ing o amonsr o the men and of elegance o o the women. Mrs. Johnson had left the country, and lived in lodgings not far from the deanery. On his public days she regulated the table, but apit as a mere guest like other ladies. other days he often dined at a stated price with Mr. Worral of his cathedral, whose house

peared at

On

was recommended by the peculiar neatness and

To this frugal mode of was first he disposed by an anxiety to pay living he had debts some contracted, and he continued of the for it pleasure accumulating money. His pleasantry of his wife.

avarice, however, was not suffered to obstruct the

He was served in plate, claims of his dignity. that he was the poorest gentleto and used say man in Ireland that ate upon plate, and the richest that lived without a coach.

In 1?1<5, in his 49th year, Swift was privately married to Mrs. Johnson, by Dr. Ashe, then bishop of Clogher. This circumstance made no he living difference in their domestic economy ;

deanery and she in lodgings on the other side of the Liffy. He never openly acknowledged her as his wife, nor was there any thing in their at the

behaviour that transgressed the limits of platonic A conduct so very extraordinary, which undoubtedly contributed to shorten the life of the love.

Stella, could not fail to give rise to a of conjectures, but the most plausible exvariety it will be found in the folio wing facts. planation of

unhappy

JONATHAN SWIFT.

11

Some

with years previous to his marriage the with an had formed Stella, Swift intimacy mera Dutch Van of a Mr. Hoinrigh, daughter

This young woman, distinguished in Swift's works by the name of Vanessa, was fond of literature, and Decanas, the dean,

chant at Dublin.

CadenuSj by transposition of the letters took pleasure in directing and instructing her ; called

till, from being proud of his praise, she grew fond of his person. Swift was then of an age

when

vanity is strongly excited by the attention of a young woman. If it be urged that Swift should have checked a passion which he never

intended to gratify, recourse must be had to that extenuation which he so much despised, the

human

Perhaps, however, he own mind; and, as he For his represents himself, was undetermined. admission of her courtship, and his indulgence of frailty

of

did not, at

first,

nature.

know

his

her hopes after his marriage to Stella, no other honest plea can be found than that he delayed a disagreeable discovery from time to time, dreading the immediate bursts of distress, and watching for a favorable

moment. She thought

herself neg1723 of a broken heart, having, by her will, ordered the poem to be published in which Cadenus had proclaimed her ex
cellence

in

and confessed

this publication

upon

The

his love.

the. dean

and

effect

Stella

is

of

thus

represented by his friend Delany <( I have good reason to believe that they both :

were greatly shocked and distressed (though

it

JONAT.IIAN SWIFT.

*'*

be differently) upon this occasion, Thcr dean made a tour to the south of Inland, for about two months to dksipate his thoughts mid

may

give place to obloquy. AnckStella retired, upon the earnest invitation of the owner, to the house

of a cheerful, generous, good-natured friend of whom she also much loved and honor-

the dean's

There

ed.

my

informer often saw her; and I utmost endeavors

ha.ve reason to believe, used his to relieve, support

and amuse her

in this sad situ-

"ation."

While private

the dean was thus reducing himself in to a condition acutely painful to a

life

mind endued with acquiring

sensibility,

popularity

in

he was gradually

his public

character

The

his

great acquisition countrymen. among of public esteem and influence was made by liis " of Drapier's Letters," in 1*24. The occasion

them was

this.

One Wood,

of

WolverhampUm

in Staffordshire, an enterprizing and rapacious man, had as it is said, by a present to the du-

chess of Minister, obtained a patent empowering him to coin one hundred and eighty thousand in halfpence and farthings for the kingof Ireland. That country was then exposed

pounds

dom

to a very inconvenient scarcity of copper coin,

and

W.

j
took care

to

make

it

greater by old half-

means of agents who bought up the pence.

He

was about

to

turn

his

copper into

gold, by pouring the treasures of his new mint upon Ireland, when Swift, finding that the inctal

was debased to an enormous degree, wrote

J

letters

O N A T II AN

S

W

F

FT.

under the signature of M.

1

B

3

Drnpier, to

shew the folly of receiving and the mischief that must ensue by giving gold and .-liver for coin worth perhaps not a third part of its nominal value.

The

nation was alarmed and the

new coin was

The governors of Ireland universally refused. considered resistance to the King's patent a* highly criminal, and chief justice Whitshed, whohad tried the printer of a pamphlet written a

few years before by

Swift,,

recommending

to the

the improvement of their manufactures, and had sent the jjary out nine times till by claIrish

mor and menaces they were frightened into a spenow presented the Brapier, but could

cial verdict,

not prevail on the grand jury to rind the bill. During the publication of these letters Swift took great

known

rrains

to conceal himself from being Oil the appearance of the

as the author.

fourth letter, Ldrd Carteret and the privy council issued a proclamation offering a reward of three

hundred pounds

for the discovery of its author. only persons in the secret were Swift's butler he employed as his amaRobert Blakely,

The

whom

As nuensis, and his friend, Dr. Sheridan. Blakely was not the most accurate transcriber,, the manuscript was always delivered by him tothe doctor, in order to its being corrected and prepared for the press, on which it was conveyed to the printer in such a way as to prevent the. It happened that on, possibility of a discovery.

the very evening

when

the proclamation z 3

w-as.is>-

14

JONATHAN

4

SWIFT.

Blakely siaid out later than usual without The dean ordered the door

sued,

his master's leave.

to be locked at the accustomed hour

him

The next morning

out.

and shut

the poor fellow ap-

peared before him with marks of great contrition, when Swift would listen to none of his excuses,

but abusing him outrageously, ordered him to strip offhis livery and quit rehouse that moment.

"

What, you

am

villain/' said he,


.is it

because

I

your power, you dare take these liberties? Get out of my house, you scoundrel, and receive the reward of your treachery." Stella who was at the deanery, and was greatly alarmed at this in

scene, immediately dispatched a messenger to Dr. Sheridan, requesting him to come and try to make up matters. On his arrival he found Blakely

walking about the hall in great agitation, and shedding abundance of tears. On enquiring the cause, he was told that his master had discharged

The doctor bade him cheer

(him.

up, for he

# ould undertake to pacify the dean, and to prevail upon him to continue him in his place. r

not what vexes me," replied the honest " to be sure, I should be creature, sorry to lose so good a master, but what grieves me to the

"That

soul

is,

is

that

opinion of traying

my me as

him

for

master should have so bad an suppose me capable of be-

to

any reward whatever."

When

the dean, struck with the genethe of sentiment, he immediately restored > rosity him tp favor, and took the first opportunity of this. was told to

rewarding

tl^e

man

for his fidelity.

The place of

JONATHAN

SWIFT.

1.3

vaverger to the cathedral soon after becoming Robert to him and enquired whether he had any clothes of his^own that were

cant. Swift called

not a

.livery.

On

his replying in the affirmative, and strip off his livery

the dean ordered him to

The poor fellow, quite know what crime he had

to put on those clothes.

astonished, begged to committed to occasion this so sudden dismissal.

"

Do

as I order

he returned

was the only reply. When dress, the dean called the

you"

in his

new

other servants into the room, and told them they were no longer to consider him as their fellow servant Robert, but as St. Patrick's cathedral,

him

as

Mr. Blakely, verger of

which place he had given

a reward for his faithful services.

The

grateful creature poured forth a thousand blessings and only in treated as the greatest favor hecould confer .on him that he might still be con-

tinued in his former station without fee or re-

ward, as he was sure no one could give such satisfaction tg, his master in the discharge of it as himself. Being an excellent servant and accustomed all Swift's peculiarities, the proposal could not but be very acceptable to the dean; and Mr. Blakely continued to officiate in that capacity for some time as a volunteer, without any of the

to

badges of servitude.

But the master was too

li-

beral to accept of the generous proposal made by the servant; for though he paid him no wages, he took care, by presents, to make him a full

equivalent.

The day

after the

appearance of the above-

'

JONATHAN

SWIFT.

mentioned proclamation there was a full levee at the Castle. The lord lieutenant was going round the circle,

when Swift abruptly entered

the

chamber, and pushing his way through the crowd, never stopped till he got within the circle; where with marks of the highest indignation in his countenance he addressed the lord lieutenant with the voice of aStentor, that re-echoed through " the room So, my lord lieutenant, this is a :

glorious exploit that

you performed yesterday,

in issuing a proclamation against a

poor shop-

keeper, whose only crime is an honest endeavour to save his country from ruin. You have given a noble specimen of what this devoted countryis

to

you you

hope

for

from your government.

I

suppose

expect a statue of copper will be erected to for this service done to Wood." He then

continued for a long time to inveigh bitterly against the patent, and displayed in the strongconsequences of introduc-

est colors all the fatal

ing that execrable coin. struck

dumb

at this

The whole assembly was

unprecedented scene.

to the whole

Res dura (e

Hard

prevailed, listened with great composurespeech, replied in the following line

who had

Carteret,

of Virgil

For

when Lord

some time, profound silence

:

et regni novitas

me

talia cogunt moliri.

fortune and the .newness of

compel me

to such

measures."

my reiga The- whole as-

sembly was struck with the appositeness of tbi*

JONATHAN

SWIFT.

17

quotation, and the levee broke up in good humor, *ome extolling the magnanimity of Swift to the skies,

and

delighted with the ingenuity of the

all

lord lieutenant's answer.

From

this

time Swift became the oracle of the

idol of the populace, and was and courted by all to whom feared consequently He was the kindness of either -was necessary.

traders,

and

trie

as the champion, patron and instructor of Ireland, and gained such power as, considered both jn its extent and duration, scarcely any

honored

man

has ever enjoyed without greater wealth or higher station. The Brapier was a sign, the

Drapier was a health, and which way soever the eye or ear was turned, some tokens were found of the nation's gratitude to the Drapie/. In J727 he returned to England, where in

conjunction with Pope, he collected and published three volumes of miscellanies. It was pro-

bably during this visit that he exhibited the jbllowing specimen of his singular humor, which is related in the words of Pope. "Dr. Swift has an odd, blunt way, that is mistaken by strangers for

ill-nature

scribing

it

Tis so odd that

but by

facts.

I'll

there's

tell

no de-

you one that

into my head. One evening Gay went to see him: you know how intimately we were all acquainted. On our coining in : first

and '

comes

1

' day, gentlemen/ says the doctor, what's the meaning of this visit ? How came you to

Hey

leave the great lords that you are come hither lo see a poor dean, r'

so. '

fond

of,

to

Because we

1

JONATHAN SWIFT.

>8

would rather see you than any of them.' ' Aye, atny one that did not know so well as 1 do might believe you. But since you are come 1 must get some supper for you, I suppose/ ' No doctor, we have supped already.' f Supped already ? that's

yet.

impossible !. why, 'tis not eight o'clock That's very strange, hut if you had not

I must have got something for you Let A couple of what should I have had. lobsters that would have done ay, very well two .shillings tarts, a shilling. But you will

supped, ine see

;

;

drink a glass of wine with me, though you supped so much before your usual time only to spare ' No, we had rather talk with you, pocket ? than drink with you' ' But if you had supped with me, as in all reason you ought to have done,

my

you must then have drunk with me A bottle of wine, two shillings, two and two is four and one two-and sixpence a piece. There, there's haif-a-crown for you, and there's another for you, Sir ; for 1 wont save any thing

is

rive; just

Pope,

by you I am determined.' This was all said and done with his usual seriousness on such occasions, and in spite of every thing we could say to the contrary,

he actually obliged

us to

take the

money." " year 17'27 sent into the world Gulliver's Travels/' a production so eccentric that it filled

The

the reader with a mingled emotion of mirth and amazement. Jt was received with such avidity the price of t.lie first edition was raised, before the second could be prepared.

that,

JONATHAN

SWIFT.

19

The was

greatest part of this singular performance a country residence of writteji at Quilca,

While he was on

Swift's friend Dr. Sheridan.

the subject of Brobdingnag, he used frequently to invite a Mr. Doughty who lived in that neigh-

Doughty was of was and supposed to be the gigantic stature, as as the well most active man in Irestrongest

bourhood

land.

dine with him.

to

Swift used to take great delight in seeing several of his feats, some of which

him perform

were of such an extraordinary nature as almost to exceed credibility. Among these Swift asked him whether he could carry a Manks horse that happened to he in the court-yard. Doughty having tied his legs, immediately took him up and threw him upon his shoulders, with the same ease that another man would lift a sheep, and

walked about with him for a long time without shrinking under his burden.

During his residence at Quilca, the dean went one Sunday to a church, at the distance of more than two hours ride. The parson of the parish invited him to dinner, but Swift excused himself \),y

saying that it was too far to ride home afterno, I shall dine with my neighbour Reilly ;

wards

at Virginy,

which

who was what

is

is

half

way home.

Reilly,

called there a

gentleman farmer, was proud of the honour, and immediately dispatched a messenger to his wife to prepare fpr the reception of so extraordinary a guest. She dressed herself out in her best apparel; the son put

on

his

new

suit,

and

his silver laced hat

adorned

JONATHAN

2O

SWIFT.

his head. When the lady was introduced to the dean, he saluted her with the same respect as if she had been a duchess, several

making

down

conges

the ground, and then handed her with After some high great formality to her seat. flown compliments, he addressed his host ' Mr. to

Reilly, I suppose you have a considerable estate here; let us go and look over your demesne.' Estate! says Reilly devil a foot of land belongs !

me

my generation. I have a pretty here indeed from Lord Fingal, but good he threatens that lie will not renew it, and I to

or any of

lease

have but a few years of it to come/ ' Well but when am I to see Mrs. Keilly:' < Why don't you see her there before you ? That Mrs. Reih* I have heard she is a impossible prudent ly '

!

!

woman, and

as

such would never dress herself

and other ornaments, 'fit only for No, Mrs. Reilly, the farmer's vvife, would never wear any thing better than plain stuff, with other things suitable to ir. Mrs. Reilly happened to be a woman of -good sense, out

in

silks,

ladies of fashion.

and taking the

hint,

immediately

withdrew,

changed her dress as speedily as possible, and in a short time returned to the parlour

common apparel, The dean saluted 'her most friendly manner, taking her by the hand and saying, I am heartily glad to see you Mrs. Reilly. This husband of your's would fain have palmed a fine lady upon me, all dressed out in silks, and in the pink of the mode, for m> in

her

in the

(

1

but

I

5

was not

to

be taken in

so,'

He

then'

JONATHAN laid hold of

his it

young

master',? fine laced hat

pen-knife ripped

o(Y the Uicc,

several

thrust

up

in

When

it

was

papers,

sufficiently

and put

in fresh pa per s

31

SWIFT.

it

;

into the

burnt, he wrapped

it

with

and folding

in Ins pocket.

It

fire. it

up

may

be supposed that the family was put into no small confusion at this strange proceeding but they did not dare to shew tha-t they took any umbrage ;

at

it,

with

as the presence of Swift struck every one awe, who were not well acquaint-

uncommon

ed with him.

However,

as he soon

resumed

his

good humour, entertaining them with many pleasantries to their taste (for no man knew better howto adapt his conversation to all classes of people) they soon recovered their spirits, and the day was

When

he was taking his passed very cheerfully. " I do not intend to rob leave, he said, you Mrs. llcillv

;

1

take nothing belonging to von

shall

there's your son's hat-lace,, I away with me have only changed the form of it to a much better one. So God blessyou,, and thanks for your ;

"

When he was gone, Mrs. good entertainment. Reilly, upon opening the paper, found there were four guineas inclosed in it, together with the burnt lace. While lie staid in the country, he kept an e\e upon then:, and found his lessons had not been thrown away, as they were cured of their vauities, and lived in a manner more consonant to their situation

ia life.

quence of which, one of the

first

on

his return to

VQL,. in.

Dublin,

;NO.

28.

was

to

In 'conse-

things he did pay a visit to

2 A

JONATHAN- SWIFT.

22

Lord Fingal, and engage him to renew Reilly';> without which the poor man would, in a few years, have had nothing for his own or his lease

;

family's support.

The same method which

Srvift

used to

make

Mrs. Reilly ashamed of her extravagance in point of dress, he adopted on another occasion'

When

of a like nature.

George Faulkner, the

from London, where he had been soliciting subscriptions for his edition of the Dean's works, he went to pay his respects to

printer, returned

in a laced waistcoat, a bag-wig, and other fopperies. Swift received him with all the ceremony he would have shewn to a perfect " " what are said

him, dressed

Pray

stranger.

commands

with

Sir,"

me

"

he,

your

thought it my duty to wait on you immediately on my arrival from London" " Pray Sir, who are you ?" " George " You Faulkner, the printer." George Faulkner thou art the most impudent, the printer why, ?

I

!

bare-faced impostor I ever heard of. George Faulkner is a soher, sedate citizen, and would never trick himself out in lace and other fopperies.

Get about your business and thank your stars that I do not send yon to the House of Correction." Poor George hobbled away as fast as he could, and having changed his apparel returned immeSwift, on seeing him, diately to the deanery. ro him with great cordiality, shook him good friend familiarly by the hand, saying,

went up

"My

George, turned.

I

am

heartily glad to see

Here was an impudent

you

safe re-

fellow, in a laced

JONATHAN SWIFT.

SiS-

who would fain have passed for you; but soon sent him packing with a flea hi his ear." In 1728 Swift was doomed to lose his Stella,

Waistcoat, I

after languishing for some time, expired on the 28th of January. This loss was aggravated by the consciousness that he himself had hastened it.

who,

Beauty and the power of pleasing, the greatest external advantages that woman can desire or possess, were fntal to the unfortunate Stella. The man

whom she had the misfortune to love was fond of singularity, and desirous to make a mode of happiness for himself different from the general course of tiling and order of providence. From the time of her arrival in Ireland he seemed resolved to keep her in his power, and therefore hindered a match sufficiently advantageous, by

accumulating unreasonable demands, and prescribing conditions that could not be performed. While she was at her own disposal he did not resentment, possession as secure ambition or caprice might separate them; he was therefore resolved to make assurance doubly sure,

consider his

;

and to appropriate her by a private marriage, to which he had annexed the expectation of all the pleasures of perfect friendship, without the uneasiness of conjugal restraint. But with this state

poor Stella was not

satisfied; she

never was

treated as a wife, an*t to the world she

had the

appearance of a mistress. She lived sullenly on, in the hope that in time he would own and receive her; but the time did not come till the

change of

his

manners and the deprivation of 2 A 2

'

J'O N A

<2t)

off the eclipse again second time.

SW

THAN and

so

l

!

T

.

make fooh of them

m

In a poem on the Presbyterians, Swift introduced one stricture on Serjeant Beltesworth, which was taken up with such warmth by the latter, as to make a great noise in Dublin for a considerable time. The dean's animosity arose not from personal pique, but from Bettesworth's avowed enmity to the clergy, and from his taking

the lead in the House of Commons in procuring a most unjust and arbitrary vote of that assembly, which deprived the clergy of a considerable portion of the tythes enjoyed by them from time

immemorial. So. at

The obnoxious

the bar the

lines

were these.

booby Bettesworth

Whom halt'-a-crown o'crpa^s his sweat's Who knows in law nor textaor raargent

worth,

Calls Singleton kis brother serjeant.

The poem was sent to Bettesworth when he was in company with some of his friends, to

whom

he read

it

aloud

lines relative to himself.

till

he had finished the

He

then threw

it

down

with great violence, trembled and turned pale ; and after some pause, during which rage de-

him of utterance, he took out his penand vehemently swore that with that very Soon after knife he would Cut off Swift's ears. dean at his house, but not he' went to seek the prived knife,

Mr. Worral's finding him at home, proceeded to where he happened to be. On enquiring for Swift; lite serjeant was shewn into the front par-

JONATHAN

,

SWIFT.

G7

and the dean was called out to him from a back room, where he was sitting after dinner with Worrai and his wife. The dean desired to " I am know his commands " said

lour,

he,

Sir,"

;

Serjeant Bet-tes-worth," which was always his pompous way of pronouncing his name in three

" Of what regiment, pray r" O, Mr. Dean, we know your powers of raillery yoij know well enough that

distinct syllables. asked Swift. "

;

I ff

to

am one of his What then, Sir?"

majesty's Serjeants at law."

"

Why then,

demand of you, whether you

Sir, I

am come

are the author of

it) and of these villainous same time reading them aloud with great vehemenceof emphasisandmuch " ee it was a Sir," replied Swift, gesticulation.

this

poem, (producing on

lines

me

r"

at the

piece of advice given Lord Somers, never to

ing

laid

this

in

to

some

my

me own

in

charge ; whatever

cases,

my

early days

by

or disown any writbecause, if I did I

did not disown

afterwards would infallibly be imputed to me, as mine. Now, Sir, I take this -to be a very wise maxim, and as such, have followed it ever since ;

and

I

your

rhetoric, as great a

to

believe

it

will

hardly be in the power of master as you are of it,

make me swerve from

that rule."

Many

other

things passed at this interview which were de scribed by Swift in a letter to the Duke of Dorset,

At going

then lord lieutenant of Ireland.

" Well, away Bettesworth thus addressed him since you will'. give me no satisfaction in this affair, let me tell you, your gown is your protec:

JONATHAN

30

when she

left

the room.

s \VIFT.

They had been

gone'

nbout a quarter of an hour, when the dean ordered a servant to saddle another horse, and

make what speed he could

after

them, and where-

ever he overtook them to oblige them to return immediately. They had not proceeded above the man came up with them, and was the dean's positive order that they should instantly return." 'The poor girl was obliged,

half way, told

them

when it

though with great reluctance, to comply. With a most mortified countenance,, she appeared before the dean, and begged to know his commands. " Nothing, child/' said he, " only you forgot to shut the door after you." But, that he '

might not carry the punishment too

far,

he then

permitted her to pursue her journey. Swift, as has already been observed, was

in

the

habit of visiting Dr. Sheridan, at his residence in the country. On one of these occasions he received intelligence that there was to bt* a beggars wedding in the neighbourhood, and bein^

fond of scenes

in

low

life,

he resolved not to miss

the opportunity of witnessing so curious a ceremony. That he might enjoy the frolic more

completely, he proposed that Sheridan should go disguised as a blind fiddler, while he would attend

man to lead him. Thus accoutred, they reached the scene of action, where the blind There fiddler was received with shouts of joy. as his

was plenty of meat and drink, and the fiddler and his man were plied with more than was agreeable to them. Never was a more joyous wedding.

JONATHAN

SWIFT.

3!

and cracked snug, they danced, told stories a vein of humor more entertaining to jokes, in

They

die two guests than probably they could have found in any other meeting on a like occasion.

When they were about to depart, they pulled out their leathern pouches and rewarded the Next day the dean fiddler very handsomely. and the doctor walked out in their usual dress, and found their companions of the preceding evening scattered in different parts of the road and the neighboring villages, all imploring doleful strains and telling dismal charity in stories of their distress. Among these they found some upon crutches, who had danced very

nimbly at the wedding, others stone blind, who were perfectly clear-sighted at the feast. Sheridan distributed among them the money he had but the dean, who mortally received as his pay hated these sturdy vagrants, told them in what manner he had gained a knowledge of their ;

roguery, and

them

that if they did not honest labor, he would immediately apply have them taken up and sent to jail. This threat

assured

to

a powerful effect the lame once more recovered their legs, and the blind their

instantly produced

eyes,

and employed them

;

to

good purpose

in

making a

precipitate retreat. Idolized by his countrymen, and either courted

all to whom he was known, Swift was now approaching that state which afforded

or feared by

an awful example of the instability of wit, genius and influence. As his years increased his fits of

JONATHAN

3S

SWIFT.

giddiness grew more frequent, and his deafness made conversation difficult. They likewise grew

more

severe, till in 1736, when he was engged " upon a poem called The Legion Club/' he was seized with a fit so painful and so long continued, that he never after attempted any work of

thought or labor. He often lamented in the most affecting man-

Duke of Marlborough, Lord Somers and other great men,, who before their deaths, were reduced to a stale of second childhood and idiotism; and even seemed to feel an impulse of what was to happen to himself before he died. " I remember/' says the poet Young," as I and others were taking with him an evening walk about a mile out of Dublin, he stopped ner, the fate of the

We

short.

not follow

passed on

us, I

;

but

perceiving he did

went back and found him fixed

as

a statue, and earnestly gazing upward at a noble

elm, which in its uppermost branches was much withered and decayed. Pointing at it, he said

:

"

I shall

be

like that tree, I shall die at top/'

Swjft was always careful of his money, and xv as, therefore, not liberal in his entertainments;

but was

When

less

his meat. frugal of his wine than

his friends of either sex

came

to

him

in

was to give expectation of a dinner, his custom every one a shilling, lhat they might please themAt length his moselves wilh their provisions. roscncss and avarice grew too powerful for his kindness ; he would refuse a bottle of wine,

JONATHAN

SWIFT.

<( in Ireland no and;' observes Dr. Johnson*, man visits where he cannot drink."

<'

Having thus excluded conversation and defrom study, lie had neither business -n'T for having by some ridiculous re<.ar solution or mad vow, determined never to

sisted

amusement;

-,

spectacles, he could make his later

years.

His

iittie

ideas,

use of

hoo'S.fc

therefore,

in

1

neither renovated by discourse, nor innva*;left his mind reading, wore gradually av>ay, and vacant to the vexations of the hour, till at hTst

was heightened into madness. grew more violent a no' his mental powers declined, till in 1741 it was to wd necessary that legal guardians of his person and fortune should be appointed. He now lost all distinction. The last face he knew was that of his housekeeper, Mrs. Whiteway, and her he ceased to know in a little time. His meat was brought him cut into inouthfuls but he would never touch it while

his anger

He

;

last, after h had stood perhaps an hour, would eat it walking, for he continued his old habit and was on his feet ten hours a day. In 1742 he 'had an inflammation in hislefteve which swelled it to the size of an egg, with boils He was long kept waking with in other parts.

the servant staid, and, at

the pain and was not easily restrained by live attendants from tearing out his eye. The tumor at last subsided, and a short Interval of reason ensuing, in which he knew his physician ami nis family, gave hopes of his recovery, but i:i a lew VOL. 3. NO. '29. 2 B

34

JONATHAN

SWIFT.

days he* sunk into a lethargic stupidity, motion-

and speechless. But it is said a year of total silence, when his housekeeper, on the 30th of November,, told less,

that,

him

heedless after

and illuminations were he answerpreparing " It is all ed had better let it alone." folly they He afterwards spoke now and then, or gave some that the usual bonfires

to celebrate his birth-day, :

:

intimation of a meaning perfect silence

;

but at

last ^sunk into

and idiotcy, which continued

till

about the end of October, 1744, when in his 78th year he expired without a struggle. He left all his fortune, which, when some few legacies were paid, amounted to nearly eleven thousand pounds, to build and endow an hospital

for idiots

and

lunatics.

COUNTESS OF DESMOND.

of a salubrious climate, longevity be the test the British islands may be considered as more in this particular, than highly favored by nature have almost any other region of the globe.

IF

We

already had occas on

to

notice

some

natives of

for length of life; we shall' instance from Ireland, a country

England remarkable

now produce an

where such examples are perhaps

still

more

fre-

quent. Catherine, countess of "Desmond, was of the family of the Fitzgeralds of Drumana in the

county of Waterford. In the reign of Edward the Fourth she married James the fourteenth Earl of

Desmond, and

visiting

England during

the same reign danced at court with the Duke ofGlocester, afterwards Richard the Third. Sir

Walter Raleigh assures us that

in his time she was remarkable for sprightliness than for her irre. It is probable that her dancing days were not over when a century of her life had elapsed; for,

not

less

being reduced to poverty by the ruin of thehouse Desmond by an attainder, she undertook a journey from Bristol to London, at the age o of

one hundred and

forty, to solicit <2

B

2,

some

relief

'

3

DANIEL BRYAN.

from the court. Sir William Temple

asserts that

she lived some years after this, and the celebrated Bacon informs us that she twice, at least,

renewed her

The year of

teeth.

certain, but she

was not living

Walter Raleigh published

his

in

her death

is

when

ib'14,

unSir

" History."

DANIEL BRYAN. character of the British seaman

is

com-

pounded of undaunted courage and whimsical fccentncity.

He

performs the most ordinary

make way them highly interesting, and by this singularity of manner he frequently renders the gravest subiirni;ns in a

so peculiar to himself as to

A specimen of this which naval heroes are distinour by singularity

jects irresistibly ludicrous.

guished is exhibited Daniel Bryan.

in the ioiiuwiug

anecdote of

n variety of services, in Sir accompanied Sidney Smith in Le Tigre to the Mediterranean. It is well known that is

veteran after

17:/;0

Buonaparte, th-en commanding he French army attacks on :ypf, wa* foiled in his reiterated i

of Acre, principally through nee of part of the gallant crew of Le Tigre, who were landed for that purpose. Old Dan, as he was called, wr.s captain of the th^pv retched

I'ortr* '-ss

the intir;

of Acre fore-top, and during the sie e;e

made

re-

t

pealed applications to

be employed on shore

;

DANIEL BRYAN.

b

on account of his age and" deafness, his reAt the first storming quest was not acceded to. But,

of the breach by the French, among the multitude of slain, fell one of the generals of that nation.

The Turks,

head of

this

in triumph, struck off the unfortunate officer, and after in-

humanly mangling the body with

their sabres,

naked, a prey to the dogs. Precluded from the rites of sepulture, it in a few days beleft

it,

came putrescent a shocking spectacle a dreadmemento of the horrors of war, the fragility of human nature, and the vanity of all sublunary ambition, hopes, and expectations! Thus exposed, when. any of the sailors who had been on !

;

ful

shore

returned

to

the

stantly made- respecting

general.

Dan

sliip,

inquiries

tile state

were

in-

of the deceased,

frequently asked his messmates,

why they had not buried him, but the only reply was, .''Go and do it yourself." Dan swore he would; observing, that he ha-d himself been taken prisoner by the Erench, who always- gave their enemies a decent burial, and did not, like tbe Turks, leave them to rot above-board. Jn the morning, having at length obtained leave to go and- see the town, he dressed luraself-as though for an excursion of pleasure, and went ashore

with the surgeon in the jotiyrboat; About an hour or two after, while the surgeon- was dressing the wounded. Turks in the hospital, in earns honest Dan, who,

in his

manner, exclaimed, general. Sir, and now

rough, good-natures! " Lhave been burying the

t .

am come B 3

to see. the sack,"

DANIEL BRYAN. Not

particularly attending to the tar's salute, bu ot his catching the plague, the surgeon

fcarrul

immediately ordered him out. Returning on board, the coxswain enquired of the surgeon if " lie had seen old Dan I Yes, he has been burying the French general." It was then that Dan's words in tire hospital first occurred. The boat's crew, who witnessed the generous action, an action truly of a British sailor, in

worthy

character are ever blended the nobler and milder

whose

virtues, thus related

1 he old

its

circumstances

:

man

procured a pick-axe, a shovel,, and a rope, and insisted on being let down out of a port-hole, close to the breach. Some of his

more juvenile companions tf

No

offered to attend

him

:

be replied, "you are too young to be shot yet ; as for me, I am old and deaf, and my loss would be no great matter." Persisting in ;"

his adventure, in the midst of the

firing,, Dait was slung and lowered down with his implements, yf action on his. shoulder. His first difficulty, not a very trivial one, was to drive away the dogs.

The French now levelled their pieces they It was were on the instant of firing at the hero un Interesting .moment but an officer perceiving he friendly intentions of the sailor, was seen to I

;.

throw himself across the file. Instantaneously the din of arms, the. military thunder ceased a
its parent earth. with mould and stones, placing a at the -licctd, and another at the feet.

fellow consigned the corpse to

Ho

covered

forg? sto:ic

it

THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

5

The "But Ban's task was not yet completed. unostentatious grave was formed, but no inscription recorded the fate or character of its possessor.

Dan, with the peculiar

air

of a British

ami took a piece of chalk from " [fere you lie, old Crop!" attempted to write,, He was then with his pick-axe and shovel hoisted his pocket.,

sailor,

into the town,

and the

hostile firing

immediately

recommenced.

A few clays afterwards, Sir Sidney, having been informed of the circumstance, ordered Dan " to be called into the cabin. Well, Dan, I hear the French buried have general?" "Yes,. you " Had honour." you any body with you ?" your " " Yes, honour." Mr. Why your says you had not ?" " But I had, your honour ; God " A Almighty was with me." very good assistant, indeed

:

Dan thanked

give old

Ban

a?

glass of grog."

drank his grog, and He is now, laid left the cabin highly gratified. in a would seaman Greenwich tier;, say) up (as there to reap the benefit of his long and faithful his .honour,

services.

THE EARL OF ROCHESTER. nobleman whose Allowing pages was the

the subject of the for affairs o nature by

life is

iitted

highest importance*

bis talents

and knowledge

Though, qualified by to have been one

THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

6

the most extraordinary

men

not only of the

nation, hut of the age in which he lived, he rendered himself remarkable only for his unex-

ampled extravagance of con-duct, which tarnishetl all his brilliant qualities, and at length, to the astonishment of the world, ended in a death-bed repentance almost as unexampled. John Wilmot, son of Henry the

Earl of

first

Rochester, who

distinguished himself by his and attachment to Charles I. and II. was loyalty born in J648, at his father's seat near Wood stock, in Oxfordshire,, His education was commenced at the free school of Burford, where he made an extraordwiary proficiency in his studies,.,

and began to display those shining parts which afterwards appealed with so niueh lustre. He acquired the Latin language to great perfection, and, to the last day of his life, retained an uncommon lelish for the beauties of that tongue,

and was well gustan age In 1657 fortunes in his

skilled

his

house of

attendance on

afterwards

mitted into

the authors of the

Au-

he read with peculiar delight. father, who had followed the

of the

of course

in

whom

succeeded

Stuart, died abroad

Charles to

II.

his titles.

and

his

Two

son

years

young Lord Rochester was adWadham College, Oxford. Here he

the

continued to

make

a considerable progress in his

from which he was, however, literary, pursuits, diverted unfortunately by falling into company with a set of abandoned young men who corrupted his morals.

He

was

still

very

young svhea

THE

EAttL OF ROCHESTER.

make the tour of Europe, -accompliDr. Baifour, a learned physician who by enticed him to read such pieces as were artfully he^et out to

,nied

likely to amend his morals and improve his heart. The laudable artifices' of this .-gentleman

most

to excite in his pupil a thirst of

knowledge and a

of books, were often .afterwards acknowledged with gratitude by Lord -Rochester, who love

used to read

much

the intervals between the

in

woeful extravagancies to which he was addicted and though the time in general was but indiffe:

rently employed, for the choice of the subjects of his studies was not always good ; yet the habitual love of knowledge, together with these stu-

had muqh awakened his understanding and prepared him for better things, when his mind was so far changed as to relish them. He returned from his travels in the eighteenth dious

fits,

year of Charles

his age,

and appeared

at

the court of

with as great advantages as any noHe was well-shaped, tall, bleman ever did. he was exactly well-bred slender and graceful 1 1.

;

was easy and obliging, had uncommon vivacity of thought and vigor of expression, and his wit was equally subtle and His style was clear and strong; when sublime. he used metaphors, they were very lively and

and

his

conversation

He

It yet far enough out of the common road. could not be surprizing that a nobleman who had

received such accomplishments from nature and education should be very acceptable in a court,,

THE EARL OF ROCHESTER,

8

where pleasure appeared

to

be the primary pur*

suit.

The court of England was, at that time, a court of libertinism in which Lord Rochester became an

adept. The debauchery of his manwhich commenced at College, increased in France and Italy, was completed in London, and he became a perfect atheist in principle.

ners

Soon

after his return

from

his travels,

he went to

sea, in the winter of 1660, as a volunteer in the

armament commanded by and equipped

for the

Dutch East India

the Earl of Sandwich,

purpose of intercepting the

fleet.

He

was

in the

Revenge,

commanded by Sir Thomas Tiddiman, in the attack made on the port of Rergen in Norway, which the Dutch ships had taken refuge. " as lt was," says Bishop Burnet, desperate was made the an attempt as ever ; arjd during whole action the Earl of Rochester shewed as

in

rt

brave and resolute a courage as possible. A person of honor told me he heard the Lord Clifford,

who was

in

the same ship, often magnify hid

very highly; nor did the rigor of the season, the hardness of the voyage, and ihe extreme danger lie had been in, deter him from

courage

running the the

summer

very next occasion for he \\eut to sea again, withfollowing like risk the

:

out communicating his design to his nearest relations. He went on board the ship commanded

by

Sir

Edward Spragge, the day before

the great

in which almost sea-fight of tbat year,

ail

the

THE EABL OF ROCHESTER. who went

volunteers

During

the action, Sir

in

Q

that ship were killed.

Edward being

dissatisfied

with the behavior of one of the captains, could find a person that would undertake to not easily

venture through so much danger to carry his command to the captain when Lord Rochester offered himself for the service, and went in a ;

boat through all the shot and delivered his message, and returned back to Sir Edward ;

little

which action was much commended by saw

who

all

it."

Notwithstanding these early instances of intrepidity evinced by Lord Rochester, his courage was afterwards impeached by the timid and pusillanimous spirit which he discovered in

many

private broils, but particularly in an adventure with the Earl of Mulgrave. This affair of honor is

related

and

as

by the

it is

latter

nobleman

in his

works

a curious anecdote and serves to

trate the spirit of the age, disagreeable to the reader.

we think

it

;

illus-

cannot be

was informed," says he, " that the Earl of Rochester had said something of me, which according to his custom, was very malicious;

"

I

I

therefore

sent Col.

friend of mine, to

all

Aston, a very mettled to account for it. He

him

denied the words, and indeed I was soon convinced he had never said them but the mere report, ;

to

be

foolishly thought

to

tho' I found

the

it

false,

obliged

me

as

then

I

go on with the quarrel

;

and

next day was appointed for us to fight ou

THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

IO

horseback, a way

in England a little unusual but was his part to chuse. Accordingly I and my second la}' the night before at Knightsbndge, pri vately, to avoid the being. secured at London oa any suspicion and in the morning, at the place appointed \ve met the Lord Rochester, n ho in;

it

;

stead of James Porter,

would make

his

whom

he assured .Acton he

second, brought an arrant

life-

guard-man whom nobody knew. To this Mr. Aston took exception, upon the account of his being no suitable adversary especially consider;

ing

how extremely

well

he was mouuted

;

whereas

we had only a couple

of pads: upon which we all to on foot. But, as my Lord fight agreed Rochester and I were riding into the next field in

order to

it,

he told

me

that. he

had at

cliosen to fight on horseback, because weak with a certain distemper, that

himself unfit at

all

any way, much

lie

first

was so

he found on foot.

less

1 was extremely surprized, because, at that time, no man had a better reputation for courage and I took the liberty of representing what a ridiculous story it would make, if we returned without fighting and therefore advised him for both our ;

;

sakes, especially for his own, to consider better of it, since I must be obliged in my own defence, to hirji by telling the truth of the was that he submitted to it, answer His

Jay the fault on

matter.

and hoped that I would not desire the advantage of having to do with any man in so weak a condiI tion, replied that, by such an argument, he had sufficiently tied my hands, upon condition

THE EARL OF ROCHESTER. that 1

might

call

our seconds to be witnesses qf

the whole business so

we

parted.

It

;

which he consented

When we

to,

and

returned to London,

we found

it full of this quarrel, upon our being absent so long; and therefore Mr. Acton thought himself obliged to write down every word and

this whole matter, in order to where the true reason of our returnspread every without having fought. This being never in ing the least contradicted by Lord Rochester, entirely ruined his reputation as to courage (of which I was really sorry to be the occasion) though nobody had still a greater as to wit ; which sup-

circumstance of

him pretty well in the world, notwithstanding some other accidents of the same kind ported

that never

fail to

people know

succeed one another when once

of a man's weakness/*

circumstance contributed, in a great measure, to fecal him to order and decency, and This

v

some time he conducted himself agreeably to But he soon relapsed. Before his travels, he had entered into the disfor

the dictates of propriety.

orderly and intemperate way of living, which the joy of the whole kingdom upon the Restoration

and afterwards, continually what called was polite company, where keeping those excesses were constantly practised, again and the natural heat habituated him to them

had

introduced

;

;

of his fancy being inflamed with wine,

made him

so extravagantly pleasant, that many., in order to be the more diverted with his humor, strove

VOL. in.

NO. 29-

2 c

THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

J2

immerse him deeper and deeper

to

in

intempe-

rance.

He

to

Bishop Burner,, that, for was continually intoxicanot living the whole time under the visible ted effect of Jiquor, but never cool enough to be master of himself. There were, in fact, two

aknowledged

five years together, he ;

principles in the temper of this lively and witty nobleman, which carried him into great excesses,

namely, a violent love of pleasure and a disposi-

One involved tion to extravagant mirth. and the other led him into sensuality, strange

known

adventures and

frolics.

He

him

most eccentric paroxysms once disguised himself in such

to run into the

of dissipation.

;

many

was often

He

a manner that his nearest friends could not

him

in

and

know

up for an. Italian mountebank on where he practised quackery * for

set

Tower-hill, several weeks.

He

often disfigured himself as

a beggar or a porter, to foilo\v some low amours, which he affected, to give, as he sa'jd, a variety At other times to indulge his huto his life.

mour, he would wander about in odd shapes, in which he acted his part so naturally, that even those who knew the secret, and saw him unJer those metamorphoses, could perceive nothing by In his sober

Which he might be discovered.

moments he was generous and good-natured, but in

iiis

irregularities

of

his

companions

would go fan her than most after any thing that might

turn out a jest or matter of diversion.

13

The speech which he first made upoH the occasion of his first turning itinerant doctor, has often been printed. It has a true spirit of satire and a keenness of lampoon perfectly conformable to the character of Rochester, who certainly had an original turn for satirical composition. Against majesty itself was not secure; he more than once lampooned the king, who be~ing a man of wit and pleasure as well as Rochester, took

,this talent

these effusions for the sallies of genius, and the ebullitions of an exuberant fancy rather than the >rts of malice ; yet, either from a too frequent

repetition,

or from the' too close and poignant

virulence of one of his satirical

compositions, Charles at length banished him the court. This piece was entitled The Restoration ; or, the History of the Insipids ;and contains the keenest reon the political conduct and private

flections

character of the prince. About the same time, the

ham was

Duke of Bucking-

in disgrace for an offence of a clirFererU

nature; and being disengaged from any particuattachment in town, he and Lord Rochester resolved to set out in quest of adventures. AftOr

lar

disguising themselves in a proper manner for supporting the characters they intended to as-

sume, they jointly took an inn which was to be let on the Newmarket road, where each in his turn officiated as master. Here they were concerned in many ludicrous and still more scandalous transactions.

Having

carefully

observed the

hamkomeit

THE EARL OF HO CHEST Kit.

]4

"\vomen in their

vicinity, they invited such of their neighbours as had wives and daughters of that description to \\here the men frequent feasts,

were plied hard with good liquor and the

wanned

to

make

as

little

women

resistance

Sufficiently as would he agreeable to their inclinations. BY this were enabled to stratagem they

frequently

effect their

say whether a worse end. It

is

guilty purpose, and it is difficult to it be possible for two men to live to

natural to imagine that this kind, of

could not be of long duration.

life

Entertainments

repeated, and for which no payor accepted, could not to excite a strong suspicion either that the

,'b frequently

ment was ever required fail

inn-keepers would not be long able to keep their house open, or that their circumstances were greatly superior to the occupation they

Of

had

a-

the two profligate noblemen dopted. were fully sensible, but they were not much concerned about it, as they had no intention long to

pursue the

this

same kind of adventures, \ariety

of their enjoyments. It was bethe time of his Majesty's regular visit near sides,

being the to

life

Newmarket, when they designed

that the dis-

covery of their real plots should clear them from the imputation of being concerned in any more Before this time

pernicious to the government. should arrive, they however, resolved to accomplish

one favorite object.

In the neighbourhood lived an old miser

had a very

pretty,

young

wife.

He

who

watched her

THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

15

tvith as much care as he did his money, and never trusted her out of his sight but under the protection of an old maiden sister, who had never herself experienced the joys of love, and bore no

great affection to such of her sex as were young had no and handsome. The noble inn-keepers

doubt that he would accept a

treat like

many

others, especially as he was fond of good living when it cost him nothing ; and except on such occasions, he was the most temperate and abste-

mious man prevail

But when they could never

alive.

upon him

to bring his wife, notwithstand-

ing they upged the presence of so many females of character in the neighbourhood to keep her

company, their only study then was how to. deceive the old sister at home; this difficulty they soon found the means of overcoming. For this purpose it was agreed that Rochester should disguise himself in. woman's clothes, and that while the husband was feasting with the duke, be should make trial of his skill upon the old wcn^u 1

at

home.

He

had learned that she hud no aver-

sion to the bottle,

when she could come

and conveniently at it. Equipped lass, and furnished with a bottle of

secretly

like a

country liquor, he pro-

ceeded to the house of the old: miser. It was with difficulty he found means- to speak to the old woman, but at last obtained the favor. He tfii the occasion of his coining, ia of into invited the house, but ia Lopes being iraia ; lie was admitted no farther than the

l>egan to

porcia/

\viih the.

door

ajar.

He ,was now 2

c

3

obliged to

THE

16

OF ROCHESTER.

EA'RE

'recourse to his last expedient, and pretending to be suddenly taken ill, fell down upon the thresh-

The noise brought out the young wife, who with some trouble persuaded her keeper to help old.

the stranger into the house, from regard to the sex, and the unhappy condition

decorum of her

she was in. The door had not been long shut before the impostor by degrees recovered, and being placed on a chair, canted a very religious thanksgiving to the old gentlewoman for her kindness, observing how deplorable it was to be subject to such fits which often took her in the street and exposed her tu so many accidents ; bottle,

who was bad

now and

then she took a sip at the recommending it also to the old duenna

but every

sure to drink a hearty dram. Rochester

IB his

pocket another bottle qualified with

opium, \vhich he presented to the woman, who drinking of it with greediness, soon fell fast a sleep.

Overjoyed by his success, and inflamed countenance changed color, which

-with desire^his

made

victim of his

the artless

imagine that the

fit

was returning.

vantage of her apprehension to ask

be so charitable

as to let

The good-natured

bed.

bim

lie

base passion He took adif

she would

down on

creature shewed

the

him

the way, >and staying by him at his request, he

began

to

make some

ing her husband,

indirect enquiries concern-she painted in his true

whom

a surly, jealous, old tyrant. Under she was speaking to a female, she that the idea

colors, as

the less reserved in

her,

behaviour and ex-

THE

EAftL OF

ROCHESTER.

17

pressions and his lordship found that a tale of love would not be disagreeable to her. In short

he revealed

his sex,

and without

much opposition

overcame her scruples and satisfied his desire. Not content with this, he prevailed on the unfortunate dupe of his artifices to embrace this favourable opportunity of releasing herself from the tyranny of her keeper, whom she robbed of a considerable

man

still

wo-

sum of money, and asleep,

went

midnight to the inn.

leaving: the old off with Rochester about

The

old

man on

his return

home, finding his sister asleep, his wife fled, and his money gone, was thrown into a state of madness

and

hanged himself.

Rochester

was

soon cloyed with the possession of his victim, on which he relinquished her to the duke, who being in his turn weary of her, advised her to go to London, where a life of infamy and a miserable

death were probably the reward of the crimes

which she was thus instigated to commit. This complicated villainy was one of those burdens which lay so heavy on Rochester's mind when oppressed with the horrors of a death-bed repentance.

Soon

after this

infamous adventure, the king

coming that way, found these two profligate noblemen in their posts at the inn, restored them to favor, and permitted them to accompany hitu to Newmarket. Rochester now continued the same extravagant pursuit of pleasure as before, and would even iniulge in freedoms with that prince .whom he had

THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

IS

Once so highly offended. He is supposed to have contrived with one of Charles's mistresses the following stratagem to care that monarch of the nocturnal rambles to which he was addicted.

him

He

one night proposed to accompany house of intrigue where th-e

to a celebrated

king had 'tea rd that the finest women in England were to be found. The king made no scruple to assume his usual disguise, "and lo go with him. While he was engaged with one of the ladies, she, having been* previously instructed by Rochpicked his pocket of all his money and

ester,

watch, which the king did not immediately miss. Neither the people of the house, nor the girl herself knew or had the least suspicion of the After some time he enquality of their visitor. but was told that he had for Rochester, quired .quitted

the

what was

his

house without taking leave; but embarnssment when, on searching

his pockets, in order to discharge the reckoning

he discovered that his money was gone. H
plainly told

him

that she had often been served

and would not penult him k> She then called stir till the reckoning was paid* him. In this to of take care one ot her bullies such dirty

tricks,

ridiculous,

dikm ma

stood the

Britishi-

THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

1(>

the prisoner of a bawd ; and the life on which were fixed a nation's hopes was thus put in the

power of a

ruffian.

After

much

altercation, the

proposed that she should accept which he then took off his finger,

king, at length,

a ring

m

money, which she likewise refused, that as she was no judge of the value telling him, of the ring, she did not chuse to accept such

pledge for her

The monarch then

desired that a jewbe called to might give his opinion of the value of it ; but he was answered that the expedient was impracticable, as no jeweller could

pledges. eller

then be supposed to be out of bed.

After

much

entreaty his majesty at last prevailed on the

fel-

low to knock up a jeweller and shew him the No sooner had he inspected it, than he ring. enquired with eyes fixed on the man, whom he in his house on which the other an-

had got

:

swered that

was a black-looking, ugl} rake, who had no money in his pocket and was obliged to pawn his ring. The jeweller found the ring " But so immensely rich that he exclaimed one man in the nation can afford to wear it, and that one is the king." Astonished at the circumit

:

stance, he went out with the messenger, in order to be fully satisfied of so extraordinary an affair; and, as soon as he entered the room, he fell

upon

his knees

and with the utmost respect presented

the ring to his majesty. The people of the house, finding the extraordinary quality of their guest, were confounded aud asked pardon in the most

submissive manner.

The king

with great

20

THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

humor, forgave them, and laughing asked, whether the ring would not bear another bottle. Thus ended this adventure in which Charles was taught how dangerous it was to risk his person nocturnal frolics and he could not but se-

in

;

verely reprove Rochester for having acted sudh

a part towards him. The excesses of the

earl's life were not ahvays pleasant to him ; in the midst of his indiscretion's he often experienced very melancholy intervals,

and a number of severe reflections occurred which gave him uneasiness; but he always endeavored to secure and fortify his mind against the fears of a future state, his disbelief of which he used to say, was considerably strengthened l>y the following

circumstance

:

In the early part of his life, when he was at sea, Mr. Montague and another young man of

happened to be in the same ship with In a very serious conversation between these dissipated characters, a few nights previous to the engagement, Mr. Montague expressed his quality,

him.

persuasion that he should never return to England, and the other was possessed with the like opinion with respect to himself, but was not so positive as Montague, who declared he was he should not outlive the battle. The

certain earl

of

Rochester and the

/>ther youth then entered into a formal engagement, not w-ithout ceremonies of he should religion, that if either of them died,

appear and acquaint the survivor with tion in a future state, if there was any.

his situa-

Moats-

THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

21

was requested to enter into the same agreeOn the day the English atrefused. tacked the Dutch fleet at Bergen, Montague, though he had a strong presentiment of his ap-

ment but

proaching death, yet nobly staid all the time upon deck in the place of the greatest danger. The other gentleman signalized his courage in a most undaunted manner, till the end of the action, when he suddenly fell into such a trembling, he could scarcely stand ; and Montague, going to support him, as they were in each other's arms, a cannon ball killed him on the spot, and wounded Montague so terribly in the that

belly that

he died within, an hour.

Rochester

afterwards

acknowledged that these presages rruuie some impression upon him, that there were separated beings, and that the soul either by a natural sagacity, or some secret notice conimunicated to it, had a sort of divination but that the gentleman's not appearing to him greauy misled ;

him with respect to his belief of a future state. .By constant indulgence in every kind of licentiousness and irregularity, Rochester wore out an excellent constitution before he had completed

his

In October, 10/9, year. a convalescent state, having been

thirtieth

when he was

in

some severe disorders, he became intimately acquainted with'Dr. Burnet, to whom he" opened all Ins thoughts and gave him a full

atilicted with

view of

his past life. They canvassed at various times the principles of morality, of natural and revealed religion, and o-f Christianity in particu-

'

MR. MATHEW.

2 3ar.

The

result was, that

Jived the life oF an atheist

though the ear) had and a libertine, he

became on his death-bod a good Christian and most sincere penitent. He expired on the 26th of July, 1650, at the lodge at Woodstock Park, of which he was ranger, without convulsion or even a groan ; for though he had not completed

33d year, yet nature was so entirely exhausted as to be unable to make the least effort. his

MR. MATHEW.

THE

circumstance for which this gentleman

has obtained a piace in our collection is probably without a parallel. There are very few men who

have not some hobby-horse, but yet it would be extremely difficult to find one who would, like

Mr. Mathevv,

sacrifice

the

enjoyment

of a

princely fortune to the pleasure of riding his favorite nag.

Mr.

Mathew

inherited a large estate at the Thomastown, county of Tipperary in Irea rent of eight thousand clear Jaud, producing he a As year. delighted in a country pounds in

eminent degree that which the natives of Ireland have ever been distinguished, he resolved to build j\ large, commodious house for the reception of visitors, surrounded by fifteen hundred*" 4 life,

and possessed

in

for spirit of hospitality

an

MR. MATHEW. acres of his choicest land,

all laid

33 out upon a re-

gular plan of improvement, according to the newly adopted mode of English gardening,

which had supplanted the bad Dutch taste introduced by King William, and of which Mr. Mathew was the first who set the example in Ireland.

As

this design

was formed

in early life, in

or-

der to accomplish his point without incurring any debt on his estate, he retired to the continent

seven years, and lived upon six hundred pounds a year, while the remaining income of

for

was employed in carrying on the great works he had planned there. It was towards the conclusion of Queen Ann's reign when Mr. Mathew returned from his long his estate

At that time party disputes ran very high, but nowhere did they rage with such violence as in the Irish metropolis, so that

residence abroad.

daily duels were the consequence. There happened to be at that time in London two gentle-

men who in fencing

valued themselves highly on their skill the name of one was Pack and the ;

other Creed latter

;

the former being a major and the in the army. Hearing of these

a captain

exploits in Dublin, they resolved like two knight-errants, to go over to Ireland in quest of daily

adventures.

On

enquiry they learned that Mr.

Mathew, lately arrived from France, had the character of being one of the first swordsmen in Europe.

Pack rejoicing

to find

an antagonist

worthy ^of himself, resolved to pick a quarrel in. NO. 29. 2 D

MR. MATHEW.

4 with him the as he

first

opportunity

was carried along the

;

and meeting him he

street in his chair,

jostled the fore-chairman.

Mathew, supposing be accidental, took no notice of the circumstance; but Pack afterwards boasted of it this to

coffee-house, saying that he had purposely offered this insult to that gentleman, who had not the spirit to resent it.

a public

in

A

particular friend of

name of Macnamara,

a

Mr. Mathew's of

man

the*

of tried courage,

and reputed the best fencer in Ireland, happened be present. He immediately took up the Mr. Mathevr did quarrel, observing he was sure not suppose the affront to be intentional, otherto

wise he would have chastised him on the spot adding, that if the major would let him knov/

:

where he was to be found, he should be waited on immediately on Mr. Mathew's return, who was to dine that day, a little way out of town. The major said that he should be at the tavern he and his companion would opposite, where

w ait

their

commands.

Immediately on

his

arrival,

Mathew, being

made acquainted with what had passed, went from the coffee-house to the tavern accompanied by Macnamara. the

two

Being shewn into the room where

officers

were, after securing the door,

without any expostulation, Mathew and Pack drew their swords ; but Macnamara stopped

them, saying he had something to propose before they

proceeded

to

action.

He

said, that, in

cases of this nature, he never could bear to be a-

cool

spectator.

"So,

Sir/'

continued he ad-

Mft.

MATHEW*

&

dressing himself to Creed, "if you please I shall have the honor of entertaining you in the s^ime manner." Creed,, who desired HO hetter sport, made no other reply than that of immediately drawing his sword and to work the four champions fell with the same composure as if it were :

only a fencing match with foils. The conflict was of some duration, and maintained with great obstinacy by the two officers, notwithstanding the great effusion of blood from

they had received. At length quite exhausted, they both fell, and yielded the victory to the superior skill, of their antagothe

many wounds which

nists.

Upon

this occasion

Mathew gave

a remarkable

proof of the perfect composure of his mind duCreed had fallen first, on ring the action.

which Pack exclaimed:

you gone

?"

"

<(

Ah, poor Creed are. Yes," replied Mathew, with the

utmost calmness, "and you shall instantly pack after him," at the same time making a home thrust quite through his body, which threw him. This was the more remarkable to the ground.

he was never known in his life, either before or have aimed at a pun. The number of wounds received by the vanquished parties was very great ; and what seemed almost miraculous, their opponents were unas

after, to

The surgeons seeing the desperate state of their patients would not suffer them to be removed out of the room where they fought, but touched.

had beds immediately conveyed into k, on which!

MR. MATHEW.

many hours in a state of insensibility. they came to themselves and saw where

they lay

When

they were, Pack, in a feeble voice, said to his Creed, I think we are the concompanion : for we have kept the field of battle." querors,

For a long time their lives were despaired of, but to the astonishment of every one, they both recovered. they were able to see company,

When

Mathew and

his friend attended them daily, and a close intimacy afterwards ensued, as they found them men of probity and of the best dis-

positions except in this extravagant idea of duelling,

of which, however, they were

now

per-

fectly cured.

Mr. Mathew spent some time in Dublin, and during his residence there he availed himself of the opportunity to renew the old and cultivate

acquaintance. From his personal accomplishments and large fortune, he found no difficulty to obtain access to all, whose character or

new

him desirous of their friendship. these he selected such as were most con-

talents rendered

Out of

formable to his taste, inviting them to pass such leisure time as they might have upon their hands at his seat at Thomastown, to which he retired to spend the remainder of his days. His house had been chiefly contrived to an-

swer the noble purpose of that constant hospihe intended to maintain there. It tah'ty which contained

forty

commodious

servants.

apartments

for

accommodations for their Each apartment was completely fui-

guests, with suitable

3NTR.

2?

MATIIEW.

nished with every convenience that could be wanted even to the minutest article. When a guest arrived, the hospitable owner shewed

him

his apartment, saying : "This is your castle;, here you are to command as absolutely as in

your own house. You may breakfast, dine and sup here whenever you please, and invite such of the guests as may be most agreeable to you." He then shewed him the common parlour, where; he said a daily ordinary was kept, at which he might dine" when it was more agreeable to him to s< But from this momix in society, adding :

ment you

are never to

know me

as the master of

the house, and only to consider me as one of the guests." In order to avoid all ceremony at meals,. his place at random at the table, and ideas of precedence being laid aside, the; guests seated themselves promiscuously without any regard to difference of rank or quality.

he took thus

all

There was a large room fitted up exactly like a coffee-house, where a bar-maid and .waiters attended to furnish refreshments at all times of the Here, such as chose breakfasted at their day.

own

was provided with chess-boards, backgammon-tables, newspapers, pamphlets, and all other conveniences, that are to be found in a But the most extraordinary city coffee-house. hour.

It

circumstance in his whole domestic arrangement was that of a detached room in one of the extremities of the house called the tavern.

Mathew was

many

As

Mn

himself a very temperate man, and of his guests were of the same disposition

MR. MATHEW.

28

the quantity of wine consumed room was very moderate; but

in the

common

as drinking was much in fashion in those days, in order to indulge such of his guests as had habituated themselves to that custom, he had recourse to this

contrivance; and it was the custom of all who loved a cheerful glass to adjourn to the tavern soon after dinner, and leave the more sober part

of the company to themselves. Here they were attended by a waiter in a blue apron, as was then the fashion, and all things in the room were so

Every one what liquor he pleased with as little reif he had actually been in a public-

contrived as to favor the illusion. called for straint as

pay the reckoning. Here too, the midnight orgies of Bacchus were often celebrated with the same noisy mirth as in his city

house and

to

temples, but without in the least disturbing the repose of the more sober part of the family. Games of all sorts were allowed, but under such restrictions as to prevent gambling, and so as to

answer their true end, that of amusement,

without injuiy to the purse of the players. There were two billiard tables and a large bewlinggreen

;

ample provision was made

delighted in Held sports, with

for

all

such as

fishing-tackle of

all sorts, a variety of guns, with proper ammunition, a pack of buck-hounds, another of fox-

harriers ; and twenty choice hunters were kept in the stables for the use of those who were not properly mounted foi

hounds and another of

the chace.

MR.

The that

reader

may

MATHEW.

29

perhaps be ready to imagine

Mr. Mathew's income,

considerable

as

was, could not be adequate to the support of so extensive an establishment ; but when he it

considers that the value of

money was

time more than double what

it is

at that

at the present

day; that his large demesne, in some of the richest soil in Ireland, furnished the house with every necessary except wine, liquors and grocery , he may suppose it to be sufficient, if under the regulation of strict economy, of which no was a greater master than Mr. Malhew.

man

His plan was so well formed and he had such checks upon all his domestics, that it was impossible there could be any waste, or that any article

from the the

larder, or a single bottle of wine from cellar could have been purloined without

This was accomplished by the choice of faithful stewards and of approved integrity, but chiefly by his own superintendance of the whole, as not a day

immediate detection. partly clerks

accounts of the

all the passed without having laid before him. one preceding

This he was en-

abled to do by his early rising and the business being finished before others were out of their ;

beds, he always appeared the most disengaged in the house, and seemed to have as little

man

concern

in the

conduct of

it

as

any of the guests.

With

a stranger, indeed, he might easily have a visitor, as he made it a point that no for passed one should consider him in the light of master of the house or pay

him any

civilities

on that score.

MR. MATHEW.

30

This be carried so far that he sometimes went

abroad without giving any

away at

notice, several days, while things went

home

;

and on

his return

and

staid

on as usual

he would not

allow-

any congratulations to be made him, nor any other notice to be taken of him than if he had not been absent during that time.

The arrangements of every kind were so prudently made, that no number of guests or of their domestics ever occasioned any disorder, and all things were conducted with the same ease and reThere was one gularity as in a private family.

point which at

seemed rather

first it

difficult to

accomplish, namely the establishing of certain signals, by which each servant might know when

he was summoned to For this purpose a great

his

master's apartment.

was appropriated to the use of the servants, where they always assembled when they were not upon duty. Along the wall, bells were ranged in order, one to each hall

apartment, with the number of the chamber marked over it, so that when any of them was rung they had only to turn their eyes to the bell and to see what servant was called. Mr. Mathew was the first that put an end to the inhospitable custom of giving vales to serby making a suitable addition to their

vants,

wages

;

at

the

same time assuring them that

if

they took any afterwards they should be discharged with disgrace and to prevent the temp^ ;

were informed that he would as the highest affront if any offer of

tation, the guests

consider

it

that sort were made,

MR. MATHEW.

31

The

following particulars of a visit of the celebrated Dean Swift to Thomastown, will enable terior

economy

Swift had heard friend Dr. Sheridan,

come

more

precise idea of the inof that establishment.

the reader to form a

much of this place from his who had often been a wel-

guest there, both on account of his conand as being the preceptor of the

vivial qualities,

He at length became desirous of ascertaining with his own eyes thq truth of*a report which he could not forbear connephew of Mr. Mathew.

On receiving sidering as greatly exaggerated. an intimation of this from Sheridan, Mr. Mathew \vroie a polite letter to the dean, requesting the honor of a

company with the doctor, at They accordingly set out on horseback, attended by a gentleman who \vas a near relation to Mr. Mathew. They had visit in

his next school vacation.

scarcely reached the inn where they intended to pass the first night, and which, like most of the Irish inns at that time, afforded but miserable

entertainment, when they were surprized by the arrival of a coach and six horses, sent to convey

them the remainder of their journey to Thomastown, and at the same time bringing a supply of the choicest viands, wine and other liquors for their refreshment.

with

this

Swift was highly pleased of attention paid him,

uncommon mark

and the coach proved particularly acceptable as he had been a good deal fatigued with his day's journey.

When

they

came

within sight of the house,

32

MR. MATI1EW.

the dean astonished at

"

What

in tlie

such a vast building the

its

magnitude, cried out: the use of

name of God can be

Why, Mr.

r"

Dean," re-

fellow-traveller

before-mentioned, than forty apartments for guests in that house, and all of them probably occupied

plied

"there are no

less

at this time,

except what are reserved for us."

Swift in his usual manner called out to the coach-

man

to stop, and drive him back to Dublin, for he could not think of mixing with sjuch a crowd. " " there Well," said he immediately afterwards, is no but I have lost 'a remedy, I must submit ;

fortnight of my life." JVJr. JViathew received

uncommon marks

him

a

I

the door with

of respect; and then conduct-

ing him to his apartment, after some compliments, jnade his usual speech acquainting him with the customs of the' house, and retired, leaving ;

him

in possession of his castle.

cook appeared with the

bill

Soon

after the

of fare, to receive

supper, and the butler at with a list of wines and other

his directions about

the same time liquors.

"

"

And may

And is all this really so r" said Swift. 1 command here as in my own house?"

His companion assured him he might, and that nothing could be more agreeable to the owner of ihe mansion, than that live

conformably

all

to their

under

own

his roof

should

inclinations with-

" Well then," said Swift, I invite you and Dr. Sheridan to be my guests while I stay, for I think I shall scarcely he tempted to mix with the mob below."

out the least restraint.

"

MR. MATHEW.

33

Three days were passed in riding over the demesne, and viewing the various improvements, without ever seeing Mr. Mathew or any of the nor were the company below much guests: concerned

name

the

at

dean's absence, as his

usually inspired those

him with awe, and they were

very

who* did not know afraid that his pre-

sence would put an end to the ease and cheerfulOn the fourth ness which reigned among them.

day Swift entered the room where the company were assembled before dinner, and addressed

Mr. Mathew

a strain of the highest compliall the beauties of his im-

in

ment, expatiating on

provements, with the skill of an artist, and with the taste of a connoisseur. Such an address

from a man of

Swift's character, could

not

fail

of being pleasing to the owner, who was, at the same time the planner of these improvement. ; and 4

,

eulogium from one who was supposed to deal more largely in satire than panegyric, was so fine an

likely to

remove the prejudice entertained against and prepossess the rest of the com-

his character,

He

concluded his speech by and gentlemen, I am come to live among you, and it shall be no fault of mine, if we do not pass our time agreeably." In a short time all constraint on his account dis-

pany

in his favor.

saying

" And now

:

appeared.

He

ladies

entered readily into

all

the

little

promoting mirth, and every day, with the assistance of his coadjutor, produced some new one which afforded a good deal of sport and merriment. In short, never were such

schemes

for

MR.

34

MAT HEW.

joyous scenes known

at Thomastown before. came which obliged Sheridan to school, the company were so

When

the time

return

to

his

delighted with the dean, that they earnestly entreated him to remain there some time longer,

and Mr. Maihew himself for once broke through his rule of never soliciting the stay of any guest. Swift found himself so happy, that he readily yielded to their solicitations, and instead of a

months there much to his and that of all those who

fortnight, passed four

own

satisfaction,

visited the place during the time.

How the

long Mr.

Mathew

pleasure arising from

continued to enjoy this

establishment,

much

the offspring of a genuine spirit of hosas of an eccentric disposition, we are unpitality IS or can we inform the reader able to state. as

whether he derived from the execution of his plan all the gratification which he expected. Certain it is that his method of spending a fortune was much better calculated to afford happiness and rational enjoyment than that pursued by

many, who have thrown away theirs on the at the gaming-table.;

and that

it

turf or

was productive

of infinitely greater advantage to the community in general, than if, like others, he had locked up the receipts of his estates in his coffers, for the sole purpose of feasting his eyes on his accumu-* lated hoards.

THOMAS BLOOD.

desperado was, according to some acson of a blacksmith in Ireland -but the counts, from others his father appear.? to have been con;

cerned

in

iron

works, and to have

acquired an

He

v*as born kingdom. about the year J62S, came over to England while very young, and married, in Lancashire!,

easy fortune

in

that

the daughter of Mr. Holcraft, a gentleman of good character in that county. He returned afterwards to Ireland ; and though

owed the best part of what they had to the pure favour of the crown, yet he struck in with tlie prevailing party, served as a lieutenant

bis family

with the parliament forces, and obtained assignment of land for his pay; besides \vhii.... ,

Henry Cromwell, when he governed had

that count;

good an opinion of him, as to put into the commission of the peace, though scarceThese favours, and ly twenty-two years of age. so

the turn of his education, in all 'probability him such an inclination to the republican as

was not

to

be altered; and

after the resiuiaiu,

.-.

various circumstances, contributed to increase his disaffection to the government

of Charles

II.

The Act of Settlement VOL.

,3,

NO. 30.

in Ireland.,

2

and the sub-

THOMAS BLOOD. sequent proceedings, certainly affected him deepwhich ly in his fortune, and he believed unjustly, easily led

promised in the

him

to turn his' thoughts

redress.

any way that

He knew there were

multitudes

same condition that had been old

soldiers,

and were equally capable of contriving, concealfor altering, and carrying into execution, a plot and form of subverting any government, of ing which he had seen some examples. Upon associating a little with the malcontents, he found his notions exactly justified, and that there was a design on foot for a general insurrection, which was

begun by surprizing the castle of Dublin, and seizing the person of the duke of Ormond,

to be

then lord lieutenant. Into this he entered without

any hesitation involved

in this

and though many of the persons dangerous undertaking were much

;

was very soon at the head of the affair, presided in all their councils, was the oracle hi laying their projects, and depended on for conducting their execution. He

his superiors in rank, yet he

shewed

his dexterity in things

of this nature, by

laying such a plan for surprising Dublin castle, and the duke's person at the same time, as nothing

but its disclosure could have prevented ; and at the same time he penned a deslaration so accommodated to the humour and understanding of the soldiers,

as

would

infallibly

have drawn over the

best part of the army but, on the very eve of its execution, the whole conspiracy, which had :

been long suspected, was discovered ; so that Blood had only the honour of the contrivance

3

THOMAS BLOOD.

His brother-in-law, one Lackie, a minister, who was embarked in the business, was, with many others, apprehended, tried, convicted, and exebut Blood made his escape, and kept out cuted ;

of reach, notwithstanding the duke of Orraond and the earl of Orrery both laboured to have him secured, and a proclamation was published by the former with the promise of an ample reward

apprehending him. Nor was he only so lucky as to prevent confinement and punishment, but, by an audacity still more singular, had almost frighted away the guards that attended Lackie's execution, and even alarmed the friends for

of the lord lieutenant on the score of his safety ; so high was his fame for sagacity and intrepidity,

and so capable was he of undertaking any thing >vhich passion or interest dictated, and of conducting skilfully whatever he undertook. He staid as long among the sectaries and remains of Oliver's forces as he found it practicable to conceal himself, and then had recourse K> the mountains, and the protection of the old native Irish and the better to attach those with whom he conversed to his interests, he became ;

all

an

things to

all

Anabaptist

men to

;

he was a Quaker to some, an Independent

others,

where that would best recommend him

;

and to

bespeak the favour of the poyr ignorant natives-, he took the character of a priest. By these arts he shifted about from

one place to another, making himself acquainted with all parties in the island,. an d with all their interests and connections at 2 E 2

THOMAS BLOOD. home and

abroad.

At

lust,

finding

all his

haunts

known, and thatit was impossible at that juncture, to raise any insurrection, he found means to get over into Holland, where he was very well received, and admitted into great intimacy, with

some of the most considerable persons public, particularly Admiral de lluyter.

from thence

in the re-

He went

England, with such recommendations to the fifth-monarchy men, and other malto

contents, that he was immediately admitted into all their councils, and had a large share in all those

dark intrigues that were then carrying on for throwing the nation again into confusion. In this situation he gave another strong instance of his bold enterprising genius ; hut finding the government apprized of their designs, and foreseeing

that the persons principally concerned could not escape being apprehended, he resolved to with-

draw into Scotland, where he so wrought upon the discontents of the people, that he contributed not a there, hills,

little

to the breaking out of the insurrection in the action of Pentland-

and was present

November 27 th,

1666, in which the insur-

gents were routed, and about five hundred killed. He fled, after this defeat, back to England, and from thence to Ireland, where he landed within three miles of Carrickfergus ; but Lord Dunganso closely, that he was obliged

noA pursued him

to return very speedily into England. after this he performed a fresh exr -was a* extraordinary, more success which ploit, i'ul, and made much greater noise in the world,

Not long

,

5

1-HOMAS BLOOD.

lhan any thing he had yet done. This was the rescue of his friend captain Mason from a guard

of eight soldiers, trial at

who were conducting him

to his

the assizes; but in the desperate conflict

which took place on

this occasion

and% in which

Blood, with the assistance of a friend, accomplished his purpose, after killing three of the escort,

he received several severe wounds.

Before he engaged in this affair, he had placed his wife and son in an apothecary's shop, under the name of Weston, and had lived himself at

Rumford, by the name of to practise physic.

Ayliffe, and pretended, After he was cured of his

wounds, and heard that all who were concerned with him were safe, which was in about six weeks, he returned to Rumford, and lived there under the same disguise for a considerable time, without being suspected or molested, notwithstanding a proclamation was published, with an. offer of five hundred pounds reward, for apprehehding the persons concerned in this rescue. It was impossible for one of his busy, restless,,

and impatient tempter, to continue long quiet ; but whether his next enterprise was entirely his

own

contriving, or was intended purely to serve purposes, is a point at present not decided however that might be, the undertaking

his

own :

every respect more singular, and more hazardous, than any he had hitherto attempted. Since the defeat of his plan for surprizing the

was

in

castle of Dublin,

antipathy

Blood had entertained a mortal the duke of Ormond, and E 3

against

THOMAS BLOOD, formed a plan of London

;

for seizing his person in the street^ but whether with a view to murder

or carry him off till he had answered his expecta-

He actually put his not'perfectly clear. into December execution,, 6th, 1670, and 4esign tion,

is

was very near completing

his purpose on his whatever that grace, purpose might he. The account given by Mr. Carte of the manner in which he conducted this daring enterprize is

to the following effect

:

The

prince of Orange

being England, was invited on the abovementioned day to an entertainment in the city of in

London,

to

panied him.

which the Duke of Ormond accomThe night was dark and the duke

returning homeward up St. James's street, at the end of which stood Clarendon House where he resided, was suddenly attacked by

of

Blood and

five

The duke always used to go footmen, who walked on both

his accomplices.

attended by six sides of the street opposite to his coach. By some contrivance they were all stoppe'd and out of the

way when

the duke was taken out of the coach bj Blood and Hunt, his son-in-law, and mounted on horseback behind one of the party. The

coachman drove -home, and alarmed the family, informing them that the duke had been seized by The serruffians and carried dow'n Piccadilly. vants immediately set out in pursuit of them. Blood, it is said, had formed the design of carry-

ing the duke to Tyburn, and there putting him to the same ignominious death which his accomplices

had suffered

for their treasonabje design

THOMAS BLOOD. upon Dublin

Castle, to'liis

paper pinned

/

and leaving him with 'a

breast containing the reasons

which induced him and his associates to perpetrate this monstrous Nothing piece of villainy. could have saved his grace's lite but this extravagant whim of Blood's, who leaving the duke mounted and buckled to one of his comrades, rode on before, and is said to have actually tied a rope to the gallows; on which he returned to see what had become of his companions whom he met riding off in a great hurry. The horseman, though he possessed great strength was embarrassed by the struggling of the duke, who at length unhorsed him and they both fell to the ground. The servants mean while overtook them, on which the villain disengaged himself, and seeing the neighbourhood alarmed, he and

one of pistols,

his accomplices, after discharging their without effect, rode off with the utmost

precipitation.

The duke was

quite

exhausted

with the struggle in which he received several

wounds and

An

bruise*.

account of

this transaction

was immediate-

published by authority, together with a royal proclamation, offering a reward of one thousand

ly

apprehending any of the persons conit, but to no purpose, though some of their names were discovered ; however, Blood was not so much as thought of, or suspected.

pounds

for

cerned in

The miscarriage of this daring design, instead of daunting him, or creating the least intention of flying out of the kingdom, put him on another 3

THOMAS BLOOD. still

more strange and hazardous design,

his broken fortunes.

perate

persons

attempt, to

who

seize

He

proposed

to repair

to those des-

him in his former and divide among them the assisted

insignia kept in the Tower of London namely, the crown, globe, sceptre and dove ; and as they were blindly devoted to his service,

royal

.

;

they very readily accepted the proposal, and left it to him to contrive the means of putting it into execution.

To

effect this,

he assumed the habit of a doctor

of divinity, with a little band, a longlalse beard, a cap with ears, and all those formalities of garb that degree, except the gown, choosing rather to make use of a cloak, as most proper for his design. Thus habited, he, with a

belonging to

woman whom

he called his wife, went to see the Tower and while they were

curiosities in the

;

viewing the regalia, the supposed Mr?. Blood pretended to be taken suddenly ill, and desired

Mr, Edwards (the keeper of the regalia) to assist her with some refreshment. He not only complied with this request, but also invited her to repose herself on a bed, which she did, and after

a pretended recovery, took her leave, together with Blood, with many expressions of gratitude.

A few days after Blood returned, and presented Mrs. Edwards, the keeper's wife, with four pair of white gloves, in return for her kindness. This brought on an acquaintance, which being soon improved into a strict intimacy, a marriage was proposed between a son of .Edwards, and a sup-

THOMAS BLOOD.

9

fposed (laughter of Colonel Blood ; but Edwards's son being at sea, the pretended daughter was

under no necessity of making her appearance. The night before the fact was to be done,

which was on the for so Blood WHS hail some


of

May,

16?

1,

the doctor,

called, told the. keeper that he friends at his house who wished to see

the regalia, but as they were to go out of town early in the morning, he hoped he would gratify a little sight, tho' they might come before the usual hour. In this enterprise Blood

them with the

had engaged three accomplices, named Desborough, Kelsy and Perrot. Accordingly two of them came, accompanied by the doctor, about eight in the morning, and the third held their, horses that waited for them at the outer gate of the Tower ready saddled; they had no othor apparatus but a wallet and a wooden mallet, whidl there was no great difficulty to secrete. Edwards 'received them with groat civility, and but "immediately admitted them into his ofticc ;

usual for the keeper of the regalia, when he shews them, to lock himself up in a kind of as

it is

grate with open bars, that those things of considerable value may be seen but not soiled, the old

man had no

sooner opened the door of 'hi, place, than the doctor and his companions followed him close, and without giving him time to ask

questions, silenced him, by knocking him down with the wooden mailet. They then instantly flattened the

bows of the crown

to

portable, seized the scepter and

make

it

more

dove, put the

THOMAS BLOOD. together into the wallet, and were preparing to

make

when unfortunately

their escape;

the old man's

son,

for ten years before,

who had not been came from sea in

for

them,

at

home

the very

instant; and being told that his father was with some friends that would be very glad to see him at the jewel-office, he posted thither immediately, and met Blood and his companions as they \vcrc

who, instead of. returning and securing him, as in good policy they should have done, hurried away with the crown and globe, but not having time to file the scepter, which

just

coming out

was too Jong

to

;

go

into the bag, they left

it

be-

hind.

Old Edwards, who. was not so much hurt a* villains had apprehended, by this time re-

the

covered his legs, and cried out murder, which being heard by his daughter, she ran out and gave an alarm and Blood and Perrot, being ;

uncommon haste, were had advanced beyond They

observed making off with justly suspected. the main-guard ;

when the alarm being given to the warder at the draw-bridge, he put himself in a posture to stop their progress. Blood discharged a hurt,

fell

unpistol at the warder, who though to the ground through fear; by which

they got safe to the little ward-house gate, where thecentinel, though he saw the warder to all ap-

pearance shot, made no resistance against Blood and his associates, who now passed the drawbridge, and through the outer wharf.

gate upon the

THOMAS BLOOD. At tain

this place

II

they were overtaken by one Cap-

Beckman, who had pursued them from Ed-

Blood immediately discharged a but he stooping down pistol at Beck m an 'g head at the instant, the shot missed him, and he

wards's house.

;

who had the crown under hi Blood struggled a long while to preserve his prize and when it was at length wrested from
cloak.

;

-

;

Before Blood was taken, Perrot had been seized by another person ; and young Edwards observ-

man

ing a

that was bloody, in the scuffle, was him through the body ; but was

to run

going prevented by Captain Beckman. Hunt, Blood's son-in-law, leaped on his horse, with two more of the party, and rode away hut a cart, standing ;

empty

Hunt

the street, chanced to turn short, and ran against a pole that stuck out. On rein

covering his legs, he was remounting

known by

;

but was

who was running to enquire the disaster, and who said, " This is Tom Hunt, who was in that bloody attempt on the Duke of Onnond. "A constable being on the spot, ima cobler,

mediately seized him, and carried him before Justice Smith, who, upon his confident denial of being the same Hunt, was about to discharge him but the hue and cry coming from the Tower, he was committed to safe custody. ;

Young Edwards ford to

proposed

mount some of

horses that were

left,

to

his

Lieutenant Rainssoldiers

and send them

upon the to follow

.

THOMAS BLOOD.

12 the

escaped but he bade him follow it was his business, and led the

rest that

them

;

himself,

horses into the tower as forfeited to the lieutenant.

In the struggle for the crown, the great pear]

and a

fine

time, with

diamond fell out, and were lost fora some smaller stones. But the pearl

was found by Catherine Maddox, a poor sweeping woman to one of the warders, and the diajnond by a barber's apprentice, and both faithOther smaller stones were by

fully restored.

se-

veral persons picked up and brought in. The line ruby belonging to the sceptre was found in

pocket; so that not any considerable was thing wanting. The crown only was bruised,, and sent to repair. Perrot's

this disappointment Blood's spirits failed and while he remained a prisoner in the

Upon him

;

gaol of the tower, he appeared not only silentand He soon reserved, but ill-tempered and sullen.

changed

his

temper, however, when

contrary reason, probability, and his own expectation, he was informed the king intended to see and examine him himself" This was brought

'to all

about by the duke of Buckingham, then the great favourite and

first

minister,

who

infused into his

majesty, over whom he had for some time a great ascendancy, the curiosity of seeing so extraordi-

whose crime, great ns a argued prodigious force of mind, and

nary a person, probable, that,

pable of making

so disposed, he large discoveries.

if

it

was,

made

it

might be caThese iim-

THOMAS BLOOD.

13

nuations had such an effect upon the king, that he consented to what the duke desired, which

end proved disadvantageous to them all,; brought discredit on the royal character, an indelible load of infamy upon the duke, and in the

for

it

this afterwards

produced Blood's ruin

:

such are

the consequences of inconsiderate actions in per r sons in high stations, who ought to be always jealous of their dignity, and of doing what may

hazard the wounding public opinion, upon which is chiefly founded.

that dignity

Colonel Blood was no sooner acquainted that he was to be introduced to the royal presence, than he conceived immediately he stood in* debted for this honour to the notion the king, or some about him, had of his courage, and therefore was not at all at a loss about the part he was to act, and on the acting well of which his life entirely depended.

The cunning

of this boldest of

equal to his intrepidity. his examination, that he

all

thieves was

He

told the king on undertaken to kill

had with that purpose to a he went that and ; where river he in the bathed; but was place struck with so profound an awe upon the sight

him

of

his

(naked) majesty, that his resolution failed

him, and he entirely Jaid aside his design thai lie belonged to a band of ruffians equallv desperate with himself, who had bound themselves bj the strongest oaths to revenge the death of any :

of their associates.

Though he omitted nothing

that might create a belief of his contemning JeatU 2 F VOL. III. NO. 30.

THOMAS BLOOD. yet be expressed infinite awe and monarch who had condescended

respect for a to treat him.

with such unusual indulgence.

was foreseen by the duke of Ormond, as soon knew the king designed to examine him, that Blood had no cause to fear ; and indeed such an impression had tys story and behaviour made on the mind of his sovereign, that he not only pardoned, but set him at liberty, and gave It

as he

liim a pension of 500/. a'year to subsist on. This conduct of his majesty towards so. high and so

notorious an offender, occasioned much specuand many conjectures. Of these some are

lation,

still preserved, amongst which the sentiments of Sir Gilbert Talbot are, very sensible. He seems to

think the king's apprehensions determined him. writer suggests, that the Duke of Buck-

Another

ingham having put him on

the

first

design, to

prevent its becoming public, was obliged to procure his pardon for the second; but it is more

probabk

that he insinuated his interest with

some

desperate malcontents then in Holland, whom lie could induce to come home and live peaceably. At least this is certain, that on the breaking out of the war soon after, a proclamation was published, requiring such persons to

come over

;

upon which Desborough, Kelsey, arid many more came, surrendered, and had pardons, very probably at Blood's request; for with him they

met almost every day, in a room kept on purpose them at White's coffee-house, near the Royal

ibr

Exchange.

THOMAS

BLO-OD.

X

*

was for some time very great at where he solicited the suits of many of Court, His

interest

die unfortunate people of his party with success. This Weakness in the king could not fail of giving great oiTence and occasioned many severe censures to be thrown out against him. Among the did not escape the sarcastic pen of Lord Rochester,, who,, in his His.tory of the Insipids, has these lines :

rest

it

Blood- thatyreen treason in his face, .

Villain complete in

How much

is

paon's

he at court

For stealing Or mend Since loyalty does no Let's steal the king

govrft.

ift

grace, and the crown

I

man good, aud outdo Blood,

After the disgrace of the ministry styled the Cabal, Blood's interest al court began quickly to decline, and perhaps his pension also was ill paid ; for we find him agam amongst the malcontents, and acting in favour of popular measures that were displeasing to the court. In the so active a of time person as plotting too, busy

Colonel Blood could not but have some share* He behaved, however in a new manner, suitabletothe great change of times ; and instead of making attempts on the persons of great men, took Up the character of a great man himself, and expressed an apprehension that attempts might be

made upon him. In years,

manner he lived between nine and ten sometime* about the court, sometimes-

this

THOMAS BLOOD.

16

excluded from

it,

always uneasy, and engaged

some scheme or other of an untoward kind, till at last he was met with in his own way, and either circumvented by some of his own instruments, or drawn within the vortex of a sham plot, by some who were too cunning for this in

master 'in his profession. It seems there were certain people, who had formed a design of fixing an imputation of a most scandalous nature upon the Duke of* Buckingham, who was then at the bead of a vigorous opposition against the court, and who, notwithstanding he always con/ted and protected the fanatics, had not, in respect to his

moral character, so fair a reputation as to render any charge of that kind incredible. But whether this was conducted by Colonel Blood,

whether a counter-plot was set on foot to defeat it, and entrap Blood, or whether some whisper, thrown out to alarm the duke, led his grace ta secure himself by a contrivance of the same stamp, better concerted, and more effectually executed

;

so

much

is

certain, that the duke,

was formerly supposed so warm a patron

who

to the

colonel, thought it requisite, for his own safety, What notion Blood to contribute to his ruin.

was desirous that the world should entertain of may be discovered from the case

this affair,

which he caused to be printed of it; but the Court of King's Bench took the thing in so different a light, that -he was convicted upon a criminal information for the conspiracy, and committed to the King's Bench prison and ;

Vt while in custody there, he was charged with an action of scandalum magnatum, at the suit of the

Duke

Buckingham, in which the damagesthousand pounds hut, notwithstanding this Blood found bail, and was discharged from his imprisonment. were

He ally,

of-

laid at ten

;

then retired to his house in the Bowling-* Westminster, in order to take such

in

Hieasuces as were requisite to deliver himself out af these difficulties ; but finding fewer friends than he expected, arwl meeting with other and

nacre heavy disappointments, he was so much affected by them, as to fall into a distemper that He was attended in* speedily threatened his life.

by a clergyman, who fouud him* but sensible, reserved, declaring he was not at all afraid of death. In a few days he fell into a bis sickness

lethargy, and

He

expired August 24th, l68(T. was privately, but decently, interred, in the

chapel in Tothill-nelds. Such was the notion entertained by the generality of the world of this man's subtlety ancl restless spirit, that they could neither be persuaded he would be quiet in his grave, nor would they permit him to remain so ; for a story being: spread that this dying, and being buried, wa*

new trick of Colonel Blood's, preparatory some more extraordinary exploit than any he liad been concerned in, it became in a few daysonly a

to

so current, and so many circumstances were ad-to render it credible, that the coirojteir

fled

tbdnghfc

fit

to interpose, ordered the

bod^ to te

RICHAKD DART.

18

taken up agaiu, and appointed a jury to sit upon it. But so strongly were they prepossessed with the idfe fancy of

its being all an amusement, that were his though they neighbours, knew him perand he had been only a few days dead, sonally, could a not for they long time agree whether it was or was not his body. An intimate acquaintance of his reminded them of looking at the

thumb of

his left hand, which,

that happened to

by an accident

to twice

its natural it, grew which known ta was such as size, commonly conversed with him. By this, and the various depositions of persons attending him in his last illness, they were at Jast convinced, and the coroner caused him to be once more interred^ and left in his vault in quiet.

RICHARD DART. V?E have already had occasion to observe that no country affords so many instances of eccentric rnimor as the British islands, where it is to be found equally among the lowest as among the highest classes

undoubtedly

is>

of society. The reason of this that each feeling himself perfect-

gratifies the prothe caprices peculiar to pensities and indulges the censures or approbation himself, heedless of

ly

of

independent of

all

all

others,

the rest of the world,

The example we

RICHARD DART. have now walks of

to

produce

is

19

taken from the humbler*

life.

Mr. Richard Dart, more generally known by the

name

of Dicky Dart, the wooden grocer, re-

He desided in Saint James's Street, Portsea. rived his additional title from his having apparently a very large stock of sugar, which, however, consisted only of blocks of wood, covered with paper, and corded. His habits were those

of the utmost penury and sullen seclusion from social intercourse. Though possessed of

all

property amounting 10 three thousand pounds, in. deeds, money, and stock, yet he was so miserably avaricious, as to deny himself the proper sustenance which nature requires, and the cleanwhich health and decency indispensably demand. His bedding was rotted with filth,

liness

vermin and negligence. He had only two shirts, and those were in the most tattered condition, and there were no other signs of any other lineo. about himself or his dwelling. His dress was, remarkable, for he wore in all weathers five or six waistcoats, a close coat, and an old threadbare spencer.

With

all this

shabbiness of attire,

he had, however, some pretensions to beanism^ for he constantly wore hair-powder, or rather flour, which he put on with a sheep's tail instead of a puff. He was seldom seen to eat, and

known to be any kind of meat, any thing but dry crusts, biscuits, raw turnips, radishes and such articles as required little or no cooking. Though he would

his food was" never

or scarcely

VALENTINE

2O

not su^er any female to CD me near his house, he had a warm attachment for the sex, and to indulge himself in this propensity, be for several years- spent the greatest part of the night in

walking about the

street, in

search of female

companions. This strange system of living adopted by

Mr

Dart, by many ascribed to his having, in early been life, disappointed in his honourable overis

tures. +

From that time he

lost all his

spirit, became sullen, retired, and abandoned himself to the lowest

accustomed selfish, and state of tie*

graded humanity. The fate of this singular man was as melancholy as his life had been extraordinary. On the morning of April 21st, 1800, he was found murdered behind the counter oF his shop, in

which he used

to sleep,

The

perpetrator of the

deed has, we believe, never been discovered ; but it is supposed that he was followed home the preceding night by some person or persons^ too well acquainted with his secluded situation.,

and considerable property.

VALENTINE GREATRAKES. have

in

our ownrtrm.es seen a wily Amegood people of England with

lican gulling the

an

infallible

remedy

for

every kfnd of disease^

and wbea their credulity had iiikd

his

pockets

VALENTINE GREATRARES.

i

re-crossing the Atlantic to enjoy the fruits of his successful appeal to the credulity of John Bull.

This empiric

of tractorizing notoriety

seems

nearly to have adopted the principle acted upon more than a century ago by the subject of this article,

and merely

to

have made a

slight modifi-

cation iu the practise by substituting the friction of a solid substance for that of the hand. This serves to prove that there is in truth nothing new under the sun, not even in the art of medical JmGreatrakes, however, was not so forposture.

tunate

as his transatlantic successor,, perhaps, because his contrivance was not so far-fetched ;

though he enjoyed for a time a prodigious reputation, yetwe find no Greatrakian Institution established to honor his extraordinary qualities and to sanction his pretensions. Our foolish ancestors wanted the discernment and the spirit for

to afford their patronage to this species of merit ; it was reserved for their wiser descendants to

and

shame

their ignorance

their minds,

and the narrowness of

by shewing

in the

Perkmean

Insti-

tution the fits

high sense they entertain of'the beneconferred on the world by the tractors of the

American adventurer. Valentine Greatrakes was the son of William Greatrakes, Esq. of Affane, in the County of

Waterfbrd, by a daughter of Sir Edward Harris, Knt. one of the justices of the King's-Bench, in

Ireland.

He

and received a

was born classical

at Affane, in J62S, education at the free

school at Lismore, where he continued

till

he

22

VALENTINE CREATRAKES.

was thirteen years of age, when he returned home, in order to prepare himself for entering Trinity College, Dublin.

At

this

time the re-

bellion broke out., and owing to the distracted state of the nation, he was obliged, with his mother, who had several other smaller children,

to fly ror refuge into England, where they were his Mr. Edward Harris; after uncle, by

relieved

whose death, young Greatrakes was committed UX the care of Mr. John Daniel Getseus, a German,, and then minister of Stoke-Gabriel, in the county of Devon,

who

in theology,

for several years instructed hi to.

philosophy,

and other

About the year 1634, he returned

sciences-.

to his native

country, but was so exceedingly affected by the miserable and reduced state it was in, that he retired to the cattle of Caperquin, where hespent a year in serious contemplation on. the vi-

of state and fortune.

In the year 1649 he became lieutenant in the regiment of Roger Lord Broghill, afterwards earl of Orrery > then acting in Munster against the Irish papists ; but when the regiment was disbanded in \65Q, he retired to his estate at Affane, and was soon cissitudes

after appointed clerk of the peace for the county of Cork, register fox transplantation, and justice of the peace.

About the year 1662, Mr. Greatrakes began to conceive himself possessed of &q extraordinary virtue, in being able to remove the king's evil, or other diseases, by touching or stroking the parts affected with his hand. This, imagination,

VALENTINE GREATRAKES. he concealed for some time, but

at last repealed

who ridiculed the idea. Resolved however to make a trial., he began with one William Maher, who was brought to the house

it

to his wife,

by his father for the purpose of receiving some assistance from Mrs. Greatrakes, a lady who was always ready to relieve the sick and indigent, This boy was sorely as far as lay in her power. .afflicted

with the king's

evil,

but as

it

was

re-

appearance cured by Mr. Greatrakes laying his hands on the parts affected. Several other persons having applied to be ported, was

to

all

cured in the same manner, of different disorders, he acquired considerable fame in his neighbourhood. But being cited into the bishop's court .at Lismore, and not producing a licence for practising, he was prohibited from laying his hands on any /person for the future, but still continued to do so till January, 1665-6, when he went to England at the request of the Earl of

Orrery, in order to cure the lady of the Lord Viscount Conway, of Ragley in Warwickshire, of a continual violent head-ach. He staid at

Ragley about a month, but

failed in his

endea-

vours to relieve this lady, notwithstanding he ii said to have performed several miraculous cures in those parts, and at Worcester, and was sent for to Whitehall by his majesty's orders ; and is

likewise said to have

wrought many remark-

able cures there in the presence of several eminent

and

skilful persons. Art account of his cures in Warwickshire,, v as

VALENTINE GREATRAKES.

24

published at Oxford, by Mr. Stubbe, who maintained
of a peculiar

composed

of

body was

temperament, as

his

some

ferments,,

particular

the

whereof being introduced, sometimes by a light, sometimes by a violent friction, restore the temperament of the debilitated parts, re-ineffluvia

yigorate the blood, and dissipate all heterogeneous ferments out of the bodies of the deceased,

by the eyes, nose, mouth, hands, and feet." This publication was. a " Letter, addressed to the Hon. Robert Boyle," who, in a private letter to the

author, expressed

his

at being thus publicly addressed on ject, particularly as Mr. Stubbe shew that Mr* Greatrakes's

gift

displeasure

such a sub-

endeavoured to

was miraculous.

Mr.

Glanville also imputed his cures to a sanative quality inherent in his constitution; and

others (perhaps with greater probability) to the force of imagination in his patients. Mr. Boyle, having seen Mr. Greatrakes's performances in April J6vj6, attested cures.

This extraordinary

some of

man

his remarkable

afforded

much

matter

for the press, and various pamphlets were published |>ro and con. ; particularly one in quarto, supposed to have been written by Mr. David

Lloyd,

reader

the

of

title

of the

"Wonders no

Charter-house, under Miracles., or Mr. Va-

lentine Greatrakes's Gift of Healing examined, upon Occasion of a sad Effect.of his Stroking,

March

the

7tb,

1665,

at

one Mr. 4

CressfcJl's.

VALENTINE GHEATRAKBS.

2.5

bouse, in Charter-house-yard, in a Letter to a Rev. Divine, living near that place." This attack obliged self; f(

Mr. Greatrakes

to vindicate

lum-

and accordingly he published a

list

of his

a truth that

this

man's

Strange Cures/'

It

is

imputation rose to a prodigious height, but afterwards declined almost as fast, for the expectations of the multitude that resorted to him were

not always answered. The Rev. Mr. Granger observes, and

it might be supposed rather significantly, that " his manner of stroking some women was said to be very different from his usual method of operation." The same writer seems inclined to attribute the wonderful cures reported to have been performed

bv Mr. Greatrakes to the force of imagination, and to corroborate his opinion mentions the following facts; "I was myself a witness/' says " of the lie, powerful workings of the imagination in the populace, when the waters of Glastonbury were at the height of their reputation. virtues of the spring there were supposed to be supernatural and to have been discovered by

The

a revelation

Chancellor.

made in a dream to one Matthew The people did not only expect to

be cured of such distempers as were in their nature incurable, but even to recover their lost eyes and their mutilated limbs. The following

which scarcely exceeds what I observed upon the spot was told me by a gentleman of character. An old w oman in the workVOL. 111. NO. 30. 2 G story

r

VALENTINE

G-RE ATR A TV ES.

bouse at Yeovil, who had long been a cripple and made use of crutches, was strongly inclined to drink of the Glastonbury waters, which she was assured would cure her of her lameness.

The master of the workhouse procured

her several

which had such an effect that aside one crutch and not long after

bottles of water,

she soon

laid

theother. This wasextolled as a miraculous cure

;

but the man protested to his friends that he had imposed upon her, and fetched the water from an ordinary spring.

I

need not inform the reader

that when the force of imagination had spent itself, she relapsed into her former infirmity."

Mr. Greatrakes possessed a high character for humility, virtue and piety, and died about the year 1680.

The

histoiy of

an impostor

Mr. Greatrakes reminds us of

who not many

years before deluded the public in a similar manner. In the reign of Charles I. an accusation was brought before the

court of star-chamber, and afterwards before the College of Physicians, against one John Leve-

a gardener, who undertook to cure all disbut especially the king's evil, by way of touching or stroking with the hand. He used to speak with great contempt of the royal touch, and imposed upon numbers of credulous rett,

eases

grossly lie asserted that he was the seventh people, a seventh son of son, and profanely said that he

so that he was more go out of him weakened by touching thirty or forty in a day felt

virtue

;

THEODORA CRAHN.

27

than .if he had dug eight roods of ground. He he was much more affected if he touched a woman than if he touched a man. also affirmed that

The

censors of the College adjudged

him an im-

postor.

THEODORA GRAHN. CONCERNING appearance

nary

whose extraordi-

this female,

male

in

attire attracted

con-

years in the streets of the British metropolis, various and contradictory accounts have been given since her death. siderable notice for

We profess rect,

but

many

not to decide which of them

is

cor-

submit to the reader that which

shall

appears most probable.

Thedora Grahn was the only daughter of an architect,

who

after

residing for

many

years at

where he erected several edifices and particularly the church of St. Peter, died at BayBerlin,

reulh.

Af'trr his

where she

decease she- returned to Berlin, one of her relatives. Pos-

lived with

sessing an excellent capacity, she made herself mistress of the mathematics, and of the French,

but with these English and Italian languages she combined accomplishments extraordinary ;

eccentricity of manners.

aunt

in 1758,

she

left

On

the death of her

her a legacy of one thou-

sand rix-dollars, and to improve this little fortune Theodora immediately commenced business G

2

THEODOKA GRAHN.

28 as ,an

This was during the of the seven period years war, which was, ex* favorable to the occupation she had tremely

exchange broker.

adopted. As it required her daily attendance in various parts of the city, she began in dirty weather to wear boots, and with these and other

accoutrements

she

cut

a^

remarkable

figure,

though she had not yet relinquished the female dress.

On the conclusion of the war, by which she had more than doubled her little capital, she removed to Bayreuth where she made her appearance in male attire, assuming at the same time the title of Baron de Verdion. She did not, however, attract much notice, till in J769 Mr. Basedow commenced his scholastic reforms in Germany, in which he was warmly supported by the

self-created baron, who, at length, enwith him as his secretary and amanuensis. gaged The secret of her sex was suspected, and scandal did not hesitate to insinuate that she served

Basedow

another capacity, so that, he was at length obliged to dismiss her, though he persisted in asserting his belief that she was not a woman. in

She betrayed herself by the indulgence of a vice which she appears to have been addicted through life. The public curiosity was so far excited that some young men formed a plan to to

invite her to an inn

and make her intoxicated*

This they accomplished with such success as to ascertain her sex beyond the possibility of dcrabt.

-

T 'II E O D

R A C R A II N

29

'

.

This unfortunate exposure disgusted her with her native country, which she quitted for ever, and proceeding to England, fixed her residence

Here she assumed the appellation

London.

in

of Dr. John de Verdion

and gave instructions

German language. Se is said to have been patronized by many persons of distinction, in the

and if this were the case, it is more than probable, that she lost their favor by her singularities,, for

we

find her after

ed

in

dealing

in

some ^ears

principally employsecond-hand books purchased

chiefly at auctions.

Her

was striking and grotesque. She wore a always bag wig, a large cocked hat and and boots was never seen without a cane and an umbrella which she carried in all weathers, and generally had her pockets filled with books. figure

;

For upwards of twenty years she was

in the

habit of frequenting FurnivaPs inn coffee-house, where she freely indulged her lore of good living,

and gratified her propensity to drinking to such a degree, that she was often seen rolling upon the Notwithstanding her sacrificing so

iloor.

fre-

quently and so copiously at the shrine of Bacchus, it is remarkable that her imprudence never led

a disclosure of her sex, though various

to

circumstances, and her timidity in partjcular, excited suspicions in many on that subject. -At

home

she never employed a servant, but perall the domestic offices with her own

formed

hands, and

it

has been said that while engaged

in these occupations, she always wore a

2c

3

woman's

THEODORA GRAHS, cap and bed-gown.

Another of her singniariticthat neitlrer in winter nor summer was she was, ever known to have any fire in her apartments.

Soon afier her arrival in this country, de Vcrbecame acquainted- with Madame Schwel-

clion

lenberg, who is supposed to have been informed of her circumstances and her sex, and to have occasionally assisted her with pecuniary aid. She also said to have been at that period of her

is

a constant attendant

upon the drawingappearing in full dress and >vith a very elegant sword. With respect to religion she is reported to

life,

room

at St. James's,

have been an extraordinary admirer of the celebrated John Wesley. Such vras the strength of her attachment to him that she was one of his most constant attendants, and has often been observed to follow him and kiss the skirts of his coat with enthusiastic delight. In consequence of her extravagant

mode

of

living, and perhaps also the failure of some of her sources of income, she became toward ihe latter end of her life much reduced in her circum-

stances.

This caused her to intrude upon her

acquaintance for eating and drinking, to she gave indirect promises of making

amends and remembering them

The

whom them

in her will.

disorder which terminated the

life

of ibis

singular character was a cancer in the breast, occasioned by an accidental fall down stairs.

This circumstance she concealed as long as she could, but was at length compelled to comrmmi-

THEODORA GHAHN*. cute

it

to a friend, a

31

medical practitioner and a

countryman of her own, who lived in the same house with her ; a dropsy supervening in addition to her former disorder, baffled all his endeavours, and she expired at her lodgings in Upper Charles Street, Hatton- Garden, on the 15th of July, 18O2, aged aboin sixty years. By her will she bequeathed all her property

to

Mr. Denner, the master of

Furnival's inn

coffee-house, from whom she had always experienced great kindness, bui on his taking possession, it was found inadequate to discharge bis bill against her, as very little remained except her wardrobe. Till the last she had no expectation that her dissolution was so near at hand, for she ordered some new clothes, saying that she was

going out, and they were sent home to her only the day preceding her death. She was so terrified at the idea of being interred alive, that her will she gave an injunction to be kept above ground eight days, but with this desire the

in

state of her

comply. tf her sex

complaint rendered

it

impossible to

Her motive is

for laying aside the habit a secret that is buried with her.

SCHROPFER. 1 HIS was one of those extraordinary characters which occasionally appear in the world and may be aptly compared to meteors which blaze for. a 5

SCHROPFER. uhile in the atmosphere, and then vanish from our view, and of which no one can say with certainty

whence they come or whither they go.

The

catastrophe which terminated the life of Schropfer is indeed known, but the motives and the means that induced and enabled him to prachis system of imposture i*e buried in the

tise

profoundest obscurity.

Nothing is known concerning his origin, but he was for a long time waiter in a coffee-house at Leipzig, and nobody observed any thing extraordinary in him.

den, and

it

was not

He till

disappeared of a sud--

several years after that he

again made his appearance at Leipzig, in the character of baron Schropfer. He took a large

house, hired a great number of servants, and puffed himself off as a sage, to whom all nature, and even the world of spirits, were subject.

By pompous

promises of splendid discoveries

he allured a multitude of credulous people, and Some pupils thronged to him from all quarters. expected to learn things of him, that cannot be acquired at any university: others were delighted wi?h the excellent table he kept. iicturJly

He frequently received by post large parcels, Several bankers addressed to baron Schroder. received orders to

pay him kn;e sums.

He

to have spoke of his secrets, which he preiended learned in Italy,, with a seductive eloquence ; and he shewed people the spirits and shadows

When he had of their deceased acquaintance. heated the imaginations of his hearers,/ CGU.U. 4

sen HOPPER.

33

and see S"*he cried to all who. were inclined to doubt they came, and actually saw shadows, and various terrible sights, which made the hair of timorous persons stand erect. It must be observed, that his warmest adherents were not men ;

of learning, or such as wer-e accustomed to lomore gical deductions; for people who placed reliance on their understanding than on thensenses,

Thus

would not

his

at all suit Schiopfcr's purpose.

pupils consisted entirely of

noblemen

and merchants, who were

He

sciences.

totally ignorant of the exhibited the wonders of his art

to others, but he taught last,

he only performed

them

and

to none,

his miracles at

home,

at

in

apartments prepared for the purpose. The means which he took to restrain the inquisi-

private

tiveness of sueh as pried rather too closely into the secret of his machinations will appear from

A gentleman whose courage and resolution were equal to his curiosity,

the following anecdote. likewise

came

in

company with

his friends to

He found a Sehropfer, to see his apparitions. great number of guests there before biai, who were incessantly plied with punch. He refused any thing, but Sehropfer pressed him to drink at least a glass, which he as refused. At length they were all confirmly to

drin

very

much

due: jd into a large hall, .the

window-shutters

of

hung with black uhich

were

cloth,

closed.

Sehropfer placed the spectators together, and drew a circle around them, beyond which he

S4

SCHROPFEK.

At the disstrictly enjoined them not to stir. tance of a few paces a small altar was erected, on which the flame of burning spirits gave the onty light that illumined the room. Schtopfer, uncovering his breast, threw himself on his knees before the altar. He held in his hand a

and prayed with a loud and with such earnestness and warmth, voice, that the gentleman who had come with the inlarge

glistejiing sword,

tention of unmasking the impostor, felt in his heart a pious awe, and sentiments of devotion. 'Fire flashed from the eyes of the supplicant, and his breast was powerfully agitated. He was to call the

deceased.

shade of a well-known character lately After having finished the prayer, he

called the ghost with the following words:

thon departed

spirit,

who

livest in

"

Oh

!

an immaterial

world, arid invisible to the eyes of mortals, hear the voice of the friends thou hast left behind, and who desire to see thee ; leave, for a short tiine>

new abode, and present thyself eyes !" Hereupon the spectators felt tiiy

to

their

in

every nerve a sensation, similar to an electric shock, they heard a noise like the rolling of thunder, and saw above the altar a light vapour, which

grew thicker by degree*, till it assumed the Houeveiyit was observed, that figure of a man. a it was not striking likeness of the deceased. The phantom havered over the alrar, and Schropfer, the sword over his head. pale as death, flourished

The gentleman

resolved to step out of the circle

SCHROPFER. and

to

Schropfer but the latter, per* rushed towards him, holdbreas-t, and crying with a

to

go up

;

ceiving his intention, the sword to his

ing

terrible voice,

"

You

are a dead

man,

if

you

stir

another step !" He ful tone in which Schropfer uttered these words, and at the glistening sword, that his knees shook

was so

terrified at the

dread-

under him.- The spectre at length disappeared, and Schropfer was so exhausted that he lay extended on the floor. The spectators were conducted into^ another room, where they were served with

fruit.

Many

of the more sensible

people went to Schropfer's house as to a theatre; they knew that hfe boasted art was nothing but imposture, yet they were delighted with the tragi-comedy which he performed.

This continued for some time

;

but Schropfer

once got into debt with several trades-peoof Heipzig, and unfortunately of that class ple who did not wish to see his ghosts but were ex-

all

at

;

for their

tremely importunate ceived no more bills.

He

money.

re-

The banker^ would not

advance him a penny; an'd the miserable magician, worked up to the highest degree of despair, shot himself through the head, in a park near the city, called Rosen thai. Nobody knows to this day how he obtained n s money and for what purpose he played off his phantasma'

;

goria.

According

to the

Berlin

literati,

means expected

to

enslave the

he was an

who by his human under-

instrument of the secret Jesuits,

3

SCIIHOPFER.

standing^ as they afterwards attempted by Cagliostro. It is but reasonable to suppose that

Schropfer received pecuniary support from his adherents; but nothing certain is known respect* ing the quarter from which he derived it.

END OP

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