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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924084100456 
 

ECCENTRIC 
 
 PERSONAGES 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE LIVES AND ACTIONS 
 OF REMARKABLE CHARACTERS 
 
 Beau Brummfxl, Beau N^sh, Daniel Defoe, Dean 
 
 Swift, Captain Morris, J. M. W: Turner, 
 
 Chevalier D'Eon, etc., etc. 
 
 W. RUSSELL, LL.D. 
 
 
 LONDON 
 EDWARD AVERY 
 
 GREEK STREET, SOHO 
 
•i='A/e; 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 MONSIEUE LE DOCTEUE DEVINB . , , . . 1 
 
 SiK Andeew Sellwood, Knight . . . . 42 
 
 Beau Beummell .... .51 
 
 Lady Hestee Stanhope . . . . 63 
 
 Beau Nash 70 
 
 Sir Geeald Massey, Knight 78 
 
 Maegaeet Fullee ... .... 87 
 
 The Eael of Petbeboeough .... ,100 
 
 SiE Samuel Smith, Attoeney-at-lavv , . . .113 
 
 Amazon Snell 134 
 
 Captain Mowbeay , . . . ,144 
 
 Daniel de Foe , , , 154 
 
 The Honoubable John Loftus 167 
 
 Jonathan Swift, D,D, and Dean op Saint Pateick . 186 
 
 Lady Maey Woktley Montague 198 
 
 Cheistina op Sweden 212 
 
 JoitN Abebnbthy, Surgeon 226 
 
 Captain Moksis ..,-..... 2.33 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 J. M. W. TUKNEK, E.A. . . ' , , . 246 
 
 Lord Nokbuey ' . . . .... 257 
 
 The Chevahee'D'Eok 268 
 
 Joseph Salsamo 274 
 
 Thomas, Maequis of AVharton and Malmesbuet . . 289 
 
 Philip, Duke of WtiAETON and Noethumbbeland . 295 
 
 Bamfylde Moore Caeew ■ . 309 
 
 Monsieur Blaise . . . ... 329 
 
 ' Madame la Comtessb de Genlis . ... 347 
 
 The Lady- witch .(jfjl 
 
 A Descendant of Owen Gi-endowee , , , 3^7 
 
ECCENTRIC PERSOMGES. 
 
 cr'^-OQ g' C->o 
 
 MONSIEUE LE DOCTEUE DEVINE. 
 
 In the street, of Saint Jacques, Havre de G-r^ce, Nor- 
 mandy, and nearly opposite the fine church of Notre 
 Dame, dwelt Antoine Tricard, a boot-and-shoemaker in 
 a respectable way of business. He had been twice mar- 
 ried; his second wife, " una belle AUemande" — German 
 women of the middle class are rarely beautiful, by the 
 way — had a son by a preyious marriage — Eugene Derine. 
 This union took place in 1742, Eug&e being then about 
 five years old; a precocious boy, singularly so, he is re- 
 ported to have been. Eemarkably impressionable too; 
 any striking circumstance was indelibly photograished 
 upon his sensitive mind. He was an artist of promise, 
 and might possibly, had not an accident led him to em- 
 brace the medical profession,. have become an eminent 
 painter. When about twenty years of age, Madame 
 d'Estrees was condemned to be executed at Eouen for 
 the murder of her husband. M. Tricard went with the 
 young Deviue to witness the terrible spectacle. Madame 
 d'Estrees was a young woman of rare beauty, who had 
 marrie(^ a rich man thrice her own age, under parental 
 compulsion — ^the family Marin, her maidfen name, being 
 at the time, if not absolutely poor, in pressing difiicul- 
 ties. M. Majiu was a grocer at Havre de Grace. The 
 Tricards visited at the grocer's, and Eugene Devine ap- 
 pears to have early conceived a boyish passion for the 
 beautiful girl, who was about two years older than he. 
 
2 ECCEXTEIC PEKSONAGES. 
 
 Icnowing at the same time she was attached and affianced 
 to Edouaid Cazo, the son of a herbalist established in 
 ihe Rue ae Paris. The wealth of Monsieur d'Estrees, a 
 lanncr-gcneral of king's taxes, was too potent an influ- 
 ence to be resisted by the gricTously-embarrassed M. 
 Marin; and at his stern command Josephine Marin was 
 sacrificed in marriage to the rich merchant. In less than 
 two months afterwards, M. d'Estrees was seized with 
 Biiddcn and fatal illness immediately after taking his 
 breakfast; M. Portalis, an eminent physician of Rouen, 
 near whicli city M. d'Estrees resided, was quickly in at- 
 teudance, but medical aid was useless. The farmer- 
 geucral had been poisoned, and was dying in great agony. 
 He could only ejaculate with much diificulty, and a word 
 or syllable at a time, in answer to M. Portalis, " Ma 
 femme — mafemme m'a empoisonne- — le cafe — le cafe:" (M.J 
 wife — my wife has poisoned me — the coffee — the coffee) 
 — and died with the last word upon, his lips. The wife, 
 who passionately protested her innocence, was imme- 
 diately arrested and taken to prison. A long inquiry 
 into all the circumstances of the case ensued. The main 
 facts established were, that a subtle tasteless poison had 
 been mixed with the coffee, of which M. d'Estrees had 
 partaken — Madame d'Estrees, as was her custom, had 
 previously breakfasted— the coffee was prepared in the 
 kitchen, but of course Madame d'Estrees, who was in the 
 breakfast-room where it was served two or three minutes 
 before her husband came down-stairs, and left it imme- 
 diately he did, which she was also proved to be in the 
 habit of doing, had full opportunity of mixing the poison 
 with the coffee. It was also proved that Edouard Cazo 
 had been seen prowling about near M. d'Estrees' residence 
 for several days previous to that on which M. d'Estrees 
 was murdered. No one had, however, seen him and Ma- 
 dame d'Estrees together. The only person in the farmer- 
 general's establishment who had been seen with him 
 and that more than once, was Fanchette Le Blanc, a 
 personal attendant of Madame d'Estrees, whom she had 
 brought with her from Havre de Grace. Fanchette Le 
 
MOlfSIEUK LE DOCTEim DEVINB. 3 
 
 Blanc was a fine-looking, fine-eyed girl, the daughter of 
 a Havre tradesman, who not long before had been re- 
 duced in circumstances. Before that, her family had 
 visited upon equal terms those of MM. Marin and Cazo. 
 It also came out iihat FanChette Le Blanc and Edouard 
 Caao had been intimate in a lover sense with each other. 
 It was Fanchette Le Blanc who earned up,M. d'Estrees' 
 breakfast. , These circumstances were not, however, sup- 
 posed at the time ^o have any significance with regard 
 to the guilt or innocence of Madame d'Estrees, except 
 by one person — Eugene Devine. The young man had 
 chanced to . save the life of Monsieur Courtrai, a surgeon 
 in excellent practice at Havre de Grftce. Devine had 
 been to Harfleur upon some business for his stepfather, 
 Monsieur Tricard. M. Courtrai was there, in compli- 
 ance with a pressing message from the Prince de la Tour 
 d'Anvergne, an ancestor, I suppose, of the present French 
 ambassador at the English court, who in passing through 
 Harfleur had met with an accident, and having no con- 
 fidence in the medical skiU of the place, sent for M. 
 Courtrai. His difiicult professional duty successfally 
 performed, for which service the Prince felt very grate- 
 ful, M. Courtrai, extremely anxious to get back to Havre, 
 and no decked vessel being for the moment procurable, 
 and it being fine summer weather, embarked in a large 
 open boat, which was laden with fowls and other provi- 
 sions for the Havre market. Devine also took passage 
 in the boat. Suddenly, when they were about half way 
 from Harfleur to Havre, a white squall arose. A " white 
 squaU" is a furious wind which gives no token of its ap- 
 proach by dark gathering clouds, and the coming on of 
 which can only be /discerned by watchful, experienced 
 mariners. It is usually brief as violent. The white 
 squall struck the sails of the boat or barge with such 
 force that it instantly capsised; and the crew, four men, 
 M. Courtrai, and Eugtoe Devine were of course precipi- 
 tated into the boiling sea. The crew disappeared at 
 once, and were not seen again. Devine swam like a 
 cork, and was a powerfully-framed young man, though 
 
4 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 less than sixteen years old. M. Courtrai had been a 
 tolerable swimmer in his youth, but the weight of seventy 
 years pressed him down, and he was sinking when the 
 youth Deyine struck out to his assistance, attracted by 
 the surgeon's cry of mortal agony. He was just in time 
 to clutch the collar of the drowning man's coat. The 
 barge, which, as I have said, had turned over, had al- 
 ready drifted, driven by the fierce wind and strong cur- 
 rent, to a considerable distance. By dint of great exer- 
 tion, however, he contrived to reach it and drag himself 
 and M. Courtrai on to its upturned bottom. Fortu- 
 nately, the squall was a very brief one : the rapid tide 
 of the^ channel quickly runs down the heaviest sea when 
 the wind has jibated, and there was soon no danger of 
 being washed off the boat, incapable as M. Courtrai was 
 of holding on by his own efforts. After about two hours 
 of anxiety and exposure they were rescued by a fishing- 
 smack, and conveyed in safety to Havre de Grdce. 
 
 M. Courtrai felt grateful for the service rendered him 
 by Eugtoe Devine, and finding moreover that the young 
 man was possessed of singular intelligence, he sent him 
 to the Ecole de Medecine, Paris, where he made such 
 rapid progress as to call forth the highest encomiums of 
 the professors, who predicted for him a brilliant future. 
 
 That dazzling prospect was suddenly overcast. A 
 letter from M. Tricard told of the death of M. d'Estrees, 
 the frightful accusation brought against his widow, her 
 an-est, and the generally-entertained opinion that she 
 would be capitally convicted. ■> 
 
 The studies pursued by Eugtoe Devine with so much 
 ardour and success immediately lost all their charm. " I 
 could think," he said, in his minute diary, "only of 
 Josephine Marin. If I read, her image gleamed from 
 the page; and so morbidly excited did my brain become, 
 that I sat for hours absorbed, horrified by a mentally- 
 pictured panorama, in which all the incidents of the ter- 
 rible afl"air, past and in all probability to come, passed 
 before me,— the death of D'Estrees— the declaration of 
 thp dymg man— rash, unfounded, I had not the slightest 
 
MONSIEUE LE DOOTETJK DEVINE. 5 
 
 doubt. Did ' I not know Josephine? — the guileless can- 
 dour of her nature — the spotless purity of her life? But 
 rash, unfounded, that declaration would not, I felt, be 
 the less fatal to Josephine. The gloomy mental proces- 
 sion moved on. I saw Josephine in her dark prison- 
 ceU, bowed down, sobbing with agony — her face white 
 as stone, and yet palely lustrous with the light of a con- 
 scious innocence. Then passed before me the trial — the 
 scowling audience; I heard the judges pronounce sen- 
 tence — sentence of death; and at the last dreadful scene 
 of all pictured to my excited imagiuation, I several times 
 lost my senses — fainted ! 
 
 ," Could I — even I — poor, uninfluential as I was, do 
 nothing for that beautiful unfortunate? I was conscious 
 of possessing an analysing, critical intellect. Might I 
 not, by diligent inquiry on the spot, discover some clue 
 to the real murderer, who I was sure, positive as of my 
 own Ufe, was not Madame d'Estrees? It was quite use- 
 less to affect attention to study. My thoughts were far 
 away. I was a favourite with the priacipal of the college, 
 Dr. Oabanis. I may almost venture to say that, notwith- 
 standing the great disparity of years, I was his Mend. I 
 spoke with him about Madame d'Estrees, or by the name 
 my heart knew her — Josephine Marin. He was the father 
 of the Cabanis, friend of Turgot, Mirabeau, and Condor- 
 cet, but a man Very different from his distinguished son. 
 He had sympathy with sentimentalism, with human weak- 
 ness; he heard me with patient kindness, but his logical 
 mind remained, I need hardly say, totally unaffected by 
 my passionate assertions of Madame d'Estrees' innocence, 
 grounded solely upon my estimate of her character before 
 her compelled marriage with a man old enough to be her 
 grandfather, and whom she did not affect to esteem, much 
 less to love. The accusing words uttered by the poisoned 
 man were, I could see, conclusive proof with him of the 
 wife's guilt. Still, pity for me, and the possibility — the 
 very faint possibility that by personal persistent investi- 
 gation I might be able to elicit some fact or facts which 
 might throw doubt upon the young wife's criminality, 
 
6 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 induced him to give me three months' leave of absence, 
 and a letter of introduction to M. Portalis, tLe eminent 
 physician who had attended the Sieur d'Estrees in his 
 last moments. MM. Portalis and Cabanis had been fel- 
 low-pupils. 
 
 " Arrived at Eouen, I waified without delay upon M. 
 Portalis. He could tell me nothing more than I had 
 read in M. Tricard's letter. I inquired the nature of the 
 poison which had been taken by M. d'Estrees. 'Ha!' 
 said M. Portalis, ' that is the circumstance — the nature 
 of the poison— which has caused me to doubt for a mo- 
 ment of the wife's criminality. It is that well known to 
 the profession as poudre de succession. Its sale, its manu- 
 facture even, is prohibited under rigorous penalties, and 
 I myself do not know where it could be procured. Like 
 almost all poisons, it is said to be a potent remedy in 
 certain cases.' 'I know — I know,' said I. 'Only in 
 Paris could it be obtained, and there only of one — per- 
 haps two persons — at a heavy price, and by some one in 
 whom the vendor could repose implicit confidence. How 
 should Madame d'Estrees, a young countrywoman, coun- 
 try girl, have any knowledge of such a deadly drug, much 
 less know ol whom to purchase it in Paris, if indeed she 
 has ever been there?' 'The difficulty is obvious,' said 
 M. Portalis; 'but Madame d'Estrees has been, to Paris, 
 and made a lon'g stay there with her husband, who in 
 those days supplied her with any amount of money she 
 asked for. Her motive for getting rid of her husband is 
 very clear. He was veiy jealous of his beautiful young 
 wife-^whether for good cause or not I cannot say; bitter 
 quarrels took place, and M. d'Estrtes, a man of iron will, 
 told her in the hearing of several persons that he should 
 completely change the disposition of his wealth— bequeath 
 her only a bare subsistence, whereas he had formally exe- 
 cuted, during the first week of the lune de miel, a notarial 
 deed which would have entitled her at his death to every 
 thmg he might die possessed of. Had he told her, which 
 IS the fact,' added M. Portalis, 'that he had actually de- 
 stroyed the first deed and executed another in the sense 
 
MOXSIEUE LB DOCTEUE DEVINE. 7 
 
 of his threat, poudre ck succession would not have been 
 mixed with the unfortunate fermier-general's cafe. She 
 expected to be deprived of the ' succession ;' and being 
 unaware that she had been legally so deprived, resolved 
 to be swift and deadly. She was swift and deadly.' 
 ' Pardon, Monsieur Portalis ; and I beg you to excuse the 
 fi'eedom with which so young a man as I presume to 
 address you. My conviction of Madame d'Estrees' innp- 
 cence is as firm, as unalterable as yours is of her guilt.' 
 'Parbleu!' replied he, with a half-cynical smile; 'but 
 there is this difference, my young friend, that your con- 
 viction has no other foundation than the illusions of 
 boyish sentiment, whilst mine is based upon the inex- 
 orable logic of facts.' ' Presumed facts, permit me to 
 observe, monsieur. And there is, one point which occurs 
 to me, which seems to deny completely the always im- 
 probable supposition that Madame d'Estrees pm-chased 
 the povdre de succession, so called, in Paris. She was 
 with her husband in Paris, you say, during the first part 
 of the honeymoon, when he adored her, and had no mis- 
 trust of her. Was it at such a time, I would ask, that 
 the newly-wedded wife would devise means, and face 
 terrible risks to obtain them, for destroying the indul- 
 gent husband's life at some distant period — a life which 
 in the course of nature could not long endure ? ' ' That 
 is plausible, young man, very plausible. Error is often 
 plausible — more frequently so, perhaps, than strict truth. 
 The devil very soon effects a lodgment in the heart, and 
 whispers his suggestions in the brain of a young, beauti- 
 ful woman who is fettered by the marriage chain to an 
 aged man whom she loathes. But this is vain talk, M. 
 Devine. The fate of Madame d'Estrees will be decided 
 by the Court of Criminal Justice, not guided by your 
 conviction or mine. If, however, there is any real ser- 
 vice I can render you in this sad affair, I will willingly 
 do so.' I reflected a few moments, and said quickly, 
 'Yes, monsieur; I very, very much desire to see Madame 
 d'Estrees. Could you obtain me an order to be admitted 
 to a private interview with her in the 'prison?' Monsieur 
 
8 ECCENTEIC PEK SON AGES. 
 
 le Medecin paused. Such orders were difficult of obtain- 
 ment. He, however, promised to speak to the magistrate 
 who alone had power to grant such permission, and if I 
 called the next day, he would tell me the result. I 
 thanked M. Portalis, bowed, and withdrew. 
 
 "I was so restless, so perturbed, that, contenting 
 myself with a glass of wine and a biscuit for dinner, I 
 took my way to the deceased M. d'Estrees' domicile. I 
 wished to speak with Mademoiselle Le Blanc, whom I 
 had known in Havre de Gnlce. 
 
 " As it happened, she was upon the point of leaving 
 the house as I approached it. Our eyes met; she started; 
 a visible terror shook her frame, and her face paled to the 
 hue of marble. What might be the meaning of that ? 
 Fanchette Le Blanc re-entered the hall, and sank down 
 half fainting upon a seat. 'How !' said I to Mademoiselle 
 Le Blanc; ' does the sight of an old acquaintance alarm, 
 terrify you?' 'No — no,' she said, recovering herself by 
 a strong effort. 'What folly to suppose such a thing! 
 Seeing you brought suddenly to mind the dreadful tra- 
 gedy in which poor Madame d'Estrees is involved. Of 
 course,' she added, with a glimmer in her glowing eyes, 
 which I could but doubtfully interpret — 'of course, I 
 long since knew how much you adored — I mean, felt 
 interested in hor welfare.' ' You knew the truth, Made-- 
 moiselle Le Blanc. Who, indeed, would not feel a pro- 
 found interest in so charming, so amiable, so pure and 
 innocent a being, and now especially?' The glimmer in 
 the fierce eyes brightened to a vivid flash, and her lip 
 curled with a mocking expression, as she exclaimed, 
 ' Innocent — innocent ! Well, I hope so. But youthful 
 lovers seldom see stains or defects in their idol.' ' That 
 is not language, pardon me, mademoiselle, to address to 
 Engine Devine at such a time. Has M. Edouard Cazo,' 
 I asked abruptly, ' seen Madame d'Estrees since her ar- 
 rest—interested himself for her?' 'Oh, no!' was the 
 reply, in as abrupt a tone as mine, whilst her eyes flamed, 
 her cheeks flushed with what bore the expression of exul- 
 tant scorn,—' oh, no— assuredly not !' ' Yet he was seen 
 
MONSIEUR LE UOCTEini DEVIIfB. 9 
 
 lurking about the place several days before the catastro- 
 phe occurred.' ' That is exact,' said Le Blanc, the hot 
 colour in her cheeks fading again. ' He did not speak 
 with Madame d'Estrees, I understand?' 'I did not see 
 him speak with her.' ' He came and .spoke with you, 
 Mademoiselle Le Blanc?' ^Eh lien! — yes. Tou are 
 very inquisitive, M. Devine,' retorted the demoiselle, 
 colouring again. ' Have you any serious question to 
 ask me?' she added. 'If not, I must make you my 
 adieu ; I have busiuess in Eouen.' ' I will not detain 
 you. Mademoiselle Le Blanc. Stay one moment. Edou- 
 ard Cazo's father is a skilful — a very skilful herbalist. 
 Do you think it possible that he may know the secret of 
 making the vegetable poison called poudre de succession, 
 and have^ — ' Before I could finish the sentence, Fan- 
 chette Le Blanc, who had risen, fell back into the seat, 
 and fainted outright. There was a carafe of water on a 
 table in the hall, and I soon restored her to conscious- 
 ness. Another woman-servant appeared before I could 
 again address her, and both entered the house together. 
 
 " ' This is all very dark,' I murmiu:ed "to myself as I 
 walked towai-ds Eouen. 'I strongly suspect Panchette 
 Le Blanc and Edouard Cazo are the poisoners of M. 
 d'Estrees.' Knowing or believing that the murdered 
 gentleman had disposed of his wealth in favour of his 
 wife,' and imagining that he, Cazo, had the same hold of 
 her affections as previous to her marriage, he might have 
 prevailed upon Le Blanc, for a large pronlised reward, to 
 administer the poudre de succession; Le Blanc having 
 probably informed him that no time should be lost. The 
 affair had no doubt been blundered. Poudre de succession 
 should be administered in such small doses that the vic- 
 tim- at first merely feels malaise, a sensation of uneasiness, 
 and gradually sinks about the seventh, eighth, or ninth 
 day, according to the strength of his stamina ; whereas 
 such an overdose had been given that D'Estrees died 
 almost immediately, and in great agony. It might pos- 
 sibly have happened that during the entrance into, or 
 approach of some one to, the room where the operation 
 
10 ECCENTRIC PEESOXAGES. 
 
 was going on, all the terrible powder was tipped in at 
 once, in order that it should not be seen in her hands. 
 This, of course, was mere conjecture, but the words and 
 manner of Le Blanc gaye it a strong colour of likelihood. 
 Time proved that I had not quite hit upon the truth, but 
 very near to it. I determined, however, and wisely, to 
 give no hint of my suspicions, except to the Avocats 
 whom M. Courtrai and M. Tricard would enable me to 
 engage in defence of the accused. I already knew that 
 Madame d'Estr^es wag without means of paying Mes- 
 sieurs les Avocats. 
 
 "M. Portalis was successful. When I waited upon 
 him on the following day, he placed in my hand a wrjtteu 
 order to the governor of Eouen jail, to see Madame d'Es- 
 trees, accused of the murder of her husband ; the inter- 
 view to be for half-an-hour, and private; and I was warned 
 that the application would not be again acceded to. 
 
 " A terrible interview! My imagination in the pano- 
 ramic vision I have described had not deceived me. 
 There she sat in the gloomy cell, bowed down with 
 agony — the shadow of an inexpressible despair on her 
 white, beautiful face, yet illumined or rather arrayed in 
 conscious innocence. Her father had been some months 
 dead; she was an orphan, and believed herself abandoned 
 by God and man. Unhappy Josephine! She threw her- 
 self into my arms with a spasmodic, passionate ciy of joy. 
 'Help me, Eugtoe! save — save me from the terrible doom 
 with which they threaten me ! I am innocent, Bugene ; 
 indeed, indeed I am!' 
 
 "A flood of fire — a hurricane of tears and flame swept 
 through me at that agitating moment, I thought I 
 should have fainted — ^to hold her in my arms, who had 
 been the angel of my boyhood — ^to hear her express a 
 fearful hope that I might save her,' abandoned as she 
 was by the whole world — I, Eugene, which name, speak- 
 ing to me, had never before passed her lips! It was the 
 supreme moment of my life! When we had sufficiently 
 calmed down, I questioned her tenderly as to all the cir- 
 cumstances connected with the accusation. She could 
 
MOXSIEUE LE DOCTEUE DETINE. 11 
 
 tell me no thing I did nob know. Slie knew nothing, I 
 found, of the peculiar nature of the poison. I needed no 
 assurance of that. I pointedly mentioned the names of 
 Edouard Cazo and Fanchette Le Blanc — that they had 
 been seen together near M. d'Estrees' house. Josepliine 
 glanced at me with sudden, eager scru' "ny, as if my words 
 gave form and colour to some thought, some rague sur- 
 mise which had arisen in her mind. It was so. ' Eugene,' 
 she said, again Eugtoe! speaking in a low shaking Toice, 
 'I cannot help thinking that those two persons are guilty 
 of the murder of M. d'Estrees!' Asking her the reasons 
 .of her belief that they were the culprits, she could give 
 no other than that such was her impression. That Cazo, 
 whom she as much disliked and despised, and for suffi- 
 cient reasons, as she had once liked him, had sent her k 
 a note requesting a meeting with her. This note was 
 brought to her by Le Blanc. It was immediately torn 
 in pieces before her face, and the girl was told that her 
 master should be made acquainted with her unpardon- 
 able insolence in making herself the bearer of such a re- 
 quest to his wife. ' The girl's face darkened as I spoke, 
 and her eyes ilamed with rage. I at once gave her no- 
 tice to quit, but was finally persuaded to promise not to 
 inform M. d'Estrees, at least not for the present, of the 
 criminal indiscretion she had been guilty of, if she did 
 not repeat it.' 
 
 " The precious half-hour had terminated. I was com- 
 pelled to quit the persecuted, , unhappy Josephine. She 
 was not more unhappy than myself. , ' 
 
 " I called once more on M. Portalis to assure him of 
 my conviction of the accused's innocence : as," however, 
 I had no proof, no Ifegal proof, the physician remained 
 firmly incredulous. I mentioned having called at M. 
 d'Estrees' house, and that I had seen Mademoiselle Le 
 Blanc; but I did not allude to what had passed between 
 ns. ' A demoiselle of spirit,' said M. Portalis, ' is Le 
 Blanc, and a handsome one too. Poor d'Estrees, a man 
 of extravagant caprices as regards le bean sexe, must 
 have taken a strong fancy to her, for he has left by the 
 
12 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 instrument which superseded that made in faTOur of his 
 ■wife, forty thousand livres tourmis to Mademoiselle Le 
 Blanc' 
 
 " ' Forty thousund livres tournois (about eighteen 
 hundred pounds sterling)— forty thousand livres tour- 
 nois to Mademoiselle Le Blanc, which bequest a man so 
 capricious might have at any moment revoked! Ha! 
 light begins to'break from the black, lowering clouds. 
 And Le Blanc knew of this large bequest?' 'Possibly; 
 but there is no proof that she did. Such a man as 
 D'Estrees would be likely enough to tell her that he 
 had made her a handsome provision.' • ' Certainly he 
 would. And it was Fanchette Le Blanc who served the 
 poisoned coffee. Light breaks, I say again.' _ 'Error — 
 illusion, young man! you are blinded by sentimental en- 
 thusiasm. The possible culpability of Mademoiselle Le 
 Blanc has not escaped the attention of authority. A 
 rigorous inquiry has been instituted, and the report, for 
 various cogent reasons, acquitted her of the slightest 
 complicity with Madame d'Estrees. In fact, Le Blanc 
 and her mistress were on bad terms, Madame d'Estrees 
 having given her peremptory notice to leave her service.' 
 ' It is very well. Monsieur Portalis; but I repeat, light 
 breaks — is hourly becoming brighter, clearer. Nous ver- 
 rons. I start in an hour for Havre, and thanking you 
 for your kindness, I take my leave. I salute you, Mon- 
 sieur Portalis.' 
 
 " M. Tricard and M. Courtrai were quite willing to 
 furnish me with sufficient money to engage an Avoue and 
 two provincially-celebrated Avocats to defend Madame 
 d'Estrees ; but both were iirmly persuaded of her guilt. 
 Nothing could weaken this conviction — ^nothing that I 
 could say. And this rooted prejudice against Josephine, 
 if it could not be eradicated, would destroy a hope which 
 I had not ceased to cherish — that in the last resort, when 
 all other hope had vanished, M. Courtrai would invoke 
 the aid of Le Prince de la Tour d'Auvergne, who was all- 
 powerful at courb, to at least save the unfortunate lady 
 
MOIJSIBUR LB DOCTEUR DEVISE. 13 
 
 from the last dread penalty of the law [ M. Conrtrai 
 would not lift a finger to save a convicted murderess of 
 whose guilt he felt no doubt. That set me thinking: we 
 ghall see with what result. 
 
 " The trial in the Hall of Justice, Eouen, would not 
 commence in less than two months. In my restless mood 
 of mind, I was constantly going backwards and forwards 
 from Eouen to Havre, from Havre to Rouen. It was 
 something to look upon the prison where Josepliine was 
 confined, to stroll through the grounds where she had 
 often strolled. I was always romanesque : eccentric was 
 the word applied to me by the commonplace humdrums 
 of society. That absm'dest, vainest of eccentrics, De 
 Oenlis, had the impertinence to call me in one of her 
 trashy books Un drdle de germ. But lavardage is out 
 of place in this pa^e — a dark, terrible one — over which 
 a mist of blood seems to hang. Whilst haunting the 
 grounds round about the deceased Monsieur d'Estrees' 
 mansion, I frequently amused myself by sketching the 
 most striking scenes. This desultory occupation proved 
 of great after-service. 
 
 " I certainly did, whilst tattant le pave at Eouen, a 
 very silly thing, which no staid, sensible youth, unless 
 he had been madly in love — and staid, sensible youths 
 never are, according to my experience, madly in love — 
 would have dreamed of doing. I chanced to hear in a 
 cafe where I was dining that one of the turnkeys of the 
 Eouen prison had been taken suddenly ill, and that some 
 trustworthy person was immediately required to take his 
 place. Hey! presto ! I was off in an instant ; hurried 
 to a fripier's (second-hand clothes-shop), purchased such 
 apparel as I thought suitable; waited upon the Avoue 
 ■who was engaged for the defence of Madame d'Estrees, 
 asked him to give me a certificate of respectability and 
 trustworthiness under his own well-known signature. He 
 readily complied. M. Portalis did the same. Of course 
 I did not mention for what purpose I required such docu- 
 ments; but I do not remember — I made no note in my 
 diary — what excuse I made for requiring them. With 
 
l4 ECCENTElC PERSONAGES. 
 
 these documents in my pocket, and suitably attired, I 
 presented myself to the govemor of the jail. A turn- 
 key was urgently required. I seemed a suitable person 
 enough, though rather too young. I was engaged, and 
 signed an agreement for one month, during which time. 
 I should not be permitted egress from the prison, that 
 being a rigorous stipulation with all the subordinate 
 ofiicials. I was distinctly informed that the sentinels at 
 the gate would no more hesitate to put a ball or a bullet 
 through me, should I attempt to leave the place, than if 
 I were a regular prisoner. I was duly shown to those 
 gentlemen, in order that they might recognise me, and 
 should it be desirable to do so, instantly act upon that 
 knowledge. The motive for this stringent reghlation was 
 to prevent any clandestine correspondence being carried 
 on, through the medium of the officials, between the pri- 
 soners and tl^eir friends outside. Keys duly numbered 
 were given to me, and when the time came to lock up 
 for the night, I should be shown the different cells. 
 
 " ' How is that ?' said I to a brother official who was 
 instructing me in my duties, and helping to dispose of a 
 flagon of wine, the cost of which, according to usage, I, a 
 new hand, defrayed. ' How is that, my friend ? I always 
 understood prisoners were confined under lock all day 
 and night.' 
 
 "'Fartleu! That is correct ofpn'soners under de- 
 tention for crime, but not as to debtors. This is the 
 debtor department of the prison. Quite a separate build- 
 ing is that where criminals are confined.' 
 
 " Good heavens ! I was as hot as fire in a moment, 
 from the crown of my head to the pole of my foot. What 
 an ass I had made of myself! 
 
 " ' Well, but the two buildings communicate with 
 each other, I suppose?' said I. 
 
 "'Fas du tout. Not at all. They are, I tell you, 
 separate buildings. It is impossible to pass from one 
 to the other without first going into the street — quite 
 impossible. To your health, comrade, once more. You 
 don't look well.' 
 
MONSIEUE LE DOCTETTR DEVDfE. 15 
 
 "No wonder that I didn't look ■well. I was com- 
 pletely boulevers6— turned up and down, Inside out. 
 "What the devil ! was I to be shut up in that dismal 
 place, without a chance of seeing or speaJring with Ma- 
 dame d'Estr^es, for a whole month, imable to communi- 
 cate with her even through the Avou6 (attorney)? It was 
 dreadful — desolating — the end of the world ! I should 
 go mad ! I reflecJted for a few moments as well as the 
 hot tumult in my brain permitted. 
 
 " ' Maitre Jean Dubois,' said I, ' you arfe right in say- 
 ing I don't look well. It is impossible that I should. I 
 am very ill. The close, dank atmosphere of this place 
 has already produced a terrible effect upon me. Should 
 I remain, it will kiU me. I niust' speak with the go- 
 Temor. It is vexing to be obliged to give up so good — 
 at least, so promising a place; but life, you know, before 
 aU!' 
 
 " 'Parileu! But listen, my friend: whether you live 
 or die here, you must remain till the term for which you 
 have engaged — one month, six months, twelve months — 
 has expired. The doctor will attend you. Certainly, if 
 you die, and Monsiem: le Medecin certifies you are really 
 dead, your Mends, if they bring a cofSn, may have your 
 body. Yes, I think that indulgence is allowed — I am 
 sure of it. And, mon enfant, it is well to remember, as 
 you are retained for one month — ^you said one month? 
 Yes. WeU, remembef' that really means two months, 
 you must give a month's notice of your desire to throw 
 up the place, before the expiration of the stipulated 
 month, and then, if your services are needed, they won't 
 let you off. Mon ami!' added the veteran, ' taking ser- 
 vice here is much like taking service in the army. It is 
 an easy life for a strong active fellow hke you, but very, 
 very difficult to get out of. A ia sante, mon cher. We'll 
 have another flagon. I could tell you a good story,' con- 
 tinued Dubois, ' of one of us who shammed mortal illness 
 in order to get out. There was a wealthy merchant con- 
 fined here. He had great transactions — had been arrested 
 unexpectedly, and there were papers in his house that 
 
16 ECCENTEIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 would haye gravely compromised him. No letters are 
 allowed to pass out of prison; but all that are sent are 
 received and opened. Well, Joseph Marceau was pre- 
 vailed upon to assist the merchant out of his alarming 
 difficulty. Marceau feigned, as I have said, dangerous 
 illness, and feigned so well that an order was given to 
 carry him home in a litter. This was done. Marceau 
 saw the merchant's wife, gave her a list of the compro- 
 mising papers, which were of course immediately de- 
 stroyed. That done, the merchant had nothing to fear, 
 and was soon afterwards liberated. Marceau, who was 
 very poor before, took the Poisson d'Or tavern in the 
 Rue d'Arc. This raised suspicion; an inquiry took 
 place, and, though the affair was by some means hushed 
 up, enough transpired to cause the issue of an edict that 
 no subordinate prison oflScial in Prance should leave 
 until the expiration of the term agreed upon, and notice 
 of a month beyond that. And they do not engage mar- 
 ried men; old soldiers are preferred,' &c. &c. The gar- 
 rulous old man talked and drank on uninterrupted by 
 me. The situation in which I, with the heedlessness 
 of a schoolboy, had placed myself, confounded, appalled 
 me. The thought of being caged in that gloomy dun- 
 geon for two months was maddening. Madame d'Estrfies 
 would believe I, like the rest of the world, had abandoned 
 ■faer. And there was a considerable sum of money at my 
 lodgings wherewith to pay Messieui-s les Avocats, who 
 would certainly not plead for Josephine if not previously 
 paid. And I could communicate with no one, as I was 
 told, not even with M. Portalis. Sacre-e-e! — mm de — 
 mm de Dim! 'Bah!' I reflected, recovering myself, 'this 
 must be an invention of that old farceur Dubois. I will 
 see the governor at once.' I feigned sudden illness, and 
 asked that, if not better in the morning, I might be al- 
 lowed to go into the town of Eouen for an hour, half-an- 
 hour, to consult a physician who understood the malady 
 which afflicted me. The governor, a grim, good-natured 
 veteran, smiled, and said it was simply impossible to com- 
 ply with the request. I should have well considered be- 
 
M6^'SIEU^i le doctexjr devinb. 17 
 
 fore accepting the post. The prison regulations were, 
 he admitted, absurdly strict; but they could not be re- 
 laxed under any circumstances. No communication could 
 be permitted with the outside world by the subordinate 
 custodians of the prisoners. 'Well, Monsieur le Colonel 
 ■will you send a note, an open note, to M. Portalis?' No, 
 he dare not do so. ' A verbal message, then?' 'No; it 
 is impossible to know what occult meaning may be con- 
 Teyedin seemingly the simplest message. There are state 
 prisoners just now in the Eouen jail, and it is important 
 that no possible communication shall be had with them. 
 It is true they are on the criminal side, but Messieurs les 
 Autorit^s at Paris have, in their ignorance of the build- 
 ing, prescribed the same rules for the custodians of debtors 
 as for men or women accused of crime. That is their 
 affair; mine is to obey the instructions sent to me. There 
 is nothiug to be said, young man; no one obliged you to 
 come here. As to your illness, if it be real, you can have 
 no better advice than that of the resident physician, M. 
 Bourdon, Now leave me; I am busy.' 
 
 " Hundred thousand devils! this was the climax! I 
 had not previously believed that such insane regulations 
 could . really be in force. I afterwards knew the reason 
 why such ridiculous orders had been sent from Paris. 
 That, however, is a subject upon which ,1 do not care to 
 touch, even in my private journal. 
 
 "But, good heavens! what was to be done? How 
 get away from those accursed walls? For three miserable 
 days and nights I pondered that question of questions; 
 but no solution came to me. On the fourth day a bright 
 idea struck me: Madame Chiron,- who was emphatically 
 the governor's governor, had a dog, delicately white, with 
 a glossy black tail, black head, and brilliant eyes ; the paws 
 of the animal were also black. I am not a connoisseur in 
 dogs, and do not know whether such a curiously-coloured 
 dog is rare or valuable. Enough for me that madame's 
 affections appeared to be centred in the little beast. That 
 set me thinking. I must state that, having shown my 
 knowledge of medicine, I had free access to M. Bour- 
 
 c 
 
18 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 don's laboratory, and saved him labour in compounding 
 medicamente i'or the prisoners. 
 
 " Madame's pet-dog is taken very ill, refuses food — 
 ■will not touch the most delicate viands — droops, pines — ■ 
 mil, it is evident, if some remedy be not found, die. Dr. 
 Bourdon is summoned. He prescribes. The remedy is 
 of no avail. That was my affair. Madame is in despair. 
 The dog gets worse and worse. Madame, in such a state 
 of distraction as a tender mother would be if a dear child 
 was dying, hurriedly enters the laboratory. I meant to 
 have sought her had she not come. Fleurette is no better 
 — worse — and can nothing be done? ' Where is Bourdon 
 — the unskilful fool?' she added, ragefully. ' He will be 
 here presently. "Will madame permit me to remark that 
 neither M. Bourdon nor myself, though I have studied in 
 an Ecole de Medecine, understands the maladies of dogs? 
 The charming Fleurette — beautiful Fleurette — ^wiU cer- 
 tainly die if the proper remedy be not promptly applied,' 
 
 " ' Well, and the proper remedy! You say you are 
 not acquainted witlj it?' 
 
 " ' That is quite true, madame. I recognise in Fleu- 
 rette the same symptoms which 1 saw in another dog, 
 which did not, however, die. I will give madame the 
 proof. To-morrow, or perhaps not till next day, Fleu- 
 rette's legs will be paralysed. And then the remedy 
 must be prompt. It is, however, certain to be effectual.' 
 
 '"What remedy, I ask again?' said madame, with 
 passion. 
 
 " ' I have already said that I myself am not acquainted 
 with the remedy, but I know where to find the man who 
 could cure Fleurette in five minutes. That is to say, I 
 would undertake to find him in, say, three or four 
 hoursi' 
 
 " Madame, who was a shrewd woman, looked at me 
 sharply, suspiciously. I sustained her scrutiny very well, 
 and she left the laboratory, bidding me tell Dr. Bourdon 
 that she wished to see him immediately. 
 
 "At about four o'clock the next day madame sent for 
 
MONSIEUR LB DOCTEUKDETINB. 19 
 
 me. She was alone and in tears. Fleurette's legs there 
 paralysed, stiflF, cold. ' See, see,' exclaimed the lady, ^^ ith 
 extravagant passion, 'the electuary which, by that fool 
 Bourdon's directions, you administei'ed, has done poor 
 Fleurette no good. It is as you said it 'Would be — her 
 beautiful legs are paralysed. And you are sure that a 
 certain remedy may be obtained?' ' Quite certain, ma- 
 dame. But there is not a moment to spare. It may, as 
 I said, be three or four hours before I can find the iadi- 
 vidual who possesses the secret.' 'Three or four hours! 
 Fleurette will live till then?' ' No doubt of it, madame.' 
 * Tou will return with the medicine yourself?' ' Undoubt- 
 edly, madame, at my best speed. I answer for Fleurette's 
 perfect cure.' 'Ton do! I wiU confide in you then. My 
 husband is absent. Follow me; I wiU let you out by the 
 private door. Aliens! I must risk something to save 
 Fleurette. When you return,' said madame, as she softly 
 unclosed a private gate — 'when you return, pull three 
 times — each tooke about a minute apart — at this belL 
 I shall be at hand. Now go, quick.' I did go quick — 
 ran to my lodgings, discarded my turnkey habiliments, 
 and was myself again. I was not, however, ungrateful 
 to Madame Chiron. I, that had administered the bane, 
 knew the antidote, and a phial containing it was de- 
 livered in less than three hours at- the private gate, 
 accompanied by a note from me, stating that I could 
 not, for peculiar reasons, return to the prison, but had 
 sent the potion for Fleurette, which speedily administered, 
 would restore her to perfect health, as if by magic. It 
 did restore her, and the alfair was allowed to pass sub 
 
 " There were several letters awaiting me at the hotel, 
 amongst them one from my heaii-pdre Tricard. It con- 
 tained a startling piece of news. Edouard Cazo was mar- 
 ried to Fanchette Le Blanc, who had received a fortune 
 of forty thousand francs. Cazo, so enriched, was about 
 to give up the herbalist business, and embark in some 
 other, which would give more scope to his ambition. 
 Ho! ho! 
 
20 ECCENTMC PERSONAGES. 
 
 " Josephine d'Estrees was convicted of thd murder of 
 her husband — a conviction due, in some measure, although 
 the dymg declaration of Monsieur d'Estrees Would per- 
 haps have sufficed," to the calculated malignity of Cazo 
 and his wife. Cazo could never have loved Josephine. His 
 was a nature utterly incapable of love in its exalted sense, 
 its purifying influences, its self-sacrifice — a sensuous 
 passion merely — straw on iire. How eagerly I watched 
 them both dui-ing that terrible trial — noted the facial 
 index of their cruel hearts, their fear-haunted consciences! 
 Ghiiicing from them to the pale, tremulous features, the 
 suifused eyes gemmed by anguish to a more touching 
 beauty, of Madame d'Estrees, it seemed to me that I was 
 before the tribunal of a Ehadamanthus, where fiends 
 were pleading for the condemnation of an angel. 
 
 "Guilty! Sentence of death! I am lost. A universe 
 has crumbled at my feet, and I remember nothing more 
 till the morrow of that dreadful day. My friends Tricard 
 and Conrtrai were present when I awoke from that trance 
 of despair; but, attentively perusing their faces as soon 
 as I was able to do so, I read no hope there. 
 
 " They believed Josephine to be guilty — that she had 
 committed a brutal, unnatural murder, in order that her 
 husband, by whom she had been treated with the most 
 deferential kindness, should have no time to alter the 
 testament made in her favour. 'XJn assassinat inex- 
 piable,' said M. Courtrai; ' and thy obstinacy in persist- 
 ing she is innocent, is to me only another proof that, 
 with all thy capacities, there is something flighty; some- 
 thing flawed in thy intellect.' 'You will at least, M. 
 Courtrai, give me a letter to the Prince de la Tour d'Au- 
 vergne, asking him to intercede with the king — to inter- 
 cede, I mean, for the saving of Madame d'Estrees' life?' 
 ' I would not,' was his pitiless reply, ' move a finger to 
 save the murderess from the just doom pronounced upon 
 her. Certainly not.' 'An appeal has been lodged, I 
 suppose?' 'Oh, yes; but it will avail nothing. The 
 righteous sentence will be carried out.' 'The righteous 
 sentence! But never mind, I pass that. If you, M- 
 
MONSIEUR LE DOCTEUR DEVINB. 21 
 
 Courtrai, can be morally convinced that Madame d'Estrees 
 is an innocent woman, you will appeal to tlie Prince de la 
 Tour d'Auvergne?' 'Yes, with the greatest pleasure. 
 But the thing is impossible. Thou art a dreamer of 
 dreams with regard to, that beautiful serpent.' ' We shall 
 see, monsieur — we shall see.' 
 
 " The appeal could not be judged ia less than three 
 months. I' had plenty of time. M. Cabanis prolonged 
 my leaye of absence, and I set to work .with energy. The 
 idea was germane to that which an English dramatist, 
 I have since heard, embodied in a play called Hamlet, 
 but differently carried out. Ever since I can remember, 
 I possessed a talent for taking likenesses of persons, and 
 not only of persons, but of scenery — fields, trees, men, 
 women, the living and the dumb world. Those sketches 
 were not models of painting, very far from that. But 
 they presented the man, the woman, the trees, the fields, 
 vividly before you. He who had seen could not fail to 
 recognise them at a glance. 
 
 "M. Courtrai was somewhat intimately acquaiated 
 with EdouardCazq. He had, known, respected his father, 
 and- had attended him during his lingering last illness 
 gratuitously. He also liked the new Madame Cazo — 
 thought her a worthy woman. He was a man of skill in 
 his profession, of great skill, and well-informed generally, 
 but he had no faculty of vision to see through human 
 masks. I had, and still have; and m the case of Madame 
 d'Estrees, love, pity, rage, added strength to that peculiar , 
 power. I was as sure, after I had seen \and heard them . 
 give evidence at Eouen against- the accused, that they ' 
 were the murderers of Monsieur d'Estrees, as I was of 
 my own life. 5, 
 
 "At last I was ready for the decisive experiment. I 
 had painted with my best skill four tableaux. Never 
 have I achieved such success as a painter. The ange 
 gardim of Josephiae must have guided my pencil. The 
 four paintings are now in the possession of M. Courtrai's 
 
22 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 nephew. The first showed Edouard Cazo and Fanchetta 
 Le Blanc conversing eagerly with each other at a spot 
 near Monsieur d'Estrees' mansion, where I had ascer- 
 tained they had more than once met. He was handiag 
 to her a small packet. The dark light of meditated mur- 
 der gleamed gloomily in the eyes of both. The next 
 sketch reproduced a small apartment in M. d'Estrees' 
 mansion, contiguous to that in which that gentleman 
 took breakfast. It was in that room a gargon in the 
 establishment handed Le Blanc the tray upon which was 
 the cafetiSre with various comestibles. This was proved 
 at the trial. I felt sure it was there the poudre de suc- 
 cession had been mixed with the coffee. Madame d'Estrees 
 was in the breakfast salon, the door of which she might 
 have opened at any moment to bid the waiting-woman 
 bring in her master's breakfast. The painting repre- 
 sented Le Blanc in the act of pouring the powder into 
 the cafetiSre with her shaking hand — her fierce, averted, 
 straining eyes fixed the while intently upon the door 
 The accessories were faithfully done. I had taken a 
 sketch of the apartment and furniture. The cafetiere 
 itself was reproduced with cyactness. The third tableau 
 supposed that the real culprits had been discovered; the 
 scene was the High Court of Eouen, but instead of Ma- 
 dame d'Estrees, Edouard Cazo and his wife were upon 
 'le banc des accuses' (the bench where prisoners seat 
 themselves when not under course of beiug ' questioned' 
 by the magistrate) — Edouard Cazo and his wife. The 
 witness — the denouncing witness giving her testimony 
 was Madame d'Estrees, and into her face I threw all the 
 force, the expression, which I was capable of depicting. 
 She was a beautiful embodied Nemesis,' as with flashing 
 eyes and outstretched hand she pointed to the trembliag 
 prisoners. The last tableau represented M. and Madame 
 Cazo in the charrette on the way to execution. Ah! that 
 painting occupied longer than all the other three. The 
 brush often and often fell from my hands, as with sudden 
 sickness at heart and a hot flush in my face I bethought 
 me that those two vile figures, were Truth the artist, 
 
MONSIEUE LE DOOTEUR DBVINE. 23 
 
 "tvotild be painted out, and in their stead would stand the 
 pale, martyred angel of my life — Josephine! 
 
 " It was finished at last. The paintings were carried 
 from my bed-chamber, where no one had been permitted 
 to see them, to the principal salon. They were hung to- 
 gether in a row, a green silk cm'tain with rings running 
 upon a stout wire before. ■ 
 
 " M. Courtrai and M. Bourdon humoured the caprice, 
 yet smiled sadly at my folly. ' As thou wilt,' said the 
 patron, 'but it will end in nothing' {cela aboutira en 
 rim). 
 
 "Monsieur Courtrai would, however, do his part in 
 the fdiU comidm de circonstdnce, and mark, closely mark 
 the demeanour, the countenances of Monsieur and Ma- 
 dame Cazo. 
 
 " Monsieur and Madame Cazo were invited to dine at 
 Bellevue, the- private residence on the cote of M. Cour- 
 trai. It was a great honour, and the Cazos accepted the 
 invitation with eagerness — delight. 
 
 "The dinner was capital — the convives in excellent 
 spirits. There were only present Monsieur and Madame 
 Courtrai, their vridowed amiable daughter Madame Bon- 
 jean, author of La Fille Sage (The "Wise Girl), Mon- 
 sieur, Madame and Alphonse Tricard, myself, and the two 
 Cazos. 
 
 " Madame Bonjean, who was in the secret of om* little 
 plot, was hopeful of -it. She had long known Madame 
 d'Estrees, and spite of the general concurrence of public 
 opinion in the judgment of the Kouen court, could not 
 believe her guilty of the murder of her husband. I was 
 charmed with Madame Bonjean. 
 
 " The dinner is over — the dessert accomplished. ' M. 
 Courtrai invites his guests to view his pictures. We all 
 rose. There were some excellent works of art, Dutch 
 chiefly, which all admired. 
 
 " ' I have four. pictures concealed by this curtain,' said 
 
24 ECCENTRIC PEKSONAGES. 
 
 M. Courtrai, with marked emphasis, addressing the two 
 Cazos, and looking fixedly at them. Madame Bonjean, 
 who had only returned to Havre a week previously, had 
 helped to shake his conviction of Madame d'Estr^es' 
 guilt — 'I have four pictures concealed by this curtain, 
 which are more than pictures. They reveal both the 
 past and the future. Look, Monsieur and Madame 
 Cazo.' 
 
 " A wild, bubbling scream broke from Madame Cazo's 
 lips. She fainted, and would have fallen to the ground 
 had not Madame Bonjean caught at and upheld her. As 
 for Edouard Cazo, he was transfixed with terror as if 
 confronted by a new Gorgon, and I noticed that his fasci- 
 nated glance was riveted , by the fourth picture — the 
 going to execution in the.charrette, surrounded by a hoot- 
 ing multitude. He was as white as paper, and large 
 beads of perspiration stood out upon his forehead. 
 
 "'Leave my house, Monsieur and Madame Cazo!' 
 said M. Courtrai, in his sternest accents. ' I had not 
 thought to entertain assassins. Begone!' 
 
 "The guilty pair left without a word, not daring 
 even to lift their eyes. The terrible secret which haunted 
 their lives, and, in the shadowy shape of the murdered 
 man, pursued them during day, and crept with them at 
 night to bed, whispering, suggesting horrible fantasies, 
 was known to others. One Unseen had looked upon 
 their deeds. That charrette with its two occupants would 
 never pass from their memory till the world itself did. 
 
 "'Eugtoe,' said M. Courtrai, 'thou art right, I am 
 convinced. But no legal proof is supplied by what we 
 have just seen. I shall, however, speak of it to the 
 Prince de la Tour d'Auvergne, and set off for Paris in 
 the morning. There must be no delay, my poor Eugtoe, 
 for the appeal I knew this morning has been rejected, 
 and the sentence — the unjust sentence — will be executed 
 this day week. There, don't you faint away. I shall be 
 successfal, depend upon it, in saving Madame d'Estrees' 
 life. More than that I dare not hope for. ifow take a 
 
MONSIBUE LB DOOTEUR DEVINB. 25 
 
 glass of eau m^dicinale and go to bed, or you will be 
 seriously ill.' 
 
 " The day of doom had dawned. Monsieur Tricard 
 and I, who had arrived in Rouen the previous evening, 
 were eaxly up. Need I say that I had not slept since 
 the departure of M. Courtrai for Paris ? Yet, early ag 
 we were, the Eouen folk were astJr as early, and groups 
 of countrymen and women were tfkeaming into the city, 
 brutally eager to obtain a near view of the ' spectacle' 
 appointed to take place at ten precisely. We had not 
 heard from M. Courtrai since he left for Paris, and I 
 walked in the shadow of a gigantic despair. Through 
 M. Portalis we made a vehement application to the au- 
 thorities to delay carrying out the sentence for a few 
 hours. The request was granted; the time changed from 
 ten to two o'clock, greatly to the chagrin of the sight- 
 seers from the country.' Their indignation rose to fever- 
 heat as, soon after ten o'clock, the clear bright sky be- 
 came overcast, the clouds grew black and dense, and soon 
 the rain poured down heavily, and with every sign of 
 continuance for some hours at least. 
 
 " I had not been able to obtain an interview with_ 
 Madame d'Estrees since her condemnation. Only a 
 priest could be allowed to see her. PSre Duchesne was 
 a worthy, warm-hearted man. He sympathised with me 
 in my terrible distress, and readily charged himself with 
 a note to the unfortunate, by which she would know 
 that it was through no coldness or want of effort on my 
 part that I did not personally see and endeavour to sup- 
 port her in the afflictive days through which she was 
 passing. ' It is as well, perhaps, my young friend, that 
 you have not been permitted to see Madame d'Estrees. 
 It would but torture you and intensify her despair. She 
 is completely abattue, prostrated with terror. She is deaf 
 to religious consolation, not for want of piety, but be- 
 cause her mind is overwhelmed, paralysed with horror. 
 She has never for one moment doubted your sincerity, 
 your devotedness. I have never had a duty so painful 
 to perform. I can only weep with — ^pray for her,' 
 
26 ECCENTEld'PERSONAGES. 
 
 " One o'clock has struck ; the rain still pours down 
 in torrents; but the crowd around the scaffold — san- 
 guinary brutes — does not diminish. As for me, there is 
 not only rage in my heart, but blasphemy in my brain. 
 I doubt the goodness, the justice of God. There could 
 be no omnipotent, merciful Father, if such a crime as the 
 legal murder of that innocent woman took place. What 
 a frightful fascination the black scaffold, the hideoUs 
 apparatus of death, exerts over me! I cannot wrench 
 my eyes away. Josephine — the imputed crime being the 
 murder of a husband — is to be broken on the wheel. 
 Horrible! a thousand times horrible! Yet I cannot leare 
 the spot, though passionately urged by the good Tricard, 
 with tears in his eyes, to go away. No, I must see out 
 the terrific tragedy, should the last act drive me mad. 
 
 Tf! y^ T^ TF 'If 
 
 " A ferocious shout in the distance, rapidly increas- 
 ing in multitudinous volume as the charrette slowly ap- 
 proaches the scaffold. The priest is kneeling therein 
 over the doomed woman, who is crouching in terror at 
 the bottom of the cart. The mob can only catch sight 
 of the white, coarse, penitential dress of the victim. This 
 enrages them. They have come to gloat upon the mur- 
 deress, and refuse to have the entertainment curtailed. 
 ' Debout! debout, assassin !' (Up, up, assassin !) they 
 shout. That, demand of devils produces no effect. A 
 numerous armed force is present, and the multitude are 
 jjowerless. * * * * They lift Josephine out of the 
 charrette, and bear her up the steps of the scaffold. She 
 is insensible from terror. Better so, iniinitely better. 
 
 " Hark ! There is another shout from the south en- 
 trance into Eouen ; carriage- wheels moving rapidly can 
 presently be heard; the officials on the scaffold look 
 eagerly in that direction, and the terrible preparations 
 are suspended. In a few minutes the carriage comes full 
 in sight. M. Courtrai, whom I instantly recognise, oc- 
 cupies it, with an officer in uniform; both gesticulate 
 violently; the officer waves a sheet of parchment, M. 
 Courtrai a white handkerchief. -They are shouting, but 
 
MONJSliicrR LE DOdTEUE DEVXNE. 27 
 
 their voices cannot be heard for several minutes. At last, 
 the words' Gr^ce! grAce!, Sa majeste lui fait gr^ce!' are 
 heard. A howl of rage arises from the multitude, who 
 stop and are endeavouring to overturn the carriage in 
 their ferocious madness, when the mounted arquebusiers 
 force theu- way through the crowd, and rescue M. Cour- 
 trai and the oflB.cer. The officer in command takes the 
 parclunent, speaks a few words to the occupants of the 
 carriage, and rides swiftly back towards the scaffold. I 
 became cold as stone while this was going on — rigid as 
 death — I see and hear, but as if in a dream ; not with 
 my bodily eyes and ears. I saw the executioner unbind 
 and give up Josephine to the care of the priest and two 
 civil functionaries who had helped her to mount the 
 steps to the scaffold, and who now prepared to assist her 
 back to the charrette amidst a storm of wolfish execra- 
 tions from the disappointed populace. I hear; see no 
 more. As when sentence was pronounced, I recover 
 intelHgent consciousness^he certainty that I am not 
 dreaming — ^but to lose that recovered consciousness, and 
 am borne safely out of the crowd by*the good Tricard. 
 M. Courtrai had not only obtained, through the good 
 offices of the Prince de la Tour d'Auvergne, remission of 
 the capital sentence upon Madame d'Estrees, but that 
 instead of being confined for life in the Bagne at Brest 
 or Toulon, which was the usual secondary punishment 
 awarded in such case, she should be transferred to the 
 prison La Force, Paris. That was a great, unusual fa- 
 vour ; and but that De la Tour d'Auvergne was at last 
 brought to believe in the innocence,-or more correctly to 
 doubt the guilt of madame, he would not have persisted 
 till that relaxation of punishment was granted. It was 
 simply seclusion, consequently, to which Madame d'Es- 
 trees was finally condemned ; and at La Force she could 
 be supplied with such modest luxuries as her friends 
 would be disposed to supply her with." 
 
 Two days after the narrow escape of the unfortunate 
 lady from a cruel death, Eugtoe Devine and the Pdre 
 
28 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 Duchesne entered the room in the hotel where M.'Tri- 
 caxd impatiently awaited his step-son, he being anxious 
 to leave without delay for Le Havre. M. Courtrai had 
 left the. same evening he arrived at Eouen from Paris. 
 
 Eugtoe was evidently much excited — very pleasur- 
 ably so. Father Duchesne was also agitated, but un- 
 easy. 
 
 " Give me your blessing, cher papa !" exclaimed De- 
 vine — " your blessing and felicitations. I am married !" 
 
 "What art thou talking of, Eugtoe ? Married! 
 Thou art either jesting or mad." 
 
 "Neither, PSre Tricard. Father Duchesne married 
 me to Josephine d'Estrees, widow, in the prison about 
 half-an-hour since. Madame Deviue is now on the road 
 to Paris." 
 
 " It is true. Monsieur Tricard," said the Rev. Du- 
 chesne ; " I have been prevailed upon to confer the 
 eacr'ament of marriage upon Josephine d'Estrees and 
 Eugene Devine. There is no law of the Church which 
 forbade my doing so. That which prevailed with me 
 was, first, the conviction I had acquired of the lady's 
 innocence; secondly, the devoted affection felt for her by 
 Eugfine, wlio is a virile man in intellect, if not in years ; 
 lastly, because it will give him a right to see her once in 
 each month, in the presence,. it is true, of one or more ot 
 the prison oificials, and minister to her needs. He will 
 also have the right, if he sees fit, and reliable evidence 
 of their guilt can be obtained, of prosecuting certaia 
 persons at Le Havre, who, since the incident of the four 
 tableaux, neither you nor M. Courtrai doubts are the 
 real assassins of Monsieur d'Estrees." 
 
 "WeU," said M. Tricard, "I doubt the pradence of 
 such a proceeding ; but it being an accomplished fact, I 
 shall take no step to annul the ceremony — and I only 
 could do so. Do you return to Havre, Eugtoe?" he 
 added with a grave smile, "or does your body follow 
 your soul to Paris ?" 
 
 "It is of the first necessity," said Eugene, "that I 
 resume my studies without further loss of time." 
 
/ 
 
 MONSIEUE LE DOCTEUE DEVIKE. 29 
 
 " Precisely; I knew that would be your answer. TVel], 
 then, we have simply to dine and depart our several 
 ways." 
 
 Devine completed his brilliant studies at the Ecole 
 de Medecine, and in diie time receiyed a diploma. No- 
 thing meanwhile had been discovered that promised to 
 remove the stigma of guilt from his wife, pining her life 
 cuvay in prison — the only ray of light which penetrated 
 its cheerless gloom being the visit, once a month, of her 
 true, faithful husband, for a few minutes only, and always 
 in the presence of a third party. Still, even that made 
 sunshine in the dismal place. ' As for M. le Docteur De- 
 vine, the one sole object of life was to free his beloved 
 wife from prison, restore her to society. A terribly up- 
 hill game to fight. The odds against success were as 
 one thousand to zero. 
 
 Messiem-s Courtrai and Tricard both died in the same 
 year, when Devine was in his 27th year, and Madame 
 Devine had been incarcerated eight years. Le Sieur 
 Courtrai bequeathed his protege thirty thousand francs. 
 Monsieur Tricard five thousand. These bequests fell in 
 opportunely. Devine had made an important start in 
 life. He had taken a house, or portion of a house, on 
 account of its cheapness, in an unfavourable locality. 
 His clientele, when his patron and stepfather died, was 
 consequently a very scanty one ; would bar«ly have suf- 
 ficed, without the bountiM aid of M. Courtrai, to keep 
 body and soul together. 
 
 Much reflecting upon this condition of things, and 
 knowing that in the utterly corrupt, rotten French Court 
 of the period, the only talisman which could burst open 
 the dungeon -doors wherei his adored wife was slowly 
 dying — languishing to death — ^was gold — gold in heaps ; 
 Eug&e Devine, one of the most skilfril physicians that 
 ever lived, young as he was, determined to re-begin the 
 world as a charlatan. Quack, we should say. " I had 
 tried the legitimate, and should have starved ; so I be- 
 took myself to the illegitimate! It was an inspiration. 
 
30 EDCBNTRIO PBESONAGES. 
 
 without which mine would have been an utterly defeated 
 life. The world is mostly composed of fools. My expe-, 
 rience was young, but it had grasped that truth and held 
 it firmly. I bought a carriage, had it painted in gayest' 
 colours ; the coachman wore a coat half scarlet, half yel 
 low. Two couriers, habited in like manner, preceded th 
 carriage, which traversed the principal thoroughfares of 
 Paris at a slow pace, befitting the solemnity of the high 
 mission intrusted to the gentleman seated within, whom 
 his heralds (the aforesaid couriers) proclaimed to have 
 been miraculously gifted with the power of indefinitely 
 prolonging human life-Twas possessed of the true Elixir 
 Vitee, of Which the ' Pilule Divjsne ' was an indispensable 
 preparative. 'Pilule Divine' (Divine Pill) — the second 
 letter so formed that in a Court of Justice, as afterwards 
 happened, I could say that it was Devine's Pill. 
 
 " The Pilule Divine, as every body knows, had an im- 
 mense, an extraordinary success. Yes, and it was a very' 
 excellent pill. I had very early detected the legitimate 
 charlatanry of the profession, and convinced myself that 
 certain simple medicaments would, in nine cases out of 
 ten, have a beneficial effect. The result confirmed my 
 judgment. Gold flowed in upon me in a torrent — the 
 shower of Danae was nothing to it. I tried to utilise 
 that gold in the only way for which it was precious in 
 my eyes — the liberation of my wife from that accursed 
 prison. I did not succeed — was always victimised. One 
 Jezebel, whom I knew to have intimate relations with 
 the king, robbed me of ten thousand francs upon the 
 •solemn promise that before noon on the morrow the 
 Hng's pardon for .Josephine Devine, otherwise D'Estrfies, 
 should be sent to La Force. Bah! I was swindled! and, 
 veritable ass that I must have been, deserved to be swin- 
 dled. 
 
 " The next year the petite verote (small-pox), of which 
 Louis the Fifteenth subsequently died, broke out with 
 great virulence in Paris. I had had opportunities of 
 studying the disease, and had satisfied myself that the 
 wdiuary medical treatment was wholly wrong. Instead 
 
■ ' MOKSIEXIE LK DOCTEUR DSVIITE. 31 
 
 of shutting up the patient in a clos(^ room, and stifling 
 him or her with blankets, and reducing the system, I 
 opened the windows, gave free access to the air, and 
 administered stimulants enabling the sufferer to throw 
 out the disease. This was the real secret of my great 
 success; but the 'Pilule Divine' had all the credit of the 
 cures. I cannot think' there was any crime in that pre- 
 tence. No one would have believed in ft-esh air, light 
 covering, ordinary stimulants ; but all did in the ' Pilule 
 Divine,' and hundreds of lives were saved. My fame re- 
 sounded tliroughout Paris. 
 
 "Early one morning I was summoned to Le Petit 
 Trianon, Versailles. The all-powerful Du Barry had 
 sent for me. Her mulatto protege had sickened, it was 
 feared, of the small-pox. My heart leapt up at the mes- 
 sage. A great hope sprang to life within me. I hiUTied 
 off with the messenger, saw the mulatto, and that he was 
 really seized with the petite verole, but, I judged, of a 
 mild type. I looked grave, but expressed confidence, 
 nevertheless, that the 'Pilule Divine' would conquer the 
 
 " I was quite aware, with all Paris, of the attachment 
 of the beautiful Du Barry for the young African, and I 
 carelessly asked if that lady had been in the room. Yes, 
 once, before the nature of the malady was suspected. 
 And madame wished to see me before I left. That was 
 enough. 
 
 " I think the Du Barry was the loveliest creatm-e I 
 have ever seen. I did not wonder that, the sensuous 
 king was her slave — that La France, as she used to call 
 the French monarch, did her bidding as a slave would. 
 'Well, what, is the disorder?' she asked. ' La petite 
 verote, madame ; and of a very vkulent type.' ' Grand 
 Lieu! he will die, then?' 'No, I can save him; at least, 
 I believe that to do so is within my power.' I looked 
 keenly at the beautiful creature. ' Will madame,' said I, 
 softly, 'permit me to feel her pulse, to see her tongue?' 
 The Du Barry turned deathly pale, and trembled in every 
 limb. She complied with my request. I assumed my 
 
32 ECCENTEIO JfEESONAGES. 
 
 gravest look. ' It is surely impossible that madame has 
 entered the infected room ?' I said. 'Yes ; once— once 
 ■only,' she almost screamed. 'You do not mean, you 
 cannot mean, that I — I— have caught the — the—'—' 
 She could not finish the sentence. 'No question, ma- 
 dame, that you have caught the infection.' This was 
 true. 'It is false,' she shrieked, springing upon her 
 feet; 'it must, it shall be false!' She stamped her 
 beautiful foot with rage and terror. ' It is true, ma- 
 dame; but I can save you.' 'Ah, yes, my life, perhaps; 
 but the disfigurement — you cannot save me itom that.' 
 And the t)u Barry sank down upon the gilded canap6 in 
 an agony of distress. 'Yes, I will undertake that not 
 the faintest blemish shall mar madame's dazzling beauty; 
 but I must insist upon conditions.' ' Conditions? — what 
 conditions ? Gold ? You may have whatever sum you 
 please to name.' ' Not gold, madame. The condition is 
 simply this : — That madame gives me a written memo- 
 randum, promising that if I save her life, her face and 
 person from disfigurement, and the life of her servant, 
 she will obtain the king's full pardon for my wife — my 
 innocent wife — imprisoned in La Force ! ' 'I know — I 
 know. I have heard that history. I give you my word,' 
 the Du Barry added, ' that if you fdfil your promise, 
 Madame Devine shall receive the king's pardon.' ' Ex- 
 cuse me, madame, I must have the promise in writing, 
 or I decline to act. The happiness of my life equally 
 with your own is at stake. This is a great chance which 
 God has vouchsafed to me. I will not cast it away. I 
 further pledge myself that it shall never be knowil, that 
 no whisper shall go forth upon the subject to the gay 
 world, which, whilst crouching at madame's feet, are 
 eating their hearts away with envy of her marvellous 
 beauty, her supreme influence.' 
 
 " This was perhaps maladroit on my part. Madame 
 du Barry, had been saturated with compliments upon her 
 beauty, by persons whose adulation was worth courting; 
 that of a pill -manufacturer, though the pill was a divine 
 one, she considered a gross impertinence ! Her glorious 
 
Jio^rsiJixni LE DOCTEUR Di,v'i::E. 33 
 
 eyes told me that. Still, Deafch^he Shadow of Death — 
 is the master of the world. She believed that I, perhaps 
 alone of all the doctors in Paris, could certainly shield 
 her from, exorcise the horrible phantom. She glared at 
 me like a beautiful panther at bay; but I feared not her 
 spring. Madame du Barry would have done, promised, 
 given anything rather than it should be surmised she 
 \was or had been infected by such a loathsome malady as 
 ■the petite verole. A ridiculous notion was prevalent at 
 the time that the disease, though it was subdued, if not 
 a visible trace of the attack was to be seen, had never- 
 theless tainted, vitiated the blood for ever with malignant 
 scrofula, which, sooner or later, might break out in other 
 forms. ' You feel no doubt thab I am infected with that 
 dreadful disease, and that you are certain, of being able 
 to save me from death and disfigurement?' 'There is 
 not the slightest doubt, madame, that you are infected 
 by the disease ; and that I can save, you, not only from 
 death, but from the least disfigurement.' ' I consent to 
 the condition. There are writing materials: draw up the 
 memorandum yourself.' I did so. Madame signed, and 
 placed it in my hand. 'Now, Monsieur Devine,' said she, 
 'let us quite understand each other. I shall seclude 
 myself till the danger is past. How long may that be ?' 
 * Ten days at most.' ' Ten days. Fortunately the king 
 has left for the provinces, and will not return in less 
 than a fortnight. Bevenons. I was about to say that I 
 shall write a note to h^s majesty, place it in a sealed 
 packet to be delivered to him immediately after my 
 death. It will consign you to the Bastille for life. 
 More than that: should I be disfigured, I shall still 
 have suf&cient influence to inflict upon, you and Ma- 
 dame Devine the same doom; and be quite assured I 
 will in the case supposed exert that influence. On, the 
 contrary — if you fulfil your promise, I will keep honour- 
 able word with you. Madame Devine shall receive the 
 king's plenary pardon, and I will besides promote your 
 interest in every way within my power.' 'Madame, I 
 Joyfally agree. But there is no time to be lost. You 
 
 D 
 
34 ECCENTRIC PERSOXAGES. 
 
 must immediately take my magic pill and other medica. 
 ments which I constantly cany about me, according to 
 the directions labelled thereon. Have you a discreel}, 
 trustworthy female domestic ?' ' Yesl' ' I must see her 
 then, and giye her a few plain, simple instructions, which 
 must on no account be neglected ; and it wilLbe best to 
 give out that madame is suffering from a slight attack 
 of fever.' This suggestion was approved. Madame la 
 Comtesse added that, if possible to be done, she was 
 desirous to conceal the nature of the malady even from 
 the trustworthy female attendant. It was of such para- 
 mount importance to obtain the written promise of the 
 all-powerM favourite, that I should not have hesitated 
 at any assertion, however audacious it might be; and L 
 boldly replied that I had little doubt my remedies would 
 so act as to render it quite possible to prevent the attend- 
 ant from suspecting the real state of the case. At last 
 all was arranged, and I left Le Petit Trianon floating 
 upon the wings of an inexpressible ecstasy {'flottant sur 
 '■es aiUs d'une extase mexprvmaMe')" — a bewildering meta- 
 )hor of the eccentric doctor's, and attributable, we may 
 benevolently conclude, to the exaltation of his brain when, 
 ■ on reaching his domicile, he wrote it down in his jpm-nal. 
 Fortune favoured, as the fickle goddess often does, 
 the brave and bold. Madame du Barry had gone through 
 the different phases of, the terrible disease, and was' com- 
 pletely convalescent several days before the king's return 
 to Paris. But two pustules had appeared ; one on the 
 nape of madaime's neck, the other on the great toe of 
 her left foot. Her brilliant beauty was undimmed. She 
 was grateful to Monsieur le Docteur Devine — ^presented, 
 him with a large sum of money, and assured him again 
 that his wife should be pardoned, liberated within twenty-, 
 four hours after the king's return. The mulatto also re- 
 covered. It seems reasonable to conclude that the "char- 
 latan" doctor, so called, was really much in advance of 
 the medical profession of the day in his treatment of la 
 petite verole and other blood-diseases. Monsieur le Doc- 
 teur Devine thus continues his journal : — 
 
MOXSIBUR LE DOCTEITE DEVINE. 35 
 
 " My heart is torn with impatience. It is forty-eight 
 hours since the king alighted at the Tuileries; and Ma- 
 dame du Barry promised that within twenty-four hours 
 my wife should be set free. What am I to think ? Can 
 it be possible that his majesty has not TisitedLe Petit 
 Trianon ? — that some new favourite has thrust Madame 
 du Barry from her throne, usm'ped her place in the king's 
 affection? Thg^t would be terrible — fatal! But no — 
 impossibles! * « * * joyi Ecstasy! I hold 
 a note — three precious lines, which dazzle me. They 
 are now gold, now ,vermilion, the blue of summer skies. 
 ' The royal pardon for your wife has been sealed, and an 
 order sent to the governor of La Force to liberate Ma- 
 dame Devine. You had "better present yourself at the 
 prison without delay. Your wife awaits you. The written 
 promise must be returned to me by a sure hand.' 
 
 " There was no signature to this precious note, and 
 the hand was a disguised one. Bagatelle ! The great 
 purpose was accomplished. In a few minutes my beloved 
 Josephine would be in my arms, recovered to free life, to 
 love, to happiness ! I give Philip Just ten minutes to be 
 ready with my coach ! Bon garqon ! he has done it even 
 in less time. Je sors" 
 
 Madame Devine, trembling in every limbi faint, be- 
 wildered, dizzy with the suddenness of so great a change, 
 was given into the charge of her husband, lifted into his 
 carriage, and driven off to a charming sejour in the en- 
 virons of Paris, which he had rented since his interview 
 with Madame du Barry, and named L'Elys^e. 
 
 " Seen in the sunlight of revealing day, how pale, how 
 Worn, how mournfully sad was that sweet face, that 
 ■pasted form ! "Was I too late ? Could it be that she, so 
 young, guQeless, beautifal, was siakiog into i,he tomb in 
 the fraiche matinee — the young morning of her life ! I 
 feared so, and the fever of that fear excited in my brain, 
 whilst she was still insensible, a veritable access, par- 
 oxysm of insanity, violent but brief — tears relieved me. 
 In a few hours I had satisfied myself that although, the 
 
36 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 springs of life were weakened in Josephine, she was suf- 
 fering under no organic disease. Quiet, care, the tender- 
 ness of a lavish love, with scientific ministrant- agencies, 
 would bring back the roses to her pale cheeks, roundness 
 to her shrunken form. This was my prayer— nay hope. 
 The prayer was accepted, the hope realised. Josephine's 
 health was rapidly restored. At the end of three years 
 she was the mother of two beauteous buds of promise, 
 herself still as fresh and fragrant a flower as any that 
 flourished in the king's parterre. 
 
 " In the mean while, during those three years of deli- 
 cious life, I had played my part in the world with suc- 
 cess. Madame la Comtesse du Barry pushed my fortunes: 
 the 'pilule divine' was sought after by the highest classes; 
 esteemed to be a universal panacea ! And, as I have said 
 before, it was a good pUl,— a really good pill. I changed 
 my variegated liveries every month — the bizarre display 
 always going on crescendo. Paris, valetudinarian Paris, 
 was at my feet. All that greatly amused Josephine, and 
 enriched me. Vive le charlatanisme ! Yet I was not a~ 
 charlatan — far from it. I was a more, much more, scien- 
 tific adept ia pathology than the solemn humdrum fools 
 who affected to laugh and sneer, and in reality were, 
 bursting with envy at my success. 
 
 " The brightest prospects fade, grow dim. The hea- 
 vens are overcast; the sunlight disappears, and the gay, 
 laughing landscape — gay, laughing but a short time since 
 — ^is sombre; the gorgeous hues of the trees and flowers 
 become neutral, gray with a tendency to black. This is 
 every one's experience. It was mine ia a moral sense. 
 My success could not be forgiven by the faculty of medi- 
 cine. Their calumnies gradually produced an impression. 
 The falling off in the demand for the 'pilule divine' was 
 rapid, continuous. One or two, perhaps 'five or six, cases 
 terminating fatally — which fatal result all the physicians 
 in Paris could not have averted or postponed — helped to 
 swell the strong current of prejudice setting in against 
 me. I had soared to the sun like the lark, and had got 
 my wings singed; but there was a charming, well-lined. 
 
MONSIEUE LB DOCTEUK DBVINE. 37 
 
 Bvreetly companioned nest upon the earth, into which I 
 could quietly drop down and pass my days in peace, — 
 peace hallowed by the consciousness of duty done — after 
 an odd fashion, it may be admitted — ^but duty done, never- 
 theless, and illumined by the purple light of a pure, con- 
 stant loye. 
 
 "'Sien aimee,' said I, addressing Josephine one calm 
 balmy CTening in summer, as I sat beside her in the 
 veranda of L'Elys^e; '£im aimee, I have made money 
 enough. I — ^you and I are rich. I have resolved to 
 abandon, with your consent, this feverish life of Paris ' 
 
 " Josephine interrupted me with a cry, a sob of joy. 
 ' Ah ! my husband, that is my desire, my hope.' 
 
 " ' And, Josephine, I should wish to settle at Le Havre 
 de Grfice, your birthplace, beloved.' 
 
 " ' Eugene, you have read my soul.' 
 
 " ' There we can watch the Cazos, and I have a firm 
 confidence that in good time we may elicit proof, irre- 
 fragable proof, of your perfect innocence, now only known 
 to God and me. What say you ?' 
 
 "'Nothing but God bless you, Eugene; God bless 
 you ! ' 
 
 " We had lived upon the charming c6te which over- 
 looks Havre de Grace, in quiet, retired style, for some 
 four or five years; two additional children had been bom 
 to us, when Monsieur le Cure of Notre Dame called at 
 our house, and asked to speak with me in private. 
 
 " ' Monsieur Devine,' said the venerable priest, ' you 
 are, I know, acquainted with — at least you know — Mon- 
 sieur and Madame Cazo, of the Rue de Paris.' 
 
 '•' ' Cazo the grocer, whose father was a clever herbal- 
 ist? Yes.' 
 
 " ' Madame Cazo is dead. She died miserably about 
 four hours since. Some live ember in the charcoal chauf- 
 ferette under her feet set fire to her dress. She was 
 dreadfully burned. There was no hope of life from the 
 first. I j\'as sent for. The physical tortm-e of the wretched 
 
38 ECCBNTKIO PERSONAGES. 
 
 woman was nothing compared with the soul-agony by 
 which she was convulsed— maddened. During an inter- 
 Tal of comparatiye calm, she solemnly enjoined me to 
 say to Dr. Devine,, to his wife, to all the world, that it 
 was she, Madame Caz'o, then Fanchette Le Blanc, who 
 poisoned M. d'Estrdes— that Madame d'Estrees was inno- 
 cent of the deed as an unborn babe. I have not failed to 
 communicate that avowal of the dying woman to the 
 authorities, by which means it will have general pub- 
 licity, though that may be of no legal value.' 
 
 '"Of not the slightest legal value, but its moral value 
 to me, to mine, is immense. Those words vouched to 
 have been uttered by the dying woman by a witness of 
 unimpeachable character will go far to dissipate the 
 shadow in which my wife, our children, have been so long 
 encompassed. Did the repentant woman say who it was 
 that furnished her with the poison, with the poudre de 
 mccession f 
 
 " ' Yes. But it was said under the seal of confession. 
 That dread secret cannot be divulged. Still I have a 
 right to proclaim aloud, the innocency of Madame Devine, 
 to declare that / know she is innocent.' 
 
 " 'Remerdments — mille rem&rciments — thanks — a thou- 
 sand thanks, reverend father. Possibly we may yet be 
 vouchsafed sulch legal proof of my wife's innocence as will 
 compel the High Court of Eouen to rescind the Judgment 
 upon Madame d'Estr6es.' 
 
 " ' I have little doubt of it. Trust in God, in His 
 mercy. That is a staff that will never fail you.' 
 
 " My Paris reputation had both preceded and foUowed 
 me to Havre de Gr^ce. Though I had given up practice, 
 I from time to time gave advice, always gratuitously, 
 under special circumstances. I was held to be an oracle 
 ia cases of petite verole. 
 
 " One evening, soon after we had dined, an assistant 
 to M. Massieu, a physician, called at the house, and de- 
 . sired to immediately speak with me. 
 
 " He was the bearer of a message of intense interest 
 
MOIfSIBUE, LE UOCTEtfE DEVINE. 39 
 
 to me from Massieu. Cazo and Ms only cHld, a daugh- 
 ter, the very apple of his eye, had been stricken dqwn by 
 small-pox. Informed that he TUfist abandon all hope of 
 life, that nothing conld be done for either him or his 
 child Fanchette, he, refusing to die, insisted that M. le 
 Doctem* Devine should be sent for. If he required a fee 
 of ten thousand francs, it would hot be refused. 
 
 " I hastened with the assistant to the Eue de Paris — 
 not, God knows, to receive a heavy fee, but in the hope 
 that some confession might be made by Oazo, which would 
 effectually and for ever clear the character of my wife. 
 
 " Edouard Oazo was dying. He was past cure — past 
 hope; but with his daughter the disease had taken a 
 favourable turn. She would live — of that I was quite 
 sure. The change denoting that the disorder was killed, 
 the plague stayed, was not observed by M. Massieu. He 
 had had less experience than I. M. Massieu honestly be 
 lieved, and was honestly telling Cazo, when I entered the 
 room, that he and his daughter would be in their graves 
 before twelve hours had passed. We bury the dead 
 quiclily but of our sight in France, especially in such 
 cases. 
 
 " There was a world of agony, Of terror, of despair in 
 the look which Edouard Oazo fixed upon me. I passed 
 from him to the daughter; then turning towards the 
 doomed felon, I said, ' Nothing can save you. But I can, 
 will save your child, if you will confess before an oflB.cer 
 of the municipality that it was you who furnished Fan- 
 chette Le Blanc with the pcmdre de succession with which 
 she poisoned M. d'Estrees. The confession must be a 
 formal one, regularly attested.' 
 
 " There was a mighty struggle in the dark mind of 
 Edouard Oazo. Eage, hatred of me, of me and my, by 
 comparison, triumphant life, which he was required to 
 make yet more triumphant, and love, intense, absorbing 
 love — the fallen angels no doubt retained some hues o'f 
 the Paradise they had lost — swayed his struggling spirit 
 by turns. Love conquered. He consented to make the 
 confession. The proper functionary, much against his 
 
40 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 will, attended; the instniment was formally drawn up, 
 signed; and an hour afterwards Edouard Cazo was a 
 loathsome corpse. The daughter recovered." 
 
 The High Court of Eouen finally rescinded the judg- 
 ment and sentence pronounced upon Madame Devine, 
 ci-devant Madame d'Estrees, and condenmed the repre- 
 sentative of Edouard Cazo to pay all the costs of the in- 
 vestigation from first to last. M. le Docteur Devine re- 
 fused to take advantage of the judgment of the court in 
 that regard. Mademoiselle Cazo was not mulcted in a 
 single franc. 
 
 After this, nothing worth transcribing is reported of 
 M. le Docteur Devine, except that he resumed the harle- 
 quin attire which, for business purposes, he had assumed 
 in Paris, and laboured assiduously to revive the repu- 
 tation of his " pilule divine" — not with any marked suc- 
 cess. 
 
 When Louis the Fifteenth sickened of small-pos:, of 
 which disease he died, Madame du Barry — who, in losing 
 the king, would lose all — despatched messengers to sum- 
 mon Devine to his majesty's assistance. Unfortunately, 
 the charlatan physician had but a few days previously 
 had his thigh broken by the falling across it of a tree 
 which he was assisting to fell. He could not move — ^be 
 moved. The king died; and to the day of his own death 
 M. le Doctexu: Devine persisted in explaining to all who 
 would listen to him, that but for the sudden falling of 
 that tree, Louis the Fifteenth would have been saved — 
 the crown might not have devolved upon the head of 
 Louis the Sixteenth till he was able to sustain the 
 splendid burthen — and monarchy would have endured 
 another thousand years in France. 
 
 That there was some fissure, some flaw, in M. le Doc- 
 teur Devine's brain can scarcely be denied; yet he was a 
 slever, skilfal physician, one of the tenderest of husbands 
 md fathers, and emphatically a good man. His eccen- 
 tricity was healthily developed; it harmed no one, and 
 enriched himself and his. Madame Devine died two 
 days before her husband. She was not apparently iU — 
 
MOirSIEUE LB DOCTEUE DEVEJB. 41 
 
 physically ill — when she expired in his axms. The blow 
 was mortal. He refused to be comforted. Nor would 
 he move from the chair where he was seated when he 
 last pressed her dying form to his bosom. He would not 
 have the cofiBn-M screwed down, and his gaze continued 
 to be fixed upon the dead face till his eyes had lost their 
 speculation, tiU he himself was dead. He was so found 
 by the attendants. M. le Docteur Devine died possessed 
 of, for France, great wealth. His two surviving children, 
 Madame Josephirie Ouvrard and Madame EsteUe Bon- 
 temps, were amply provided for ; and he left funds for 
 the endoWment of a Maison-Dieu at Ingouville, near 
 Havre, 
 
SIR ANDREW SELLWOOD, KNIGHT. 
 
 The word ' eccentric' applied to human character, I hardly 
 need say,, usually means one whose bent of mind prompts 
 him or her to overleap or break through the conventional 
 barriers which hedge-in the different classes of society— 
 to escape at any risk from the beaten highways of life. 
 These are frequently persons of powerful, if flawed, in- 
 tellects; and to some of them the world owes much. In 
 some instances they are justly entitled to be called the 
 pioneers of society: though they themselves, in their 
 devious gropings, often stumble into inglorious, forgotten 
 graves, they leave footprints on the sands of time, which, 
 followed by more wary walkers, lead to great results. 
 Of this truth I have to sketch some striking illustra- 
 tions. 
 
 The story of Andrew Sellwood, Esquire,' " soldier, ar- 
 tist, mechanician," is somewhat obscure. Notices, frag- 
 mentary notices of him are scattered here and there in 
 the meagre chronicles of the county (Northampton) in ' 
 which he 'was bom, for the most part lived, and at a 
 comparatively early age died. Still, those brief notices 
 fit together, and enable me to depict his chequered career 
 with a oneness — considered in its totality, and allowance 
 being made for certain gaps and obscure passages — ••which 
 will give the reader a tolerable correct idea of " Crazy 
 Andrew Sellwood." 
 
 Sir Andrew Sellwood, Knight, was bom in the parish 
 of Blakenley, in Northamptonshire, and was the son, or 
 the reputed son, of a shoemaker, Jacob Sellwood. The 
 year of his birth was 1620— the year, by the way, when 
 the Pilgrim Fathers sailed from Southampton, in the 
 
SIR ANDREW SELLWOOD, KNIGHT. 43 
 
 Ma3rflower,'for the Promised Land. An enterprise wliicli 
 Andrew Sell wood would have abominated from the bottom 
 of his heart, had he been of age to abominate any thing; 
 his ruling passion, strong' in death, haying been loyalty 
 , — chiefly, I apprehend, because he believed himself to be 
 a natural son of the Duke of Buckingham (Steenie) — ^the 
 Duke of Buckingham who was slair. at Portsmouth by 
 Felton. Jacob Sellwood's wife — Andrew's mother — ^was 
 a very handsome woman, and much younger than her hus- 
 band. She was the granddaughter of one John Fother- 
 giU, a gentleman of local celebrity and good estate, who 
 had the folly to join the northern insurrection provoked 
 by Hem-y the Eighth's forcible suppression of the monas- 
 teries, and got hanged for his pious zeal, in plentiful 
 companionship, at York. From that time the family ap- 
 pears to have rapidly declined in circumstances. Fother- 
 gill's only son espoused a damsel of low degree, the sole 
 issue of which marriage was Margaret Fothergill, the 
 mother of Sir Andrew Fothergill, Knight — a gay-spirited 
 damsel, who for some three or four years resided in Lon- 
 don with an ancient female relative of her grandfather's 
 as a sort of humble companion. ... It were need- 
 less tb mark, even if accuracy were attainable, the de- 
 grees of degradation by which Margaret Fothergill fell 
 so low that she was content to marry Jacob Sellwood, 
 who, with some money she brought him as dower, sot up 
 as a master shoemaker in a humble way in his native 
 county. Her son Andrew was bom six weeks after the 
 marriage. The husband seems to have iDeen a good- 
 natured, industrious clod, who lived in great awe of his 
 wife. 
 
 Mrs. Margaret Sellwood died when her son was in 
 his fifteenth year. She had taught him to read and write 
 " as well as any clerk in the county." When dying, the 
 mother's last words were, "Never forget, Andrew, that 
 yon are a bom gentleman." 
 
 The strangely-tempered urchin had, in a certain 
 sense, long since forgotten, though I suppose he had 
 often been admonished to that effect, that he was a born 
 
44 ECCEKTRIC PEKSONAGES. 
 
 gentleman. He was always skylarking, as the phrase is 
 — ^robbing orchards— jiuddling in ponds, and altogether 
 grievously misconducting himself. There were flashes, 
 nevertheless, revelative of a high and generous, if erratic, 
 disposition. Take, for example, his rescue of Peg Twyn- 
 ham, a reputed witch, which has been quoted. " Old 
 Peg" — a half-crazed beldame, who gained a scanty, pre- 
 carious livelihood by fortune-telling — had earned the 
 gratitude of the lad by fishing him out of a river when, 
 being an indifferent swimmer, he had got out of his depth 
 and was in danger of drowning. He did not forget that 
 supreme service. A murrain had spread amongst the 
 cattle in the neighbourhood, and the superstitious fools 
 of the place believed that old Peg had bevritched them. 
 She was consequently to be lynched after the old English 
 fashion of dealing with witches — videlicet, tying their 
 hands and feet together, and throwing them into a suf- 
 ficiently deep pond or river. If she swam, there could 
 be no doubt she was a witch, and summary execution 
 followed. If she sank, the result, as regarded the poor 
 wretch herself, was generally the same, but there was a 
 moral acquittal. The clamour consequent on the seizure 
 of old Peg caught the ear of Andrew Sellwood, who, 
 seizing one of his father's sharp shoe-knives, hurried to 
 the rescue, and dealt about him vigorously, " wounding, 
 though not mortally, five of the ringleaders. Upon the 
 God-speed of the business, some gentlemen of the Nor- 
 thampton Hunt came up, by whom the riot was quelled, 
 and the old woman and Andrew Sellwood saved from the 
 rage of the mob." 
 
 Before his mother's death, and encouraged by her, she 
 being a skilled musician upon the '" virginals," Andrew 
 Sellwood, who had " a turn for mechanics and harmony," 
 completed after a fashion what seems to have been a rude 
 sort of barrel-organ. This he obtained permission to ex- 
 hibit before the family of Sir Ralph Brisbane. The in- 
 strument, whatever it was, did not obtam the approbation 
 of Sir- Ralph. Andrew Sellwood's pretension to be an 
 inventor of musical instruments was rudely mocked at, 
 
SIR ANDREW SELLWOOD, KNIGHT. 45 
 
 except by the baronet's third daughter, Lucy — " a young 
 and beautiful girl, to see whom was to look into the face 
 of an angel." Lucy Brisbane spoke a few kind words, 
 which words photographed upon his sensitiye boy-heart 
 by the light of her rare beauty, became the scripture of 
 his soul, the illumination, or, more correctly perhaps, the 
 iffnis fakms of his life. 
 
 The immediate consequence of the youth's failure in 
 the musical-instrument manufacturing line was that he 
 ran away from a home made desolate to him by the death 
 of his mother, and more repulsive stOl by the insistence 
 of the father, that since his supposed skill in organ-build- 
 ing had proved to be a delusion, he should stick to shoe- 
 making. " Old Peg" lent or gave Andrew sufilcient 
 money to pay his way to London, and in about a month 
 after his departure from Northampton, Andrew Sellwood 
 was serving as cabin-boy or powder-monkey on board the 
 Crarland — one of Admiral Sir- William Monson's fleet, des- 
 patched to frustrate or break a combination which was 
 forming between the French and Dutch navies. It was 
 in a chance encounter, during a tempest, of the Garland 
 with the Jungfrau, a ship of superior force, that the ex- 
 ploit occurred which, first reported to Prince Maurice, 
 and by him to Prince Rupert, obtained for Afldrew the 
 command of " a Colour of horse" in the last-named Prince's 
 famous cavalry. During the aforesaid chance engage- 
 ment, the two ships forged together, in sailor-phrase. 
 The Dutch boarded. During the desperate fight on 
 deck, Andrew Sellwood, cabin-boy or powder-monkey, 
 had mounted, certainly not in discharge of his routine 
 duties, to the main-yard. The boarders were led by a 
 celebrated captain — at least he was afterwards celebrated 
 for his conduct in the great fights between Admiral"" 
 Blake and Tromp. The boarders, I have said, were led 
 by a celebrated captain; his name, VanSpyck, or Spycke. 
 He was the life, the soul of the assailing party, and the 
 struggle was going against the English, when Master An- 
 drew SeUwood, nicely judging his opportunity, HteraUy 
 "dropped down" upon the Dutch captain; 4hat is to say 
 
46 ECCEXTEIC PEKSONAGES. 
 
 having no fire-arm with which to Icill Van Spycke, it oc- 
 curred to him that his own body would be pretty nearly 
 as eflfectiTe as a cannon-ball. The consequence was, that 
 the fighting Dutchman suddenly found himself in the 
 condition of Sinbad the Sailor, the difference being, that 
 instead of an old man of the sea, it was a young sea- 
 monkey that bestrid his shoulders, and by the shock of 
 the collision prostrated him face foremost on the deck. 
 Captain Van Spycke was sorely bruised, and made pri- 
 soner. Curiously enough, the termination of the battle 
 is not set forth. I conclude it was a drawn fight; that 
 the greatest portion of the Dutch boarders got back to 
 their Jungfrau, and that the ships parted unpleasant 
 company. 
 
 The next notice I find of Andrew Sellwood is that 
 he was in command of " a Colour of horse" in Euper^'s 
 cavalry, and fought in the action or skirmish at Chal- 
 grove, where John Hampden gave up his pure great life. 
 At the assault upon Donnington Castle by Earl Man- 
 chester, the Parliamentary General, he so distinguished 
 himself that Charles I. created him a Knight upon the 
 actual field df battle. He was severely wouiided in the 
 last encounter, and ever afterwards limped in his gait. 
 Disqualified for active service, he necessarily left the 
 army. 
 
 About that time, I imagine, though the dates are 
 rarely given. Sir Andrew Sellwood was informed that the 
 relative with whom his mother lived in her youth had 
 died and bequeathed to him her whole property, landed 
 estate and money, amounting, in capital value, to the 
 enormous sum, in those days, of fifty odd thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 Sir Andrew Sellwood, Knight, would not have been 
 an exemplar chosen by me of eccentric character had he, 
 having come into immediate unmolested possession of his 
 aged relative's large legacy, set up a private establish- 
 
SIE ANDREW SELLWOOD, KSIGHT. . 47 
 
 ment, ana married sensibly, having first erased from Ms 
 braia all tri-yial fond records anent one Lucy Brisbane, 
 whom he had never heard of since he ran off to sea, and 
 who, no question, had long ceased to have the faintest 
 recollection of the shoemaker's son who ha,d essayed to 
 manufacture a new-fangled instrument, and failed to ac- 
 complish his task. 
 
 Sir Andrew Sellwood, Eiight, decided upon a very 
 different course. He must have, one would think, lost 
 count of time, and thought not of the havoc which Time 
 works amidst the best-laid schemes of mice and men, to 
 say nothing of the certaia evanishment of Youth's fan- 
 tastic dreams. ' 
 
 The image of Lucy Brisbane was fresh as ever in his 
 memory. He imagined,' and not without some reason, , 
 that fifty odd thousand pounds — equivalent to two hun- 
 dred thousand pounds, at least, in these days — would 
 atone for his limpiug gait and ignoble birth. The old 
 shoemaker had been dead and buried some years. 
 
 Sir Andrew went to jSTorthampton incognito, — I mean 
 that he put off his rank, — and reappeared amongst such 
 old friends as had not fallen iuto the sunless land, as 
 Andrew Sellwood, the runaway son of Jacob SeUwood, 
 the shoemaker, and not greatly improved ia his worldly 
 circumstances, besides having been lamed. His purpose 
 was, of course, to ascertain how the land lay. 
 
 Lucy Brisbane had been married to Sir Arthur Fuller 
 from about the time when he, Andrew Sellwood, dropped 
 down upon Captaia Van Spycke from the maiayard of 
 the (jarland. It was a marriage of affection; but Sir 
 Arthur, through loss of estate brought about by the civil 
 war, he being on the Eoyalist side, had become, people 
 said, cankered ru temper, dissipated, giving way more 
 and more to excess, and would, people with wisely- wag- 
 ging heads prognosticated, soon bring himself and family 
 to utter ruin. 
 
 It chanced, too, that he was just then in want of a 
 groom. Andrew Sellwood at once determined upon the 
 
48 ECCBNTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 absurdly romantic step of tendering for the place. He 
 was engaged; and for fourteen years, incredible as the 
 story seems, Sir Andrew Sellwood, his knighthood, his 
 wealth unguessed of, remained in the service of the 
 family. 
 
 At least he himself believed, or aiffected to believe, 
 that he was known only by the Lady Lucy and her hus- 
 band as Andrew Sellwood, the son of the shoemaker. I 
 doubt this. It is not credible. The lady must have 
 wilfally shut her eyes — affected blindness. Whence could 
 she suppose those large sums of money came which al- 
 ways arrived so opportunely when her husband, of whom, 
 spite of his follies, she appeared to have been exceedingly 
 fond, was pressed with debt? Sir Andrew, who, by the 
 way, was soon advanced irom the post of groom to that 
 of butler, prided himself upon the clever expedients by 
 which he sought to conceal the source from which such 
 fairy treasures so opportunely flowed. But he deceived 
 himself; closed his eyes at noonday and said it was dark. 
 " Crazed Andrew" was happy to so think. There is rea- 
 son to believe that a sabre-wound on the skull which he 
 received from one of Cromwell's troopers had irreparably 
 damaged his intellect, though the illusion took but one 
 direction ; he being perfectly sane in all things except 
 when the Lady Lucy was concerned. Like Hamlet, he 
 was only mad west-nor'-west. 
 
 The Lady Lucy's husband had once been an enthu- 
 siastic and very serviceable Koyalist; but finding himself 
 -—as did thousands of others — ^neglected at the Eestora- 
 tion, flung aside like a shelled peascod, he becanie in- 
 volved in the plots of factions who, from various motives, 
 sought the destruction of the Stuart dynasty. As every 
 body knows, there was no end of " plaats," real or ima- 
 ginary, during the reign of Charles il. 
 
 Finally, the reckless man had so gravely committed 
 himself, that a warrant was issued for his apprehension 
 upon the charge of high treason. 
 
 Conviction was certain; escape seemed impossible. 
 Captain Aymard and his soldiers surrounded the man- 
 
SIR AIJDEEW SELLWOOD, KNIGHT. 49 
 
 sion, aad presently a thundering summons at the barred 
 .outer door dema^ided admittance in the king's name. 
 The game was up. The inculpated rebel, who had not 
 the faintetet notion, it would a^ppear, that he was suspected 
 of complicity with traitors, was in the house ; and there 
 was but one hiding-hole — a recess in which fagitive 
 priests were in the preceding reign hidden, not always 
 successfully, from the hunters. The Lady Lucy was in 
 a state of distraction closely bordering upon insanity. 
 She sought — ^vehemently sought — counsel of the butler, 
 Andrew Sellwood. This circumstance confirms the im- 
 pression made upon me by the narrative that the Lady 
 Lucy was perfectly conscious, though she may never have 
 admitted the fact distinctly, even to herself, that she had 
 a devoted cavalier servente in Sir Andrew Sellwood. 
 
 Sir Andrew Sellwood did not fail her. A few words 
 between him. and the Lady Lucy sufficed. 
 
 There was a hot search through the mansion as soon 
 as Captain Ajrmard had forced an entrance, without suc- 
 cessful result for some time ; but as it was well known 
 that the proclaimed rebel was there, the king's officer 
 declared, and he meant to keep his wordj that he would 
 pull the house down sooner than permit the traitor to 
 escape. 
 
 " Can I speak with you, captain, a few words in pri- 
 vate?" asked a serving-man. 
 
 " Certainly; step aside. What have you to say?" 
 , " If I showed you where the man you want lies con- 
 cealed, would the promised reward be paid to me ?" 
 
 " Yes; I pledge you my word it shaU be paid to you, 
 and without delay." 
 
 " FoUow, then, with a file of soldiers. You will not 
 betray me to the Lady Lucy ?" added the butler, who 
 was no other than the " traitor" himself. " I would re- 
 main in her service." 
 
 " Do not suppose for a moment I would do such a 
 thing. Lead on." 
 
 " Here," said the pretended butler, in a whisper, and 
 
50 ECCENTRIC PBKSONAGES. 
 
 pointing to a panel in the wainscoting, "here is the 
 priest's-hole. Youwill find your man there. I will be 
 gone." 
 
 The captain did find his man there. At least he 
 thought he did, neither he nor one of his soldiers ever 
 having seen the person he was in search of. Not the 
 shadow of a doubt was entertained that they had got the 
 right man in the right place. 
 
 The rebel baronet was arraigned at the Old Bailey. 
 There was a great crowd, and Justice Scroggs presided. 
 A great drama — a solemn tragedy was about to be 
 enacted. Error! It was a farce, to be concluded in 
 one scene. 
 
 A distinguished personage who sat on the Bench with 
 the Chief Justice, and was present to hear the trial, 
 started up the moment the prisoner was placed in the 
 dock, and exclaimed aloud, "Why, God be gracious to 
 us! the prisoner is my valiant friend and comrade. Sir 
 Andrew Sellwood, knighted on the field by my royal 
 uncle himself. What mockery is this ?" 
 
 The speaker was Prince Eupert! There was great 
 commotion, of course. Sir Andrew, spite of the prince's 
 urgent entreaties, he himself offering to be bail in any 
 amount for his appearance, was remanded to prison. 
 When it was known that the real delinquent had escaped., 
 to France with his wife, with a large amount of coin 
 supplied by Sir Andrew, that self-sacrificed gentleman 
 was tried and convicted of misprision of treason, and 
 condemned to imprisonment for life. He died in fetters. 
 The following is his brief obituary, extracted from a 
 newspaper — the Public Ledger -■ " Sir Andrew Sellwood, 
 Knight, died yesterday in the governor's apartments, 
 Newgate. The curious revelations which came out upon 
 his trial are still fresh in the public memory. He was a 
 good, gallant, but singularly eccentric gentleman. He 
 was no doubt crazed by lote — an early love ; a very rare 
 instance." 
 
BEAU BEUMMELL. 
 
 It is a solemn truth that erery death-bed is the final 
 scene of a great tragedy, though the death be a beggar's, 
 the bed one of straw. Yet to the human imagination 
 the supreme catastrophe is magnified iu its impressive 
 terror when the miserable death strikingly contrasts with 
 the glittering life, as, for example, in the instance of his 
 splendid Grace of Buckingham, who expired 
 
 " In the worst inn's worst bed, 
 Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red;" 
 
 and — a modem illustration — the tinsel life of Beau 
 BrummeU fading into the .darkness of death iu the hos- 
 pital, of the Good Saviour, Caen, France. 
 
 The perverted, lost Kfe of the famous Beau Brum ra ell 
 dates from the 7th June 1778. He was one of three 
 children — ^two boys and a girl. The father of Geor-ge 
 Bryan Brummell was secretary to Lord North, of disas- 
 trous memory. The noble lord's administration, however 
 unfortunate for his country, was greatly beneficial to 
 Brummell senior, who was able, by wise thrifliness, to 
 save upwards of sixty thousand pounds, which, at his 
 death, when the future Beau was but sixteen years of 
 age, was bequeathed in equal portions to his children. 
 
 Beau Brummell received a fair education, and was a 
 student at Eton when his father died. He exhibited 
 very "early much cunning perception, and seems to have 
 foreseen the Georgian Era which was soon to dawn, 
 when taste in tailoring would be a more potent introduc- 
 tion to " high society" than fame in arts, arms, or learn- 
 ing. He was, besides, well fitted by nature to be a 
 distinguished clothes-peg. His face was not so handsome 
 
52 ECCENTRIC PEESOITAGES. 
 
 as the late Count d'Orsay's ; but his elegant figure would 
 Bhow-oflF a tailor's skill, as well as could that doubtful 
 nobleman, or Prince Florizel— Mr. Thackeray's Prince 
 Plorizel— afterwards George IV. George Brummell had 
 one -virtue in perfection— that of cleanliness in person 
 and apparel. Lord Byron, who knew him well, has said, 
 with respect to his dress, that it was only remarkable for 
 its exquisite propriety. The noble lord himself belonged 
 to the now happily obsolete class of " dandies." Young- 
 Brummell's general character whilst at Eton was that of, 
 " a clever idle boy." He had some humour too — good- 
 natured humour. One trifling anecdote is sufficient proof 
 of this. A bargee having in some way offended the Eton 
 students, was seized by a number of the exasperated lads, 
 and was about being hurled from the bridge over the 
 Thames iuto the river, when George Brummell interposed 
 in perhaps the only manner that, during the excitement 
 of the moment, would have been successful. " My good 
 fellows," he exclaimed, "don't; the man is in a high 
 state of perspiration, and would be sure to catch cold." 
 The droU way in which this was said tickled the boys. 
 They burst into laughtOT, and the alarmed bargee was 
 set at liberty, with a solemn warning not to offend again. 
 
 From Eton George Bryan Brummell went to Orford, 
 and was entered at Oriel College. Previous, however, to 
 leaving Eton, he had attracted, by the " exquisite pro- 
 priety" of his dress, the favourable notice of the Prince 
 of Wales, who had seen him on the terrace at Windsor. 
 That favourable notice, which the young man plumed 
 himself upon as about the highest honour that could be 
 conferred upon a human being, was unquestionably the 
 great calamity of his life — the unbarring of a door which 
 led by a primrose path for a considerable distance, pre- 
 sently with abundance of nettles and thorns, towards the 
 end, whence there was no turning back, to the abyss of 
 shame and ruin. 
 
 At Eton young Brummell was smitten -with the ex- 
 ceeding loveliness of a youthful damsel, the niece of 
 Colonel Brewster, a retired officer in the service of the 
 
BEAU BEUMMELL. 53 
 
 East India Company. The young lady had perhaps not 
 been strictly educated, her uncle, by ■whom she was 
 adopted as a daughter, not having long returned from 
 India. G-eoTge Brummell would appear to have been as 
 much in love as such an incarnation of vanity and con- 
 ceit could be ; but vras suddenly disenchanted. " How 
 is it that you are never seen now with Colonel Brewster's 
 niece ?" asked one of his companions. " Don't speak of 
 it, there's a good fellow," rejoined young Brummell with 
 a shudder ; " she asked for soup twice." 
 
 At Oriel George Brummell. was remarkable chiefly 
 for breaking the college rules, and assiduous tuffc-hunt- 
 ing. He was a devout believer in the doctrine enforced 
 by Mr. Thackeray in one of his lectures at the Maryle- 
 bone Institute — " Cultivate the society of your betters, 
 young men." By betters, meaning persons of the highest 
 reachable social position, possessed of present- wealth and 
 distinction, and in .some cases glorified by the gleam of 
 stars and garters shining m the distance. He entered 
 himself as a competitor for the Newdegate Prize, and, 
 though diligently "coached," was unsuccessful — not a 
 result to be surprised at. 
 
 His failure was more than compensated by the gift 
 of a cometcy in the Tenth Hussars, then commanded by 
 the Prince of "Wales, who had so admired the eccentric 
 €xquisite on the terrace at "Windsor. The notion of 
 making G-eorge Brummell a soldier! He rode pretty 
 well; yet but for one fortunate circumstance would never 
 have recognised his company when the regiment was 
 paraded: one of the non-commissioned officers had a 
 remarkably large blue nose — red and blue, more correctly 
 — and of very brilliant tints. That nose was Brummell's 
 beacon. " My good fellow," said he, offering the man a 
 handfal of silver — " my good fellow, take care to keep up 
 that illumination ; it's worth the cometcy to me." 
 
 His inefficiency as a soldier did not, however, prexent 
 his rapid advancement. He was gazetted captain on the 
 1st of June 1796, through favour of Prince Florizel, with 
 whom he continued to be a great favourite. He was 
 
54 ECCEKTEIC PEESONAflKS. 
 
 slso the " soul of the mess" — a very earthly, mundane 
 soul, the coarse quality of which no coating of varnish 
 could conceal from moderately discerning eyes. Still the 
 protege of a prince, and that prince the colonel of the 
 regiment, would necessarily be a pet of the dandy officers 
 of the aristocratic Tenth, especially as Brummell claimed 
 to be the direct descendant of a line of illustrious ances- 
 try, dating from the Conquest. The endorsement of 
 Prince Florizel sufficed to make cm-rent this claim to an 
 illustrious, as distiaguished, I suppose, from a noble 
 descent. 
 
 The remark attributed, I fancy wrongly, to the Chan- 
 cellor Oxenstiem, of Sweden, who, alluding to some flag- 
 ]-ant instances in question, exclaimed, ".See with what 
 little wisdom the world is governed!" might, with perfect 
 appositeness, be paraphrased into " See with what slender 
 wit the world of fashion may, under certain circum- 
 stances, be amused, delighted, entranced ! Before what 
 a poor humanity all that glittering, pretentious throng 
 will bow down in wondering admiration !" 
 
 The very best witticisms recorded as the utterances 
 of George Brummell, in his time " the glass of fashion 
 and the mould of form," and with which he set the mess- 
 table of the gallant Tenth in a roar, were sorry stufp. 
 He had a slight cold, and being asked how he caught it, 
 said, " I went to Pietri's Hotel, and was shown' into a 
 room where there was a damp stranger." This sally con- 
 vulsed the officers of the gallant Tenth. Again — this 
 was after he obtained his captaincy — "Why, Captain 
 Brummell, you surely are not off with charming Lady 
 
 M ." " An ounce of civet, good apothecary," replied 
 
 the incipient beau, who had probably read elegant ex- 
 tracts from Shakespeare — " an ounce of civet, good apo- 
 thecary. I positively saw her eating cabbage !" . " But 
 surely you, Captain Brummell, sometimes eat vegetables?" 
 said a somewhat gruff old major. "Yes, yes, major ; yes, 
 I once ate a pea." 
 
 Having attained his majority, and come into posses- 
 sion of his inheritance, 30,000Z. or thereabouts, the prin- 
 
BEAU BRUMMELL. , 55 
 
 cipal having augmented during Ms minority, and there 
 moreover being ugly rumours afloat that even the Tenth 
 Hussars might be ordered upon foreign service, George 
 Brummell, vfho had a constitutional objection to expose 
 himself to the action of that villanous saltpetre which 
 ought never to have been digged out of the bowels of 
 the harmless earth, sold his commission and retired from 
 the service. 
 
 George Brummell at once determined to cultivate " a 
 life of pleasure" — Sybarite, Epicurean pleasure; therein 
 being at one witti his patron the Prince of AVales. That 
 flowery path to ruin was gaily trod. Mr. Brummell 
 ,took a house in Chesterfield Street, furnished it in exqui- 
 site style, and forthwith devoted himself to the cultiva- 
 tion of society in " high life," and the best mode of tyin^ 
 white neckerchiefs. He succeeded in both those granc 
 objects of ambition to his heart's content. " I can stand," 
 he boasted, " in the pit at the opera, and beckon to 
 Lovain (Duke of Argyll) on one side, and to Yilliers 
 (Lord Jersey) on the other, and see them come to me." 
 Fortunate Brummagem Beau Brummell! But the tie 
 and set of the white neckerchief was his America of dis- 
 covery. The how and the why disturbed the peace and 
 exercised the ingenuity of the whole fashionable world. 
 Vainly was he importuned to disclose the wonderful 
 secret. The oracle remained persistently dumb. Not 
 even to the Prince would he shed a ray of light upon 
 that sacred mystery. It was only when hurriedly leaving 
 England to avoid a debtor's prison, that he vouchsafed 
 to enlighten "high life" through the medium of his friend 
 Lord Alvanley. " Starch is your man," he wrote with a 
 pencil, directing the scrawl to that nobleman. The Lord 
 Alvanley was delighted, and gave in after-years substan- 
 tial proofs of his gratitude for so signal a favour. The 
 beau monde participated in the enthusiasm of Alvanley at 
 the solution of the grand secret. Such were your gods, 
 Israel ! And these Brummels, peers, princes, were contem- 
 poraries with the men who wrestled down the giant wars 
 which for a quarter of a century had convulsed Europe. 
 
56 ECCBNTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 That Beau Brummell was the rage amongst the upper 
 ten thousand is indisputable. No dinner, no ball, no as- 
 sembly was held to be complete if he were absent. Very 
 careM was he to preserye his exclusiveness. He recog- 
 nised the peerage, but no other class of society, and like 
 another Regency-Gfeorge-the-iFourth impostor, John Wil- 
 son Croker, affected to be ignorant that there was such a, 
 locality as Eussell Square " within the confines of civili- 
 sation." 
 
 Once, when remonstrated with by the wealthy father 
 of a young man whom he, Brmnmel^ had helped to 
 "pluck" at cards, he said, "Upon my honour, sir, I did 
 much for your son. I once gave him my arm aU the way 
 from White's to Walters'. Think of that, sir!" 
 
 Brummell, as I have said, had some humour of a weak 
 eau-de-cologne kind. He condescended to accept an invi- 
 tation to dine with a rich young man whose acquaintance 
 he had made in a gaming-house. The young gentleman 
 called upon him about half-an-hour before the time that 
 dinner would be served to remind the Beau of his promise. 
 In the mean time Brummell had received an invitation 
 from Lady Jersey; and just as the rich nobody was speak- 
 ing with BrummeU, her ladyship's carriage ^stopped at 
 the door to convey the distinguished dandy to her resi- 
 dence. " Well," said the plebeian acquaintance, " I see 
 you will not honour me with your company to dinner this 
 evening. Lady; Jersey's claim is of course paramount. 
 As my house liefe ia the direction of her ladyship's, I will 
 ride with you part of the way." " Good God!" exclaimed 
 BrummeU, " ride with me! But perhaps you mean to 
 get up lehind." By the bye, one of the Beau's notions 
 was that a sedan chair " was the only vehicle for a gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 One Mr. Snodgrass, a F.E.S. and grave philosopher, 
 happened to attract the notice of Brummell. The name 
 offended the Beaii, and he would ring the bell, and knock 
 at the door about midnight, when there was no one up 
 but the philosophic student himself. The window of the 
 venerable man's study was thrown open, the venerable 
 
BEAU BEUMJIELL. 57 
 
 head thrust forth, and an angry demand screamed forth 
 in pantaloon treble to know the meaning of such knock- 
 ing and ringing at that dead waste and middle of the 
 night. ~" Is your name Snodgrass?" asked the melUfluous 
 bland voice of Brumm,ell. "Is your name Snodgrass?" 
 "Yes, it is — what then?" "Only, my dear fellow, that 
 it is an extremely vulgar name. Snodgrass is decidedly 
 vulgar." " You be " — we need not print the parti- 
 ciple past — was the reply, as the window was slammed 
 down. The torment was fitfully repeated, till at last Mr. 
 Snodgrass found himself obliged to, appeal to the authori- 
 ties, and Beau Brummell received an emphatic warning 
 that such conduct would incur ignominious punishment. 
 The Beau kissed the rod, and no more disturbed the 
 philosopher's peace. This iucident suggested the once 
 popular farce of Monsieur Tonson. 
 
 Once Brummell was induced to accept an invitation 
 to dine from a wealthy alderman, having first, however, 
 obtained the civic dignitary's promise " not to tell." The 
 dinner was served,- and Brummell, who had made himself 
 waited for a considerable time, at last arrived. There 
 was a baron of beef on the table. " Good heavens!" he 
 exclaimed, glancing at the table; " Good heavens — Ox!" 
 and vanished. 
 
 The familiar terms upon which he stood with the so- 
 called great men of the realm will be suflciently illusr 
 trated by one or two anecdotes. 
 
 He was walking with the Duke of Bedford along Pall 
 Mall, when his Grace asked him if he liked the cut of his 
 coat— an improvisation of the Duke's tailor. Beau Brum- 
 mell examined critically the ducal coat, and the survey 
 finished, said, with an air and accent of deep com- 
 passion: "My dear Bedford, do you call this thing a 
 coat?" 
 
 Again, being on a visit at Belvoir Castle, the seat of 
 the Duke of Rutland, where a numerous company was 
 assembled, and feeling somewhat iudi'sposed, he left, at 
 an early hour for him. Suddenly sounding a powerful 
 alarm or fire-bell, which at once arrested the flying feet 
 
58 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 of the dancers, — " I beg your pardon, ladies and gentle- 
 men," said the Beau, from the gallery which overlooked 
 the salon de danse; " I beg your pardon, ladies and gen- 
 tlemen, but there is no hot water in my room." 
 
 There hare been various versions of the origin of the 
 Beau's quarrel with the Prince Eegent. The accepted 
 story was that Brummell, having dined at Carlton House, 
 and being desirous of tasting some wine of a celebrated 
 vintage, said, "Wales, ring the bell;" whereupon the 
 Prince did ring the .bell, and to the answering servant 
 said, " Order Mr. Brummell's carriage." The same story, 
 or something like it, used to be told of Thomas Moore 
 and the Eegent. Brummell always denied that he had 
 so misbehaved himself. According to the Beau's own 
 version, his disagreement with the Prince was entirely 
 owing to the marriage of his Eoyal Highness with Mrs. 
 Fitzherbert. He had in some way offended that lady, 
 and the " night crow," all powerful for a time, placed her 
 veto against his admission to Carlton House. The Prince 
 deeply resented Brummell's behaviour towards or con- 
 cerning Mrs. Fitzherbert; and fop, fribble as he was, 
 George IV. was a good hater. He never forgave. Brum- 
 mell used to show his resentment in his own small way. 
 Once after the final rupture with the Eegent, the Beau, 
 riding through Bond Street with Lord Scfton, met the 
 Prince, who was taking an' airing in 'a carriage. Seeing 
 Sefton, the carriage was stopped. The prince and peer 
 exchanged some commonplace courtesies. Sefton pre- 
 sently rejoined Brummell. " Who is our fat friend in 
 the carriage?" he asked, aflFecting not to have recognised 
 the Prince. This sort of thing used to be thought very 
 witty, cruelly sarcastic! 
 
 In the mean time the Beau's thirty thousand pounds 
 are rapidly diminishing, becoming iine — very fine by de- 
 grees and beautifally less. At last all is gone, and Beau 
 Brummell's exquisite neckties wiU not appease the cla- 
 mour of his fiirious creditors. 
 
 One iacident in the eccentric life of this gay glitter- 
 ing human moth should be mentioned before I follow 
 
BEAU EEUMJIELL. 59 
 
 him into exile, and show what, this " observed of all 
 observers" was when the paint and plumes were stripped 
 off. If not a vain boast, which is most likely, it speaKs, 
 in perhaps a dubious sense, to his credit. The Beau was 
 on a visit to Earl H — . It was understood that his stay 
 would be a long one. Three or four days only had passed 
 when Brummell, brusquely presenting himself, said to. 
 his lordship : " My lord, I must leave at once. I cannot 
 stop here." " Why, in Heaven's name?" " I am in love 
 with her ladyship, your wife." "The devil you are! But 
 never mind that. A passing fancy. Nothing more. Her 
 ladyship is not in love with you." " Well, your lordship, 
 I am afraid her ladyship does incliae to be in love with 
 me." Brummell left immediately. 
 
 Alderman Coombe, an extensive brewer — Beau Brum- 
 mell will be most faithfully depicted by these stray anec- 
 dotes — Alderman Coombe, an extensive brewer, had lost 
 a considerable sum of money to the Beau, who with 
 hilarious impudence said, whilst pocketing his winnings, 
 "All right. Alderman Coombe; in future !■ shall never 
 drink any porter but yours." "I wish," retorted the 
 angry alderman, "that every other scoundrel in London 
 would say the same, and keep his word." In this pass- 
 age of arms between the Beau and the Brewer, the latter 
 had certainly the, best of it. 
 
 xit last all was gone: the pet of high society, the in- 
 ventor of unapproachable neckties, was cleaned out.' He 
 must make himself scarce as quickly as might be; but in 
 order to pass over the strait which divides Dover from 
 Calais funds were required. There were half-a-dozen exe- 
 cutions in his house, and no money could consequently 
 be obtained by sale or by hypothecating or pawning of 
 farniture, plate, &o; In this extremity, George Bryan 
 Brummell sent a note to one of his friends, a Mr. Scrope 
 Davis. I subjoin the note and the reply: 
 
 "May 16, 1816. 
 " My dear Scrope, — Lend me two hundred pounds. 
 The banks are shut, and all my money is in the Three 
 
60 ECCBNTKIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 per Cents. It shall be repaid to-morrow morning.— 
 Yom;s, G. B." 
 
 Mr. Scrope Davis to G. B. 
 " My deae Geoege, — It is Tery unfortunate, but all 
 my funds are in the Three per Cents.— Yours truly, 
 ScEOPE Dayis." 
 
 Brummell must have been more suecessfal in other 
 quarters, as he certainly raised funds enough to enable 
 him to reach Calais, and support himself there till he 
 could organise a method of levying black-mail on his 
 titled English friends, upon whose charitable alms Beau 
 Brummell, the star of fashion, was thenceforth content 
 to exist. 
 
 The habits of this eccentric gentleman clung to him 
 through life. He was as preposterously exclusive when 
 a fugitive from his creditors, and living upon the charity 
 of his former acquaintances, as in the days of his ephe- 
 meral prosperity. He took up his quarters at a Calais 
 hotel, where he lived in very comfortable style for seven- 
 teen years. His correspondence and the occasional visits 
 of great people imposed upon the French tradesmen, who 
 believed that he was suffering under a temporary eclipse 
 only, and would again shine out resplendently, a bright 
 particular star in the aristocratic galaxy of England. 
 The French are an acute people, but they have strange 
 notions with regard to England and English society. 
 For example, they believe the Lord Mayor of London to 
 be a potentate second only in dignity and power to the 
 monarch of Great Britain. 
 
 It is not at all surprising that they should have be- 
 lieved in Brummell. The Duchess of York, a very ami- 
 able lady, sent him not only money, but a table-cover 
 worked with her own hands. This steadfast friendship 
 of her Eoyal Highness seems to show that, after all, the 
 vain coxcomb must have had something good in him. 
 Lord Sefton moreover paid him a visit; so did Wellesley 
 Pole, and Prince Buckler Muskau, the Prussian noble- 
 
BEAU BETUVMELL. 61 
 
 man who once made a small splutter in the literary 
 line. 
 
 Let ns pass swiftly oyer the decline and fall of this 
 once celebrated gentleman. His debts in Calais rapidly 
 accumulated. His English iriends, generous as many of 
 them were, could not supply his extravagances; and when. 
 George IV. passed through Calais on a visit to Hanover, 
 and did not send for ce celebre Brummell, the faith of the 
 French in the great man sank to zero as quickly as did 
 that of Justice Shallow in Sir John Falstaff, when Henry 
 Y. (in the play) publicly rebuked and cast him off. 
 Brummell was refused credit, and a prison was not ob- 
 scurely hinted at. Driven to desperation, he applied to 
 the Duke of York to procure for him, through his in- 
 fluence with the Ministry, a Government appointment. 
 The application was successful, and on the 10th of Sep- 
 tember 1830 Beau Brummell was appointed English 
 Consul at Caen, at a salary of four hundred pounds per 
 annum. 
 
 Landed at last, one would think, safe out of For- 
 tune's reach. Not at all. His debts followed; his fool- 
 ish habits clung to him to the last; till at length the 
 only person whom he could rely upon to belriend him 
 was Mr. Armstrong, a grocer established in Caen. " My 
 dear Armstrong," he wrote one day, "lend me seventy 
 francs to pay my washerwoman." Yet the man who 
 ■wrote that note would not " honour " vnth his presence 
 any assemblage at which people in the remotest degree 
 connected with commerce were to be met with! 
 
 Beau Brummell had been Consul but about two years 
 when he appears to have been smitten with positive 
 lunacy. He memorialised Lord Pahnerston, then Fo- 
 reign Secretary, to the e^ect that there was no necessity 
 for a British Consul at Caen. He appears to have im- 
 agined that if he gave up the Caen Consulship he would 
 certainly obtain, a more lucrative one — ^in sunny Italy, 
 he hoped. Lord Pahnerston took the unfortunate Beau 
 at his word — abolished the Caen Consulship, presented 
 Mr. George Bryan Brummell with a solatium of two hun- 
 
62 ECCENTBIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 dred pomids, but gave no hint of the recipient obtain- 
 ing any other appointment. This was the climax. No 
 sooner were the arms of England taken down from the 
 front of his house, than his French^ creditors determined 
 at once to arrest his no longer inviolable person. This 
 was done with a great deal of unnecessary display and 
 circumstance; and poor Brummell was carried off to jail. 
 A very weak creature the pet of courtly circles proved 
 when subjected to the pressure of misfortune. He could 
 do nothing to help himself; continued to weep and wail, 
 and pour forth bitter complaints that his dinner was not 
 regularly served — that his washerwoman did not get up 
 his white cravats so well as she had fornierly! At last, 
 the grocer, Armstrong, who appears to have been ac- 
 tuated by a real sympathy for the broken-down Beau, 
 proposed that he himself should go to England and per- 
 sonally solicit — being, of course, furnished with proper 
 credentials — the help of Mr. Brummell's rich friends. 
 This was done. Armstrong's mission was so far success- 
 ftd that sufficient funds were obtained to release Brum- 
 mell from jail. But the Beau's future was bleak and 
 dreary as ever. The end was near at hand. The in- 
 tellect, such as it was, gave way; and it was determined 
 by Mr. Armstrong and other friends to obtain him an 
 asylum in the hospital of "Le Bon Sauveur." This 
 charitable design was carried out; and George Bryan 
 Brummell, screaming with idiotic terror, for he fancied 
 he was about to be again shut up in jail, was conveyed to 
 the convent or hospital. There he died, and was buried. ' 
 The sad lesson which this life teaches needs no interpreta- 
 tion. He who runs may read its mournful significance. 
 
LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 
 
 She surely must be a, singularly eccentric woman who, 
 born in almost the highest rank of the upper ten thou- 
 sand, and who before she was out of her teens was 
 
 ■ possessed of great political influence, chose, whilst still 
 young, to cast in her lot with semi-civilised inhabitants 
 of Asia; and who, though not in the slightest degree in- 
 fluenced by genuine religious feeling,^ cherished visions, 
 and died dreaming of a sacerdotal empire in the East — 
 of a throne to be shared with the Messiah in Jerusalem! 
 
 Lady Hester Stanhope was the eldest of three daugh- 
 
 ■ ters — Hester, Griselda, Lucy. They were the children of 
 Charles Earl Stanhope, by his first wife the sister of 
 "William Pitt, the ^eat Minister. 
 
 Charles Earl Stanhope was himself a singularly eccen- 
 tric personage, and, one cannot help thinking, of flawed 
 intellect. Himself a peer of the reahn, he professed pro- 
 ' found contempt for hereditary rank, and, as a tangible 
 proof of the reality of his convictions, ordered the erasure 
 of the armorial bearings from his coach-panel! A whim- 
 sical gentleman in other respects: he slept, Lady Hester 
 reports, under the weight of a dozen blankets; and, when 
 he rose, squatted down on the floor, and ate his break- 
 fast of tea and dry bread. The noble peer, not satisfied 
 with having painted out the ai-morial insignia of his 
 coach-panels, sold the carriages. The second Lady Stan- 
 hope was indignant at this development of aristocratic 
 democracy. Precocious Lady Hester devised a plan to 
 shame her father out of his plebeian propensities. She 
 got a pair of stilts, and stumped down a muddy road 
 where the' Earl would be sure to see her. 
 
64 ECCENTmC PEESONAGES. 
 
 "I say, little girl," said his lordship, "what hare 
 yoTi been doing? Where was it I saw you going upon 
 that pair of— the — the devil knows what — eh, little girl?" 
 To which Lady Hester replied, that as the Earl had sold 
 his carriage, it seemed, to her that the best mode of get- 
 ting through the mud was by the help of stilts. The 
 practical lesson thus taught had its effect upon the Earl, 
 who promised to restore the carriage, " but no more ar- 
 morial bearings." 
 
 There must have been an hereditary craze in the noble 
 family of the Stanhopes, but the disease manifested itself 
 in divers forms. The Lady Hester, for example, gloried 
 in being an aristocrat of the purest, most exalted blood 
 and breeding — one conclusive proof that there was no 
 particle of common clay in her composition being " that 
 her instep was so high that a kitten could walk under 
 the sole of her foot." 
 
 Education, in the true sense of the term, she had 
 none; neither had her sisters. After the death of her 
 mother, who died whilst she was still young, the ladies 
 were consigned to the jurisdiction of their grandmother, 
 the Dowager Lady Stanhope, who employed French and 
 Swiss governesses. Their most important duty was to 
 squeeze the Ladies Hester, Griselda, and Lucy iuto sym- 
 metrical shape by back-boards. " How I did hate those 
 wretches!" Lady Hester often exclaimed in after-years. 
 " They would have squeezed me, had it been possible to 
 do so, into the size of a tiny miss;" and — inconceivable 
 misappreciation of the infallible sign of distinguished 
 lineage — positively endeavoured to flatten down the sole 
 of her foot, "which a kitten could walk under." One 
 reason for her ladyship's lofty dislike of the British peo- 
 ple was, that as a nation they are deficient in the pedal 
 arch — a flat-soled generation, of whom no great and 
 noble achievement could be hoped for. 
 
 Mr. Pitt, her uncle, invited her to reside with him 
 permanently, and preside over his household. Lady 
 Hester at once accepted the offer, and continued with 
 the great minister till his death. Lady Hester had a 
 
LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 65 
 
 sovereign contempt for books, especially books of history, 
 wMch tlie instinctive genius of a lady possessed of such 
 a high instep instructed her were all lies. She was not, 
 however, incredulous of biographic sketches of her charm- 
 ing self. " Men who were no fools declared that I might 
 weU be proud of the alabaster whiteness of mj- neck, 
 rivalling that of any pearl-necklace, of my cheeks' fine 
 contour, rounding off so beautifully that the exquisite 
 Brummell exclaimed, ' For Heaven's sake, take off those 
 earrings, that we may see what is beneath them.' " The 
 chivalrous sailor Sir Sidney Smith's admiration was, if 
 we may believe her ladyship, more enthusiastic still. He 
 is said to have thus described her entree into the society 
 of the grand monde assembled at Mr. Pitt's mansion. 
 " You entered the room in your pale skirt, exciting our 
 admiration by your magnificent and majestic figure. 
 The roses and liUes wer« blended iu yoiu^ face, and the 
 ineffable smiles of your countenance diffused happiness 
 around you." The Lady Hester must, one would sup- 
 pose, have anticipated Captain Cuttle's advice to make an 
 
 , immediate note of any thing thought worthy of preser- 
 vation by the hearer. The same with the following 
 passage, uttered by no less a personage than his Majesty 
 
 , George the Third: " You have not reason, Mr. Pitt, to 
 be proud that you are a minister, for there have been 
 many before, and will be many after you; but you have 
 reason to be proud of yom- niece. Lady Hester, who 
 unites eveiy thing that is great and good in man or 
 woman." And yet this lady, who comprised in her own 
 person all that is great and good, in man or woman, was, 
 according to her own candid confession, " a mischievous 
 mimic, as fierce and proud as the devil." 
 
 A very precocious damsel, too, was the Lady Hester 
 Stanhope in other respects. The Dowager Lady Stan- 
 hope had given strict orders to the French and Svriss 
 governesses to keep the young ladies in ignorance of all 
 things improper for young ladies to know. Lady Hester, 
 thouffh only sixteen summers had passed over her head, 
 
6i; ECCESTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 "quickly knew and remembered every thing." She 
 nevertheless admired, or affected to admire, delicacy of 
 manners, and speaks approvingly of Earl Grey, then a 
 young man. She dropped one of her garters at the trial 
 of Warren Hastings, and the earl, knowing whose it was, 
 handed it to a female attendant who served tea and 
 coffee in the lobby. 
 
 Lady Hester Stanhope not only reigned supreme in 
 Mr. Pitt's establishment, bnt had a potential voice in the 
 disposal of the minister's patronage. Of marriage, which 
 the young lady early knew to be all " star," she appears 
 to have thought but httle, " though there were men who 
 would have gone through fire and water for me." " She 
 had determined to be the wife of no one less clever than 
 herself." Mr. Pitt, hearing her express that resolution, 
 exclaimed, "Then you will never marry. There is no 
 such man." 
 
 Her ladyship further reports that Mr. Pitt once re- 
 marked, " That it would be quit^B useless trying to con- 
 ceal any thing from me; for if I wished to cheat the 
 devil, I should succeed in so doing." Quite true, com- 
 placently added the youthful Lady Hester. 
 
 Mr. Pitt died, and, as by a coup cle thSdtre, the bril- 
 liant scene in which the Lady Hester had so long shone 
 supreme at once disappeared. The obsequious crowds of 
 courtiers, who had been so proud to sun themselves in 
 her smiles when the haughty damsel condescended to 
 bestow them, made the sudden discovery that the delight- 
 ful Irusguerie of speech, the charming frankness which 
 they had so greatly admired, was, in reality, hoydenish 
 impertinence; her contempt of conventionalism, which, 
 whilst Mr. Pitt was living and in office, they had sup-' 
 posed to indicate a great original genius, to be, after all, 
 mere vulgar rudeness, and indicative only of the revolt 
 of a crtarse-minded girl-woman against the decencies of 
 polished society. 
 
 Queen Hester's reign was over — the diadem reft from 
 her brow. She removed to a splendid residence in Mon- 
 
LADY HESTEK STAUHOPE. 67 
 
 tague Square; but nobody that was any body visited her 
 there. She next tried rustication at a cottage in Wales. 
 That did not at all harmonise with her ladyship's soar- 
 ing, transcendental visions; and she finally resolved to 
 abandon England, and seek a home either hi the mys- ' 
 terious East, or the teeming West. The world was all 
 before her; and possessed of a pension of fifteen hundred 
 pounds per annum, regularly paid in good honest sove- 
 reigns out of the British exchequer, her future looked 
 bright enough. 
 
 The Lady Hester was unfortunate at the outset of 
 the voyage. The vessel in which she sailed M'as ship- 
 wrecked oif the Island of Ehodes, and her ladyship nar- 
 rowly escaped with life. She proceeded to Constanti- 
 nople — sojourned there for some months, whiling away 
 the time by inditing a voluminous correspondence, the 
 subject-matter of which was mainly the glorification of 
 Napoleon Bonaparte and herself! 
 
 Fiually, this eccentric lady settled at Dar Joon, in 
 Syria, not very distant from St. Jean d'Acre. WhUst 
 there her spiritual visions assumed a distinct shape. The 
 Millennium was close at hand, and she was the chosen 
 bride of the Messiah of Nations — chosen from before the 
 foundations of the earth were laid; — whose advent she 
 hourly expected, and not less confidently after, by the 
 lapse of time and the indulgence of vicious habits, she 
 had withered into a smoking, chewing old crone, whose 
 chief occupation was swearing at the "black beasts" her 
 servants. 
 
 Many persons from Europe visited her at Dar Joon. 
 The most distinguished of them was M. Lamartine, who, 
 in' his Eastern Travels, plentifully bedaubs her with plas- 
 ter-of-paris artistically coloured. Lady Hester had con- 
 descended to prophesy high things of the French poet; 
 her chief avowed reason for assuring him that he would 
 rise to eminence in his own country being, that although 
 he could not pretend to an exalted instep like her own, 
 which a kitten might creep under, water would flow be 
 
68 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 neath his pedal-arch without wetting it. Lamartine 
 positiyely repeats this craziness, as if he were transcrib- 
 ing the sayings of a Plato. Lady Hester also vouchsafed 
 to show M. Lamartine two foals, curiously marked on 
 their backs, upon which the Messiah and herself would 
 make their entry into Jerusalem! 
 
 The chosen bride of the Messiah had strangely enough 
 grown oblivious of the maxims of common honesty. A 
 pension of fifteen hundred pounds per annum must have 
 been an enormous income at Dar Joon; but her ladyship 
 could not, somehow or other, make both ends meet. 
 Creditors became clamorous, and some of the mliest of 
 them instructed agents in London to apply to a Court of 
 Equity for relief. The pension — at least a considerable 
 portion of it — might, they thought, be set aside for 
 the liquidation of her ladyship's debts. That, however, 
 could not be done ; but Lord Palmerston, then Secre- 
 tary for Foreign Affairs (1838), apprised of the circum- 
 stances by Colonel Campbell, the English Consul at 
 Beyrout, wrote to her ladyship, politely intimating that 
 payment of the pension would be suspended, unless 
 she would make a hand fide effort to settle with her 
 creditors. 
 
 This "impertinence to a Pitt" was warmly resented 
 by Lady Hester, and not condescendiug to reply direct 
 to the Foreign Secretary, she addressed a letter tp the 
 Queen of England herself, threatening to give up her 
 pension, and with it the name of an EngUsh subject and 
 the slavery which it entailed. As to Colonel Campbell, 
 her ladyship had half a miad to shoot him, either herself 
 or by proxy; he haviug richly deserved that fate, " for 
 having alienated from the queen and the country a per- 
 soii whom great and smaU must acknowledge had raised 
 the English name in the East higher than any one had 
 before done, besides having made philosophical re- 
 searches of every description for the benefit of mankind 
 in general." 
 
 The final renunciation of the pension was, however, 
 
LADY HESTEB STAlO£0PE. 69 
 
 postponed; and soon a more potent creditor than those 
 who had invoked the intercession of Colonel Campbell 
 put in his claim. Lady Hester Stanhope died suddenly 
 in June 1839. The faTOurite and beautiful niece of the 
 great William Pitt fills an obscure grave in the Syrian 
 wilderness, her only bequest to the world being the sad 
 moral of her life. 
 
BEAU NASH. 
 
 ThIerb are many kinds as well as degrees of celebrity. 
 Lord Chancellor Brougham once, under the influence of 
 an access of acrid humour, observed, in illustration of his 
 argfument, and pointing towards the Dukes of Wellington 
 and Cumberland, who were conversing quietly together 
 on the cross-benches of the House of Lords, that the one 
 was illustrious by his deeds, the other illustrious by 
 courtesy. 
 
 Quite true. The remark is of every-day application, 
 and takes in a wide range of character. Eichard Nash, 
 esquire, master of the ceremonies and king of Bath, was, 
 equally with George IV., king of England, illustrious 
 by courtesy. His Majesty of Bath, with all his weak- 
 nesses and follies, was, however, a far more respectable 
 man than his Majesty of Britain. This must be con- 
 ceded even by those who recognise the truth as well as 
 admire the caustic force of the verses attributed to Lord 
 Chesterfield. In what was then known as " Wiltshire's 
 Ball-room, Bath," a statue, life-size, of Beau Nash wa? 
 placed between the busts of Newton and Pope. Chester- 
 field wrote : 
 
 " The statue placed these busts between 
 Gives to my satire strength; 
 Wisdom and wit are little seen; 
 And folly at full length." 
 
 ' The right of fribble Chesterfield to sit in judgment upon 
 fribble Nash may be disputed, but there can be no doubt 
 as to the strict applicability of his lordship's lines. For 
 all that, the Beau of Bath was a superior man to Lord 
 Chesterfield. A trifler, sycophant if you will; but Beau 
 
BEAU NASH. 71 
 
 Nash, as I shall presently prove, had a heart in his bosom 
 ever responsive to the sad music of humanity. The noble 
 lord who, if we accept the dictum of Doctor Johnson, 
 published a book which taught the morals of a prostitute 
 and the manners of a dancing-master, was, morally esti- 
 mated, far below the standard of Eich'ard Nash, — and 
 that was not a high one. 
 
 Eichard Nash was boim at Swansea, Glamorganshire, 
 on the 18th of October 1674. His mother was niece to 
 Colonel Poyer, who made a gallant stand for Charles I., 
 when that monarch's fortunes were utterly desperate, and 
 whom Cromwell crushed with an effort as slight as it was 
 merciless. 
 
 The king of Bath was educated at Jesus College, Ox- 
 ford; but his genius, or inclination more properly, lying 
 in the direction of fine clothes and ' elegant deportment, 
 it is not surprising that he did not take a degree. He 
 left the University considerably in debt;' a petty liability 
 for which he considered the property he left behind him 
 ^one pair of boots, two volumes of plays, a fiddle, and 
 tobacco-box— sufficient security. 
 
 Arrived in London, he contrived to raise a sufficient 
 sum of money to purchase an ensigncy. The temptation 
 must have been the uniform, for assuredly no man was 
 ever less fitted for the vocation of a soldier than Beau 
 Nash. The commission, however, served his purpose, 
 by introducing him to the society of persons in high life, 
 with whom his obsequious deference for every one who 
 had any claim to social distinction soon made him a 
 favourite — Nash repaying himself for lip-homage by his 
 success as a gamester, a profession in which he was an 
 early adept. 
 
 It was at tills time that the first striking instance 
 occurred illustrative of the double nature of this vain 
 popinjay of a man. He was introduced to and fell in 
 love with a Miss Verdun. She was beautiful, and pos- 
 sessed of a moderate dowry. The fathet, who had risen 
 from obscurity, and looked with reverence upon the 
 elegant fop who was hand-and-glove with nobility, in- 
 
72 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 sisted upon his daughter's acceptance of Nash's offer. 
 The lady had, however, formed a prior attachment, and 
 candidly confessed it to her exquisite suitor, who behaved 
 admirably. Nash sought an interview with the father, 
 and finally prevailed upon him to allow his daughter to 
 many the man of her choice. Nash himself, gave the 
 bride away; a sorry gift, for the woman eloped with her 
 footman after a few months only of inarried life. Nash, 
 upon being informed of what had occurred, entertained a 
 gay party at the Smyrna Coffee-house, and having related 
 the disiuterested pMrt he played in promoting his rival's 
 suit, remarked that the result was a striking illustration 
 of the moral aphorism which declares that virtue is its 
 own reward. The husband, looHng at the matter from 
 a different point of view, committed suicide. 
 
 Scared by war's alarms, brought home to him by the 
 omiaous fact that his regiment was about to be sent on 
 active service. Beau Nash, who had had an instinctive 
 horror of vile guns, sold his commission, and entered 
 himself iu the Middle Temple. He would become a 
 famous barrister, and glimpses of the great sea] flashed 
 across his ambitious vision. That dream did not last 
 long; Richard Nash was not slow to discover that he 
 had no more genius for law than for war. His refined 
 manners, elaborate yet elegant courtesy stood hixn, how- 
 ever, in good stead. Upon King William IIL's accession 
 to the throne, that monarch, in compliance with time- 
 honoured custom, accepted an entertainment at the Mid- 
 dle Temple. The Benchers requested Nash to do the 
 honours, the ceremonial speechifying; and so well did he 
 acquit himself that the king offered to confer upon him 
 the honour of knighthood. The reply of Nash was apt 
 and prompt : " If your Majesty should condescend to 
 create me a knight, I would humbly beg that it should 
 be one of the poor Knights of Windsor, as I should then 
 have a inodest income wherewithal to support the dig- 
 nity." The king did not take the hint. Honour he was 
 quite willing to bestow, but money and profitable placea 
 were required for very different claimants. 
 
BEAU NASH. 73 
 
 Fash was also treasurer to the Benchers of the Mid- 
 dle Temple, and when, for the last time, he made up his 
 accounts, one item therein greatly surprised the auditors : 
 " For making one man happy, ten pounds." Mr. Nash 
 explained that he had made a present of the ten pounds 
 to a man who declared that such a sum would be hia 
 salvation — " would make him the happiest man in the 
 world." The Benchers, not for a moment doubting his 
 word, passed the item. This anecdote is a proof not 
 only of Nash's good nature, but of the confidence which 
 the Benchers must have had in his integrity. 
 
 The barrister's gown, like the ensign's uniform, was 
 cast off, and Beau Nash, with no resource but his skUl 
 at play, ostentatiously devoted himself to the pursuit 
 of pleasure — of sensuous but refined enjoyment. It is 
 curious, too, that this man, whose hand was open as day 
 to relieve indigence and misfortune, had an iaveterate 
 dislike to paying his debts. A gentleman to whom he 
 owed twenty pounds, having ofcen and often applied to 
 him in vain for payment, hit upon the expedient of ask- 
 ing a mutual friend to affect distress and borrow thirty 
 pounds of Nash. The mutual friend did so, and Nash 
 lent the money. On the next day the creditor called 
 upon the gentleman, who was always generous, if not 
 just. After the common interchange 6f courtesies, Mr. 
 Nash said, "Ah, I suppose you are come about that 
 twenty pounds ? "Well, I daresay that in the course of 
 a few weeks I shall be able to pay you." 
 
 "Ton have told me that story, my dear friend, a 
 hundred times," was the reply, " but there is no necessity 
 
 to tell it again. Mr. , to whom you lent the thirty 
 
 pounds yesterday, gave me twenty, and I have now to 
 return you the difference." Nash, upon hearing that, 
 flew into a violent rage, swore he had been swindled out 
 of his money, and had he not been a rigorous disciple 
 of the peace-at-any-price doctrine, would probably have 
 kicked his clever friend down stairs. 
 
 Eichard Nash, esquire, now determined upon a pro- 
 vincial tour; but his first essay was unfortunate. He 
 
74 ECCENTRIC PERSO^-AQES. 
 
 must needs try his comparatively 'prentice hand .at Ynrlr, 
 where he was completely cleaned out — ^lost every shilling 
 he possessed. The sharpers by whom he had been fleeced 
 were not altogether bad fellows of their sort, and agreed 
 to return him iifty guineas if he would consent to stand 
 in a white sheet for half-an-hour at tlie door of the 
 Cathedral. Nash consented, and being recognised by 
 one of the clerical dignitaries, to whom he had been in- 
 troduced in London, said, in answer to the dignitary's 
 astonished inquiry as to what such an exhibition meant, 
 that " it was a Yorkshire penance for keeping bad com- 
 pany!" Another proof of the low state of his exchequer 
 at that period is that a man of his fastidious habits won 
 a large wager by riding naked through a village upon a 
 cow! 
 
 For some time Eicliard Nash, esquire, remained 
 under a cloud; but at last he turned up resplendently at 
 Bath, tlie medicinal waters of which city had attained 
 fashionable celebrity by a "visit of Queen Anne, and the 
 benefit it was alleged her Majesty had derived from their 
 use. Nash was not only a man of fashion, an universal 
 gallant, but a professed, and, upon the whole, highly 
 successful gamester — so successful, that he was before 
 long enabled to set up a coach drawn by six gray horses, 
 and although often put to degradiag shifts, managed to 
 raauitain a fictitious splendour, till he died in extreme 
 old age— an apparent pauper. 
 
 His ascendency in Bath society was quickly achieved, 
 and so firmly established that his claim to be King of 
 Bath was never disputed. Nash was a veritable despot 
 of ball-rooms, and, it must be admitted, a judicious one. 
 Dancing began at six precisely, and terminated at, eleven. 
 This rule was peremptory, and never broken during his 
 reign. The Princess Amelia, it is stated, was refused 
 another dance after the fixed hour had chimed. 
 
 Some of the regulations framed by Beau Nash display 
 sense and some slight humour. Duels, fought in hot 
 blood, were frequent ia those days; and to diminish the 
 evil, and give time for reflection, the King of Bath re- 
 
BBATT Stash. 75 
 
 fused to allow swords to be worn at either the Pump or 
 Ball-rooms. Amongst the rules which he had printed 
 and framed were these: 
 
 " No gentleman shall give his ticket for the balls to 
 any but gentlewomen. — ^N.B. Unless he has none of his 
 acquaintance. 
 
 " No gentleman or lady must take it ill that another 
 dances before them, except such as have no pretence to 
 dance at all." 
 
 The anecdotes related of him are amusing enough. ' 
 
 He one night played a game of piquet for two hun- 
 dred pounds, and won the stake. One of the on-lookers, 
 a poor gentleman' with whom he had a slight acquaint- 
 ance, exclaimed in a su.bdued, soliloquising tone, but 
 quite audible to the sensitive ear of Nash, "My God, 
 how happy that money would make me !" " Take it, 
 then," said Nash, without an instant's hesitation; " take 
 it, and be happy." 
 
 The distressing case of a clergyman was brotlght 
 under his notice. The income of the reverend gentle- 
 man was thirty pounds per annum, upon which he, his 
 wife, and six children starved. Nash at once zealously 
 exerted himself to relieve the unfortunate divine's neces- 
 sities, raised a handsome subscription, and did not cease 
 importuning his influential friends till he had obtained 
 him a living worth two hundred and sixty pounds per 
 annum. "Whilst the subscription was going on, Sarah 
 Duchess of Marlborough entered the Assembly-room, 
 and, addressing Nash, said, " I have come here without 
 money. You must put something in the plate for me." 
 ',' "With pleasure, your' grace. One, two, three, four, five 
 
 " "Stop, Nash; five guineas are surely enough." 
 
 " Consider the eminent position filled by your grace, and 
 the clergyman's cruel necessities. Six, seven, eight, nine, 
 
 ten, eleven " "Nash," remonstrated the Duchess, 
 
 " you will drive me mad." " Twelve, thirteen, fourteen," 
 — ^Nash did not stop till he had counted as far as thirty, 
 when, finding the Duchess was becoming furious, he held 
 his hand . 
 
76 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 Another creditable anecdote is thus told: One Colonel 
 Montague, a ruined gamester, endeavoured to inveigle a 
 young lady of great beauty into contracting a marriage 
 ruinous to both. Beau Nash baffled his scheme, and the 
 enraged colonel forthwith challenged his Majesty of Bath. 
 The " King," like a sensible man, refused to fight. The 
 Colonel left Bath, and joined the Dutch anny in Flan- 
 ders, where he served for some years in the ranks, and 
 returned to England in such deplorable destitution that 
 he was fain, to join a company of strolling-players ex- 
 hibiting at Peterborough. Meanwhile the young lady, 
 who had never concealed her partiality for. the Colonel, 
 had come into possession of fifteen hundred pounds per 
 annum. Beau Nash, who knew of the condition and 
 whereabouts of Colonel Montague, invited the damsel 
 and her mother to accompany him to Peterborough, 
 giving no hint of his real purpose in going there. Ar- 
 rived at Peterborough, the party went to the theatre. 
 The piece played was The Conscious Lovers, in which 
 Colonel Montague, in the assumed name of Egerton, 
 was to play Tom. The lovers instantly recognised each 
 other, and there was a new scene of Conscious Lovers 
 enacted. The young lady fainted; "Tom" bolted, and 
 another actor had to walk on for the part. Finally, an 
 interview was arranged, and Beau Nash, joining the 
 hands of the loving couple, exclaimed, " Take her, Colo- 
 nel; and d , say I, whoever attempts to part yon." 
 
 The consideration shown by Beau Nash for the Earl 
 Townsend was marked by a real magnanimity. The 
 young nobleman had a perfect mania for fjaming, but 
 was utterly deficient in skill. He played with Nash, and 
 lost every thing — estate, carriages, horses, furniture. 
 Nash gave back all, upon condition that he would not 
 play again, and give a written promise to pay him, Nash, 
 five thousand pounds, should he ever stand in need of 
 the money. The time did come when the King of Bath 
 was in pressing need of the money, but before that Earl 
 Townsend was in his gi-ave. Nash applied to the heirs, 
 who honourably discharged the obligation. 
 
BEAU NASH. 77 
 
 This curiously-constituted man, cringingly seryile to 
 tlie possessors of wealth and rank, so lavishly bountiful 
 to the needy, who had worked for many months and 
 with great ultimate success, in conjunction with Dr. 
 Oliver, to found a General Hospital in Bath, and who, as 
 his feeble foot-fall approached nearer and nearer to the 
 setting sun, manifested a terror of death as abject as 
 did George IV. or Doctor Johnson,, lived on — ^if his last 
 years can be called life — ^till his eighty-eighth year. The 
 day after his death the Corporation met, and voted fifty 
 pounds to defray the cost of the " Kiug of Bath's" fune- 
 ral. The worshipful Corporation did more even than 
 that for the man whom they had left to die in indigence, 
 as the foUowrug epitaph, engraved upon Ms tomb, in 
 commemoration of his merit and the magnanimous libe- 
 rality, which induced them to perpetuate liis memory, 
 will testify: 
 
 " Eiohard Nash, Esquire, 
 
 Died February 13th, 1761, aged 88. 
 
 He was by birth a gentleman, 
 
 and educated at Jesus College, Oxford. 
 
 He erected the City of Bath tuto a Province of Pleasure, 
 
 and held sacred Decency and Decorum, 
 
 Of his Noble Public Spirit 
 
 and 
 
 warm grateful heart, 
 
 the Obelisk in the Grove 
 
 and 
 
 the Beautiful Needle in the Square 
 
 are Magnificent Testimonies." 
 
SIR GERALD MASSEY, KNIGHT. 
 
 I DO not know if Sir Gerald Massey, knight, who died 
 at Halifax, Yorkshire, in 1792, at the ripe age of ninety- 
 six, was a progenitor either of Gerald Massey, the poet, 
 or Mr. Massey, M.P. and Chairman of Committees in the 
 House of Commons. That, in a small way, he was both 
 poet and poHtician, is not of course decisive evidence of 
 such relationship. Sir Gerald was, at all events, a very 
 odd fellow, not to be matched, I should suppose, by many 
 of the tens of thousands of self-proclaimed odd fellows — 
 the mass of whom I rather think are pretty even with 
 the world. 
 
 Sir Gerald Massey was " picked up" in a field about 
 two miles out of Halifax, by a shoemaker of the name of 
 Cross. Not at all an appropriate cognomen, Charles 
 Cross being a man of remarkable benignity, who, with 
 not very large means — though he was one of the prin- 
 cipal tradesmen in Halifax — " went about doing good." 
 The child was about seven years old when found by Mr. 
 Cross. He was clothed — if clothing it could be called — 
 in dirty rags, and had fallen asleep in a gravel-pit from 
 fatigue and exhaustion. The only account the boy could 
 give of himself was that his mother and father were tra- 
 velling tinkers, and that when he awoke in the morning 
 they were gone. He had tried to find them, but could 
 not; and hungry, weary, laid himself down, ho believed 
 to die. His mother, the boy said, could read and write, 
 hut was the slave of her husband — ^not the boy's father — 
 who cruelly ill-used her. He >vas always called Jim; but 
 his mother, who might have known that her husband 
 T^a-s determined to rid himself of the encumbrance, hac* 
 
SIE GERALD MASSET, KNIGHT. 79' 
 
 ■written something on a piece of linen only a day or two 
 before he was abandoned, and stitched it on the inside of 
 his trousers. Mr. Cross examined the piece of linen, but 
 could only make out clearly two words, "Gerald Massey." 
 More had been written, but the ink had run, and the 
 sentence, whatever it was, could not be read. 
 
 Mr. Cross took the boy home, and, having no child- 
 ren, was gradually so won upon by the boy's endearing 
 ways, that he adopted Gerald Massey as his own son. 
 Gerald was placed at school, received a good plain educa^ 
 tion, and when of the proper age was put to learn the 
 craft of a cordwainer. 
 
 Gerald was a good boy enough, but he was refractory ' 
 as to shoemaking. He could not abide it. A taste for 
 tinkering — out-of-door tinkering — possessed the lad. 
 "With the pocket-money allowed him. by Mr. Cross he 
 procured the few tools and the materials necessary for 
 . the tinker-trade, and one day, before his benefactor had 
 risen, set off " to' seek his fortune" by mending pots and 
 kettles. He earned sufficient to keep body and soul to- 
 gether, and inspired probably by the example of John 
 Bunyan, with whom he had at least this resemblance,' 
 that both were tinkers, and conscious of possessing con- 
 siderable talking ability, he commenced the practice in 
 his twentieth year, perhaps earlier, of preaching on Sun- 
 days in the open air. At that period of life his creed 
 was Calvinism — Calvinism in its most outrageous form — 
 its blasphemous denial that the fountain of God's infinite 
 mercy is ever, and will for ever remain, open to all. This 
 fit of fanatical enthusiasm brought Gerald Massey to 
 grief more than once. He was finally cured of his preach- 
 ing propensity by a long spell in the stocks, supplemented 
 by a terrible whipping, at the cart's-tail, through the 
 Yorkshire village of IJpham, or Updown. It seems 
 hardly credible that even in those cruel days such punish- 
 ment could be awarded to a man guilty only of preaching 
 .without a license what he believed to be the Gospel. I 
 cannot, however, find that any other charge was preferred 
 against him. 
 
so ECCBNTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 G erald Massey was not the stuff of which martyrs are 
 made. He discontinued preaching, and made his way 
 back to Halifax. 
 
 . Mr. Cross, whose health was fast failing, received the 
 ungrateful truant kindly, and was willing to let bygones 
 be bygones, if he would thenceforth lead a steady, quiet 
 life. Gerald Massey promised to do so, and kept his 
 pi omise, till one day a woman, stylishly dressed, and at- 
 tended by a servant, entered the place, inquired for Mr. 
 Cross, and asked that person if it were true that he had 
 found a boy, as she had been informed he had, in a 
 gravel-pit, about two miles from Halifax, in 1696 ? Mr. 
 Cross admitted that he had. The woman or lady said 
 she was the boy's mother, and mentioned the circum- 
 stance of her having stitched a piece of linen with his 
 true name written upon it inside the child's trousers. 
 She also described some natural marks upon young Mas- 
 sey's body, and no reasonable doubt could be entertained 
 that he was, as she alleged, her son. Times had changed 
 with her. The tinker husband had died — she had mar- 
 ried Mr. Gerald Massey, a gentleman of fortune, the 
 father of her illegitimate son. He too had been several 
 years dead. She was in tolerably aflSuent circumstances; 
 resided at a place near Appleby, Westmoreland, ''and had, 
 after much difficulty, found by God's mercy her son and 
 only offspring. Gerald Massey was out when the widow 
 Massey called, and when he returned did not recognise 
 his mother. The image of the mother, which dwelt in 
 his memory, was thar of a tall woman with dark hair. 
 This woman was not more than a medium height, and 
 her hair was brown, whereas the almost invariable ten- 
 dency of age is to darken and whiten hair, as the case 
 may be. Still Gerald — but seven years of age when he 
 lost, or was separated from his mother, and over twenty 
 years having passed since then — could not confide in the 
 faithfulness of his memory, even with regard to that 
 mother's personal appearance. Besides the temptation 
 to believe, or affect to believe. Mistress Massey was his 
 mother, would half unconsciously perhaps tinge his recol-. 
 
SIR GEEALD MASSET, KNIGHT. 81 
 
 lection — ^nofc sickly it oyer witli the pale cast of thought, 
 but shedding the glow of a luxurious future oyer the life 
 of an aspiring young man who had suffered the ignominy 
 of the stocks, and been publicly whipped at a cart's-tail. 
 Gerald Massey left Hahfax with his real or pretended 
 mother for Stone Hall, Appleby. 
 
 This narrative will be an imperfect one. I cannot 
 discover any thing of importance in the life of Gerald 
 Massey till the close of the year 1727, when he went up 
 to London to present an address of congratulation to 
 George II. upon his accession to the throne; of condo- 
 lence also, I suppose, for the loss of his father, George I. 
 The new king knighted him — in very bad English — but 
 it sufficed, and Sir Gerald Massey returned to his seat 
 near Appleby in high feather. It is pleasant to know 
 that his benefactor, Mr. Cross, having fallen into difficul- 
 ties. Sir Gerald paid aU his old and first friend's debts, 
 and made his age comfortable and happy. Mr. Cross 
 died in 1738. 
 
 When Mrs. Massey died I have not been able to dis- 
 cover. I should judge about 1740. At aU events, Sir 
 Gerald Massey, soon after her death, entered the army; 
 was present in 1743 at the battle of Dettingen; behaved 
 very well, was badly wounded, and — though the French 
 were defeated aVid compelled to repass the Ehine with 
 precipitation — ^had the mischance to be taken .prisoner. 
 After confinement in a fortress for two years, he man- 
 aged to escape, with the aid of a Frenchwoman who had 
 nursed him whilst he was suflering from the wounds re- 
 ceived in .the battle. He safely reached England — the 
 woman with him — where Sir Gerald married her; in 
 London probably. Her maiden name was Marie Lefranc. 
 Sir Gerald appears to have been ardently attached to her, 
 and she bore him several children. 
 
 Soon after his marriage. Sir Gerald, who had given 
 up his commission in the army, became infected with a 
 mania for cock-fighting, dog-fighting, bull-baiting — en- 
 tered with all his heart and soul into those refining 
 amusements — converted one of his best rooms into a 
 
82 ECOENTEIC PEESONA&ES. 
 
 cock-pit^ — ^baited bulls in his own park, freely admitting, 
 spite of the remonstrance of his French wife, all the 
 lowest rabble to witness the sports, at which he assisted, 
 dressed in the highest style of fashion. These cock- 
 fights and bull-baitings were immensely attractive ; and 
 hugely rejoiced was the small farmer or humbler rustic 
 if he was permitted to make a wager with the eccentric 
 knight, as Sir Gerald always paid if he lost, and refused 
 the wagerer's money if he won. He never betted with 
 gentlemen or with men of wealth. This game, went on 
 for several years, and Sir Gerald had gained a character 
 for one of the best and oddest gentlemen in the whole 
 country side. A man of rare pluck, too, was the knight. 
 Ealph Button, a brawny pugilist of local celebrity, was 
 given to ciTiel practical jokes. One hot day Sir Gerald, 
 a great walker, finding himself some thirty miles distant 
 from Stone Hall, and at a place where lie was personally 
 Tinknown, entered a humble hostelry, called for refiresh- 
 ment of some kind, and sat down amidst a number of 
 Tude peasants. It was Sunday — the time, afternoon. 
 Ualph Button was there, swaggering and bullying after 
 his usual fashion; but one especial object of his enmity 
 and spite was a gray-haired man named Travis. The old 
 man was guardian to a niece who would, in a few weeks 
 he entitled to the splendid fortune of one hundred pounds. 
 That one hundred pounds was much coveted by the 
 brutal pugilist, and the rejection by John Travis of his 
 request to go a-courting the niece was savagely resented. 
 After a good deal of bitter chaff on Button's part, he 
 affected a wish to make it up, be good friends, and offered 
 his hand to the old man in token of his sincerity. The 
 pledge of amity was accepted, and then Button,, grasping 
 the hand of Travis in his own, "and keeping the fingers 
 straight," pressed them together with a vice-like force. 
 Many people know by experience that this inflicts excm- 
 ciating tortm'e ; and the old man yelled with pain. Sir 
 Gerald, who was eating powdered beef, sprang up and 
 struck Button in the face with such right good will, that 
 blood spurted from his nose and mouth, and he let go 
 
SIR GERALD MASSEY, KNIGHT. 83 
 
 the old man's hand. The brntal pugilist turned fiercely 
 upon Sir G-erald. Had he mentioned who he was, Bully 
 Button would not have dared to assault a titled, wealthy 
 county magistrate, or the rustics present, who must all 
 have heard of "good" Sir Gerald Massey, would have 
 immediately interfered, and settled Button's business in 
 a twinkling.' Sir Gerald disdaiued to do so. A regular 
 turn-up fight ensued, and after a contest which lasted 
 nearly an hour the thews and sinews of the pugilist pre- 
 vailed. Sir Gerald was beaten into a state of insensi- 
 bility, but not till he had inflicted severe punishment 
 upon his adversary. 
 
 A doctor Was sent for, . and the injuries which Sir 
 Gerald had received being very serious, and in the medi- 
 cal gentleman's opinion might possibly have a fatal re- 
 sult, the patient's pockets were searched to ascertain 
 whom he might be. To the astonishment and conster- 
 nation of the landlady, and great delight of the doctor, 
 it was found by papers or letters he had about him that 
 the man who had fought a vulgar public-house fight with 
 a low professional bully was Sir Gerald Massey, of Stone 
 Hall, near Appleby! Button fled the county, and enlisted 
 in the army. , 
 
 Sir Gerald quickly recovered, and so little malice 
 did he feel towards the brute by whom he had been so 
 severdy beaten, that he made the fellow's mother, a 
 paralytic woman, who had been dependent upon her son 
 for support, a present of ten guineas, and allowed her 
 five shillings per week during life. 
 
 Not long afterwards, Sir Gerald Massey was engaged 
 in a more serious contest than that with the pugilist. 
 Captain Goldsworthy, a handsome roue, had dared in 
 some way to insult Lady Massey at a ball given by Sir 
 Lewis Leavenworth. It was afterwards alleged that the 
 lady, in consequence of her imperfect knowledge of Eng- 
 lish, had misunderstood or misconstrued the words ad- 
 dressed to her by Captain Goldsworthy. That, however, 
 npon the face of it, is unlikely. "Women know perfectly 
 well when they are insulted, though they may not have a 
 
84: ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 nice appreciation of the oral language in which the insnlt 
 is conveyed. 
 
 Be that as it may — a duel with swords was fought 
 between Sir Gerald and Captain Goldsworthy the same 
 evening. Goldsworthy was run through the body, and 
 died of the wound four days afterwards, protesting to the 
 last that the offensive compliments he had addressed to 
 Lady Massey were merely playfal badinage. 
 
 The death of Goldsworthy had a painful effect upon 
 the mind of Sir Gerald Massey. He had gone to ask the 
 dying man's forgiveness, which was not given, and the 
 white, ghastly face of the moribund, with its expression 
 of hate and despair, haunted him for ever afterwards. It 
 helped to cloud Sir Gerald's never very clear intellect. 
 
 Not long after Goldsworthy's death, an aged man, 
 dressed in tattered apparel, and whom Thomas Barnes, 
 an ancient servitor, recognised as a travelling tinker whom 
 he had seen many years before, arrived at Stone Hall, and 
 requested to see Sir Gerald. The request was refused; 
 but the man would not be denied, scribbled something 
 upon a piece of paper, which procured an immediate 
 interview with Sir Gerald. The interview was a long 
 one, and at its termination the travelling " tinker" left 
 the Hall, seemingly in the highest spirits, and " chinking 
 gold money in his pockets." 
 
 Sir Gerald was not seen by any' of the servants for 
 several days after the tinker's visit. Lady Massey was 
 taken ill, and had not recovered when the tinker returned 
 — this time in high feather — and accomjDanied by Mrs. 
 Justin, a youngish widow, and it was soon given out the 
 relict of the nei^hew of the late Mr. Gerald Massey, who, 
 but that the son had been discovered, would have in- 
 herited the Massey property. High words — fierce wrang- 
 ling between the new-comers and Sir Gerald and his lady, 
 were overheard by the servants, though they did not catch 
 the cause of the dispute. At last a compromise, it seemed, 
 was effected — ^the old tinker and the young wife went 
 their ways, and were not again seen together at Stone 
 Hall. 
 
glE GERALD MASSET, KNIQHT. 85 
 
 Lady Massey's illness, owing, it was said, to nervous 
 sgitation, terminated fatally. Sir Gerald, in pursuance 
 of a promise — it was exacted from him on her death-bed 
 by his wife — became a member of the Eomish Church, 
 and a devout one. He left Stone Hall for London, re- 
 turned in about a year, bringing with him a bride, no 
 other than the widow Justin, niece-in-law to Sir Gerald's 
 reputed father. She had a grown-up daughter. Both 
 were ugly, bitter-tempered viragos, and soon made the 
 house too hot to hold Sir Gerald's own children. They 
 left Stone Hall one after the other, fairly provided for, it 
 is estimated, probably by an ante-nuptial settlement pre- 
 vious to the last marriage. Sir Gerald, after they were 
 gone, seemed to weary of his life — ^took again to cock- 
 fightiag, bull-baiting, found the old pastimes flat, stale, 
 unprofitable — essayed jockeysliip, won a cup at some race, 
 and horsewhipped Sir. Claude Gregson, who refused, upon 
 some futile pretence, to pay him a heavy bet. 
 
 All would not do. There was secret grief — some sting 
 of remorse rankUng in his bosom; at least, it was so be- 
 lieved by those who had opportunities of observing him 
 closely. Domestic strife helped to embitter his life — ^to 
 weaken his intellect. Quite certainly a very hideous ske- 
 leton was hidden, but ever present to himself at Stone 
 Hall. 
 
 At last, a few days after a visit from his confessor. 
 Sir Gerald Massey disappeared. He had left no trail 
 behind. There was search, languid search made by order 
 of the widow, but nothing could be heard of Mm — no- 
 thing authentic, that is to say. One report, to which 
 more than one witness testified, was that Sir Gerald 
 Massey had b^en seen pursuing the trade of a travelling 
 tinker. This may be, and I think was true, notwith- 
 •standing that in 1762 he suddenly returned to Stone 
 Hall, infinitely to the disgust and dismay of Lady Mas- 
 sey and her daughter, Charlotte Ju.stin, who was on the 
 point of marriage. The contract was broken off — post- 
 poned at all events: Sir Gerald appeared to be vehe- 
 mently desirous of attending at the court of the young 
 
86 ECCE^"^EIC personages. 
 
 King George tlie Third, and ordered a very expensive 
 dress in which to appear before the sovereign. Again a 
 fit of caprice or insanity seizes him: he once more van- 
 ishes, and is afterwards seen by many persons in the 
 streets of London, and its most frequented coffee-houses, 
 always glitteringly attired, and known as the "Mad 
 Baronet," though baronet he was not. He was very 
 charitable, especially to the class of " unfortunates," and 
 this without giving cause for any serious stain upon his 
 moral character — ^in that regard at all events. Sir Gerald 
 had taken care at his last visit to Stone Hall to secure 
 to himself a regularly paid and sufficient income. , The 
 end came, as it will come to all, whether they be eccentric 
 or wisely self-governed. On the 18th August 1792, a 
 , man — the mere skeleton of a man rather — ^^vas found in 
 a kneeling posture by the grave of the first Lady Massey, 
 There was no difficulty in determining that it was the 
 corpse of Sir Gerald Massey, of Stone Hall. 
 
MAEGAEET FULLER 
 
 This very eccentric American lady, daughter of Timothy 
 and Margaret Fuller, was Bom in the State of Massa- 
 chusetts on the 9th of May 1810. She is known in 
 Europe by her Woman in the Nineteenth Century, a clever 
 book, but far from justifying the prophetic laudation 
 which she bestowed upon herself in comparatively early 
 days. It is a striking illustration of the propensity of 
 all strong-minded ladies to monster nothings. " Mine," 
 she wrote, " is a large, rich, but unclarified natm-e. My 
 history presents much superficial temporal tragedy. The 
 woman in me kneels and weeps in tender rapture; the 
 man in me rushes forth, but only to be baf&ed. Yet the 
 time will come when from thfe union of this tragic king 
 and queen shall be born a radiant sovereign-self." Strange 
 hallucination! Amusingly wonderfal the microscopic in- 
 trospection which could magnify, transform mere fluent, 
 erratic cleverness into even the semblance of creative 
 genius! It is only the air of America which can fill 
 such self-glorifying trumpets as that blown by Margaret 
 Fuller. 
 
 This intellectual prodigy — this spiritual king and 
 queen, of which, in the fulness of time, was to be born 
 a radiant sovereign-self: — could not boast of the beauty 
 of the tenement which enclosed so divine a soul: a defect, 
 it has often teen observed, common to intellectual female 
 prodigies, and especially true, it seems, of this "moun- 
 tainous, me," .another amusing trick of self-description 
 quoted by Margaret Fuller's biographer, Mr. Emerson. 
 Pity that a " mountainous me" announced, with flourish- 
 ing of trumpets to deafen one, to be in travail with a 
 
88 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 new and more perfect Evangel, should invariably present 
 the hopefully-expectant world with a tiny ridiculus mus! 
 Mr. Emerson says, " the unpleasing cast of her features 
 was increased by a disagreeable habit of opening and 
 shutting her eyelids, and the nasal tone of her voice." 
 This last peculiarly-national characteristic ought not, in 
 fairness, to have been flung in Margaret Fuller's face, 
 plain as it may have been. 
 
 The home-nurture of " Mountainous Me" was not a 
 judicious nurture. Mr. Fuller, who, though a thorough 
 business man, prided himself upon his knowledge of 
 Greek and Latin, no sooner ascertained that his daugh- 
 ter had a capacity for retaining words in her memory, 
 than he determined to rigorously educate her according 
 to the^classic and now well-nigh exploded formula. The 
 child was relentlessly drilled into a knowledge superficial 
 as, except in rare instances, such knowledge, if it deserve 
 the name, must necessarily be. When only six years 
 old, she could read Latin — at seven, Greek. The intel- 
 lectual and moral education of Margaret Fuller had been , 
 accomplished. She knew the names of many things in 
 three languages at least, and her mind had been elevated, 
 purified by the study of Ovid's Metamorphoses, Martial's 
 Epigrams, and other classicality. Mr. Fuller, a rigid 
 Puritan, had no objection to his daughter amusing her- 
 self during the intervals of Sabbath worship with that 
 refining literature; but when he caught Margaret on a 
 Sunday afternoon with a volume of Shakespeare in her 
 hand, he was exceediagly wroth. To read Hamlet on a 
 Sunday was profanity — a desecration of the holy day. 
 Could she not be content with Catullus or Petrohius 
 Arbiter? The pride of being able to read, however halt- 
 ingly, imperfectly, Greek and Eoman authors ia the ori- 
 ginal, strangely .blinds men to the filthiness of many 
 classic writings. 
 
 The stem discipline which compelled incessant study 
 of Greek and Eoman literature was equally enforced 
 with respect to other branches of learning, and the con- 
 sequence was broken health, hectic nervousness, and 
 
MAEGAEET FULLER. 89 
 
 spectral illusions. She would frequently start up in the 
 night and flee shrieking from the horrible shapes with 
 which her overwrought brain peopled her bed-chamber. 
 Positive insanity might probably have been the result 
 but for the soothing influence, the compassionate tender- 
 ness of her mother, to whose worth Margaret Fuller tes- 
 tifies in a passage which does honour both to Mrs. Fuller 
 and her daughter : 
 
 " My father's love for my mother was the one- green 
 spot on which he stood apart from the commonplaces of 
 a mere bread-winning existence. She was one of those 
 fair and flower-like natures which spring up even beside 
 the dusty highways of life — a creature not to be shaped 
 into a merely usefiil instrument, but bound by one law 
 with the blue sky, the dew, and the floric buds. Of all 
 persons I have known, she had in her most of the an- 
 gelic — ^that spontaneous love for every living thing — 
 man and beast and tree — which restores the golden age." 
 
 "Windy exaggeration this, no doubt, but redeemed by 
 filial love. And what were the first-fruits which this 
 sternly-enforced semi-pagan education produced in Mar- 
 garet Fuller? Chiefly a belief in the influence of the 
 planet Jupiter, in omens, in sortes, in talismans, and in 
 the occult power and signification of precious stones. 
 " When I first met with the name of Leila," wrote this 
 transatlantic prodigy of intellect — this Mountainous 
 Me — " when I first met with the name of Leila, I knew 
 it in a moment, and said ' it is mine.' I knew that it 
 meant night — night which brings out truths." 
 
 Margaret Fuller herself was a precious stone of the 
 masculine gender — a living carbuncle ! Carbuncles, she 
 said, were of two kinds, male and female. " The female 
 casts out Kght, the male has light within itself. Mine 
 is the male." When writing to friends for whom she 
 had a strong regard, Margaret Fuller always put on her 
 finger a male carbuncle. If she were writing to less- 
 valued acquaintance, she would use an onyx or amethyst. 
 She was, moreover, a firm believer in the mummeries of 
 Mesmerism. A pp-t project of Mountainous Me was to 
 
90 ECCEJfTRIC PEES0XAGE3. 
 
 get up a female congress in "Washington as a rival to the 
 male bipeds who congregate in the Capitol,-^herself to 
 be president, because, I suppose, of her quality as male 
 carbuncle. The assembly would be female carbuncles 
 casting out light; but a president, whose chief duty it 
 would be to keep order, maintain the decorum of debate, 
 could require only the inner light. This serious silliness 
 appeared at one time to have a chance of beiug adopted, 
 and lively controversies, four et contre, were printed in 
 the American papers. The notion was perhaps not more 
 ridiculous, more absurdly American, than the institu- 
 tion of baby-shows. It, however, like the babies, fell 
 through. 
 
 All this while her contributions to the not very luxu- 
 riant literature of " the greatest nation on the face of the 
 universal airth" were criticisms written for the New Yorlc 
 Tribune and the Dial, poor pretentious stuff about upon 
 a par with Horace Greeley's political articles. John 
 Sterling, son of the real old original Thunderer, whose 
 life Carlyle has. written, was, according t^^^s Fuller, a 
 poet of the highest order, LongfeUow a mere rhymester ; 
 Beethoven's music she declared to be the sublimest ex- 
 pression of which the soul of man is capable, and distinct, 
 positive, literal in its meanings as human speech; an old, 
 long-since exploded German extravagance, the assump- 
 tion being pretty nearly as tenable with respect to music, 
 as of colour, perfume. 
 
 And yet the woman who could write such outrageous 
 folly was, for a long period, the observed of all observers 
 in the literary circles of Northern America^the lion, or 
 should it be lioness? — of ias-bleu coteries. The literati 
 of the New World acquiesced with deferential recogni- 
 tioi;i in the truth of her self-estimate, when before a nu- 
 merous company she said, " I am acquainted with all the 
 people worth knowing in America, and I have found no 
 intellect comparable to my own." Mr. Emerson says he 
 was both delighted and astonished at her talking gifts. 
 Surely there must have been something in this much- 
 bepraised woman, although written records of her " phi- 
 
3IARGAEET FUtLEE. 91 
 
 loBophic eloquence," if they ever existed, have been lost 
 or mislaid. 
 
 Miss Fuller was a teacher in several establishments 
 of high standing, and she was accustomed to say, with 
 the quiet assumption of superiority which habit had 
 made natural and easy to her, looking down upon her 
 audience as she spoke from the lofty stilts of a self-con- 
 ceit unmatchable in this used-up Europe, " that she had 
 formed the minds of hundreds of young girls and men 
 upon the model of her own unmatched intellect, as 
 closely as natm-al iuferiority would permit." 
 
 There was no intellectual achievement to which Miss 
 Fuller, if we are to take her at her own valuation, was 
 not equal. Like Horace Greeley, of the New Yorh Tri- 
 bune, she was a zealous protectionist, and more than once 
 expressed a ivish that she might be' a member of the 
 British House of Commons, in order to have an oppor- 
 tunity of extinguishing once and for ever the free-trade 
 orators of that assembly — Sir Robert Peel, Richard Cob- 
 den, John Bright, and others. 
 
 One Sunday morning it was announced at the chapel 
 frequented by Margaret Fuller that the minister — one of 
 the great pulpit-guns of a distant State (Illinois, if I re- 
 member rightly) — had been seized with sudden illness, 
 •and as there was no substitute immediately available, 
 the service would only consist of prayers and psalms. 
 'This was a great disappointment to the crowded con- 
 gregation. Margaret Fuller beckoned to the chief office- 
 bearer after the minister of the chapel, and offered to 
 preach a sermon. Taken by surprise, tlie bewildered 
 gentleman wonderingly acquiesced. Margaret Fuller 
 mounted the pulpit and delivered a very eloquent ora- 
 tion, — quite as well, however, suitable to a temple of 
 Jupiter Olympus as to a Christian church. This bold 
 demarche of strong-minded Margaret Fuller was not 
 flatteringly commented upon at the time ; but social 
 religious life is very crowded in America — extravagance 
 succeeds extravagance — one luishing out the other in 
 endless succession, and impulsive Miss Fuller's escapade 
 
82 ECCENTEIC PEESOKAGES. 
 
 was soon forgotten. One of her friends has affected to 
 doubt the truth of the story. I must not omit to men- 
 tion that a few weeks after the death of her father, of 
 cholera, in 1835, a calamity under the influence of which 
 her proudly-worn mantle of self-glorifying arrogance feU 
 partially off, Miss Fuller, divesting herself for the nonce 
 of her paganish fantastic eccentricities, warmly interested 
 herself in behalf of the miserable female outcasts shut up 
 in the prison of Sing-Sing, and on Christmas preached from 
 the text, "The bruised reed he will not break; the smok- 
 ing flax he will not quench." About this time she enun- 
 ciated in the columns of the Tribune her belief that had 
 Shelley lived twenty years longer, he would have become 
 a Christian, and so have attained the mental harmony 
 necessary to him. The filthy rags of philosophic pagan- 
 ism woYen by her early studies were falling off, giving 
 to view the white vesture beneath them of a Christian 
 maiden. 
 
 Margaret Fuller, finding teaching — but especially 
 writing — "was mighty dead work," that "much study 
 was a weariness to the flesh," determined upon visiting 
 England in company with a Mr. and Mrs. Spring. This 
 was in 1847. Before leaving America it was arranged 
 that Margaret Fuller, in a series of letters to be pub- 
 lished in the Tribune, should repay with compound in- 
 terest the libels on the social life of the wondrous re- 
 public perpetrated by such malignant scribblers as Fran- 
 ces Trollope, Charles Dickens, and others. " I will lay 
 bare, anatomise that monstrous sham, English society," 
 wi-ote this formidable damsel ; " and I regret that the 
 keenness of the sacrificial knife may be perhaps dulled 
 by the memory of an English lady, the first angel of ' 
 my life, whom I met mth in youth. But private feel- 
 ing must yield to public duty." Alos for England ! 
 
 Before following this very singular lady to the old 
 worn-out country, I may relate a few anecdotes of her 
 early youth at the time when she made the acquaintance 
 of " the first angel of her life." 
 
 Her iu'st vivid experience was, she says, one of 
 
MARGARET FULLER. 93 
 
 I 
 
 death — the death of a sister, " a sweet playful child, in 
 ■svhom death and life were alike beautiful ;" a bitter, en- 
 during sorrow. There can be no doubt that there was 
 in Margaret Fuller a fount of womanly tenderness — • 
 sympathy which, allowed free play, would soon have 
 swept away the incrustations created by a radically- 
 vicious education overlaying a true and generous spirit. 
 
 Her meeting and brief acquaintance with the English 
 lady, "first angel of my life," the recollection of whom 
 would, she feared, blunt the point of the sword intended 
 to smite England under the fifth rib, I shall describe in 
 her oivn words : 
 
 " I was reading Guy Mannering, and my eyes were 
 wet and dim with tears drawn forth by the loss of- little 
 Hem-y Bertram, when an English lady of surpassing 
 beauty, on a brief visit to that part of America, observ- 
 -iag me, approached and accosted me. She did not ques- 
 tion, but fixed on me looks of beautiful love. She did 
 not speak many words ; her mere presence was to me a 
 gate of Paradise. I laid my head against her shoulder 
 and wept, dimly feeling that I must lose her and all who 
 spake to me of the same things — that the cold waves 
 would rush over me. She waited till my tears were 
 spent, then rising, took from a box a bunch of golden 
 amaranths. They were very fragrant. ' They came to 
 me,' she said, ' from. Madeira.' The departure of the 
 lady threw me into a deep melancholy, from which I 
 was with difficulty roused. I kept the amaranths during 
 seventeen years. Madeira for long, long afterwards, was 
 pictured in my imagination as an Island of the Blest. 
 And when ships sailed past the coast, their white wings 
 glancing in the sunlight, I fancied they must be bound 
 to happy, fortunate Madeira !" 
 
 This erratic young lady did some audacious things, 
 but they were always dictated by a generous spirit. She, 
 when about sixteen, was on a visit to, an aunt and cousin, 
 Mrs. Paulding and her daughter, who resided about ten 
 miles irom Boston. Mrs. Paulding's only son, Arthur 
 Paulding, had not long before inarried against his 
 
94 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 mother's consent. It appears that his mother's decided 
 ayersion to the match was not so much caused by the 
 wife's inferiority of social position, as that her family 
 had grossly insulted and defrauded Mrs. Paulding's de- 
 ceased, husband. The widow was inexorable, and men- 
 tally registered a tow ncYer to forgive, norer to willingly 
 set eyes upon her son — ^never, if he were starving, to 
 afford him the slightest assistance. The rash young man 
 very soon had pressing need' of pecuniary help. He was 
 desirous of going west ■nq.th his young wife, but had no 
 means adequate to the purchase of a wagon, horse, itn- 
 plements, and many things essential to such an enter- 
 prise. He wrote many letters to his mother, asking for- 
 giveness and money. His sister Caroline sympathised 
 with him, but could do nothing. A letter from him 
 arrived when Margaret Fuller was on a visit to her aunt 
 and cousin. It was a request for a loan — merely a loan ' 
 — of five hundred dollars. The letter was read by Mrs. 
 Paulding, and cast contemptuously aside. 
 
 " ' Caroline,' " said Margaret Fuller, having previously 
 taken care to place the appropriate carbuncle upon her 
 finger; "'Caroline,'" said Margaret to her weeping 
 cousin, " ' you must act in this momentous affair for 
 aunt, for your mother's better self. She will live to' 
 bless you for so acting. Prom Arthur's despairing, bitter 
 letter, I fear poor Arthur — and we know his impulsive, yet 
 positive disposition — will commit suicide. "That would 
 kiU your mother by slow, lingering torture^ You write 
 aunt's letters, draw and sign her cheques. Well, draw one 
 for the five hundred dollars in fayour of Arthur. I will 
 deliver it to him with my own hand, and rnake some ex- 
 cuse to prevent his writing to acknowledge its receipt. 
 Aunt is rich ; she never examines her banker's or any 
 other account, leaving all to you : you are, we may as- 
 sume, your mother's only child. Her money, regarded 
 from a moral point of view, is as much yours as hers. 
 It is your duty, your positive duty, to do for aunt that 
 which, temporarily dominated by unreasoning passion, 
 she refuses to do for herself.' — Much more I urged to 
 
MAKGAEET FULLEE. 95 
 
 the same tune, and finally prevailed, with Caroline, by 
 tlie power which strong natures exercise over weak ones ! 
 The cheque was drawn, and I myself placed it in Ar- 
 thur's hands. About two months, afterwards my aunt 
 was attached with serious and, it was feared, mortal ill- 
 ness. The approach of Death, whose dread steps she 
 fancied sounded nearer and nearer every hour, awakened, 
 not alarm only, but remorse in her bosom. She be- 
 thought herself of the outcast Arthur; and calKng Caro- 
 line to her side, bade her at once send Arthur one thou- 
 sand dollars, and assure him of her forgiveness. A 
 cheque for five hundred dollars was setit immediately, 
 and the matter was happily terminated. I believe that 
 I rightly advised Caroline." 
 
 The voyage to England was a pleasant one: Margaret 
 Fuller brought with her numerous letters of introduction 
 to Carlyle and other literary celebrities of the land which 
 she had promised to smite with the flashing sword of her 
 incomparable wit and sarcasm. She carried out that 
 promise to the best of her ability. Her letters on Eng- 
 land are certainly not more stupid nor half so malignant 
 as the rahtipole rubbish lately written and printed by 
 Hawthorne. I 
 
 Margaret FuUer rather patronised Thomas Carlyle. 
 She seemed to admit that the author of " Sartor Eesar- 
 tus" might almost take rank with the writer of " Woman 
 in the Nineteenth Century." No other English man or 
 woman could she for a moment think worthy of being 
 placed on so lofty a pedestal. Of English society, Enghsh 
 manners, English people generally, Margaret Puller, who 
 had thoroughly gauged, analysed that "compound of 
 sham," during her ten days' sojourn in England, spoke 
 with serenity — superior,, good-natured disdain^-in that 
 nasal tone of hers, and with fall play of the unpleasant 
 habit of opening and shutting her eyelids. France was 
 much more fortunate than England, but for no French- 
 ihan or Frenchwoman did she feel such esteem, such ad- 
 miration as for Madame Dudevaut (George Sand). She, 
 
96 ECCESTKIO I'EKSONAUrES. 
 
 if you like, was a model woman, craelly maligned, espe- 
 cially by her numerous lovers, who must have known 
 better than the outside world how good, amiable, charm- 
 ing she was, not perhaps according to the orthodox stand- 
 ard of an obsolete world, but judged by her own tran- 
 scendental sense of right and wrong and the eternal fit- 
 ness of things. .Margaret Fuller had at last found an 
 intellect equal to her own, or pretty nearly so. 
 
 Miss Fuller having exhausted, finished with France 
 in soniething less than a fortnight, determined to. visit 
 and dissect Italy. There an event befel which saved the 
 land of Dante and Tasso from being withered up, as 
 England had been, by Margaret Fuller's scathing pen. 
 
 A Marquis, — a real live Marquis, — the Marquis Gio- 
 vanni Angelo Ossoli, made Margaret Fuller's acquaint- 
 ance at Eome. He was a disciple of Mazzini, a Republi- 
 can 'pwr sang, and an idolater of the famous republic 
 destined in the near fulness of time to absorb the uni- 
 verse. No wonder that, although the illustrious Marquis 
 was miserably poor, was never quite sure that he would 
 be given this day his daily bread, "was unacquainted 
 with books, destitute of enthusiasm, and remarkable only 
 for good sense and good temper," he should have found 
 favour ia those everlastingly opening and shutting eyes 
 of Margaret Fuller. Would not she by acceptance of 
 that hand of his — empty as it might be — become the 
 Marchioness d'OssoU ? Ah! if it were ever worth while, 
 which I doubt, to catch in a matrimonial sense a strong- 
 minded woman imbued with stern republican principles, 
 you can find no surer bait than a title. Ladyship is a 
 gTeat thing — but Marchioness! good heavens! The Mar- 
 quis d'Ossoli knew very well what he was about ; a well- 
 principled, gifted woman, if a little given to strange fan- 
 cies, whose facile pen commanded a considerable revenue 
 — ^in Italian estimation, was not so bad a prize to draw 
 in the lottery of marriage. The " daily-bread" difBculty 
 would be got rid of; and the end was that Margaret 
 Fuller became (1848) Marchioness d'Ossoli. The happy 
 pair intended to leave almost immediately for the then 
 
MAEGAEET FULLER. 97 
 
 Cnited States; and the following paragraph went the 
 round of the American papers: "Our highly- gifted 
 country - wopian Margaret Fuller, now Marchioness 
 d'Ossoli, is expected to arrive with her husband, the 
 Marquis d'Ossoli, at New York, in the course of the 
 next month." 
 
 Circumstances detained them in Italy — the Mar- 
 chioness d'Ossoli became the mother of a fine boy, who 
 was baptised Angelo, after his father. Marriage and 
 maternity wrought a marvellous change in the lady. 
 The supercilious pedant disappeared, and in her place 
 was seen a true, trustfal woman. An American lady ac- 
 quainted with her since she was a child, and who had 
 often been repelled, disgusted by her haughty self-su.fl&- 
 ciency and petulant temper, was astonished at the trans- 
 formation : " How unlike is she to the Margaret Fuller 
 of former days ! The masculine intellectual gladiator 
 ready to challenge all comers, is now so delicate, so 
 simple, so confiding, so affectionate, with a true womanly 
 heart and soul, and, what was to me a, still greater sur- 
 prise, possessed of so broad a charity that she could cover 
 with its mantle the faults and' defects of all about her." 
 There could scarcely be a more striking illustration of 
 the great truth, that a woman's natural, healthful life 
 is the Christian life. 
 
 The revolution broke out in Italy. The Marquis 
 d'Ossoli, an enthusiastic Mazzinian, was drawn into the 
 vortex, and the Marchesa, fully sharing her husband's 
 political principles, cheerfully accepted the office of di- 
 rectress of one of the hospitals for wounded soldiers dur- 
 ■ ing the siege of Rome by the French — one of the blackest 
 spots in the pages of the history of France, in which 
 there are very many black spots. 
 
 Rome capitulated — yielded after a valiant, stubborn 
 resistance to overwhelming force. Garibaldi, his true 
 wife Anita, with a remnant of his gallant followers, had 
 previously left the Eternal City; and the Marquis d'Ossoli, 
 who was deeply compromised, reached Florence in safety; 
 the Marchesa, with her darling Angelo, soon joined him. 
 
 H 
 
98 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 They remained in Florence till May 1850, supported in 
 modest respectability by the proceeds derived from con- 
 tributing to the American press by the untiring pen of 
 the Marchesa d'Ossoli. The lady pined for home, to 
 again embrace her mother; and on the l5th of May 1850 
 the husband and wife, with their infant son and a ser- 
 vant of the name of Celeste, embarked from Leghorn in 
 the Elizabeth, an American barque, James Harley master. 
 Forebodings of shipwreck, common to continental lands- 
 men, haunted the mind of d'Ossoli, and, from sympathy, 
 I suppose, were shared by his wife. D'Ossoli recalled to 
 mind that he had been warned long since to beware of 
 the sea, an injunction which almost all 'inland Italian 
 mothers address to their sons. The Marchesa appears 
 to have feared chiefly for her son, lest " he should be de- 
 voured by the howling waves or die in unsolaced illness." 
 For herself she took very high ground indeed. " I am 
 quite content," she wrote, — " I am quite content, if it 
 should he ttumght I need so rrmch tuition in this planet, to 
 stay my threescore years and ten; but it is borne in upon 
 me that my earthly career will soon close. It may be 
 terribly trying, but will not be a very prolonged agony ; 
 God will transplant the root, if He wills, to rear it into 
 fruit-bearing," She prayed that if one was doomed to 
 perish, all three — ^herself, husband, and son — ^might die 
 together. 
 
 Her prayer was granted. On the morning of the 1 6th 
 of July the Elizabeth, an ill-built, unskilfully-handled 
 ship, after labouring through the night in a fierce hurri- 
 cane, went ashore on Fire Beach, off the Jersey coast, 
 America. Mr. Channing, in his graphic, solemn narra- 
 tive of the afflicting catastrophe, says: — "After twelve 
 hours' communing face to face with Death, a sea struck 
 the forecastle, carrying with it the deck and all upon it 
 — the steward and Angelo were washed upon the beach, 
 both dead, though warm some twenty minutes afterwards 
 — Celeste the servant and d'Ossoli were caught up for a 
 moment by the rigging, but the next wave swallowed 
 them up — Margaret sank at once — when last seen she 
 
MAKGAEET FULLER. 99 
 
 was seated at the feot of the foremast,' clad in a white 
 night-dress, with her hair fallen loose upon her shoulders." 
 Thus untimely passed away a gifted, high-principled, 
 eccentric woman, who, for the healthy dcTelopment of 
 her Tery considerable powers, seems to have required but 
 a prolongation of the better, the natural life which she 
 had but recently embraced. Let us hope that the belief 
 embodied in a sentence of hers, penned during the vigour 
 of life, sustained her in the trying death-hour: "I have 
 faith in a glorious explanation which will make manifest 
 perfect justice, perfect mercy, perfect wisdom." 
 
THE EARL OF PETERBOROUGH. 
 
 The names of Cromwell, Marlborough, Wellington, are - 
 household words in the country which gave them birth; 
 but how many Englishmen, speaking in a comparative 
 sense, are familiar with the marvellous, if eccentric, 
 career of Charles Mordaunt, Earl of Peterborough and 
 Monmouth, as daring a soldier as either of them? — the 
 man to whom it is mainly owing that the magniloquent 
 boast of Louis XIV., when he supposed his grandson the 
 Duke of Anjou would ascend the throne of Spain, and 
 by the French monarch's aid maintain himself thereon, 
 " There are no longer Pyrenees," became an empty vaunt. 
 
 The date of the birth of this remarkable man was 
 1658, or thereabouts. His father was a zealous royalist, 
 but Charles, Lord Mordaunt, the son, long before he had 
 lived to manhood, hated and despised the restored Stuart, 
 King Charles II., and his brother James, Duke of Tork. 
 In his eyes they were both contemptible, worthless men. 
 The military and naval glory of England achieved under 
 CromweU excited and inflamed his imagination. " The 
 Protector's burial;" he once observed to Algernon Sidney, 
 "was, it is said, a grand affair; but what funeral honours 
 ever paid to a hero could be compared with the thunder 
 of De Euyter's Dutch cannon in the Thames — echoing 
 the shouts of a vile populace shouting in triumph over 
 the exhlimed bones of Cromwell and others, gibbeted by 
 order of the second and worst Charles Stuart!" 
 
 A spare small man was the great earl — spare and 
 small as Nelson, but, like the great admiral, of an un- 
 conquerable, . fiery spirit. He was the firm friend of 
 Algernon Sidney and Lord "William Eussell, and pas- 
 
THE EABL OF PETERBOROUGH. ' 101 
 
 sionately resented the murder of those true heroes. 
 Nevertheless, he managed to keep clear of the clutches 
 of the law. Judge Jeffreys himself could find no pre- 
 tence to hang him, ardently as he desired to do so. 
 There is a laughable anecdote ^¥hich may account for 
 Jeffrey's baffled anxiety to weave a hempen necklace for 
 Lord Mordaunt. This happened before the judge was 
 raised to the judicial seat; at least I conclude so, though 
 the data upon which I ground this supposition are con- 
 fused and contradictory. 
 
 Jeffreys, I have to say, whether barrister or judge, 
 courted, not honourably, a peasant lass living as servant 
 to a Mrs. Curtis, at Parson's Green. The girl's name 
 was Sophia Crowe. Jeffreys had made an assignation 
 with the silly wench, who was to meet him at some place 
 near Fulham, in a hack-coach which he would send for 
 her._ By some means the young Lord Mordaunt became 
 acquainted with what was going on. The Gentleman's 
 Magazine opines that he was smitten with the damsel 
 himself. At all events he took care that the assignation 
 should not be kept. Possibly he made a confidant of 
 Mrs. Curtis. Be that as it may, Sophia Crowe did not 
 keep the appointment, and Lord MOrdaunt did. The 
 coach was to arrive at an appointed spot at a particular 
 hour — evening. It did so, and a nicely-attired young 
 lady, but wearing a thick muffler, was in waiting. She 
 gave the signal agreed upon, entered the coach, and was 
 driven off to London. Jeffreys welcomed the lady with 
 rapture, and presently found that the charming damsel 
 upon whom he was lavishing his endearments was — Lord 
 Mordaunt! Very provoking, one must admit. 
 
 A very wild slip was Charles., Lord Mordaunt. Ad- 
 mitted behind the scenes of courtly and clerical life — 
 such as that courtly and clerical life was in the days of 
 Charles II., he was early an entire sceptic, not only as to 
 the Divine Eight of Kings — ^but Eevelation. It may be 
 doubted that he believed in a future existence. He had 
 a sovereign contempt for "popular preachers." One 
 would fancy he was writing about Mr. Spurgeon Tsliea 
 
102 ECCENTBIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 he says — after the great and learned Selden, by the way 
 — " To preach long, loud, and damnation is the way to 
 
 he cried up. They love a man who d s them, and 
 
 therf run after him to save them." This fatal scepticism 
 — open, avowed scepticism — ^made him innumerable ene-' 
 mies, and was one main cause of his disparagement by 
 the chroniclers of his time. He had, it seems to me, 
 something of Percy Bysshe Shelley's spirit, though not 
 gifted with poetic genius. He would in a spirit of anta- 
 gonism have torn up and cast into the furnace all the 
 creeds in the world, though sadly conscious that there 
 was nothing which could fill their place. The whole 
 family would appear to have been afflicted with the like 
 bigotry of unbelief; the despair of a fature. Philip Mor- 
 daunt blew his brains out after inditing the following 
 doggrel: 
 
 ^Oti)'- 
 
 " L'opium peut aider le sage; 
 Mais, selon mon opinion, 
 n lui f ant au lieu d'opium 
 Un pistolet et du courage." 
 
 Both Charles and Philip Mordaunt were meipbers of the 
 "Hell-Fire" club — an association of "noblemen and 
 gentlemen " who not only discountenanced Christianity, 
 but engrafting stupidity upon scepticism, denied the ex- 
 istence of a Creator. Blasphemy has never been so ram- 
 pant in England — ^has never raised its brazen front in 
 high places with such audacity as during the reigns of 
 the sons of the Stuart of pious memory — whose execu- 
 tion for high treason in making war upon his people, if 
 we are to accept the dictum of cleric flunkeyism, can only 
 be expiated by the consumption of salt fish and egg- 
 sauce on each successive twenty-ninth of January. 
 
 Charles, Lord Mordaunt, led for some years a wild, 
 eccentric Hfe. At eighteen years of age he fell into a 
 love-craze for a pretty actress of the name of Barton, and 
 had she not been a wi*fe, though living apart from her 
 husband, might possibly have married her. As it was, 
 the young lord joined the company of strollers to which 
 she belonged, passing under the name of Nepas, and 
 
THE EAEL OF PETEEBOEOUOH. 103 
 
 played Benedict to her Beatrice at Worcester with toler- 
 able success. The love-flt passed away; and the young 
 nobleman, aware that the chief cause of the temporary 
 dissolution of partnership between Mr. and Mrs. Barton 
 was the " woM Want o' siller," yisited the husband at 
 his lodgings in Great Titchfield Street, London, and 
 bluiktly proposed to make him a present of five hundred 
 pounds, upon condition that he returned to cohabitation 
 with his wife. Mr. Barton gladly consented, and, for 
 aught that appears to the contrary, they lived afterwards 
 happily together. Lord Mordaunt had borrowed -the 
 money upon his personal bond. 
 
 At last an opportunity was afforded of entering upon 
 the state of life for which nature had fitted him, The 
 depredations of the Barbary pirates upon British com-, 
 merce had reached such a height that even the pi;isillani- 
 mous Government of Charles II. found itself compelled 
 to send a fleet to the Mediterranean under the command 
 of Sir John Nai-borough. The mode in which Blake 
 had dealt with those gentlemen was to be feebly imi- 
 tated. Lord Mordaunt volunteered his services: they 
 were accepted, and he joined the English squadron. Sir 
 John Narborough was not' Blake, and little was done 
 except by an attack with boats under the command of 
 Lieutenant, afterwards Sir Cloudesley Shovel, in the har- 
 bour of Tripoli. The Algerine corsairs, moored under 
 the shelter of batteries and armed with, for that age, 
 powerful artillery, deemed themselves perfectly secure, 
 there not being sufiicient depth of water for the much 
 heavier English ships to close with them within cannon- 
 shot. The corsairs were mistaken. Tlie English boats 
 dashed on to the attack, the pirate ships were carried, 
 captured, burned, and one of the foremost in the fray 
 was Charles Mordaunt. " He is true metal, and if he 
 has a chance will go far," remarked Cloudesley Shovel 
 in one of his letters. 
 
 Mordaunt had no opportunity of " going far" at that 
 time. The heart of England, tested by the Government 
 of England, had collapsed — at least was only capable of 
 
104 ECCENTRIC PEESONA&ES. 
 
 Blight, Bpasmodic action. Peace at any price was advo- 
 cated in the Sybarite court of Charles II., as it is in the 
 counsels of a noisy, if in an essential sense utterly unin- 
 fluential, party of the present day. Lord Mordaunt had 
 no option for a man of his temperament but to plunge 
 again into the licentiousness and laxity of London life. 
 
 But a- better time was coming. The Stuart, incubus 
 would be speedily thrown off. Charles II. outwardly pro- 
 fessed Protestantism during his scandalous life, though 
 he died with the Host sticking in his throat; but James 
 II. honestly ayowed himself to be a Roman Catholic. 
 The dynasty was doomed; and no one saw that with 
 clearer insight than gay, giddy, reckless Charles Mor- 
 daunt. The marriage of the English Princess Mary with 
 William of Orange naturally attracted the eyes of the 
 English people towards that prince, and Lord Mordaunt 
 was one of the first of emiuent. Englishmen who went 
 OFer to Holland to endeavour to prevail upon William to 
 make a descent upon England, and ffee her from the 
 yoke of a Papist king. The prince listened, but could 
 not commit himself by a positive declaration. The Eng- 
 lish army, numbering forty thousand men, he remarked, 
 and commanded by Lord Churchill too (afterwards Duke 
 of Marlborough) would be far too many for such Dutch 
 troops as he could transport to England. The English 
 army, Mordaunt assured him, would not fight for James. 
 Churchill himself was disaffected. The prince gave heed- 
 ful audience to all that Mordaunt had to say; but the 
 young gallant returned to London, unassured that the 
 Prince of Orange would really embark in the enterprise 
 of delivering England, and placing the greatest crown of 
 all the earth upon his brow. The enterprise, not at all 
 an a,udacious one, was, we all know, finally resolved upon 
 by William of Orange. James was the mere simulacrum 
 of a king. His troops, who, had they been willing to 
 fight for the Papist king, would have made short work 
 of the Dutch deliverers, deserted James ; the nation had 
 withdrawn from him; and that which is known as tho 
 glorious revolution of 1688 was accomplished with the 
 
THE EAEL OP PETBRBOEOTJGH. 105 
 
 utmost facility. Lord Mordaunt played his part — ^not a 
 very conspicuous one — ia the drama, but does not appear 
 to have gained much farour at court. No command of 
 importance was offered him, and he again subsided into 
 the restless unrest of London life. 
 
 An amusing anecdote is related as haying occurred 
 just about the time of the flight of James. Mordaunt 
 was in love — ^it may, indeed, be doubted that he was ever 
 out of love. Mordaunt was in love with a lady who had 
 a fancy to a beautiful canary belonging to the proprietress 
 of a coffee-house near Charing-cross, and insisted that 
 her noble lover should at any price procure it for her. 
 Lord Mordaunt endeavoured to do so, but the landlady 
 refused to part with her pet for any sum of money. The 
 lady insisted. Jle must bring the canary, or not presume 
 to see her face again. Thus goaded, Mordaunt hit upon 
 a clever expedient. Searching the dep6ts of bird-fanciers, 
 he found a canary closely resembling the superb songster 
 which had so charmed his lady-love ; but it was a hen 
 canary, and could not chirrup a note. Hastening to the 
 coffee-house, Lord Mordaunt contrived to get rid of the 
 landlady — a Catholic, and devoted loyalist-^for a few 
 minutes, and adroitly substituted his female for the male 
 canary. After a considerable time, he called at the coffee- 
 house and asked the proprietress if she did not regret 
 having refused the handsome offer he had made for her 
 bird. " Oh dear, no," said the woman; "he is more pre- 
 cious to me than ever ; for do you know that since our 
 good king was compelled to leave his kingdom he has 
 not sung a single note!" 
 
 Here is another freak of his. Driving along King 
 Street, Covent Garden, in his coach, on a muddy day, 
 he noticed a comedian dressed out in extravagant fashion. 
 The man was probably going to dine with some grand 
 Mends. The sight stirred the bile of Mordaunt, who 
 at once stopped the coach, sprang out, and drawing his 
 dress-sword, pricked the astounded player, principally in 
 his calves, " which were out of proportion," till the man, 
 despairing of rescue — there were no day-police in those 
 
106 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 good old times — and running for his life, slipped down, 
 and was bemired in the slush of the street. Lord Mor- 
 daunt sheathed his sword, helped the bedevilled player 
 up, and on the morrow made such ample money amends 
 that the player said " the mad freak of the eccentric lord 
 was about the best beneiSt he was ever likely to get." 
 
 On the 19th June 1697, Charles Mordaunt succeeded 
 to the earldom of Peterborough. Stirring events cast 
 their shadows before. The death of William III., the ac- 
 cession of a woman. Queen Anne, to the English throne, 
 was deemed a fit opportunity for realising the dream of 
 Louis XIV. — ^that he was destined to restore the empire of 
 Charlemagne — ^not immediately, perhaps, in its entirety 
 — ^but to a great extent. 
 
 The "Grand Monarque" was much mistaken. The 
 Queen of England happened to have in her service two 
 great men, the Duke of Marlborough and the Earl of 
 Peterborough. Her valiant soldiers and seamen would 
 be well commanded, and to discerning eyes the horizon 
 was bright with the coming glory of England. 
 
 England, victorious England, met Louis XIV. in the 
 Low Countries, under the guidance of Marlborough. In 
 Spain, the Earl of Peterborough trampled into dust the 
 pretensions of the French king to annex practically Spain 
 to Prance. 
 
 An expedition was prepared in 1705 at Spithead, and 
 placed under the joint command of Sir Cloudesley Shovel, 
 Lord Charlemont, and the Earl of Peterborough. The 
 military force consisted of between three and four thou- 
 sand men. They were an undisciplined set of men, but 
 being made of the true soldief-stuft', something might be 
 made of them under energetic leadership. 
 
 The destination of the force was Barcelona, Spain; 
 and its purpose was to assist Charles III. in resisting 
 the pretensions to the throne of St. Ferdinand of Louis 
 XIV.'s grandson. 
 
 The expedition was only saved from ignominious 
 failure by the eccentric earl. The fortress of Monjuich 
 commands Barcelona, and Lord Charlemont, Sir Cloudes- 
 
THE EARL OF PBTEEBOEOTTGH. 107 
 
 ley Shovel approving, decided that> the English force was 
 utterly inadequate to storm it. 
 
 The Earl of Peterborough demurred to that cdunsel, 
 and resolved to ascertain personally if the defences of 
 Montjuich were so utterly unassailable as vras asserted. 
 To do so, he disguised himself as a peasant — a French 
 peasant — charged with conveying to the commandant of 
 the fortress a written message in cipher. The letter 
 ■ written in cipher was not fictitious. Lord Peterborough 
 had intercepted, but not opened it. A courtesan of Bar- 
 celona, with whom he had formed acquaintance, informed 
 him that the Count BeauviUiers, disguised as a peasant, 
 was the bearer of an important missive to the command- 
 ant at Monjuich, and would sleep at her house. The 
 Earl's measures were swiftly and silently taken. Mon- 
 sieur le Comte BeauviUiers was rudely awakened at the 
 dead of the night, and hurried away to strict confine- 
 ment; the missive, or letter, having of course been taken 
 possession of. It was from the Spanish G-eneral Las 
 Torres. 
 
 Armed with that document, Lord Peterborough boldly 
 presented himself at the citadel, was admitted, and the 
 genuineness of the document he carried being known to 
 the governor of the fortress, not the slightest suspicion 
 was felt. The supposed Count BeauviUiers was treated 
 with the highest distinction, and allowed to roam at his 
 pleasure over the castle. He soon came to the conclusion 
 that Monjuich could not be carried by open assault, and 
 returning to the English camp, agreed with Charlemont 
 that the enterprise was a hopeless one, and that the troops 
 ought to be at once re- embarked. Preparations to do so 
 were immediately commenced. The garrison of Monjuich 
 were thus thrown completely off their guard, and whilst 
 lulled in that fool's paradise, and keeping slack watch 
 and: ward, were surprised in the night by the Earl of 
 Peterborough, who, stealthily creeping up to the walls 
 under cover of night, succeeded in surprising and mas- 
 tering the garrison. The capital of Catalonia was lost 
 to the Erench Pretender to the Spanish crown. Charles 
 
108 ECCEISTTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 III. wrote the Earl a very complimentary letter upon his 
 bold and fortunate achievement. Lord Charlemont did 
 not second Peterborough's daring. He was left alone in 
 his glory. He practised, and, as far as I know, was the 
 inventor or originator of a new system of war-tactics. 
 The problem to be solved was, how he, with one hun- 
 dred and iifty dragoons, could drive the army of Las 
 Torres, numbering some ten thousand men, out of Va- 
 lencia? Rather a hard nut that to crack. Peterborough 
 did it. His entirely unscientific strategy was to despatch 
 a few of his troopers, previously well instructed, and 
 whom he could trust, to the enemy's lines. They were 
 deserters, and informed Las Torres that an army, thrice 
 as strong as his own in numbers, was advancing rapidly, 
 iu the hope of taking him at a dfsadvantap;e. A few 
 dragoons, the advanced guard of an overpowering force, 
 would herald the approach of that overpowering force. 
 The device succeeded. The army of Las Torres, panic- 
 stricken at the sight of the "advanced guard" of dragoons, 
 fled precipitately, and Peterborough, by like artifices and 
 dash, daring, consummate skill, his renown rapidly at- 
 tracting thousands to his standard, released the northern 
 provinces of Spain from' the Anjou yoke, and rendered, 
 as I have before remarked, the grandiloquent phrase of Le 
 Grand Monarque — " H riy a plus de Pyrenees — an empty 
 vaunt. But it is not my purpose iu this paper to dilate 
 upon the military skill of the Earl of Peterborough — 
 to sketch, however briefly, his wonderful Spanish cam- 
 paign. It was successful ; Charles III. owed his crown 
 to the English earl. That is eulogy enough. It is the 
 end which crowns the work. Earl Peterborough, though 
 a disbeliever in the inspiration of Scripture, could not 
 deny the truth of one of the sacred texts — " Put not 
 your trust in princes." The recompense for his great 
 services was a royal request that he would quit Spain. 
 The Spanish officers were jealous of the great English- 
 man. It was ever thus. The Conde de Toreno, for a 
 short time Prime Minister of Spain, wrote a book a few 
 years ago to prove that, the great battles in the Peninsula, 
 
THE EABL OF PETERBOROUGH. 109 
 
 where En gl wa d met Napoleon, were mainly won by Spanish 
 Boldiers! But the. other day an official paper, published 
 at Vienna, enraged with Lord Palmerston for his denun- 
 ciation of the atrocious aggression upon valiant little Den- 
 mark by the two preponderant German powers — great in 
 no sense of the word can ihey be called — said that after 
 all there might be some truth in Baron Muffling's asser- 
 tion that it was the Prussians who really won the battle 
 of Waterloo — Prussia, that had not one soldier killed in 
 the conflict, which finally checked, for nearly fifty years, 
 the tide of French impetuosity and success. This, how- 
 ever, by the way. 
 
 Lord PeterlDoroligh was, fortunately for himself, not 
 dependent upon the favour of kings. He returned to 
 England, took his seat in the House of Peers, and made 
 11 short, sensible speech there, when an attempt was made 
 by the right reverend bench of bishops to pass an Act of 
 ParUament making it penal to speak against the Thirty- 
 nine Articles. " I am content," said Lord Peterborough, 
 "with a parliamentary king, but I refuse to acknow- 
 ledge a parhamentary religion — a parliamentary God." 
 
 Like many other men of original genius, he appears, 
 notwithstanding his military proclivities, to have held 
 the gewgaw glories of the world very cheap. High, 
 fashionable society wearied and disgusted him. He was 
 in the habit of taking long walks into the country, and 
 upon one occasion met with a remarkably pretty girl, 
 with whom he was much struck. She was the daughter 
 of a miller, one James Smithers, and a modest, worthy 
 girl. On the following day Lord Peterborough, giving 
 the name of Copp, and attired in homely fashion, pre- 
 sented himself at the miU, obtained an interview with 
 James Smithers, and offered a large sum — the amount is 
 not specified — ^to be taught the art and mystery of the 
 miller's craft, making, no doubt, some plausible excuse 
 for the request, which was complied with; and Charles 
 Mordaunt, Earl of Peterborough, under the name of 
 Eichard Copp, positively worked in a mill near the vil- 
 lage of Wheatstone, for several weeks, in the hope of 
 
110 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 ingratiating himself with Jane Smithers. He did not 
 succeed; "pretty Jane" was engaged priTately to the 
 son of a neighbouring farmer, and one' fine morning it 
 was discovered that she had secretly married a week pre- 
 yiously. The Earl was fiercely wroth, and in his rage 
 revealed his rank. One can hardly suppose that John 
 Bunt, the successful rival, and husband of " pretty Jane," 
 would have appropriated the miller's daughter had the 
 Earl tempted her with a coronet. As it was, he had not 
 only lost his love and the money-premium paid to the 
 miller, but got himself laughed at, sung in ballads, and 
 altogether made to cut a very ridiculous figure. The 
 authenticity of this anecdote has been questioned; but 
 there can be 'little, if any, doubt of its essential truth. . 
 The celebrated soldier was soon agaiu over head and 
 ears in love. This time the lady was Miss Anastasia 
 Eobinson, a siuger on the public stage. The Earl was 
 BO struck with her charms that he immediately sought 
 an introduction. This was refused; the noble lord's cha- 
 racter being but too well known, and the beautiful Anas- 
 tasia a young woman of virtue and high principle. She 
 lived at Chelsea with her father, who always escorted her 
 home. He was but a feeble man, who could only afPord 
 her moral protection. One night, at one of the most 
 solitary spots on the road to Chelsea, at that time really 
 a suburban village, their hack-coach was stopped by two 
 craped horsemen, and their purses demanded under pain 
 of immediate death. The lady was fainting with fear, 
 when the gallop of horses rapidly approaching was heard, 
 and the visoredruffiahs fled in apparent terror and dismay. 
 The horsemen rescuers were the Earl of Peterborough 
 and two of his servants; the pretended highwaymen also 
 were his servants. His lordship's introduction to Anas- 
 tasia Eobinson was thus eflfected under very favourable 
 circumstances; though one can hardly believe that so 
 shallow a device — the precedent circumstances consi- 
 dered — could have imposed upon a lady, of whose clear 
 insight of men and things the Earl thought so highly: 
 " She reads a love-swain," he wrote, in his usual affected 
 
THE EARL OF PETEEBOKOUGH. Ill 
 
 style — " she reads a love-swain as easily as she does a 
 love-song." 
 
 Deceived in the highwayman affair or not, the Earl 
 could only obtain Anastasia Eobinson by making her his 
 countess. They were married; but, to the Earl's dis- 
 honour, he insisted that the marriage should be kept 
 secret, and the Countess of Peterborough, whilst openly 
 living with her husband, continued to sing on the stage 
 as Anastasia Eobinson. This gave occasion for a strik- 
 ing dramatic incident. The lady happening to tread 
 upon the professional toes of one Signor Senesimo, that 
 individual taunted her with being the mistress of Lord 
 Peterborough. The insult was bitterly resented. The 
 Earl happened to be in the theatre — probably behind the 
 scenes — ^when informed by his wife of what had taken 
 place. Signor Senesimo had gone on again, and was 
 flourishing away iu a favourite bravura, when he was 
 suddenly assailed by Lord Peterborough, and most un- 
 mercifully caned; the audience, though ignorant of "the 
 reason why," greatly applauding such an unexpected 
 episode in the opera. They knew that the assailant was 
 Lord Peterborough, and that he was caning an Italian 
 foreigner. Sufficit. After this incident, the marriage of 
 the Earl to Anastasia Eobinson was acknowledged, and 
 the Countess retired from the stage. 
 
 The marriage was kept secret so long for no better 
 reason, it appears to me, than that Peterborough was 
 laying pretended siege to the heart of Mrs. Howard— 
 the mistress of George the Second, and by him created 
 Duchess of Suffolk. The Earl's fulsome love-;letters, 
 written, no doubt, for the purpose of obtaining, through 
 the favourite's influence, some employment in which he 
 could win additional honour or ^fanle, have been pub- 
 Kshed, as have also the lady's answers. The Duchess 
 fooled him to the top of his bent. Her vanity may have 
 been gratified; but the great soldier's honeyed phrases 
 did not beguile her into a belief of his sincerity. She 
 accepted his homage, but did not, for a moment, think 
 of rewarding it — and the ridiculous correspondence 
 
112 EOCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 ceased without the Earl profiting in the slightest degree 
 thereby. 
 
 The dreams of ambition faded away — the eccentric, 
 wayward, defeated life of the Earl of Peterborough was 
 drawing to its close, and he withdrew with his good and 
 faithfal wife to a residence on Bevis Mount, about a mile 
 distant from Southampton, and commanding a view of 
 some of the most charming scenery in the world. There 
 he for a time rallied in both mental and bodily health. 
 It was but the last flicker of a lamp of which the oil is 
 spent. Advised that a warmer climate might benefit 
 lum, he embarked for the Azores, and died during the 
 voyage out. The last object upon which his glazing eyes 
 were bent was his wife ; the last name which trembled 
 on his lip was hers — Anastasia ! 
 
SIR SAMUEL SMITH, 
 
 ATTORNBT-AT-LAW. 
 
 The first start in life, upon his own account, of this 
 English worthy and true gentleman — a life which ex- 
 ceeded by five years, within a few days, the orthodox 
 span of man's existence — was an unpromising one. It 
 lived but faintly in his own memory. He recollected, 
 dimly recollected, that he once lived in a pretty house, 
 was nicely dressed, and that having been put to bed as 
 usual, he upon awakening found himself ia a donkey- 
 cart, wrapped in rags. He must have been about five 
 years old, not perhaps quite so much, and beiug terribly 
 frightened, began to cry bitterly. This, a man and a 
 woman iu the cart, whom he had never seen before, put 
 an immediate stop to by cruel chastisement. They gave 
 him nothing to eat but bread, which his stomach re- 
 jected, for which daintiness of appetite he was again 
 severely beaten. Sleep, as darkness drew on and the 
 earlier stars glinted forth, relieved his misery, and when 
 he awoke, the donkey-cart was motionless and empty, 
 standing before a house in which loud revelry was going 
 on — a public-house, no doubt. The street was crowded 
 with people, and the poor little boy contrived to creep 
 out at the back of the cart, drop without much hurting 
 himself on the pavement, and ran off with the intention 
 of getting back home. He had been running some time, 
 becoming every moment more terrified, when, whilst 
 passing a street, a brewer's dray ran against him. He 
 was knocked down, and remembered nothing more till 
 he found himself in bed iu a strange place, sedulously 
 attended to, and, though in great pain, comforted by the 
 
 I 
 
114 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 kind looks of the people about him. His right leg had 
 been broken by contact with the dray, and he had been 
 carried to St. Bartholomew's Hospital, Smithfield. The 
 child's leg was set; his, blood was in a healthy state, and 
 he got rapidly well. When asked his name and where 
 he came from, he could give no further information than 
 that the gentleman's name was Smith, himself Sammy 
 Smith. This gentleman came to see him sometimes, and 
 was always cross. Once a lady came, who kissed him 
 and cried very much. This was not long before he was 
 kidnapped. There was but one servant kept in the 
 pretty house, an elderly woman, who was very kind, but 
 forbade him to ask any questions about any thing. He 
 could not tell the name of the county where the house 
 was situate, though he should be sure to know the place 
 again. Barbara would, he was sure, cry bitterly when 
 she found he had been stolen away. This was all. The 
 rags he had on when brought to the hospital afforded no 
 indication. The only course would be to send him t" 
 the poorhouse as soon as he was fit to be removed. 
 
 This would have been done had not a casual nurst 
 in the hospital, the wife of Edward Lovegrove, a journey- 
 man watchmaker, who lived in Hosier Lane, Snow Hill, 
 taken a fancy to the friendless boy, and having but one 
 child of her own, a girl named Fanny, about his own 
 age, decided, with her husband's consent, to adopt the 
 little fellow. Fanny and Sammy gi-cw up, together as 
 brother and sister, and received the same homely educa- 
 tion. Inquiries were set on foot by the hospital and 
 parish authorities, but without substantial result. One 
 man called in the dusk of evening and left fifty guineas 
 for Samuel Smith the foundling, tbgether with a note 
 expressing a wish that the said foundling should be 
 bound either to Lovegrove himself or some oth(;r trades- 
 man, to uiduce him honestly to earn his own bread by 
 the sweat of his brow. The donor left no name. Once, 
 in the dusk of evening, a lady clad in deep mourning, 
 the lady who kissed him and cried, met him on Snow 
 Hill. She seemed to have been waiting for liim. She 
 
SIE SAMUEL SMITH, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. 115 
 
 cauglit the boy up in her arms and almost smothered 
 him with kisses, sobbing passionately the while. The 
 gentleman " who was always cross" came up, and with , 
 angry words, " the meaning of which, except that they 
 were angry words, I did not understand, took the lady 
 away. A coach was waiting for them, into which they 
 got and drove off. The lady had left a big purse in 
 my hand. It contained fifty guineas. This was a god- 
 send to my benefactor Lovegrove. He was, I afterwards 
 knew from his own lips, much in debt (for him) at the 
 time, owing to a fall in Church Laiie, by which his right 
 wrist was strained, and he rendered incapable of work 
 for many months. This was a gi-and chance for me — 
 though I could then have had no notion of its import- 
 ance — ^to return the mighty obligation I was under to 
 my honoured benefactor a'nd benefactress." 
 
 Mr. Lovegrove thought to teach his adopted son the 
 trade of watchmaking, but the lad felt no vocation for 
 the business. For some years he had a mania for tend- 
 ing the sick in Bartholomew Hospital, whither he often 
 accompanied his foster-mother, as we may call Mrs. 
 Lovegrove. He had great tenderness for suffering, a 
 heart readily responsive to the sad music of humanity, 
 and became an immense favourite with both the pro- 
 fessors and patients in the hospital. 
 
 This whim of the boy mainly determined the course 
 of his life. Antony Firmin, an attorney in large prac- 
 tice, residing in Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane, whilst 
 passing beneath or near to a scaffolding in East Smith- 
 field, was knocked down and grievously injured by the 
 falling upon his shoulders of a hodful of bricks. A 
 labourer going up a ladder had missed his foothold, fell 
 himself, was killed on the spot (the man was drunk), 
 and the bricks falling in a compact shower upon Mr. 
 Antony Firmin's head and shoulders, prostrated ' that 
 gentleman with terrible violence — made him bite the 
 dust, in classic phraseology. An action for assault and 
 battery would clearly have lain against the hodman had 
 not' the grim Serjeant Death superseded it by his final 
 
116 ECCENTEIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 ca^sa. Mr. Firmiii was forthwith conveyed to St. Bar- 
 tholomew's Hospital. The case was a serious one; re- 
 moval to the sufferer's own house impossible. "For 
 seven weeks it was not certain that he would outlive the 
 day or night; Mr. Firmin was a bachelor; had no rela- 
 tives; none, at least, who cared for him, or for whom he 
 cared. Mrs. Lovegrove was his nurse; but his constant, 
 assiduous attendant was young Samuel Smith. The 
 lawyer, discerning the intelligence of the boy, and ap- 
 preciating his kiadly nature, took a great fancy to him. 
 The end so far was that Samuel Smith entered the ofB.ce 
 of Mr. Firmin as copying clerk; when older, and having 
 proved his integrity, the young man was articled, the 
 expenses being defrayed by his master, Mr. Firmin. 
 
 The vulpine, if eccentric intellect of Samuel Smith 
 had found its true vocation. Mr. Firmin had a good 
 criminal as well as civil practice. The former was chiefly 
 attended to by Smith, and his success in getting up cases 
 in defence of accused persons became notorious. He was 
 not a valuable ally in prosecutions — very far from it; 
 and more than once was known to have privately given 
 hints to counsel for prisoners, to help to convict whom 
 Mr. Firmin was fee'd, which led to their acquittal. 
 "When he had convinced himself, rightly or wrongly, 
 that a client was iniocent of the imputed crime, there 
 was no device to which he would not have recourse to 
 free him or her from the meshes of the blind, iron law. 
 
 The case of Phoebe Somers will be remembered by 
 those who are fond of groping amidst the dusty records 
 of the criminal courts. Phoebe Somers was accused of 
 attempting to poison her master, Edwin Cartwright, a 
 bookseller, established at 157 Holborn, and his family. 
 Phoebe was a very pretty girl about seventeen years of 
 age. Samuel Smith, then over twenty, fell in love with 
 her at the first interview in Newgate. She, standing 
 within the shadow of the scaffold, heard the young 
 lawyer's avowal of enthusiastic passion with astonish- 
 ment. She, too, an illiterate country maiden, "who 
 could scarcely read, and could not write, — she readily 
 
SIR SAMUEL SMITH, ATTORJTEY-AT-IiAW. 117 
 
 promised to become his wife, his "true, faithM wife," 
 if he should succeed in saving her from the dreadful 
 doom which apparently awaited her. 
 
 The circumstances were peculiar. I do not remem- 
 ber to have read of a more complex, involved business. 
 Phoebe Somers being, as I have before said, a girl of 
 singular beauty, found herself within a short time after 
 her arrival in London from High Bamet, her native 
 place, an object of attraction to her master, Edwin Cart- 
 wright, and to Joel Dunstane. Both were married men. 
 Dunstane, a master-baker in Gray's Inn Lane, served 
 the Cartwright family with bread. Oartwright and Dun- 
 stane had both married shrews — ^vixens. The criminal 
 overtures of both the rascals were rejected with disdain 
 by Phoebe Somers, who gave notice to leave, but without 
 informing her mistress of the reason why she did so. 
 Thereupon a plot was concocted by Cartwright and Dun- 
 stane to entrap the beautiful orphan into their power. 
 The Gentleman's Magazine says there were two single 
 plots and one double' plot. I do not understand tliis. 
 All which appears certain is, that Phoebe Somers was 
 accused of attempting to poison the Cartwright family. 
 The case in some particulars resembles that of Eliza 
 Fenning, whose judicial murder not so very many years 
 since so strongly moved the national conscience. The 
 Dean of Faculty, pleading at Glasgow for Madeleine 
 Smith, charged with having poisoned her lover, Lan- 
 gelier, made, it will be remembered, effective use of that 
 terrible catastrophe. 
 
 Phoebe Somers was, I repeat, accused of having at- 
 tempted to poison the Cartwright family. 
 
 These were the circumstances: — Phoebe Somers made 
 a cake, a rich cake, the occasion being the birthday of 
 Caroline Cartwright, a girl ten years of age, her father's 
 eldest child. All who partook of the cake were taken 
 ill, but not, as it proved,, dangerously. Phoebe Somers 
 did not eat any portion of the cake. There was nothing- 
 in that, as she was not allowed to eat pastry of any kind 
 by Mrs. Cartwright. Neither did Mr. Cartwright eat of 
 
118 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 the cake, "though he was known to be fond of sweet 
 stuff." The cake was eaten, every crumb consumed, and, 
 as before stated, the consumers were seized with violent 
 sickness, though of brief duration. A medical inquiry 
 was ordered, and the conclusion arrived at was that poi- 
 son — mineral poison — had been administered, and in the 
 cake. There does not appear to have been any scientific 
 chemical analysis of the contents of the stomach of either 
 sufferer ; but a conclusive proof that mineral poison had 
 been mixed up in the cake was held to be that the blades 
 of the knives with which the cake had been cut had 
 turned blue. This absurd conclusion was pronounced to 
 be decisive by no less than three learned physicians — 
 Doctors Forsyth, Leadbetter, and Jennings. 
 
 The dough of which the cake was made had been 
 delivered at the house by one Frederick Jenkins, a young 
 man in the employ of Dunstane. He had the same morn- 
 ing delivered other parcels of dough. They were all spe- 
 cially directed. A split flat, piece of stick with the name 
 of the customer written upon it was stuck into each lump 
 of dough. This was all he (Jenkins) knew about the 
 matter, so he said ; but 'cute Samuel Smith, who was iu 
 the police-court unnoticed, Mr. Firmin not having been 
 then retained, afterwards recalled to mind the deponent's 
 white face and his shaking speech whilst giving evidence. 
 
 Phoebe Somers was committed for trial on the capital 
 charge of attepapting to poison the Cartwright family. 
 There was no great hubbub about the business. News- 
 papers were few and guarded. It was very different from 
 now, when rumours, unsifted rumours, which practically 
 prejudge the accused, take the wings of morning and fly 
 to the uttermost corners of the earth. That gross injus- 
 tice is a modem institution. 
 
 I now give an almost literal transcript from Samuel 
 Smith's diary. The spelling is changed, and a consider- 
 able amount of surplusage made up of lover-rhapsodies 
 omitted. There is, however, quite enough retained. 
 
 " Chkistmas Day : I have aow seen Phoebe Somers 
 
SIB, SAMUEL SMITHj ATrOENEY-AT-LAW. 119 
 
 for the fourth time since we have been engaged by Mr. 
 Barstone of High Bamet for the defence. Pity is, they 
 say, akin to love. I think and am sure it is. I first 
 pitied the sweet girl, and now I adore her with an ex- 
 travagant fondness. We liaderstand each dther. The 
 deep, the unsuspected deep of a fount of tenderness in 
 my heart is broken up. The ecstasy of a new joy over- 
 whelms me. I know she was guiltless of offence — of the 
 shadow of crime. I did not require her to assure me of 
 that. I felt even annoyed that she should assure me of 
 her innocence. But I am not the world. I must act, 
 not dream. I shall struggle with fate till I come off 
 victor. To dally with danger is to be lost." 
 
 " Januaet 2kd : Dunstane has a servant lass of the 
 name of Nugent, Susan Nugent. I have met her several 
 times at private theatricals in Greek-street, Soho. She 
 goes out by the sly, and -is a clever, imscrupulous devil, 
 if I am any judge of character, A comely lass too. 
 Would like to be married to a theatrical husband, and 
 go on the stage. I once played Eomeo to her Juliet. 
 She is of a warm temperament, and, for such a girl, re- 
 presented the Veronese bride with fire and spirit. The 
 best of it is, that she only knows toe as Greville Arltng- 
 ford, my theatrical name, and believes me to be a young 
 man of quality who has run away from his fine home in 
 the country. I daresay that I, by hints and innuendoes, 
 suggested that belief. She must have thought me a little 
 crazed, too — ^not far wrong in that, perhaps. I always, 
 when attending these private theatricals, dressed in' fine 
 fantastic attire, and sported a spruce yoimg-beau costume 
 hired for the occasion. I was a favourite with her. I 
 have not the slightest doubt she would condescend to 
 marry me, did I solicit so great a favour. Something, I 
 thought, might come of this intimacy. My suspicions 
 point to Dunstane, the more steadily that he has through 
 this very Susan Nugent conveyed hints to Phoebe that 
 he and he only can save her from the scaffold, clear her 
 good name, and make manifest her innocence. This was 
 
120 ECCENTRIC PEHSONAGES. 
 
 very cautiously glanced forth — as one may say, conveyed 
 — ^previous to the final commitment, to the prisoner by 
 looks, nods, gestm'es, rather than by absolute words. 
 Yes, yes; Susan Nugent is in the black secret." 
 
 "This terrible business quite unhinges one. I feel 
 as if oppressed by nightmare. The woiM seems dark at 
 noon-day. The weather, to be sure, is gloomy, even for 
 this gloomy time of the year. I have seen Cartwright in 
 my proper capacity as Mr. Firmin's confidential clerk. 
 He is a thorough wretch, a villain of the deepest dye. 
 With a diabolic leer, for which I could have stabbed 
 him, he said it was possible he might be induced not to 
 press the prosecution. That would depend upon the 
 young girl herself. I endeavoured to make him speak 
 more explicitly. He is too wily a fox for that. What 
 is to be — what can be done ? 
 
 " I have met Susan Nugent by appointment in Hat- 
 ton Garden. She is certainly a very clever girl. Some- 
 how she seems to divine my thoughts. Her hawk-eye 
 pierces through one like a sword. She has inquired con- 
 cerning me of Mrs. Lovegrove, having by some means 
 discovered who and what I am — that I am Samuel Smith, 
 parentage unknown, possibly base, instead of Greville 
 Arlingford. She is not, however, the less friendly. She 
 seemt! to be governed by romantic crotchets. Fancies 
 that I shall turn oat to be a lord or lordling, and is 
 ardently desirous of sharing my fortunes, shadowy as 
 they may be." 
 
 "Nugent can save Phoebe Somcrs if she choose to do 
 BO ; I feel almost sure of that. It is a moral conviction 
 only ; but not the less firmly held. Frederick Jenkins, 
 the lout who delivered the dough, is as madly attached 
 to her as I am to Phoebe Somers. It is by liim I think 
 she would work out Phoebe's deliverance, if I would but 
 pay the price." 
 
 "A very fanciful price. Susan, I have said, has a 
 notion that I am a stray slip (at the worst) of some 
 grand family; and that some day I shall be converted 
 into a rich, pospefous gentleman; emerge suddenly 
 
SIR SAMUEL SMITH, ATTORNEY- AT-L AW. 121 
 
 from my grub -chrysalis state, and soar, like a richly- 
 gilded buttei-fly — she. Madam Butterfly, accompanying 
 — into the empyrean of fortune and fashion. Till that 
 blessed time shall arrive, which can hardly be anticipated 
 till the third volume of this improvised Minerva-press 
 romance of life approaches completion, we can pass life 
 charmingly away, having first been united in the holy 
 bonds of matrimony, as Mr. and Mrs. Grreville Arling- 
 ford, as first actor, first actress in ^ provincial strolling 
 company of players. JEt is very comical. I laugh ob- 
 streperously — miserable as I am in mind. Susan is, 
 however, perfectly serious ; and knowing the strength of 
 the ligature by which I am bound, has no doubt of being 
 able to noose me. Truly I should be a precious prize." 
 
 ' Samuel Smith waSj laugh as he might, securely noosed. 
 The day of trial for Phoebe Somers wore on. A true bill 
 for the capital crime of attempting to murder the Cart- 
 viright family was found, and the opinion of the counsel 
 consulted by the prisoner's solicitor unmistakably fore- 
 shadowed a verdict of "Guilty," with the regulation 
 "sus. per col." to follow within forty-eight hours. In 
 the good old hanging times, execution was done within 
 that number of hours from the delivery of the' judgment 
 to die. The maker of a bill of exchange or promissory 
 note had then as now three days' grace allowed, which 
 clearly shows that the wisdom of our ancestors accurately 
 appreciated the immense difference between the value of 
 men and money. 
 
 The Old Bailey sessions sometimes lasted three or 
 four weeks. The trial of Phcebe Somers would not come 
 on in less than nine or ten days from the finding of the 
 true bill. But what would avail that brief respite? 
 Smith was in despair. Mr. Firmin did not believe there 
 was the slightest chance of the deliverance of Phoebe 
 Somers from the frightfal doom of an intentional mur- 
 deress. Very likely there were links in the chain of cir- 
 cumstantial evidence which, irom the imperfect reporting 
 of those days, have dropped out of the narrative. This I 
 
122 ECCENTRIC PEKSONAGES. 
 
 cannot but think must have been the case, as upon the 
 face of the matter the evidence appears utterly insuffi- 
 cient, not only to warrant a conviction, but to justify the 
 commitment for trial. 
 
 There was but one way. Samuel Smith finally de- 
 termined to pursue that one way. He sent a scrawl by 
 a sure hand, requesting to see Susan Nugent at the Sa- 
 lutation Tavern, Newgate Street, without delay. The 
 girl came at once. The interview is given at great 
 length by Smith, but the substance can be compressed 
 into a small compass. It is a very queer story. Its truth 
 alone makes it interesting. 
 
 Susan Nugent declared with a positiveness which im- 
 posed upon Smith, that she could save Phoebe Somers, 
 but her price was marriage with Mm! Overwhelmed 
 with despair, and after an afflictive farewell with Phoebe 
 Somers, he again met Nugent, and agreed to be her hus- 
 band. The nuptial knot was to be tied on the morning 
 of the day lixed for the trial. The marriage was cele- 
 brated at St. Sepulchre's, the Reverend Mr. Onwhyn offi- 
 ciating, at half-past eight in the morning. At about 
 eleven the trial came on before Mr. Justice Groold, the 
 Recorder assisting. 
 
 The proceedings will be best understood, and the 
 story told, by a summary of the examination of the wit- 
 nesses. 
 
 Cartwright called. Said he had partaken of a cake 
 made by the prisoner. He was very ill afterwards. His 
 wife and children, who had eaten of the cake, were also 
 seized with violent pain in the stomach — ^retching. Had 
 been informed that the cake contained arsenic. 
 
 Cross-examined by Mr. Serjeant Bowles: He was not 
 aware that the prisoner could have any motive for poison- 
 ing himself and family. Had he (the witness) ever soli- 
 cited the prisoner in an improper way? Witness did not 
 understand what was meant by the question. Serjeant 
 Bowles: " Oh, no one can understand the question more 
 clearly than you do, Mr. Cartwright." Here Mr. Justice 
 (ioold remarked that counsel must not make speeches 
 
SIB SAMUEL SlIITH, ATTORNET-AT-LAW. 123 
 
 under cover of cross-examination. " My lord, I made a 
 remark, not a speech, or the fragment of a speech," re- 
 turned Serjeant Bowles. " Well, well," said the Justice, 
 "go on." Serjeant Bowles to witnesss: "Did you ever 
 solicit the prisoner in an ipiproper manner?" "No." 
 " Have a care, sir. Have you not done so Indirectly?" 
 "No." "You have spoken with Samuel Smith, Mr. 
 Firmin's clerk?" "Yes." "Did you say it depended 
 upon the prisoner herself whether or not you would pro- 
 secute?" " I do not remember." "You do not remem- 
 ber? That will do." Mr. Justice Goold thereupon re- 
 marked that he did not see what essential bearing the 
 questions of Mr. Serjeant hr.d upon the case. Mr. Ser- 
 jeant retorted warmly. There was a sort of scene, which, 
 however, does not appear to have lasted long. The trial 
 proceeded. Dunstane was called. He looked pale and 
 trembled very much. He said that the dough he had 
 sent to Gartwright's was the same he sent to all other 
 customers. He would swear to that. Being asked and 
 much pressed by Mr. Serjeant Bowles as to whether he 
 had not given a powder to his man, Frederick Jenkins, 
 to be mixed with the lump of dough to be delivered at 
 Mr. Gartwright's, Dunstane fainted, and was carried out 
 of court. The medical testimony was given, and though 
 it was much shaken by the learned Serjeant's cross-ques- 
 tioning, it evidently made a strong impression upon the 
 jury. The case for the Crown was closed, and no one in 
 the court doubted that the prisoner would be convicted. 
 Mr. Justice ttoold asked Serjeant Bowles what possible 
 answer he could malce to such a case. " My lord," said 
 the Serjeant, " were I allowed to speak I could make a 
 sufficient answer, humble as may be my abilities, to the 
 case for the prosecution, without calling one witness for 
 
 the defence, and " Mr. Justice Goold (interrupting) 
 
 said, " I will have no speeches, Mr. Serjeant, in de^ince 
 of felons." Serjeant Bowles: "That is a remark which 
 your lordship ought not to have made." Mr. Justice 
 Goold: "How? What is that? Do you presume to 
 correct me ?" " I presume," said the Serjeant, " to do 
 
124 ECCENTSIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 my duty to the unhappy girl whose case is intrusted to me. 
 My client is not a felon; and no man, though he be seated 
 on the bench, has a right before conviction to call her so." 
 Here there was applause in court, several of the jury join- 
 ing therein. Mr. Justice Goold rebuked them, and said he 
 made use of the term " felon" not as specially applicable 
 to the prisoner, but in the sense that counsel were not 
 allowed to address the court and jury on behalf of per- 
 sons accused of felony. After some further talk the 
 learned Serjeant called Susan Nugent. She was sworn 
 by that name, though she had been married to Smith 
 three hours previously. The young woman deposed that 
 she knew her master, Mr. Joel Dunstane, had a liking 
 for the prisoner, PhcBbe Somers; knew it from various 
 circumstances; also knew that he had sent to her to say 
 that "if she would promise to be kind" no evidence 
 worth a straw would be brou:ght against her; she herself 
 had taken the message. Frederick Jenkins could, how- 
 ever, tell all about it, He was Mr. Dunstane's man. 
 Cross -examiued by Counsellor Sherlock: "Frederick 
 Jenkins was a sweetheart of hers?" "Yes." "Would 
 do or say or swear any thing if he thought it would 
 please her?" " Did not know about that. Thought not." 
 "You are going to be married to him?" "I don't see, 
 Mr. Counsellor, why you should catechise me about that; 
 suppose I am, and suppose I ain't, what then?" "You 
 are a smart damsel." " Many better-looking men than 
 you have told me that." (A laugh.) Counsellor Sher- 
 lock had no more to say to the bright-eyed, sharp-tongued 
 damsel. 
 
 Frederick Jenkins, called by Mr. Serjeant Bowles. 
 Said he was in the employ of Joel Dunstane. Eemem- 
 bered taking a " lump of dough" to Mr. Cartwright's. 
 His master and Cartwright were very intimate — ^very — 
 often talked , -together. One morning Mr. Dunstane 
 called him into his private room. He said, " Fred, you 
 want to marry Susan, and she won't have you?" " WcU, 
 perhaps not." " I know," says he, " she won't unless 
 you can get a little money to set her up in some littlfi 
 
SIK 5iMUBL SMITH, ATTOESrET-AT-LATT. 125 
 
 way of business." " I said that was true." " Now,'' 
 says he, " can you be trusted?" " Yes," says I, " when 
 it's worth my while." "Ah," says he; "yes, and I'll 
 make it worth your while. Now," says he, "look here 
 
 " Mr. Justice Groold, again interruptbig, said, " Be 
 
 careful, young man; be careM. I don't like your man- 
 ner, I promise you. It is too glib. Be careful; speak 
 the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, — 
 this you have been sworn to do; and remember that you 
 have sworn to tell all the truth, and the truth only." The 
 young man said he knew that very well. He declared 
 that he saw his master mix something with the lump ot 
 dough which was sent to Mr. Cartwright. It was a 
 white powder shaken out of a blue paper — a little bag. 
 " He did not know that I saw what he was doing. He 
 afterwards told me to be sure "that I delivered the right 
 lump of dough to Phoebe Somers, Mr. Cartwright's ser- 
 vant, as it was made of very fine flour and mixed with 
 milk instead of water." Witness promised to do so — to 
 be very particular. Did not think much of the matter 
 at the time. Knew master had said to the prisoner's 
 Mend from Bamet — did not remember his name — ^that 
 all would be right if she would promise not to be a fool. 
 Upon cross-examination, the witness said he had not 
 mentioned the circumstance of having seen his master 
 mix powder ia the dough till he heard of the ilkiess 
 which had overtaken the Cartwright family; and then, 
 perhaps two or three days afterwards, to Susan Nugent. 
 Susan Nugent did not advise him to go before the ma- 
 gistrate and state what he knew. She said he had better 
 keep quiet. She had persuaded him to come and " speak 
 up" at the trial. That was the reason he had come. 
 " Were he and Susan Nugent' sweethearts?" " Well, yes." 
 "Anything more than sweethearts?" Witness boggled 
 and blinked, and said he didn't quite know. (A great 
 laugh.) "Were he and Susan going to be married?" 
 " That's just as It may be." " No doubt as it may be, 
 but when will it be?" Witness could not say, and wouldn't 
 if he could. " It is no business of Mr. Counsellor." 
 
126 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 "Will it be next week?" "Mayhap yes, mayhap no." 
 " Susan Nugent is a particular friend of one Smith, Mr. 
 Firmin's clerk, he that is employed to defend the pri- 
 soner?" " Smith is a sweetheart of the prisoner. lie 
 had told him so, and said Susan is a cousin of his, and 
 had known each other from childhood. She (Susan) 
 wished her well, and said that she could get her out of' 
 her trouble. Knew nothing about the white powder; it 
 might be sugar of lead, anything in creation, as far as he 
 knew. Did not want to know either. It was no con- 
 cern of his. What should the counsellor badger him 
 60 for?" 
 
 It is needless to dwell further upon the report — the 
 halting, imperfect report of the trial. The result was 
 the acquittal of Phoebe Somers, the jury, however, having 
 taken more than six hours to consider their verdict. Had 
 the Scotch-jury system prevailed, "Not proven" would 
 no doubt have been the verdict. The jurors would seem 
 to have been neither satisfied that the prisoner was guilty 
 or innocent; and it is possible that the charge of Mr. 
 Justice Goold, which was dead against the prisoner, by 
 exciting a feeling of antagonisrii in the minds of the jury, 
 may have helped to the liberating verdict. At all events, 
 the testimony of Nugent and Jenkins had cast so much 
 doubt upon the prisoner's criminality, that the jurors 
 gave her the benefit of that doubt. 
 
 So far Samuel Smith's conduct, judged by ordinary 
 rules, is intelligible enough. It is true that few young 
 men would havcvmarried one girl whom he did not love 
 for the chance of saving the life of another girl to whom, 
 though he madly loved her, he must thenceforth be as a 
 stranger — brother we will say. Still, in the exaltation of 
 a fervid, romantic passion, such a piece of folly, shall v.-e 
 call it? may be understood. But how are we to compre- 
 hend Samuel Smith's motives for bolting away from 
 London on the morrow of his beloved's acquittal, merely 
 leaving a brief note for Mr. Firmin, which duly stated 
 that the writer was disgusted with the law and London, 
 and should not again appear at the office. Dr. Southey 
 
era SAMUEL SMITH, ATTORNEY-^ T- LAW. 1Z7 
 
 has hazarded an opinion — which, howeyer, the sequel of 
 the story does not, as I think, bear out — that the evi- 
 dence given on the trial — imperfectly, tamely, as I have 
 said, reported — convinced Smith that Phoebe Somers was 
 really guilty. In the distraction of mind induced by 
 that belief he resolved to leave his familiar haunts for 
 ever, to seek in new scenes cblivion of the past and peace 
 for the future. Whether he took formal leave of Mrs. 
 Lovegrove and her husband is not stated; I should sup- 
 ,pose he did, for he was warmly attached to them. He 
 may not have said upon what mad errand he was bound 
 or with whom he was about to journey. 
 
 It is pretty clear that he left London abojit a week 
 after the acquittal of Phoebe Somers, vrithout seeing the 
 damsel of his affections, and in company with his bride. 
 They departed upon a strolling expedition, and obtained 
 an engagement at Rochester, Kent. The acting was 
 done in a barn, or large outhouse. The salaries were not 
 very magnificent, we may be sure, and not so regularly 
 paid as dividends on Consols. The pair managed to live, 
 exist, vegetate, during three years and upwards, at about 
 the end of which period Samuel Smith appeared as clown 
 in Eichardson's booth in Bartholomew Pair. 
 
 He was then the father of two children, who were 
 taken ■ care of by Mrs. Lovegrove, whose lovingkindness 
 for her enfant trouve was constant and unabated. The 
 wife, towards whom Samuel Smith appears to have com- 
 ported himself with unvarying kindness, finding from 
 doleful experience that she had no real imying talent for 
 the boards, had taken service with a family of the name 
 of Sawkins in Cheapside. 
 
 Mrs. Lovegrove — her husband was dead — grieved i to 
 the heart to see her adopted son figuring as clown at 
 Bartholomew shows — his clown name, by the way, was 
 Eayner — took upon herself to see Mr. Firmin, the at- 
 torney. She found wifeless, childless Mr. Firmin in a 
 state of rapidly-declining health. He had made inqui- 
 ries after Smith without success, and was much grieved 
 and disquieted about him. He at once penned a letter. 
 
128 ECCENTRIC PEKSOJfiGES. 
 
 which he gave Mrs. Lovegrove to be delivered to Smith, 
 without delay. Every thing was to be forgiven and for- 
 gotten. Samuel Smith was tequested and implored to 
 return to the office; a liberal salary would be secured to 
 him, and a home provided for his wife and children. 
 Smith, thoroughly tirgd of his Bohemian existence, ac- 
 cepted the offer, resumed his former employment, coha- 
 bited again with his wife, had his children home, and 
 lived happily with them. Mr. Firmin died and left the 
 business and a large sum of inoney to Samuel Smith — 
 all he possessed, with the exception of some trifling lega- 
 cies. Samuel Smith, attorney-^t-law, was a moderately 
 rich man, with the prospect of becoming much richer. 
 
 Sad misfortunes, which we are truly told come not 
 single spies, but in battalions, befel him. His wife — a 
 good, loving wife — sickened of fever and - died. Mrr 
 Lovegrove caught the infection, and soon followed Mrw. 
 Smith to her long home. Then the children in quick 
 succession were carried to their graves. Samuel Smith 
 was a lonely, melancholy man. 
 
 He had not heard of Phoebe Somers since he left 
 London, a few days after her acquittal; had made, as I 
 take, it, no inquiry after her — at any rate, only occult 
 inquiries, which led to nothing. But it may be pre- 
 sumed she had never been absent from his thoughts. 
 
 Mr. Firmin had left many bundles of papers, which 
 Smith examined at his leisure. They chiefly related to 
 bygone, concluded transactions, which' possessed no in- 
 terest, and were burnt as soon as read. One evening, 
 while so engaged, he lit upon a note, much less disco- 
 loured by age than the others, which gave him a real 
 heartquake. It was iu the handwriting of Phoebe Somers 
 — a sorry scrawl which he knew well. It was a request 
 for money assistance. Mr. Firmin had relieved her be- 
 fore, but she had been unable to obtain a situation, the 
 verdict of acquittal not having effaced the stain of guilt 
 which public opiaion had branded her with; and this 
 was a humble, very humble, request for further aid. It 
 was also asked if any tidings had been heard of Samuel 
 
SIR SAMUEL SMITH, ATTOKNET-AT-LAW. '129 
 
 Smith. There was no address; if there had been one, it 
 must have been torn off. A mem. in Mr. Firmin's hand 
 was subjoined to the letter: " I shall send the poor crea- 
 ture two guineas. Shfe will soon, I tear, bo on the town. 
 Poor thing ! — poor thing ! But I am afraid she was 
 guilty, and so must S. have thought, or why did he run 
 away?" 
 
 This fragment of a paper was too much for Mr. Samuel 
 Smith. He had recourse to all sorts Of agencies — had 
 bills posted, one of which is to be found in the British 
 Museum, describing her, with; I should suppose, much 
 flattery. It was all in vain; he did not hear of her, nor 
 the faintest inkling of her whereabout. She was dead, 
 probably; had passed from crowded life, unmarked, un- 
 cajed for. 
 
 I shall not add another line of my own. Sir Samuel 
 Smith must himself conclude this, I fear, tedious and 
 assm'edly not very lucid narrative. 
 
 "The business grew apace: I made money rapidly. . 
 'But glitter of gold is not sunshine of the soul. Odd, 
 too; but I was a very odd fellow, every body said. Odd, 
 too, that I gained much of my money by that very odd- 
 ness. That peculiarity took this shape, at least this was 
 one of its shapes. I used to hunt about the purlieus of 
 the two big theatres, about Eanelagh, peep under gay 
 ladies' bonnets in the hope of discovering her beneath, 
 at whose glance the latent fire in my heart had leapt to 
 flame. This behaviour of mine excited curiosity — caused 
 amusement. ' He, that youngish-looking man in green 
 spectacles (coloured spectacles were a new, a compara- 
 tively new invention) — that youngish-looking man, but he 
 is no chicken,' I have heard people say, ' is Mr. Samuel 
 Smith, Attorney-at-Law. He, don't you remember? who 
 conducted the great suit of Tredgold versus Cummins, 
 and was complimented in open court by the Chief Jus- 
 tice.' ' Ah, I know: a queer card, ain't he? Something 
 wrong in the upper works? Something about a woman?' 
 ' Very likely, but I don't know.' That is about a fair 
 
 K 
 
130 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 Bample of the remarks upon my singular self I used to 
 hear. 
 
 " But I could not find Phoebe Somers. Though I was 
 most anxious about that girl — I could not help think- 
 ing of her as a girl, though at the time I am now writ- 
 ing she could not have been much less than forty. I 
 come to the crisis of my life. Any one, any unfortu- 
 nate who had a grievance or a supposed grievance that 
 might be redressed, came to me. I obtained great praise, 
 as aU the world knows, for undertaking the suit of Charl- 
 ton versus Charlton, the defendant one of the richest 
 men in Suffolk. He married privately, but by regularly 
 published bans, Mary Shepherd, a pretty, nice girl, 
 under the name of Kogers. He thought to evade the 
 obligation of marriage by that shallow device. I showed 
 him the contrary — no great merit on my part. No man 
 can avail himself of his own wrong. But I am babbling 
 — a bad habit, though it is only upon paper. The only 
 thing was that I had conducted the suit at my own cost, 
 and risk — very unprofessional, no doubt of that. 
 
 " I was sitting in my private-room one afternoon, 
 chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fanciSs — the former 
 very faint, scarcely discernible — when a clerk announced 
 Miss Danby. I bade him show the lady in. 
 
 " Miss Danby was young, very young — ^not more than 
 eighteen. I judged that at the time, and knew so after- 
 wards. She was dressed in half-mourning, and wore a 
 thick black veil. I invited her to be seated, and pre- 
 sently she lifted her veil. Heavens! how startled I was! 
 The lady was Phoebe Somers, young, fresh, radianb as 
 when I first saw her. To be sure the radiance was some- 
 what eclipsed by the atmosphere of Newgate, but its star- 
 lit purity pierced through. 
 
 '"Miss Somers!' I exclaimed impulsively. ' No, sir; 
 my mother's maiden name was Somers. I come from 
 her to you.' I sank — ^feU-back into a chair, overwhelmed 
 with a rush of emotion. Her mother! The train of ideas 
 set in motion by that word swept through my brain like 
 lurid lightning; ajid, ridiculous fool that I was, I burst 
 
SIB SAMUEL SMITH, ATTORNEY- AT-LAW. 131 
 
 into a passion of tears. That ever a middle-aged man 
 and lawyer conld be sucli a spoony, beggars belief-^fact, 
 neTertheless. 
 
 " I at first listened to Ellen Danby's story like one 
 in a dream. I heard what she said, but did not catch, 
 realise the sense, the meaning. My thoughts were far 
 away. I was living again in the old time. Rousing my- 
 self, I apologised for my inattention, and asked her to 
 begin again. 
 
 " ' My mother, Mrs. Danby, I was saying, sir, is very 
 ill, cannot leave her bed. My father is also indisposed. 
 You appear to be suffering, sir. Shall I go away, and 
 return after a while?' 
 
 '"No, no,' I said, 'go on; a sudden spasm, nothing 
 more.' 
 
 " ' My mother only knew where to find you a few 
 weeks ago, and then by the merest accident. (The busi- 
 ness had continued to be carried on as Firmin and Co.) 
 You once rendered her the greatest service, she says, that 
 one person can render to another, and in addition she 
 owes entirely to you the splendid position she has occu- 
 pied for twenty years, and from which, if you cannot 
 help us, she will be cast down. My mother thought to 
 have written and sent you a full statement of the trouble 
 she is in, but afterthought suggested, to her that I had 
 better call and have a personal interview with you.' (I 
 understood that quite well. Phoebe Somers knew the 
 effect which the apparition of her second-self would have 
 upon me.) 
 
 " ' Go on. Miss Danby, go on. But iirst tell me what 
 you meant by saying that Mrs. Danby owes to me the 
 splendid position she has occupied during the last twenty 
 years.' 
 
 - " ' The explanation is very simple, sir. A lady who, 
 as I understand, took great interest in you when you 
 were a child, having seen reports in newspapers — news- 
 papers which mentioned your name in connection witli 
 the infamous accusation brought against my mother — 
 endeavoured to find you out. She was then a widow — ' 
 
132 ECCENTEIC PEESOIfAGES. 
 
 " ' Her name ?' 
 
 "'Mprdaunt; Mrs. Mordaunt of Beach Hall, Essex. 
 Not being able to obtain news of you here, sir — ^you had 
 gone away, as I understand, no one knew whither — Mrs. 
 Mordaunt sought and found my mother. The result was 
 that Mrs. Mordaunt engaged her as companion. The 
 time passed; no one heard of you. Archibald Danby, 
 Mrs. Mordaunt's nephew, fell in love with my mother. 
 They were married with Mrs. Mordaunt's full consent. 
 They hare lived happily together. We are nine children, 
 sir. Mne: mother has not lost one. Do I paiu you, 
 sir?' 
 
 " ' No, no ; go on. Why do you come to me ?' 
 
 '"Mrs. Mordaunt, sir, died about a twelvemonth 
 SLQce, leaving all the property to my mother. An elder 
 nephew of hers — elder to my father — has now stepped in, 
 and claims every thing as heir-at-law. It appears that 
 by ante-nuptial settlement,' contiuued Ellen Danby, read- 
 ing from a memorandum in her hand, — ' it appears that 
 by ante-nuptial settlement between Julia Eoyston and 
 Philip Mordaunt, it was agreed that only in case of their 
 dying without issue could the survivor dispose by wiU of 
 the property.' 
 
 "'Well, yes; I understand. Go on again, I say.' 
 
 '"My mother, su-, believes that you are the true, 
 direct heir — that the property is yours.' 
 
 " ' What do you say ? Your mother believes that I 
 am the direct heir of a Mr. Mordaunt ? What mockery 
 is this ?' 
 
 " ' It will, I hope, be found to be no mockery, sir. 
 But you had better, sir, read this paper — drawn out by 
 my mother — yourself.' 
 
 " I read it, and, ridiculous dohkey that I was, should 
 have passionately kissed the writing — ^well known to me 
 — but for the young girl's presence. The substance may 
 be briefly stated: Mrs. Mordaunt's marriage had been a 
 clandestine one, contracted in defiance of the well-known 
 will of PhiUp Mordaunt's father. The consequence was 
 that I, the offspring of the union, was brought up iu 
 
SIR SAMUEL SMITH, ATTOENET-AT-LAW. 133 
 
 concealment, and called by tlie name of Smith. There 
 were documents, it was said, which would prove that I 
 was the legitimate heir. Mrs. Danby, having by accident 
 heard that I was alive, and where I was, had deterniined 
 upon appealing to me. She preferred being in my hands 
 rather than in those of Sir Gervoise Mordaunt, the grasp- 
 ing nephew who was the eager claimant for the estates. 
 
 "After the affair was, legally speaking, finally dis- 
 posed of — ^my legitimacy and heirship proved — I, for the 
 first time, ventm'ed upon a visit to Beach Hall. Phoebe 
 Somers (Mrs. Danby) was but slightly changed. What 
 the Ainericans describe as an Indian summer — a summer 
 of the soul — shed its light, its mellow light, over her well- 
 remembered countenance. The children were channiug 
 children, the husband a mild-mannered man. All were 
 depending upon my fiat. Never shal\ I forget the thrill 
 of ecstasy which flashed through me as, rising to depart, 
 I presented Mrs. Danby with a Deed of Gift, conferring 
 upon her the whole of the property, real and personal, to 
 which I had been proved to be the heir ! Never I 
 
 " After all, though people have called lae madman, 
 eccentric dotard, and all sorts of pleasant names for so 
 acting, I made no very wonderful sacrifice. What did I 
 want with the three or four thousand a-year derived from 
 the Mordaunt estate ? My business is a lucrative one — 
 very lucrative. I am rich. Ellen Danby's mamage-por- 
 tion was a handsome one. I danced at her wedding. 
 Shall I hope 'to do so at the wedding of her brothers and 
 sisters ? Danby and I are cronies, and it is agreed that 
 when I leave off business I shall take up my abode at 
 Beach Hall." 
 
 Mr. Samuel Smith was knighted in reward of his 
 successful exertions in the case of Throgmorton versus 
 the Earl of Bute. 
 
AMAZON SNELL. 
 
 There is no denying that the glare and glitter, the pomp, 
 pride, circumstance of war, have a strong fascination for 
 the great mass of mankind; ay, and not only of men, but 
 of women. There are thousands of undeveloped Jeannes 
 d'Arc, Maids of Saragossa, in the world. It is useless to 
 indite homilies in rebuke of this propensity, ^o sylvan 
 pipe can stir the blood, or quicken the pulse, as does a 
 trumpet. If the teachings of the New Testament have 
 failed to bring about effective abhorrence of war, the 
 Society of Friends, now the fast- diminishing disciples of 
 a fallen faith, may well despair of the task. Amazon 
 Snell was one of such bellicose girls, but has not, like 
 the French and Spanish' heroines, been so fortunate as to 
 have her exploits celebrated by a Lamartine and Byron 
 in magniloquent prose and verse. Amazon Snell's eccen- 
 tric heroism will have a far humbler chronicler, though 
 her courage was as great, her patriotism as ardent, as 
 those of the maids of Orleans and Saragossa. 
 
 Amazon Snell by popular, Hannah by cliurch baptism, 
 was bom in Fryer Street, Worcester, in 1723. Her father 
 was a hosier and dyer, and she was one of a family of 
 nine children, three sons and sis daughters, all of whom, 
 with one exception, became soldiers or sailors, or the 
 better-halves of soldiers and sailors. The sensible ex- 
 cejotion, Mary Snell, married one James Gray, a house- 
 carpenter, who finally settled in Ship Street, Wapping, 
 London. 
 
 They were a very martial family; enthusiastic parti- 
 sans of the Protestant succession, and inveterate haters 
 of the expelled Stuart dynasty. Samuel Snell was the 
 
AMAZON SNELL. 135 
 
 first to enlist, and got his qwietus at the battle of Cullo- 
 den. It was a stirring time. The " Pretender" was as 
 great a bugbear to the simple English folk of that day 
 as Bonaparte was some sixty years agone. Mrs. Snell 
 was a good ballad-singer; had a fine, if not highly culti- 
 vated voice, and mainly educated her children by warlike 
 songs, fiannah had also a fine organ, but cared little 
 for music except that of the fife and drum. The young 
 girl actually organised a company of boy-soldiers, nomi- 
 nated herself captain, and used to parade the city of 
 Worcester at their head. It was thus she earned the 
 sobriquet of Amazon Snell. ^ She was a good-looking 
 damsel, and captivated the affection of one of her youth- 
 soldiers — the son of a principal goldsmith established in 
 Worcester — to such a degree that his father's suspicioh 
 of the danger to which his only son was exposed being 
 aroused, he insisted upon the discontinuance of the ama- 
 teur soldiering, and the acquaintance of the too attractive 
 Amazon. , The poor youth fell ill, and so seriously that 
 the alarmed father sent for Mrs. Snell, waived his oppo- 
 sition to the match, and took his son into partnership as 
 soon as he attained his twenty-first year. It wanted but 
 about seven months tUl then. The doctor had said it 
 would have a beneficial effect upon his patient if Hannah 
 would see him. Mrs. Snell was in ecstasies. Such a 
 match could not have been hoped for. Her husband wias 
 equally delighted. The fortune of the family was made, 
 Mr. Sawyer being reputedly worth twenty thousand 
 •pounds at the very least, and ailiag — ageing too, very 
 fast. He was a widower, and had no other child. It was 
 thought he would, being senior alderman, be elected to 
 the dignity of mayor in the following year. An immense 
 lift in life this for the Snell family. Well, yes, it looked' 
 60; but the same agency which " gave the infant world a 
 shog," and furnished a theme for the Paradise Lost, up- 
 set also this woman's promising project. Amazon Snell 
 — Snell is a disagreeable name for a heroine; but it can- 
 not be helped — Amazon Snell consented to visit her rich 
 lover — she did so. The cordial proved effective, real 
 
136 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 elixir-vitee, and Sawyer junior was soon convalescent. 
 Not for long. The enamoured swain had not compre- 
 hended — certainly had not fully appreciated — the force 
 of eccentricity which prompted a young woman to form 
 a company of juvenile soldiers, and march at their head 
 — drums beating, flags flying — through the streets of 
 Worcester. He no doubt looked upon it as a passing, 
 romantic whim — something to make merry about during 
 their blissful honeymoon. He was dreaming in a fool's 
 paradise, as so many of us have done in the morning of 
 life, "when the blandishments of passion," to quote John- 
 sonian pomposity, " take the reason prisoner." Amazon 
 Snell, as soon as he was quite recovered, suddenly checked 
 his rapturous aspirations by the announcement that she 
 would never be married except to a soldier. The insi- 
 pidity of trade- life disgusted her. Could he prevail upon 
 his father to obtain him a commission in a horse or foot 
 regiment ? If he could, she would be his wife, follow 
 him faithfully to the wars; if not she would remain single. 
 Sawyer jimior, who had not the slightest vocation for 
 soldier-life, decidedly demurred to such a proposition. 
 The world, with all its substantial comforts and elegan- 
 cies, would be theirs. Why on earth, therefore, should 
 he dress himself up in a red coat for the express purpose 
 of being shot at ? The Amazon expressed her profound 
 disdain of such unheroic reasoning. He, Charles Sawyer, 
 was, it was quite evident, "of the earth — earthy," and no 
 fit mate for her. The amazed lover appealed to the dam- 
 sel's parents. They were quite as indignant as he, and 
 angrily remonstrated with then* daughter upon her foUy. 
 But the warrior-soul of the Amazon was no more to be 
 subdued by parental threats than mollified by a lover's 
 tears. Feeling that coercive measures might be had re- 
 course to; the damsel set off, without beat of drum, for 
 London, and took refuge with her sister, Mrs. James 
 Gray. This was in 1741, when she had consequently 
 reached her eighteenth year. The wilful girl was not re- 
 claimed by father or mother, and the forsaken lover con- 
 soled himself, before many months had passed, with a 
 
AMAZON SNBLL. 137 
 
 ( 
 
 wife of less combative proclivity. A good exchange, in 
 a marital sense I mean, vfitli all respect for the Amazon's 
 heroic qualities. 
 
 While staying with her sister, Hannah made the 
 acquaintance of one Jan Summs, a Dutch mariner, be- 
 longing, as she believed, to the Dutch Military Marine. 
 This was an infamous deception. Jan Summs, so-called, 
 'was really Jan Spyfc, who had run away from his home 
 and entered as a common sailor on board the Jung Frau, 
 a ship haiUng from Rotterdam. Happening to make 
 Hannah's acquaintance at Wapping, and struck vrith her 
 comeliness, he and she, mutually deceptive, it is asserted 
 (though how the bride, residing at a ship-carpenter's in 
 Wapping, could have assumed to be ' any thing better, in 
 a worldly sense, than she was, is difiScult to understand), 
 were married on the 16th of January- 1742. After a few 
 weeks' cohabitation, Jan Spyk disappeared, and was 
 never seen by his wife again. 
 
 The Amazon in due time gave birth to a child, which 
 opened its eyes upon another world, after having un- 
 closed them upon this a few hours only. Deserted by her 
 husband, for whom she appears to have felt a real affec- 
 tion, and impatient of her actual position, Amazon Spyk 
 borrowed a suit of James Gray's clothes, had them altered 
 to fit her own person, walked off without acquainting any 
 one with her purpose or destination, and found her way, 
 after enduring much hardship, to Coventry. General 
 Guise's regiment was stationed therfe. The Amazon 
 enlisted in Captain Miller's company, in the name of her 
 brother-in-law, James Gray. The new recruit was oft at 
 drUl, and got through her duties creditably, but came to 
 great grief through an act which reflected honour upon 
 her. One of the Serjeants of her company, named Davis, 
 had a design upon some poor and pretty girl in Coventry, 
 whom he purposed to seduce under promise of marriage. 
 The Amazon knew he was married already, and privately 
 informed the girl that he was, requesting, however, that 
 the name of the informant should not be disclosed. This 
 condition was not adhered to. Serjeant Davis discovered 
 
138 ECCENTlilC PEESONAGES. 
 
 who it was that had " betrayed his confidence," and re- 
 solved upon taking a signal reyenge. It was easy in 
 those days of martinet militaryism to inflict almost any 
 amount of punishment upon a " common soldier," at the 
 suggestion of an of&cer, whether commissioned or non- 
 commissioned. It was thought essential to the discipline 
 of the service that a charge preferred by an officer against 
 one or more of the men should, without more than a 
 formal inquiry, be visited with condign punishment. 
 Serjeant Davis accused James Gray of insubordination, 
 neglect of duty, &c., and the unfortunate aspirant for 
 the honours of war was sentenced to receive one hundred 
 lashes. This sentence was rigorously recorded upon the 
 Amazon's back. This first instalment of "glory" was 
 very distasteful to the valorous woman. But for shame, 
 she would have returned to Worcester, or, at all events, 
 to her sister, Mrs. Gray. Reflecting, however, that the 
 glorious profession of arms could not possibly number in 
 its ranks many Serjeants Davis or Captains Miller, she 
 would seek service in some other corps. The Amazon 
 accordingly stole off and trudged on to Portsmouth on 
 foot. 
 
 There was a great danger to be encountered. The 
 deserter would be actively pursued, and if retaken, death, 
 or worse punishment, would certainly be her fate. " If, 
 peradventure, my sex did not save me ; I had dependence 
 upon that, remembering the case of Charlotte Watkins. 
 That gave me courage." 
 
 The day was already high when the Amazon, about 
 five miles out of Coventry, saw a number of pea-pickers 
 at work. She had gone across fields, and the locality 
 was a solitary one. The pea-pickers, that morning, it 
 JDeing the month of June and very hot, had divested 
 themselves of their outer clothing, which they had de- 
 posited under a hedge. Mrs. Jan Styk took the liberty 
 of exchanging her soldier-coat for one of the rustics', and 
 so disguised went on her way rejoicing. She arrived 
 safely at Portsmouth, enlisted as a marine, and was la 
 a few days drafted on board the Swallow, sloop-of-war. 
 
(iMAZON SlfELL. 130 
 
 There she might have been comfortable enough, had not 
 the sister of a marine, Eeuben Cheeres, who came fre- 
 quently on board to see the brother, taken a violent fancy 
 to her. So violent a fancy, that when George Henshaw 
 — the Amazon's new alias — she had an uncle of that 
 name — repulsed her advances with perhaps inconsiderate 
 rudeness, the love-sick damsel jumped overboard. The 
 young woman was saved with difficulty, but refusing to 
 be comforted, Mrs. Jan Styk was compelled to reveal the 
 secret of her sex to the half-demented maiden. The cure 
 was, of course, instantaneous — complete ; and the con- 
 fidence reposed in the girl was not abused. 
 
 It was not long before the Swallow was ordered to 
 join Admiral Boscawen's fleet, then stationed in the West 
 Indies. The Swallow was an unlucky vessel. Twice she 
 had to put back to Portsmouth from stress of weather, 
 and when at last she proceeded on her voyage, sprang so 
 large a leak, that it was with difficulty she made Lisbon. 
 There the Swallow, after having undergone a thorough 
 repair, continued her voyage, and ultimately joined Bos- 
 cawen's squadrdn, which had received orders to proceed 
 to the East Indies. It arrived at Madras, and there dis- 
 embarked the troops and marines on board. Mrs. Spyk 
 was soon in the thick of the fight with the Erench. Her 
 first serious experience of war was not, to ordinary appre- 
 hensions, a very exhilarating experience. She was put 
 to work in the trenches, and had hardly been so placed 
 five minutes, when a cannon-ball smashed the head of a 
 marine who was working by her side. This man, Eichard 
 Perkins, had been her especial frie&d as well as constant 
 comrade. She was besprinkled with his blood. " This 
 baptism of death made me furious. I caught up the 
 slain man's loaded musket — mine was uncharged as it 
 chanced, took steady aim at the cannonier who fired the 
 gun, and shot him dead. At least I supposed so, as he 
 fell backward with a yelling scream." 
 
 Amazon Gray received five wounds in about as many 
 hours. Only one, in the groin, was serious. It was, of 
 course, impossible to consult the regimental surgeon, 
 
140 ECCENTEIO PBESONAGES. 
 
 if she would conceal the secret of her sex. The brave 
 woman had recourse to the aid of a native woman who 
 had a reputation fur skiU in surgery. The ball was ex- 
 tracted, the Amazon recovered her health; but the un- 
 faithful black doctress disclosed the secret of her sex to 
 Captain Mellor. That gentleman became in consequence 
 importunate with the charming marine, and before long 
 so much inflamed that he offered her marriage. The 
 Amazon frankly told Mm she was already married, and 
 that her husband, she had no reason to doubt, was aUve. 
 Thereupon the gallant captain appears to have waxed 
 wroth; and to avoid his persecution the Amazon Gray 
 absconded, and after suffering much danger, and passing 
 through many vicissitudes, reached Bombay. The details 
 of her journey are wanting. At Bombay she entered as 
 a common sailor in the Elthom man-of-war, commanded 
 by Captain Lloyd. Misfortune still pursued the mis- 
 guided woman. She was accused of stealing one of the 
 seamen's shirts; and flogged; the shirt was subsequently 
 found. Captain Lloyd expressed his regret for what had 
 occurred. The ship put in at Lisbon, and there the 
 Amazon, having revealed her sex, was at her own request 
 discharged. 
 
 Amazon Spyk must have saved some money, as she 
 remained in Lisbon over three months without employ- 
 ment. She then entered as a common sailor on board a 
 vessel bound for Genoa. There she fell into the com- 
 pany of Dutch seamen, one of whom being questioned 
 by her as to whether he had ever heard of Jan Spyk, 
 replied that he did knbw Jan Spyk, who about a twelve- 
 month previously had been hanged at the yard-arm of 
 his ship, the Jung Frau, for inciting the crew to mutiny. 
 The relater was one of the crew, and always having been 
 friendly with Jan Spyk, the latter " conversed with him 
 earnestly before his execution." Amongst other con- 
 fidences, he said that that which troubled his conscience, 
 and lay heaviest at his heart, was a circumstance in his 
 life which occurred in England. He had there married 
 a beautifal girl of the name of Hannah Snell, and after 
 
AJIAZOJf SNELL. 141 
 
 a short time cruelly abandoned her. The little property 
 that he possessed — watch and chain, twenty-five Dutch 
 ducats — he had left with the captain of his ship in trust 
 for his English wife. 
 
 This queer story rests upon the authority of the 
 Amazon herself, who says, after " a great pother" she 
 obtained the watch and money. 
 
 The Amazon returned to England, got a regular dis- 
 charge from the service, and, thanks to the good oflELces 
 exerted in her favour by the Duke of Cumberland, ob- 
 tained a pension of two shillings per diem during Ufe. 
 
 A curious phase in the vagrant Ufe of this strange 
 woman now occurred. She vas sitting in a coffee-house 
 in Cheapside, dressed, as was her wont, in male attire, 
 when her attention was attracted by a youngish gentle- 
 man of the name of Eawle, whom she had known at 
 Worcester. He seemed much disturbed in mind, and at 
 last confessed the cause of it. He had vratten and pub- 
 lished a scurrilous Ubel upon a Major Pierrepbint. The 
 major, to whom he was personally unknown, had sent 
 him a challenge by letter, which he would be obliged to 
 accept or be for ever disgraced. Now he (Eawle) was 
 not of a valorous temperament, would rather fight with 
 tongue or pen than with sword or pistol. Besides the 
 constitutional objection to risking his life in a duel, was 
 superadded the consideration that he was about to wed 
 in a few days a young, blooming, rich widow. And he 
 had no skill with either sword or pistol. He had, how- 
 ever, sent off an acceptance of the challenge, and the 
 meeting was to come off early the next morning at Chalk 
 Farm. Being in want of a second, and being a com- 
 parative stranger in London, he had written a note to 
 a military gentleman with whom he had a slight ac- 
 quaintance, proposing to meet him at the Falcon Coffee- 
 house, where they then were. He had not arrived, 
 and had not, perhaps, received the note. (I do not 
 quite understand whether Eawle knew the Amazon as 
 well as she did him. Possibly he mistook her for one 
 of her brothers.) 
 
142 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 Amazon Spyk reflected for a few moments. She knew 
 Major Pierrepoint, and the stuff he was made up of, 
 quite well. The printed libel which Eawle handed to 
 her was, she also knew, true in every particular. ■ 
 
 " Mr. Eawle," said she, " this Major Pierrepoint has 
 not seen you, and does not know you personally? You 
 have no doubt upon that point?" "Not the slightest 
 doubt." " Very well. You are well off, unskilled with 
 sword or pistol, and about to marry a rich young widow. 
 On the other hand, I am very poorly oif, can handle 
 sword or pistol indifferently well, and am not going to 
 marry a rich widow. Now, what will you give that I 
 appear as principal in. the duel, you the second?" " The 
 poltroon Eawle," says the Amazon, " was delighted with 
 the proposal, and after some higgling paid me down one 
 hundred guineas to be his substitute. I was equally 
 pleased. The next morning we went in a coach to Chalk 
 Farm. Major Pierrepoint — a major of militia — ^had, I 
 afterwards knew, heard that Eawle was a wretched craven 
 — a very handsome one, by the bye — and had no doubt 
 that an abject apology would be tendered on the ground. 
 The major, himself, I knew, was no fire-eater — 'very far 
 from it. Arrived on the ground, where we found the 
 major and his second, a Mr. Snodgrass, a suggestion was 
 made by the latter that an apology for the libel should 
 be made, in which case the affair would be at an end. 
 'Yes,' said I, 'an apology for the libel, the libel, the 
 affronting libel contained in the letter of challenge. Here 
 it is. Major Pierrepoint calls me a slandering scoundrel. 
 I must have a very ample written apology for that.' My 
 bold countenance quite put out the feather-bed major. 
 He turned all sorts of colours, which finally resolved 
 themselves into a deadly white. I -saw my advantage. 
 ' But it's of no use talking ; Mr. Snodgrass,' said I, ' mea- 
 sure the ground, and let us settle this little affair out of 
 hand. It won't last long. My hand will have lost its 
 cunning if it doesn't settle the major by one click of the 
 triggers' 
 
 " The horribly terrified major beckoned to Snodgi'ass 
 
AMAZON SNELL. 143 
 
 and whispered him earnestly. 'What apology do you 
 require, Mr. Rawle?' 'A written one, and an order upon 
 the major's banker to pay me a hundred guineas as com- 
 pensation for having been detained in London to attend 
 this meeting, to the neglect of urgent affairs which re- 
 quired my immediate presence in Worcester.' 'That 
 cannot be listened to,' said Mr. Snodgrass ; ' it is prepos- 
 terous.' ' Very well ; then let us take our places at once. 
 I am the challenged party, and object to a greater dis- 
 tance than ten paces.' The major again eagerly whis- 
 pered with Snodgrass. The result was an agreement 
 with my terms. We adjourned to the nearest tavern, 
 where the gallant major, as soon as good liquor had suf- 
 ficiently steadied his hand, wrote a very humble apology, 
 for which I did not care a tittle, and an order on Roberts, 
 the city goldsmith, for one hundred guineas, payable to 
 James Rawle or bearer. I had made two hundred guineas 
 very easily." 
 
 The next we read of Amazon Snell is, that she was 
 engaged to sing at Goodman's Fields. She had con- 
 siderable succesp in that vocation, and was stiU' engaged 
 therein when she died, in 1770, in her fifty-seventh year. 
 
 This brief memoh' of her erratic career differs essen- 
 tially from any previously written one; but is, I believe, 
 strictly accurate as far as it goes, though unavoidably 
 incomplete. It is thought, for example, that Amazon 
 Snell was present in a great naval battle fought in the 
 West- India waters ; but I can find no record of the fight 
 in any authority which I have been able to consult. 
 
CAPTAIN MOWBRAY. 
 
 PhUiIP Mowbeat, a brave soldier, inveterate duellist,, 
 notorious gambler, and an earnest eloquent preacher, 
 strange as such a conjunction appears, was bom at 
 
 Shrewsbury in the year . He was a posthumous 
 
 child. His father, the Eev. Tobias Mowbray, had been 
 many years in the enjoyment of a good living, and had 
 left his son between five and sis thousand pounds. Hav- 
 ing be6n long a widower, he left his friend Thomas Charl- 
 wood trustee and guardian. At his father's death Philip 
 Mowbray was sixteen years old. Mr. Charlwood took 
 the youth to his own home. Dovecote House, engaged a 
 private tutor, and caused Mm to be carefully educated. 
 The young man had a strong devotional bias, with a 
 very decided incHaation towards religious extravagances ; 
 with that was combined a spirit of fun, of practical joldng, 
 exuberant, iaexhaustible. He was an adept, too, at all 
 athletic sports; could kiU a partridge before it was a foot 
 above the herbage from which it had been started. Co- 
 lonel Hawker makes a passing allusion to " Mowbray's 
 remarkable skill as reported." He was also singularly 
 skilful with the pistol and small-sword — a skill acquired 
 by constant practice. It is said that the anecdote related 
 in one of his novels by Sir Bulwer Lytton (I forget which 
 novel), where he makes the hero of his book shoot a bird 
 on the wing with a pistol-bullet, was suggested by that 
 seeming impossibility having been achieved, and more 
 than once, by Philip Mowbray. This may or may not 
 be correct. 
 
 His love of the small-sword exercise brought sore 
 discomfiture and no slight danger to Enoch Burfield, an 
 
CAPTAIN MOWBEAT. 145 
 
 invalided serjeant of dragoons, in the service of Mr. 
 Oharlwood as a sort of valet, groom of the chamber, and 
 groom of the stable. The worthy veteran having some 
 skill ia fence, or having once had before his sinews be- 
 came stiff and feeble with age, was coaxed, pestered, hec- 
 tored by Mowbray into perpetually practising with him. 
 Of course foils were used, but not always, it would ap- 
 pear, wire masks for the face. "Where is Burfield?" 
 one day inquired Mr. Oharlwood. " In bed, sir," was the - 
 reply; "the doctor is with him, and so is Master Mow- 
 bray." " What is the matter ?" " Master Mowbray, sir, 
 has poked Burfield's right eye out, sir, with one of those 
 swords with buttons at the end of them, which they are 
 always playing with." Whilst they were thus talking, 
 Mowbray came into the room. " What is this I hear 
 about Burfield?" demanded the master of the house. 
 " Well, sir," replied the hopeful youth, who was greatly 
 moved and excited, " poor Burfield ran one of his eyes 
 upon the point of my foil, and the unfortunate truth is, 
 that he has lost it ; the eye, I mean, not the foil." " It 
 is a very shocking affair," said Mr. Oharlwood. " Yes, 
 very shocking, sir ; I am much grieved," replied Mow- 
 bray. " There is one consolation — it is his bad eye, the 
 one that squinted, you know," This was not unfeeling 
 badinage. Mowbray arranged with his guardian that 
 the poor fellow should be 'allowed thirty pounds per an- 
 num as compensation for the " bad eye which squinted." 
 Master Mowbray must next take it into his feather- 
 head to fall in love with a "plain Quakeress," which 
 means a damsel or> matron who has not swerved fi:om the 
 strict rules of the founder of the sect : abjures bright 
 colours, music, &c., and feejs somewhat surprised that in 
 the -councils of God at the creation it was decreed that 
 the world should not be drab-coloured, or that even a 
 bird were allowed to sing. This votary of an obsolete 
 faith was Anne Gurney, and a very pretty girl. This she 
 perhaps considered to be a kind of sin. The combination 
 of rose and lily in her face could not be quite right, 
 though laid on by Nature's own sweet and cunning hand. 
 
 L 
 
146 ECCSNTEIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 Master Mowbray did. not think so; and, finding "sweet 
 Anne" to be inexorable in her determination to decline 
 the acquaintance of any one who was not, like herself, a 
 conscientious, pure, and simple disciple of " the plain and 
 pure apostle of Quakerism," he at once put off his fine 
 clothes, in the cut, colours, and fashion of which he had 
 taken pride, and assumed the garb of plainest Quakerism. 
 
 He 4i<i more than that. Anne Gumey — not, we 
 must conclude, convinced by clothes — continuing to look 
 coldly upon the aspirant for her favour, he regularly 
 joined the Society of Friends ; and upon more than one 
 occasion, being moved by the spirit — which we can easily 
 believe — he held forth, " to the great admiration of the 
 assembled friends." 
 
 But it nothing availed with the obdurate maiden. 
 She preferred a "bom plain Quaker" — John Eice — and 
 frankly told the enamoured Mowbray that she did so, 
 when he pressed her for a final decision. ' Thereupon 
 Master Mowbray, flinging off his drab -coloured suit, 
 arraying himself in his gayest attire, and taking two 
 stout cudgels in his hand, waylaid the successful rival, 
 offered him the choice of cudgels, which being mildly 
 declined, Master Mowbray so belaboured John Rice with 
 one (or both) of them that the bridegroom expectant 
 " did not rise from his bed for more than a month." 
 
 Master Mowbray's guardian and trustee was fain to 
 compromise so gross an outrage, and paid a large sum of 
 money, though doubting if he had a legal right to do so, 
 out of the funds left by the reverend rector. " I had, 
 however, confidence in the youth's honour, the ftdlest 
 confidence. I knew that when he attained his majority 
 he would make it all right. A strange young man, but 
 the very soul of honour." 
 
 A very strange young man. Dissatisfied, as it seems, 
 with the failure of his love-chase, refusing to be com- 
 forted by Miss Charlwood, who, there appears reason to 
 believe, would have been quite willing to heal up his 
 spirit-wounds. Master Mowbray, having made acquaint- 
 ance with a son of Captaiu Clements, commander of the 
 
CAPTAIN MOWBEAT. 147 
 
 frigate Pallas, thirty-two guns, ran off, or went off — 
 there had been an unpleasantness, or quarrel, between 
 the guardian and guardee (it may be respecting Miss 
 Charlwood; this, however, does not clearly appear) — and 
 entered on board the Pallas, then at Sheerness. 
 
 The Pallas not long afterwards sailed for the Irish - 
 coast, and was one of the three ships — iEolus, Brilliant, 
 and Pallas — despatched by the Duke of Bedford, Lord- 
 Lieutenant of Ireland, to put an extinguisher on Captain 
 Thurot, who, in command of a considerable French 
 squadron, had been playing the mischief in the Bay of 
 Carrickfergus. Thurot's career, as most of us are aware, 
 was closed in a battle fought near the Isle of Man, upon 
 which occasion Master Mowbray so behaved himself as 
 to obtain from Captain Clements a certificate that there 
 was no more promising youngster in the service. 
 
 As far as the naval service was concerned it was pro- 
 mise unfulfilled. The attainment of his majority, the 
 possession of his "fortune," and some obscure quarrel 
 with one of the gun-room officers of the Pallas, induced 
 him to abandon the naval profession; though there was 
 no doubt he would have creditably passed in due time 
 for the grade of a lieutenant. 
 
 We next glimpse Philip Mowbray at the court of 
 George the Third in 1763. How introduced is not very 
 clear; but he was page of honour or page in waiting, 
 whichever may be the more appropriate phrase. At all 
 events he managed to fall in love with a maid or lady of 
 honour, the Honourable , Cecilia Barrington. This cala- 
 mity was a heavy one, far more pardonable than his pas- 
 sion for the plain Quakeress. The Earl of C , the 
 
 name is not given at length — an Irish peer, also admired 
 the Honourable Cecilia Barrington. The lady, as was 
 natural, incliued to the peer. This offended, as was but 
 natural too, Philip Mowbray, Esquire, and. he deter- 
 mined upon settling with the Irish lord after a summary 
 fashion. They used to meet at a fashionable gaming-house, 
 and Mowbray with malice aforethought cheated so auda- 
 ciously — pretended to cheat, I should say, for there can 
 
148 ECCENTEIC PEES02fAGES. 
 
 be no question that he intended to return the money he 
 
 won — ^that the Earl of C loudly called him a rogue 
 
 and swindler. An immediate duel was the consequence. 
 It took place in a garden at the back of the gaming- 
 house. This was precisely what Mowbray wanted. He 
 gave his oppenent the choice of weapons. The Earl of 
 
 C chose the small sword, and received a wound 
 
 severer than the Honourable Cecilia's eyes could have 
 inflicted, though not through the heart, as it happily 
 chanced. The Earl recovered; the nobleman had in- 
 fluence at court; the occasion of the duel was related 
 after the manner most favourable to the Earl — most dis- 
 creditable to Mowbray. To be sure the latter had taken 
 pains to furnish his detractors with arfiple materials. 
 Philip Mowbray, Esquire, was dismissed from his ofSce 
 of honour or page in waiting; the Honourable Cecilia 
 Barrington declined the honour of his acquaintance, and 
 my gentleman was literally thrown upon the world and 
 his own resources; Mr. Charlwood, his gu,ardian, having 
 died in the interim. 
 
 Mr. Philip Mowbray did not shine forth very bril- 
 liantly for some years after this misadventure. He took 
 to gaming and dicing. I must not, however, forget to 
 mention a characteristic and honourable anecdote of this 
 "strange person." On the day of the marriage of the 
 
 Earl of C to the Honourable Cecilia Barrington — if 
 
 Barrington were her true simame — the noble lord re- 
 ceived a sealed packet from Mowbray containing six 
 hundi-ed odd guineas, the amount unfairly won at the 
 game which led to the duel. A note was enclosed — this 
 disjointed, incoherent one: 
 
 " My Loed, — You are one of the luckiest scamps in 
 the world. I did not succeed ia killing you; shall not 
 probably have another chance. You are man-ied — the 
 devil confound you — to the most beautiful girl in Eng- 
 land; ay, or in twenty Englands! and now I return you 
 the money which I unfairly won — unfairly won in fact, 
 but not in intention. I never intended to keep your 
 
CAPTAIN MOWBEAY. 149 
 
 dirty dross. It may, perhaps, amuse your bride to Imow 
 that I have myself this morning espoused Charlotte Beath,. 
 the daughter of a chimney-sweep — a master chimney- 
 sweep — do not forget that; he does not now climb chim- 
 neys himself, has not done so since he was twelve years 
 old. This he assures me of, upon ' his honour.' And I 
 tell you what, you cowardly Hibernian — how could you 
 h^ve been born in Ireland? I tell you this, you cowardly 
 Hibernian, you could hardly hold the sword in your shak- 
 ing hand: it was no credit to me to run such a fellow 
 through his preposterous belly. Yes, I tell you, you ras- 
 cally Hibernian, I shall be happier to-night than you. I 
 should think so! It will be just as well not to pretend 
 to be a real husband. Leave your bride at the church- 
 door, you emasculated, incapable thing. 
 
 " Philip Mowbray." 
 
 . " N.B. If yoil do not think this letter sufBciently in- 
 eulting, I will improve upon it at the slightest hint." 
 
 There cannot, I think, be two opinions as to Philip 
 Mowbray's state of mmd when he penned the foregoing 
 epistle. It was quite true that Philip Mowbray, " the 
 gifted, gentle, handsome Phihp Mowbray," had married 
 Charlotte Beath, the daughter of a chimney-sweep — a 
 master chimney-sweep. If we are to take the evidence, 
 of her portrait — said to be her portrait, painted by a 
 great master, in the Vernon collection — she was a very 
 charming creature. Education, high thoughts, — her hus- 
 band's teachings, not by words and discourses only, but 
 bold, valiant, glorious deeds — though not trumpeted forth 
 to the world by the post-horns of the time, must, no 
 doubt, have greatly improved and refined her, when the 
 portrait was painted. She wears a red cardinal, and the 
 face is one of the sweetest ever limned. 
 
 Philip Mowbray married in a passion. His fancy had 
 been caught by the plebeian beauty, though the Honour- 
 able CecUia still dominated over his imagination. Ah, 
 weU! he soon learned to forget the Honourable Cecilia. 
 Meeting the Earl of C one day in Pall Mall, a few 
 
150 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 months after an extraordinary run of luck at cards, he 
 said, " My dear fellow, I heard last night at the Club 
 that you were infernally hard-up. Now that is an un- 
 pleasant position. I have a right to say so, as I speak 
 from experience; will a cool five hundred be of any use 
 to you?" 
 
 The astonished Earl said it would be of the greatest 
 use to him — would in a sublunary sense, be his salva- 
 tion. " Here then are the notes," said Philip Mowbray. 
 The Earl was profuse in his acknowledgment, and offered 
 to sign any paper necessary to secure repayment of the 
 loan at a given day. " No loan at all, my lord," retorted 
 Mowbray. " It is but an instalment of a great debt I 
 owe your lordship." "Debt — debt — what debt — debt? 
 (His lordship seems to have had a habit common at that 
 time of repeating himself The King set the example.) 
 Debt, debt! I don't understand yoi», Mr. Mowbray." 
 " The explanation is very easy, my lord," said Mowbray? 
 " your lordship kindly relieved me of a brimstone lady, 
 
 now the Countess of C , thereby enabling me to 
 
 marry the daughter of a chimney-sweep, for which benefit 
 five hundred pounds is a poor repayment." 
 
 Philip Mowbray had no children. This was a can- 
 kering grief, though it did not disturb the marital har- 
 mony. Ennui, however, grew upon Philip Mowbray. 
 He longed to have something to do in the world besides 
 eating, drinking, and gambling. The war with America 
 had broken out. He was acquainted with Colonel Tarle- 
 ton, one of the most dashing cavalry ofBcers that have 
 ever charged, from Tamerlane to Murat. He obtained a 
 commission in that oflBcer's, regiment, — a cometcy, and 
 embarked with it in the Glasgow frigate for America. 
 ■ He would not, however, enter into the service, great as 
 were the temptations to a mind constituted like his, till 
 the "master chimney-sweep's daughter" consented to go 
 with him. There does not appear to be any reluctance 
 on her part, and the pair safely reached Boston. 
 
 Comet Mowbray attained a captaincy; was present 
 and distinguished himself in all Colonel Tarleton's raids 
 
CAPTAIN IIOWBEAT. 151 
 
 At the " Cowpens," the only positive defeat sustaiBed by 
 Tarleton, Captaia Mowbray, one of the very last to leave 
 the field, shot one of two American officers who were 
 riding against him, and then threw the discharged pistol 
 in the face of the other with such force and direct aim 
 that the Yankee, stunned and blinded, fell from tis 
 horse. Captain Mowbray escaped without a scratch. 
 
 The most singular of his military adventures occurred 
 a few weeks before the war with America substantially 
 terminated. Lafayette at the head of the French force, 
 and Washington in command of the Americans, were be- 
 sieging Torktown, in which Cornwallis had permitted 
 himself, with about four thousand men, to be coopet'. np. 
 Tarleton had long since discovered the military imbecility 
 of Cornwallis, seen through the hollowness of his Indian 
 reputation, and chafed like a madman at the unhappy 
 thought of surrender which was entertained by the titled 
 general. He offered, it is well known, to break through 
 -the hostile beleaguerment, and joia Clinton, if Cornwallis 
 would give him but two thousand men. Cornwallis he- 
 sitated. How could he attempt such a thing, not know- 
 ing the enemy's strength? What part of his line could 
 be attacked with a chance of success? Tarleton said he 
 knew a man — Captain Mowbray — ^who would soon ascer- 
 tain that. Leave was given to make the experiment. 
 Mowbray's consent was promptly obtained, and he agreed 
 to set out upon the enterprise before the lapse of an hour. 
 
 "Eeflecting upon the matter after Tarleton left, I 
 could not do away with the impression that Cornwallis 
 would never, whatever my report might be, attempt so 
 bold a venture. I talked with my wife. She agreed 
 with me. Cornwallis would surrender. The troops might 
 be kept prisoners till the war terminated, which would 
 be only heaven knew when. I must, she argued, do my 
 duty, of course. At the same time, whilst doing that, we 
 had a right to provide for our own safety and freedom. 
 I agreed; and the result of our deliberations was, that 
 we should disguise ourselves as negro minstrels, creep, 
 under cover of iiight, out of the camp, and present our- 
 
152 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 selTes boldly before the French or American general, 
 when opportunity offered. "We should be patriotic 
 negroes who had been captured by the English, and who 
 knew all the secrets of their camp; that is, of their posi- 
 tion and means of defence. The reason of our pretended 
 minstrelsy was that we were hasting away to our home 
 la Louisiana, and did not wish to be detained on the 
 road, eyen by the patriotic forces. Our rude music was 
 to pay our way. We both were pretty well up in the 
 negro dialect, knew several negro songs, and two rude 
 guitars made up a sufficient orchestra. 
 
 ""We got away very well; were, as it was certain we 
 should- be, captured, taken first before Colonel Symes, 
 and after some preUmiaary talk, shut up in a rjide sort 
 of hut-dungeon. The next day we were led before the 
 two generals. There was mighty questioning. I told 
 my story pretty well, but was not trusted. My wife was 
 even less successful; but by Grod's especial grace, and the 
 favour of a senlry — handsomely paid for it, as we had not 
 been searched — we stole away in the night. After much 
 peril and sufferiag we gained General Clinton's lines. 
 Next we started for England." 
 
 A deep sense of the depravity of war had seized the 
 mind of Captain Mowbray, and he thenceforth deter- 
 mined " to fight only with Satan, the enemy of souls," 
 He hired a chapel iu Southwark, in or close by Bermond- 
 sey, " and did much godly work." His wife officiated as 
 clerk. A volume of his sermons has been printed. They 
 breathe a spirit of earnest faith and piety. But the old 
 Adam within him was unsubdued. The breaking out of 
 the French Revolution kindled the smouldering ashes 
 of his old war-spirit to flame. He solicited military em- 
 ployment. The request was granted; he was appointed 
 to a company in one of the regiments — number not men- 
 tioned — which formed part of the force placed under the 
 command of the Duke of York. He was killed at the siege 
 of Valenciennes. The daughter of the master sweep was 
 with him during the campaign, and closed his eyes when 
 he died from a severe wound received in the trenches. 
 
CAPTAIN MOWBEAY. 153 
 
 Captain Mowbray died poor. The petition of his 
 ■widow to the king is a curiosity in its way. Charlotte 
 Mowbray sets forth "that her husband fought for his 
 king and country ia many Battles in both worlds, had 
 wrestled with Satan to the advancement of Christ's king- 
 dom, and when dying told her to rely upon the justice of 
 God and the king." She (Charlotte Mowbray), there- 
 fore, " humbly solicited such a provision for her age as 
 would suffice to keep soul and body together till such 
 time as Cod would require the first — earth and worms 
 the latter. And the petitioner would every pray, et 
 cetera." The petition was so far successful that Char- 
 lotte Mowbray was allowed twenty pounds a-year. She 
 did not live to enjoy the king's magnificent bounty more 
 than about two yega'S. 
 
DANIEL DE FOE. 
 
 The ■world does not recognise — not, at least, osten- 
 sibly — its chief benefactors. Splendid monuments are 
 erected over the dust of statesmen and warriors, and 
 glorifying titles are inscribed upon them; but men who 
 have shed light and mirth — who will continue to shed 
 light and mirth as long as the language in which they 
 wrote shall endure — ^find scant stone or marble recogni- 
 tion. It is, perhaps, well that it should be so. Their 
 works, instinct with the life of life, are their true monu- 
 ment. " Si requiris monumentum, circumspice" is the 
 grand epitaph of Sir Cliristopher Wren inscribed over 
 the front of the chancel of St. Paul's. That epitaph has 
 a wide application; and to few men it more directly ap- 
 plies than to the author of the History^ of the Plague 
 and of RoUnson Crusoe. It is not embodied in brass 
 or bronze, but is written indelibly upon the hearts of 
 millions. 
 
 He was an odd wrong-headed man this Daniel De 
 Foe, the author of RoMnson Crusoe. He did not even 
 know or suspect, till he was sixty years of age, that he 
 could write fiction; did not, before then, imagine that he 
 had a Robinson Crusoe, a Citizen's Account of the Plague 
 of London, &c. &c., in him. An altogether wayward man, 
 and suffered the penalty which all incur who persist in 
 knocking their heads against the orthodox granite walls 
 by which " Society" is bounded and enclosed. 
 
 Daniel Foe was his real name; the "De" was added 
 in afterlife, when, with venial weakness, he was desirous 
 it should not be known that his father, James Foe, was 
 a butcher long established in London. He was born in 
 
DAlflEL DE FOE. 155 
 
 1661 in the parisH of St. Giles's, Oripplegate. James 
 Foe was desirous that his son should have nothing to do , 
 with trade; and 'he himself being a dissenter, he resolved 
 that Daniel should be a dissenting" minister. But Daniel 
 . was not made of the right stuff for that vocation. He 
 was a very refractory, unpromising pupil of a Mr. More- 
 ton, who kept a dissenting academy on Ifewington-green; 
 but at whiph academy he, nevertheless, acquired a smat- 
 tering — scarcely more— of five languages, mathem?,tics, 
 logic, geography, and history. 
 
 . The "priaciple" of dissent — that of refusing submis- 
 sion to, or acquiescence in, authoritative teaching — took 
 firm hold of Daniel Foe's mind, which was essentially 
 combative and antagonistic. At the age of twenty-one, 
 and just towards the close bf Charles the Second's in^ 
 famous reigp, when unblushing licentiousness had full 
 sway in high plates, he must needs write a biting sa- 
 tire upon the clergy, entitled Speculum Grapegownorum. 
 There was nothing very terrible in that paper thunder- 
 bolt — a weak flutter only of the young eagle's literary 
 plumes. Disappointed that his pen failed to overthrow 
 the half-Eomanised Church, Daniel Foe had recourse to 
 the sword, and joined, when but twenty years old, the 
 Duke of Monmouth's rebellion against James the Second, 
 much against the sage counsel of a friend, who advised 
 him that, since he felt no aptitude for preaching, it 
 would be wise to follow his father's trade — slaughter 
 beasts, not men — which vocation he would find to be as 
 much more profitable as it was decidedly more moral. 
 Daniel Foe, who had not then cut his vrisdom-teeth, de- 
 murred to his good friend's advice; ran off from the 
 "academy" set up for teaching the "young idea how to 
 shoot in an evangelical direction, and was quite in time 
 tio take part in the battle of Sedgmoor. We have the 
 testimony of Lord Macaulay, that never was the stub- 
 born bravery of peasant Britain more conspicuously dis- 
 played than by Monmouth's mob — a mob ill-furnished 
 with efficient arms — than in that fatal fight. It is doubt- 
 ful that the victory would have been with James's dipci- 
 
156 ECCENTMC PEESOITAGES. 
 
 plined troops, had it not been for cannon which the Pro- 
 testant Bishop of Winchester enabled the Eoyalist com- 
 mander to bring up against the " Kebels." This prelate 
 lent his carriage-horses to, drag the guns into action 
 agaiast men who were fighting to prevent the subver- 
 sion of the Church of which his lordship was one of the 
 mitred chiefs. Foe often alluded to this circumstance 
 with great bitterness. 
 
 How the rash young soldier escaped the vengeance 
 of the triumphant party is not shown with distinctness. 
 There are several versions of his hair-breadth escapes 
 from the hunters. According to one account, he was at a 
 farm-yard in the capacity of swine-, sheep-, and cow-herd, 
 when it was vipited by a party of " Kirke's Lambs," as 
 the murderous ruflftans were popularly named. They 
 were, as usual, in search of victims. Instead of conceal- 
 ing himself, Daniel Foe, whose secret was known to the 
 farmer and his wife, waited, in a ploughman's guise, 
 upon the soldiers, and " made merry with them." 
 
 Be that true or not, he escaped the myrmidons of 
 James; and, instead of figuring in a dock at the Bloody 
 Assize, we find him working for bread as a commercial 
 traveller for several London houses who dealt mainly in 
 hosiery. Skill in stockings was hardly to be expected in 
 Daniel Foe, and yet so speedily was it acquired, that in 
 1 687 he was chief buyer, for eminent houses in the trade, 
 of the provincial producers. It was then he assumed 
 the aristocratic prefix " De" to his name. " It gave him 
 consideration with the manufacturers. He also, being 
 free by birth, became ,an enrolled citizen of London." 
 
 A great event was now on the eve of accomplishment. 
 The nation was in travail with the Eevolution of 1G88. 
 The army, it was well known, from the exultant shouts, 
 when news reached them of the acquittijl of the bishops, 
 had become thoroughly disafPected to King James, and 
 could no longer be made the instraments of his crud 
 rage. William of Orange was known to be actively pre- 
 paring for a descent on England; the tongues and pons 
 of numerous speakers and writers were loosened, and the 
 
DAHIEL DB FOB. 157 
 
 aptation, the enthusiasm of the people, especially of the 
 Londoners, hourly increased. Daniel De Foe rushed at 
 once into the milee. He had made a great advance in 
 dialectic power, and was by no means one of the least 
 formidable of the king's assailants. 
 
 The Eevolution itself was hailed by De Foe with 
 transports of joy; and he ever after kept the 4th of 
 ifovember, the anniversary of William's landing, as a 
 festival. After that monarch's decease, no Orangeman 
 in Ireland ever drank the glorious, pious, and immortal 
 memory with more hilarious gusto than De Foe. He, 
 moreover, buckled on his sword agaih, and joined a royal 
 regiment of volunteer-horse, who made a gallant show 
 upon the occasion of William and Mary's first ceremonial 
 visit to Guildhall. , 
 
 1 The Eevolution established, the Constitution settled, 
 the enthusiasm of the nation for the " Delivered" visibly: 
 cooled; the main cause of which appears to have been 
 that he was not an Englishman. This waywardness on 
 the part of the nation greatly incensed De Foe, who 
 again rushed into print ia defence of his hero. This 
 time it was a satirical poem, entitled The True-lorn 
 Englishman. It is written ■with rough vigour, and proves, 
 what no one ever doubted, that the inhabitants of this 
 island are a race compounded of many races of men, — 
 Welsh, Saxons, Danes, Normans, Germans, French, Scotch, 
 Irish, &c., — for which reason he argued, with curiously- 
 twisted logic, that the true-born Englishman, according 
 . to the popular idea, was a myth, and that in a real sense 
 King William was as much an iEnglishman as any one 
 born withia the sound of Bow bells. , The king was so 
 much pleased with the poem that he sent for De Foe, 
 and highly "complimented him upon his genius and good 
 sense ; the sincerity of which praise was proved by the 
 monarch's frequent consultations with De Foe on import^ 
 ant matters of state during the latter part of his reign. 
 
 The king's favour,' if it conferred a sort of factitious 
 fame on De Foe's literary efforts, did not fill his purse. 
 It was very pleasant to be a man whom a king delighted 
 
158 ECCBNTEIO PEESONAGES. 
 
 to honour — ^in words — ^but a man ■with a wife, and a fast- 
 coming family, could not be content even with regal 
 breath, and Daniel De Foe turned again to the vulgar 
 stocking-business. 
 
 He enlarged the sphere of his commercial operations; 
 set-up as a shipowner and merchant, trading with Spain 
 and Portugal, and failed ; — not, however, discreditably. 
 No doubt, as struggling men generally do, he committed 
 some faults ia the hopeless endeavour to recover his po- 
 sition. They could not, however, have been very serious 
 faults, as his creditors accepted the, composition offered, 
 and consented to accept his own personal security for its 
 due payment. 
 
 Dr. Johnson, in his Dictionary, gives as one definition 
 of patriotism, that it is the last refuge of a scoundrel. It 
 may also, 1 may observe" inter alia, be the resource of a 
 highly moral person, as witness the learned Doctor's 
 pamphlets, in which the right of England to tax the 
 unrepresented American Colonies was urged with all the 
 Doctor's ornate pomposity of style and forcible feeble 
 argumentation. Those pamphlets, nevertheless, gained 
 him his pension of three hundred per annum. 
 
 De Foe was notso learned in dea3. languages as the 
 famous lexicographer, but he was a man of original in- 
 ventive genius, which Doctor Johnson certainly was not 
 in any just sense. The peculiar eccentricity of the bro- 
 ken-down merchant or trader was never more strikingly 
 illustrated than by the mode hit upon by Daniel De Foe 
 to regain a good position in the world. 
 
 He had sadly failed to provide ways and means for- 
 the support of himself and family; but, nothing deterred 
 by that trifling , failure, he at once addressed himself to 
 the task of instructing the Government as to how they 
 should provide for the " ways and means" of the nation. 
 His counsels were appreciated, some of his suggestions 
 were adopted, and his expedient for " raising the wind" 
 had a double eftect. The financial measures of the 
 ministry derived a certain success from his sugges- 
 tions, and he in requital obtained a situation with 
 
' ba:jiel de roE. 159 
 
 other favours, which placed him in a position of modest 
 competence. 
 
 Daniel De Foe had nothing more to fear in a worldly 
 sense. He had gained at last one of the minor heights 
 of society, and might, perched thereon, have passed his 
 days in contentment. 
 
 But De Foe was not a man to pursue the safe heaten 
 paths of life, though he had given hostages to Fortune 
 in a beloved wife and children. He was off at a tangent 
 again. The accession of Queen Anne to the throne was 
 the signal for an outburst of bigotry such as has been 
 rarely witnessed in this country. The High.- Church 
 party. had solved^ Pontius Pilate's question, "What is 
 truth?" to their own entire satisfaction, just as the Span- 
 ish inquisitors did. Very earnest persons, thoroughly self- 
 convinced men are indeed always persecutors, and this 
 fi'om motives of benevolence. '• Why should I permit 
 my brother to perish ? Let us put down false teachers 
 by the strong hand of authority." Mr. Samuel Pope 
 and Mr. Lawson are modern teachers of the world-old 
 dogma of bigots, succinctly expressed by the French 
 princess in the often-quoted sentence, "II me semhk qu'il 
 n'y a que moi qui a toujours raison" (" It seems to me 
 that I only am always in the right"). 
 
 Against this theory of slavery, — spiritual slavery, — a 
 thousand times more galling than chains, which only 
 bind the body — ^the combatant spirit of Daniel De Foe 
 fiercely revolted ; yet, spite of all that has been urged in 
 his defence, it must be admitted that his pamphlet, en- 
 titled The Shortest Way with Dissenters, was not happily 
 compiled. The High-Church party were rampant, and, 
 inflamed by the teachings of Dr. Sacheverell, a univer- 
 sity preacher, a furious mob swept throught the streets 
 of London, demolished Dissenting places of worship, 
 burned the dwellings, and obtained such a brutal ascend- 
 ency that it was not safe for any known Dissenter to be 
 seen in the streets. 
 
 Such a triumphant combination of fierce intolerance 
 with brutal stupidity had naturally excited the wrath of 
 
160 ECOBHTEIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 De Foe; but he mistook his audience in thinking that by 
 exaggerating the High - Church " principles," arguing 
 those principles to a natural conclusion in a logical 
 sense, he would make them revoltiag to the common 
 herd. It was a clever caricature of the High-Church 
 party, but so subtilely coloured that the more blatant of 
 that party deemed they had never been limned by a more 
 skilful appreciative artist. De Foe had out-Heroded 
 Herod; enunciated 'in glowing language the really true 
 and only effectual mode of dealing with Dissent. The 
 Dissenters were astounded — written as the pamphlet was 
 by one of their professed zealous champions. These two 
 facts amply prove that De Foe's arrows had gone awry; 
 that he had failed to hit the mark aimed at. 
 
 " High Church" appears to have first become aware 
 of the true esoteric meaning of the pamphlet. A prose- 
 cution was instituted against him for seditious blas- 
 phemy. The ostensible purpose of the book was hypo- 
 critically assumed to be the real one. To burke his 
 defence and insure the punishment of " one of the most 
 profligate of men," he was persuaded to plead " Guilty," 
 under the most solemn assurances by high-placed people 
 that the queen's pardon would be immediately extended 
 to hipi. De Foe's keen sagacity must have failed him 
 at this trying crisis. He was rudely awakened from his 
 dream. Directly his plea of " Guilty" was recorded, he 
 was sentenced to be pilloried three times, have his ears 
 snipped off, to pay a fine of one hundred marks, be 
 imprisoned during the queen's pleasure, and upon libera- 
 tion find sureties for good behaviour during seven years. 
 He was about to pay dearly for having broken with the 
 solemn dignified hypocrisy of the world. With all his 
 keen insight of mankind, he had not measured the in- 
 fluence, the power of that solemn dignified hypocrisy. 
 
 Pope's infamous line in allusion to De Foe in the 
 pillory, 
 
 " See where on high gtaads unabashed De Foe," 
 is interpreted by the courageous thinker and writer of 
 his life his highest eulogy. The selfish cringing mean- 
 
DANIEL DE FOE.- 161 
 
 ness of Pope brings out by comparisen the defiant firm- 
 ness of De Foe in brilliant relief. Admitted that Daniel 
 De Foe could not hare written the Rape of tlw Loth; 
 neither could he hare grovelled in the dust before stars 
 and garters, titled gentlemen and ladies, drunken and 
 noble lords and demireps, as Pope did. 
 
 To be sure. Pope made " a better end," in common 
 estimation, than " the unabashed De Foe" — but the true 
 end is not here. And even here now at the present day, 
 the moral estimate of Daniel De Foe is infinitely higher 
 than that entertained for Alexander Pope. 
 
 It would have been a great loss to England, and to 
 the world, had Daniel De Foe not been an eccentric 
 man ; if he had been content to dwell in conventional 
 decencies after attaining his place. No nation has ever 
 been deficient in " respectabilities." They are the dust 
 of grave-yards ; the spots where they lie, in crowded 
 heaps, signalised by lying tombstones. Daniel De Foe 
 lives with hearty vigorous life in tens of hundreds of 
 thousands of homes 'in both worlds. 
 
 De Foe was equal, superiorto his fate. He recovered, 
 when cast down into apparently remediless ruin, his 
 pristine mental vigour. He penned a Hymn to the Pil- 
 lory during his bravely-borne imprisonment, and com- 
 menced his Review, and re-engaged in political-pamphlet 
 warfare with as much energy and fierceness as ever. He 
 abated not one jot of heart or hope. Thp Whigs, for 
 whom he had so strenuously laboured, abandoned him 
 to his fate. The Tories, to whom he had always been 
 strenuously opposed, were more generous, more just to- 
 wards the wayward, wilfal, high-principled writer. Upon 
 the accession of Harley, through the influence of Mrs. 
 Masham, to power, that minister induced her majesty to 
 order De Foe's liberation from prison, and even prevailed 
 upon the queen to Uquidatc from the privy purse his 
 fine and expense. This was not, perhaps, a piece of 
 purely Quixotic generosity; Harley and Bolingbroke 
 having been, no doubt, anxious to secure for their party 
 the pen of so vigorous and versatile a writer. The hori- 
 
162 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 zon brightened rapidly. Harley commissioned De Foe to 
 act as confidential agent at Edinburgh in endeavouring 
 to bring about the union of Scotland and England; a 
 duty of which he cre'ditably acquitted himself. 
 
 Still this utterly unpractical man would not lend his 
 talents to the advocacy of the Tory measures of the cabi- 
 net. He, however, refrained from writing against them. 
 His obligations to Harley commanded such a negative 
 service as that. 
 
 He determined to withdraw from the active conflict 
 of parties. He had suffered much more from his reputed 
 political friends than enemies. Unwarned, however, by 
 the persecution brought upon him by The Shortest Way 
 of Dealing with Dissenters, he must needs launch forth a 
 similar Irochure, by which, to nrdinary minds, he ap- 
 peared seriously to propose the bringing in of the Stuart 
 Pretender, to the exclusion of the Hanoverian dynasty. 
 This was done, as in the former instance, by caricatur- 
 ing and exaggerating the arguments of the Jacobites. 
 The irony was not understood by the commonalty. One 
 Benson, an ardent partisan of the Whigs, honestly think- 
 ing that De Foe was in covert league — (his official, or 
 officious connection with the Harley-Bolingbroke ministry 
 giving force and colour to this suspicion) — ^with the 
 exiled Stuart, petitioned that Daniel De Foe might be 
 tried for high treason. A judge was found to commit 
 the unlucky pamphleteer . to Newgate for presuming to 
 write in defence, or rather explanation of the inculpated 
 pamphlet, after Benson's accusation had been preferred 
 before the grand jury — a true bill found — and he had 
 been compelled to find heavy bail to surrender for trial. 
 But for his ministerial friends it might hare gone hard 
 with him, so inveterate were his enemies, so obtuse the 
 public as to the true meaning of the pamphlet. Harley, 
 to avoid all danger to a man whose talents he respected 
 — ^much as he laughed at his erratic follies — covered him 
 with a royal pardon; an incident to which he afterwards 
 alluded with, much humour. 
 
 The accession of 6eor;ie the First put the finishing 
 
DAJSriEL DB FOE. ' 163 
 
 Bti'oke to De Foe's political career. He had no longer 
 one single influential friend — ^was sixty years of age — 
 had once been struck with apoplexy — was lonely, and 
 afflicted with gout and stone. Under these exhilarating 
 circumstances this peculiar, indomitable man betook him- 
 self to romance writing! His first essay was the im- 
 mortal Rolmson Crusoe. The idea was suggested by the 
 story of Alexander Selkirk, a Scottish seaman who had 
 sailed in the ship commanded by Captain Rogers, in his 
 Toyage round the world. Selkirk was marooned for some 
 oifence, and left upon the Island of Juan Fernandez in 
 the Pacific, where he contrived to exist for four years. 
 Cowper has some verses upon the subject, beginning 
 with " I am monarch of all I survey." The idea was 
 derived from Selkirk's story, but the treatment of the 
 narrative is incomparably striking and original. " The 
 gi'eat beauty of this fiction,"' remarks an Edinburgh Ee- 
 viewer, " consists not in the hero, but in his situation, 
 and the admirable manner in which he is made to adapt 
 himself to it. Human sympathy attends his every action, 
 and the simple, natural pathos of a plain, unsophisti- 
 cated man, and the sublimity and awfulness of perfect 
 solitude, moves more than would all the feeling and elo- 
 quence of Ebusseau, had he attempted a similar story. 
 No wonder this tale has been translated into every Euro- 
 pean language, and even into Arabic, according to the 
 testilnony of Burkhardt." 
 
 This criticism is just, as far as it goes, but to render 
 a perfectly just, it should have been added, that only the 
 first part of the book, before the Spaniards arrive on the 
 island, is iuvested with the indescribable charm which 
 has made the work popular throughout the world. But 
 the same may be said of Milton's Paradise Lost. The 
 first six books are magnificent — the others pale their in- 
 tellectual fires in the blaze of glory which illuminates 
 those first chapters. The mightiest wing would flag and 
 droop before the termination of so exhaustive a flight. 
 
 The other romances of Daniel De Foe have fallen out 
 of the current literature, are practically dead and buried. 
 
164 ECCENTRIC PEKSONAGES. 
 
 Moll Flanders, Colonel Jack, Captain Singleton, have dis- 
 appeared, though they were not without much merit. The 
 pre-eminent quality of De Foe as a writer of fiction was 
 his power of realisation. Any one would go before a 
 magistrate and make an oath that, to the best of his 
 belief,^ Citizen's Account of the Great Plague of London 
 was a simply-told narrative of what had really, and to 
 the writer's knowledge, taken place. This is a very rare 
 quality in an author. 
 
 Ah! yes; but genius when not combined with dis- 
 ■cretion, when its possessor refases to be bound by the 
 shackles and safeguards of conventionalism, will rarely 
 have a good balance at his banker's. De Foe, though 
 Jiis writings had a large sale, was beset with pecuniary 
 •difficulties, embittered by domestic affliction. Himself 
 «on the verge of both gaol and grave, he was doomed also 
 -to experience — how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 
 to have a thankless child. His son, to whom he had 
 :made over in trust some property for the benefit of his 
 wife and daughters, appropriated the whole to himself. 
 The sad story will be best told in the following touch- 
 ing letter — the last of the writings of the author of 
 RoUnson Crusoe, addressed to Mr. Baker, an eminent 
 naturalist, who had married De Foe's favourite daugh- 
 ter, Sophia: 
 
 " Deab Me. Bakek, — I have your ^ery kind and af- 
 fectionate letter of the 1st iastant. It did not reach me 
 till the 10th: how it has been delayed I know not. As 
 your kind manner and kinder thought, from which it 
 flows — for I know all you say to be sincere, ISTathaniel- 
 like, without guile — is a particular satisfaction to me; 
 «o the delay of a letter, however it happened, deprived 
 me of that cordial too many days. I stood so much in 
 need of it, to support a mind sinking under a weight of 
 affliction too heavy for my strength, and looking on my- 
 self as abandoned by every contort, every friend, every 
 relative, except such only as are unable to give me any 
 ■assistance. 
 
DANIEL DE FOB. 165 
 
 " I was sorry you should say in your letter you were 
 debarred from seeing me. On the contrary, it would be 
 a greater comfort to me than any I now enjoy, if I could 
 receive your agreeable visits vidth safety, and could see 
 both you and my dearest Sophia, could it be without 
 giving her the grief of seeing her father in his present 
 situation, bowed down under the load of insupportable 
 sorrows. I am sorry I must open my griefs so far as to 
 tell her it is not the blow I received from a wicked, per- 
 jured, contemptible enemy that has broken my spirit. 
 8he well knows I have borne up against greater dis- 
 asters. But it has been the inhuman dealing of my own 
 son which has ruined my family and broken my heart. 
 As I am at this time under a weight of very heavy illness, 
 which I think will be a fever — and a fatal one — I take 
 this occasion to vent my grief in the breasts of those 
 who I know will make a prudent use of it ; nothing bub 
 this has conquered or could conquer me. 
 
 "I depended upon my son; I trusted him; I gave up 
 my two dear unprovided children into his hands ; but he 
 has no compassion, and suffers them and their poor dying 
 mother to beg their bread at his door, and to crave as it 
 were as alms what he is. bound under hand and seal, be- 
 side the most solemn promises, to supply them with, him« 
 self at the same time living in a profusion of plenty. It 
 is too much for me. Excuse my infirmity; my heart is 
 too full. I can say no more; my heart is too full. I 
 only ask one thing of you as a dying request. Stand by 
 them when I am gone, and let them not be wronged 
 whilst my son is able to do them right. Stand by them 
 as a brother; and if you have any thing within you 
 owing to my memory — I, who have bestowed upon you 
 the best gift I had to give — let them not be injured and 
 trampled upon by false pretences. I hope they will waut 
 no help but that of comfort and counsel ; and that they 
 will indeed want, bemg too easily led by words and pro- 
 mises. 
 
 " It adds to my grief that I must never see my little 
 grandson. Give him my blessing, and may he be to you 
 
166 ECOBNTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 both your joy in youth, your comfort in age, and never 
 add a sigh to your sor.'ows. But that, alas ! is not to be 
 expected. Kiss my dear Sophy once more for me; and if 
 I must see her no more, tell her this, that her father 
 loved her above all to his last breath. 
 
 " Your unhappy D. F. 
 
 "About two miles from Greenwich, Kent, 
 " Tuesday, August 12th, 1730." 
 
 This great and good, but unconfined and unconiinable 
 man did not cast off the burden of mortality so soon as, 
 when he penned the foregoing letter, he expected. He 
 lingered on till the 24th of April 1731, when he sank to 
 his final rest. He died where he was born, in the parish 
 of St. Giles, Cripplegate, and was buried in Bunhill 
 Fields. He would have been more fortunate had he 
 been less highly principled. But 'twas ever thus. Who- 
 ever attempts to stem the torrent of the time is sure to be 
 whelmed in it. To sail with the tide is the only chance 
 of reaching pleasant pastures. To be sure, those who go 
 with the multitude will, like that multitude, fill for- 
 gotten graves: but it is a cruel irony upon human life to 
 say of a rarely-gifted man like De Foe, that he died in 
 misery and lives in fame. 
 
THE HONOUEABLE JOHN LOFTUS. 
 
 This highly Tariegated and Tivacious gentleman is as- 
 samed to have been a stray scion of a distinguished 
 family who had large estates both in England and Ire- 
 land. The fact mainly rests upon his own assertion; but 
 how, in such case, he could legally or by courtesy be en- 
 titled to the prefix of Honourable, puzzles one. 
 
 There is, howeTer, proof, though shadowy and indis- 
 tinct, of the truth of the statement in the remarkable, 
 strongly contrastive life he led up to Christmas-Day, 
 1782, when he perished, in his thirty-fourth year, in a 
 manner as heroical and self-sacrificing as erer shed an 
 aureole round the brow of warrior, priest, or king. 
 
 John Loftus was bom, or, to speak by the card, is be- 
 licTed to have been born at or near Carrickfergus, Ire- 
 land, in the year 1748. As to what surroundings accom- 
 panied his birth and boyhood, nothing trustworthy is 
 known. He certainly received a fair education — was a 
 gay, frolicsome boy, fearless as frolicsome, and very good- 
 looking. He had very considerable talent for mimicry 
 and personation, and gained much applause at amateur 
 private theatricals in Dublin, where business or pleasure 
 had taken him when he was in his twentieth year. He 
 must have moved in or been admitted into what is named 
 good society, as he was known by sight and name to the 
 Duke of Bedford, then Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, a 
 nobleman of somewhat debauched habits, but not desti- 
 tute of administrative talent. 
 
 His excellency, not long after yoimg Loftus arrived 
 in Dublin, indulged in the ondignified whim of making 
 one at Donnybrook Fair, disguised, of course, as com- 
 
168 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 pletely as might be. He was accompanied by two of his 
 suite only, both metamorphosed, like his grace, into Irish 
 peasants. That Loftus knew of the Duke's intention is 
 not positively stated. The rollicking young man had 
 merely, perhaps, determined, independently for himself, 
 to assist at a scene where an Irishman was proverbially 
 to be seen in the full blaze of his glory. However that 
 may have been, the Duke and his companions entered 
 with such gusto into the spirit of the fair — its boisterous, 
 riotous fun — that he got singled out at last by a powerful 
 countryman, and challenged to fight by the usual prelude 
 to such encounters — a crack upon his excellency's skull, 
 inflicted by a stout shillelagh. This was carrying the 
 fun much too far. To discover himself was impossible, 
 except in the last extremity to save his life. John Loftus, 
 who must have been eagerly watchful of what was going 
 on, and either knew beforehand or had penetrated the 
 Duke's guise — he himself being habited as a rough coun- 
 try lad — ^rushed forward and felled the assailant upon his 
 grace with one tremendous blow. The din and riot going 
 on prevented immediate attention being paid to so un- 
 usual an incident as the interposition of a third party 
 between two combatants; but it being well known to 
 Loftus that the Duke's adversary belonged to a "faction," 
 which, as soon as they heard what had happened, would 
 rush furiously to the rescue, the young fellow whispered 
 hastily to his grace : " Leave this place, my Lord Duke, 
 without delay; you are in great danger; your horses are 
 without; I and some rough acquaintances shall manage 
 well enough to insure you a sufficient start." 
 
 The Duke and his elderly friends did not wait to be 
 told twice; they bolted forthwith, and reached Dublin 
 Castle scatheless, except for the crack upon his grace's 
 crown, given without the slightest malice or suspicion, 
 by the man, whom it was he had assailed, in pure gaite 
 de cccur. Loftus and his friends made a fierce fight of it 
 with the help of some of the " boys" who belonged to a 
 faction opposed to that to which the man who assaulted 
 the representative of royalty belonged, and got clear off 
 
THE HOJTOURABLE JOHN LOFTUS. 169 
 
 ■with no more than the ordinary average Donnybrook 
 damage to themselves. 
 
 Young Loftus was not one to neglect improving such 
 a singular chance. The very next day he presented him- 
 self at the Castle, handsomely attired, and sent in a note 
 addressed to the Duke of Bedford, maried " private 
 and very important." He had not long to wait for an 
 audience, a lengthened one. The Viceroy was naturally 
 anxious to "hush up" so scandalous a story; Loftus 
 solemnly assured him that he had been recognised by 
 himself only. It need hardly be said that Loftus pro- 
 mised to keep the adventure inviolably secret^of course, 
 in consideration, the perfectly well-understood considera- 
 tion, that he should receive a handsome quid pro quo. 
 The Duke believed himself to be quite safe with respect 
 to his courtly companions. He was not wrong in count- 
 ing upon their fidelity as long as his viceroyalty lasted. 
 That terminated, their tongues were loosened — in accord- 
 ance with the theory of moral ethics which teaches that 
 political gratitude can only in the eternal fitness of things, 
 and its highest sense, be held to mean no more than a 
 keen sense of favours to come. The story was circulated 
 amongst the fashionable circles of Dublin, mth many 
 varieties and additions. One was that his grace' TcnighUd 
 his young champion on the spot. Who the young man 
 was that so promptly interposed in favour of the Lord- 
 Lieutenant was not known, except to the Duke and John 
 Loftus, till some years afterwards. The story was flatly 
 contradicted by " authority ;" but the denial did not 
 weaken the credence attached to it by the gossips of 
 Dublin. 
 
 The substantial result to Mr. John Loftus was, that 
 he obtained the commission of cornet of cavalry, and the 
 post of attache, or something analogous, at the Viceroy's 
 court. No post of the kind could, I suppose, have made 
 Loftus an Honourable, even in Ireland. 
 
 About this time (1759) the French monarch made a 
 great combined effort by the fleets assembled at Dunkirk 
 and Brest to redress the catastrophe of Minden by de- 
 
170 ECCENTEIC PEESOJTAGES, 
 
 scents on the British and Irish coasts. The main design 
 was defeated by Hawke's splendid yictory in Quiberon 
 Bay. A gallant French captain, of the name of Thurot, 
 achiered, spite of the yigilance of the British fleet, some 
 small successes amongst the western islands of Scotland. 
 Thurot's squadron consisted originally of five frigates. 
 One of the largest of these became unserviceable through 
 stress of weather, and was sent back to France. Another 
 of the remaining frigates foundered at sea. Not abating 
 one jot of heart or hope, Thurot sailed with his shattered 
 force to the Bay of Carrickfergus, where on the 21st of 
 February he effected a landing with about 700 men. 
 Colonel Jennings, with four companies only of raw re- 
 cruits, was in the open town of Carrickfergus. He made 
 a resolute, but of course an unsuccessful resistance, then 
 retired to the dilapidated castle, in which there was 
 neither store of provisions nor ammunition, except the 
 email quantity he could carry in with him. En revanche 
 there was a breach about fifty feet wide in the crumbling 
 wall. The colonel, in the hope of being quickly succoured 
 by regular troops, filled up the breach with rubbish, and 
 gathered up heaps of stones to use instead of bullets and 
 balls. Let us leave the gallant colonel with his bulldog 
 resolution, and return to John Loftus, cornet unattached, 
 in Dublin. 
 
 The successes, such as they were, of Thurot greatly 
 irritated the English people, and threw a shade even 
 upon Hawke's victory. What! — was the nation who had 
 so signally discomfited the French upon their own coasts 
 and harbours tp be harassed by a' beaten enemy on its 
 own seaboard, he finding no check ? The Duke of Bed- 
 ford was subject to much abuse by the Press, and to 
 implied censure by the Cabinet, and was very desirous 
 of signally restoring his tarnished reputation for watch- 
 fulness and vigour. News came of Thurot's doings at 
 Carrickfergus, where his ships were in the bay. Messen- 
 gers from Jennings succeeded in reaching Dublin, from 
 whom his excellency learnt that Jennings could not hold 
 out many hours, although he had repulsed the French at 
 
THE HONOUEABLB JOHN LOFTUS. 171 
 
 the first attack. Thiirot had, it was also reported, re- 
 ceived intelligence that the regular troops were within a 
 few marches of Oarrickfergus, and the French commander 
 was preparing to embark his troops and ]ea,ve the bay 
 with all possible expedition, and in order to do so had 
 offered to accept the surrender of the castle upon the 
 easiest possible terms. The English soldiers were to be 
 at once exchanged for the same number of French sailors 
 or soldiers who had chanced to be made prisoners. The 
 castle was not to, be blown up, nor the town of Carrick- 
 fergus to be burned or pillaged. 
 
 The Duke of Bedford had despatched three frigates 
 — the ^olus, the Pallas, and the Brilliant — to Can-ick- 
 fergus Bay, their mission being to extinguish Thurot 
 once and for all. But should the French frigates have 
 left before their arrival, the Lord-Lieutenant would have 
 no chance of setting himself right with the British people 
 and British ministry. How could he make sure that the 
 English frigates, when they opened up the bay, would 
 there iind Thurot's ships? That was the question which 
 he determined to discuss without a moment's delay with 
 Cornet Loftus, whom he knew to be a Carrickfergus man, 
 and in whose dash, bravery, and fertility of resource he 
 had much confidence, notwithstanding certain bizarre 
 peculiarities which he frequently indulged in. In fact, 
 the comet's life was one long practical joke, broken fit- 
 fully by serious, earnest deeds. 
 
 One of his jests has, apparently, been reproduced 
 by Clu-istopher Nor(;h, in the "Noctes Ambrosianee," 
 originally published in Blackivood! s Magazine. It is 
 necessary to relate it in this place, or the adventure 
 at Camckfergus would scarcely be credited. The story 
 told in the "Noctes," and admirably told, is — I quote 
 from memory — ^that Professor Wilson (Christopher North) 
 caused an advertisement to be inserted in one of the 
 Edinburgh papers to the eflFect that an elderly gentle- 
 man, of large ineans, was desirous of entering into the 
 bonds of matrimony with a suitable partner — ^he, a 
 bachelor, never having experienced the bliss of that 
 
172 ECCENTEIC PEKSONAGBS. 
 
 state of life. In order that any lady who might be 
 disposed to entertain the proposition should have an 
 opportunity of personally viewing the candidate for con- 
 nubial honours, the advertiser would seat himself", to- 
 wards the "gloaming," on the morrow of the day when 
 the advertisement appeared, at a particular spot on the 
 Calton Hill. Christopher goes on, in richly humorous 
 description, to describe the throng by whom he was ^ 
 beset, their jibes, sarcastic derision, &c. 
 
 The real adventure of the Honourable John Loftus 
 differs in its minor accessories from the imaginary one of 
 Professor Wilson. Loftus, I have previously remarked, 
 was a handsome young man. That beauty was of a 
 feminine type, stout-hearted, courageous as he in scores 
 of instances proved himself to be. He had fine flowing 
 dark-brown hair, which he was clever at arranging in 
 female fashion. He would in other respects cleverly 
 "make up" as an interesting young lady — or elderly 
 lady for that matter — so cleverly that he more than once 
 danced at the Viceregal court balls as a Miss M'Clarty, 
 or M'Carthy of Eoscommon — a distant relative of his, I 
 apprehend — a left-handed one probably — if, indeed, there 
 was any such person in existence, for whom he had him- 
 self procured the necessary order of admittance. Upon 
 neither occasion was the cheat discovered by those most 
 intimate vrith Comet Loftus. 
 
 Now, Cornet Loftus had a grudge or pique against 
 Captain Eobert Brady, also an attache of the Viceregal 
 court. Brady was an especial favourite of the Lord- 
 Lieutenant, who would have secretly, though not perhaps 
 openly, resented any quarrel fastened upon him provoca- 
 tive of a duel, or no doubt Loftus would, in the spirit of 
 the time, have chosen that mode of avenging himself 
 upon Brady. He hit upon a plan of much more refined, 
 artistic vengeance. 
 
 One of those advertisements so common now, but 
 novelties at that time, alleged by Loftus to have ap- 
 peared in a Dublin paper, set forth that a young lady of 
 high family, considerable personal attractions, and a for- 
 
THE HONOUKABLE JOHN LOFTUS. 173 
 
 tune of thirty thousand pounds at her own disposal, was 
 desirous of becoming the wife of a military officer not 
 under tlie rank of captain. He must be a handsome 
 man, not more than thirty years of age, and of ancestral 
 descent equal to her own. Money she cared not for, hav- 
 ing plenty for both. At such a time, on such an even- 
 ing, the lady would be found at the entrance of a wood 
 in Eoxby Park, near Swords, attired in a riding dress, 
 find with a riding whip in her hand. This was signed 
 C. M'O. ' • 
 
 A post-scriptum added, that the candidate for her fa- 
 vour must wear a white rose in his button-hole. The lady 
 would, on recognising the sign, raise the whip in military- 
 salute fashion; and both would then exchange more in- 
 timate courtesies, as if old acquaiutances. If the officer 
 — ^not below the rank of captain — this was indispensable 
 — answered the description given, and could give unex- 
 ceptional testimonials to character — this was also indis- 
 pensable — the ceremony might take place as soon as the 
 bridegroom wished. 
 
 Into this clumsily-contrived trap poor Brady rushed 
 at a run. He was a handsome man, no one would deny; 
 and as to descent, he claimed for one of his ancestors no 
 less a personoge than Brian Boirhomme himself; and he 
 was, without doubt or question, very poor — poor to ex- 
 treme indebtedness. 
 
 Cornet Loftus, who for some time had been very as- 
 siduously "making it up" with Captain Brady, and had 
 succeeded in doing so, suddenly rushed into the gallant 
 captain's quarters one fine morning with a slip of printed 
 paper in his hand, which he declared he had just cut out 
 of a Dublin paper. The " slip " contained the two para- 
 graphs I have quoted. As to its having been cut from 
 a Dublin newspaper, that was an invention,' like the 
 rest. He had caused the " slip " to be printed " in confi- 
 dence." 
 
 " Captain Brady," exclaimed Loftus, — it is the cornet 
 himself who tells the story, — " Captain Brady, my fine 
 fellow, fortune, an immense fortune, is in your grasp. 
 
174 ECCBNTEIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 Tou hare but to close yonr hand. Eead — ^read, captain, 
 read. You are the angled-for — the very man. Ah, it is 
 true, as the fellow says in the play, some people have 
 greatness thrust upon them. That, I fear, wil] never be 
 my case; whilst you " 
 
 " I do not understand," interrupted the puzzled cap- 
 tain. " In what way can this absurd advertisement con- 
 cern me?" ' 
 
 " My dear fellow, it concerns no one but you. Hear 
 me out. Have I not heard you say that you once had 
 the honour, not long ago, to dance at a Castle ball with 
 Miss Charlotte M'Carthy of Eoscommon; a lady " 
 
 " Honour be " angrily exclaimed Captain Brady. 
 
 " Three times, and in quick succession, the jade trod on 
 that corn of mine — three times, as if she knew exactly 
 the place to pitch upon. I thought I should have fainted. 
 The devil take Miss M'Carthy!" 
 
 " Thou pray'st not well, my noble captain. It will 
 not be the devil, but a devilish good fellow, for all that's 
 come and gone, that will take Miss M'Carthy; namely, 
 your fasciuatiug self, you lucky son of a gun." 
 
 " By the powers, Loftus, you have been drinking; and 
 , it is not quite ten yet. But perhaps it is last night's 
 drink, not slept off." 
 
 " You have, I suppose, slept it off." It does not seem 
 so, though; for a foggier-brained fellow I have seldom 
 met with. Can't you understand 'M'O ' means Char- 
 lotte M'Carthy? and what captain besides you within a 
 circuit of fifty miles is handsome, highly bom, not more 
 than thirty years of age, and decidedly poor, eh? An- 
 swer me that!" 
 
 The gallant captain began to listen with both his 
 ears. He began to dimly comprehend what his enthusi- 
 astic friend was driving at. Miss M'Carthy was a hand- 
 . somish hoyden; but thirty thousand pounds! 
 
 " I had no occasion," continues Comet Loftus, " to 
 extra butter the bait; he swallowed it like sack and sugar, 
 and I left him quite sure that he would be punctual to 
 the appointment. Of course I had told liim that Miss 
 
THE HONOURABLE JOHN LOFTtTS. 175 
 
 M'Carthy was for a time residing, to my knowledge, 
 with an aunt at Swords. That was ' confirmation strong 
 as proof from Holy Writ.' I often quote plays, and 
 without exactly knowing it at the moment. I once 
 thought in my very green salad days I should like to turn 
 player. I mean in the ordinary sense. Is not ' all the 
 world a stage, and all the men and women merely play- 
 ers?' The only doubt I experienced when I left that 
 priace of conceited fops, Brady, was whether, when the 
 curtain fell upon the decisive scene of the little comedy 
 I had invented, it would be found I had been playing the 
 knave or fool! I went on for Imave, but in the transfor- 
 mation scene I might be wearing motley and the cap and 
 bells! — an unendurable thing! If it should so fall out, I 
 would kick the puppy, defiant of Bedford's choler!" 
 
 There were quarta-ed at Swords at that time sis 
 companies of Irish dragoons, the ofiicers of which were 
 amongst the gayest, most rollickiug of thpse proverbially 
 gay and rollicking spirits. With these Cornet Loftus 
 was an especial favourite, and they were, of course, se- 
 cretly apprised of the matrimonial adventure about to be 
 engaged in by Captain Brady. Cornet Loftus did not 
 give them his. entire confidence, nor nearly. To have 
 done so would have spoiled the fan, and marred his main 
 purpose. 
 
 At th& appointed time and place the blushingM'Oarthy 
 jfound herself the object of the admiration of al] the dra- 
 goon ofiicers, and all wearing white roses, in fall dress. 
 But to none did she condescend to show the sign of 
 favouring recognition by giving the military sulute with 
 the riding-whip. All the sugared, high-flown compli- 
 ments paid could not elicit a word or a smile. She was 
 stern, silent, inexorable. 
 
 The thing was getting tiresome, no captain having 
 appeared, and they were about returning to Sivords, when 
 the lady's eyes, which had been steadily fixed in one di- 
 rection, suddenly lightened, and a bright smile parted her 
 lips. Captain Brady had at last put in an appearance. 
 He was walking very slowlj, as if doubtful of the pro- 
 
176 ECCSNTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 prietyof his conduct in answering personally sucli an ad- 
 Tertisement, and its likelihood of success. It happened, 
 from the peculiar curve of the road, that the gallant cap- 
 tain was seen before he had glimpsed either the lady or 
 her numerous niilitary wooers. There being now a cer- 
 tainty of sport, the dragoon officers at a signal from one 
 of them, Charles O'Eeilly, the plotter's especial crony, the 
 whole party disappeared within the wood, where, unseen 
 themselves, they could witness the sport. 
 
 Captain Brady was most graciously received by the 
 lady. Words breathing ardent devotion were stammer- 
 ingly poured or rather gurgled forth from the gallant^ 
 officer's bewitching lips. The modest acquiescence of 
 the gratified fair one was accompanied by a soft, smiling 
 allusion to their former meeting at the Castle ball, which 
 must, one would suppose, have elicited a painful reminis- 
 cent twinge fi'om Captain Brady's corn-toe. But thirty 
 thousand pounds ! That was a salve for all sores ; and 
 the golden goal being won, or as good as won, who can 
 be surprised that the enraptured officer — his itching palm 
 already closing in imagination upon the splendid fortune 
 of his betrothed, as the M'Carthy might now be called — ■ 
 should plump down on his knees, after a nervous glance 
 around to ascertain there was no witness of the scene ex- 
 cept the blushing bride expectant, and vowing, swearing 
 — ^A guffaw of many voices interrupts him ; the gallant 
 captain leaps to his feet, and, flaming to the colour of a 
 peony, is obliged to hear the compliments, the congratur 
 lations of the dragoon oflBcers. They were too late, one 
 of them said, by a few minutes, or, by the powers, the 
 captain would not have carried off the precious prize so 
 easily. During this rude badinage, Brady looked daggers 
 at the intrusive roisterers, who at last, tiring of chaff, 
 went off in the direction of Swords. It was some time 
 before their boisterous laughter died away in the distan'cij. 
 
 Of course Captain Brady was very irate, much dis- 
 turbed — ^who so circumstanced would not be? Never 
 mind. "II rit Men qui rit dernier." He should have the 
 last laugh. And so, composing his ruffled plumes as best 
 
THE HONOUEABLE JOHN LOFTUS. 177 
 
 he could, the captain renewed -his billing and cooing in 
 the most dulcet tones. He declared that her image had 
 been ever present to him since the night of that fairy 
 ball ; and had it not been that a friend of his, Cornet 
 Loftus, had privately informed him who 0- M'C. was, he 
 should never have thought of coming to the enchanted 
 spot where he now breathed the air of Paradise, &c. &c, 
 
 As to the lady's fortune, that to him was of total in- 
 significance. Indeed, he almost wished she was entirely 
 portionless, that he might be able to prove beyond all 
 doubt his disinterested devotion. It is hardly credible 
 thut a man of mature years and of the world could have 
 made such a- gaby of himself, and possibly the mocking 
 narrative of the Honourable John Loftus may be some- 
 what highly coloured. 
 
 " It was now my cue to speak," continues ,the Hon- 
 ourable John Loftus, in very fair Enghsh, by the way, 
 improved by his national brogue — "It was now my cue 
 to speak. 'That generous declaration,' said I, 'has 
 mightily relieved me, since, to confess the truth, the 
 thirty thousand pounds is — is a ' 
 
 "'Is a what. Miss M'Carthy?' gasped Brady, turn- 
 ing all the colours of a dying dolphin. ' Is a what, Miss 
 M'Carthy?' 
 
 " ' Is a dream, dear captain — an illusion. In short, 
 I do not possess thirty thousand farthings. It is true 
 that my aunt may, at her death, leave me a few hun- 
 dreds ' 
 
 " ' D your aunt ! Let me go, will you ? ' 
 
 " ' Why, you false, perfidious man — did you not say, 
 only a minute ago ' 
 
 " ' Never mind what I said ; let me go, I say.' 
 
 " ' But I won't let you go, you false, deceitful villain. 
 I'll let you know what it is to insult a M'Carthy — ^you 
 beggarly spalpeen ! ' " 
 
 The gallant and utterly bewildered captain found 
 himself seized by the throat-collar with a grasp of iron, 
 and the accursed riding-whip, to be lifted by agreement 
 in the fashion of a military salute, was laid most un- 
 
178 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 mercifully across his shoulders with heartiest good-will, 
 Brady struggled fiercely, but c6uld not for a time release 
 himself from the grasp of " the female fiend," who nearly 
 throttled him. At last he broke away, in a frantic state, 
 running at top speed, pursued by that dreadful Miss 
 M'Carthy. He, at last, seemed to have dropped her, and 
 having wiped his streaming forehead, and readjusted 
 himself generally, the crest-fallen captain walked with 
 as much nonchalance as he could, at such short notice,' 
 assume, into the mess-room of the dragopns. He did 
 that, probably, under a confused impression that the 
 virago, from whom he had with such difficulty got free, 
 would never dare to follow him there. 
 
 Error! delusion! unfortunate captain. He had no 
 sooner begun to apologise for his disordered appearance, 
 caused by a smart run — he was fond of running — ^than 
 in bounced Miss M'Carthy — ^flew at the wretched man, 
 who vainly attempted effectual resistance to the athletic 
 young rascal in whose power he had placed himself, and 
 got unmercifully beaten; the accompaniment to which 
 unmerciful beatiug was the lady's furious abuse of the 
 poor fellow for having dared insult a M'Carthy — amid 
 the screaming laughter of the dragoon officers. At last, 
 the terrible fair one stayed her wearied ann, and sailed 
 out of the mess-room, remarking that Captain Brady 
 would not be insolent to an Irish lady of family — one of 
 the ould stock — again in a hurry. The captain disap- 
 peared next day from Swords, and in a few days after- 
 wards from Dublin. It was clearly impossible he could 
 remain there. The story of his having been whipped by 
 a lady had taken the wings of the morning, and was 
 known all over Dublin before the flagellated captain had 
 left Swords — that, to him, for-ever-memorable village. 
 What became of him is not recorded. He vanished into 
 space. The Honourable John Loftus was of opinion 
 that he believed himself to have been whipped and pum- 
 melled by a young woman to the day of lus death. This 
 anecdote does not show the Honourable John Loftus 
 in a very favourable light. The vengeance taken, all 
 
THE HOIfOURABLB JOUK LOFTUS. 179 
 
 things considered, was monstrously disproportionate to 
 the offence. 
 
 This lively young gentleman was the chosen of the 
 Duke of Bedford to out-general or out-manceuvre Thurot, 
 the skilful and daring French sea-captain. Loftus ac- 
 cepted the mission, for the accomplishment of which he 
 possessed peculiar facilities, with alacrity, and took leave 
 of his excellency with an assurance that he would so 
 manage matters that the English squadron should find 
 that of France in the Bay of Carrickfergus. 
 
 The Honourable John Loftus had an intrigue with a 
 pretty girl in the service of one John Donovan, a silver- 
 smith and jeweller of Dublin. The girl's name was Mary 
 Kearden. John Donovan was the brother of a well-to-do 
 farmer residing in the immediate neighbourhood of Car- 
 rickfergus. Both were arrant Jacobites, and well kno^vn 
 to be such, although no overt act of treason could be 
 proved against either of them. The brothers had not 
 seen each other for years; nor had either seen a maiden 
 sister since they were children. This lady's domicile 
 was somewhere in Ulster. She, like her brothers, was 
 a Jacobite enrage, and it was- known to Loftus through 
 Mary Eearden — ^the intrigue I have spoken of, as we shall 
 presently see, was not a criminal one— it was known to 
 Loftus through Mary Eearden that the sister had at last 
 made up her mind to visit her brothers, him at Dublin 
 first, next him living near Carrickfergus. 
 
 Other particulars, more detailed information from the 
 same source, enabled the Honourable John Loftus to 
 plan, mature, and carry out a very notable scheme. 
 
 Mrs. Donovan, a very nice elderly lady, with a bright 
 complexion that did not at all harmonise with her gray 
 locks, reached Dublin and her brother's house several 
 days before she was expected. An excellent excuse was 
 made. The Carrickfergus brother had been taken sud- 
 denly ill, and she, Mrs. Donovan, being desirous of seeing 
 him, had taken Dublin en route, where she could only 
 stay a few hours. John Donovan was pleased to see his 
 sister, very pleased, and feeling anxious for his brother 
 
180 ECCE>»TliIC PEIISONAGES. 
 
 and his niece Anne, that brother's daughter, who might 
 be left destitute by her father's death, he gave his sister 
 a letter to James, assuring him of his sympathy, and also 
 that he had -whispered in her ear certain matters which 
 it was of importance should be communicated to the 
 Liberators." Loftus had succeeded beyond his hopes. 
 A scrap of introduction was all he had hoped for; but 
 the letter would at once give him the political confi- 
 dence of James Donovan. That was very important. 
 
 Loftus started at once for Carrickfergus in his cor- 
 net's uniform, with the make-up of an elderly dame 
 packed away in a valise or knapsack. Arrived within a 
 not very great distance from Carrickfergus, he exchanged 
 his man's for woman's apparel, hired a vehicle of some 
 kind, and was driven to the abode of James Donovan. 
 He was most cordially received; the daughter was de- 
 lighted to see her aunt, embracing her over and over 
 again; a demonstration " which I quietly checked, as it 
 might lead to dangerous consequences." Miss Donovan 
 was a remarkably pretty girl. 
 
 Comet Loftus could not, besides, trifle with time. 
 He found that Thurot, alarmed by rumours of the rapid 
 advance of a large English force, and that a British 
 squadron would soon make its appearance in the bay,, 
 was, after granting highly favourable terms to Colonel 
 Jennings, working vrith hot haste to got his troops, &c. 
 on board, and be off with the least possible delay. This, 
 precipitation would greatly impair the ef&ciency of his 
 ships, two of the frigates being under repair, and the 
 squadron not half victualled. 
 
 If Loftus was to prove worth his salt, he must check 
 that precipitate flight. Twelve hours' delay, less than 
 that, would insure the destruction of the French arma- 
 ment, signally avenge the outrage to British pride of a 
 successful invasion of Ireland, in a small way no doubt, 
 by a contemptible French force relatively considered, 
 after the defeat of Conflans had seemed to render such 
 an event of impossible occuirence. 
 
 James Donovan was in immediate communication 
 
THE HOUOURABLB JOHN LOFTUS. 181 
 
 with Captain Thurot, who thoroughly trusted him. The 
 French commander knew him to be in communication 
 with the principal Jacobites of Ireland, and on more 
 than one occasion had proved the trustworthiness of 
 intelligence obtained by his agency. Loftns assured 
 Donovan, as from his Dublin brother, that the troops 
 assembling for the relief of Carrickfergus could not reach 
 that place in less than four days at earliest, and that the 
 ships about to be despatched by the Duke of BedR)rd — 
 only one of which had arrived in Dublin Bay — conld 
 not, bO'Wind and weather ever so favourable, make their 
 appearance off Carrickfergus in less than that time. 
 Donovan hastened off with the news to Thurot. The 
 French commander did not, perhaps, attach implicit 
 confidence to the report; but it so far influenced him 
 that he did not hurry his preparations for departure 
 with such impatience as before. More than twelve hours 
 would be gained. Loftus felt satisfied of that, and that 
 he himself should be handsomely rewarded for so signal 
 a service by his Excellency the Lord-Lieutenant. 
 
 There was an nnder-play going on in the Donovan 
 household, the fall details of which Loftus, in his charac- 
 ter of aunt, was speedily made acquainted with by her 
 woe-stricken, sobbing nieee, the charming Mary. Her 
 father, feeling that he was too deeply compromised to 
 remain in Ireland — that if he did so, an often-recur- 
 ring imaginative halter tightening unpleasantly round his 
 throat might become a terrible reality — ^had determined 
 to depart with Thurot. To that end he had converted 
 into cash every thing he possessed of marketable value. 
 His daughter was to go with him, and worse than even 
 that, in the damsel's estimation, was to become the wife,, 
 before embarkation, of a Lieutenant de Poncy — a man 
 whom she greatly disliked, and who was old enough to 
 he her father. That dislike had been vrithin a few days 
 intensified to abhorrence — one Charles Sullivan, an old 
 sweetheart, who had been for many months absent from 
 that part of the country, having returned, and at their 
 first stolen interview renewed his vows of attachment 
 
182 ' ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 and constancy — ^vows supplemented by the agreeable fact 
 that he had succeeded to a considerably property in the 
 West of Ireland, of which it was his soul's desire to 
 make her mistress. But Sullivan was not only a Pro- 
 testant, but notoriously loyal to the House of Hanover; 
 and Donovan p4re consequently hated him with an abso- 
 lute hatred. Donovan was not in other respects a harsh 
 father. The niece poured her sorrows into the sympa- 
 thising bosom of her aunt, who bade her be of good 
 cheer, as she would not fail to work out her deliverance, 
 jealously as she was watched and guarded. She was en- 
 joined to believe in her aunt's sincerity, notwithstanding 
 she might appear to coincide with the father's views and 
 favour the pretensions of Lieutenant De Poncy. 
 
 Commodore Thurot will delay no longer. The air is 
 thick with rumours of the swift approach of British land 
 and sea forces. Thurot has dallied with the time; and 
 must not lose another moment. He resolves to sail soon 
 after dawn on the morrow. Donovan's effects — portable 
 effects — are on board the flag-frigate.' Donovan himself 
 goes on board just as the first rays of light pencil them- 
 eelves upon the eastern horizon. 
 
 His daughter will quickly follow. Lieutenant De 
 Poncy is in waiting at the house to escort her to the 
 boat; he has a French seaman with him. They will 
 stand no nonsense; the damsel's tears, prayers, expostu- 
 lations, will not avail her. Her lot is cast irrevocably; 
 her doom sealed. The aunt is with her, but even if she 
 could be melted by the tenderness of tears, her' sympathy 
 ■would practically avail nothing. 
 
 A mistake ! as M. le Lieutenant De Poncy found to 
 his cost. 
 
 "^Allans!' exclaimed the lieutenant, addressing the 
 mourning bride (I am quoting just literally from Loftus); 
 'allons! we must be gone. The squadron will lift anchor 
 in less than a quarter of an hour. We shall be the last 
 to leave this maudit shore.' 
 
 '"It was of your own choice you came to this 
 
THE HONOirRAELE JOHN LOFTUS. 183 
 
 "cursed" shore,' said the aunt; 'though not, perhaps, 
 quite of your own will that you go away.' 
 
 "The Frenchman stai'ed at me. Then he said, 
 ' Bonne femme, be pleased to speak in a more polite, 
 respectful tone when addressing me. Now th,en, made- 
 moiselle, come with me at once. I do not wish to use 
 force without necessity, having your father's sanction 
 and authority.' ' 
 
 . " Boom .' The report of a heavy gun shook the air. 
 
 " ' It is the signal for departure,' exclaimed the 
 Freuch lieutenant, excitedly. ' Nom de Dieu! we shall 
 be left behind. Here, Jacques,' he added, calling to the 
 French sailor, — ' Here, Jacques, help me to master and 
 bind this young lady, who refuses to obey her father's 
 commands !' 
 
 " Poor Mary Donovan was in despair, and looked at 
 me with an expression so piteous, so reproachful, that 
 knowing as I did there could be but little doubt of her 
 successful rescue, the French having all embarked except 
 the enamoured lieutenant aiid his man, I burst into a 
 fit — an immoderate fit of laughter. I cannot account 
 for it, but I am generally affected with spasmodic bursts 
 of merriment when excited and about to engage in some 
 exploit out of the common mode. It was so then. Mary 
 Donovan stared at me through her fast-falling tears. 
 The, lieutenant stared also, and there was a certain ex- 
 pression of doubt and surprise. He detected, I fancy — 
 lor I had dropped the female falsetto — the ring of a 
 man's voice in the few words I uttered. 
 
 " ' Let that young lady alone !' I exclaimed in my 
 ovm natural voice, pitched in its fiercest key — ' let that 
 young lady alone! Do you hear me?' (I spoke in 
 French.) 'Diable!' said the Frenchman, 'what does 
 the old lady mean ?' ' I mean this,' said I, suddenly 
 drawing forth a pistol. The lieutenant started. 'Diable!' 
 was repeated in a less jeering tone — ' diable!' ' G-o away, 
 lieutenant,' I said; ' get on board your ship before she 
 weighs anchor. This jeune demoiselle remains with her 
 aunt.' 'Sacra tonnerre!' exclaimed the lieutenant, 'do 
 
184 ECCENTRIC PERSOHAGES. 
 
 you think I am to be baulked by a cursed old woman ?' 
 His sabre was out in a twinkling, and he rushed at me. 
 He meant, I daresay, only to disarm me, unless he sus- 
 pected, guessed, or imagined I was a man disguised in 
 female attire. My pistol-bullet was swifter than his 
 sabre-sfcroke. He fell with a scream prone upon the 
 floor — dead! The sailor went off with aU sails set." 
 
 The Honourable John Loftus gaye Mary Donovan 
 into the safe keeping of Sullivan, and had the honour of 
 being best-man to ,the bridegroom. He had also been 
 entirely successful in his political mission. Thurot's de- 
 lay, though but for a tew hours only, in the Bay of Car- 
 rickfergus, was fatal to him. The English squadron 
 overtook and captured the French ships, after a severe 
 fight, in which the gallant Thurot was killed. 
 
 Comet Loftus was a " bright particular star" at the 
 Viceregal Court for some months after his Carrickfergus 
 exploit, and won so much upon the favour of a ducal 
 family that he would have been accepted as a suitor to 
 his grace's niece. She was neither young nor handsome 
 — far from being so ; but the Duke promised a dowry of 
 ten thousand pounds. " It was a tempting bait," remarks 
 Loftus; " but I had courage and virtue to say, ' Get thee 
 behind me, Satan.' I had conceived a fervid attachment 
 to Mary Eearden. Not mere boyish passion — straw on 
 fire. So I turned my back on the Duke's niece, and 
 married Mary. The union was kept secret for a while, 
 as his excellency had mors than half promised to obtain 
 me a good appointment. I took lodgings for my wife at 
 the village of Howth. It was not very long before it 
 was whispered about that Cornet Loftus had married a 
 serving-girl. The Duke sent for and questioned me. I 
 did not deny the fact. Being brought to bay, I faced the 
 m'atter boldly out, and gloried in what I had dono. His 
 grace was indignant ; I insolent — ^my blood beiog up. Yv'e 
 parted in extreme wrath. 
 
 "I had but a few shillings over twenty "guineap, — that 
 
THE HOlfOURABLB JOHN LOFTUS. 185 
 
 was all my worldly wealth. I tried friends, but might as 
 well have attempted to reap the wind. So, after much 
 dubitation, I and Mary hit upon the scheme which has 
 given us so much notoriety. She sang well, especially in 
 part-music, having a fine natural ear. So we started off 
 upon an itinerant tour — dressed in the extreme of fashion, 
 both of us. I gave but, at every town we came to, that 
 we were playing at wandering minstrels for a large wager. 
 That is to say, I hinted it mysteriously to the landlords 
 or landladies of hotels and taverns. We had to make up 
 a gTeat sum in a given time. The success was great. 
 People believed me to be a lord, my wife a lady. I played, 
 she played; and both sang very well. No one presumed 
 to offer us less than a silver piece ; and sometimes gold 
 was tossed to us. My wife's beauty had much to do with 
 it. We made money fast — passed over to England, where 
 - we made it much faster. I had two children — flowers of 
 Paradise; and had saved a large sum, when an advertise-, 
 ment appeared in the Irish and English journals, stating 
 if John Loftus, who formerly resided at Carrickfergus (I 
 had sold my cornetcy), would call or communicate with 
 
 Messrs. B , Merrion-square, Dublin, he would hear of 
 
 something to his advantage." 
 
 The Honourable John Loftus did communicate with- 
 out delay; and the result was that his wayward, wander- 
 ing life ended in his settling down at a place called 
 Chevers, in "the County Galway, Ireland — an estated 
 gentleman. His descendants still, I understand, inhabit 
 the iine old mansion bequeathed by the will of the Earl 
 
 of ; and one genileman, a member of the present 
 
 Parliament, and a relative of his, I suppose, in a left- 
 Landed way, only the names ai'e totally dissimilar, ex- 
 hibits eccentricities which go far to prove that oddness 
 or eccentricity of character, though differing in type and 
 fashion, runs in the blood of the family. 
 
JOITATHAN" SWIFT, D.D. AND DEAN OF 
 SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 Theee can be no doubt of the audacious eccentricity of 
 this reverend and dignified gentleman, — dignified by 
 position, not by character, nor by seemly observance of 
 even the common decencies of life. It is difficult to un- 
 derstand how Swift acquired his great reputation. Sir 
 Walter Scott, in the feeblest paper he ever wrote (1824), 
 pronounced hini to be one of the greatest men this coun- 
 try had produced. One feels astounded that such a sen- 
 tence should have flowed fi-om such a pen. No question 
 that Dean Swift possessed a vigorous, sledge-hammer 
 kind of intellect. He was a sort of clerical William Cob- 
 bett, wearing a gown instead of a smock-frock, but ut- 
 terly deficient in the tenderness for women which was the 
 most amiable characteristic of the Hampshire ploughman. 
 With the exception of CruIUver's Travels, nothing of 
 Swift's really lives in the popular mind. The taste of 
 readers has so far improved since his time that indecent 
 coarseness no longer passes for wit, nor irreverent mock- 
 ery of all that constitutes the grace and glory of life' for 
 profound, searching wisdom. The true solution of the 
 enigma presented by the career of Dean Swift is, in my 
 my judgment, this — that he was in a certain morbid 
 sense insane itom an early age. The mental malady 
 grew upon him with advancing years, and at last became 
 apparent to the dullest observer, fully justifying the 
 second line of an often-quoted couplet : - 
 
 " Down. Marlboro's cheeks the tears of dotage flow, 
 And Swift expires a di'iveller and a show." 
 
JOi'ATHAil SWIFT, D.D. 187 
 
 This much-talked-of Dean is commonly claimed bj 
 Irisbmen as a countryman of theirs. No one would 
 grudge the Isle of Saints such honour as that circum- 
 stance might be supposed to confer : but the fact is not 
 so ; except, to use a trite vulgarism, a man is a horse if 
 he happens to be bom in a stable. Jonathan Swift's 
 father was a Yorkshireman, and married Mrs. Abigail 
 Erick, of Leicestershire. Famous people were the Swifts 
 of Yorkshire, if we are to believe the Dean's historio- 
 graphers ; though not by any means equal in historic 
 lustre to the Ericks,— Mrs. Abigail Erick having been a 
 direct descendant of Erick the Forester, who flourished 
 in the days of "William the Norman! 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Swift, though rich in ancestral honours, 
 were poor in an actual money sense. The father of the 
 celebrated Dean was the youngest son of his father, and 
 inherited a youngest son's portion. He accepted the 
 situation or office of steward to the Society of King's Inn, 
 Dublin; went to reside in that city; and there was bom, 
 before the' expiration of the honey-year, if such a phrase 
 b6 permissible, the subject of the present sketch, on the 
 'SOth of November 1667. His father died when he was 
 about a yeai" old, • leaving his widow almost penniless. 
 She had recourse to her deceased husband's brother, re- 
 putedly a "rich man, but not really so. Godwin Swift 
 befriended her to an extent much beyond his real ability. 
 Jonathan's education was secured, and ultimately he en- 
 tered Trinity College, Dublin. He was not very success- 
 ful in his studies there, and prone to all sorts of vagaries. 
 He incurred seventy penalties for gross offences against 
 the discipline of the college, and was compelled to make 
 a most huiniUating apology to Mr. Owen Loyd, the 
 Junior Dean. He, however, obtained a degree, which 
 seems to have been conferred upon him more from com- 
 passion than as a guerdon of merit. Swift was already 
 at war with the world; but with the astuteness which is 
 often found in men of unsound but powerful intellect, he 
 early determined to be on the right side of the world, 
 which he secretly scorned and despised. He sketched 
 
183 ECCEXTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 the first rough outline of his Tah of a Tub, and showed 
 it to his college friend Mr. Warying, who did not greatly 
 approve of the High-Church dogmas which it set forth. 
 He did not, however, suspect that the production was a 
 sample of Jonathan Swift's rabid insincerity. 
 
 Pecuniary troubles again clouded the never- very - 
 bright morning of young Swift's life. Godwin Swift was 
 unable any longer to afford " supplies." Dryden William 
 Swift filled up the gap for a while, not very efiiciently; 
 but his cousin Swift, settled abroad as a merchant, came 
 to the rescue in the very nick of time. Jonathan Swift 
 was at his wits' end — and that, whatever we may think > 
 of his moral character, was a long way to go — when the 
 captain of a merchant -vessel came to Trinity College, 
 and having found out the person he was in quest of, pre- 
 sented him with a considerable sum of money, a gift 
 from the cousin. Young Swift was overjoyed, as well 
 he might be. He offered the captain a large fee for his 
 fidelity in the transaction, which the honest sailor re- 
 fused to receive. 
 
 Swift meanwhile had made great progress in what 
 was, and still is, esteemed learning. He was a fair 
 Greek and Latin scholar, and he had given evidence of 
 the possession of a fluent biting tongue and coarsely- 
 sarcastic pen. 
 
 His worldly prospects still, however, looked gloomy 
 enough, when a ray of light, though but a faint one, 
 pierced through the clouds. He attracted the notice of 
 Mr. Temple, who procured him a situation as secretary 
 or amanuensis to his uncle. Sir WiUiam Temple, of Moor 
 Park, Hampshire, brother of the then Lord Palmerston. 
 
 The connection was not an agreeable one to either 
 Swift or Sir William Temple. The former thought him- 
 self undervalued, which was true enough; and the baro- 
 net, whose lofty opinion of himself is well known, was 
 annoyed by the supercilious assumption of the secretary. 
 A truce was, however, for a time patched up. Sir Wil- 
 liam Temple had drawn up a series of papers upon state 
 affairs, for the edification of King William the Third, and 
 
JONATHAN SWIFT, D.D. 189 
 
 Bent them by his secretary, who was charged to make 
 clear to his Majesty any point or passage which the 
 monarch might not distinctly comprehend. 
 
 Swift acquitted himself so well of this duty, "that 
 his Majesty offered me," says the facetious Dean, " the 
 command of a troop of horse, and to show me how to 
 cut asparagus the Dutch way." Whatever may have 
 been the Dutch mode of cutting asparagus, the manner of 
 eating it seems to have been extraordinary. Some time 
 after his interview with the King, Swift was dining with 
 an acquaintance, who heartily partook of the asparagus, 
 on the table, and pronounced it excellent. " How is it, 
 then, you do not eat it?" exclaimed Swift. "You have 
 left the stalks." " Of course I have; who the devil could 
 eat the stalks?" "Sir, his gracious Majesty eats the 
 stalks. The King, sir, when, as I was just now remark- 
 ing, he offered me a troop of horse, showed me not only 
 how to cut asparagus, but how to eat it. He and his 
 nation always eat the stalks." If the King had offered 
 Swift a lucrative post in the civil service instead of a 
 troop of horse, we may be sure that the asparagus joke, 
 if joke it can be called, would never have been uttered. 
 
 In 1692 we find Mr. Jonathan Swift at Oxford Uni- 
 versity, where he obtained the degree of M.A., and wrote 
 Pindaric odes, not much worse than those of Cowley or 
 Donne. His cousin, John Dryden, to whom he sent a- 
 copy, wrote slightingly of them, an offence which the 
 High-Church author of A Tale of a Tub never forgave. 
 
 Jonathan Swift, M.A., returned to Moor Park, but 
 not to abide long there. He and Sir William Temple 
 had an angry quarrel, the secretary not being as decorous 
 in his life and conversation as the bai'onet was desiri^us 
 he should be. That being so, Mr. Swift announced his 
 intention to go to Ireland, and there take holy orders. 
 He went and took holy orders; but as that initiatory 
 ceremony is barren of desirable fruit unless supplemented 
 by a living, the Ecv. Mr. Swift wrote a penitential letter 
 to Sir William Temple, soliciting his pardon and good 
 offices with the Lord Deputy of Ireland, who had livings 
 
190 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGBS. 
 
 in his gift. The good-natured baronet was at once mol- 
 lified, freely forgaye his reverend correspondent, and so 
 warmly commended him to the favour of the Lord De- 
 puty, that that high ofiBcer presented the young cler- 
 gyman with the living or prebend of Kilroot, in the 
 diocese of Connor, worth about one hundred pounds 
 a-year. 
 
 Previous to this, the Eev. Mr. Swift had wooed Jane 
 Warying, sister of his college -friend, and promised to 
 marry her as soon as circumstances should enable him to 
 do so with prudence. The courtship lasted four years, 
 and was chiefly carried on by letter, At last the lady, 
 wearying of the long delay, asked that some day should 
 be fixed for the celebration of the marriage. To this the 
 reverend suitor replied that he had changed his mind; 
 he had discovered she was too ugly for his wife. This 
 lady he was accustomed to address by the name of " Va- 
 rina." Swift had a fancy for such Twms clamant — though 
 genuine lover he never was throughout his chameleon 
 life. 
 
 A curious anecdote, variously reported, is related of 
 the Eeverend Jonathan Swift. Whilst vegetating at 
 Kikoot, and preaching to a congregation which some- 
 times reached the unusual number of seven persons, the 
 clerk inclusive, he, being out for a walk, met a poor cler- 
 gyman — one much poorer than himself, as he had to 
 maintain a wife and eight children upon forty pounds 
 a-year. It is only in the pages of the poet — a true poet 
 notwithstanding — who lamented the good old times of 
 England when every rood of ground maintained its man, 
 that a parson can be passing rich upon that stipend. 
 And yet, as the story goes, this starving clergyman be- 
 strode a fine black mare, his own property. The Eever- 
 end Mr. Swift was desirous of doing the poor curate a 
 good turn, but naturally expecting some recompense for 
 a charitable deed, asked for the loan of the horse. As 
 the Eeverend Swift was, we may presume, personally 
 known to the poor parson, the request was complied 
 with. Shortly afterwards, according to Sir Walter Scott, 
 
JONATHAN SWIFT, D.D. 191 
 
 the prebend of Kilroot was vacated by Swift, and pre- 
 sented to the indigent clergyman, the Eeverend Jonathan 
 retaining the black mare as a fee for the conversion of 
 forty into one hundred pounds per annum, through his, 
 the Reverend Swift's, influence and exertions. It is a 
 strange story, and scarcely credible, though believed in 
 by Sir Walter Scott. Lord Orrery — no friend of Swift's 
 — gives a very different version of the afPair; but as his 
 imputations are not sustained by proof, it would be un- 
 fair to quote them. The truth of the matter I suppose 
 to be this: Swift had obtained of Lord Berkeley, one of 
 the Lord Justices of Ireland, a promise of the rich dean- 
 ery of Derry, and being about to leave Kilroot, recom- 
 mended the clergyman with a wife and eight children to 
 the vacated prebend, and accepted the " fine black mare" 
 as a present of gratitude. 
 
 The Eeverend Jonathan Swift was grievously disap- 
 pointed in his expectation of the rich deanery of Derry. 
 The Lord Justice's private secretary hsid an insuperable 
 objection to the arrangement. Another candidate, anx- 
 ious to be the instrument of saving souls in that par- 
 ticular deanery, was willing to hand over one thousand 
 pounds for the possession of the blessed privilege. The 
 Eeverend, Jonathan Swift had not, perhaps, a thousand 
 pence. A suflBciently rich client was found, the secre- 
 tary of the Lord Justice pocketed the thousand pounds, 
 and Swift's anger found impotent expression in a letter, 
 wherein he exclaimed, with reference to the Lord Justice 
 and his secretary, " God confound you both for a couple 
 of scoundrels!" 
 
 The Lady Berkeley was friendly to Swift, and through 
 her influence the youthful divine obtained the vicarages 
 of Laracor and Rathbeggan, with the prebend of Dun- 
 lain — the gross income derived from which amounted to 
 four hundred pounds a-year. 
 
 About this time the Eeverend Jonathan carried out 
 a practical joke which caused much amusement. One 
 John Partridge published a Prophetic Almanack, which 
 had a large sale. It was not, perhaps, more absurdly 
 
102 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 audacious than our modem Francis Moore and Zadkeil's 
 publications. It, however, so stirred Swift's bile that he 
 sent a letter to the papers, subscribed " Isaac BickerstafF, 
 the Modem Merlin," in which he foretold the death of 
 Partridge, naming the day and hour when that sad and 
 solemn event would take place. 
 
 Poor Partridge was terribly annoyed : the prediction 
 seemed likely, as sometimes happens, to falfil itself. He, 
 however, survived the day upon which Isaac Bickerstaff, 
 as interpreter of the stars, had foretold that he would 
 die. He announced that important fact in the belief 
 that it would put his persecutor to shame. Not at all ; 
 very far from that. The only notice taken by Swift of 
 the Almanack-maker's assertion that he was alive and 
 well was the publication of a monody on his death. The 
 assertion of his being alive was coolly ignored. Vainly 
 did the persecuted Partridge vprite again to the news- 
 ■ papers, " Blessed be God, John Partridge is still living 
 and in health, and they are all knaves who report other- 
 wise." Strange to say, the Stationers' Company believed 
 Isaac Bickerstaff, and prohibited the publication of Par- 
 tridge's Almanack — forasmuch as that person was de- 
 funct. In his extremity, Partridge engaged the facile 
 pen of Dr. Yalden, who vrrote a pamphlet which set 
 forth the pros and cons of the argument, very elaborately 
 summing up the case by a hesitating opinion that John 
 Partridge was still in the flesh. The Doctor was a wag 
 and a friend of Swift's. John Partridge was never able 
 to successfully prove his own identity, and at last he 
 appears to have been himself somewhat doubtful of it. 
 
 ' I ehall pass rapidly over those sad episodes, so to 
 speak, in the life of this misplaced man, which repute 
 has connected with Miss Esther Johnson and Miss Van- 
 homrig — the Stella and Vanessa of his repulsively selfish 
 egotistical verses. Esther Johnson he met with at Moor 
 Park. She was his pupil, and a beautiful girl. He 
 gained her affections, and with her sister, Mrs. Dingle, 
 she followed him to Ireland. Miss Vanhomrig was a 
 
JONATHAII SWIFT, D.D. 193 
 
 later acquaintance, and she also pursued the fascinating 
 parson to the Emerald Isle. Ultimately Swift married 
 Esther Johnson (Stella), privately, in Dublin — the con- 
 dition being that the union should not be acknowledged 
 till such time as he himself chose to announce it. That 
 time never came. Miss Vanhomrig (Vanessa) died of a 
 broken heart, to use a conventional phrase, which some- 
 times expresses a substantial truth. A great reverse in 
 life, whether it arise jfrom disappoiated affection or baffled 
 ambition, wiU often so weaken and depress the vital force 
 of life, that the slightest ph'ysical disorder will extinguish 
 the flickering flame. 
 
 The Eeverend Jonathan Swift had not, and did not 
 care to have, an extensive cure of souls. His congrega- 
 tion usually consisted of about half-a-dozen hearers, and 
 upon one occasion he had only one auditor, the parish- 
 clerk, one Eoger Cose, whom, on commencing Ms ser- 
 mon, this facetious champion of High-Church orthodoxy 
 addressed as " Dearly beloved Eoger !" 
 
 The Eeverend Jonathan Swift, in sooth, cared but 
 for the emoluments of the Church, though he did write 
 a pamphlet upon ohe best mode of promoting the ad- 
 vancement of religion. A Whig in politics, he, finding 
 Harley and Bolingbroke in favour with Queen Anne, 
 abandoned his former friends, and employed his bitter 
 pen to vilify them. He was constantly in London solicit- 
 ing and importuning for preferment — money ! " If the 
 Queen," vprote the high-flying Churchman to Stella, " does 
 not give me a thousand pounds, I am ruined." 
 
 When in London, Swift used to frequent Button's. 
 Coffee-house, where he was known as " the Mad Parson." 
 He rarely spoke to, any one, and was in the habit of 
 pacing the room to and fro in moody silence. He broke 
 that silence one day by an odd sally. A country gentle- 
 man in mud-bespattered boots came in. Swito instantly 
 accosted him with " Pray, sir, do you remember any fine 
 weather in the world ?" The country gentleman thanked 
 God that he had in his lifetime known much fine weather. 
 
194 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 " "Well, sir, then your experience and mine differ. The 
 weather is always too hot or too cold, too wet or too 
 dry." EecoUecting his Church livery, Swift sanctimoni- 
 ously added, " Howeyer, God contrives it is all well at 
 the end of the year." 
 
 Dr. Arbuthnot, who now and then dropped in at 
 Button's, tried a fall with the mad parson, and got the 
 worst of it. He had written a note in the coffee-room, 
 and stepping up to the "mad parson," asked if he could 
 favour him with a little sand to dry the ink. " No, sir," 
 said Swift; " I have no sand; but I could accommodate 
 you with a little gravel." 
 
 Lord Wharton, of not very odorous reputation, was 
 appointed Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and was, of course, 
 pursued by the importunities of Swift. He was unsuc- 
 cessful. Dr. Loyd, who was on sufSciently intimate 
 terms with Lord Wharton, had observed that an attend- 
 ant upon her ladyship, upon whom she had bestowed the 
 sobriquet of Foysdy, was an especial favourite with hia 
 lordship. Dr. Loyd made vehement court to the young 
 lady — actually proposed marriage to her ; upon hearing 
 which Lord Wharton exclaimed, with the fervour inspired 
 by a great .deliverance, " Why, then, he shall have the 
 first bishopric that falls vacant." Dr. Loyd was in no 
 hurry to make dear Foysdy Mrs. Loyd. He waited till 
 a bishopric did fall vacant — ^that of Cork, and imme- 
 diately married Foysdy. Lord Wharton endeavoured 
 faithfully to fulfil his part of the bargain, but Queen 
 Anne could not be persuaded to nominate Loyd Bishop 
 of Cork, and that eminent divine was compelled to accept 
 a not very lucrative deanery in the North, as the best 
 solatium obtainable for his disappointment. Swift in- 
 dulged in much coarse merriment at Dr. Loyd's ex- 
 pense. 
 
 Mrs. Masham, the influential favourite of Queen Anne, 
 was a steady friend to Swift, and but for his irritable 
 temper, might have succeeded' in procuring him the 
 bishopric of Hereford. There were, however, two favour- 
 ites — ^the Duchess of Somerset, and Mrs., subsequently 
 
JONATHAN SWIFO*, D.D. 195 
 
 Lady Masham. Her majesty alternately listened to the 
 advice of one and of the other. Swift knew that her 
 Grace of Somerset disliked him, and in a fit of petulance 
 wrote and caused to be printed a scurrilous libel, in 
 which he charged her with the murder of her first hus- 
 band. At the earnest request of Lady Masham, to whom 
 he had sent a copy, and who knew how much it would 
 ofiend the queen, he gave orders to the printer to de- 
 stroy all the copies. Hei was too late. The duchess 
 had obtained one of them, which she showed to the 
 queen, w;ho was exceedingly indignant that such a charge 
 should be made against a person whom she held in favour 
 and esteem. The Archbishop of York also opposed him- 
 self to Swift's pretensions, and spite of Lady Masham's 
 powerful support, the'bishopric, which he believed him- 
 self to be in almost actual possession of, became a rapidly- 
 dissolving view. He afterwards avenged himself, after 
 his fashion, by the foUowing couplet : 
 
 " By an old murderess pursued, 
 A crazy prelate, and a royal prude." 
 
 At last he so far succeeded in the struggle for the 
 loaves and fishes of the Church as to obtain the deanery 
 of St. Patrick, Dublin. There being nothing more to 
 hope for from the English Ministry, Swift determined to 
 set up for a flaming Irish patriot, — he^ who had always 
 proclaimed his disgust with Ireland and all things Irish. 
 Once at the town of Eells, he asked the landlord of the 
 tavern in which he was staying his ' name and country. 
 The reply was, " My name is Jonathan Belcher, and I 
 am an Englishman by birth." "Good heavens!" ex- 
 claimed Swift, " an Englishman baptised Jonathan Iwe!" 
 
 The Dean preached political pamphlets, not sermons; 
 and soon came to be very popular in Dublin. He had 
 not to wait very long for an opportunity of displaying 
 his newly-Mndled Irish zeal. 
 
 William Wood was authorised by royal patent to coin 
 copper-money for Ireland to the amount of one hundred 
 and eight thousand pounds. T'^is would have been a 
 
19G ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 perfectly legitimate, unobjectionable transaction, had it 
 not oozed out that the patent had been obtained through 
 the influence of the Duchess of Kendal, the king's mis- 
 tress, who was to share half the profits with Wood. 
 
 Swift at once took up the cudgels nominally against 
 "Wood — really against the Ministry, He wrote under 
 the name of " A Drapier," and his vigorous Billingsgate 
 produced immense effect. Harding, the printer of the 
 letters, was thrown into gaol, and a reward of three 
 hundred pounds was offered for the discovery of the 
 writer. Every body knew the Dean was the author — 
 the moral proof was conclusive, but legal evidence of the 
 fact was not obtainable. Harding steadily refused to 
 give up the name of the author. Swift himself was a 
 witness of the man's constancy. " He visited Harding 
 disguised as an Irish peasant. Whilst there, Govem- 
 ment emissaries arrived; they came with liberal offers 
 from the viceregal government if Harding would enable 
 them to convict the seditious pamphleteer. Harding 
 refused — preferring to remain in prison rather than be- 
 tray the confidence which Swift had reposed in him. 
 The Dean found himself nevertheless in great jeopardy. 
 A Servant who had taken the manuscript to Harding 
 and brought back proofs, presuming upon the possession 
 of so perilous a secret, replied to the Dean in an insolent 
 manner, hinting that he might be induced to claim the 
 reward offered by the Government. " Strip off your 
 livery!" exclaimed the em-aged Dean. "Begone, and 
 do your worst !" The man begged pardon and was for- 
 given. 
 
 One curious incident in this absurd imbroglio deserves 
 notice. Svrift attended a levee held by Lord Calcot, the 
 lord-lieutenant, and bursting through the brilliant entour- 
 age, fiercely demanded how his lordship dared to keep 
 such an honest man as Harding in gaol. Lord Calcot, 
 who knew perfectly well, as every one else did, that Swift 
 was the Drapier, replied with a good-humoured classical 
 quotation, and the matter ended. The obnoxious patent 
 was ultimately cancelled. 
 
JOITATHAIT SWIFT, D.D. 197 
 
 There are innumerable anecdotes related of the Dean, 
 all, or nearly all, exhibitive of a coarse, offensive nature. 
 Nasty is the true word. His deanship did not engage a 
 servant without first questioning him or her as to their 
 willingness to perform the most servile, unpleasant oflBces. 
 If the answers given were satisfactory, showing the re- 
 quisite slavish spirit, the man or woman was engaged,, 
 not otherwise. 
 
 One not unsavoury anecdote told of this man is that, 
 when " Mary Cook" sent him to table a leg of muttoa 
 overdone, he rang for and desired her to take it away,. 
 " and do it less." 
 
 The fierce, erratic intellect rapidly gave way at last. 
 He was. himself conscious — had for years felt conscious 
 that his brain wds flawed. It was a morbid sympathy 
 with unfortunates afflicted with mental derangement 
 which prompted him to found the Hospital for Idiots. 
 One day, reading his Tale of a Tub, he suddenly exclaimed, 
 " Good Heavens! what a genius I had when I wrote that 
 book ! It is gone now — gone — gone for ever !" This, 
 reminds us of the anecdote of Marlborough, who, when 
 in his dotage, gazing upon a portrait of himself when 
 he was in the flush and heyday of life, exclaimed, in a 
 childish, treble voice, "That was a man!" 
 
 When strolling with a friend in the country. Swift 
 gave utterance to the dismal forebodings which had long 
 possessed him. They came upon a noble elm, the top- 
 most branches of which were withered. " Ah, my friend !" 
 exclaimed Swift, "like that tree, I shall die at the top!" 
 
 Prophetic words — soon to be realised. Dean Swift 
 died raving mad, leaving little behind him, spite of great 
 talents, which the world has not willingly allowed to die. 
 
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE. 
 
 The Lady Mary Pierrepoint was the eldest of the three 
 daughters of the Earl of Dorchester, afterwards Duke of 
 Kingstown. She was his favourite, very beautiful as a 
 child, and of that type of beauty which maturity perfects 
 and enhances. A singularly precocious girl was the Lady 
 Mary Pierrepoint; her talent, genius — such talent and 
 genius as she possessed — not only budded, but flowered 
 early. The splendour and the perfume were, in a com- 
 parative degree, but the suppliance of a minute — sweet, 
 not lasting — forward, not permanent. 
 
 The first distinct view we have of her ladyship is at 
 the once famous Kit-cat Club in 1698. It was the cus- 
 tom at that very aristocratic reunion to assemble at the 
 coromencement of the London season, to nominate the 
 lady who should be their standing toast for the year, 
 have her name inscribed upon their drinking-glasses, and 
 her portrait painted in Kit-cat fashion — head and bust 
 merely. In the year named, 1698, the members of the 
 Club were somewhat puzzled as to the choice "of a lady 
 who would accept the honour. To end the difiiculty the 
 Earl of Dorchester proposed his daughter, the Lady Mary 
 Pierrepoint. There was some demur to the proposal, no 
 member of the Club having seen the ypung lady. To 
 obviate that objection the earl said he would go at once 
 and fetch her if the members were willing that he should 
 do so. There could be no possible objection, and it was 
 not long before the earl returned with a beautiful girl 
 not quite nine years old: She was received and nomi- 
 nated' with exuberant acclamation. The members were 
 delighted, and the Lady Mary received their compliments 
 with a grace and sweetness almost womanly, which won 
 upon the hearts of all. She herself was in an ecstasy of 
 
LiJDY MARY WOETLET MONTAGUE. 199 
 
 delight. The incense of admiration intoxicated her at 
 that child-age. " Pleasure," she afterwards wrote, "plea- 
 sure were too poor a word to express my sensations; 
 nerer again throughout my life have I spent so happy a 
 day." There is in these few words a self-revelation which 
 gives the key to her wayward ladyship's whole life — a life 
 of which the master-passion was vanity, insatiable vanity, 
 a craving after notoriety, from the attainment of which 
 she would certaiuly not be hindered by old humdrum 
 prejudices. 
 
 The charmiug nominee of the Kit-cat Club was born 
 in 1690, at Thoresby, Nottinghamshire^ She was iu her 
 fifth year when the Countess of Dorchester died, since 
 when her studies had been directed by the earl, her father. 
 The curriculum adopted was identical with that pur- 
 sued by her brother, the Earl of Newark. The girl soon 
 distanced the boy. He was nowhere in Classics. When 
 she was still ia her early teens the Lady Mary had mas- 
 - tered the Greek and Latin languages, and acquired so 
 true an insight into the social and political condition of 
 England, that she translated Epktetus, after a fashion, 
 and sent the manuscript to the Lord Bishop of Salis- 
 bury, accompanying it with a long, laboured epistle, in 
 which she proved to her own perfect satisfaction that 
 the " sinking liberties of England" could only be saved 
 from speedy and total wreck by the patriotic fortitude 
 of soul which liis lordship was known to possess. The 
 elwir vitcB recommended by her young ladyship for the 
 eifectual renovation of England, whose fine ladies, this 
 pretty minx of fifteen assured the bishop, were more 
 atheistic than the loosest rakes, was the enforced educa- 
 tion of English girls and women in the dead languages; 
 which means that they should be consecrated to Clms- 
 tianity by the baptism of Pagan moralists. What answer 
 was returned by my lord the bishop to this silly stuff 
 does not appear. Mr. Stuart Wortley, the present Ee- 
 corder of London, if I mistake not, is of opinion that 
 that early flight of genius showed that the charming 
 girl's talents would bear her very high in the literary 
 
200 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 empyrean. His Eecordership's law, we may be per- 
 mitted to hope, is sounder than his critical acumen. 
 
 It is difficult, if not impossible, accurately to estimate 
 Greek and Latin scholarship. In ninety-nine cases out 
 of a hundred it is a pretentious sham. Person, the most 
 famous of Greek scholars, used to admit in his cups that 
 he really knew less of the Greek language than an ancient 
 Greek cow-boy. Mr. Gladstone would probably make the 
 same admission. Professor Porson, moreover, denied that 
 the scholastic Germans knew any thing of Greek: 
 
 " The Germans in Greek 
 Are sadly to seek, 
 Not one in ten score, 
 Nor yet in ten more, 
 Except my friend Hermann, 
 And Hermann's a German — '" 
 
 There are other tests more decisive than mere critical 
 dicta. The highly-cultivated classic taste of Lady Mary 
 Pierrepoint was of so refining a quality as to cause her 
 to revel with delight over the highly-intellectual pages 
 printed at the Minerva Press, to admire and effusively 
 sympathise with Corydons, Celias, Grandisons, Aramin- 
 tas, who sigh, simper, maunder, and preach through 
 dreary records of impossible life. The English dramatic 
 writing which this young lady (whom her biographers 
 would have the world believe could not only read in the 
 original but fully appreciate Sophocles and Euripides) 
 most highly esteemed, was not Shakespeare's. She seems 
 to have condescendingly patronised the anthoi of Ilamlet 
 something after the supercilious fashion of Mrs. Montagu 
 and the author of Irene. Her admiration of the British 
 stage culminated in Lilly's magnificent George Barnwell. 
 The force of genius could not soar a loftier flight than 
 was evinced in that immortal drama. After this, the 
 anecdote of the enthusiastic Scotchman who, standing 
 up in the pit, after the successful representation of 
 Home's tragedy oi Douglas, exultingly exclaimed, looking 
 down upon the English audience ii'om the immeasurable 
 height of Caledonian conceit — " What do you think of 
 
LADY MART WOBTLBY MONTAGUE. 201 
 
 yourTVooly Shakspere noo?" — treads like the utterance of 
 a sensible man. 
 
 BeantiM Lady Mary was, it would seem, by her own 
 confession, by no means fastidious as to personal cleanli- 
 ness. One of her French intimates remarked that her 
 hands were not so clean as they might be. "ifes mains I 
 G'est vrai; mats si votes iwyies mes precis ! " (" My hands I 
 It is true; but if you could see my feet !") 
 
 A fi-oiicsome girl was this daughter of the Duke of 
 Kingston, destined, in that age of literary gourd-tribe 
 luxuriance, to attain rapidly as lofty as spurious a reputa^ 
 tion for genius. She ordered a boy's fantastic dress of 
 many colours, very picturesque, becoming in a certain 
 sense no doubt, and used to delight in riding a favourite 
 pony boy-fashion, at a pace which made the attendant 
 groom, though well mounted, toil after her in vain. She 
 was, perhaps, as good a horse-woman as Queen Victoria. 
 
 Her eccentricities, whilst she was still young — not 
 unsexed, un-Englished, by a cosmopolitan cynical scep- 
 ticism — often iaclined to virtue's side, to use a much- 
 quoted namby-pambyisru. An elderly person iu the es- 
 tablishment had been guilty of some impertinence to- 
 wards her, which coming to the Earl of Dorchester, or 
 the Duke of Kingston's knowledge (the date of the anec- 
 dote is not so clear as the fact itself), the woman was 
 discharged without notice. She was poor. The Lady 
 Mary — ^her anger, excited by the servant's want of man- 
 ners, having subsided — managing, under pretence that 
 she required a considerable sum of money for the re- 
 plenishment of her wardrobe, to obtain fifty guineas of 
 the earl or duke, went herself to the woman's dwelling, 
 and handing her the iifty-guinea purse, said, "Now mind, 
 you very impudent creature, that if you ever dare men- 
 tion that I have given you money, not only will I never 
 give you another farthing, but I v/ill have you hunted out 
 of the country. Eemember that !" The woman, or some 
 other person cognisant of the circumstance, must have 
 mentioned it, as it soon became known in the Lady 
 Mary's father's establishment, and the servant was before 
 
202 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 long readmitted to the situation from wiucli she had 
 been abruptly dismissed. 
 
 The home-education of the Lady Mary Pierrepoint 
 was well adapted to early-fashion a girl of her peculiar 
 idiosyncrasy and temperament into a selfrwilled, vain, 
 self-confident girl-woman of the world. She was mis- 
 tress of her father's household, presided at her- father's 
 table when she was in her sixteenth year. The conTer- 
 sational contact incident to such a position, in a house 
 where the guests were chiefly men, could not be otherwise ' 
 than destructive of the maidenly modesty of manner 
 which constitutes the charm of girlhood. 
 
 Still she was a much-admired, much-toasted young 
 lady, not only at the Kit-cat Club, but other resorts of 
 fashionable gentlemen. No wonder that her not very 
 powerful, though to a certain extent creative brain was 
 turned by the adulation of society, that the incense lav- 
 ishly burnt before the shrine of the noble young beauty 
 by a multitude of titled fools and tuft-hunters should 
 have developed her organ of vanity — originally large 
 enough, in all conscience — to a prodigious extent. Beau- 
 tiful — fascinating, when she chose to be so — and de- 
 clared to be the wittiest woman of that or any other 
 age, it is not surprising that she esteemed herself to be 
 superior to all the men and women in the world — in 
 that hallucination presenting a marked resemblance to 
 Margaret Fuller, the American phenomenon, who made 
 her briUiant debut, passed across, and made iier sudden 
 exit from the stage of the world a century and a half 
 after her English prototype. Well, the Lady Mary was 
 certainly witty — ^not with the wit of Rosalind or Beatrice, 
 or its faintest reflex, but she could string together shining 
 sentences. Not much in them, but the gold varnished 
 glittered. There liave been, are, and I suppose always 
 will be, adepts in that art. They resemble the artist- 
 workers of Birmingham, who, it is said, can manufacture 
 a thousand pounds' worth, sale-worth, of jewelry out of 
 a sovereign and a copper coalshute. 
 
 Lady Mary was especially proud of her epistolary 
 
LADY MAltT ■WOETLET MONTAGUE. 203 
 
 powers. " Do not destroy or mislay my letters," she wrote, 
 with laughable e'goisme. " Forty years hence they will be 
 as highly esteemed as those of Madame de Sevign^." 
 
 I give a specimen of one of the compositions which 
 were to riTal, possibly surpass, those of the spirituelle 
 Frenchwoman. Lady Mary was on a visit in Yorkshire, 
 whence she addressed the following barren, blotting- 
 paper imitation of the De Sevigne style to her Mend 
 Anne Wortley, the granddaughter of Admiral Montague, 
 Earl of Sandwich. She is writing of the Yorkshire 
 beaux : 
 
 " In the first form of these creatures is a Mr. Van- 
 berg. Heaven, no doubt compassionating his duhiess, 
 has inspired him with a passion which makes us all 
 ready to die with laughing. 'Tis credibly reported that 
 he is endeavouring at the honourable estate of matri- 
 mony, and is resolved to lead a sinful life no more. It 
 is hard to say whether pure holiness inspires, or dotage 
 turns his brain. 'Tis certain he attends the Monday 
 and Thursday market assemblies constantly, and for 
 those who don't regard worldly advantage much, there's 
 extra good and plentiful choice. I believe there were 
 two hundred pieces of woman's flesh — fat and lean — last 
 Monday. But you, know Van's taste was always odd. 
 His inclination for ruins has given him a taste for Mrs. 
 Yarborough. He sighs and ogles so, that it would do 
 your heart good to see him, and she is not a little pleased, 
 in so small a proportion of men amongst such a number 
 of women, that a whole should fall to her share." 
 
 The Lady Mary had a multitude of lovers, admirers, 
 and danglers; not one of whom did she regard with the 
 slightest real favour. But she amused herself mightily 
 with them. One desperately enamoured and very rich 
 young gentleman, a Mr. John Beauchamp, who made 
 impassioned love to her, and who, when she had just 
 passed her eighteenth birthday, sent a formal offer in 
 writing to her noble father. The young gentleman 
 was a wretched horseman. He had been brought up 
 effeminately by " a timid, fearful aimt." A John-Gilpin 
 
204 ECCENTEIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 equestrian, he preferred a walking pace while on the 
 back of a horse, or at the worst a very mid amble. Mis- 
 chievous Lady Mary resolved to give him a practical 
 lesson upon the folly of seeking to unite himself in the 
 blessed bonds of wedlock to a lady whose tastes, habits, 
 proclivities were so directly opposed to his own. 
 
 John Beauchamp, esquire, attended in the forenoon 
 at the duke's mansion to receive, as he phrased it, his 
 life or death-warrant. He barely escaped, in grim reality, 
 the latter alternative. Lady Mary Pierrepoint was wait- 
 ing for the sighing swain in the fore court-yard; her 
 high-blooded pony was ready, as was another equally 
 high-blooded animal, though in appearance meek, mild 
 to a fault. "You will take a ride with me?" said her 
 young ladyship, flashing upon her dazzled suitor one of 
 her most brilliant smiles: " I have had the quietest mare 
 in the stable saddled on purpose for you. We shall have 
 a delightful ride on this beautiful day." What could the 
 ardent lover do but accept so flattering an invitation, 
 whatever his misgivings as to the quietest mare in the 
 stable? I am almost sure, by the way, he was the Hon- 
 ourable John Beauchamp, so called, at all. events, if I 
 remember rightly, in an old number of the Gentleman's 
 Magazine, from which I derive the anecdote. Whether 
 honourable or not, the highly-flattered, dreadfully-fright- 
 ened lover mounted the meek mare with a groom's as- 
 sistance, and away went the fast pony with her faster 
 ladyship, the quiet mare following suit with a will. It 
 was cruel, terrible — sit upright, holding on solely by the 
 bridle, the Honourable John Beauchamp could not, at 
 that terrible pace; and stooping doAvn, like Cowper's 
 hero, he grasped the mane with both his hands and eke 
 with all his might. Ah, my Lady Mary, it is useless to 
 wave your handkerchief, as, half-turning round in the 
 saddle, you do, by way of courteous encouragement, to 
 that frightfully scared swain. The quietest of mares has 
 become unusually excited — wondering and perplexed, no 
 doubt, as to the kind of animal which bestrides her. She 
 passes the pony hke a cannon-shot, and makes straight 
 
liADY MARY WOETLEY MONTAGUE. 205 
 
 for a fiTe-barred gate, wliich she has leapt a hundred 
 times. The Honourable John Beauchamp screams with 
 terror, but holds on, neyertheless, like grim Death, to 
 the mai-e's mane and neck, till the terrible leap takes 
 place, when he is shot out of the saddle like a stone from 
 a sling. The Lady Mary and groom ride up, and the 
 frolicsome maiden, was a good deal alarmed by the result 
 of her practical joke, as she looked upon the white face 
 of her lover, and the blood oozing from the back of his 
 head. The Honourable John Beauchamp was, fortu- 
 nately, not killed, though the escape from death was a 
 narrow one. It does not seem that he ever again re- 
 newed his offer of marriage, or requested a more decisive 
 reply to that which he had sent. He was quite satisfied, 
 and in after years, when the Lady Mary had developed 
 into the bluest of las-Ileus, the strongest of strong- 
 minded women, was wont in 'his convivial hours to rejoice 
 in the memory of that tremendous ride. Bitter in the 
 mouth, but sweet in the stomach. 
 
 Meanwhile, a marriage between her eccentric lady- 
 ship and the Honourable Edward Wortley Montague was 
 initiated. Mr. Wortley Montague, a solemn, methodic 
 gentleman, an incarnation of red-tape routine, became 
 enthralled by her lovely ladyship — by her face and figure 
 ■^-a merely sensuous passion. Lady Mary Pierrepoint met 
 the gentleman one day at his sister's. He, like most duU 
 pedants, , affected contempt for feminine acquirements, 
 feminine genius. Lady Mary put forth all her powers 
 to compel the practical retraction of that cynical creed; 
 the artillery of her eyes, and general personal beauty, 
 being infinitely more effective, we may be sure, than 
 smart flippancy of tongue, which never since the world 
 began enchained the affections of a man. It was espe- 
 cially hopeless to attempt doing so in this particular in- 
 stance. Had the Lady Mary been gifted with genuine 
 wit or humour, it would have been as useless attempting 
 to cut blocks with a razor, as to have sought the sub- 
 jugation of Mr. Wortley Montague by such a weapon. 
 At their first interview, it came out that her ladyship's 
 
§06 ECCENTEIC PEKSONAGES. 
 
 classic curriculum did not comprise Quintus Curtius. 
 This afforded Mr. Worfcley Montague an opportunity of 
 sendiag his charmer a copy, on the flyleaf of which he 
 wrote the following dreary doggrel : 
 
 " Beauty like hers had vanquished Persia shown, 
 The Maoedon had laid his empire down, 
 And polished Greece obeyed a barbarous throne. 
 Had wit so bright adorned a Grreoian dame, 
 The amorous youth had lost his thirst for fame. 
 Nor distant India sought through Syria's plain. 
 But to the Muses' stream hither had run, 
 And thought her lover more than Ammon's son." 
 
 This supremely dull and pompous personage was, how- 
 ever, unmistakably iu love with the Lady Mary's beauty. 
 He could not escape its influence, though nervously de- 
 sirous of doing so. The Eeverend Sydney Smith used to 
 say that he must have recourse to an umbrella to shield 
 himself from the "Norton" rays. Mr. Wortley Montague 
 contemplated the adoption of a far more effective defence 
 against such sim-strokes — that of flight. But he could 
 not convert purpose into action ; he could not break his 
 chains. His correspondence with the eccentric enchan- 
 tress was commenced through the medium of his sister, 
 Anne "Wortley. Wortley Montague wrote the letters, the 
 fervour of which, supposedly uttered by female lips, would 
 have been insipidly absurd. One of the Lady Mary's re- 
 plies is explicative enough — ^is only another illustration 
 of the instinct by which V esprit vimt auxfilks: 
 
 " I am infinitely obliged to you, my dear Miss Wort- 
 ley, for the wit, beauty, and other fine qualities you be- 
 Etow upon me. Next to receiving them from heaven, 
 you are the person from whom I would receive gifts and 
 graces. I am very well satisfied to owe them to your 
 own delicacy of imagination, which represents to you the 
 idea of a fine lady, and you have good natm-e enough to 
 fancy I am she. All this is mighty well, but you do not 
 stop there. Imagination is boundless. After giving mei 
 imaginary wit and beauty, you give me imaginary pas-' 
 sion, and you tell me I'm in lova If I am, it is a lore 
 
LADY MATIY WOUTLEY MOKTAGUE. 207 
 
 of ignorance, for I don't even know the man's name. I 
 passed the days of Nottingham Eaces at Thoresby, with- 
 out seeing or wishing to see one of the sex. Now, if I 
 am in love, I am very unfortunate to conceal it so indus- 
 triously from my own knowledge, and yet reveal it so 
 plainly to other people. 'Tis against all form to have 
 such a passion as that without giving one sigh for the 
 matter. Pray telL me the name of him I love, that I 
 may, according to the custom of lovers, sigh to the woods 
 and groves hereabout, and teach it to theit echo." 
 
 Miss "Wortley died, and the thin, transparent device 
 of wooing by proxy — lisping love for a woman by the 
 voice of a girl — ^was necessarily given up. Mr. Wortley 
 Montague courted in person instead of by attorney; but 
 the trumpet gave an uncertain sound, and the replying 
 echoes were still more uncertain. 
 
 " You think," said the lady, " that if you married me 
 I should be distractedly fond of you for one month, and 
 of somebody else the next. Disabuse yourself of that 
 notion. Neither would happen. I can esteem, I can be 
 a friend, but I don't know whether I can love. Expect 
 all that is complaisant and easy, but never what is fond 
 in me." Mr. Wortley proposed that immediately the 
 nuptial knot was tied, the " happy pair" should retire 
 to the glades, permanently it would seem — the world 
 forgetting, by the world forgot. A paradisal hermitage 
 was dimly pictured in his foggy imagination, The Lady 
 Mary had no such stuff in her thoughts. " Eetirement," 
 said the strong-minded young lady, " would soon be dis- 
 agTceable to you. A face is too slight a foundation for 
 happiness. You would soon be tired of seeing every day 
 the same thing." Again : " Love is a mere madness— 
 the passion of a chUd for a well-dressed doll. It delights 
 him till in a short time the tinsel covering wears through, 
 and he discovers that it is mainly made of sawdust." 
 Truly a plain-spoken damsel, perfectly secure of her vic- 
 tim, if she elected to lead him to the altar of sacrifice. 
 In another of these amiable rejoinders she says : " Make 
 no answer to this. If you can like me on my own terms. 
 
208 ECCENTRIC PEESOSAGES. 
 
 'tis not to me you must make the proposals. If not, to 
 what purpose is our correspondence?" 
 
 Lord "WhamcliflFe remarks in his poorly and partially- 
 written biography of his ancestors that Mr. Wortley Mon- 
 tague was horribly afraid of uniting himself for better 
 for worse with such a very original damsel, and struggled 
 fiercely to break through the meshes in which she had 
 • bound him; " but every struggle to get free left him stiU 
 a captive, galled by his chain, yet unable to break one 
 link of it effectually." 
 
 Who can control his fate? Mr. Wortley surrendered 
 at discretion, and made a formal proposal for the hand of 
 the fascinating daughter to the Earl of Dorchester. The 
 proposal was accepted with reservations as to how the 
 property should be settled. Mr. Wortley, inspired by his 
 lady-love, vjho differed with society — "high" society, it 
 is well understood — cr&me de la crime — with respect to 
 the justice of the laws of entail and primogeniture, re- 
 fused to entail the whole of his landed estate upon the 
 oldest male issue of the proposed marriage, who might, 
 he remarked with prophetic truth, prove a spendthrift, an 
 idiot, or a villain. Lady Mary was decidedly of opinion 
 that the fathers and mothers of children should reserve 
 joint power to make such Sispositioil of their property as 
 they saw fit. The Earl of Dorchester would not listen 
 to such revolutionary doctrines, and the marriage nego- 
 tiation was abruptly broken off. 
 
 Principle and passion are very unequally matched 
 antagonists. A new and, in the opinion of the Earl of 
 Dorchester, more eligible suitor for the hand of Lady 
 Mary Pierrepoint appeared suddenly in the field. This 
 gentleman, who was very rich, would sign and seal to 
 any documentary settlement the earl chose to dictate, 
 and readily agreed to maintain a town establishment. 
 This cardinal point had never been distinctly conceded 
 by Mr. Wortley. The Lady Mary hesitated. She pre- 
 ferred Mr. Wortley. But the earl, her father, threatened 
 that if she did not maiTy the man of Aw choice, he would 
 forthwith pack her off to some out-of-the-way country 
 
LAi>Y MARY WOETLET MONTAGUE. 209 
 
 place and keep her locked up till she came to her senses. 
 I cannot but think it would have been happy for the 
 ■wilfiil young lady had the earl been able to carry out 
 his purpose. But the Lady Mary's organ of combative- 
 ness had been called into play; and it was an organ of 
 much more than ordinary size and development. The 
 wedding-dresses were ordered, sent home. It was im- 
 perative to decide at once. The Lady Mary cast off her 
 indecision, though tremblingly. An. elopement was ar- 
 ranged. The following extract of a letter, vmtten on its 
 eve, lets in betraying light on the lady's character : 
 
 " I treinble for what we are doing. Are you sure you 
 will love me for ever? Shall we never regret the step 
 we are about to take? I fear, aJnd I hope. I foresee much 
 that will presently happen. My family will be furiously 
 incensed. The world generally will blame my conduct ; 
 
 the friends of r- will invent a thousand stories to my 
 
 discredit; yet 'tis possible you may compensate me for 
 all. In your last letter, which I much like, you promise 
 me all that I wish. [The tovm establishment ?] Since 
 I wrote so far, I received your Friday letter. I will be 
 only yours, and I will do as you please." 
 
 The elopement was successfully carried out, though 
 as the bride was in her twenty-fourth year, and as a con- 
 sequ.ence at her own disposal, the necessity of such a pro- 
 ceeding does not clearly appear. Lady Mary Pierrepoint 
 was married to Mr. Wortley Montague in May 1713. 
 
 A miserable marriage ! The lady's mind daily be- 
 coming " stronger" in the social-science sense of the 
 phrase, enabled her to mentally tear asunder — I think 
 only mentally — the flimsy conventionalisms, the coloured 
 cobwebs, which have nevertheless sufficient power to 
 hedge-in the sanctity of domestic life, with the mass 
 of ladies — not, indee'd, transcendental femalities — but 
 wives not too bright or good, as Wordsworth expresses 
 it, for human nature's daily food. The hectic fever of 
 passion was soon chilled by satiety: Mr. Wortley Mon- 
 tague cared nothing for his wife ; the wife despised her 
 husband. Vaniias vanitatum! 
 
210 ECCENTRIC PEESOKAGES. 
 
 Mr. Montague, through the Duke of Kingston's in- 
 terest, was appointed to the post of British Ambassador 
 at Constantinople. The "Ambassadress" accompanied 
 him. The female domestic life of the Orient amused 
 her wayward fancy. She sympathised with its indolence, 
 with its practical creed of " eat, drink, and be merry, for 
 to-morrow we die." • She audaciously asserted, in letters 
 that "in forty years after they were written would be 
 esteemed as highly as Madame De S6vigne's," that mar- 
 ried women in Turkey, where a wife can to this day be 
 sewed up in a sack and flung into the sea at the pleasure 
 of a husband, enjoy more real liberty than EngHsh wives. 
 One remark of this beautiful oddity is a curious one. She, 
 irom frequently seeing the Turkish ladies at the baths, 
 was impressed with a notion that were the superfluities 
 of dress dispensed with, which, but for a false delicacy 
 would be quite practicable in sunny eastern climes, the 
 faces of women in comparison with their flgures would 
 attract no attention. Lady Mary Wortley Montague, 
 also, in these laboured letters of hers, constantly bemoans 
 her piercing insight into the realities of things, and sighs 
 to think that a simple milkmaid, by whom " the burden 
 of the mystery" — ^not the Lady Mary's phrase, but her 
 meaning — had not been felt, was necessarily much hap- 
 pier than such lofty intelligences as herself! 
 
 Returned to England, she fluttered about the English 
 Court, flirted with Pope the great poet — so nominated in 
 the history of English poets, though it would puzzle his 
 admirers to quote one inspired line in all his melodious 
 verses — laughed at him, and never more mockingly than 
 when she expressed her joy that, having done with the 
 humdrum day- world, 
 
 " They would meet with champagne and a chickep at last," 
 
 — ^next definitely separated from her husband (1739), and 
 again left England for Turkey, where she resided for up- 
 wards of twenty years, though often implored to return 
 by her daughter. Lady Bute. 
 
 Oriental sensualism is not so keenly en i eyed at seventy 
 
LADY MABT WOETLBT MONTAGUE. 211 
 
 as at seventeen, and her husband being dead, Lady Mary 
 Wortley Montague returned to England in 1761, and oc- 
 cupied the brief remnant of a weary life in gaming, scan- 
 dal, speculation in South-Sea bubbles; and dyiag, left no 
 other memorial of her life than a collection of cosmopoK- 
 tan letters, industripusly puffed into circulation and cele- 
 brity, but utterly destitute of genius, and, worse than 
 all, containing no spark of womanly feeliag, tenderness, 
 or truth. 
 
CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN. 
 
 The readers of the Legends of Montrose — and who has 
 not read them? — will remember the enthusiastic eulogies 
 of Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, Lion of the 
 North, Bulwark of the Protestant Faith, &c., unctuously 
 enunciated, in season and out of season, by Dugal Dal- 
 getty. It would seem that he never heard of Christina, 
 the only offspring of the Northern Lion, but for whom 
 the victories of Gustavus Adolphus would have been 
 fruitless, the cause of scriptural truth itself lost, and been 
 mortally stricken down with its metaphorical immortal 
 champion at the battle of Lutzen in Upper Saxony. The 
 sun of England has, we know, set for ever, very many 
 times, — a phenomenon which the British people rather 
 enjoy than otherwise; perhaps because custom or habit 
 becomes a second nature. Be that as it may, Sweden 
 felt itself doomed, given over to perdition, when, in the 
 year of grace 1632, news reached Stockholm that the 
 great King and Lion of the North had fallen in victorious 
 battle. 
 
 Amidst the general dismay. Chancellor Oxenstiem, 
 the reputed original author of the saying — though a 
 truth so trite must have been uttered a thousand and a 
 thousand times before Sweden was a nation — " Behold, 
 my son, with what little wisdom the world is governed!" 
 — gave a striking illustration of his theory or platitude 
 by reminding the hastily-assembled States that the glori- 
 ous king had left a daughter, who, though about seven 
 years of age, might, if immediately recognised as Queen 
 of Sweden, save the vessel of the State from foundering. 
 He concluded by introducing the child, who was imme- 
 
CHKISTINA OP SWEDEN. 213 
 
 diately acknowledged to be the picture in little of the 
 Gustavus AdolphuB. "Behold," exclaimed a leading 
 peasant deputy, " Behold the very features of the grand 
 Gustavus. We will have her for our sovereign. Seat 
 her on the throne, and at once proclaim her King." This 
 was done, and Sweden ipso facto saved. 
 
 Christina herself was no less enchanted than the na- 
 tion to whom she was the herald and sign of salvation. 
 The enthroned girl, many years afterwards, when she had 
 developed into a Brummell-Brummagem royal celebrity, 
 thus wrote of herself and the occasion : " I was so young 
 that I knew not either my own worth or my great fortune; 
 but I remember how delighted I was to see all those men 
 kneeling at my feet and kissing my hand." She adds, 
 with touching modesty: "It was Thou, God, that 
 didst render the child admirable to her people, who were 
 amazed at the grand manner in which I enacted the part 
 of queen upon that first occasion. I was little, but upon 
 the throne displayed an air and countenance that inspired 
 the beholders with respect and fear. It was Thou, 
 Lord, that caused a girl to appear thus who had not yet 
 arrived at the full use of -her reasoii. Thou hadst im- 
 pressed upon my brow a mark of grandeur not always 
 bestowed by Thee upon those Thou hast destined, like 
 me, to glory, and to be Thy lieutenant over men." 
 
 This innate greatness of Christina had been foreseen, 
 predicted by the astrologers, whom Gustavus Adolphus, 
 Bulwark of the Protestant Faith,. had consulted with re- 
 spect to the child with which Maria Eleanora, his queen, 
 was in travail. Both their majesties imparted their 
 dreams to the wise men, who, having interpreted them 
 by the light of the signs in heaven, — ^the Sun, Mars, 
 Mercury, Venus, being in conjunction, — declared the 
 coming child would be a boy, and that if he outlived the 
 ■first twenty-four hours, which that mischievous Mercury 
 rendered doubtful, he would attain as great celebrity as 
 his father. The sex of the child was a sad stumbling- 
 block to the soothsayers at first, but soon removed, as 
 easily as John Gumming, D.D., will explain in 1867, that 
 
214 ECCEIfTRIO PERSONAGES. 
 
 his' prediction of the end of all sublunary thiiigs in 1865 
 was a figure of speech, having reference to the extinguish- 
 ment of the Maori tribes, and the passing away, as a hea- 
 then country, of New Zealand from the map of the world. 
 The mistake of the Swedish soothsayers was, after' all, a 
 merely verbal one; the girl, Christina, " haTing been bom 
 with the head of a Machiavelli, the heart of a Titus, the 
 courage of an Alexander, and the eloquence of a TuUy." 
 Who would not be entitled, speaking of an iacamation of 
 such heroic qualities, to exclaim, "This is a man!" 
 
 Gustavus Adolphus, though ardently desirous of a son, 
 bpre the disappointment with greater equanimity than at 
 first did the astrologers. His sister, the Princess Cathe- 
 rine, was the iirst to announce that the expected boy was, 
 in sad truth, a girl. " Sister," said the king, " let us re- 
 turn thanks to God. I trust this daughter will prove aa 
 valuable to us as a son; and may the Almighty, who has 
 vouchsafed her to us, graciously preserve her. She will 
 be an arch girl," the king added, "who begins to play 
 tricks upon us soon." This was an allusion to the an- 
 nouncement of the attendants at the birth, who, momen- 
 tarily misled by the thick hair which encased the child's 
 head, the thick down upon her face, and the harsh, loud 
 cry with which she greeted the world, proclaimed that a 
 man-child was bom. 
 
 The Lion of the North was resolved that though this 
 child would be queen by sex, she should be a Mng — a 
 warrior king, like himself, thereto fashioned by educa- 
 tion and custom. He, the Bulwark of the pure Christian 
 Faith, diligently instilled into his offspring a taste for the 
 pomp, pride, and circumstance of glorious war. " When 
 but three years of age," delightedly exclaimed the Cham- 
 pion of Christendom, " she, as a soldier's daughter should, 
 crowed and clapped her tiny hands at the blare of trum- 
 pets and roar of canon." 
 
 The Lion of the North promised his very promising 
 child, when she could have but dimly, if she did dimly, 
 comprehend his meaning, that she should one day be a 
 partner of his in real glories ; — the slaughter — scientifio 
 
CHEISTIHA OF SWEDEN. 215 
 
 slaughter of impious people who declined acquiescence, 
 or were coerced by their rulers into resisting, vi et armis, 
 the Gospel of Peace, as interpreted by the great G-ustavus. 
 "To my irreparable misfortune," sighingly simpers this 
 once much-belauded lady, — "to my irreparable misfor- 
 tune. Death (a terrible promise-breaker in a vicarious 
 sense is Death) prevented him from keeping his word, 
 and me from serving an apprenticeship ia the art of war 
 to so complete a master." 
 
 Concurrently with a taste for the glories of war, 
 the great Qustavus was very desirous that his daughter 
 should be thoroughly grounded in the Lutheran Faith, 
 and, especially, should be versed in Holy Scripture, the 
 ground of all true knowledge. An odd melange. 
 
 In subsidiary matters the masculine, military pro- 
 pensities of Christina were developed by the system of 
 instruction devised by Gustavus Adolphus, who sought 
 from her cradle to mould the infant Queen of Sweden 
 into a reflex of himself. He was so far successfal that 
 in a very few years she had acquired, and loudly ex- 
 pressed, illimitable contempt for women — ^her own mo- 
 ther compassionately excepted — and was constantly re- 
 gretting she was uot a man; hot that she cared much 
 for men — ^but they had this advantage, they were not 
 women. Her own portrait has-been given by a graphic 
 hand. A more accurate pen-and-ink sketch has seldom 
 been drawn: 
 
 '■ By her petticoat so slight, 
 And her legs too much in sight,— 
 By her doublet, cap, and dress, 
 To a masculine excess, — 
 Hat and plume, and ribands tied 
 Fore and aft in careless pride, — 
 By her gallant, martial mien, 
 Like an Amazonian queen, — > 
 Nose from Eoman consul sprung, 
 And a fierce virago's tongue, — 
 Large eyes, now sweet, anon severe, 
 Tell us 'tis Christina clear." ■ 
 
 This mentally unsexed girl was not unattractive as to 
 
216 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 personal cliarms. Her figure ■wa,5 petite, but well-enough 
 formed. She had fine hazel eyes, and a profusion of 
 bright-brown hair; her teeth were fine and regular, 
 which a more constaijt use of a tooth-brush would have 
 improved. Her mouth was large, her lips coarse as the 
 boisterous laughter and frequent oaths in which the girl- 
 queen lavishly indulged. Christina was devoured by a 
 restless energy, which made her the torment of aU about 
 her. "The men and women," she wrote, "who waited 
 upon me were in despair, for I gave them no rest night 
 or day. They had the audacity to propose retiring from 
 their posts. They should have known that I would not 
 permit them to escape the bondage in which I held them. 
 Incensed by the application, I made their yoke more 
 galling. I did so upon principle, and no one ever after- 
 wards dared propose to quit the Sovereign's service." 
 Queen Christina was indefatigably studious, at least she 
 herself says so, and it is certain she rapidly acquired a 
 showy, superficial knowledge of the Greek, Latin, two or 
 three modem languages, geography, astronomy, mathema- 
 tics, philosophy, and divinity. Her theological studies did 
 not, however, include the only commandment with direct 
 promise — Honour thy father and thy mother — for so in- 
 tolerable a life did she lead the Dowager Queen, that 
 that lady fled secretly to Denmark, leaving a bote upon 
 her toilet-table declarative of her intention rather to beg 
 her bread elsewhere than live with all the appliances, the 
 outward show of royalty, at her daughter's court! The 
 two Queens were, however, ultimately reconciled, and 
 Maria Eleonora returned to Stockholm. 
 
 It has been truly said that the possession of absolute, 
 irresponsible power would corrupt and debase an angel. 
 Christina, though no angel, affords a striking illustra- 
 tion of that truth. The prime article of her political 
 creed was the divinity of monarchs. They were the 
 gods of the earth, to whom aU sublunary power had 
 been delegated by the Eternal. She remorselessly ex- 
 ercised that absolute power when but a mere child. 
 " Those," she writes, •' who believe that childhood is the 
 
CHRISTINA or SWEDEN. 217 
 
 season when a princess that will one day wield the 
 sceptre hears wholesome truths, are mistaken, for in the 
 cradle they are feared and flattered. Men fear the me- 
 mories of royal children as much as their power, and 
 handle them as they do young lions, who can only draw 
 blood now, but hereafter will have strength to tear and 
 deTour." 
 
 Christina as child-queen proved herself quite equal 
 to the representation of the royal roU. She had scarcely 
 passed her seventh birthday when, seated upon a lofty sil- 
 ver throne, she received ambassadors from Muscovy in 
 great state. Chancellor Oxenstiem and others sought to 
 fortify the mind of Christina, in order that she might 
 acquit herself creditably at the audience. " Why," said 
 the self-confident child, " why should I be afraid or timid 
 before men with long beards? You also have long beards, 
 and am I afraid or timid before you?" There could be 
 but one answer to that question. 
 
 At fifteen Christina openly presided in the senate, 
 "and became at once," wrote home the French ambas- 
 sador, "incredibly powerful therein. She adds to her 
 quality as sovereign, the graces of honour, courtesy, and 
 the art of persuasion, so that the senators are astonished 
 at the influence she gains over their sentiments." A very 
 shallow gentleman this French ambassador: Christina 
 herself could have whispered in his ear the true secret of 
 her influence over the sentiments of the'senators. The 
 daughter ,pf Gustavus had reached an age when, if so 
 willed, she " could tear and devour." A fact, we may be 
 sure, never for one moment absent from the minds of the 
 grave and reverend Swedish senators. 
 
 The nominal regency of Chancellor Oxenstiern ex- 
 pired on the 18th of December 1644, Christina's eight- 
 eenth birthday, and the Queen no longer affected to be 
 swayed by any other influence than her own imperious 
 will. She was remorselessly indefatigable in the exercise 
 of absolute power, regulating every detail of government 
 by the simple magic of "such is my will." Taxation, 
 the freedom or limitation of Commerce, questions of war 
 
218 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 and peace, were decided by her peremptory "shall" or 
 " shall not." Having no taste for the elegance of dress, 
 she issued sumptuary decrees forbidding Swedish ladies 
 to wear lace or coloured ribbons; prohibited any festal 
 rejoicings at betrothals, bridals, baptisms. People some- 
 times drank to excess at such meetings, and that, Chris- 
 tina, who was a total abstainer just then, could not 
 tolerate. Funerals, it was also decreed, should never 
 exceed in cost about five pounds of English money; and 
 gaming was forbidden under severest penalties. How a 
 nation could quietly submit to such extravagance of des- 
 potism is a marvel. 
 
 In other than government matters the wayward, ec- 
 centric girl exhibited the same love of capricious domi- 
 nation. In a fit of educational enthusiasm, Christina 
 endowed universities, academies, appointed largely-sa- 
 laried professors, and suddenly changing her mind, dis- 
 missed them all with abuse and contempt. Two solenm 
 philosophers, whom she had taken intx) favour, she one 
 day, brusquely interrupting a grave colloquy, compelled 
 to play at shuttlecock with each other as long as they 
 could move their arms. Three of the most eminent 
 scholars in Sweden she made pirouette before her in a 
 Greek dance, she screaming with laughter the while, and 
 urging the musicians to play faster, faster, until one of 
 the venerable men fainted and fell on the fioor. Des- 
 cartes, whom she had induced by the most flatiering 
 promises to take up his residence at her court, she liter- 
 ally worried into a consumption, by insisting, in that ter- 
 rible climate and the season winter — a more than usually 
 rigorous winter — ^upon his presenting himself in her li- 
 brary punctually at five o'clock every morning. The 
 young queen's manner was always .very suave, almost 
 caressing, like Ferdinand VII.'s of Spain, when she had 
 once decided upon the death or ruin of any one who had 
 offended her. The velvet covering concealed a terrible 
 claw. Christina was but nineteen when Captain Bul- 
 strpde, a Danish ofiicer, and said to be one of the hand- 
 somest, most accomplished men of his time, being present 
 
CIIRISTIK"A OF SWEDEN. 219 
 
 upon some mission from his sovereign at her court — lie 
 was; I suppose, a subordinate member of the Danish em- 
 bassy — attracted her notice. She honoured him with 
 her hand in a dance, and on several occasions comported 
 herself very graciously towards him. The handsome offi- 
 cer misconceived the motive of the young Queen's gra- 
 ciousness, and was indiscreet enough to boast that he 
 should one day be King Consort of Sweden. This silly, 
 impudent vaunting was reported to Christina, whom it 
 deeply offended. She had always boasted of being an 
 adept in the art of vengeance, and now gave a signal 
 proof of her skill in the demoniac science. Captain Bul- 
 strode found himself treated with more pointed favour 
 than ever, and at last it was confidentially intimated to 
 him that if he obtained the royal license of his- sovereign 
 the King of Denmark to throw up his allegiance to that 
 monarch, and become naturalised as the subject of Queen 
 Christina, there was nothing he might not hope for. Bul- 
 strode swallowed the bait with avidity, knowing as he did 
 that the Queen could not marry the subject of any other 
 potentate than herself. The King of Denmark consented, 
 Bulstrode's connections being very influential, and all re- 
 joiced at the great fortune in store for their handsome 
 relative. Other necessary preliminaries were completed, 
 and the gallant captain was to all legal intents and pur- 
 poses the subject of the absolute Queen of Sweden. He, 
 in a state of overflowing jubilant vanity, solicited the 
 honour of oflTering his devoted homage to the new sove- 
 reign to whom he had sworn fealty — a request promptly 
 granted. The triumphant captain was ushered with much 
 ceremony into " the presence." Christina was alone, and 
 emboldened by the flattering reception given him, this 
 military Malvolio threw himself at the sovereign's feet, 
 and poured forth a high-flown declaration of passionate 
 love. Christina's answer was characteristic. She listened 
 with a smile of withering scorn, and in reply said, " Poor 
 witless fool! I will teach you what it is to falsely boast 
 at your filthy orgies of the favour of a queen." Summon- 
 ing her attendants as she spoke, "Take this man, who has 
 
220 , ECCENTEIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 cl ared to inBult me, to prison, Let him be guarded securely, 
 and fed during my pleasure upon the coarsest prison fare. 
 Not many days will have passed before it will be neces- 
 sary to confine him in a prison for lunatics during life. 
 That shall be his fate. Away with him!" The astounded 
 dupe was never again heard of. He died in either an 
 ordinary prison or one specially reserved for the reception 
 of lunatics. The saying of Solomon was terribly true, till 
 the English people struck down kingly despotism in the 
 person of Charles the First, giving flunkeyism, to quote ' 
 Carlyle, a crick in the neck, from which it has never 
 since fully recovered, and is not likely to recover. " Curse 
 not the king," wrote the royal sage, who had found that 
 all was vanity under the sun^ — " Curse not the king, even 
 in thy bedchamber; for a bird of the air will carry the 
 news, and that which hath wiugs shall tell the matter." 
 
 Queen Christiua's determination, in opposition to her 
 Chancellor's counsel, to finish with the thirty years' war, 
 is creditable to her judgment. She boasted to have been 
 born "in the pahns and laurels thereof," but the cypresses 
 60 thickly intertwined with those bloody palms and laurels 
 seem to have at last made an impression even on her by 
 no means sensitive conscience. The year following the 
 Peace of Westphalia, Christina indulged herself in the 
 caprice of being solemnly crowned King with great 
 splendour. On the afternoon of that day of high festival 
 the Queen or Kiug issued an order commanding that the 
 illuminations in. Stockholm should be continued in un- 
 abated splendour till the dawn of day. 
 
 By this time the Swedish people, with whom the 
 Queen was universally popular, spite or possibly because 
 of her eccentric vagaries, were exceedingly anxious that 
 Christina should marry, lest peradventure they should, 
 some disastrous day, find themselves queenless — a doomed 
 nation, with not even a child six years of age to save 
 them from perdition. The crown being, as her Majesty 
 smilingly observed, "a very pretty girl," there were abun- 
 dance of suitors for the sacrificial honour of dividing the 
 glittering burden with her. The Kings of Spain, of 
 
CHRISTCfA OF SWEDEN. 221 
 
 Poland, of Naples, with no end of electors, dukes, rtiar- 
 graves, were willing to undertake the onerous duty; but 
 Christina begged to decline the assistance so generously 
 proffered. Neither heaven nor earth, she vowed, should 
 compel her to marry, "an act which required far more 
 courage than to fight a battle." Taking pity, however, 
 upon her loyal people, who were daily becoming more 
 and more demented by the dreadful risks they were 
 daily running of sinking into insignificance by being re- 
 duced to the condition of lost fatherless and motherless 
 sheep, — an unhappy flock, ' destitute of shepherd or 
 shepherdess, — Christina suddenly nominated her cousin, 
 Charles Augustus, Crown Prince of Sweden, whereupon 
 the alarm of the people subsided. 
 
 Wearied at last by the very indulgence of her petu- 
 lant, capricious humours, disgusted with the sameness of 
 the dissipation in which she had so long lived, and was 
 living, Christina, by way of change, fixed her thoughts 
 upon heavenly joys. She admitted to her confidence 
 several clever Jesuits, who, having succeeded in convert- 
 ing her, or, more correctly, cajoling her into the belief 
 that she was converted to the faith of Eoman Catho- 
 licism, advised her to " put money in her purse" — abun- 
 dance of money — and then exhibit to the world the edi- 
 fying spectacle of the daughter of the crowned arcb- 
 heretic, Gustavus Adolphus, renouncing an earthly for a 
 heavenly crown. Sacrifice so heroic and sublime would 
 insure her a glorious immortality in this world and the 
 next; canonisation would follow in due course, and no 
 name in the holy hierarchy of heaven would be more 
 frequently invoked than that of Saint Christina! 
 
 The children of Loyola were too strong for her. As 
 no Eoman Catholic could, by the fandamental law, wield 
 the Swedish sceptre, she determined upon resigning "the 
 crown in favour of the but recently -nominated Crown 
 Prince. The solemn act of abdication took place on the 
 6th of June 1654, in presence of the Assembly of States. 
 Whitelock, Cromwell's envoy, was there. This the wilful 
 woman did in defiance of the remonstrances of her wisest 
 
222 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 and most attached counsellers. The English envoy re- 
 ported the speech delivered by the Marshal of the Boors 
 upon the occasion, which is conclusive as to her genei al 
 popularity amongst the masses of the population. ^ " 
 Heavens! madam," exclaimed the rude, coarsely at- 
 tired, but cormnon-sense country-fellow, — "0 Heavens! 
 madam, what are you about to do? It humbles us to 
 hear you speak of forsaking those who love you as well 
 as we do. Can you be better than you are? You are 
 queen of all these countries, and if you leave this large 
 kingdom, where will you get such another? If you 
 should do it — as I hope you won't for all this — ^both you 
 and we shall have cause, when it is too late, to be sorry 
 for it. Therefore, my fellows and I pray you to think 
 better of it, and keep your crown upon your head; then 
 you wiU keep your own honour and our peace; T^ut if 
 you lay it down, in my conscience you wUl endatiger all. 
 Continue in your gears, good madam, and be the fore- 
 horse as long as you live, and we will do the best we can 
 to bear your burthen. Your father was an honest man, 
 a good king, and very shining in the world. We obeyed 
 and honoured him whilst he lived. You are his child, 
 and have governed us very well. "We love you with all ■ 
 our hearts; and the Prince is an honest gentleman. "When 
 his time comes we shall be ready to do our duties to him 
 as we do to you. But as long as you live we are unwil- 
 ling to part with you, and therefore I pray, madam, do 
 not part with us." 
 
 The entreaties of the blunt-spoken Marshal of the 
 Boors did not prevail; the formal act of abdication was 
 accomplished, and Christina hastened out of the king- 
 dom, taking with her an enormous amount of treasure in 
 gold, silver, and jewels. A few weeks afterwards she 
 openly renounced the reformed religion, and was so- 
 lemnly received into the fold of Eome. " The greatest 
 scandal she could afflict us with," remarked the Pope, 
 when the intelligence reached him, " unless the idea of 
 writing a book in defence of the faith should unhappily 
 seize her." 
 
CHEISTIKA OF SWEDEN. 223 
 
 Cardinal Mazarin, the prime minister of France, dif- 
 fered frora the^ Pope, and despatched a French troop of 
 comedians for the express purpose of giving eclat to so 
 illustrious a conversion. Balls, plays, concerts, masque- 
 rades, succeeded each other for many weeks in celebra- 
 tion of the great event. The conversion, we need hardly 
 say, was false, factitious, the vagary of a hot brain am- 
 bitious of notoriety. When leaving the play one evening, 
 Christina remarked to a lady, sotto voce, " They could do 
 no less than treat me to a play after I had indulged them 
 with a farce." That particular mind-fever soon passed 
 off. The woman would seem to have doubted the exist- 
 ence of God. " If there is a God," she whispered to a 
 confidant, after finishing her first confession, — " If there is 
 a God, I. shall be prettUy caught." In a letter , addressed 
 at the same period to the Countess Sparre, she wrote, 
 " My chief employments are to eat well and sleep well, to 
 study a little, chat, laugh, see French and Italian plays, 
 and pass my time in an agreeable dissipation. In con- 
 clusion, I hear no more sermons, and utterly despise aU 
 orators. As Solomon said, 'All wisdom' is vanity.' 
 Every one ought to live contentedly, eat, drink, and be 
 merry." 
 
 Christina could not herself follow Solomon's advice. 
 The remainder of her ruthless life was chiefly consumed 
 in vain efforts to regain a crown, that of Sweden or of 
 Poland, and in quarrelling fiercely with successive popes. 
 One dogma she strenuously insisted on, her divine right 
 of taking the life, with or without cause, of any of her 
 former subjects. She carried this article of her political 
 creed into execution. Suspecting her chamberlain Mo- 
 naldeschi of having betrayed or threatened to betray her 
 interests, she ordered the captain of her guard to stab, 
 murder him almost in her very presence. His piteous 
 screams for mercy availed nothing. The crime was con- 
 summated, and afterwards defendedby her as a legitimate 
 exercise of authority committed to her by God, which 
 she had not and could not give up! The plea was al- 
 lowed by "the gods of the earth." The mui'der was 
 
224 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 committed at the Palace of Fontainebleau, and even the 
 philosopher Leibnitz was of opinion that Christina was 
 justified by her inherent royal power ! Christina died, 
 having shortly before obtained plenary absolution of the 
 Pope, in April 1689, in the sixty-third year of her erra- 
 tic, bizarre, blood-stained existence. 
 
JOHN ABERNETHY, SUEGEOK 
 
 This eccentric humorist, skilfal surgeon, and excellent 
 man, was the son of John and Elizabeth Abemethy. He 
 has been claimed as an Irish and a Scotchman, but it has 
 been clearly established that he was bom ia London, and 
 was christened at St. Stepheii's Church in 1764. He re- 
 ceiyed his preliminary education at a day-school in Loth- 
 bury, and at a comparatively early age was sent to a 
 high-class seminary at "Wolverhampton. He does not 
 appear to have taken Mndly to the classics. Dr. Robert- 
 son, the master of the school, did not regard him witli 
 favour. His task one day being to translate into Latin 
 a chapter in the Greek Testament, the erudite doctor was 
 amazed at the fluency and correctness of thft Vulgate 
 version. A rigid investigation took place, and it was 
 discovered that John Abernethy had a Greek Testament 
 with a Latin translation in contiguous columns ; which 
 Latin translation he had faithfaUy copied. His reward 
 was that the book was shied at his head by the irate 
 doctor. He not long afterwards lefb Wolverhampton, 
 and at the early age of sixteen was apprenticed to Mr. 
 Blick, afterwards Sir Charles Blick, surgeon of Saiat 
 Bartholomew's Hospital. 
 
 John Abernethy had now found his true field of ac- 
 tion — one in which he was destined to reap abundant, 
 blessing harvests. Such a labour of love to him was the 
 healing art, so rapidly did he master the science of sur- 
 gery, that at the age of twenty-two he was appointed 
 assistant-surgeon to the hospital, and a few months after- 
 wards' promoted to the chair of anatomy and surgery. 
 For BO young a man this was an unparalleled honour. 
 
 Q 
 
226 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 I do not propose to go into the history of this great 
 man's life. The anecdotes which I quote will best illus- 
 trate his character : show how kind, how good a heart 
 beat beneath an undemonstrative exterior ; how sympa- 
 thisiag, compassionate the nature which the rough tongue 
 at times perplextagly interpreted. 
 
 Mr. Abemethy had a crotchet : aU clever men have. 
 They discover a truth, and in some measure unconsciously 
 exaggerate its importance. Mr. Abemethy was disposed 
 to attribute all, or nearly aU, the diseases to which flesh 
 is heir to a disordered stomach. Opinions differ upon, 
 that point; but no one, we suppose, will dispute the 
 soundness of his dictum, exemplified through life, that 
 " operations are a reflection on the healing art ; that the 
 habitual operator is a savage in arms, who performs by 
 violence what a civilised person would accomplish by 
 stratagem." 
 
 A curious anecdote is vividly illustrative of Aber- 
 nethy's persistent practice in this respect : A poor Irish- 
 man, not long after Mr. Abernethy had succeeded to the 
 post of chief-surgeon at St. Bartholomew's, was brought 
 into the hospital. He was suffering from a diseased leg. 
 Amputation was advised, but Abemethy refused his con- 
 sent, and finally succeeded in curing the diseased limb. 
 Going one day through the hospital with his pupils, the 
 Irishman, thrusting the leg out of bed, shouted out, 
 " That's the leg, your honour ; that's it. Glory be to God. 
 Tour honour's the boy to do it, and to the devil with the 
 spalpeens who said your honour would cut it off." Aber- 
 nethey, improving the occasion, lectured the pupils upon 
 the folly of hastily crippling a person for life, whilst there 
 was a chance of curing a diseased member of the body. 
 Paddy endorsed aU the doctor said, repeatedly tossing his 
 recovered leg into the air, and exclaiming, " DivU the lie 
 in it. It's all true. That's the leg, gintlemen." 
 
 There are many anejcdotes of the native goodness of 
 this, in many respects, eccentric gentleman. I relate a 
 few of them without reference , to date. 
 
 Mr. Abemethy was going to atJtend a very poor man. 
 
JOHN ABEENBTHY, SURGEON. 227 
 
 from whom he never had received, and never would re- 
 ceive a fee. The Duke of York called and said the 
 Prince of "Wales wished to see him immediately. Mr. 
 Abemethy could not for some hours attend his Royal 
 Highness: he was go^ng to visit a suffering patient. 
 " But surely you wiU first wait upon the Prince.'"' said 
 
 his Grace of York. " If not, I must call upon ." 
 
 " Do so. He will suit the Prince better than I should." 
 
 A pupil of Abernethy was sent for to attend a case in 
 an obscure quarter of London. The house was one of 
 the meanest and dingiest of the mean and dingy locality. 
 The patient, an elderly, much-aflB.icted man, received the 
 surgeon with a grace and amenity which convinced that 
 gentleman that the sufferer had fallen from a, consider- 
 able social height upon evil days. The proper remedies 
 were prescribed, and the surgeon was about to leave, 
 when the invalid tendered the customary fee. It was 
 politely declined. The refusal excited thp old gentle- 
 man's ire to such a pitch of rage that the doctor was 
 fain to accept the proffered honorarium. " Had you per- 
 sisted in your refusal," said the patient, " I would never 
 have seen you again. I vrished for your advice," he con- 
 tinued, " because I knew you had studied under Aber- 
 nethy. He visited me once, and declined to receive his 
 fee. 'By God! sir,' exclaimed I, 'you shaU take it.' 
 'By God! sir, I won't,' was his answer, as he bolted out 
 of the room. I shall . never send for him again." The 
 patient succumbed to the disease which had fastened 
 upon him, and it was found that he had a considerable 
 hoard of mdney by him. He, also, appears to have been 
 a very eccentric person. 
 
 A foxhunter, somewhat stricken in years, consulted 
 Abernethy. The man's digestion was not so good as it 
 had been. He had lost his appetite; man delighted him 
 not, nor woman either. "Sir," said Abemethy, "you 
 drink a great deal." " Now," said the foxhunter, when 
 relating the interview, " now, supposing I do drink a 
 great deal, what the devil was that to him ?" 
 
 A literary gentleman called upon him. He, too, had 
 
■/^6 EOOJiJN'TKIO PEESONAaES. 
 
 a disordered stomach. " Of course you haje," said Aber- 
 nethy; " a half-blind man could tell that by your nose." 
 
 He used to hare his wine of a merchant whose name 
 was Loyd. He one day called to pay for a pipe, and 
 thrust a handflil of papers containing fees into the wine- 
 merchant's hand. "Stop — stop, doctor," said Loyd, 
 " There may be much more here than you have to pay I" 
 " Never mind, Loyd. I can't stop. You have them as 
 I had them." 
 
 He was very careless of money. He would receive a 
 heavy fee, place the money on the table, and forget all 
 about it. " Lead me not into temptation" is the holiest, 
 because the humblest prayer. Some few of his pupils 
 were led into temptation. The loss of money was so 
 considerable that the surgeon determined to ascertain 
 who was the delinquent. He inarked his money, and 
 appearing suddenly before his pupils, said, " Now, young 
 gentlemen, be pleased to show me your purses." The 
 thieves were discovered and dismissed. 
 
 He was one day about to perform an operation — a 
 painfnl one. As was his custom, he took care to see 
 himself that all the required instruments were at hand, 
 and in first-rate order. " I think every thing is all right," 
 said one of the assistants. " No, sir, every thing is not 
 all right," replied Mr. Abemethy. " Get a napkin to 
 conceal those terrifying instruments. The man need not 
 be horrified by the sight." 
 
 Abemethy was offered a baronetcy by the Earl of 
 Liverpool. He announced the proposal to his family by 
 saying, as they were about to sit down to dinner, " Lady 
 Abemethy, permit me to hand you to your seat." He 
 afterwards explained that he had been offered the title, 
 but, for cogent reasons, declined the honour. 
 
 The memory of Mr. Abemethy was singularly active 
 and tenacious. A friend, of a poetical turn of mind, 
 composed some verses complimentary of Mrs. Abemethy, 
 which he recited after dinner on her natal day. Aber- 
 nethy listened attentively, and immediately the reading 
 terminated, exclaimed, "Come, that is a good joke to 
 
JOHN IBERlfETHT, SUKGEfy. 220 
 
 attempt passing those verses oif as your own original 
 composition. I know them by heart;" and Abemethy at 
 once repeated them without the mistake of aword. The 
 " poet" was astounded, mystified, angry ! The amused 
 host explained, and offered to repeat verbatim any piece 
 of about the same length which any one in the company 
 would recite. 
 
 There is a droll anecdote told of a certain major, 
 which Mr. Abemethy used to relate with great- humour 
 and contagious laughter. The major dislocated his jaw. 
 The accident was a trifliug one, and easily remedied. It 
 was, however, likely to occur again. The surgeon of the 
 regiment was as expert at the simple process as Aber- 
 nethy himyelf. One day, however, the gallant ofllcer, 
 dining at a considerable distance from the regimental 
 quarters, thoughtlessly indulging in a fit of laughter, 
 dislocated his jaw. The nearest Medians was sent for. 
 That gentleman did not understand how the accident 
 should be remedied; pulled the unfortunate major's jaw 
 about for a considerable time; inflicting great agony, 
 during which manipulation the major, who could not 
 speak, manifested by furious pantomime his indignation 
 at, and contempt of, the clumsy practitioner. His rage- 
 ful action thereupon decided the doctor that the major 
 was distraught, and he forthwith sent for a strait-jacket, 
 which he fastened upon the furious major, had his head 
 shaved, applied thereto a blister and placed the victim in 
 bed. The ill-used gentleman foamed with rage, but find- 
 ing that his wild gesticulations availed nothing, subdued 
 himself into seeming acquiescence, and made intelligible 
 signs that he desired to be furnished with writing mate- 
 rials. This was done; and the major wrote, " For God's 
 sake send for Mr. Abemethy or the surgeon of the regi- 
 ment." Mr. "Abemethy was as quickly as possible in at- 
 tendance, and the major was relieved and released. He 
 fiercely threatened, upon recovering his voice, to bring an 
 action against the medical man by whom he had been so 
 maltreated, but was persuaded by Abernethy to forego 
 his purpose. " You cannot doubt," said Mr. Abernethy, 
 
230 ECOENTBIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 " that the clumsy dunce was actuated by what a certain 
 umnentionable place is paved with — good intentions." 
 
 Benevolence in Mr. Abemethy was largely developed. 
 He was much more gentle with poor or pauper patients 
 than rich ones. He was just stepping into Ms carriage 
 to attend a duke, when a message was delivered to him 
 soliciting his immediate attendance upon a' sufferer who 
 acknowledged he was without means of tendering a fee. 
 " I cannot go to him at present," said Abemethy, getting 
 into his carriage. " If you do not go at once," said the 
 messenger, "it wiU be useless to go at all." The carriage 
 was moving on as these words caught Abemethy's ear. 
 He pulled the check-string. "Where," said he, "did you 
 say this poor gentleman lives ?" The address was given, 
 and Abemethy ordered the coachman to drive there. 
 "The Duke must wait," he muttered. "Besides, he can 
 command the services of twenty surgeons." 
 
 A widow brought a child to him from the country. 
 She had heard of the skill in the treatment of such com- 
 plaints of the great London doctor, and had managed to 
 raise suflScient money to pay the proper fees. , Abemethy 
 cured the child, receiving his fees the while, but returned 
 them to her when she was about to return to her home, 
 with the addition of a cheque for fifty pounds ! 
 
 Another widow came to the hospital to have an opera- 
 tion performed. She was carefully prepared to undergo 
 it ; but on the eve of the day when it was to come ofp, 
 the woman announced her intention to leave the hospital. 
 Abemethy was greatly annoyed, enraged, and expressed 
 himself in very angry terms. " Her father is dying in 
 the country," interposed an assistant, " and wishes to see 
 her." The wrath of Abemethy was instantly diverted 
 from the woman to the assistant. "You confounded 
 fool !" he exclaimed, " why did you not tell me that be- 
 fore ?" He apologised to the woman, said of course she 
 must go, gave her money that she might travel easily, 
 and bade her return to have the operation performed as 
 Boon as she possibly could. 
 
 Such traits of character are an ample set-off to the 
 
JOHN ABEENETHT, SUEGEON. 231 
 
 rudeness of manner which Abemethy occasionally ex- 
 hibited. A lady in 'consultation with him remarked that 
 when she lifted her arm-pit higher than usual, the paiu 
 \ras intense. " Then why the deyil do you, madam, lift 
 your arm higher than usual ?" was the gruff response. 
 Another lady who consulted him was so annoyed that she 
 threw his fee upon the table and said sharply, " I had 
 heard of, but never witnessed your Tulgax rudeness be-' 
 fore." He had written a prescription. "What am I to 
 do with this ?" the lady asked. " Any thing you like : 
 throw it on the fire, if you will." She did so, and left 
 the apartment. Mr. Aberiiethy hastily followed to re- 
 turn the fee. The lady did not condescend to notice 
 Mm, and he flung the money after her. 
 
 Abemethy, at all events, was no flatterer. He went 
 to sit for his portrait to Sir Thomas Lavprence. Whilst 
 he was waiting to see the fashionable painter, he fell into 
 a conversation with a stranger-gentleman who was con-^ 
 templating a newly-finished portrait of the Duke of York. 
 "Beautifully painted and an excellent likeness," remarked 
 the gentleman." " Yes, a good painting." " And a capital 
 likeness ; the express image of his Eoyal Highness," per- 
 sisted the stranger. "No," retorted Mr. Abemethy; "it 
 is not the express image of the Duke. He is not half so 
 handsome." It was the gentleman's first turn for a sitting. 
 Mr. Abemetny followed after. "So," said Sir Thomas 
 Lawrence, '• you have, I find, been telling Lord Castle- 
 reagh that you do not think my portrait of the Duke of 
 York is a faithful likeness." " Lord Castlereagh ! Why, 
 I had never seen him before. ' But, my dear sir, it is 
 not a likeness. You painters — and especially you — 
 flatter so constantly and cleverly. Now mind, you must 
 not flatter me." 
 
 Mr. Abemethy had a country-seat at Enfield, Middle- 
 sex. Whilst journeying there one day, he was run over 
 and severely bruised. The people who picked him up 
 
 proposed to send for a doctor. "D doctors!" was 
 
 the reply. " Get me a hackney-coach." 
 
 These, anecdotes might be indefinitely multiplied; 
 
232 ECCENTBIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 but enough has been told of the oddly-compounded 
 nature of the man — an essentially noble nature, the 
 specks and flaws of temper showing only like spots on a 
 white robe, by contrast with the purity of the general 
 texture. 
 
 John Abemethy died at Enfield on the 20th of April 
 1831. 
 
CAPTAIN MOERIS. 
 
 This fliglity and amiable gentleman first opened his 
 eyes upon the world in the dingy locality of Love Lane, 
 leading from Leadenhall Street to Billingsgate Market. 
 His father, Joel Morris, was a fishmonger in a large way 
 of business. Arthur, his sole surviving child, was petted 
 and spoiled. Joel Morris was a widower before the boy 
 was five years old. He doated upon his son and deter- 
 mined he should be a gentleman. That which Morris 
 senior meant by gentleman was the common significa- 
 tion attached thereto : the possessor of fine clothes, a 
 fine house, a carriage, and abundance of money. To so 
 provide his son, the well-meaning, fond fishmonger 
 toiled incessantly, rose early, sat up late, and ate the 
 bread of ciarefulness. He did not neglect young Arthur's 
 education ; his natural shrewdness suggesting that to be 
 really a gentleman, it was necessary to have a decently- 
 cultivated mind. That part of the gentlemanising pro- 
 cess he got through at little cost. He had sufficient 
 interest to place the lad in Christ's Hospital, or Blue- 
 coat School. Being a boy of large capacity, he, spite 
 of a constitutional indolence— his own excusative phrase 
 — proved an apt scholar, and knew as much when he left 
 as the teachers. 
 
 Morris senior had managed to scrape together be- 
 tween thirty and forty thousand pounds ; and finding 
 himself growing prematurely old and infirm, he made 
 up his mind, though with much reluctance, to dispose 
 of his business, the goodwill of which would net a hand- 
 some sum. The result was, that at his father's death, 
 Arthur Morris found himself in poisission of over 40,000/. 
 
234 ECCKNTEIC PERSOKAGES. 
 
 cash, besides some house property; and was contracted 
 by his father's will and a signed agreement with the 
 lady and her father, a wealthy goldsmith, to Arabella 
 Smithson, a person of mature years, rigid principles, and 
 a devotedly pious, plain Quaker. 
 
 Now this sort of lady was not at all suited to the 
 taste of Arthur Morris. He was fond, extravagantly 
 fond, of fine clothes ; "the happiest day of his life was 
 that upon which he finally cast the slough — the blue 
 coat and yellow stockings of Christ College." He piously 
 respected the last wishes of his father ; and would per- 
 haps have unliesitatingly complied with them — especially 
 as, if he refused to consummate the marital bargain upon 
 which his father had set his heart, half his fortune would 
 go to the disappointed damsel — but that, haviag been 
 in the habit of secretly frequenting th.e theatres (utter 
 abominations in the eyes of Joel Morris), he had con- 
 tracted an intimacy with Emily Melville, a stage song* 
 stress and dancer. Melville was probably an assumed 
 theatrical name. Be that as it may, the fascinations 
 of the actress ultimately prevailed over those of the 
 plaiu Quaker, gilded though these were with 20,000?. 
 His mode of announcing the decision he had come to 
 was characteristic. Mr. Smithson, I should have stated, 
 was a relative, and Joel Morris was himself incliaed to 
 Quakerism : — 
 
 "Feieito Smithson, — After careful consideration I 
 have concluded that it will be more conducive to the 
 happiness of Arabella that she take the 20,000Z. instead 
 of me. I am not worthy of her, my aspirations being 
 much less spiritual. Tour sincere weU-wisher, 
 
 ~ Arthtje Moeeis." 
 
 This note could hardly have been delivered, when 
 Arthur Morris and Emily Melville were united in the 
 bonds of holy matrimony at St. Paul's Church, Covent 
 €rardqp. He appears to have been devotedly attached 
 to her, and the brief summer of their bliss was unclouded 
 
CAPTAIN MOBRIS. 235 
 
 by a passing shadow. She died of fever withia sis months 
 of the marriagei -Her mother had lived with them. She 
 must have been an amiable woman, something under 
 forty years of age. The dying daughter's anxiety was 
 concentrated upon that good mother, whom she com- 
 mended to her husband's tenderest care. Kneeling by 
 her death-bed, he made a vow, scarcely audible for his 
 sobs and groans, that lie would honour and cherish her 
 as long as he lived. The expiring wife accepted that 
 TOW " with a heavenly smile, in the sunshine of which 
 she passed from earth to heaven." 
 
 Arthur Morris determined to enter the army, and 
 lodged the price of a commission in the Line with the 
 proper agents,- but whilst waiting till a vacancy should 
 occur, — some two or three years, — fell into wild courses, 
 and at last found himself enmeshed by the wiles of an- 
 other actress, whose name is not given. He knew her to 
 be unworthy; that if he married her, Mrs. Melville would 
 be compelled to leave his home; and; conscious of his 
 own weak, impressionable nature, he adopted the sin- 
 gular expedient of securing himself against a violation 
 of the vow he had made to his wife, by proposing to 
 marry her mother. There was no absolutely legal im- 
 pediment to the union, and he espoused Emily Melville 
 the elder, in the same chiirch where he had joined hands, 
 till death should them part, with her daughter. 
 
 There is a droll anecdote connected with this union. 
 Arthur Morris was fond of convivial society; he sang a 
 capital song; and stayed out late at night in taverns, the 
 Wrekin, Covent Garden, being his especial place of de- 
 lectation. On the evening of his wedding-day, he betook 
 himself to the Wrekiu; sang, diced, drank, till the small 
 hours of the next morning, utterly oblivious of his bride, 
 till reminded about three A.M:. that he had been married 
 the morning before. "Good heaveli!" he exclaimed, 
 starting up, "that is true; and I had totally forgot- 
 ten it." 
 
 The commission was obtained, and Lieutenant Morris 
 joined the 27th of the Line, then stationed in the island 
 
236 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 of Jersey. Major-General Don was the Lieutenant- 
 Governor of that " Peculiar of the Crown of England," 
 to use the phi-ase of Falle, the quaint historian of the 
 island. Lieutenant Morris, who had left his wife in 
 England, comfortably provided for of course, soon be- 
 came very intimate with General Don, and it was he, 
 there can be no doubt, who suggested the brilliant idea 
 to the Lieutenant-Governor which, in a local sense, has 
 immortalised his name. The island of Jersey, when 
 General Don arrived there, was in a miserable plight as 
 to roads; the towns and villages were unpaved, unlighted, 
 and the people rebelUously averse to being taxed to 
 remedy those evils. 
 
 The problem to be solved was, "how to do it?" 
 whether by loan from the Imperial treasury, — which 
 could scarcely be hoped for, — or inducing the " States" 
 of the island to impose a tax upon the inhabitants, 
 whose peculiar privilege and boast had been from time 
 immemorial that they were an untaxed race. The 
 " States," it was soon ascertained, would consent to no 
 such proposition. Better muddy, dark streets, almost 
 impassable roads, than to be mulcted by the tax-gatherer! 
 
 Lieutenant Morris worked out the problem in very 
 simple and effective fashion. When matured in his own 
 mind, he sought a special interview with General Don, 
 and laid it before him. Very likely the Lieutenant- 
 Governor gave it additional touches, altered or amended 
 some of its details, but substantially Lieutenant Morris 
 w^s the author. He proposed to repair, widen, and keep 
 in repair the island roads, light and pave the towns, 
 without the disbursement of a shilling, and yet the work 
 should be honestly paid for. The scheme was simple as 
 effective. Every person who possessed a house, every 
 one by whose grounds or fields ran a road, was obliged 
 to sign bank-notes to the amount of the cost incurred in 
 paving and lighting before their house or houses — of 
 widening andlevellmg the portion of the road contiguous 
 to their fields and grounds. These notes they would be 
 obliged to give silver for on demand; but inasmuch as 
 
CAPTAIN MORKIS. 237 
 
 they were guaranteed by the Vingtaine or parish autho- 
 rities, they could be inuuediately sent into circulation 
 again by the changers. The writer of this paper was 
 once in a barber's shop in St. Helier's, when a man 
 brought in a note to be changed, to which the barber's 
 signature was attached. The barber's bank happened to 
 be at that moment in ayery sorry state. Silyer and gold 
 the hapless shaver had none; a few coppers being the 
 whole of his " reserve." Of little consequence that. 
 Taking the presented note in his hand, he left the shop 
 with it, stating- that he would return with the silver in ~ 
 a minute or two. He merely stepped into a neighbour- 
 ing baker's, bought a loaf, received change for the note, 
 came back with the loaf under his arm, the silver in his 
 hand, and honestly acquitted himself of his obligation as 
 an issuer of bank-notes payable on demand. 
 
 Curiosities of currency, as developed in the Channel 
 Islands, would gladden the hearts of English paper- 
 money maniacs. There are thousands of notes issued of 
 which it is set forth upon the face of them, that the sole 
 security for their redemption are the Methodist chapels 
 in the island which those notes built. A certain trades- 
 man in the town had, however, undertaken, for a con- 
 sideration of course, to cash Methodist chapels' " promises 
 to pay," — though under no legal obligation to do so. It 
 puzzles one to understand how the holder of a handful 
 of such promises could manage, should the gentlem'an 
 who had undertaken to give silver for the notes abdicate 
 his function. This system, substantially invented by 
 Captain Morris, though popularly ascribed to General 
 Don, is in fiill vigour to this day. It must have col- 
 lapsed long ago — ^the importation of soft and hard goods 
 from England being taken into consideration — ^were it 
 not for the gi-eat number of English officers on half-pay 
 who have taken up their quarters in the Channel Islands. 
 The drafts forwarded to them always command a consi- 
 derable premium, and are returned to England, iu pay- 
 ment of manufactures, as fast as they are received. 
 Sovereigns, Bank-of-England noies, in like manner, make 
 
238 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 unto themselves wings, and fly away to the country 
 where they were coined and issued. The metallic cur- 
 rency of the island is almost exclusively composed of 
 French five-franc and one-franc pieces. There is, how- 
 ever, a good deal of copper money afloat, coined in Bir- 
 miagham. 
 
 The eccentric genius of Captaia Morris soon led to 
 the adoption of a vocation which would seem to be very 
 opposite to that of iuventor of paper-money. It is, how- 
 ever, one in which large sums of solid cash are often 
 netted without the trouble and expense of its manufac- 
 ture. Arthur Morris — ^who, in writing' to Friend Smith- 
 son, declined to marry the pious Arabella, had given as 
 one ground of his refusal that his aspirations were less 
 spiritual than hers — became suddenly affected by the 
 wildest religious enthusiasm. He had been paying a 
 visit to the North of England, where a great " revival," 
 as it is now the fashion to call such spiiitual masque- 
 rades, was brought about by the fervid teachers of Wes- 
 ley an Methodism. Captain Morris' caught the infection. 
 Benevolent as he was imagiuative, the gallant of&cer was 
 horrified at the tremendous truth that " every day, every 
 hour, every miuute that passed, hundreds of human souls 
 were falling through the Mirza bridge of Life into the 
 gulf of eternal perdition, where the worm dieth not, and 
 the fire is not quenched, whilst the means of saving them- 
 selves from so inexpressibly terrible a doom were always 
 within reach, if they could only be persuaded, to ask for 
 it in sincerity and truth." Deeply impresfeed with this 
 conviction, conscious of possessing considerable powers of 
 illustration and a fluent tongue. Captain Morris was soon 
 himself amongst the Prophets. He did not, however, 
 join the Wesley an sect — ^preferring to pursue an entirely 
 independent course. He became a favourite with the 
 people, and might possibly have founded a Morrisonian 
 Church, but for an untoward accident. 
 
 The old Adam within him had been rebuked, but not 
 vanquished. Very far indeed from that. He had always 
 been very pugnacious; could relish and put away com- 
 
CAPTAIN MOEKIS. 239 
 
 fortably a couple of bottles of wine at one sitting — not 
 at all an extraordinary performance in those days. The 
 chains of evil habit are with much difficulty broken. He 
 cbuld sing a capital song; had made acquaintance in 
 Jersey amongst the garrison- officers, several of whom 
 were Irishmen, and by their own admission could sing 
 " The Night before Larry was stretched" (hanged) as 
 weU as, if not better than, any native of the Emerald 
 Isle. 
 
 As the Father of Mischief would have it, the head- 
 quarters of the regiment with whose officers he had hob- 
 nobbed in Jersey were quartered in Ipswich, Suffolk, 
 where it had been announced he was to preach on a 
 given Saturday. The people were invited to assemble in 
 a field near the town, the use of which had been kindly 
 granted by a Mr. Selward. Thursday was chosen, from 
 its being market-day, and a large attendance might be 
 hoped for after the traffic of the day should be com- 
 cluded. Several of his old comrades or companions were 
 still with the regiment, and all the officers unanimously 
 resolved to witness the performance of Captain Morris in 
 his new character of preacher. The time fixed was six; 
 in the afternoon of a summer's day. The concourse was 
 large; but the captain, in the opinion of his admirers, 
 was not so fervent and unctuous as usual. He had caught 
 sight of the merry faces of his former acquaintances, and 
 the amused expression which gleamed from their eyes 
 and wreathed their lips. 'The officers had dined, and 
 were elevated, to use a mild phrase, with wine, — one, 
 the most rollicksome of them, Patrick Blake, a lieutenant 
 and excellent mimic, more so than the rest. However, 
 decorum was fairly maintained till the conclusion of the 
 discourse, — a very short one; after which Captain Morris 
 gave out the number and first verse of a psalm or hymn. 
 Before the hymn or psalm could be commenced by the 
 improvised field choir, Patrick Blake burst out with 
 " The Mght before Larry was stretched," in closest imi- 
 tation of the captain's peculiar voice and manner; his 
 comrades joined in obstreperous chorus. Those of the 
 
240 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 auditory who were disciples or admirers of the captaia 
 were immediately scandalised, but the majority cheered 
 and shouted in sympathy with the irreyerent ofBcers. 
 Finally, Captain Morris, unable to control his risible 
 muscles, joined in the almost general guffaw, jumped off 
 the cart which had served for pulpit, and attempted to 
 hurry ofP. He was intercepted by some of the oflicers, 
 and carried away captive to. the principal hotel tavern 
 in Ipswich. It was a genuine self-consciousness which 
 dictated the avowal to Friend Smithson, that his was 
 not a highly spiritualised nature iu the conventional 
 sense of the phrase. His imagination had been inflamed 
 by the passionate oratory of religious fanatics; but his 
 understanding had not been convinced, his heart had not 
 been touched. He remained with his old acquaintance 
 till early morning, and most likely was encored more 
 than once in " The Night before Larry was stretched." 
 
 He left the next day without beat of drum, and a few 
 days afterwards got a friend to write a letter for bim to 
 the editor of the Ipswich newspaper. This letter, dic- 
 tated by himself, announced his own death, " partly in 
 consequence of the debauch in which the Enemy of Man- 
 kind induced him to take part, and partly from remorse 
 of conscience. He died truly contrite,", it was added, 
 " and begged forgiveness of. all his former friends for 
 the great scandal he had brought upon a sacred pro- 
 fession for which the infirmities of his fallen nature — 
 not suspected by himself, till he was tried in the bal- 
 ance, to be so gross as they proved to be — totally un- 
 fitted him." 
 
 This effusion was duly printed in the Ipswich news- 
 paper, in the following number of which weekly sheet an 
 announcement appeared signed by a regular Wesleyan 
 preacher, the Eev. Mr. A , who " declared his inten- 
 tion to address his hearers on the evening of the next 
 Sabbath, upon the awful lesson read to mankind ia 
 general, and the inhabitants of Ipswich in particular, by 
 the sudden cutting off of Captain Morris, a man of gifts 
 and considerable worldly knowledge, who had prema- 
 
CAPTAm MOREIS. 241 
 
 tnrely perished for having put his hand to the plough 
 and looked back." 
 
 This sermon in petto reached Captain Morris, who re- 
 solved without a moment's hesitation to be present in the 
 body at his own funeral sermon. He felt a strong suspi- 
 cion that he should be roughly handled by the Eev. Mr. 
 
 A , and felt desirous of viewing himself in the mirror 
 
 to be held up before him by that saintly, snuffling gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 The convetinele, or chapel, was crowded. Captain 
 Morris, coarsely attired, his face enveloped in bandages, 
 as if he were suffering from combined toothache, earache, 
 and tic-douloureux, and unrecognised by the crowd, el- 
 bowed his way to the foot of the pulpit-stairs. 
 
 Prehmiuary prayer and praise concluded, the Eev. Mr. 
 
 A commenced his sermon in a moderate key, but 
 
 gradually kindling into holy fervour, went on crescendo, 
 till having faUy worked himself to the requisite pitch, he 
 avowed his opinion that the reprobate backslider, unlesa 
 he had been saved by a miracle of God's mercy at the 
 last moment, which could scarcely be hoped for by the 
 most charitable, was at that moment gnashing his teeth 
 in hell. This was too much. Captaiu Morris, stripping- 
 off his facial disguise, sprang up the pulpit-stairs, and 
 seized the astounded preacher by the throat, pornrnelling 
 him soundly, shouting the while, " You are a lying rascal! 
 I, Captain Morris, am here, and you are much nearer hell 
 ' than he ; and I have a good mind to pitch you headlong 
 out of the pulpit which you disgrace." There was a great 
 uproar; but in the end the captain contrived to escape, 
 though not without considerable damage to his person. 
 
 The next four or five yeai's are a lilank^in the pub- 
 lished history of the wayward impulsive captain. Those 
 years were years of calamity: his wife had died, the im- 
 mediate cause of her death being a shock to her nervous 
 system. One Jane Evers, who had been her schoolfellow 
 and attached friend since they had known each other, had 
 for some cause or other — a love-disappointment is glanced 
 at — gone mad. She was confined in Bedlani or Bethlehem 
 
 a 
 
242 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 Hospital, where she was visited by Mrs. Captain Morris. 
 The treatment in those days of lunatics, real or presumed, 
 was very different from that which obtains id the present 
 time; "a dark house and a whip" were held to be the 
 only curatives^ and these were applied to ]?oth sexes. It 
 must be presumed that Mrs. Captain Morris saw Jane 
 Evers in Bedlam when the unfortunate young woman 
 was in a very pitiable condition ; not only when she was 
 mad, but had been scourged for madness! Mrs. Morris 
 was encemte at the time ; and the distracted husband lost 
 at one terrible blow wife and expected child. The cap- 
 tain was prostrated for a time by so cruel a stroke of 
 fate; but ultimately recovered his physical, if not his 
 mental health in its entirety. 
 
 His restless energy now took one direction, in com- 
 pliance with the dying request of his wife. He would 
 rescue Jane Evers from the tomb in which she, living, 
 was immured. He first thought to release her by force, 
 and he initiated several combinations with that object. 
 The notion was ridiculous; a conclusion to which he him- 
 self reluctantly came. His next move was to petition 
 the ministers, especially Earl Bathurst, with whom he 
 appears to have been on friendly terms of acquaintance- 
 ship. , It was useless; he could get no one to believe in 
 the alleged mismanagement of Bedlam — the cruelties to 
 which real or supposed lunatics were exposed. A sort of 
 iuquiry was instituted,, but the managers of the establish- 
 ment, sustained by the statements of eminent medical 
 men, refuted, to the satisfaction of an indifferent Home 
 Secretary, all the charges made against the mode of treat- 
 ment practised in the asylum. Very likely those charges 
 contained many exaggerations. It is a common error 
 with enthusiastic men possessed of one idea to overstate 
 their case; a great error when you have to deal with 
 astute and unscrupulous opponents. 
 
 Captaia Morris was not convinced by the meagre 
 ofiBcial report — very far indeed from being so ; and cast- 
 ing about in his inventive brain for some practical means 
 of proving that his assertions were well-founded and called 
 
CAPTAIN MORRIS. 243 
 
 for peremptory interference, he hit upon an expedient 
 which, read by the light of common sense, would be con- 
 clusive that he himself was a fit candidate for Bedlam. 
 There is no doubt, let me not forget to state, that Mrs. 
 Captain. Morris firmly believed, and impressed that belief 
 upon her husband, that Jane Evers, if ever afflicted in 
 the brain, was perfectly sane when she visited her, and 
 was dying of the crueUy coercive treatment to which she 
 was subjected. 
 
 " Friend Smithson" and fortunate but still unappro- 
 priated Arabella had taken up their abode at Stamford 
 Hill. Captain Morris, who was a frequent visitor at 
 their house, had vainly endeavoured to interest them in 
 his efforts to liberate Jane Evers. They believed he was 
 labouring under an illusion, or that some motive more 
 powerful than a promise made to his dying wife induced 
 him to make such strenuous exertions in her behalf. 
 Mofris perfectly divined their but half-expressed thoughts, 
 and formed his plans accordingly. In less than a fort- 
 night after his final resolve was taken, Friend Smithson 
 and his daughter were quite convinced that Captain 
 Morris was mad as a March hare. He would start up of 
 a sudden, seize a decanter of wine, fling it under the grate, 
 or smash a pier-glass, and immediately break into a fit of 
 wild, maniacal laughter. Friend Smithson was much 
 alarmed. Medical opinions were obtained. Captain 
 Morris was placed under immediate restraint, and to 
 confirm beyond doubt the opinion of the doctors that he 
 was insane, a paper was found upon him, which could 
 only have been dictated by^ man conscious of mental 
 infirmity. It was to the effect that if the malady which 
 he felt was obtaining mastery over him should 'not be 
 subdued, he vrished to be confined in the Bethlehem 
 Hospital, in the same building with his beloved Jane 
 Evers, till it should please Almighty God to restore him. 
 This wish was complied with, and Captain Morris was 
 soon in a condition to prove on oath from actual experi- 
 ence the course of discipline which governed Bedlam. 
 He swished for no further enlightenment; and when the 
 
244 ECCENTRIC FEESONAGES. 
 
 doctor next visited him he demanded his release, alleging 
 that he had perfectly recovered his senses, and was no 
 longer labouring nnder any illusion whatever. The hos- 
 pital Medicus smiled incredulously, said his liberation for 
 some time, perhaps for years to come, could not for his 
 own sake be consented to. The real madness of his con- 
 duct flashed upon the captain. He remonstrated, threat- 
 ened the doctor and all concerned with direst vengeance, 
 and finding all he could say unavailing, threw himself 
 upon the doctor, and might have throttled him, but that 
 instant effective help was at hand. The now really mad 
 captain was seized, a strait-waistcoat strapped upon him, 
 and he was taken to the ward appropriated to violent 
 lunatics. " There," he writes, " I languished, eating my 
 heart away with impotent rage, for more than two years. 
 I was sometimes indulged with the sight of a newspaper, 
 and one day I read that General Don was in London, and 
 had attended the royal lev6e. Hope revived in my heart. 
 One of the keepers was a very decent man, who in his 
 heart believed I was as sane as himself. I offered him a 
 heavy bribe, to be paid thereafter, if he would secretly 
 procure me pen, ink, and paper, and post a note which I 
 would write to General Don. He agreed to do so, and 
 fulfilled his promise. The very next day General Don, 
 accompanied by a still more influential personage whose 
 name I am not at liberty to mention, visited the hospital. 
 The General demanded to see me. I told my story, was 
 beUevedj and the next day I was liberated by order of 
 the Home Secretary. Poor Jane Evers had died several 
 months previously. My mad freak produced beneficial 
 results. Bethlehem Hospital was placed under strict 
 supervision, from which resulted much benefit to the 
 afflicted inmates." 
 
 The busy world into which Captain Morris had again 
 emerged was to him a desert, and by General Don's ad- 
 vice he applied for and obtained active service in the 
 army. Shortly afterwards he exchanged into a regiment 
 under orders for India, served there with credit, if not 
 distinction, and closed his erratic career at the storm- 
 
CAPTAIN MORRIS. 245 
 
 ing of Eangoon in the Burmese war. " He fell," wrote 
 Major Thompson, in a note subjoined to his friend's 
 diary—" he feU at the moment of victory, which he as 
 much as any soldier there had helped to win. A braver, 
 a better man never lived, and but for his impulsive, 
 wayward nature, he might have attained high rank in 
 the service." 
 
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A. 
 
 It is in no spirit of detraction that I string together a 
 nmnber of descriptive anecdotes of this great painter's 
 eccentricities of character and maaner. They afford 
 another illustration of the world-old truth, that the life 
 of the highest and the best of us is woven of a mingled 
 yam of good and evil. Social shortcomings or extrava- 
 gances, deviations from the beaten path of decorum, are 
 little noticed in ordinary men. There is no violent con- 
 trast to strike the eye — ^no fine gold seen in incongruous 
 mixture with common clay. The dazzling mantle of 
 genius reveals and magnifies such spots. This is one 
 of the penalties of intellectual greatness. 
 
 Joseph Mallord William Tnmer was bom in 1773, in 
 Maiden Lane, Covent Garden, nearly opposite the Cider 
 Cellars. His father, William Turner, was a barber. Some 
 of the admirers of the greatest of English landscape- 
 painters have endeavoured to attenuate the disagree- 
 able fact that he was bom in such a vulgar locality, 
 by pointing out that Andrew Marvel occupied a second 
 floor there in the, days of Charles the Second, and that 
 even M. de Voltaire, the priuce of persiflage and a bright 
 particular star iu the galaxy of French celebrities, lodged 
 there for several years at the sign of the White Peruie. 
 J. M. W. Turner, E.A., may be excused havtag been bom 
 in a street or lane so patronised. 
 
 William Turner, the barber, and his father were na- 
 tives of South Molton, Devonshire. The barber was an 
 illiterate, close-fisted, but not iU-natured man. When, 
 in after-life. Turner was reproached with his penurious 
 way of life — ^how nobly redeemed, all England knows — ■ 
 
J. M. TV. TURNER, R.A. 247 
 
 he would reply, " Tou would not be surprised if you 
 knew the lessons instilled into me during boyhood. My 
 father never praised me except for having saved a half- 
 penny." 
 
 ' William Turner did not neglect his son's education. 
 Comparatively with his scanty means he was liberal in 
 that respect. J. M. "W. Turner was sent for the benefit 
 of his health to an uncle and aunt who kept a butcher's 
 shop in Brentford. Whilst there he was sent to an 
 academy, opposite the Three Pigeons — the master of 
 which- " academy" was a pedagogue of the sternest kind. 
 His name was White. The fature Eoyal Academician 
 was next sent, at the age of thirteen, to a school at Mar- 
 gate, then a little fishing-village. It was there he formed 
 an acquaintance which coloured, and in a moral sense 
 ruined, his fature life. He feU in love with the sister of 
 one of his schoolfellows ; tremblingly declared his pas- 
 sion when on the point of leaving, and was accepted. 
 Toung Turner, then a sprightly youth, trod the em- 
 pyrean. It had long since been determined he should 
 be a painter. Feeling with the instinctive consciousness 
 of genius that he was certain to attain eminence in his 
 art, he looked with confidence to the future. At nine- 
 teen he left for a lengthened tour in the Norths to sketch 
 scenery from the great book of Nature, after first ex- 
 changing vows of mutual fidelity with Miss . He 
 
 wrote constantly, but the young lady was not permitted 
 to see one of his letters. Her stepmother, who did not 
 approve of the contemplated match, intercepted them. 
 
 Miss believed herself to be forgotten, forsaken, and 
 
 finally consented to receive the addresses of a new lover. 
 The day was fixed for the marriage, when Turner, who, 
 spite of not having received an answer to one of his 
 letters — the cause of which he must have divined — ^had 
 never for one moment doubted his beloved's constancy, 
 came back to London, and forthwith betook himself to 
 the young lady's abode. When informed how matters 
 stood, he was wild, mad — passionately implored Miss 
 to break off an engagement into which she had 
 
248 ECCENTKIC PEKSONAGES. 
 
 been inveigled. The lady, believing she had gone too 
 far to recede, refused. The marriage was soon after- 
 wards celebrated. A most unhappy one it proved to the 
 -bride. To young Turner the marriage-bells sounded the 
 death-knell of his hopes. The blow was mortal: he never 
 recovered from it ; and to it must be attributed, in an 
 almost entire degree, his misanthropic manner, his neg- 
 lect of appearances, and his contempt of the world, except 
 as a place in which money might be scraped togethejr. 
 One unbroken idol at whose shrine he might worship 
 remained to him — ^Art, and to that worship he for the 
 future devoted himself with all his heart and strength. 
 
 The goddess rewarded her votary with her especial 
 favours — inspired, inflamed his genius, but for many 
 years was niggardly of temporal gifts. 
 
 Turner took up his abode in his old dingy bedroom 
 over the barber's shop in Maiden Lane, drew sketches, 
 which when he had gained recognition would have brought 
 hundreds of pounds, for three or four shillings each. He 
 ■acquired the art of engraving, greatly excelled in it, and 
 was much patronised by the print-publishers, with whom, 
 till he became celebrated, he was perpetually at war — at 
 such low prices did they require him to work. Through- 
 out his life he cherished a bitter hatred of publishers. 
 
 The sole relaxation which this remarkable man per- 
 mitted himself, besides certain potations — but it was not 
 till late in life that he at times over-indulged — was fish- 
 ing. He might be seen wending his way to the river- 
 side, dressed in the oddest fashion, — a flabby hai, ill- 
 fitting green Monmouth-Street coat, nankeen trousers 
 much too short, and highlow boots, with a dilapidated 
 cotton umbrella, and a fishing-rod. From early morn- 
 ing till nightfall would he sit upon the river's bank, 
 under pelting rain, patiently, shielded by his capacious 
 umbrella, even though he did not obtain a single nibble. 
 He was not, however, an unskUfnl angler, and was very 
 proud of a good day's sport. He often fished in the 
 Thames at Brentford. 
 
 Turner engraved for a livelihood j he painted for 
 
J. M. W. TUENEE, E.A. 249 
 
 fame, and fame came at last. The world of London 
 awoke to the knowledge that a great painter had arisen 
 amongst them. Yet was the recognition for some time 
 doubtful, hesitating. The critics of the press abused un- 
 mercifully Ms painting of " Carthage," exhibited at the 
 Eoyal Academy. The gentleman who had ordered and 
 was to pay one hundred pounds for it refused on account 
 of those strictm-es to complete the bargain. Not Tery 
 long afterwards Turner was offered thousands for the 
 same work. " This is indeed a triumph," he exclaimed, 
 with natural exultation. He was at last at the top of 
 Fortune's wheel. His paintings commanded any price 
 he chose to ask for them, and he accumulated money at 
 an astounding rate. He had removed to 48 Queen-.Ajme 
 Street West, a street north of Cavendish Square — a house 
 subsequently known as " Turner's Den." Truly a den. 
 The windows were never cleaned, had breaches in them 
 patched with paper ; the door was black and blistered, 
 the iron palisades rusty for lack of paint. If a would-be 
 visitor knocked or rang, it was long before the summons 
 was replied to — ^up to 1812 by a wizened, meagre old 
 man, who unfastened the chain sufBciently to see who 
 rang or knocked, and the almost invariable answer was, 
 " You can't come in." After the old man's death, Mrs. 
 Danby, an elderly woman with a diseased face, supplied 
 his place. 
 
 A profound melancholy shadowed not only the social, 
 but artistic life of Turner, relieved by occasional,' far- 
 between flashes of merriment. Mr. Euskin has remarked 
 upon this in his usual forcible language — " Sunset and 
 twilight on ruins were his favourite effects." Speaking 
 of the Liber, the great art-critic goes on to remark—" A 
 feeling of decay, of humiliation, gives solemnity to all 
 his simplest subjects, even to his views of daily labour. 
 In the pastoral by the brookside, the child is in rags and 
 lame. In the hedging and ditching, the labourer is mean 
 and sickly, the woman slatternly. The miU is a ruin; 
 the peat-bog dreary." 
 
 Nothing could be more true. Even his glorious pic- 
 
250 ' ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 ture of the last of the Old Temeraire, is the Tenieraire 
 going to be broken up. " Ah ! the fallacies of hope !" 
 was his frequent exclamation when he was in the full 
 blaze of his fame and rolling in riches. " Ah ! the fal- 
 lacies of hope," — a thought which, if seldom uttered in 
 words, is ever burning in the brain of finely-organised 
 poetic natures, and Turner's was a finely»-organised' poetic 
 nature, if there ever was one. The burden, of the mys- 
 tery is too heavy for them. The highest poetry of the 
 nineteenth century is but the melodious echo of this 
 deep-seated feeling, this religion of despair. 
 
 Turner loved to mystify people. His great picture 
 of Polyphemus, the one-eyed Cyclops whose eye Ulysses 
 put out, with a tree pointed like a stake, when the mon- 
 ster was asleep, the subject of which was taken from the. 
 Odyssey, had an immense success. One day Turner dined 
 with a lai-ge party, amongst the guests at which were 
 the Eeverend Mr. Judkins, and a lady, who greatly ad- 
 mired Turner's pictures. They were sitting opposite 
 Turner and talking in whispers. " I know what you are 
 talking about," exclaimed Turner, his keen eyes glitter- 
 ing with fun; " you are talking of my picture." This was 
 true, the lady having expressed great admiration of the 
 Polyphemus; " a sweet picture," she called it. The Eev. 
 Mr. Judkins intimated assent; they were talking about 
 his picture. " And where do you think I got the subject 
 from, sir?" asked Turner. " Why, from the Odyssey, of 
 course." "Not 'a bit of it, my dear sir; I took it from 
 Tom Dibdin. Don't you remember the words ? — 
 
 ' He ate his mutton, drank his wine. 
 And then he poked his eye out.' " 
 
 One Mr. Gillat, a wealthy manufacturer of Birming- 
 ham — ^it was the wealthy merchants and manufacturers, 
 not the aristocracy, by whom Turner was chiefly patron- 
 ised — Mr. Grillat was determined, if possible, to possess 
 himself of some of Turner's pictures. With that fixed 
 purpose he came to London, called at the Den, 48 Queen- 
 
J. M. W. TUBNEE, E.A. 251 
 
 Anne Street, rang the bell again and again, till at last it 
 was answered by the old woman with a diseased face. 
 He told his business, and the; usual reply was gi^en — 
 " Ton can't come in." The Birmingham gentleman was 
 not so easily beaten. He had got his foot in the door- 
 way — the housekeeper had incautiously unhooked the 
 chain — and Mr. Gillat made a forcible entry. He had 
 hardly gained the first landing when Turner, hearing 
 strange footsteps, rushed out of his particular compart- 
 ment in the Den and angrily confronted the intruder. 
 " What do you want here?" " I am come to purchase 
 some of your pictures." " I have none to sell." " But 
 you won't mind exchanging them for some of mine? You 
 have seen our Birmingham pictures?" " Never 'eard of 
 'em." " I win show you some," rejoined the gentleman 
 from Birmingham, pulling out a roll of Bank-of-Eng- 
 land notes to the amount of five thousand pounds. " Yon 
 are a rum one," said Turner. " Those are pictures, too, 
 that must not be copied." The Birmingham gentleman 
 was successfiil, and carried off five thousand pounds' 
 worth — now perhaps worth five times that sum — of the 
 great artist's creations. 
 
 Turner could not bearj to sell a favourite painting. 
 It was a portion of his being; to part with it was a ren- 
 dering up, the blotting out of that space of his life spent 
 in its creation. He was always dejected, melancholy, 
 after such a transaction. " I lost one of my children 
 this week," he would sadly exclaim, with tears in his 
 eyes. 
 
 At a meeting at Somerset House, presided over by 
 the late Sir Kobert Peel, it was decided to purchase 
 Turner's two great pictures, the Else and Fall of Car- 
 thage, for the National Galleiy. A Mr. GrrifiithB was 
 commissioned to offer five thousand pounds for them. 
 "A noble offer," said Turner, "a noble offer; but no, 
 I cannot part with them. Impossible." Mr. Griffiths, 
 greatly disappointed, took leave. Turner ran after him. 
 " Tell those gentlemen," he said, " that the nation will, 
 most likely, have the pictures after all." 
 
252 ECCENTKIC PBES0NAGJ5S. 
 
 Long before this Turner had matured a purpose which 
 continued to be his dominant idea till the curtain fell 
 upon the incongruous drama of his life. This was to 
 bequeath to his country a Turner's Gallery of noble pic- 
 tures, and amass one hundred thousand pounds at least, 
 to build and endow an asylum for decayed artists. It 
 was for this great end that he scorned delights, except 
 such cheap luxuries as fishing, and the indulgence, at 
 times, of somewhat ignoble tastes; consented to be es- 
 teemed a miserly curifiudgeon, lived in a state of almost 
 absolute squalor, dressed in such a Paul-Pry fashion — 
 Paul-Pry run to seed — ^that country friends, as well as 
 his aristocratic acquaintances, gave him the sobriquet of 
 Old Podgy. 
 
 His resolve once made could not be shaken. A wealthy 
 merchant of Liverpool offered him one hundred thousand 
 pounds down for the art-treasures rolled up in dark 
 closets — Changing from dripping walls in the Den, Queen- 
 Anne Street. " Give me the key of the house, Mr. 
 Turner," said the would-be purchaser, " and here is the 
 money." " No, thank you," replied Turner; " I have re- 
 fused a better offer," which was true. 
 
 Upon another occasion an eager speculator called 
 npon him to effect purchases. Turner happened to be 
 in one of his jocose moods, and he displayed his wonder- 
 ful sketches bound up in volumes. The purchaser ex- 
 pectant was in ecstasies as the gem-like pages flashed 
 one after the other upon him. His bid for them rapidly 
 increased tUl it reached the sum of one thousand pounds 
 per volume. " You would very much like to have them, 
 I daresay ?" " Yes, very much." " Well, then, you 
 won't." 
 
 Yet this large-souled man — a mighty spirit prisoned 
 in the shabbiest of shells — could be guilty of the most 
 niggardly meanness. He caused a tablet to be placed 
 in St. Paul's. Some masonry work was required to fix 
 it; the charge for which was seven-and- sixpence, which 
 one of the churchwardens, paid, believing of course, that 
 Mr. Turner would immediately reimburse him such a 
 
J. M. W. TURNER, R.A. 253 
 
 trifle. Mr. Turner was much pleased with the tablet, 
 but his mood changed when the little bill was presented. 
 " Send me a receipt from the mason," said Turner; " I 
 won't pay it till you do." It was not worth the trouble' 
 to do so, and the churchwarden lost his money. " He a 
 great man!" growled a Southend boatman, one of two 
 whom Turner used to hire to pull him about the Thames 
 shore whilst he was sketching. "He a great man! over 
 the left! Why, he takes out a big bottle of gin regular, 
 and never axes us to have a nip." 
 
 Yet even with respect to that least-significant sign 
 or evidence of true benevolence, indiscriminate alms- 
 giving, the great artist was often, very often, impulsively, 
 lavishly generous. An old Irish beggar-woman impor- 
 tuned him in the streets, to his great annoyance. He 
 rebuked her angrily, but presently repenting of his harsh- 
 ness, ran back and slipped a five-pound note into her 
 hand. 
 
 He was sometimes munificent, even during life, in 
 affording help to those who he knew really needed it. 
 A gentleman who used to buy his sketches when he was 
 working in the dingy bedroom over his father's shop in 
 Maiden Lane, and always prophesied high things of him, 
 fell into difficulties, and was about to sell the timber on 
 his estate. Turner heard of this, and sent many thou- 
 sands — twenty it is said — anonymously to the gentleman's 
 steward. The embarrassment was temporary only, the 
 gentleman recovered himself, and Turner received back 
 his twenty thousand pounds. 
 
 Especially for struggling artists he felt an ardent 
 sympathy, and was ever ready to assist them with advice 
 and money. One young man who had painted " Ualileo 
 in the prison of the Inquisition," showed the work to 
 him. " It is a good picture," said Turner; " full of pro- 
 mise." Then seizing a brush, he dashed in some geome- 
 trical figures upon the prison walls. This was worth 
 fifty guineas to the young painter. 
 
 One incident gives high proof of the native genero- 
 sity of his nature. He was one of the hanging com- 
 
254 BCCENTEIO PEESONAGES. 
 
 mittee, as the phrase goes; of the Eoyal Academy. The 
 walls were fall when Turner's attention was attracted by 
 a picture sent in by an unknown provincial artist of the 
 name of Bird. Turner examined it carefully. " A good 
 picture," he exclaimed ; " it must be hung up and ex- 
 hibited." " Impossible," responded the committee of 
 Academicians. "The arrangement can't be disturbed. 
 Quite impossible!" " A good picture," iterated Turner; 
 *' it must be hung up;" and finding his colleagues to be 
 as obstinate as himself, he hitched down one of his own 
 pictures and hung up Bird's in its place. 
 
 Another time Sir Thomas Lawrence exhibited a paint- 
 ing which was hung close by one of Turner's. The ex- 
 ceeding brightness of the latter rendered the dulness of 
 Sir Thomas Lawrence's repnlsively app'arent. The courtly 
 portrait-painter was mnch, annoyed, but there was no 
 help for it. The next day, a friend called upon Tutner, 
 and asked what, in the name of heaven, he had been 
 doing with his picture. The colour was all smudged out. 
 " Yes, yes — Lawrence looked so miserable. But it's only 
 lamp-black; it will easily w.ash off." 
 
 Turner never entertained any one, never gave a din- 
 ner during his life. Upon one occasion he had no option 
 bnt to do so. He had paid a visit to Edinburgh, and 
 whilst there had been hospitably entertained by a Mr. 
 Thompson. He had, in fact, made that gentleman's 
 house his home. Mr. Thompson came to London, and 
 Turner could not do less than invite him to dinner. 
 The invitation was accepted, greatly to the consternation 
 both of Turner and his father. There seemed, however, 
 to be no help for it, when fortune came to their relief. 
 Mr. Thompson called upon a nobleman, who pressingly 
 invited him to dine at his mansion the next day, the last 
 he should remain in town. Mr. Thompson pleaded his 
 previous engagement with Turner. " Bring Turner with 
 you," said the nobleman. Mr. Thompson delivered the 
 message. Turner, secretly delighted, affected to hesi- 
 tate. " Well, I suppose I must, buf^-" " Go, Billy," 
 exclaimed the father, furtively opening the door, on the 
 
J. M. W. TURNER, E.A. 255 
 
 outside of which he had been listening. " Go, Billy; 
 the mutton need not be boiled." 
 
 The suffering, of his friends gricTouslj affected Tur- 
 ner. Their death encompassed hiTn for a time with the 
 gloom of an iQConsolable despair. He had, nnhappUy, 
 no religions convictions, and the thought of annihilation 
 was to him a source of constant terror and dread. The 
 death of his jovial-hearted friend Ghantrey, the sculptor, 
 deeply affected him. He could never be induced to 
 enter a sick-room, and would not visit at the house 
 where a friend or acquaintance had died. 
 
 At last the sere of life had fallen upon this great 
 genius. He felt, though he refused to acknowledge it 
 to himself, that he was fast approaching the setting sun, 
 that the universe was fading from his sight, crumbling 
 at his feet. He strove to escape from himself, as it 
 were: " He would give all his wealth to be twenty years 
 old agaia." He was recognised at the Yorkshire Stingo 
 ' by a very slight acquaintance. He may have indulged 
 in potations at times. "I shaU often come," said the 
 man, "now I know you frequent the house." Thimer 
 never went there again; but the world was a blank for 
 him: he had no cheerful fireside — ^no home in its true 
 saving sense. 
 
 Becoming more and more conscious of the swift ap- 
 proach of death, and fancying, perhaps, that a change of 
 scene — seclusion from society — ^might retrim the expiring 
 lamp, he suddenly left Queen- Anne Street with merely a 
 change of Unen, as if he were going out for a walk, and 
 took lodgings in a cottage at Chelsea, next door to which 
 ginger-beer was sold, and not far from the present Gre- 
 mome Pier. It was a long time before his whereabout 
 was discovered by his old faithful housekeeper, Mrs. 
 Danby, by accident. 
 
 He had not then many days to live. A medical 
 gentleman whom he had Imown at Margate — ^Margate, 
 which he was never weary of visiting, and the memories 
 of which were present to hiTn in his last hours — ^had 
 
256 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 been sent for, and he had no sooner looked upon the 
 moribund than he gently but firmly announced that the 
 last hour was at hand. Turner was greatly shocked, and 
 refused to belieye that his end, that " annihilation" was 
 so near. " Go down-stairs," trembled from his ashen 
 lips, " go down stairs, and take a glass of wine. Then 
 come and look at me again." The medical gentleman 
 did so, returned, and again interpreted in the same words 
 the doom of inevitable death written unmistakably upon 
 the great painter's brow. A few hours afterwards, on 
 the 19th of December 1851, J. M. W. Turner, R.A., ex- 
 pired, aged 79 years. He was buried in St. Paul's. 
 
 By his will he bequeathed one hundred and forty 
 thousand pounds to found an asylum for poor artists 
 born in England, and a magnificent art-treasure to his 
 country. This latter bequest was, howerer, coupled with 
 the condition that his Else and Fall of Carthage should 
 be hung up , in the National Gallery between Claude's 
 Sea-port and Mill. 
 
LOED NOEBURY. 
 
 The Mr. Jolm Toler who, by force of unblnshing sy- 
 cophancy, unparalleled impudence, and a pair of hair- 
 trigger pistols, became Lord Norbury, and Chief Justice 
 of the Court of Common Pleas, Ireland, was of 'respect- 
 able parentage, notwithstanding that his only fortune 
 when launched upon the world was fifty pounds and 
 the hair-trigger pistols. These qualifications sufficed in 
 those days — although he knew little of law, in a com- 
 parative sense of course, and was utterly destitute of 
 eloquence — to clear his way to the high offices of SoKci- 
 tor-, Attorney-Greneral, Chief JudgesHp, and to place a 
 coronet on his truculent brow. 
 
 This man, called to the Irish bar in 1771, was in 
 person fat, podgy, with small gray cunning eyes, which 
 ever sparkled with good humour, irrepressible fun, espe- 
 cially when he was passinig sentence of death. He was 
 nerer so jocund as then, especially if there was a large 
 batch of criminals. Lord Norbury was at once Sancho 
 Panza and Judge Jeffreys. He had not, and did not 
 care to have, a particle of moral courage ; but was ani- 
 mally brave, or pretty nearly so, as a bull-dog is. He 
 was always ready with his pistol. He fought some half- 
 dozen duels, one with fire-eating Fitzgerald; frightened 
 James Napper Tandy, who died a French general, nearly 
 out of his small wits by the threat of one; and Sir Jonah 
 Barrington's very respectable brains he would probably 
 have blown out, but for a ludicrous mishap. Of these 
 incidents more presently. Lord Norbury, it must be ad- 
 mitted, only followed the fashion of the times. Lord 
 Chancellor Clare "went out" with the Master of the 
 RoUs, John Philpot Curran. There was a mania for 
 
 s 
 
258 ECCENTRIC PEBSOKAGES. 
 
 duelling. To have stood fire, at least once, was held to 
 be the only stamp of a raal gentleman. It was a cus- 
 tomary query for a father or mother to put to any one 
 who advocated the pretensions ofa suitor to his or her 
 daughter's hand: "What family is he of? Did he ever 
 stand a blaze?" Judge Fletcher, a learned, humane, 
 bibulous man, and a terrible glutton, when summing up 
 the evidence in the case of the King v. Fenton, who was 
 indicted for the murder of Major Hillens, said, '" It is my 
 duty to tell you, gentlemen of the jury, that to kill a 
 man in a duel is by law murder. It is my duty to say 
 that ; but upon my honour, gentlemen, a fairer dud I 
 never heard or read of." Fenton was of course acquitted. 
 What a distance, looked at from our present point of 
 view, seems to have elapsed since such sayings and 
 doings were possible in high judicial regions ! The 
 march of civilisation and refinement may be slow, but 
 it is palpable, and decisive. 
 
 Notwithstanding that Lord Norbury was seen by 
 dullest eyes to be a coarse vulgar embodiment of a mean 
 rascality", unredeemed by the faintest gleam of honour or 
 patriotism, the man was tolerated by society for his con- 
 vivial talents. He could sing a capital song, often did 
 so in miscellaneous company, long after he T^as Chief 
 Justice of the Common Pleas, and sometimes delivered 
 smart, if not exactly witty, sayings. His best songs 
 were " Black-eyed Susan" and " Admiral Benbow." His 
 character will be best portrayed by anecdotical pen- 
 strokes. In so doing it will be necessary to mix up the 
 tragic and the trivial, the savagery and jocoseness, which 
 made up Lord Norbury. It would, indeed, be impossible 
 to separate in his moral portrait those characteristics 
 from each other. His judicial ferocity was invariably 
 tinged with a sort of ghastly fun, just as his jocosity was 
 ever spiteful, venomous, brutal. 
 
 Mr. John Toler, become Attorney-General, prosecuted, 
 on the part of the Crown, John and Henry Sheares, young 
 barristers of good family, who had rashly mixed them- 
 selves up with one of the abortive rebellions rife in that 
 
LORD NOEBUEY. 259 
 
 troubled exciting time. They were the dupes and tools 
 of more astute and cunning conspirators. This was espe- 
 cially true of Henry Sheares, a young man of weak, not 
 to say cowardly, spirit. The trial, which took place be- 
 fore Lord Carleton, was a lengthened one. Mr. Curran, 
 when the case for the prosecution closed, asked for an 
 adjournment, he being physically incapable of address- 
 ing the jury with effect. " What do you say, Mr. Attor- 
 ney?" said Lord Carleton. Mr. Attorney Toler objected. 
 He was as much exhausted as the counsel for the rebels. 
 Such adjournments, he added, were prejudicial to the 
 public interests, and a waste of time. The trial went 
 on, the accused were' conyicted — sentenced to death. 
 Mr. Attorney immediately rose and prayed that execu- 
 tion might take place on the following day. The prayer 
 was granted. i 
 
 Mr. Attorney-Grcneral Toler had a purpose in Tiew. 
 He was aware that Sir Jonah Barrington, one of the 
 most loyal of men, and held in high esteem by the Lord 
 Lieutenant, had been acquainted with the prisoners — 
 that he felt great commiseration for them, and would, 
 do his utmost to avert or mitigate their doom; and Mr.. 
 Attorney-General could not endure that the quarry which 
 he had hunted down should be rescued by any imperti- 
 nent interference. Mr. Attorney's was a well-calculated 
 haste. Henry Sheares wrote a letter, immediately after- 
 sentence was pronounced, to Sir Jonah Barrington, im- 
 ploriag him, ia the most pathetic phrases, to see the' 
 Lord Lieutenant, and intercede for his, the prisoner's,, 
 life. The letter itself was abundant proof that the 
 craven who vprote it could never have seriously contem- 
 plated rebellion. Lord Clare yielded, and sent a respite 
 stayiag execution, in the hope that the doomed man 
 might be able to make revelations which would justify 
 him, the Lord Lieutenant, in granting a full pardon. 
 Sir Jonah Barrington hurried off", and arrived before the 
 gaol in just sufficient time to see and hear the execu- 
 tioner hold up Henry Sheai'Ss' head, and exclaim: "This 
 is the head of a traitor!" 
 
260 ECCENTRIC PEESONAOES. 
 
 There is only one step, we are told, from the sublime 
 to the ridiculous: in the instance of this man there is 
 but one, and a short one, so closely do they approximate, 
 from the horrible to the funny — the ludicrous. Take, 
 for example, the following anecdote: 
 
 Lord Eedesdale, appointed Lord Chancellor for Ire- 
 land, a dull, prosaic man, who believed himself to be a 
 wit of the first water, was anxious to exhibit himself to 
 advantage in his first social intercourse with the Irish 
 bar, the rollicking humour of whom was well known. 
 He fared but badly, Mr. John Toler contriving to turn 
 the laugh against him at every tUt of repartee. Lord 
 Eedesdale mentioned that when he was a lad cock-fight- 
 ing was in vogue, and that ladies went to see the exhibi- 
 tion full-dressed, and wearing hoops. "Ah," exclaimed 
 Toler, "now we get at the etymology of cock-a-hoop."-J 
 "This was thought very clever, and a general laugh fol-o 
 lowed. His lordship subsequently remarked — the con- 
 "versation having turned upon skating — ^that in his youth 
 -skating was not a dangerous pastime, inasmuch as that 
 the skaters fastened bladders under their arms, so that if 
 the ice broke beneath them, they^would be suspendedT' 
 above water by the bladders. " Ha, ha!" shouted Toler, ^ 
 " now I understand what blatherum-skate means." Poor 
 stufF, no doubt, but there was not much superior to it in 
 Lord Norbury's motley coat of many colours. 
 
 The Right Honourable John Toler crept, crawled, 
 bullied his way into the Irish House of Commons, when 
 it was really worth while to be a member of that assem- 
 bly. The English government were bent upon abolishing 
 the Irish parUament, and votes for the Union were to be 
 purchased «a any price. The Eight Honourable John 
 Toler was vwy usefal in. flattering all voters with his 
 -praise, and i ■ bullying the opponents of the scheme, it 
 being well known to all that a skilfully-pointed hair- 
 i rigger would echo his iusults at a moment's notice. His 
 first onslaught was upon Mr. George Ponsonby. He told 
 the honourable gentleman that if he had heard any one 
 utter such words out of the House as he, Mr. Ponsonby, 
 
LOBD NOEBURY. 261 
 
 had within it, he would have seized the ruffian by the 
 throat, and trampled him into the dust. Mr. Ponsonby 
 took no notice of the right honourable gentleman's Bil- 
 lingsgate. Mr. Toler next fell foul of the Honourable 
 Jonah Barrington, and having dined and drunk very 
 freely, was more than usually abusive. Sir Jonah Bar- 
 rington curtly replied: " I shall only give him the cha- 
 racter which he deserves; this, that he ^las a hand for 
 everybody and a heart for nobody." The instant Sir 
 Jonah sat down, Toler gave him an unmistakable hair- 
 trigger wink with one of his small gray eyes, and out of 
 the House hurried both the honourable gentlemen. They 
 were not, however, quick enough. The Serjeant-at-Arms' 
 assistants were ordered to , follow, and bring the honour- 
 able members back into the awfal presence of the Mace. 
 Toler was captured. His coat-tails were caught m a 
 doorway he was passing through; and though, tugging 
 with might and main, he at last freed himself at the cost 
 of his tails, the delay was fatal. He was seized and 
 brought back to the House. ' Sir Jonah got as far as 
 Nassau Street, where he was overtaken, rudely seized, 
 carried back by four stout fellows, and flung like a sack 
 of sawdust upon the floor of the House. Both members 
 were ordered to declare "upon their honour" that the 
 affair should proceed no farther. The Eight Honourable 
 John Toler rose to explain — to defend himself; but his 
 appearance, denuded as he was of the skirts of his coat, 
 was so ludicrous, that the House burst into roars of 
 laughter. As soon as he could make himself heard, 
 Curran, with great apparent indignation, rose and ex- 
 claimed: "A more intolerable insult has never been 
 offered to this House. One honourable member has 
 positively dared to tsim the jacket of another honour- 
 able member within these walls, and nearly within view 
 of the Speaker!" This sally intensified the merriment, 
 amidst which the comical fracas evaporated, so to speak. 
 The Eight Honourable John Toler voted for the 
 destruction of the Irish Parliament; a vrise measure, it 
 may be, but carried by infamously corrupt means. The 
 
2(32 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 right honourable gentleman drove a famous bargain with 
 the government — a peerage for his wife, already an old 
 woman, and the chief-justiceship of the Common Pleas 
 for himself, with the title of Lord Norbury. Upon this 
 being communicated by Lord Castlereagh to the Lord 
 Chancellor Clare, that learned dignitary replied, "No, 
 no, that will never do; make Toler a bishop, an arch- 
 bishop even, but not a chief justice." Thte Lord Chan- 
 cellor was obliged to yield, the Union was carried, and 
 Lord Norbury was placed in possession of the seat and 
 salary of the chief justice. " YoU" have sold your coun- 
 try," said an Irish lady, not having the fear of hair-trig- 
 gers before her eyes; "you have basely sold your 
 country." " Very lucky for me that I had a country to 
 sell," was the rejoinder. " I wish I had another." 
 
 Lord Norbury^ as Chief Justice, reflected no honour 
 npon his office or upon those who had appointed him to 
 it. Anecdotes' of his conduct on the bench of justice 
 are numerous. I select a few. He never would nonsuit 
 a plaintiff; he had a consUtuUonal objection, forsooth, to 
 withdraw the decision of any case from a jury. Upon 
 one occasion he was urged in bolder terms than were 
 ordinarily employed by the counsel for the defendant to 
 grant a nonsuit. " For once, my lord, have the courage 
 to grant a nonsuit." " I tell you what, Mr. Wallace," 
 rejoined the Chief Justice, — " I tell you what, Mr. Wal- 
 lace; there are two kinds of courage — courage to shoot 
 and courage to nonshoot. I hope I have both. But 
 nonshoot now I won't." 
 
 Lord Norbury, it has been already said, had a strong 
 HMng for capital punishments. He was never so hila- 
 rious as when putting on the black cap. It happened,' 
 however, that upon one occasion, during a trial of some 
 interest, he manifested considerable emotion. Mr. Har- 
 vey Grady, a barrister of ability, who had been chafed by 
 some of the judge's remarks, thereupon said, " The inci- 
 dent reminds me, my lord, . of a judge who was never 
 known to weep but once, and that was ia a theatre." 
 "Tragedy — deep tragedy, Mr. Grady," said Lord Nor- 
 
LOED NOEBURT. 263 
 
 bury. " No, indeed, my lord. It was in the Beggars^ 
 Opera, when Macheath was reprieved." Lord Norbury 
 tried the unfortunate Robert Emmett for high treason, 
 conducting himself throughout the proceedings as a Jef- 
 freys or Soroggs might hare done. " My lord," said the 
 high-minded, if mistaken, young man, irritated by a 
 brutal taunt, — "my lord, there are men concerned in 
 this conspiracy *ho wotild disgrace themselves by shaking 
 your blood-stained hand." The judge revenged himself 
 by pasang sentence of death' in a sneering, mocking 
 tone, omitting to add the usual formula, " And may the 
 Lord have mercy upon your soul." 
 
 " Some of Lord Norbury's impromptus are apt and 
 humorous. He was told by a gentleman that he heard 
 an old enemy of his was dead. " Do you believe it?" 
 asked his friend. " I don't know," said Lord Norbury. 
 " He is villain enough to live or die, just as. it suits his 
 own convenience." 
 
 Again. During a session of the Irish Parliament, 
 when a strong effort was made to induce the House of 
 Commons to pass a Catholic Emancipation BUI, the 
 friends of the measure hit upon the notable expedient of 
 inviting over from England Edmimd Burke's son, for 
 the purpose of drawing up the petition to be presented 
 to the House. The father was an eloquent writer, and 
 it was concluded that his son must be the same. The 
 young gentleman failed to please his patrons. The pe- 
 tition was nevertheless presented, land an acrimonious 
 debate ensued. Young Mr. Burke was in the gallery, 
 but, becoming much excited, walked down and entered 
 the House itself, and walked up towards the chair. As 
 soon as the audacious act was noticed, loud cries of 
 " Privilege," " There is a stranger in the House," arose 
 on all sides. " Serjeant-at-Arms, -do your duty," roared 
 Mr. Speaker. The intruder was dumb-foundered, para- 
 lysed with terror. Thunder had faUen upon him. The 
 imminence of the peril partially restored his faculties; he 
 turned ; the Serjeant-at-Arms, with a drawn sword in 
 his hand, blocked his way: instantly doubling, he was 
 
264 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 stopped by the Clerk of the House: turning again, he 
 fairly took to his heels, followed at full speed by the 
 door-keepers. He, however, escaped. The incident pro^ 
 duced some excitement amongst the members, one of 
 whom observed that he did not believe such a thing had 
 ever happened before. " I beg your pardon," exclaimed 
 the Eight Honourable John Toler; " I found the same 
 Incident, a few days hence, in the cross -readings of a 
 newspaper! Yesterday a petition was presented to the 
 House of Commons — it fortunately missed fire, and the 
 viUain ran off." 
 
 This, again, is tolerably smart. A gentleman had 
 been tried for arson and acquitted legally, though not by 
 the yerdict of general opinion. This gentleman attended 
 a Castle lev6e. " I am glad to see you liefre" said the 
 Right Honourable John Toler. " It will be my last 
 visit for a long time," said the gentleman, "as I am 
 about to become a Benedict." "Ah, well," said the 
 Eight Honourable John, " St. Paul says it is better to 
 marry than Tmrn." 
 
 The Chief Justice of the Common Pleas was as 
 averse to signing bills of exception as to directing a non- 
 suit. One was tendered against his lordship's ruling by 
 the late Daniel O'Connell, between whom and Lord Nor- 
 bury there was perpetual feud. They hated each other 
 bitterly. If a judge refuse to sign a bill of exceptions, 
 he is liable to a penalty of five hundred pounds. Lord 
 Norbury was yet more loath to pay five hundred pounds 
 than to sign a biU of exceptions. " Surely, Mr. O'Con- 
 nell," he exclaimed, " you cannot be serious." The great 
 Daniel replied that he was never more serious in his life. 
 The duty he owed his client required him to insist either 
 that his lordship should sign or refuse to sign the bill 
 of exceptions. Lord Norbury was sure Mr. O'Connell 
 would always do his duty towards his clients. He was a 
 bright example to the bar in this respect. But he was 
 disinclined either to sign the bill or refuse to sign it. 
 " I wish your lordship had spared me the infliction of 
 your praise. I must insist either that yom- lordship signs 
 
LOED NOEBURT. 265 
 
 or refuses to sign." " Certainly I shall not refuse to 
 sign, nor sign now. Come to me by and bye at chambers, 
 and we will see about it." Mr. O'Connell attended at 
 chambers, and the bill of exceptions was signed. 
 
 In another tilt with Lord Norbury, Daniel O'Connell 
 did not come off so well. The late Sir Eobert Peel, when 
 Secretary for Ireland, had challenged Mr. O'Connell to 
 mortal combat, in consequence of some offensive expres- 
 sions made use of towards him by the celebrated agi- 
 tator at a public meeting. Mrs. O'Connell, discoyering 
 what was going on, caused her husband to be arrested 
 and bound OTer to keep the peace with all the king's 
 subjects in Ireland. Mr. Peel immediately started for 
 Ostend, first sending a written message to O'Connell 
 that he intended to do so. Mr. O'Connell followed 
 shortly, was again arrested in London, and bound over 
 by Lord EUenborough, in heavy penalties, to keep the 
 peace with all his Majesty's subjects. Mr. O'Connell 
 returned to Ireland, and a short time afterwards was 
 arguing a knotty point of law before the Chief Justice. 
 Lord Norbury paid little attention to the argument, 
 preferring to fondle a Newfoundland dog he had with 
 him on the bench. " My lord," exclaimed Mr. O'Con- 
 nell, " I am afraid your lordship does not apprehend 
 me." " I beg your pardon, Mr. O'Connell," replied 
 the Chief Justice with a sneering chuckle, " no one is 
 more easily apprehended than Mr. O'Connell wlien he 
 tcislies to he." 
 
 Irish gentlemen are proverbially the most hospitable 
 race in the world. Lord Norbury was an exception. He 
 was, however, liberal enough in his invitations, but there 
 was very lenten entertainment grudgingly placed before 
 such persons as, not knowing his lordship, ventured to 
 accept them. He once pressingly invited an elderly lady 
 and gentleman, with whom he had been long acquainted, 
 to come and spend a week at Cabra, his lordship's seat, 
 at a considerable distance from Dublin, little imagining 
 his invitation would be accepted. He was mistaken. 
 The' lady and gentleman packed up such necessaries as 
 
266 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 would be required during a week's sojourn at Cabra, 
 where they safely arrived, and were most politely re- 
 ceived by Lord Norbury. " Well, now, this is kind," said 
 his lordship; " I am so happy to see you both, and must 
 insist — ^now, no excuse — ^that you stop and take dinner, -■ 
 You must, indeed: I will take no refusal, — certainly 
 not." 
 
 The Chief Justice once, when passing sentence of 
 death, at Carlow, upon a lot of rebels, was attired in a 
 masquerade dress ! He had, some weeks previous, been 
 present at a grand masquerade given by Lady Oastle- 
 reagh, where he appeared in the character of Hawthorne 
 in Love in a Village. His dress was green tabinet, with 
 mother-of-pearl buttons, striped yellow-and-black waist- 
 coat, and buff breeches. When about to dress on ther 
 morning of the day when so many sentences would have 
 to be passed, and the weather being extremely hot, he 
 examined his wardrobe to select the lightest, coolest 
 dress he could find.' This happened to be his masquer- 
 ade costume, which he at once decided upon. When he 
 took his seat on the bench, his robe concealed the under- 
 dress ; but soon overpowered by the heat, Lord Norbury 
 threw back his robe, disclosiag his masquerade attire to 
 the amazement of a crowded court, and went on with his 
 pleasant labour iu a comfortable state of both body and 
 mind. 
 
 Lord Norbury clung to the great ofB.ce which he 
 disgraced to the last. At length the Government deter- 
 miued to abate so pernicious a scandal, and a private 
 intimation reached him that he would be required to 
 resign the Chief Justiceship. The intelligence made 
 him wild — furious; life would be valueless if not en- 
 livened by the power of passing death-sentences, a delec- 
 tation which the absurd chicken-heartedness of modern 
 legislators had already shamefully curtailed. The Chief 
 Justice quickly resolved upon his plan of campaign. Mr. 
 Gregory, the Lord Lieutenant's private secretary, would 
 be the person selected to present him with his Excellency's 
 comphinents, and politely iutimate the request of Go- 
 
LORD NORBUET. 267 
 
 vermnent that he would tender his resignation. Lord 
 ■ Norbury sent for Mr. Gregory at once, conducted him 
 to a private room, carefally closed the door, turned the 
 key, and then with the fierce glimmer in his eyes which 
 his auditor well knew iadicated mischief, thus addressed 
 him : " My dear Gregory, you are my oldest friend. 
 There is no one I respect so much. It seems that our 
 mock king ia the Phoenix Park is about to publicly 
 insult me, and I never yet brooked a saucy look. I am 
 to be asked to resign my seat on the Bench ! Of course 
 the sham monarch himself cannot be punished, but' the 
 minion, whoever he is, whom he iatrusts with such a 
 message, shall be; I vrill have his life. Gregory, my 
 old, my valued friend — ^you will stand by me, I am sure. 
 The hair-triggers are ready as in the days of Tandy and 
 Fitzgerald." Mr. Gregory, who had been charged to 
 deliver the offensive intimation without delay, left with- 
 out doing so. Lord Norbury's bullying tactics, however, 
 availed nothing. A few days afterwards he was requested 
 to resign by a letter fropi the Lord Lieutenant himself. 
 Driven to bay, the Chief Justice asked for time to con- 
 sult a friend. This indulgence was granted. The friend 
 was in India! This was a twelvemonth gained. The 
 Chief Justice thought so. He deceived himself. Having 
 fallen asleep during a trial for murder, a petition pre- 
 sented to the House of Commons by Daniel O'Connell 
 compelled the Government to require his instant resig- 
 nation of the judgment-seat — and Lord Norbury, alias 
 John Toler, retired to die at Cabra. His coarse humour 
 did not forsake him in the last hours. He had a neigh- 
 bour who had been bedridden for years, and was at the 
 point of death. Apprised by his physician that his end 
 was near, iaevitable, he, the shock of the announcement 
 over, said to a servant in attendance, " James, go with 
 my compliments to Lord Erne, and tell him it is now a 
 dead heat between him and me." Thus died the bloody- 
 handed Jester-Judge. 
 
THE CHEVALIER D'EOK 
 
 The life of this gentleman is one of the still unsolved 
 mysteries of what ■ may be called the occult history of 
 courts and courtesans, royal intrigues, and underplots of 
 bestarred and beribboned flunkeyism. Much has been 
 written upon the subject, but no Key has yet been found 
 that will turn the lock of the riddle. I am about to tiy 
 the effect of my file upon that one which seemed to fit 
 the wards most accurately. It is a subject which re- 
 quires delicate handling, and I shall so handle it. 
 
 Charles Genevieve Louise Auguste D'Eon de Beau- 
 mont was born at Tonnerre, France, in the year 1728. 
 It is somewhat curious, considering D'Eon's after-life, 
 that of his four baptismal names two were masculine and 
 two feminine. He was a cleyer boy — " mais tant soit peu 
 eccentrique" (but more or less eccentric). Sis features 
 being small and delicate, he more than once passed him- 
 self off as a girl at rustic f^tes, and could only be induced 
 to abstain from such objectionable license by the serious 
 warnings of a magistrate. 
 
 Charles GeneviSve Louise Auguste D'Eon de Beau- 
 mont's domicile did not harmonise with such sounding 
 titles. The family wis poor and proud, and the young 
 man was hugely delighted when he was at last free to 
 seek his fortune in Paris, furnished, it is true, with a 
 light purse, but infiuential introductions to great people. 
 The old noblesse of France were true to their order, false 
 and tyrannous as they were to the mere people. It was 
 these introductions, and not the wishy-washy pamphlets 
 he wrote and published, which commended, him to the 
 notice of the Prince of Conti, and through his princeship 
 
THE CEEVALIEK d'eON. 269 
 
 to that of the King Louis XV. His handsome presence 
 and pleasing manners secured the favour whi6h princely 
 patronage had initiated. He was appointed equerry to 
 the king, created a knight, thenceforth ChcTalier D'Eon, 
 and as if to make a doctor of law and an advocate of the 
 parliament were as easy to the monarch as to manufac- 
 ture an equerry or a knight, had the dignity of doctor of 
 law and an advocate of parliament conferred upon him. 
 
 The sun of good fortune continued to smile. He was 
 appointed to the secretaryship of the French embassy at 
 St. Petersburg, and by his adroitness, spirit of adven- 
 turous intrigue, and glozing tongue, so ingratiated him- 
 self with the Czarina Elizabeth, one of the most atrocious 
 fiends that ever filled the Satanic throne of Muscovy, 
 that he soon became, to the superseding of the titular 
 ambassador, the medium of communication between the 
 Empress Elizabeth and Louis XV. It is needless to go 
 into the details, so far as they are unreliably known, of 
 the plots, treacheries, massacres, schemes to which D'Eon 
 was privy, and the thread of which web of devilism he 
 held. Enough that both Elizabeth and Louis approved 
 his services. The czarina gave him money, Louis made 
 him a captain of dragoons, and by letters patent granted 
 him a pension of about, in English money, one hundred 
 pounds per annum. 
 
 During the chevalier's sojourn in St. Petersburg he 
 was in' the habit of frequenting places of amusement, 
 balls, &c., ia the guise of -a woman. His appearance 
 when so attired was so completely feminine that no one 
 unacquainted with him could have detected the impos- 
 ture. This was a mania with the chevalier. There was 
 nothing he so delighted in as receiving the amatory com- 
 pliments of men attracted by the beauty of his coun- 
 tenance, and the artistic make-up of his figure. And yet 
 this man was a brave soldier, and proved that he was in 
 more than one bloody encoiinter. Verily the contradic- 
 tions and inconsistencies of human nature are inscrutable, 
 past finding out. 
 
 No question that the eccentric chevalier was a very 
 
270 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES, 
 
 clever person. There is no more doubt that he was un- 
 scrupulous as to the means to be employed for rising in 
 the world., A young gentleman, moreover, of amazing 
 fertility of resource, who could conceive and carry out 
 unheard-of schemes for the replenishment of an exhausted 
 purse which a less fertile brain would never have dreamt 
 of. And in this we shall, I think, find the true key to 
 the unlocking of the D'Eon mystery. The puzzlement — 
 it scarcely deserves the name of mystery — lies in a nut- 
 shell. It was simply a novel mode of raising the wind 
 by the help of unscrupulous intermediaries. It is sur- 
 prising that Sir Charles Lascelles Wraxall, Mr. Robert 
 Chambers, and others who have written so largely upon 
 the subjfect, should not at a glance have perceived what 
 a transparent swindle the whole thing was. 
 
 The Chevalier D'Eon contrived to obtain the appoint- 
 ment of attache to the embassy in England, the ambas- 
 sador being the Due de Mvemois. In London the 
 chevalier's restless spirit of intrigue, his audacity of 
 enterprise in search after political advancement, were as 
 conspicuous, though not so successful, as at St. Peters- 
 burg. He purloined, secreted, whichever may be the 
 most appropriate word, some important papers, and made 
 capital of their possession. The Due de Nivernois re- 
 turned to France much dissatisfied with D'Eon, who 
 however continued for some time to fulfil the duties of 
 Charg6 d' Affaires at the English court. 
 
 He was at last deprived of his ofiice, and reduced to 
 subsist upon his pension of one hundred pounds per 
 annum — a sorry income for so gay a chevalier. With 
 the help of gaming, wagering, and other c6ntrivances 
 familiar to the initiated, he managed to cai-ry on the war 
 for full fourteen years. By 1;hat time he had reached the 
 length of his tether, and a gaol loomed with dai-k dis- 
 tinctness in the " illimitable perspective." 
 
 This had been for at least six years — ^much longer, 
 probably — a foregone conclusion with the chevalier; and 
 he, if I read his Ufe aright, had prepared for the inevit- 
 able catastrophe after a very novel fashion. Doubts of 
 
THE CHEVALIER d'EON. 271 
 
 ■whether the chevalier was a man or woman were circu- 
 lated; and Hayes, a surgeon, with whom D'Eon was well 
 acquainted, bet One Jacques, a money-broker and under- 
 writer, a wager, of which the conditions were that Hayes 
 would pay to Jacques fifteen gumeas per cent upon the 
 sum of seven hundred pounds till such time as D'Eon 
 was proved' to be a woman : whenever that' fact should 
 be clearly substantiated, Jacques was to pay over the 
 seven hundred pounds. No secret was made of this 
 wager; scores of persons entered into the speculation, 
 and it was believed that from sixty to seventy thousand 
 pounds were hazarded in France and England upon the 
 result of this strange contention. People said that the 
 chevalier had offended the French court by refusing to 
 publicly acknowledge his sex, and on that account he 
 had' been deprived of of&ce. 
 
 The chevalier's funds being at a very low ebb indeed, 
 Hayes, his intimate friend, commenced an action in the 
 King's Bench against Jacques for the recovery of the 
 seven hundred pounds. The success of this suit, it was 
 held, would decide the whole of the wagers. The cheva- 
 lier took care that Hayes should win. It was, of course, 
 in his own power to put the matter beyond dispute. 
 That was not his game. Two willing dupes, or tools, 
 were found — a M. Le Goux, surgeon, and a M. De Mo- 
 rande. The trial, presided over by Chief Justice Mans- 
 field, came off on the 1st of July 1777. Mr. Buller was 
 counsel for the plaintiff, Mr. Mansfield for the defendant. 
 Messieurs Le Goux and De Morande swore positively 
 that to their knowledge the pretended chevalier was a 
 woman. De Morande had jested with her, and some- 
 thing more, upon the subject. He had also been shown 
 her woman's wardrobe. 
 
 The fact that D'Eon was a woman could not, it 
 appeared to the defendant's counsel, be disputed, and he 
 relied for the verdict upon the plea that such wagers 
 were illegal, especially as Hayes knew from the positive 
 information of Le Goux and De Morande that the sham 
 chevalier was a woman. 
 
272 ECCENTKTO PERSONAGES. 
 
 Lord Mansfield was not of tliat opinion, though he 
 would reserve the point for the decision of the full court. 
 His lordship instanced a case which had come within his 
 own knowledge, when two gentlemen made a wager as 
 to the dimensions of the Venus de MSdicis. One of the 
 wagerers said, " Eemember, I am sure to win, for I have 
 measured the statue ;" to which the other replied, " Do 
 you think I should he such a fool as to bet if I also had 
 not measured the statue ?" Under his lordship's direc- 
 tion a Terdict was returned for the plaintifp for the full 
 amount claimed. 
 
 So far Chevalier D'Eon and Co. were successful. 
 Unfortunately for them the full court decided that such 
 wagers were not legally recoverable, and the game was 
 up. 
 
 The chevalier escaped to France, and in order, as I 
 believe, to save the credit of his tools and accomplices, 
 assumed female attire, giving out that he was compelled 
 to do so by order of the king. I have seen biographies 
 of D'Eon, the writers of which appear seriously to beheve 
 that such was the case ! 
 
 The next move of this 'eccentric gentleman was an 
 endeavour to put money in his purse by turning author. 
 He WTOte and printed twelve volumes of apocryphal his- 
 tory, and equally, fictitious anecdotes, entitled Loisirs 
 du Chevaliea- D'Eon — (Leisure Hours of the Chevalier 
 D'Eon) — which netted all they were worth — nothing. 
 He had, however, taken a pretty accurate estimate of 
 Queen Charlotte, of German memory. 
 
 The Eevolution found D'Eon' not at all bettered in 
 circumstances by his artifices. His only and sure friend 
 was M. Elisee, afterwards first surgeon to Louis XVIII. 
 M. Elisee supplied the chevalier with funds, enabling 
 him to reach England, and support himself there, till a 
 sufBcient revenue could be obtained from a fencing es- 
 tablishnient, which the chevalier set on foot in London, 
 he being a Very expert mattre d! arums. He died in 1810, 
 and the posPmortem examination was decisive that the 
 chevalier was a man. The pretence' of being a woman 
 
THE CHEVALIER d'eON. 273 
 
 was Tmquestionably a mere swindle, and that of the most 
 obvious kind, though reams of paper have been blotted 
 with the argumentation of writers who persisted that the 
 Chevalier D'Eon was the victim of some mysterious state- 
 policy. The chevalier is not the only whimsical charlatan 
 who has had his foolery exaggerated, though it has sel- 
 dom been done in so outrageous a fashion as in this 
 case. 
 
JOSEPH BALSAMO. 
 
 " Bettee to reign in hell than serve in heaven" is the 
 -expression put by Milton into the mouth of the Prince 
 ■of Darkness. I suppose something of the same feeling 
 influences men who exult in preeminence, and would 
 pawn their souls to attain it, though ib be preeminence 
 in rascaUty. A chief amongst this class was Joseph 
 -(Giuseppe) Balsamo, commonly known as Alessandro 
 •Count de Cagliostro. 
 
 A very clever feUow, no question, with unbounded 
 "faith in the gullibility of mankind, and amply endowed 
 with the gifts which enable the possessor to shear the 
 •simpletons of society with effect — voluble plausibility 
 and impudence — above all, impudence. A sublim,er ras- 
 cal never breathed. There must have been a fatal flaw 
 in Balsamo's brain, els^ he could not have failed to dis- 
 cern, before it was too late, that the path upon which he 
 had entered — turn, twist, double upon it as he might — 
 must end in ruin, moral and material. Erratic, eccentric 
 individuals who strike out for themselves new modes of 
 acquiring wealth, believing, and acting upon the belief, 
 that they have discovered a short cut to fortune, and 
 have never pondered the wisdom of the homely proverb 
 which reminds us that "the longest way round is the 
 shortest way home" — ^in fact, all successftd charlatans 
 have been more or less crazed in mind. This is their 
 excuse, their claim upon the charitable consideration of 
 mankind. 
 
 Giuseppe Balsamo.s on of Pietro and Felicia Balsdmo 
 — the sponsors who gave him. that name were not seers 
 into fatality — ^was bom in Palermo, Sicily, on the 8th of 
 
JOSEPH BALSAMO. 275 
 
 June 1743. The fat, sturdy little stranger did not open 
 his eyes upon a very promising abode. Pietro Balsamo 
 was a needy, struggling man, and was perfectly resigned, 
 whilst Giuseppe was yet an infant, to let fall the oar with 
 which he had so long and vainly been striving to stem 
 the adverse current of his fortunes, and sink into the 
 silent peace of the tomb. Could Pietro have foreseen the 
 future eminence of his son in the realm of rascaldom, he 
 might perhaps have struggled on till the first beams of 
 its false splendour had dawned upon his darkened life. 
 
 The widow had a sore struggle with the world, and 
 but for the assistance of one of her brothers, would have 
 sunk under the burden. Giuseppe, or Beppo, as he was 
 familiarly called, was a most unfortunate urchin, blessed 
 or cursed with a tremendous appetite and strong digestive 
 powers. This, under the circumstances, was a. calamity, 
 which became more and more aggravated as the ■ boy in- 
 creased in years and voracity. It was cruel that one 
 with such gastronomic capacity should be restricted to 
 the scanty fare which irregularly found its way iato the 
 dingy Balsamo domicile. There was a world outside 
 full of fat things, and why should not he help himself to 
 a portion thereof by the only means in his power— theft? 
 Beppo decided upon that course, and followed it up so 
 vigorously that a hue and cry was soon raised in the 
 neighbourhood against Beppo Maldetto — who ran off 
 with the good people's sausages, or any other savoury 
 : comestible which he could lay hands on. 
 
 The uncle must, for his sister's sake, put an end to 
 such a scandal,' and Beppo was placed by him iu the 
 seminary of St. Eoch. The change was utterly distasteful 
 to the voracious, idle young vagabond ; and no wonder, 
 the fare for the pupils chiefly consisting of soupe maigre 
 — ^beans, vegetable diet generally, and a scanty allowance 
 of that, whilst flagellation for the most trifling ofience 
 was liberally administered. It was not endurable, and 
 the future Count de Gagliostro was constantly running 
 away, only to be driven back to the enjoyment of dimi- 
 nished fare with increase of stripes. Flesh and blood— 
 
276 ECCENTKIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 Baleamo flesh and blood, at all events — could not stand 
 it. The mother's heart of poor Felicia was melted by 
 her son's sufferings, and she appealed again to the gene- 
 rosity of her moneyed though close-fisted brother. "Well, 
 Beppo," said that gentleman, moved by his sister's tears, 
 " what dost thou propose to do ? What career in life 
 dost thou suppose will best suit thee ?" Beppo replied 
 that, if he could have his choice, he should decide at 
 once to be a gentleman. " Per Bacco! no doubt of that. 
 'But the means, Beppo ?" Beppo admitted there was a 
 difficulty in that respect, and finally consented to enter 
 the Church. He was accordingly sent, at the age of 
 thirteen, to the monastery of Cartigione, then in posses- 
 sion of the Benfratelli, or Brothers of Mercy. There 
 Beppo, very early in his novitiate, got into favour with 
 the apothecary of the establislmient, and acqnu'ed the 
 knowledge of medicine, the properties of certain drugs, 
 &c., which in after-life he turned to such profitable ac- 
 count. The apothecary was an alchemist of small calibre, 
 and was always experimenting in chemical conjurorship 
 with divining -rods, Leyden-jars, acids, phosphorescent 
 compounds, and other ' aids to the acquirement of pro- 
 ficiency in the science of natural magic — a suggestive 
 school in which to teach the latent Balsamo idea how to 
 shoot. 
 
 But though Beppo found favour with the Medicus of 
 the establishment, he was held in great dislike by the 
 Benfratelli generally. They doubted his orthodoxy, and 
 were scandalised by his omnivorous appetite. The reins 
 of corrective discipline were tightened, and, to the infi- 
 nite disgust of Beppo, it was ultimately resolved to make 
 & strenuous effort to save the soul of the neophyte by 
 mortifying his flesh. They hit upon one very aggravat- 
 ing expedient for carrying out their praiseworthy pur- 
 pose. On feast-days — every one of which was punctually 
 kept at the Monastery of Cartigione — when the good 
 Brothers of Mercy fared sumptuously, Beppo was con- 
 demned to assist at the banquet in the capacity of reader 
 instead of convive ; that is to say, he, whilst the good 
 
JOSEPH BAXSAMO. 277 
 
 brothers were luxuriously feasting, had to read aloud the 
 Martyrology of the saints, with the agreeable prospect 
 that, after dinner and dessert had been consumed, he 
 (Beppo) might regale himself with dried pulse. 
 
 After a while Giuseppe Balsamo determined upon a 
 singular revenge, one that would inevitably insure his 
 expulsion from the monastery. The Brothers of Mercy 
 were seated at the well-furnished table: Beppo was com.- 
 manded to read the Martyrology. He obeyed, merely 
 substituting for the names of the saints, as he went on, 
 those of the most notorious harlots and rogues in Palermo. 
 At first little heed was given to the reader ; the brothers 
 were absorbed in their dinner. Presently, however, their 
 attention was aroused, and though scarcely at first be- 
 lieving their ears, it was but a minute before they 
 realised the blasphemous obscenity in which Beppo 
 Maldetto was indulging. Eising as one man, they 
 rushed on the impious wretch, pummelled him to their 
 hearts' content, and, that done, thrust him out of the 
 monastery. 
 
 The charily-benevolent uncle was again had recourse 
 to. Well, since the priestly vocation did not suit Beppo, 
 what was to be done ? what other attaLna,ble course of 
 life would he make choice of? Beppo believed, or said 
 he did, that he' was the stuff of which great painters 
 were made. He should like to try his chance in that 
 profession. This was agreed to. Palettes, pencils, 
 colours, were supplied him ; and it is said he really 
 showed some skill in the art. But the results were un- 
 satisfactory. The labour required was intolerable, and 
 it would be long, very long, before that labour would 
 meet with substantial reward, if ever. Meanwhile he, 
 being expert at imitative writing, might eke out his 
 scanty income by a judicious use of that skill. Beppo, 
 in his coups d'essai in the line, flew at very small game. 
 He forged orders of admission to places of public amuse- 
 ment, sold them for a trifle to his scamp acquaintances, 
 carrying on his very little game with success for a con- 
 eiderable time. His flight as a forger was not, however, 
 
278 ECCENIEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 long in soaring to a very dangerous pitch. -He was in 
 the habit of visiting a notary at Palermo, in whose oifice 
 he found a will. He determined to substitute a forged 
 one in its stead ; intending to go shares with the com- 
 munity — a religious house — in whose favour the fictitious 
 wiU was made. That pretty project fell through, and 
 though no tangible proof of his guilt could for the time 
 be obtained, he was strongly suspected to be the forger. 
 He was besides believed by many persons to have mur- 
 dered a canon of the church. This accusation appears 
 to be void of foundation. Be that as it may, Sicilian 
 soil, especially that of Palermo, was fast becoming too hot 
 for the soles of his feet. It would be prudent to seek 
 in other lands the opportunity of mounting the social 
 ladder which was deiiied him in the land of his birth, 
 and with his "usual blubbery impetuosity," to quote 
 Carlyle's disparaging phrase, he resolved not to defer his 
 departure. But he had not a feather to fly with. Charily- ' 
 benevolent, uncle would not assist him ; and he finally i; 
 hit upon a scheme for bringing a goldsmith of the name 
 ofMarano under contribution. Beppo had already ac- 
 quired a reputation for skill in chemical divining-rod 
 conjurorship, and betaking, himself to the goldsmith, 
 who assuredly must have had the organ of credulity 
 largely developed, persuaded him that he (Beppo) ha'd 
 discovered, by means of the divining-rod, where a large 
 sum of money was buried, at some distance from Palermo. 
 It could not, however, for some cabalistic reason, be se- 
 cured by the person who made the discovery, though he 
 (Beppo) might be present and assist at the disinterment 
 of the treasure. He would conduct Marano to the spot 
 on two, conditions: finest, that he should be paid sixty 
 ounces of gold down, and be afterwards entitled to one 
 moiety of the discovered treasure, the sixty ounces to be, 
 of course, deducted from his share. The goldsmith con- 
 sented: the gold ounces were handed over to Beppo, and 
 at the time agreed upon — about midnight— he and Ma- 
 rano betook themselves to the indicated spot. Scarcely, 
 however, had they commenced digging, when they were 
 
JOSEPH BALSAMO. 279 
 
 set upon by six of Beppo's dissolute acquaintances, trans- 
 formed into derils by the aid of goat-skins and burnt 
 cork, by wioin Marano was severely belaboured and 
 driven off. The goldsmith at once comprehended that 
 he had been duped, and vowed to take signal vengeance 
 on the robber. Beppo would not have been much 
 frightened had Marano merely threatened proceedings 
 at law ; but the goldsmith wore a stiletto, and would 
 not, Beppo knew, hesitate to use it should he find or 
 make a fitting opportunity. That was a peril to flee 
 from in all haste, and Beppo forthwith took leave of his 
 native land, omitting in his hurry to hand over to his 
 assistant devils the stipulated price of their services. 
 . Beppo subsequently expressed sorrow for the oversight, 
 but it is not said that he paid the money. 
 
 Joseph Balsamo visited in succession Naples and 
 Germany. At Westphalia he made the acquaintance 
 of the arch-quack Germaia, who declared that he was 
 several hundred years old, a fact due to Ms possession of 
 the secret of manufacturing the Elixir Vitae. We next 
 find Joseph Balsamo at Alexandria, Rhodes, Malta — we 
 have at least his word for it that he sojourned for some 
 time at those places — certainly he passed through Venice, 
 and took up his temporary abode at Rome. In the 
 Eternal City he met with Lorenza Feliciano, a Roman 
 donzella of surpassing beauty. She was in a very 
 humble sphere of Ufe, of keen capacity, not encum- 
 bered with moral impedimenta,, and Beppo, readily 
 appreciating the advantages of possessing such a wife, 
 married her. 
 
 Balsamo had supported himself meantime in preca- 
 rious splendour by the sale of beauty -water, wine of 
 Egypt, and love-philtres : he had acquired a knowledge 
 of the properties of cantharides. in the laboratory of the 
 apothecary to the Monastery of Cartigione. His genius 
 soon embraced a wider range. He claimed the power of 
 restoring youth to the aged, and by means of his beauty- 
 v^ater of conferring loveliaess upon the plainest of wo- 
 mankind. Hundreds, chiefly of the richer classes, Italian 
 
280 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 counts and countesses, French envoys, Spanisli grandees, 
 believed in Balsamo, and were deservedly well fleeced 
 for their folly. 
 
 Beppo now assumed the title of Marquis Pellegrini, 
 and by whatever motive induced, returned to Palermo, 
 was recognised by the vindictive goldsmith, and cast into 
 prison on account of that trifling matter of the sisty 
 ounces of gold. It would have been heart-breaking to 
 have such a future — a future, he himself remarked, " im- 
 mense, but confused" — compromised by so paltry an inci- 
 dent. His wife, the Countess Seraphina, so rapidly has 
 the lovely Eoman servant -girl risen into the highest 
 social regions, procured his liberation. , She had fasci- 
 nated the son of one of the most powerful princes of 
 Sicily, and the enamoured youth, meeting with the ad- 
 vocate of the goldsmith in the hall of the Palace of 
 Justice, so outrageously bullied and beat him, that the 
 President could only rescue the advocate by running to 
 ( his aid in person. The end was that the prosecution 
 was dropped, and the marquis allowed to leave the pri- . 
 son and Palermo. 
 
 The chronology of the life of this eccentric quack — 
 whom M. Alexandre Dumas, with the help of plaster-of- ' 
 paris, has coarsely modelled into a grotesque likeness of 
 a man of profound science, of wondrous occult know- 
 ledge, in direct communication, moreover, with the un- 
 seen world of spirits — ^is obscure and involved. It would 
 seem to be in 1772 that Balsamo paid his first visit to 
 England, and was. reduced to such straits as to accept a 
 job from one Dr. Benemio to paint his house. The 
 genius of Balsamo did not lie in that line. He smudged 
 instead of painting the doctor's house, and was refused 
 payment. There is a scandalous anecdote told of Bal- 
 samo and the doctor's daughter, an only child; but the 
 whole story may be apocryphal. Balsamo persistently 
 denied that he had been in England previous to 1776. 
 It must have been some other Italian of the name of 
 Balsamo, who undertook to paint the doctor's house, and^ 
 who con-upted his daughter. Beppo's denial is not, how- 
 
JOSEPH BALSAMO. 281 
 
 ever, of much value. His cool efironteiy in challenging 
 the most patent facts was something marvellous. 
 
 At aU events, his reappearance in Germany with the 
 charmiag Donna Seraphina is indisputable as his success. 
 Seraphiua gives out that she is between sixty and seventy 
 years of age, and that her youthful loveliaess has been 
 preserved by the miraculous beauty-water. The sale of 
 that and the Vin d'Egypte goes up amazingly. Count 
 de Cagliostro — Beppo's new and last title — boldly pro- 
 fesses to communicate between the living and the dead, 
 and by means of a magic-lantern and phosphorus blue 
 fire, produces effects which leave no doubt upon the 
 minds of thousands that a true miracle-worker, a real 
 prophet, has agaiu visited the earth. It was not only 
 the ignorant, credulous, vulgar, whether rich or needy, 
 whom this audacious quack imposed upon: Lavater — 
 honest, simple-minded Lavater — believed to a certain ex- 
 tent in Cagliostro. 
 - " Cagliostro," wrote Lavater, " is a great man, a man 
 such as few are, iu whom, however, I am not a believer. 
 Oh that he were simple at heart, and humble like a child; 
 that he had feeling for the simplicity of the Gospel and 
 the Majesty of the Lord! Who were then so great as 
 he? Cagliostro often teUs what is untrue, and promises 
 what he does not perform; yet do I ia nowise hold his 
 promises to be deception, though they are not what he 
 calls them." 
 
 Lavater, prince of physiognomists, once at all events 
 so esteemed, it is passing strange that that broad gi'oss 
 nose, those cunning eyes, blubber lips, and blubber brains, 
 big as the head was, could impose upon you; that one 
 of the most audacious and ignorant quacks that ever 
 breathed could impose himself upon you as a man of 
 divinely-inspired genius! 
 
 We may well ask, if Lavater so esteemed Cagliostro, 
 what must the multitude have thought of him? The 
 answer to that query is not doubtful. Cagliostro was 
 literally worshipped, and the offerings of the faithful 
 poured in upon him in such abundance that he rolled ia 
 
282 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 riches; the splendour of his equipages could be scarcely 
 rivalled by reigning princes. If he passed a statue of 
 Christ, the audacious charlatan would dart a recognising 
 glance at the figure and exclaim, as if to himself, "Ah! 
 there you are; we meet again." 
 
 The reputation of beauty-water and wine of Egypt 
 was on the wane; it was necessary to invent some new 
 imposture. The scoundrel faculty was still Oagliostro's, 
 and in faU vigour. He met ■«'ith a booii, as it is said, 
 written by George Oofton, an Englishrdan, which pro- 
 fessed to detail the mystic ceremonies of Egyptian Ma- 
 sonry. The hint sufficed. The Count de OagUostro at 
 once gave out that he was a native of Medina, and had 
 been educated at Mecca, — the holy city of the Mahome- 
 tans, where he was known by the name of Acharat. The 
 prophets Enoch and Elias, who were the true founders of 
 Egyptian Masonry, had visited him in the body, and com- 
 manded him to go forth and initiate the western nations 
 into the sublime redeeming mysteries of which they gave 
 him the key, nominating him at the same time Grand 
 Kofti of the order. 
 
 But for irrefragable proof of the feet, it would be in- 
 credible that so gross an imposture could impose upon a 
 child. Its success was prodigious. Lodge after lodge 
 was established, and the worship of the new Messiah — 
 which he in substance proclaimed himself, and was pro- 
 claimed to be — grew in fervency and faith. Disciples 
 would ;remain for hours together prostrate before Joseph 
 Balsamo, wrapt in contemplative awe and wonder. His 
 wife, the loveliness of whose face the hand of time had 
 begun, though lightly as yet, to lessen, shared in these 
 divine honours. She was the Archpriestess, the female 
 Kofti of the order. The precious pair had discovered a 
 mine of wealth which seemed inexhaustible. 
 
 Still the best-laid schemes of mice and men gang affc 
 a-gee. The Grand Kofti's pretensions to miraculous 
 curative powers, his knowledge of the fature, the pre- 
 tence that Egyptian M«,sonry was a divine institution, 
 were fiercely ridiculed by two exceedingly powerful 
 
JOSEPH BALSAMO. 283 
 
 bodies, the physicians and the priests. The physicians 
 of Strasbourg refused to allow Balsamo to practise ia 
 that city. He nevertheless maintained his popularity by 
 distributing gratis amongst the poor medicaments which 
 were very possibly as beneficial in many cases as any tO' 
 be found ia the pharmacopoeia of orthodox practitioners. 
 The priests awaited their time. 
 
 The first fatal step leading directly to the abyss he 
 was urged to take by Madame La Motte and thk Car- 
 dinal De Rohan. These two worthies were deeply im- 
 plicated in the world-known swindle of " The Diamond 
 Necklace." A brief summary of that pretty business 
 must be given in order to follow appreciatively the gyra- 
 tions of this prince of mountebanks. 
 
 Boehmer, a jeweller of Paris, was seized with the am- 
 bition to produce the most splendid diamond necklace 
 ever known, and, after infinite trouble, a vast outlay, and 
 the incurrence of a large debt, Boehmer obtained thirty 
 diamonds of the finest water, and all matching in size. 
 The necklace was a chef-^muvre — ^that was conceded. The 
 price Boehmer hoped to obtain for it was the enormous 
 sum of 30,000?., aad even that amount would scarcely 
 clear the cost of the splendid toy. Boehmer had some 
 reason, or pretended he had some reason, for believing 
 the Sultan would purchase the necklace for presentation 
 to his favourite Sultana. The Sultan declined the offer, 
 and Boehmer solicited Marie Antoinette, Queen Consort 
 of Louis XVI., to buy it. Her Majesty peremptorily 
 declined to do so. She remarked, England being then 
 at war with France, "that they had more need of line-of- 
 battle ships than of diamond necklaces." Boehmer was 
 in despair. 
 
 Hope shone upon him from an unexpected quarter. 
 There lived at the time in a sort of loose contact with 
 the French Court, one Madame La Motte, or Comtesse 
 de la Motte. i She was the Court Milliner, and had^ apart- 
 ments in the palace. She claimed to be the descendant 
 in a left-handed way of Henry II., king of France. This 
 lady knew all about the necklace from Madame De Cam- 
 
284 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 pan, one of the queen's ladies of honour. The apparently 
 wild notion struck her that she might obtain the incom- 
 parable necklace for herself. The plan matured in her 
 scheming brain was feasible enough. It might fail, cer- 
 tainly, but the prize was a splendid one. She would try, 
 at any hazard. 
 
 The Oomtesse de la Motte went to the house of the 
 dejected jeweller, and asked for a private confidential in- 
 terview. It was eagerly conceded, we may be sure, and 
 Boehmer learned to his intense delight that the queen 
 was desirous, very desirous, of possessing herself of the 
 necklace, but could not venture just then to ask the king 
 for so large a sum of money for such a purpose. Her 
 Majesty would, however, give her acknowledgment for 
 the 30,000Z., to be paid as soon as it would suit the 
 queen's convenience to liquidate the debt. Boehmer 
 was overjoyed. "With the queen's written aclmowledg- 
 ment of the debt, he would have no difficulty in pacify- 
 ing his rapacious creditors, for a time at all events. A 
 paper was drawn out, setting forth. the purchase by the' 
 queen of the necklace for 30,000Z., with which Madame 
 La Comtesse left the jeweller's. 
 
 She returned the next day with the document, which 
 was subscribed "Bon — Marie Antoinette." Upon receipt 
 thereof, Boehmer handed over the necklace, which, poor 
 dupe, he was never destined to see again. 
 
 Boehmer's creditors were satisfied for a time. Still 
 even " Bon — Marie Antoinette " was no available substi- 
 tute for current coin of the realm, and the bewildered 
 jeweller was again importuned by hungry creditors. 
 Boehmer declared that he must apply directly, person- 
 ally, to the queen. Madame La Comtesse required time 
 — it was, in fact, indispensable that she should obtain it. 
 On finding Boehmer obstinately resolved upon speaking 
 to the queen, she hit upon another expedient to pacify 
 him till such time as it would no longer signify to her 
 that the gigantic fraud she had perpetrated should be 
 discovered. 
 
 The Prince Cardinal De Rohan, a weak, vain man. 
 
JOSEPH BALSAMO. 285 
 
 was in disfaTonr at Court. The queen had conceived a 
 dislike for him, and he would do any thing to regain her 
 favour. Upon that foundation our clever Countess set 
 to work. She waited upon the Prince Cardinal, said she 
 was intrusted with a very delicate mission, but the per- 
 sonage who sent her was sure that her confidence in the 
 Prince De Eohan's honour would not be misplaced br 
 abused. "Mission from whom, Madame La Motte?" 
 " Prom Her Majesty, Queen Marie Antoinette." " The 
 Queen Marie Antoinette!" The Cardinal was lifted off 
 his legs; could not believe that he heard aright. 
 
 Madame La Motte explained, ran glibly over the 
 necklace affair, said her Majesty could not at that 
 moment advance so immense a sum, that she feared it 
 would come to the King's ear that she had made so im- 
 prudent a purchase, if Boehmer were not satisfied — and 
 that she would feel herself under the greatest obliga- 
 tion if he, the Prince De 'Eohan, would settle vrith the 
 jeweller, holding at the same time her written security 
 for repayment. 
 
 The gudgeon bit eagerly at the glittering bait. 
 Madame La Motte was to assure her Majesty that 
 his entire fortune was at her disposal, and that she 
 should suffer no annoyance about the matter. Madame 
 La Motte left the Prince, charged with a message to 
 Boehmer, who was to wait upon his Eminence vrithout 
 delay. 
 
 The Prince had not a very large sum in cash by him, 
 but his bond, with interest payable at short dates, would 
 no doubt be accepted by the jeweller's voracious creditors. 
 No question of that. The dates of payment are arranged, 
 and the affair appears to be settled. 
 
 Yes; but,. Ciel ! how is this? M. Le Prince Cardinal 
 De Rohan is received as coldly by Marie Antoinette when 
 he presents himself at Court as ever. Not a smile — not 
 the faintest sign of recognition of his devotion in taking 
 upon himself so tremendous a responsibility. Swiftly the 
 months roll away; the time for paying the first instal- 
 ment — only fifteen thousand pounds — is close at hand. 
 
286 ECCENTRIC FEESONAGES. 
 
 The Cardinal Prince cannot by possibility raise the money. 
 He commimicates the melancholy fact to Boehmer, caus- 
 ing thereby a terrible 'derangement of the jeweller's sys- 
 tem {derangement terrible dans ma physiqite). Madame 
 La Motte, whose wings are not yet plumed for flight, is 
 sent for. She readily obeys the summons, and haviug 
 heard all the perplexed prince and jeweller have to say, 
 cooUy informs them that if they make any application to 
 the Queen, or speak of the affair so loudly that a rumour 
 may reach the King's ear, her Majesty will deny that she 
 has ever had the necklace, that " Bbn — Marie Antoiuette"' 
 is not her handwriting. At this astounding announcement 
 the Cardinal and jeweller were seized as with vertigo, 
 dancing, whirling, stamping about the apartment like 
 two madmen, as for the tiipe they probably were. 
 
 Madame La Motte succeeded in pacifying them, 
 though with much difficulty. If they would wait for a 
 short time, all would be well. 
 
 M. Le Prince Cardinal sullenly acquiesced ; but' de- 
 termined to consult the great magician, the inspired- 
 prophet. Count de Cagliostro. He had abeady con- 
 sulted him by letter, and had received certain cabalistic 
 utterances in return, which afforded him no guidaiace or 
 comfort whatever. Cagliostro must come to Paris, so 
 that he might be consulted personally. The prophet com- 
 plied — consultations were held with him by the Prince 
 Cardinal and Madame La Motte; the lady, no doubt, 
 laughing merrily sous cap, at the oracular interpretation 
 of his doings and sayings in reference to the diamond 
 necklace, which the soothsayer solemnly enunciates. 
 
 The jeweller, who has no faith in Cagliostro, and very 
 little iu Madame La Motte, determines to get at once to 
 the bottom of the mystery. To do that it is only neces- 
 sary to write a plain note to the Queen, and make sure 
 it is delivered into her own hands. He does that, and 
 the astonished Marie Antoinette, carrying it at once to 
 the King, a terrible uproar ensues. M.Le Prince De 
 Eohan is arrested as he enters the palace — lettres de 
 mchet are issued against Madame La Motte and the 
 
JOSEPH BALSAMO. 287 
 
 poor Count de Cagliostro, who really had nothing to 
 do with the diamond-necklace swindle. No matter for 
 that, he is seized by command of Chesney, and thrust 
 with Monsieur the Prince Cardinal and Madame La 
 Comtesse La Motte into the Bastille. 
 
 In that dismal prison Cagliostro remained during the 
 winter months through which the criminal process insti- 
 tuted by the Procureur du Eoi dragged its slow length 
 along. Cagliostro's defence at the final hearing was con- 
 clusive, imd as it incidentally helped to fix upon Madame 
 La Motte the guilt of the transaction, that lady threw a 
 brass candlestick at the charlatan's head. De Eohan was 
 acquitted, Madame La Motte sentenced to be branded, 
 scourged, and banished the kingdom. Joseph Balsamo 
 was discharged with a caution, and thrust out of the 
 Bastille without a franc in his pockets. Neither the 
 Chevalier de Chesney, by whom he had been arrested, 
 nor De Launay, the Governor of the Bastille, could re- 
 collect any thing about the jewels and money he had 
 about him when pounced upon by the King's officers. 
 It was not likely they should. ' 
 
 The imprisonment and trial of Cagliostro did not in 
 the slightest degree lessen him in the estimation of his 
 dupes. It had the reverse effect. Many houses in Paris 
 were illuminated on the night of his liberation, and the 
 following laudatory lines were composed in his honour : 
 
 " De rami dea hbmmes recpnnoissez les traits ; 
 Tous ses jours sont marqufe de nouveaux bienf aits ; 
 II prolonge la vie, il seoourt I'lndigenoe ; 
 Le plaisir d'etre utile est sa seule rgoompense." 
 
 Escaped from the Bastille, the Count and Countess 
 Cagliostro made the best of their way to England — to 
 Loudon. There they reaped a plentiful harvest for about 
 two years. . Then disputes, difficulties innumerable beset 
 them. A number of persons, a Miss Fry amongst them, 
 alleged that the new Messiah had swindled them; and set 
 a pack of hungry attorneys upon the unfortimate Count. 
 Latitats, ne exeats, warrants were showered upon him 
 thick as hail — ^never had he had such terrible enemies 
 
288 ECCENTEIC PEESONAGBS. 
 
 to deal with: all the conjuring in the world was thrown 
 away upon them: the only elixir vitse which they be- 
 lieved in was the golden elixir which purchases beef and 
 bread. The Count was thrown into the King's Bench 
 prison, but was ultimately liberated by his wife. She 
 was still remarkably handsome. 
 
 Some time afterwards Cagliostro published a " Letter 
 to the English people." After depicting himself as one 
 of the most persecuted of human beings, he gave a list of 
 the persons by whom he had been traduced and wronged, 
 showing that he was under the special protection of God, 
 who avenged him of his enemies even during this life: 
 
 " The woman Blenay, whom I had loaded with bene- 
 fits, and who afterwards delivered me iato the hands of 
 two scoundrels, is dead. 
 
 ' " The Demoiselle Fry, who unjustly persecuted me, 
 is dead. 
 
 " Broad, friend and spy of the Demoiselle Fry, is dead, 
 
 " Dunning, the Demoiselle's counsel, is dead. 
 
 " Wallace, my counsel, who betrayed his trust, is dead. 
 
 " The magistrate at Hammersmith, who issued a war- 
 rant against me and my wife, is dead. 
 
 "Crisp, Marshal of the King's-Bench prison, who 
 cheated me out of fifty guineas' worth of plate, is dead. 
 
 " VUleton, who betrayed my confidence, is dead." 
 
 Other parts of the letter are composed of similar 
 rubbish. It produced no effect. Cagliostro's star had 
 long since culminated, and was soon to disappear be- 
 neath the horizon. He left England, and by the per- 
 suasion of his wife betook himself to Eorne. There he 
 was suddenly arrested, whilst engaged in pretended tricks 
 of diaM&rie, by the officers of the Holy Inquisition, and 
 imprisoned in the Castle of Saint Angelo. There was a 
 long tedious trial. Cagliostro was foimd guilty of being 
 a Freemason and sentenced to death. Pope Pius VI. 
 commuted the sentence to imprisonment for life. He 
 was transferred to the fortress of San Leu, where he 
 died, in 1795. His wife was condemned to pass her 
 ILfe in a convent. 
 
THOMAS, MARQUIS OF WHARTON AND 
 
 MALMESBURY. 
 
 "The Marquis Wharton," wrote Swift, "is a presby- 
 terian in politics, and an atheist in religion. He is a 
 bad liar and a bad dissembler, and yet these are the 
 qualities upon which he chiefly prides himself. He has 
 largely profited by lies, but the ends attained were chiefly 
 to be attributed, it appears to me, to the frequency of 
 
 them rather than to any art they displayed He 
 
 will go to the castle-chapel and pray on his knees, and 
 
 wiU afterwards talk and blasphemy at the chapel 
 
 doors He bears the gallantries of his lady with 
 
 the indifference of a stoic, and thinks them well repaid 
 J by a return of children to support his family without the 
 fatigues of beiag a father. ... He has been frequently 
 heard to say that he hoped one day to make his mistress 
 ■ — (Swift's is a much coarser expression) — that he hoped 
 to live to see the day when he might make his mistress 
 a bishop." 
 
 I should not have dared to transcribe these pages had 
 they not been written by a dignitary of the Hnited 
 Chm-ch of England and Ireland. They refer to the 
 time when lyord Wharton filled the office of Viceroy of 
 Ireland. Swift's character of the marquis must be largely 
 discounted, for very cogent reasons. Swift had solicited, 
 in very abject terms, to be appointed chaplain to his 
 excellency; his petition was refused: Lord Somers after- 
 wards endeavoured to persuade the lord-lieutenant to 
 bestow a vacant bishopric upon the choleric dean. " No, 
 no, my lord," was Lord Wharton's reply, " we must not 
 prefer or countenance such fellows. We have not cha- 
 racter enough ourselves." Swift avenged the taunt afier 
 
 U 
 
290 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 his owa peculiar fashion. If the marquis had his slan- 
 derers, he was, on the other hand, amply provided 'with 
 pen-champions. His character and administration were 
 glorified beyond measure by Sir Richard Steele in the 
 Spectator, some say by Addison. One can hardly decide 
 which dose must have heen the most nauseous, Swift's 
 coarse abuse, or Steele's adulation — treacle laid on with 
 a trowel. The treacle, I should think. 
 
 This diversely^paiated gentleman — a great man in 
 his time — was the son of Philip, Lord Wharton, who 
 distinguished himself on the Parliamentary side in the 
 civil war. Thomas, Lord Wharton, was bom in 1640. 
 He sat in several parliaments during the reigns of Charles 
 and James, each the second of those inodorous names. 
 
 Lord Wharton cared little, I apprehend, whether a 
 Papist or Protestant filled the throne of England. But 
 he had a keen eye for the future; he could discern, ear- 
 lier than most men, iudications of the rising sun upon 
 the political horizon, and devoutly spread his mat and 
 turned his face thitherward, whilst less clear-sighted men 
 remained in a state of mental dubiousness as to whether 
 the sun, spite of those faiut pencillings of light, would 
 rise in that quarter. They might be the indications of a 
 false dawn! Who knew? Thomas, Lord Wharton, wrote 
 the draft of an address to the Prince of Orange, praying 
 him to come over with his army for the deliverance of an 
 oppressed people; and Thomas, Lord Wharton, was one 
 of the fitrst to welcome the Dutch deliverer when he 
 landed at Torbay. 
 
 The patriotic keen-sightedness of the noble lord had 
 its reward. He was made a privy councillor and ap- 
 pointed Controller of the household, by Wilham and 
 Mary. He had well deserved these preferments, if only 
 for writing the doggrel song of " LilUbuUero," which, it 
 is said, had more effect in exciting the people to stand by 
 " Protestant ascendency" than all the printed paper issued 
 during the controversy — more effect than the acquittal 
 of the seven bishops, and the butcheries of the " bloody 
 assize" presided over by Judge Jeffreys. It is supposed 
 
MAEQUIS OF WHARTON AND MALMESBUET. 291 
 
 to be sung by an Irish papist, the occasion being the 
 appointment, by James II., early ia 1688, of General 
 Dick Talbot, created Earl of Tyconnel, to the Lord- 
 Lieutenancy of Ireland. The refraia " Lillibullero, buUen 
 a-la," were the watchwords, it is said, which the Irish 
 Catholics used in 1641, when massacriag, ia yindication 
 of the diviae right of Charles I., the Protestant parlia- 
 mentarians. There is a rough, telling humour about it: 
 
 "Hoi broder Teague, dost hear de decree, 
 Lillibullero, bullen a-la, 
 Dat we shall have a new IJeputie, 
 Lillibullero, bullen a-la, 
 
 Lero, lero, lillibullero, lero, lero, bullen a-la 
 
 "Ho! by Shaint Tyburn, it is de Talbote, 
 Lillibullero, bullen a-la. 
 And he will cut de Englishman's troate, 
 LiUibullero, bullen a-la. 
 
 " Dough, by me shoul, de English do prate, 
 Lillibullero, bullen a-la, 
 De laws on their side, and Christ knows what, 
 Lillibullero, bullen a-la. 
 
 " But if a dispense do come from de Pope, 
 Lillibullero, bullen a-la. 
 We'll hang Magna Charta and dem in a rope^ 
 LillibuUero, bullen a-la. 
 
 " For de good Talbot is made a lord, 
 
 lillibullero, bullen a-la, 
 ' And with brave lads is coming abroad, 
 
 Lillibullero, bullen a-la. 
 
 " Who all in France have taken a sware, 
 Lillibullero, bullen a-la. 
 Dat dey will have no protestant heir, 
 Lillibullero, bullen a-la. 
 
 "Arrah: but why does he stay behind? 
 Lillibullero, bullen a-la, 
 Ho, by me shoul, 'tis a protestant wind, 
 Lillibullero, bullen a-la. 
 
292 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 " But see Tyroonnel is now come ashore, 
 Lillibullero, buUen a-la, 
 And we sEall have commissions galore, 
 Lillibullero, buUen a-la. 
 
 " And he dat will not go to de Mass, 
 Lillibullero, buUen a-la, 
 Shall be turn out and look like an ass, 
 LUlibuUero, buUen a-la. 
 
 " Now, now de heretics all go down, 
 LUlibuUero, buUen a-la, 
 Be Christ and St. Patrick the nation's our own, 
 LUlibuUero, buUen a-la. 
 
 " Dere was an old prophecy found in a bog, 
 Lillibullero, buUen a-la, 
 Ireland shall be ruled by an ass and a dog, 
 LUlibuUero, buUen a-la. 
 
 "And now dis prophecy is come to pass, 
 LiUibullero, buUen a-la. 
 For Talbot's de dog, and James is de ass, 
 LiUibullero, buUen a-la." 
 
 This song became a great favourite with the " Orange 
 Boys," and was for many years the usual musical accom- 
 paniment to the glorious, pious, and immortal memory 
 of King WiUiam, who saved Ireland from Popery, slavery, 
 ^ brass money, and wooden shoes.. There is something in 
 the smack of the song which suggests Thackeray's in- 
 comparable "Battle of the Shannon; one the production 
 of a cleverish man, the other the creation of caustic 
 genius. 
 
 Appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, Lord Whar- 
 ton entered upon the duties of his high office with much 
 dignity and eclat, made an excellent speech to the Par- 
 liament, dwelli;ng especially upon the necessity in the 
 interest of vital religion to be united amongst" them- 
 selves, or the encroachments of Popery could not be 
 successfully withstood. Like George IV., the Marquis 
 Wharton, when before the footlights, could tread the 
 stage with dignity. It was a great relief to him when 
 the hour came to throw off his masquerade robes. It is 
 
MARQUIS OF -WHARTON AND MALMESBUET. 293 
 
 indisputable that he indulged in low company, disreput- 
 able intrigues, and was never happier than when engaged 
 in suoh delassements. There is much of coarse truth in 
 one of Swift's scathing sentences: " Wharton, by force of 
 a wonderful constitution, though past his grand climac- 
 teric, whether he walks, whistles, swears, or talks, acquits 
 himself beyond a Templar of three years' standing." 
 
 His Excellency used to delight in playing the part of 
 a sham Haroun Akaschid — this was a favourite pastime 
 of several Irish viceroys — disguised in various ways, and 
 thus made himself familiar with the slang and slander of 
 Dublin. Like the Dukes of Eutland and Bedford in 
 after years, the Marquis Wharton created more than one 
 knight during his drunken orgies, which it was not 
 always possible to abolish by money gifts, or a good 
 place. The members of the English aristocracy of those 
 days, of whose inner life casual glimpses have been ob- 
 tained, cut but a sorry figure; but they are very imposing, 
 magnificent even, in their robes and coronets. 
 
 The Marquis Wharton pre-eminently so. Deprived 
 of his viceroyship by Queen Anne, how grandly he came 
 out as a flaming patriot; with what a noble vehemence 
 did he do battle for the maintenance of the Protestant 
 faith — the Protestant succession! "Hail, Star of Bruns- 
 wick!"wouldbe the appropriate tag to his Orange speeches. 
 He declaims well too, and sometimes, in behalf of consti- 
 tutional freedom, propounds schemes of national polity 
 breathing a brave, clear-visioned spirit. He was often 
 witty. That was a capital mot of his when Sir Robert 
 Walpole, to swamp a hostile majority in the Lords, created 
 twelve new peers at one batch. " Pray, may I ask," said 
 Lord Wharton, when the new peers had taken the oatlis 
 and their seats, — " pray, may I ask if these noble lords 
 intend to vote singly, or ly tlieir foreman T Yes; Thomas, 
 Marquis of Wharton, has an imposing appearance when 
 seen en grand tenue ; and who, after all, could brave the 
 ordeal of curious eyes when en desloaUlle ? Very few, I 
 suspect, and certainly not the noble marquis. 
 
 He had not only reconciled himself, but had rendered 
 
294 ECCENTEIO PEESONAGES. 
 
 such efficient services to the GoYemment of the day, that 
 he was created Dulce of Wharton, an earnest, if the King's 
 patent was to be beliered, of greater ' honours to come. 
 He was not destined to clutch those honours. His only^ 
 son, Philip, a youth of wonderful promise, in. whom all 
 his hopes and projects for the future were centred, con- 
 tracted an iiuprudent marriage before he had reached his 
 sixteenth birthday, and gave other indications of a wild, 
 untameable character, which conviuced the newly-created 
 duke that the hopes he had indulged in with respect to 
 his son's future career never would be realised. That 
 conviction killed Duke Thomas Wharton. He died within 
 six weeks of the rash marriage of his son. The duchess 
 did not long survive him. Philip, Duke of' Wharton, 
 succeeded to the title and estates, worth sixteen thousand 
 pounds a-ye,ar. The next paper will relate the sad but 
 instructive story of the young man's life, to whose erratic 
 career the foregoing slight sketch is but preliminary. 
 
PHILIP, DUKE OF WHARTON AND 
 NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 
 The character, and. career of Philip, the last and most 
 gifted of the Wharton family, was thus epitomised by 
 Pope. I omit some lines -which might, in this refined 
 age, offend by their plain-spoken truthfulness: 
 
 " Wliarton, the scorn and wonder of our days, 
 Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise: 
 Bom with whate'er could win it from the wise, 
 Women and fools must like him, or he dies; 
 Though wondering senates hung on all he spoke. 
 The club must hail him master of the joke. 
 ^ * * ^ # 
 
 Thus with each gift of nature and of art, 
 And wanting nothing but an honest heart; 
 Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt; 
 And most contemptible to shun contempt; 
 His passion still, to covet general praise. 
 His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways; 
 A constant bounty which no friend has made; 
 An angel-tongue which no man can persuade I 
 A fool, with more of wit than half mankind. 
 Too rash for thought, for action too refined; 
 A tyrant to the wife his heart approves; 
 A rebel to the very king he loves; 
 He dies, sad outcast of each church and state, 
 And, harder still! flagitious, yet not great." 
 
 There is nerve in these lines, but assuredly they hare 
 been much overrated. Pope was a great master of anti- 
 thesis and rhyme, to the exigencies of which he seldom 
 scrupled to sacriiice truth. The broad, salient outlines 
 of Philip Duke Wharton's character have been hit, in the 
 above quotation, truthfully enough; yet was there an 
 
296 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 underlying current of goodness in Philip Duke of Wliar- 
 ton, which v/as constantly' welling up from his inner 
 nature, which such a dry-bones formula as Pope could 
 not understand, and much less appreciate at its true 
 Talue. Alexander Pope was, perhaps, the most melo- 
 dious rhymer the world has; known ; he 'could set off 
 commonplaces in very brilliant colours; but, as I before 
 rem^ked, no original tlwitgMoi his dwells ia the memory 
 of mankind. ' 
 
 There was a soul of goodness in this young, highly- 
 gifted man that shone through all the darkening follies 
 to which he stooped after familiarising himself with the 
 " highest" society, and finding nothing- there. I propose 
 to show this by the dry record of his erratic, kaleidoscope 
 career. 
 
 Philip Duke Wharton was bom in 1699. He early 
 displayed very remarkable powers of both memory and 
 perception. His father caused him to be educated a,t 
 home. As it was hoped and believed that, in the fulness 
 of time, he would prove himself a stem champion of the 
 Protestant faith, he was sedulously instructed by a French 
 Huguenot in the Genevan Calvinistic creed, by way of a 
 preparative, I must suppose, for a milder religious regi- 
 men. The astute intellect of the youth revolted against 
 the doctrines of the murderer of Servetus, and it may be 
 for a time, under the influence of reaction, confounded 
 Christ with Calvin. 
 
 Breaking impetuously loose from the ligatures of a 
 false conventionalism, this heir to a dukedom and a re- 
 venue of sixteen thousand pounds per annum, having 
 fallen or fancied himself in love with a pretty damsel, 
 and poor as pretty, a daughter of Brevet-General Holmes, 
 married her before he had reached his sixteenth birthday. 
 The nuptial knot was tied by a Fleet parson. 
 
 This marriage, blotting out the brilliant future, as 
 they believed, which had been anticipated for him by his 
 father and mother, was, as I have before observed, fatal 
 to both the duke and duchess — a catastrophe which for a 
 short time overwhelmed the impulsive young nobleman 
 
297 
 
 •with remorseful grief. The unequal union proved to be 
 a most unhappy one, from no fault of the girl-wife, whose 
 personal attractions were enhanced by sweetness of tem- 
 per, but solely in consequence of the husband's fickleness 
 of temperament. Constancy to one object, one purpose, 
 was foreign to his nature. To this strongly-developed 
 passion for change Philip Duke of Wharton mainly owed 
 the wreck of his life. 
 
 The guardians appointed under his father's will en- 
 deavoured to carry out the testator's views relative to his 
 son's education. They sent him to a religious establish- 
 ment at Geneva, and with him his French Huguenot 
 tutor. They could not have taken a more unwise step. 
 Utterly disgusted with the cold, hard formalism which 
 prevailed, the young duke fled to Lyons, in which city 
 the indignant tutor, for whom he had conceived a strong 
 antipathy, joined his rebellious piipil. 
 
 The Chevalier Saint George, the Pretender, as he 
 was called, then resided at Avignon. The boy -duke 
 purchased a handsome stone-horse, and sent it, with his 
 respectful duty, to the son of the exiled Stuart. The 
 present was accepted, and he received an invitatfon to 
 Avignon. He went thither, was very graciously received, 
 and created Duke of Northumberland! He returned to 
 Lyons, but remained there a few days only. He would 
 visit Paris, and shake off the incubus of his hated tutor 
 for ever. His farewell epistle is characteristic. He had. 
 some little time previously purchased a bear's cub, which 
 he made a pet of for a while, and on leaving made a pre- 
 sent of to the Huguenot, in the following complimentary 
 terms: "Being no longer able to bear with your ill-usage, 
 I think proper to be gone from you. However, that you 
 may not want, company, I have left you the bear, as the 
 most suitable companion in the world that could be picked 
 out for you." 
 
 Arrived at Paris, Duke Philip further committed 
 himself with the Stuart faction. The queen -dowager 
 was residing at Saint Germains, and there the madcap 
 duke hastened to pay his disloyal respects. He professed 
 
2D8 ECCENTKIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 unbounded deYotion to the banished dynasty, and equally 
 intense abhorrence not only of the Hanoverian Elector, 
 but of his religious, creed; he himself being determined, 
 as soon as he attained his majority, and was consequently 
 freed from the yoke of guardians, to embrace the Eomau 
 Catholic faith. Meantime, and until he came into pos- 
 session of his estates, he was cruelly hampered for 
 money. The queen-dowager was delighted at the ac- 
 cession to the ranks of the Pretender's partisans of so 
 considerable a personage as the Duke of Wharton, — one 
 too who, it had been sedulously given out, was destined-; 
 to be one of the most eloquent champions, as his father 
 had been, of the Protestant succession. Questioning him ■ 
 as to his immediate wants, the gay nobleman said two 
 thousand guineas would be of great service to him just 
 then. The queen-dowager, though startled at the large- ' 
 ness of the sum, promised to oblige him if she could: 
 raise the ways and means. Her Majesty endeavoured to 
 borrow the requisite amount of the French king, but it 
 was low-water just then in the Bourbon exchequer; her 
 friends among the French noblesse, who had long bled ' 
 pretty freely, could not assist her; and her Majesty was 
 at last fain tp pawn her jewels. Philip Duke of Whar- 
 ton had no sooner obtained the money than he plunged 
 into the wildest excesses, and openly proclaimed his de- 
 Totion to the fallen dynasty of the Stuarts. Earl Stair, 
 the EngUsh ambassador, choosing to look upon his con- 
 duct as the effervescence of a giddy youth suddenly, 
 emancipated from control, remonstrated mildly with him. 
 The earl hoped, nay, he was sure, that he would follow 
 in the steps of his excellent father, that pillar of the 
 Protestant succession. " Thank you, my lord," was the 
 quick-witted retort: "thank you, my lord, for your good 
 advice. You, too, had an excellent father, and I hope 
 you will follow his example." This was a home-thrust, 
 Earl Stair having ratted, influenced by not the most 
 creditable motives, from the Jacobite principles of his 
 family. 
 
 A very scapegrace was this young duke. Women, 
 
PHILIP, DUKE OF WHAETOiT. 299 
 
 wine, gaming, filled up the measure of his daily, nightly 
 life. The young Bacchanal would never reach middle, 
 much less old age; that was early apparent. Seated at 
 the ambassador's table, he would call a servant, bid him 
 go to the Earl of Stair, and tell him he was about to 
 drink his health as the greatest rogue and traitor in 
 existence. Similar messages were sent to several distin- 
 guished guests. No serious notice was taken of them ; 
 they were but ebullitions of strong youthful spirits 
 heated by wine, and signifying nothing. 
 
 A young English Jacobite medical student studying 
 in Paris, excited by loyalty and liquor, amused himself by 
 smashing the English ambassador's vrindows, for the 
 sufficient reason that they were not illuminated on the 
 night of the 10th of June. This enthusiastic proceed- 
 ing brought the student to grief. He was arrested, im- 
 prisoned, fined. Duke Wharton resented this conduct 
 on the part of the authorities. The loyal student should 
 have been rewarded, not punished, for his patriotic zeal. 
 He determined to break the ambassador's windows him- 
 self; but as the work required to be done quickly, if un- 
 pleasant consequences were to be avoided, he asked the 
 help of an Irish colonel in the Pretender's service to 
 assist in the good work. The ' colonel declined. He 
 was willing to make war upon the Hanoverian usurper, 
 but not after the novel fashion of breaking his ambas- 
 sador's windows. The young nobleman would not be 
 baulked; he performed the loyal duty himself; was dis- 
 covered, arrested, and set free at Lord Stair's request. 
 Much must, we all understand, be forgiven a young duke 
 of large intellectual promise, and soon to be in possession 
 of sixteen thousand pounds a-year! 
 
 Philip' Duke Wharton's adhesion to the Stuart in- 
 terest was a mere romantic caprice ; unsustained by the 
 slightest principle or conviction. Some years subse- 
 quently, in consequence of his mad extravagance, he ac- 
 cepted a loan of two thousand guineas — the same amount 
 which he had borrowed of the Queen Dowager — of the 
 Chevalier Saint George. Not long afterwards an English. 
 
300 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 gentleman remonstrated with him upon the folly, if 
 nothing worse, of linking his own to the fallen fortunes 
 of the expelled dynasty. "My dear fellow,", said the 
 duke, " I have pawned my principles to Gordon, the 
 Pretender's banker, for a considerable sum, and till I 
 can repay him I must be ,a Jacobite. When that is done, 
 I will return to the Whigs." 
 
 The two thousand guineas did not last long. His 
 guardians inexorably refused to forward funds to him 
 whilst he remaiaed in Paris in connection with the Ja^ 
 cobite faction ; and the metropolis of Paris rapidly be- 
 coming too hot to hold him, he was fain to leave for 
 England. It must, however, be remembered that his 
 money was not all, or nearly all, squandered in debauchery. 
 The young nobleman never rejected an appeal to his 
 generosity, his charity; but his gifts, alms-deeds, were 
 bestowed indiscriminately. The borrower or beggar 
 might or might not be worthy of relief; Philip Duke of 
 Wharton and Northumberland recked not of that. It 
 was this weakness of character to which Pope alludes in 
 the line : 
 
 " A constant bounty which, no friend has made:" 
 
 a failing, no doubt; a failing, if you will, but one which 
 leant, if not at a very decided angle, to virtue's side. 
 
 The young duke did not remain long in England. 
 sThe society of his duchess had no special charm for him, 
 and he went over to Ireland. His incipient fame — if I 
 may use such a phrase — had preceded him there. The 
 fierce Orange peers of Ireland could not have heard of 
 his, backsliding at St. Germains, or they would never 
 have voted him of age, he being not quite eighteen, and 
 caused him to be summoned to take his seat in the 
 House by the titles of Earl of Rathfarnham and Marquis 
 of Galtheron. The angel-tongue — admitted by Pope to 
 be an angel-tongue — there first found worthy audience. 
 His speeches were admirable both in matter and method, 
 and being untainted in the faintest degree with Jaco- 
 bitism made him an immense favourite. 
 
301 
 
 Philip Wharton turned his " privilege of ParUament," 
 60 to speak, to profitable account. He insisted that the 
 tenants upon his Irish estates should pay him their rents ; 
 and when it was objected that he was not of age, he in- 
 dignantly exclaimed, " How dare you say I am not of 
 age, when the Parliament has declared that I am !" Im- 
 pudence succeeded, as impudence rarely fails to do, espe^ 
 cially when backed by a title — a ducal title too ! 
 
 Ireland soon became unpleasantly warm, and our 
 young duke left the Emerald Isle for England. IsTot 
 that his person was in danger ; but constant " dunning" 
 is unpleasant, and a too mountainous accumulation of 
 even debts of honour a harassing burden to bear, espe- 
 cially when a fierce Whiskerando — many Whiskerandos 
 — looking pistols or small-swords at your choice, demand 
 practically, highway fashion, your money or your life. 
 Duke Philip was ready enough with his pistol, as he 
 proved upon two occasions ; but though he came off un- 
 scathed, he could not but reflect that the pitcher which 
 goes often to the well will probably be broken at last, 
 and he wisely banished himself from the land of dueUing 
 jpar excellence. 
 
 Upon attainment of his majority, the duke took his 
 seat in the English House of Peers. He forthwith 
 plunged into virulent opposition to the Ministry of the 
 day. Not only by speeches in the House that were much 
 adinired. the merits of which, as they were very inade- 
 quately reported, we must take upon trust; but by 
 pamphlets and speeches at public meetings, he assailed 
 the policy and principles of the Government. His de- 
 fence of Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester, whom it was 
 proposed to visit with a bill of pains and penalties, was 
 considered a masterpiece of eloquence and argumenta- 
 tion. The vehemence of his opposition was inflamed by 
 practical discomfiture. He strove to stir up the City of 
 London, became himself a citizen wax-chandler, and 
 started a periodical called TM True Briton. All would 
 not do. The stars in their courses fought against Philip 
 Duke Wharton. Still, so greatly varied were the young 
 
302 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 noble's'powers, that only by his own acts could he suffer 
 irremediable defeat. His wild, extravagant course of life 
 knew no pause or ebb; and finally his creditors appealed 
 to the High Court of Chancery, who appointed a receiver 
 of the rents of his estates, allowing him twelve hundred 
 pounds a^year till his debts were liquidated. There is 
 an anecdote in connection with him and Dean Svsdft, the 
 rancorous assailant of his father, which is worth tran- 
 scribing: "Wharton was recounting, with excellent glee, 
 the many glorious frolics he had enjoyed. The Dean 
 said, -keeping his dignified countenance admirably, " You 
 have had some capital frolics, my lord, and let me recom- 
 mend one to you. Take a frolic to be virtuous : take my 
 word for it, that one will do you more honour than aU 
 the other frohcs of your Ufe." 
 
 His infant son, the Marquis of Malmesbury, died 
 about this time of small-pox. To him it was a most 
 afilictive visitation. In his rage he attributed the death 
 of his child to the duchess his wife. He left the mother 
 and son in the country, and gave her strict injunctions, 
 as he was leaving for London to attend his parliamentary 
 duties, to remain there with the child. The duchess, for 
 some reason or other, disobeyed his injunction, and fol- 
 lowed her, husband with their son to London, where 
 small-pox was prevalent. The baby Marquis of Malmes- 
 bury sickened and died of that terrible disease. , The 
 duke never again spoke with his wife, who died broken- 
 hearted on the 14th of April 1726. ' 
 
 Duke Wharton foiled, baffled in his ambitious pro- 
 jects, mainly, as I have said, by himself, bade adieu to 
 England, for ever as it proved. First he betook himself 
 to Vienna, no doubt as an accredited agent of the Pre- 
 tender. What may have been the precise nature of the 
 mission intrusted to him is not known. It produced no 
 result. Thence this restless knight-errant proceeded to 
 Spain. His arrival in Madrid caused a great sensation. 
 The Spanish Ministry sent special messengers to the 
 Court of St. James's, with the positive assurance . that 
 Duke Wharton was the bearer of no political mission 
 
303 
 
 from any prince or power ■whatever, and that if lie were, 
 it would not be listened to. Upon receiving this mess- 
 age, a warrant was issued under the Privy Seal for the 
 arrest of Philip Duke of Wharton, and the bringing him 
 to England. 
 
 This act was clearly beyond the power of the English 
 Privy Council. Duke Wharton refased to obey it, and 
 appealed to the Spanish Court for protectipn. It was 
 granted, and a rupture with England in consequence was 
 with some difficulty avoided — ^postponed more correctly. 
 
 Whatever might have been the volatile young duke's 
 primary purpose in visiting Spain, it was soon eclipsed 
 and set aside by a more potent influence. He fell despe- 
 rately in love with a Miss O'Byme, one of the ladies of 
 honour to the Queen of Spain. Miss O'Byme was the 
 daughter of an Irish colonel in the service of Spain, who 
 had been some years dead; and the widow's sole depend- 
 ence was a pension bestowed upon her by the Spanish 
 Queen. 
 
 Duke Wharton formally proposed marriage to the 
 beautiful maid of honour. The offer was accepted, upon 
 condition that the Queen's consent should be obtained. 
 The Queen peremptorily refused her consent. Such a 
 union, she said, would be one of the maddest acts ima- 
 ginable; the duke being possessed of a mere pittance of 
 revenue, his rank considered. The duke being this time 
 really in love fell into a deep melancholy, which culmi- 
 nated in a low, lingering fever, that soon threatened a 
 fatal result. The Queen, moved by the lover's sufferings 
 and danger, sent him a message to the effect that he must 
 adopt means of restoring himself to health (the duke had 
 obstinately refased medicine or curative aid of any kind), 
 and she would consider more favourably of his request. 
 Upon receipt of the message the lover rallying what 
 strength he had left, caused himself to be conveyed to 
 the palace, and falling upon his knees before the Queen, 
 implored her to give him leave to marry Miss O'Byme, 
 " or order him to die." The Queen relented, consented 
 to the marriage, which she persisted they would both 
 
S04 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 bitterly repent of, and Miss O'Byme became a few weeks 
 afterwards Duchess of Wharton and N'orthumberland. 
 
 The happy pair set ont for Rome, where they passed 
 the honeymoon. It was there the Pretender conferred 
 the Blue Ribbon upon the Duke of Northumberland. 
 ' The infirmity of human nature is such that bliss, the 
 purest, most ecstatic, soon cloys ; and by way of change 
 Duke Wharton decided upon varying the entertainment 
 of life by a little fighting-^the substitution of war's 
 alarms for the endearments of marital love. He left 
 Rome for Barcelona. I conclude that writs of " ne ex- . 
 eat" did not issue from the Roman courts, as the duke's 
 departure was unopposed. Privilege of English peer or 
 parliament would not, it may be presumed, have availed 
 in the Eternal City. 
 
 Arrived in Spain, the duke lost no time in offering his 
 services to the Iberian king. He was willing to assist 
 in the siege of Gibraltar, war having broken out between 
 England and Spain. The offer was accepted. Philip 
 Duke of Wharton fought in the Spanish ranks, received 
 a severe wound in the foot, and wearied of a service ia 
 which neither glory nor gold could be obtained, rejoined 
 his duchess at Rouen, France. There, they liv^d in sump- 
 tuous style for a considerable time upon the strength of 
 his ducal title and blue ribbon. His levies at last be- 
 coming inconveniently crowded by tailors, butchers, gi'o- 
 cers, by milliners and dressmakers to the duchess, the 
 unthrifty lord quitted Rouen in a hurry, leaving his 
 equipages and horses behind to be equally shared'amongst 
 his aagry creditors. It W9,s at this time, I believe, though 
 some memoir- writers make the date much later, that the 
 duchess applied to be reinstated in her former post of 
 personal attendant upon the Queen of Spain — a request 
 which was graciously complied with. ' Her Spanish Ma- 
 jesty had a great regard for the poor duchess. 
 
 In Paris the conduct of Philip Duke of Wharton and 
 Northumberland was marked by the same Stourderie as 
 before. I only have space to quote two illustrative inci- 
 dents. A Portuguese Knight of the Order of Christ, 
 
PHlLiP, DUKE OP WHARTON. 305 
 
 with whom he had casually formed acquaintance, invited 
 him to a high i'estiyal to be given in honour of the 
 Founder of the Order. Duke Wharton, whose wardrobe 
 was neither ample nor brilliant, said he should be de- 
 lighted to accept the invitation, but was ignorant of the 
 costume worn upon such occasions. " Oh, a, black- velvet 
 suit," said the Portuguese knight ; " that would be most 
 appropriate." "Ah, well, yes; but I have no black-velvet 
 suit, nor do I know a tailor in all Paris in whom I could 
 confide to furnish me with one." " That, my dear Duke, 
 is easily arranged. I wiU send my own tailor to you. 
 He is a very honest fellow, and will fit you admirably." 
 Philip Duke of Wharton and Northumberland consented; 
 the suit of black- velvet was made, sent home, and his 
 grace honoured the festival with his presence. Shortly 
 afterwards the tailor presented his little bill. " What is 
 this for?" asked Duke Wharton. " For the suit of black 
 velvet." " Honest man," said his impudent grace, " you 
 mistake the matter very much. You must carry tids bill 
 
 to the Chevalier K ; for be pleased to understand 
 
 that whenever I put on another man's livery, my master 
 always pays for the clothes." 
 
 Lord M (the proper names are only initialed 
 
 in the memoirs of the eccentric duke). Lord M , a 
 
 wealthy, easy-going young Irish Peer, had made the 
 Duke's acquaintance at St. Germains, and, like all who 
 came within his influence, was charmed and delighted 
 with his wit, humour, his conversational powers gener- 
 ally. One night when it was growing late, his grace 
 
 drove up to the hotel where the Lord M was staying, 
 
 informed his lordship tha,t he was engaged in a very im- 
 portant affair, and begged the loan, for a few hours, of 
 his lordship's coach, coachman, and lackeys. " Certainly." 
 The young Irish Peer was only too happy to be able to 
 oblige his grace. " And now," said the Duke, when it 
 was announced that the coach was in readiness, " I have 
 an additional fevour to solicit, which is, that your lord- 
 ship accompany me" The complaisant lord agreed, and 
 away drove the coach. The first step in the important 
 
 X 
 
306 ECCENTEIC PEBSONAGES. 
 
 business, was to hire a coach, hunt up seven or eight of 
 the musicians attached to the opera, who were mostly, 
 gone to bed, hire their services for the next twelve hours 
 upon liberal terms, seat them in and upon the hired 
 
 coach, and drive off toward St. Germaias. Lord M 
 
 must have been considerably mystified, but all was made 
 clear upon the arrival of the party "at the Castle of St. 
 •Germaias. The musicians were ordered out, and com- 
 manded to serenade some young ladies with whom his 
 grace had been flirting. Well, there was a good laugh ; 
 perhaps the good-natured Hibernian's laugh was the 
 loudest ; and since ihe musicians were there, it was de- 
 termiaed to wake-up a friend of the duke's, one Mr. 
 E , an English gentleman, who resided near the vil- 
 lage of Poissy. The addition of' two trumpets and a 
 kettle-drum would make the band complete. These were, ■: 
 with some difficulty, procured, and the jubilant party set 
 out for Poissy, which quiet village was thrown into a 
 state of astonishment and alarm by the visitors with 
 
 their trumpets and kettle-drums. Mr. E was in 
 
 doubt, when he found the strangers intended honouring 
 him with a visit, whether he" had not better bolt at once. 
 Philip Duke of Wharton reassured him — the intruders 
 were liberally regaled, and the affair terminated so far 
 very pleasantly. Yes ; but there was the score to pay 
 for the musicians, &c. When it was called for, the sum- 
 total was seen to be something upwards of twenty-five 
 
 Louis d'or. " My dear Lord M ," said his Grace of 
 
 Wharton — "My dear Lord, I have not a single franc. 
 Do you pay this time, and if I have ever an opportunity 
 I will requite the favour." 
 
 This wretched feverish life grew wearisome, and the 
 Duke's next freak was to enter a monastery near Paris, 
 with the avowed intention of becoming a monk. Writers, 
 favourable to his grace, assert that he entered the mon- 
 astery not with any intention of becoming a monk — 
 though, before he could marry Miss O'Byrne, he had 
 been obliged formally to embrace the Catholic faith — but 
 for quiet study, especially to finish a translation of i Tele- 
 
PHILIP, DUKE OF WHARTON. 307' 
 
 machus, which he had beg-un, but would certainly never 
 finish whilst dwelliug amidst the Babel of the world. 
 What a consummate hypocrite — no, not exactly hypo- 
 crite — what a consummate actor this gay man must have 
 been! The monks were so struck, so edified by his 
 exemplary devotion, that they attributed it to a direct 
 interposition of Heaven, and the miraculous virtues of 
 the sacred relics which enriched and glorified the monas- 
 tery. The religious whim is of brief duration, — Tele- 
 machus flung aside and forgotten ; the wandering Duke 
 betakes him again to Eome, where he has another meet- 
 ing with the Pretender, who advises him to ■ draw nearer 
 to England, where his services might shortly be required. 
 He accordingly revisits Paris, and having received his 
 half-year's allowance — six hundred pounds — which would 
 go but little wayto satisfy the claimants on his purse in 
 that city, he sails down the Seine as far as Eouen^ His 
 creditors there had been arranged withj but, as remenj- 
 brance of the past precluding credit obliged him to pay 
 ready money for all he requiredj the six hundred pounds 
 dwindled away with alarming rapidity, and he was be- 
 fore long financially out-at-elbows, his ragged servants 
 literally so. 
 
 In the meantime a biU of indictment for high treason 
 had been preferred against him, the evidence relied upon 
 in support of which being that he had fought against Ms 
 sovereign at the siege of Gibraltar. 
 
 Neither king nor ministry were disposed to deal 
 hardly with him. An English gentleman of position 
 had an interview with the Duke at Eouen, to urge him 
 to make his peace with the English Uovemment. A 
 letter t-o the monarch or the minister would suffice^' all 
 past offences would be condoned, and he would come 
 into immediate possession of his estate, which now real- 
 ised, after the interest of mortgages had been paid, 6000?. 
 a-year. Philip Duke of Wharton, though in an almost 
 destitute" condition, peremptorily refused to do so. He 
 would starve sooner than make submission to the Elector 
 
308 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 of Hanover. There was sterling metal, after all, in this 
 Protean man. 
 
 Raising, by some means or other, sufficient funds, he 
 went to Orleans, and thence dropped down the Loire to 
 Nantz. There he embarked with his ragged retinue for 
 Bilboa (they were he said recruits for the King of Spain), 
 and soon afterwards joined his regiment at Lerida. 
 
 His originally fine constitution was fast breaking up. 
 He was dying in the thirty-second year of his age. 
 Mineral waters in the mountains of Catalonia effected a 
 partial rally of his worn-out system — a partial, fleeting 
 rally. Becoming worSe, he again had recourse to the 
 mineral waters, was seized vdih one of his frequent 
 fainting-fits in an obscure Spanish village, and would 
 have died utterly destitute of the necessaries of life but 
 for the compassionate charity of some monks of St. Ber- ' 
 nard, who had him conveyed to their convent, where he 
 died on the 11th of Mayl731, uncheered by the presence 
 of one friend or relative. He was buried in the monks' 
 cemetery. Dying without issue, the title wa^ extinct, 
 and has not since been revived. The duchess survived 
 to a great age. She died in London, in February 1777, 
 and was buried in St. Pancras churchyard. This is the 
 Duke Wharton's epitaph, as written by Lord Orford : 
 
 " He amused the grave and dull by throwing away 
 the brightest profusion of parts and witty fooleries on 
 scamps. "With attachment to no party, though with' 
 talents to govern any party, he exchanged the free air of 
 Westminster for the gloom of the Escurial, the prospect 
 of King George's blue ribbon for the Pretender's ; and 
 with indifference to all religion, this frantic lord, who 
 had lampooned the Archbishop of Canterbury, died in the 
 habit of a Capuchin." 
 
BAMFYLDE MOORE CAREW. 
 
 This very erratic gentleman, and something more, could 
 boast of quite a distinguished lineage. He was de- 
 scended from the Carews, an ancient Devonshire family, 
 several members of which had rendered important ser- 
 ■vices to the country. His father was the Eev. Theodore 
 Carew, Rector of Bickley, near Tiverton, and a gentle- 
 man of fortune independent of his rectorship. 
 , , Bamfylde Moore Carew was bom in July 1693. His 
 advent was celebrated with great rejoicings; the baptism 
 which made him a child of God was 'one of the most ex- 
 pensively got-up affairs — with reference to the quality of 
 the company assembled, and the entertainment provided 
 • — that had been known for many years ia the west 
 country. The Honourable Major Moore and the Hon- 
 ourable Hugh Bamfylde, the sponsors, who pledged them- 
 selves, rash enthusiasts, that their godson should renounce 
 the devil and all his works, the vaiu pomp and glory of 
 this world, with all covetous desires of the same, con- 
 tended which of them should have the honour oi con- 
 ferring the first baptismal name upon the boy. The 
 gentlemen tossed for choice. The Honourable Hugh 
 Bamfvlde won, and the honoured child was named Bam- 
 fylde Moore Carew. 
 
 Many years had not passed before the lad was seen to 
 be a youngster of mark and likelihood. He was hand- 
 some, lithe, active, brave, and made satisfactory progress 
 at the High School, Tiverton. He acquired the usual 
 smattering of Greek and Latin, and it was hoped by his 
 fond parents that he would prove a shining light in 
 Israel — ^rise possibly through the gradations of the cleri- 
 
310 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 cal hierarchy to the lucrative dignity of a Bishop; the 
 Oarews having considerable Parliamentary interest, which,' , 
 if reinforced by respectable talent, might lead to spiri- 
 tual elevation as great as that. 
 
 The youth was clever — ^that could not be disputed; but. 
 his juvenile fancy was much more excited by the scarlet 
 coat of the hunter than the black cassock of the priest. 
 The High School at Tiverton was, in a provincial sense, a 
 highly aristocratic establishment. Only young gentlemen ■ 
 of rank and (prospective) wealth were admitted. Those 
 fortunate youths, Oarew being of the number, kept a 
 first-rate pack of hounds. The most eager in the chase 
 were, Oarew, John Martin, Thomas Ooleman, and John 
 Bscot. These promising youths were attached to each 
 other by similarity of taste and sentiment. Genial lada 
 were they, and if not pleasant in their lives and lovely ia 
 an orthodox sense, were seldom divided in their progress 
 through this vale of tears and thieves. All four were 
 "youths of condition." 
 
 A sporting farmer, who used to hunt with the H^igh- 
 School hounds, rode to Tiverton, and gleefully announced 
 that a fine deer with a collar round its neck, which had, 
 no doubt, strayed from some neighbouring gentleman's 
 park, was quietly feeding in a wood no great distance off, 
 and would afford capital sport. The temptation was ir- 
 resistible. Oarew, Martin, Ooleman, and Escot were 
 quickly in their saddles, and, guided by the sporting far- 
 mer, soon found the deer. They had a farnous run; none 
 the less diverting to such madcap youths, that it led 
 , through corn-fields nearly ripe, causing great damage to 
 the crops. The deer was caught, killed, and generously 
 offered to the farmer, who declined the gift. The en- 
 graved collar proved the animal to be the property of a 
 Colonel Nutcombe, a gentleman who would pursue to the 
 ends of the earth any one that stole, shot, or hunted his 
 deer. The best thing to be done was to send the carcass 
 to 'its owner; and a cart coming that way, the driver was 
 requested to carry the dead deer to Oolonel Nutcombe's 
 house. 
 
BAMFYLDE MOOEE CAEEW. 311 
 
 This honesty — shall we call it honesty? — did not prove 
 to be the best policy. The carter knew the young men 
 by sight and name, though he spoke and behaved him- 
 self as if he had never seen one of them before. The suc- 
 cessful hunters returned home in high spirits — had a rare 
 jollification — and, no doubt, slept soundly. 
 
 The afternoon's amusement did not, coolly considered, 
 bear the morning's reflection. The desolated corn-fields 
 through which they had galloped with such reckless 
 speed, suggested painfal misgivings. And how about 
 the cantankerous colonel? Supposing he should find 
 out who it was that killed the deer? The youthful 
 sportsmen entered upon their morning scholastic duties 
 with nothing like the alacrity of spirit with which they 
 had sprung to saddle on tlie previous afternoon. 
 
 Their gloomiest forebodings were realised. Colonel 
 Nutcombe, accompanied by a number of farmers whose 
 corn had been trampled down, arrived at Tiverton early 
 in the day, the treacherous carter identified the culprits, 
 and the head-master assured the angry complainants 
 that, notwithstanding the social condition of the offend- 
 ers, they should be visited with condign punishment di- 
 rectly the duties of the day had terminated. 
 
 This was hiilt enough. Knowing quite well what 
 condign punishment at the High School meant, the ter- 
 rified young men — taking brief counsel together — deter- 
 mined to be off, whither precisely they neither knew nor 
 greatly cared. The world was all before them. Provi- 
 dence their guide. 
 
 They did not go far. The first stage on the journey 
 of independent, vagabond life was a short one — about 
 two miles only. Being hot and thirsty, and, as I have 
 said, near harvest-time, the truants concluded to rest and 
 refresh themselves at a secluded alehouse — ^Brickhouse 
 was its designation. 
 
 As it chanced, there was high-festival held there that 
 day by a company of gipsies, male and female, presided 
 over by their celebrated King, Clause Patch, the vener- 
 able father of eighteen children, and of grandchildren, 
 
312 KCCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 great grandchildren, past counting. The four truants 
 were invited to partake of the feast, and very heartily 
 they enjoyed the ducks and fowls, — caring nothing that 
 they had not been, paid for, except by the trouble and 
 risk of stealing them. There was music and dancing 
 through the night. Some of the Priacesses, the old 
 scamp King Clause Patch's daughters and granddaugh- 
 ters, I should suppose, were very pretty — altogether a 
 most , delightful party. Garew, Martin, Coleman, and 
 Escot proclaimed their determination td join such a jolly 
 community. The proposition was laughed at. The gip- 
 sies could not believe the " house-dwellers " to be in ear- 
 nest. But when the request was next morning repeated, | 
 and with evident earnestness, it was agreed to vrith some 
 reluctance; and after solemn warning that the bond once 
 signed would be indissoluble, the four truant youths were 
 accepted as members of the Bohemian fraternity, the 
 oaths of Implicit obedience to the King or Queen were 
 administered, and they were initiated into the secrets of 
 the confederated vagabonds. 
 
 His Majesty Clause Patch addressed them upon their 
 duties to society — the society of course. It was a highly 
 philosophic lecture. The community into whose ranks 
 the young men had voluntarily enrolled themselves was 
 very ancient, and dated from time immemorial. Like 
 all other professions, its members lived by the necessi- 
 ties, the passions, and the weaknesses of their fellow- 
 creatures. Vanity, greed, and compassion are the chief 
 characteristics of the human race: these constituted the 
 stock-in-trade of the Bohemian people, and would prove, 
 as long as diligence and fidelity to the rules of their an- 
 cient community prevailed amongst them, an unfailing 
 mine of wealth; — with much more to the same effect. 
 
 Carew, with whom in this paper I have chiefly to 
 deal, was enchanted. To escape from the plodding peda- 
 gogic world into such a free-and-easy society, was a won- 
 derfal relief. To be. sure, the luxuries of life were, or 
 would be, in his legitimate possession in far greater 
 abundance than could ever be obtained by gipsy wiles, 
 
BAMFTLDE MOOEE CAEEW. 313 
 
 ■whether of cajoleiy or theft. But what of that? "Was 
 there not the charm of clever cheatery — the romance of 
 robbing by brain-skill — ^not vulgar violence? and were 
 not stolen pleasures proverbially the sweetest? Besides, 
 had he not sworn fidelity to the laws of the community? 
 Should he break his oath? Not for the wide world! He 
 was a youth of much too tender conscience for that! 
 
 A 'superior education helping young Carew, he soon 
 distinguished himself amongst the fraternity. Travelling 
 through the land, he found many occasions of proving 
 how exactly he fitted the groove, as we should now say, 
 into which Fortune had shunted him. His first coup 
 d'essai, on a considerable scale, occurred near Taunton, 
 Somersetshire. A Mrs. Musgrave, residing near that 
 city, was, he heard, possessed of a notion that a large 
 treasure was buried somewhere in her grounds. Carew 
 wrote to the lady stating that if she would grant him an 
 interview, he doubted not that he would be able to point 
 out the exact spot where the treasure could be found. 
 Credulous Mrs. Musgrave would be happy to see the 
 writer, who waited upon her, capitally made-up for the 
 part. Having gravely listened to what she had to say, 
 he required a few days to consult the stars. The time 
 expired, he again waited upon the lady, and informed 
 her that gold and silver in large quantities would be 
 found buried under the laurel-tree, in her garden; but 
 as her fortunate planet would not rule till that day week, 
 and at a particular hour, it would be useless to make the 
 search till then. Mrs. Musgrave was delighted, and gave 
 substantial proof of her gratitude by presenting the as- 
 trologer with twenty guineas! 
 
 It would seem that Carew had not yet entirely suc- 
 ceeded ta casting off old-world prejudices. The grief for 
 his absence of the old folks at home, proved by their con- 
 stantly advertised offers of reward to any one who would 
 bring them tidings of the -lost one, at last so prevailed 
 with him that after about eighteen months' absence he 
 suddenly presented himself at his father's house. He 
 was welcomed with exuberance of joy; not a word of 
 
314 ECCEKTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 reproach was uttered ; the neighbours far and near sym- 
 pathised with the delight of the worthy rector: the 
 church- bells were rung, both in Bickley and the ad- 
 joining villages. Parties of pleasure were got up almost 
 every day for the gratification of the recovered truant; 
 and no means were neglected to wean him from the vaga- 
 bond career he had madly embraced. 
 
 All would not do; He fell ill ; not with' active 
 malady, but from sheer weariness of spirit. A gipsy 
 girl, who had seen and spoken with him, said in an ale- 
 house, where they were talking of him, that he would not 
 be long with the house-dwellers. " He would either die 
 or go back to the gipsies." 
 
 The gipsy girl was right. Carew suddenly left his 
 home without leave-taking, and made his way to the 
 alehouse where he had first joined the Bohemian com- 
 munity. Several persons were there waiting, in expecta- > 
 tion of his coming. He was at once conducted, as a 
 prisoner, to head-quarters, where there was sittiag a 
 general assembly, on a miaor scale, of gipsies, presided 
 over by the queen, the wife of Clause Patch, who could 
 not attend by reason of illness. This was fortunate for 
 Carew, who made a very ingenious defence in excuse of 
 his temporary backsliding; and it was voted that he 
 should be re-admitted, after renewing his oath of alle- 
 giance and submitting to the usual penance — a severe 
 one, stripes not a few, and smartly laid on. The queen, 
 however, old Clause Patch's fifth or sixth wife, and a 
 young woman, was so pleased with the culprit's speech, 
 and the manner of its delivery, that she remitted the 
 punishment, reminding him, however,, that a second fall- 
 ing away from his sworn duties could not be forgiven, 
 and the penalty, certain to be inflicted, however ingeni- 
 ously he might try to conceal himself, would be Death! 
 She then sent him " on the forage," remarking that, with 
 his abilities, he might soon make up for lost time by 
 adding largely to the common stock. 
 
 Carew may now be looked upon as fiiUy committed 
 to a life of vagabondage. He embraced it boldly; made- 
 
BAMFYLDE MOOSE CAKEW, 315 
 
 Tip cleverly as a shipwrecked sailor, and in that guise 
 levied contributions. So well did he gloze the melan- 
 choly story of his sufferings, on his way to Kingsbridge, 
 Devonshire, that he transmitted a sum to his or her 
 majesty which fally condoned the offence of which he 
 had been guilty in the opinion even of those who thought 
 he had been let off too cheaply. 
 
 At Kingsbridge he met with his old schoolfellow 
 Coleman. He too had abandoned the Bohemian frater- 
 nity for a timcj but soon wearying of being penned up 
 in towns and 'houses, had returned to his allegiance. 
 This was not quite true. He had been induced by 
 threats and promises — ^his own wishes inclining him to 
 yield — to rejoin the formidable brotherhood. He had 
 not the luck of Carew, though he reached head-quarters 
 but a day or two after his friend had been dismissed 
 scatheless. He did not find such favour with her ma- 
 jesty as Carew didj he was not so handsome perhaps, 
 nor possessed of such a wheedling, flattering tongue. 
 At all events, he was rudely flagellated, told that he had 
 been most merciflilly dealt with, and warned to deserve 
 the mercy which had been extended to him, by diligence 
 and strict fidelity, lest a worse thing befal him. He 
 was then dismissed on the forage, but was not success- 
 ful, and expected every day to receive a message from 
 Clause Patch, if he were well enough to resume the 
 duties of his kingly ofllce, if not from his brimstone 
 Jezebel of a wife, requiring his presence at head-quarters, 
 to account for the disgraceful paucity of his contributions 
 to the general stock, that is, to the luxurious sustenance, 
 in a gipsy sense, of the king, queen, and royal family — a 
 large number, as we have seen, of voracious mouths to 
 feed. Poor Coleman was quite east down — -disconsolate; 
 cursing, there can be little doubt, the day when the 
 chasing of Colonel Nutcombe's deer led hirn indirectly 
 into such hopeless captivity. It was pleasant enough, 
 no doubt, to camp out in the fields in fine summer 
 weather, live well and lazily ; but there were terrible 
 
316 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 drawbacks. Gipsy life was one of those things which 
 did not improve upon intimate acquaintance. 
 
 Carew condoled with his friend; obseryed that it was 
 no use to kick against the pricks, and that he would help 
 him from the superfluity of his own gains to make a 
 decent contribution to the royal treasury. With that 
 understanding the yoting men — once on the first form 
 at Tiverton High School — journeyed on in company, 
 meeting with but poor success, till they reached Totnes. 
 There the dreaded message from thp queen was received 
 by the unhappy Coleman. His services were requiredi 
 in another part of the country, where it was hoped and 
 expected he would be more successfal. He left with a 
 heavy heart. Carew never saw him agai'n; and heard, 
 not long afterwards, that he had left the Bohemian world 
 for the land where gipsies cease from troubling, and the 
 weary are at rest. How he died, whether by the visita- 
 tion of God or of man, was a moot-question with Carew. 
 The secrets of the gipsy camp are never spoken of even 
 amongst the fraternity themselves. 
 
 Carew, having used up for a time, and in that locality, : 
 the shipWrecked-sailor dodge, attired himself in a plain 
 neat rustic suit, and assumed the character of a broken-' 
 down honest country farmer, from the island of Shep- 
 pey, whose grounds had been overflowed, and his cattle 
 drowned, leaving himself, a wife, and seven helpless chil- 
 dren in a state of destitution. The distressed-farmer 
 device was very successful. 
 
 I might fill a volume with anecdotes of successfal 
 cheating, accomplished mainly by clever personation, by 
 a master in the art; but as there is much to tell more 
 creditable to this eccentric gentleman, and opening a 
 curious leaf in the colonial history of England, which 
 few are familiar with, I can only transcribe a few of the 
 more salient of Carew's exploits. 
 
 Justice Hull, of Exmouth, was the terror of gipsies. 
 Like the late Sir Peter Laurie with reference to dis- 
 tressed widows, Justice Hull had determined to put the 
 
BAMFYLDE MOOEE CAEEW. 317 
 
 gipsies down. They were his abomination; and he was 
 especially desirous of getting hold of that disgrace to 
 his family, with some members of which he was well 
 acquainted, — Bamfylde Moore Carew. This was a chal- 
 lenge which Carew determined to accept. He waited 
 upon Mr. Justice Hull, — who had more than once con- 
 versed familiarly with him at Bickley Eectory, — in the 
 character of a miller, whose mill and entire substance 
 had been consumed by fire, owing to the carelessness of 
 an apprentice. Carew was severely cross-examined by 
 the justice, but he stood the ordeal well; the magistrate 
 was convinced he had to do with a very honest straight- 
 forward miller, a myth in popular estimation at that 
 time; but Justice Hull was free of vulgar prejudice, and 
 presented Carew with a guinea, for which he received an 
 acknowledgment la fall by the n.ext day's post: 
 
 " Mt dear Me. Justice Hull, — I am afraid that 
 when with you I did not sufficiently express the grati- 
 tude I felt and feel for your very liberal donation, yes- 
 terday, of a guiaea, to the plain, straightforward, honest 
 miller, who had lost his entire substance by a fire, caused 
 by the carelessness of an apprentice; and who had a sick 
 wife and nine children to support. The honest miller 
 now repeats his heartfelt thanks for your generosity to 
 the gipsy, 
 
 " Bamfylde Mooee Caeew." 
 
 Just fancy the rage of Mr. Justice Hull, who was- 
 Buffering from gout too, upon reading Carew's audacious 
 note, ! 
 
 At a Mr. Portman's, near Blandford, Hants, who was 
 entertaining a large, party, he presented himself as an 
 old withered crone, wearing a dirty mob-cap, a high- 
 crowned hat, a tagged kirtle, and carrying a little hump- 
 back child on his back ; two others he held, one- in each 
 hand. Pinching the hump-back baby, he made it squeal 
 BO as to set the dogs barking furiously. A woman ser- 
 vant came out to bid him begone, as the uproar disturbed 
 
318 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 the ladies. " God bless their ladyships," whined the old 
 woman, "I am the unfortunate grandmother of these 
 poor children, whose dear mother, and all she possessed, 
 was burnt at the dreadful fire at Thirkton." This was 
 reported to' their ladyships, who feeling for them, the old 
 woman with her brats were brought into the house, and 
 a plentiful meal was set before them. Some of the gen- 
 tlemen-guests came into the kitchen. One said, " Where 
 do you come from, old woman?" "From Thirkton." 
 " The devil take Thirkton! There has been more money 
 collected for Thirkton than Thirkton is worth." Never- 
 theless all the gentlemen and ladies gave bountiful alms- 
 gifts to the old woman from Thirkton. As in the case of 
 Mr. Justice Hull, Mr. Portman received a letter the next 
 day, acknowledging the generous gifts of their ladyships 
 and gentlemanships, signed " B. M. Carew, alias an old 
 grandmother from Thirkton." 
 
 Carew assumed the character, an3 made use of the 
 language of Edgar in Lear as "Mad Tom," whom the 
 foul fiend pursues, and so on. This part, cleverly sus- 
 tained, netted much money. 
 
 One Mr. Jones, a very benevolent gentleman of Ash- 
 ton, near Bristol, hearing from his brother, who was pre- 
 sent at Mr. Portman's, how the company were so cleverly' 
 bamboozled, declared that he never could be deceived by" 
 Carew, whom he knew very well, or more correctly speak- 
 ings had known very well by sight. Error, Mr. JoneS; 
 Carew pillaged you just three, times in one day. First 
 as an unfortunate blacksmith, with sooty face and singed 
 apron, who had lost his little all by a fire. A few hours 
 afterwards, by a poor cripple, paralysed , totally, on one 
 side, and partially *n the other, who was desirous of try- 
 ing the Bath waters, but afraid he should never reach 
 that city for want of charitable assistance. • Later in the 
 day, an unfortunate tinner called. He had been disabled 
 by damp and hardships suffered in the mines. Mr. Jones 
 received, in due course of post, the written acknowledg- 
 ment of B. M, Carew, alias the blacksmith, the cripple, 
 and the tinner. 
 
BAMFTLDE MOOKE CAEEW. 319 
 
 Several times during Ms predatory rambles, Carew 
 called at the Bickley Eectory, so disguised, so exactly 
 imitatiye in voice and manner of the character he per- 
 sonated, as to completely deceive his own father and 
 mother. "Avowing myself to be a gipsy, they always 
 questioned me respecting their son: 'Had I seen or 
 heard of him? Was he alive?' I could scarcely restrain 
 my tears whilst with them," said Carew, " and when I 
 left and was unobserved, wept bitterly. But there was 
 no escape from the thraldom to which I had subjected my- 
 self, — more than that, I did not really wish to escape." 
 
 Carew's cleverness was highly appreciated by the 
 Bohemian brotherhood; and at the annual general as- 
 sembly for the year, he was honoured with a ' seat on the 
 right of the king and queen, a distinction which was un- 
 derstood to be the precursor of higher honours to come. 
 
 Instinctive love of freedom, independence of action — 
 the consciousness that he was playing the part of a fool 
 and madman — rendered Carew at times very restless un- 
 der the galling yoke. When iu one of these moods, he 
 met, at Dartmouth, John Escot, another of his school- 
 fellows, whom that gipsy orgie at the Brick House had 
 demoralised, ruined. Escot was wretched, but dared not 
 make the slightest endeavour to emancipate himself. , The 
 bare thought of incurring the displeasure of the ubiqui- 
 tous community in which he had enrolled himself, brought 
 oi; a fit, or caused him to break out iato a cold perspira- 
 tion. 
 
 Carew's bolder spirit infused some courage into his. 
 There was a vessel at Dartmouth, bound for Newfound- 
 land, commanded by a Captaia Holdsworth. Why not 
 take passage in her, and if their resolution held to free 
 themselves of, literally, the Egyptian . bondage under 
 which they groaned — groaned by fits and starts in thfe 
 - case of Carew — go on to the plantations in America? 
 
 They agreed to do this; the berths were engaged; but 
 at the last moment Escot's heart failed him, and Carew 
 sailed without his companion. 
 
 Arrived in Newfoundland, Carew diligently explored 
 
320 ECCENTRIC PEKSONASEs. 
 
 the island, studied its commercial and especially its fish- 
 ing capabilities, and was, it would seem, casting- about 
 for a trade-opening, so to speak, for his restless energies, 
 when an emissary from the giply-king arrived out, with- 
 a summons requiring Carew's immediate return to Eng- 
 land. Escot, who, under the influence of some Tagne 
 fear that he might be suspected of conniving at the 
 escape of Carew, though final escape was just impossible, 
 had informed Clause Patch that Carew had sailed for 
 Newfoundland, adding that he (Carew) thought he might 
 reap a rich harvest there for the benefit of the brother- 
 hood. This excuse was unanimously scouted. It was 
 settled in general council that the field in which the 
 richest harvest could be reaped by Cai-ew was in England. 
 Carew was told by the messenger that if he obeyed the 
 summons, there was nothing to fear, especially as he had 
 a good friend at court — alluding, no doubt, to the gipsy 
 queen. Escot was under a cloud and strictly watchei 
 A charming predicament that hunt of the deer in the 
 woods and fields about Tiverton had brought the first- 
 form scholars of the High School of that tovm into! 
 
 Carew obeyed the gipsy chiefs mandate, and sailed in 
 a " fish-schooner" for Hull, where, after a perilous voyage, . 
 he safely landed. It is evident, though the subject is 
 slightly alluded to, that Carew's peace was soon made.i 
 The queen probably stood his friend. It is certain that 
 he was quickly despatched on the forage. He was very 
 successfnl, his knowledge of Newfoundland standing him 
 in good stead. His principal prey were just then the 
 masters of vessels trading to Newfoundland and the ad- 
 jacent countries. "With them he was a master-mariner, 
 whose ship, of which he was chief owner, had been cast 
 away, and all hands on board drowned except himself. 
 Cross-examined, he evinced such a minute knowledge of 
 the localities, that no doubt was entertained of the truth- 
 fulness of his story — so that he had soon money and lots 
 of it in both pockets. He must have found richer dupes 
 than sea-captains; and I cannot help thinking have shame- 
 fully choused the Bohemian royal family, or he could 
 
BAMFYLDE MOOEE CAREW. 321 
 
 ■ never have sliown oat in sucli splendour as he did shortly 
 after his visit to Newcastle-upon-Tyne — in a new phase. 
 There his constitutional flightiness manifested itself after 
 a novel fashion. He must needs fall in love — serious, 
 not Bohemian love — with a Miss Geary, the daughter of 
 an apothecary long established in the town. The young 
 woman was both beautiful and amiable — superlatively so, 
 looked at through the Claude-Lorraine glasses of Carew's 
 lover-eyes. He made the damsel's acquaintance, wooed 
 her ardently, and knew that he had made a favourable 
 impression, but was .quite aware that if he popped the 
 question in the character ,of a gipsy — a Christian gipsy 
 we will say — his suit would be at once rejected. Carew 
 represented himself to be the master of a trading vessel — 
 an assertion vouched for by Captain Lewis, of Dartmouth, 
 whose friendship he had gained. The young lady coyly 
 yielded to Carew's pressing importunities;-, eloped with 
 him ; and went with him on board Captain Lewis' vessel, 
 which made a swift passage to Dartmouth, where the 
 loving pair were united in the bonds of holy, legitimate 
 — not Bohemian matrimony. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Carew, travelling in quite grand style — 
 no question that the Bohemian royal family must have 
 been awfully swindled — passed a joyous honey-month. I 
 imagine it must have not unfrequently occurred to the 
 bridegroom that the queen might not prove such a zeal- 
 ous protectress as she had been when this marriage with 
 a'charming house-dweller became known, and this would 
 be very soon. 
 
 Tut! Taste life's glad moments while you may, is 
 sound Epicurean and Bohemian philosophy. Carew and 
 his bride conformed to it, visited Bath, Bristol, and made 
 quite. a sensation in those cities, though in what name 
 they travelled I cannot discover. Presently we find them 
 the guests of an uncle, the Rev. Mr. Carew, a dignified 
 clergyman at Porchester, Hants. The reverend relative 
 conjured Bamfylde Moore Carew to abandon his lawless 
 life, and return to the paths of virtue, at the same lime 
 promising that virtue should not be its own, that is, it& 
 
 T 
 
322 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 only reward. He would provide for him liberally at 
 once, and make him heir to all he possessed — a tempting 
 offer, which the yoimg wife was eager tr. accept. The 
 husband was also, we may presume, strongly inclined to 
 do so. But there was a lion in the path. More than 
 one peremptory message had reached Carew from the 
 sovereign to whom he had twice sworn allegiance, and 
 he had no choice but to submit. The reverend uncle 
 ■ would not give him a guinea except upon condition that 
 he withdrew himself at once from the degrading com- 
 panionship of gipsies; and his own funds were miser- 
 ably low. He must even take to the great highway of 
 life again, and seize such happy chances as may present 
 themselves thereon. 
 
 Carew chose to reappear on the stage upon this occa- 
 sion as a distressed clergyman, persecuted for conscience- 
 sake. He wore a black loose gown, a large white peruke, 
 and a broad -brimmed hat. His pace was slow and 
 solemn. He appeared overwhelmed with the shame 
 which worthy, modest men must feel when compelled 
 .to soUcit Christian charity. When questioned, he, with 
 much reluctance, informed his Christian friends that he 
 had filled the sacred ofi&ce of clergyman at Aberystwith,^ 
 in Wales. The change of government had engendered" 
 scruples of conscience -which induced him to resign his 
 living. The apt introduction of Latin phrases helped 
 out the imposture, and his attenuated purse began again 
 to swell into respectable rotundity. 
 
 A very fertile brain wap Mr. Carew's. Eeading in a 
 newspaper that a ship bound for Philadelphia, in which 
 were many Quakers, was lost, he diligently made himself 
 acquainted with all particulars, the names of the Friends, 
 and other essential details, and so furnished, presented 
 himself as one of the shipwrecked Fiiends at a large 
 -gathering in London. He had lost all — everything ex- 
 cept the clothes on his back. No doubt was enter- 
 tained of the truth of his story, and he was generously 
 relieved. 
 
 The few instances I have transcribed depictive of 
 
BAMFTLDE MOOEE CAEEW. 323 
 
 /]arew's career will suffice to guide the reader to a right 
 judgment upon it as a whole. He was a compassionate 
 man. Bml misery — and who so quick as he at detecting 
 imposture? — he never failed to relieve to the utmost 
 extent, beyond the extent of his ability. He was often 
 known to sell or pawn articles almost indispensable to 
 his own comfort for the relief of starving, perishing 
 wretches. 
 
 Carew's reputation amongst the Bohemian brother- 
 hood was at its height when Clause Patch died. He 
 made a pathetic last dying-speech; the most interesting 
 passage in which to his eighteen children was, that he 
 left them one hundred pounds sterling each — ^not a large 
 sum, the old reprobate observed, " but improveable." 
 
 Two or three weeks afterwards there was a grand 
 assembly in London to elect a new king. The voting 
 was by ballot, and there were ten candidates. Carew 
 being one, made a speech, which carried all before it, so 
 resplendent was it with the brilliant rogueries he had 
 perpetrated. He was unanimously elected king. It was 
 a very jolly meeting. The following verses were sung 
 with uproarious applause. It was, and is, the gipsy 
 coronation anthem: 
 
 " Cast your caps and cares away, 
 This is gipsies' holiday; 
 In the world look out and see. 
 Who so happy a king as he. 
 
 At the crowning of our king 
 Thus we ever dance and sing; 
 Where's the nation lives so free 
 And so merrily as we ? 
 
 Be it peace or he it war, 
 Here at liberty we are; 
 Hang all Harmanbecks, we say. 
 We the Cuffins Queer defy. 
 
 We enjoy our peace and rest, 
 To the field we are not prest; 
 When the taxes are increased, 
 We are not a farthing cessad. 
 
324 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 Nor will any go to law 
 With a gipsy for a straw; 
 All whicli happiness he brags 
 Is only owing to his rags." 
 
 Harmanbecks and Queer Cuffins was gipsy slang foi; con- 
 stables and magjistrates. 
 
 The new king refused to be a Rm faineant, sitting at 
 home at ease, supported by the contributions of the com- 
 munity, after the fashion of his royal predecessors. The 
 widow of Clause Patch was deputed to carry on the go- 
 Temment during his absence, and he himself went on the 
 forage as before. This was imprudent. He should have 
 remembered that Fortune is fickle, and never more likely 
 to desert her favourite than when he is perched on the 
 top of her wheel. He himself, however, attributed the 
 misfortune that befel him to an act of daring impiety, : 
 Finding himself at Stoke- Grabriel, near Totnes, and bu- 
 siness in his ordinary line slack and uilprofitable, the 
 notion came into his head of waiting upon the parson of 
 the parish to request him publicly to offer up the thanks- 
 giving of himself and the reverend gentleman's congre- 
 .gation for the wonderful preservation of himself, Janies 
 Hawkins, master mariner, when his vessel, the Eose, was 
 struck by lightning, and all on board perished except 
 himself. The Eose, J&mes Hawkins master, hailing 
 from Newcastle, had been struck by lightning a few days 
 previously, off the Devonshire coast. The report in the 
 local newspapers said all hands were supposed to have 
 perished, though there was a rumour that Hawkins, the 
 master, had escaped by swimming. Upon that hint 
 Carew had acted. The credulous parson, who had read 
 -the newspaper account, readily believing that the de- 
 voutly-grateful applicant was the real James Hawkias, 
 willingly acceded to his request, and preached a pathetic 
 sermon upon the perils and sufferings of those who go 
 down to the sea in ships. A collection was made at the 
 conclusion of the service, and the proceeds handed over 
 to the pious ipariner. 
 
 A few days only had elapsed when his Majesty came 
 
BAMFYLDE MOOllE CAEEW. . 325 
 
 to grief in a most unexpected, aggravating manner. He 
 rang the outer-gate bell at the house of Justice Leth- 
 bridge, near Barnstaple. He had not the slightest fear 
 of being recdgni|Sed, so carefully was he disguised, al- 
 though as Carew he was personally known to the Justice, 
 whom he had victimised, and his butler, John Wigan. 
 
 A very civil servant, uncommonly civil, answered the 
 bell, promptly unchained the gate, rechained it as soon 
 afe the distressed father of a large burnt-out family had 
 passed through, then politely conducted the unfortunate 
 vagrant, who was already struck with a presentiment 
 that he had made a mess of it for once ia his life, to the 
 hall. Eetreat beiag impossibte, the only chance left was, 
 to boldly play out his part. 
 
 " Ha! good momiQg, Mr. Carew," said John Wigan, 
 the butler, who opened the hall-door, and who had with 
 him two other men-servants — "good momiag,Mr. Carew ; 
 we have been expecting you would favour your old friends 
 with a visit. The Justice will be glad, very glad to see 
 you; he has stopped at home on purpose. But," added 
 the chuckling butler, " that you may see his worship, it 
 will be as well to pull off the black patch over your right 
 eye." Suiting the action to the word, "the mockiag 
 knave" tore it away with his own hand. 
 
 His worship was overjoyed, and first indulging in a 
 hearty laugh at the gipsy Kiag's discomfiture and prac- 
 tical deposition from his high office, consigned him to 
 " the care of his myrmidons," with orders to lodge him. 
 safely in Exeter gaol. Colonel Browne, of that city, 
 fully committed him, and shortly afterwards he was tried 
 and found guilty, notwithstanding the ingenious pleas of 
 the counsel retained for the defence by his sorrowing 
 subjects. 
 
 "You have travelled, I believe?" remarked the face- 
 tious chairman at Quarter Sessions. 
 
 "Yes," said Carew, "in Denmark, Sweden, France, 
 Spain, Portugal, Newfoundland, Wales, and some parts 
 of Scotland." 
 
 " I have heard some story of the kind before. You 
 
326 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 will hare to visit a hotter climate than either of those 
 you have mentioned." Sentence was then pronounced. 
 He was to be transported to Maryland, America, and 
 there sold into slavery. A terrible downcome this for 
 his Bohemian Majesty! ' 
 
 Carew was hurried on board the Juliana, Captain 
 Froade, whose property he with many other prisoners on 
 board had become. The practice was for the captain of 
 a ship to pay so much a-head for his convict passengers, 
 taking the chance of profit or loss upon their sale at the 
 plantations. 
 
 The Juliana cast anchor, all well, in Miles's river, 
 Maryland, and the sale by public competition of a prime 
 lot of English handicraftsmen, labourers, and clerks, was 
 immediately advertised. 
 
 The competition by the planters was rather brisk. 
 One Grriffith, a tailor, fetched a thousand pounds' weight 
 of tobacco. Prices varied. As to Carew, he persisted 
 that he c6uld do nothing, was not worth buying at any 
 price, and could not even dig, though to beg he cer- 
 tainly, as his antecedents proved, was not ashamed. 
 This modest estimate of his own merits was not be- 
 lieved; his thews and sinews were witnesses against him; 
 his price ran up to, a high figure; the punch went mer- 
 rily round; Captain Froade had made a profitable ven- 
 ture. The competition for Carew was at last confined 
 to David Hunter, formerly of, Lyme, Dorsetshire, and 
 one Hamilton, a Scotchman. Finally, they agreed, being 
 near neighbours, to go halves in him, and had just con- 
 cluded the bargain when it was discovered that Carew 
 had contrived, during the uproarious jollity, to slip off 
 unobserved, and was nowhere to be found. He had fled 
 to the woods. 
 
 He managed to evade pursuit during several weeks, 
 subsisting upon such wild fruits as he could find, and the 
 product of occasional nocturnal visits to solitary farm- 
 steads. He was at last apprehended, and not being able^ 
 to give a satisfactory account of himself, was lodged in, 
 prison, preparatory, in accordance with the laws of Mary- 
 
BAMFYLDB MOOEE CAKEW. 327 
 
 land, to being sold by auction, should no one claim him 
 before the appointed day. 
 
 In this pretty predicament he chanced to hear that 
 the vessels of Captains Harvey and Hopkins, of Bideford, 
 had cast anchor in Miles's river. He was favourably 
 known to them as a Devonshire man, of ancient family. 
 They sympathised with the unfortunate prisonei, who, 
 in their eyes,' had been guilty of no offence calling for 
 such cruel expiation. Immediately Carew's message 
 reached them, they sought him out, listened to his story, 
 returned to their ships, opened a negotiation with Cap- 
 tain Froade, and finally agreed for the price of his free- 
 dom. 
 
 ■ Carew, informed of the generous conduct of the Devon- 
 shire captains, after taking some time to consider the 
 matter, refused to avail himself of the generosity of his 
 friends. The price insisted upon was exorbitant, and he 
 was not sure of being ever able to repay Captains Harvey 
 and Hopkins, to whom such an outlay would, he knew, 
 'be a serious mattfir. He resolutely declined, therefore, 
 to purchase his freedom at their- cost, and to put an end 
 to all importunity, informed the magistrate by whom he 
 had been committed that he was the property of Captain 
 Froade. 
 
 This heroic act of self-sacrifice, for such it really was, 
 met with a scurvy reward. Captain Froade sent for him, 
 and immediately he had him on board the Juliana, 
 flogged him without mercy; then sent for a smith, who 
 riveted an iron collar, called a pothook, round his neck. 
 He was, however, allowed to walk the ship's deck during 
 stated hours of morning and evening. This circum- 
 stance suggested to the compassionate captains the means 
 of procuring his release, and pimishing Froade through 
 the pocket for his cruelty. A boat after nightfall was 
 rowed, as previously arranged between the captive and 
 the captains, under the Juliana's quarter; Carew slid 
 quietly down the side, and his escape was accomplished. 
 Three months afterwards he was in England, not long 
 before Froade arrived home. 
 
328 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 This was a severe lesson, but it failed to cure Carew 
 of. his vagabond propensities. Sir Thomas Carew, to 
 whom he paid a visit with his wife and daughter,, pft'ered 
 him a handsome income if he would give up all connec- 
 tion with the gipsies. The answer was an emphatia*', 
 "No, I will not." 
 
 His habitual caution must have forsaken him. Walk- 
 ing on the quay of Exeter with his wife one fine after- 
 noon, he was recognised by a convict-merchant, as such 
 men were called, of the name of Davey. This man was 
 co-partner with Captain Froade, anil' considered himself 
 very much ill-used — robbed, in fact, by Carew's escape 
 from Maryland. " Ha! ha!" said he, seizing Carew with 
 the aid of ruflnans by whom he was accompanied — " ha! ' 
 ha! You came back from America for your own plea- 
 RiU'c; now you shall go back for mine." Spite of a frantic 
 resistance, Carew was carried off to the Phillares brig, 
 Symonds master, lying off Powderham Castle, bound to 
 America with convicts, and waiting for a fair wind. 
 
 Carew again landed in Maryland, 'was sold at a high 
 figure, and again made his escape to England. Misfor- 
 tune, Buffering — stern but true teachers — had at last 
 brought home to him an abiding sense of the worse than 
 folly which had flawed his eccentric, wasted life. He 
 gained a large sum of money by speculations in the lot. 
 terics of the day, by which means he propitiated Bohemiu, 
 p.Tid obtained leave to resign the kingly office and cease 
 to be an active member of the community. His infiuen- 
 tiiil connections obtained from the Government a kind 
 of ticket-of-leave for him, and retiring to a modest home 
 which he had purchased in Devonshire, he died there in 
 peace, aged sixty vears. 
 
MONSIEUR BLAISE. 
 
 Jeah Lotrvois Masie Blai&b was an invalided French 
 seaman, established for some years as a barber in the Rue 
 du Bac, St. Malo. He was not an old man iti 1804, not 
 much more than forty years of age, when the war between 
 Great Britain and France, lulled for a brief period by the 
 truce of Amiens, burst forth again with augmented fury. 
 Monsieur Blaise was delighted. He had never forgiven 
 Messieurs les Anglais for blowing him up almost lite- 
 rally sky-high on the 1st of June 1782 (-Lord Howe's 
 victory). He was then serving on board La Sylphide, 
 frigate or corvette, which had been set on fire by the 
 close broadsides of three English frigates. One only 
 really engaged La Sylphide. But Monsieur Blaise, a 
 worthy fellow in his way, had, as we shall see, an inven- 
 tive genius. La Sylphide, at all events, caught fire, was. 
 soon enveloped in flames, which reaching the magazine, 
 up she blew, and Jean Louvois Marie Blaise remembered 
 nothing more till he found himself terribly scorched and 
 shaken on board one of the cursed ships that destroyed 
 La Sylphide. He had been picked up by one of the fri- 
 gate's boats, and Jean Louvois Marie could not deny that 
 he was treated with skill and a sort of rude kindness^ 
 the insular brigands were not all, quite al],4)ad. " Cer- 
 tainly not," Monsieur Blaise used to say when descanting 
 upon the catastrophe of La Sylphide, a subject of which 
 he never wearied, if his hearers did — " certainly not; but 
 dam! they had made me pay dearly: but for the pro- 
 tection of the Holy Virgin" (here Monsieur Blaise, who 
 was a devout man, always crossed himself and said an 
 Ave) — "•but for the protection of the Holy Virgui — 
 nothing less than the price of my soul." 
 
830 ECCENTRIC PEKSONAGES. 
 
 Monsieur Blaise explained. He had been educated 
 in the profession of a barber, and having, when conyales- 
 cent, happened to mention that circumstance to a " mee~ 
 sheepman" — ^he had acquired a perfect knowledge of the 
 English language whilst on board the cursed fngate, he 
 candidly admitted having received that advantage, — 
 having, I say, mentioned that he was a barber par etat 
 to the " meesheepman," he was forthwith pressed into 
 the English service in that capacity, the English shaver 
 on board knowing better how to handle a handspike than 
 razors, scissors, and curUng-tongs. "Thunder of God! 
 it was terrible — the temptation, I mean. " Imagine your- 
 self to have at your mercy the very captain of the bri- 
 gands who had blown up La Sylphide, myself with her, 
 holding him by the nose, whilst the sharpest of razors 
 glided over the gredwHs chin and throat. But that I did 
 not cease to implore the aid of the Holy Virgin through-f^ 
 out the operation, the devil would have had me,— nothmg _' 
 can be more certain than that; but I shall, piaise d, iDim, 
 repay Messieurs les Anglais for all their favours yet be- 
 fore I. die." 
 
 This grievance is strongly insisted on by the patri- 
 otic barber ia a irochwe written from his dictation by 
 " a compatriot of genius," and publisted at St. Malo in 
 1816, from which hrochure are derived all the facts — 
 liberally-coloured facts, I suspect — of which this brief 
 narrative is woven. It may be seen in the public library 
 at St. "Malo, and is entitled Faits divers de VHistoire 
 Navah de la France depuis 1793 jusqu'd, 1810. The 
 chapter which dilates ia exalted language upon the cruel 
 illegality of being compelled to act as barber on board 
 the English frigate is headed iu capital letters: 
 
 " TEMPTATION OP JEAN LOUVOIS MAEIB BLAISE." 
 
 "At last," continues J. L. M. Blaise, anmn marm — 
 " at last Providence favoured me — though I hardly 
 thought it a favour at the time — with a chance of escape 
 from the enemies of France and the human race. The 
 brigands projected an expedition intended to bum and de- 
 stroy the French merchant-ships anchored near the mouth 
 
MONSIEUR BLAISE. 331 
 
 of tlie Garonne, tmder the protection of a battery. It was 
 a night-expedition in boats. It was dark as a wolfs 
 mouth, but the English were guided direct to the ships 
 by the lights they showed. This was imprudent. They 
 should either haye been extinguished or screened to sea- 
 ward. I contrived to slip into one of the boats unno- 
 ticed, being dressed exactly like one of the English pirates. 
 Ah! that cost me dear. The boats pulled steadily with 
 mufBed oars towards the French ships. The boats were 
 not seen. That in which I was, attacked the ship nearest 
 the land. The French crew, completely surprised, could 
 ofer no resistance. She was the prize of the pirates. 
 Suddenly a thought, an inspiration seized me. The wind 
 had suddenly veered about several points siuce we, at a 
 league's distance, left the frigate, and was blowing to- 
 wards the shore. The English oflBcer commanding the 
 boat had also observed this, and his maledictions were 
 farious, savage. It had been intended to let fall the 
 sails of the merchantmen, and so get them off without 
 the labour of towing. That would be now impossible. 
 A thought, an iaspiration, as I have said, flashed upon 
 me. I glided to the bows of the ship, and with an axe 
 severed the cable that held her. Ah! it was dehcious to 
 hear the chorus of goddams which arose from the savage 
 Islanders when they found the ship was driving on shore 
 directly towards the battery, the gunners of which had 
 been roused by the iiring on board one of the ships of 
 muskets, pistols, &c.; her' crew having, with the heroic 
 courage which animates aU Frenchmen, attempted a 
 desperatfe, but, against such odds, unsuccessful resistance. 
 Meantime the Ville de Nantes was driving on shore. 
 Blue lights were continually thrown up from the battery. 
 It was in a certain sense light as day. The French can- 
 noniers directed their fire at the French ships which the 
 English were towing off— not, I regret to say, with suc- 
 cess — I mean, the firing of the French cannoniers was 
 not successful. The English sea-wolves carried off their 
 prey. Only the Yille de Nantes escaped their greedy 
 clutch, thanks to mej and charmingly I was rewarded 
 
S'62 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 for it. But of that presently. My young friend says I 
 digress too much, ^h lien ! The English, seeing they 
 could not hope to carry off the ship, took to their boats, 
 the officer shouting through his tmmpet to his men to 
 ' bairand,' which is English for dipechez-vous. All but 
 two obeyed. These were below, and already half drunk 
 with some brandy they had found in the captain's cabin. 
 The English sailor se souk (gets drunk) whilst you are 
 looking round. He does not di'ink; he pours brandy 
 do^vn his throat without tasting it. They had been of 
 course left behind with myself. 
 
 "The Ville de Nantes beaches without sustaining 
 much injury. "We all get on shore; — the captain and 
 crew of the ship are received with effusive cordiality by 
 the commandant of the battery, his officers, and men. 
 They are warmly congratulated upon their escape from 
 the English scoundrels, but I, who was the instrument of 
 that escape, have handcuffs fastened upon my wrists, and 
 am thrust with the two drunken English hogs into a 
 dark hole where we cannot see, and can scarcely breathe. 
 Vainly I have appealed to the commandant — proudly 
 asserted my quality of Frenchman. ' So much the worse 
 for thee, then,' said Monsieur le Capitaine d'Artillerie 
 Hugon; ' for in that case thou must be a traitor; one 
 of the villanous emigres perhaps?' 
 
 " This was charming, as I have said; very much so. 
 I had certainly done a very fine thing for myself. But it 
 had alw£i.ys been so. I had a strange capacity for running 
 my head against stone walls. My excellent father, Pierre 
 Blaise — ancmi raarin, like myseU, pm-ruquier also-^and a 
 superb artist, thousands of the citizens of Saint Malo will 
 testify, for many years kept an establishment at Numero 
 14 Rue du Bac, three doors off to the right from the house 
 in which I carry on business at Numi^ro 11, on ;lie right 
 of Numero 14, as I have said and repeat, mistakes having 
 occurred. Numero 14 is now occupied by a soi-disant 
 professor of our art. 'Bichon, late Blaise,' is painted 
 over the door. Bichon, which in itself is' right, appro- 
 priate, in small insignificant characters — Blaise, which 
 
MONSIEUR BLAISE. 333 
 
 in itself is also in good taste, appropriate, in large blue 
 letters. Halte! My esteemed young friend says I am 
 dictating a long parenthesis whi(?li has nothing to do with 
 L'Histoire Navale de la France. I submit, and resume. 
 
 " My excellent father, Pierre Blaise, ancien marin 
 like myself, ased to say,' 'Jean Louvois Marie Blaise, 
 mon gargon, thou art too impulsiye — eccentric ; art 
 always getting thyself into trouble.' Belieye me, if thou 
 hadst less generous etourdissemmt in thy composition, it 
 would be better for thee. It is not by the indulgence of 
 philanthropic sentiments that one's bread is buttered^n 
 •this world at all events: how it maybe Id, Mtd is another 
 question.' From which parental maxim it resulted that 
 I, looking to my own safety, considering the equivocal 
 position in which I was placed, ought not to have cut the 
 cable of the Ville de Nantes, rescued the ship and crew 
 froin the English brigands, and have returned quietly to 
 the English frigate. Such reflections certainly crossed 
 my mind during that terrible night passed in the dark 
 hole with the drunken' English sailors. But what will 
 you? It is my nature, my destiny to be self-sacrificing. 
 Still I strongly object to the sacriBce being too great, 
 extending to the perdition of one's Ufe, for example:— 
 one must stop somewhere. 
 
 " When day dawned through the crevices of the door 
 I awoke the English sailors, who had slept and snored 
 through the night to my intense disgust and irritation. 
 As soon as they had yawned and stretched themselves 
 into a sort of animal consciousness and vitality, and 
 -emptied all three pitchers of water to cool their burn- 
 ing throats, I said, 'My friends' — they were not my 
 friends, the brutes — far from that — but it is well to 
 speak civilly to the devil himself, if you want a favour 
 of him — ' my friends, you will be asked if I willingly 
 served on board the English frigate. Without doubt 
 you will say I was forced to serve, under penalty of being 
 hanged. Of course you wiU say that !' The infernal 
 scelerats pretended not to comprehend me. It could not 
 be that they did not understand my English, which ia 
 
334 EfJOENTRIO PERSONAGES. 
 
 known to be perfect. No, they were resolved to betray, 
 to ruin me. I could see that thought twinkle dimly 
 in their blood-shot, ferocious eyes. A cold shiyer ran 
 through my Tcins! 
 
 " It was ten "o'clock — ^bread-and-water were supplied, 
 to us for breakfast. I could not eat — ^the least morsel 
 would have choked me — the English ogres ate mine as 
 well as their own. We were taken before the com- 
 mandant and other ofBcers. An English lieutenant, a 
 marine soldier — and the evil star of my destiny — ^who 
 had been taken prisoner, and who spoke French very 
 well, excellently for an Englishman, with a certain gut- 
 tural accent, of course — the organisation of that people 
 is not delicate enough to give pure expression to the re- 
 fined and noble language of France. They have not, I 
 am informed, a respectable poet. No one could expect 
 that an Englishman could rival the grandeur of our Mo- 
 liSres, our Eacines. Ah! I am digressing again, and at 
 a most interesting crisis in the narrative. I beg pardon, 
 and resume. 
 
 " The affair of the English sailors was soon disposed 
 of. They were to be sent to the interior as prisoners of 
 war. Then came my turn. ' You say you are a French' 
 man,' said the Commandant, in a voice rough as gravel, ' 
 and a face hard as granite. I felt myself to be on the 
 brink of a precipice. A cold perspiration oozed out at 
 my fingers' ends. ' You say you are a Frenchman. What 
 is your name ?' ' Jean Louvois Marie Blaise,' said I, 
 rallying, ' native of Saint Malo, Brittany, perruquier par 
 ctat, marin by profession.' 'In what ship have you 
 served?' ' In La Sylphide; blown up at the great battle 
 off Rochefort, so glorious for the French marine, defeated 
 though we were by the tyrants of the ■ sea. The cypress 
 was fliU as glorious as the laurel.' 'No lavardage, if you 
 please. Monsieur le Perruquier,' said Monsieur le Com- 
 mandant, with a hrusquerie of tone and manner, which 
 I may be permitted to say was not- polite. ' You were 
 picked up, I suppose, by the enemy?' 'Yes, Monsieur 
 le Commandant. I found myself almost as much dead 
 
MOXSIEXJE BLAISE. 335 
 
 as alive on board the English frigate.' ' And out of gra- 
 titude, I suppose, you volunteered into the English ser- 
 vice ?' ' Pardon me, monsieur ; I was compelled, under 
 penalty of being hanged, to take service, — to officiate as 
 barber to the captain, officers, and crew. Ah! it was 
 terrible. The temptation, but for the protection of La 
 Sainte Vierge, would have been irresistible.' ' Farce " 
 growled the Commandant ; ' the English, brutal as they 
 may be, do not hang prisoners of war. Passing from 
 that, barbers are not usually employed in cutting-out 
 expeditions. Whereas M. Blaise, le perruquier, is found 
 boarding La Ville de Nantes. He js armed to the teeth, 
 and is seen to cut with an axe the cabl& of the ship. It 
 was essential that the vessel, if it was to become the prize 
 of the English, should be towed quickly out of cannon- 
 fire. Jean Louvois Marie Blaise, perruquier, recognising 
 that important condition, and that time should not be 
 lost in bringing the anchor home, severed, as I have 
 said, the cable with an axe. It is true that, owing to a 
 shift of wind which the renegade was not aware of — ' 
 • Monsieur le Commandant,' said I, interrupting, 'this is 
 a frightful misconception. Permit me to assure you upon 
 the honour of — ' ' Upon the honour of a perruquier,' 
 broke in the Commandant with contemptuous anger. 
 'Holy blue! but that is rich, impayahle! To finish. 
 You with the others boafded the ViUe de Nantes — the 
 Indian weapon, a tomahawk, in hand — you took part in 
 the slight conflict which ensued against your countrymen, 
 and as I have said, to facilitate the capture of the French 
 ship, severed the cable.' ' Excuse me,' I exclaimed again, 
 eagerly interrupting., ' I was by turns cold and hot in 
 every member of my frame; an officer entering having 
 left the door open, through which I perceived a firing- 
 party drawn up, who were, I could not doubt, waiting to 
 bestow their favours upon me, the situation was becom- 
 ing desperate. Excuse me, Monsieur le Commandant — ' 
 'Hold thy tongue, beast!' thundered thegrim old veteran. 
 'How came it that there were found upon thee twenty- 
 two English guineas ? Answer me that !' ' Monsieur le 
 
dcilj ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 Coinmandant,' said I, 'the English officers, to do them 
 justice, are generous— extremely generous as to money — 
 England, it is known, is the country of gold, and I was 
 nearly two years in the infernal frigate. Naturally hoping 
 to get ashore in La belle France, to escape, that is, I 
 placed all the money I possessed in my pocket.' ' Bah!' 
 the Colonel broke in again. ' Let the English sailors be 
 questioned.' The officer of marines interpreted the Com- 
 mandant's interrogatories. ' What do you know of this 
 man?' ' He is a Frenchman, and fussraite chinscrapere,' 
 which is English for ' barber of the highest class.' This 
 I at first thought was generous, chiTalric even, as I re- 
 membered having more than once gashed the fellow's 
 chin out of spite ; he being an impudent rasc.al, if ever 
 there was one. Ah ! I was soon undeceived. ' Did he 
 volunteer into the British service?' ' Yes; and took the 
 bounty. He used to Say he hated the sans-culoUes, and 
 loved the Bourbons.' It was finished with me. I felt 
 that. Nevertheless, I denied the infamous charge with 
 all the energy of my soul. It was useless. I was found 
 guilty of having fought against France. " I, that would 
 have shed my life-blood for our glorious pah-ie, and con- 
 demned to die the death of a traitor — that is, to be shot 
 forthwith. By that time the room was quite filled with 
 spectators of the beau sexe — several of them girls and 
 women, one the charming daughter of M. le Command- 
 ant's wife. Le beau sexe is an expression whicli I take 
 leave to remark is not, according to my experience, 
 strictly accurate, I mean not universally applicable — 
 very far, indeed, from being so. Never mind, the women 
 and girls present, five or six, all counted — the entire 
 female population of the battery — ^with the exception of 
 Madame, the Commandant's wife, sympathised with me, 
 and when the sentence, fusille sw le clw/mp, to be shot 
 immediately, was pronounced, testified that sympathy by 
 tears and sobs. Several officers interposed, remonstrated 
 -—not against the sentence, but its hasty execution.' 
 Though unworthy to remain on earth, I might, with a 
 tew hours of priestly preparation, be made quite good 
 
MONSIEUR BLAISE. ooi 
 
 enough for heaven. Miserable logic that, it seemed to 
 me, but not under the circmnstances to be repudiated. 
 Certainly not. Till a man is dead, he lives — that its 
 certain, positive — and whilst he lives there is hope. I 
 prayed — still indignantly protesting my innocence — to be 
 allowed time to avail myself of religious consolation — to 
 receive the viaticum indispensable to a safe passage to 
 the other world, and a benevolent reception there. Mon- 
 sieur le Commandant smiled grimly, but granted eighteen 
 hours' delay. The firing-party was dismissed, and I led 
 back to the cell. It was solitary now, till the priest 
 came. A famous gaiUard was the holy man. He had 
 seen so much of death from his youth upwards till he 
 was fifty years of age — he looked, dimly as I saw, much 
 younger than that—in the Aiderican war, when Franee 
 delivered the people of the United States from the op- 
 pression of perfidious Albion; during the fever of the 
 Eevolution, when the guillotine was in full activity; and 
 siuce, ia the armies of the Eepublic, that he had at last 
 come to regard shooting a man as quite a natural mode 
 of insisting upon his exit from this world. He assured 
 me it was nothing, positively nothing, when over. ' Good 
 and evil, my son,' said the old reprobate, ' pain and plea- 
 sure, are nothing when passed away. Dost thou really 
 wish me to go through the servipe ?' he added, with a 
 guttural accent, which reminded me of the Englishers — 
 blind buzzard that I was — ^taking out of his pocket an 
 old dog-eared breviary. ' If so, kneel down; but I should 
 advise — as, modestly speaking, I don't think my certifi- 
 fcate- would count for much Id, haut — ^I should advise, jBffr 
 preference, that we dispose between us of these two bottles 
 of excellent wine.' I had observed that he had a basket 
 in his hand, and some capital cigars. ' Vogiie la galere,' 
 went on the Pere Meulon, ' you wlU sleep aU the sounder, 
 though not, parblenjb, so sound, my son, as you will to« 
 morrow night.' 
 
 " I reflected whilst he was pouring out the wine, the 
 glug-glug of which was pleasant to the ear, that tho 
 priest could not be of the least service to me — if I could 
 
 z 
 
338 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 not. get to heaven witkoufr Hs aid, the drunken old sin- 
 ner, I might as well make up my mind for the other 
 place. . Eh Mm — I could say my prayers when alone — 
 invoke the Holy Mother's protection, which has never 
 failed me. En attendant, a few glasses of wine and a 
 cigar would be invigorating, decidedly so. 'GUngmns,' 
 said the P^re Meulouj ' With aU my heart,' responded 
 I, affecting a gaiety I did not feel — my heart being just 
 then as heavy as a lump of lead — ' with all my heart. 
 CUnqiwns.' We touched each other's glasses, and tossed 
 off the contents. Eeally excellent wiae ! 
 
 " ' Jean Louvois Marie Blaise,' said the P^e Meulon, 
 his keen blue eyes glistening in the dark with mirth, 
 much out of place at such a time — ' Jean Louvois Marie 
 Blaise, thou art leau garqon. I know at least oni person 
 who thinks so.' ' 
 
 " I did not at first understand what the priest meant; 
 but gradually he enlightened me. ' One Mademoiselle 
 Jaubert, who was present when you were sentencedito 
 death, has taken a fancy to you. She has great influence 
 with M'adame, the lady of the Commandant, who is, in 
 fact, tlw Commandant, and can save yom- life, if she 
 chooses to do so. The condition is marriage. I must 
 make you nian and wife, here, in this cell, — which I 
 take to be, looking at the situation, genuiue priestly 
 consolation ! " ' Mademoiselle Jaubert ! ' I stammered. 
 ' Mademoiselle Jaubert ! ' My head seemed turning 
 round, and I hardly knew whether I stood upon it or 
 upoii my feet. 'Mademoiselle Jaubert! — do you mean 
 the young lady in a blue-silk dress, with a white rose in 
 her black hair ?' 
 
 " The fellow grinned diabolically, showing his teeth, 
 very white teeth, with disgusting 'efirontery. 'No,— rno, 
 — no. That is an ezcellent joke, Monsieur le Perruquier! 
 The young lady in the blue-sUk dress, with a white rose 
 in her black hair, is Monsieur te Commandant's daughter, 
 safilh unique.' 'Who then, in the devil's name, is Ma- 
 demoiselle Jaubert ? Except that young person, all the" 
 other females, as far as my certainly confused recollection 
 
MONSIEUE BLAISE. 339 
 
 goes, — ^there was, no doubt, a mist before my eyes, — were 
 detestably ugly.' 'That is a matter of taste,' said the 
 PSre Meiilon, as he called himself. ' The Mademoiselle 
 Jaubert is not probably a Venus, but she is young and 
 sufficiently good-looking. She will make IVfonsienr Blaise 
 ' an excellent wife, and, which is the essential thing, save 
 him from the bullets of the firing party. Does M. Blaise 
 consent ?' " 
 
 Jean LouTois Marie Blaise, in his proKx narrative, 
 dwells at great length upon the mental pros and cmts 
 which suggested themselves to his mind ; the conclusion 
 finally arrived at being, that it was better — varying the 
 precept of St. Paul — that it was better to marry than be 
 shot. He answered in that sense ; and the priest, having 
 settled some minor details, left the cell, promising to re- 
 turn with the lady in some three or four hours, to go 
 through with the interesting ceremony, the* means of 
 flight having been previously arranged. M. Blaise and 
 his bride would take wing from the prison-house. Ma- 
 demoiselle Jaubert would, moreover, the priest said, bring 
 her husband a dowry of six thousand francs ! 
 
 All this was possible, if we are to accept, without re- 
 serve, the version of the story told by Barber Blaise; but 
 he soon discovered a needless mystification played off 
 upon him by the drunken priest, or believed he did. It 
 was Mademoiselle Roland, the Commandant's daughter, 
 who had taken a fancy to the good-looking French sea- 
 man. In consequence of her intercession, enforced by 
 Madame's sic voh, sicjubeo, it had been conceded, he was 
 presently told, by the Commandant, that the escape of 
 the prisoner should be winked at, facilities even afforded 
 him for getting away. 
 
 "The decisive moment approached," continues M. 
 Blaise. "I was trembling from head to foot with ex- 
 citement. The priest enters; he has a lamp in his hand; 
 behind him steals gently, with softest footfall, a figure — ■ 
 a youthful figure — draped in blue silk. My heart beats 
 violently. Am I awake? Can it be possible? Yes! the 
 bride is the Commandant's daughter Tho 
 
, 340 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 ceremony is OTer; we indulge in one embrace. The 
 priest — whose face I had not once distinctly seen, it 
 haring been almost totally dark when he first came in, 
 and now that he has brought a lamp, his cowl is drawn 
 almost completely over it— the priest gives us his bless- 
 ing, adding, as he draws the bride away some paces, and 
 in a low voice gives her what I suppose to be confidential 
 pious counsel, 'Ah! le scSlSrai.' 
 
 '' The lady renews the cloak, that of an acolyte ; the 
 cowl of a priest concealed her face, as that of the priest 
 did his, and which she had thrown off after entering the 
 cell. The door was closed as the priest hands me a 
 paper, which I read by the light of the lamp. It is a 
 printed form, filled up and signed by the Commandant : 
 — ' Let the bearer of this and his companions pass out 
 freely.' We go forth: the sentinels, three of them in all, 
 scrutinise the paper, recognise its validity, and we are 
 presently clear of the battery. A caUche is in waiting 
 for us ; we take our seats, and are driven off at a gallop. 
 Thfe bride is reserved, draws herself up in one corner of 
 the vehicle, and speaks but in monosyllables. The gra- 
 vity of the situation, I think to myself, impresses her ; 
 placLQg herself, as she has, in an access of romantic cap- 
 ride, at the direction of a man whom she had seen but 
 for a few minutes, and lof whose character she is neces- 
 sarily ignorant. Well, she is a charming creature, and 
 will find me a tender husband, a man of strictest honour. 
 I was disquieted somewhat, I must confess, as to the 
 actuality of the six thousand francs ; no doubt they were 
 in the valise under the seat. Madame Blaise could not, 
 surely, have forgotten to secure that essential item in 
 our contract! Not likely — cependant. But it would be 
 indelicate to speak upon such a subject. Besides, Ma- 
 dame Blaise had fallen asleep. 
 
 "The caliche, after about two hours, stops at a way- 
 side auberge, not far, as I perceive by the pale starlight, 
 from the left bank of the Garonne. We do not descend, 
 and as the air is fresh and chill, I willingly accept one, 
 two, three ^efo'fe verres, brought out to me by the obliging 
 
MONSIEUR BLAISE. 341 
 
 conductor of the caliche. The eau-de-vk is not bad, but 
 has, it seems to me, a peculiar taste. Again m route, 
 faster, if possible, than before. Fatigue, the swinging 
 motion of the vehicle, cause a drowsiuess which I cannot 
 
 resist. I fall into profound slumber At 
 
 lajSt I awake, slowly, with effort. I am wide awake. 
 Grand Bim! How is this? Am I mad? Why, a hun- 
 dred thousand devils! I am agaiij on board of the cruiser 
 Phoebus, English frigate, in my old berth! 'And where 
 is Julie — ^where is my wife?' I ask frantically of the 
 sailors near by. I am answered with insult, laughter ; 
 told to sleep out my drunken fit by the brutal god-dams. 
 What do they know about my wife? I cannot yet believe 
 my senses. Thunder of heaven, I am crushed. It is the 
 end of the world! I jump up, hastily search my pockets. 
 Nom de Lieu! I find in. them the twenty-two English 
 guineas which had been taken from me — nothing else ! 
 A vertigo seizes me, and I swoon outright. . . . 
 
 " Recovered somewhat, I seek an interview with the 
 oaptain. He tells me that a compassionate French fisher- 
 man found me lying drunk and speechless on the shore ; 
 that a 'Monsieur' — a stranger to him — came up and said 
 I was an English sailor who had escaped from a military 
 prison, and that it would be a charity to place me on 
 board the English frigate standing, off and on the coast. 
 The fisherman agreed to do so, and — me voilok. I was 
 stunned, and could neither speak nor think connectedly 
 for several days. The mystery was inscrutable." 
 
 Not inscrutable, if not of easy solution, eVen to some 
 ■who had been behind the scenes when the curious comedy 
 was being acted at the Battery. Poor Blaise was soon 
 made to comprehend the trick which had been played 
 him — partially, at least. 
 
 Upon the fourth day subsequent to his being recon- 
 signed to the Phoebus, a boat put off at earliest dawn 
 from the shore, and pulled for the frigate. Eestless 
 Jean Louvois Marie Blaise was on deck, and watched 
 with curiosity and interest the approach of the boat, in 
 
342 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 wMcli females were seated. That curiosity and interest 
 became inflamed, intensified, as soon as he discerned that 
 one of the ladies wore a blue dress. Could it be Julie, 
 Ms charming wife, who was about to rejoin her husband? 
 Blaise begged the loan of a glass. An officer handed 
 him one. Heavens! the lady was Julie, his beautiful 
 bride. The mystery would be explained, and he should 
 be the happiest of men. ITo one — not even an English- 
 man — would have the heart to detain him on board the 
 Phoebus, and deprive him of the society of a newly- wedded 
 wife. Joy! Ecstasy! Jean Lou vois Marie Blaise capered 
 about the deck like a maniac, to the great amusement of 
 the captain and lieutenants of the frigate, who were in 
 the secret. 
 
 "Julie — adorable Julie!" exclaimed M. Blaise the 
 moment the lady's foot touched the deck, and rushing 
 towards her with extended arms. "Julie — adorable 
 Julie! — — " "Go to the devil!" interrupted a gruff 
 voice, accompanied by a violent thrust from' a powerful 
 arm, which hurled M. Blaise half across the deck. The 
 assailant was the English lieutenant who interpreted at 
 the court-martial. Malediction! — he — that infernal lieu- 
 tenant — introduced Julie to the captain of the frigate as 
 "My wife, Madame Seymour." This Monsieur Blaise 
 saw and heard, for the moment doubting the evidence of 
 his ears and eyes. A vertigo must have again seized 
 him, as he was carried below "in a state of insensibility." 
 
 The explanation, as given by M. Blaise, is not very 
 clear. It appears that Lieutenant Seymour, who was a 
 prisoner on parole, expecting every day to be exchanged, 
 had found favour with Mademoiselle Julie, daughter of 
 the commandant, and that his secret suit was smiled 
 upon, not only by the desired one herself, but madame 
 ier mother. Lieutenant Seymour, besides being a hand- 
 some, well-bred man, was the heir of a large fortune and 
 a title — would be a "milord," according to madame's 
 apprehension, and it was certain that his wife would be 
 a " miladi" before many years had passed. That being 
 60, the difference between a peerage and a baronetcy was 
 
MONSIEUE BLAISE. 343 
 
 inappreciable. But the commandant was a stern hater 
 of the English. True that madame would ultimately 
 have coerced her husband into giviug his assent to the 
 marriage, but that would have required time, and time 
 was not to be had. Now the commandant had never 
 seriously meant to allow execution to be done upon poor 
 Blaise, and the expedient hit upon was to obtain the 
 governor's consent to his escape upon condition that he 
 married Annette Jaubert, who liad really conceived a 
 Uking for the good-looldng and unhappy French seaman, 
 and of which^damsel, a great favourite of his wife. Mon- 
 sieur le Commandant was very anxious, for reasons of 
 his own, to be rid as soon as might be, or else farewell 
 the tranquil mind, farewell content on his, the com- 
 niandant's part, before more than five or six months had 
 passed away. The drunken old chaplain attached to the 
 Battery was made an accomplice iu the plot. He lent 
 Seymour his clerical habiliments, and the next morning, 
 when the flight of Mademoiselle Julie was discovered, 
 persisted that he had married her to the French seaman, 
 by tlie especial order of Monsieur le Commandant. Had 
 he not said, " A young lady has fallen iu love with the 
 French seaman condemned to death : marry them ; after 
 which they can both be ofP. This paper will enable them 
 to leave without being questioned." It so fell out: 
 though why Seymour, disguised as the priest, went 
 through the mock ceremony, is not so clear. One under- 
 stands that it was essential that Lieutenant Seymour 
 should be entirely free from suspicion, or the command- - 
 ant might, tiU his daughter were restored to him, refuse 
 ^and the military authorities would have sustained such 
 refusal — to give effect to the exchange which was about 
 to be carried out. The female who came off in the boat 
 with Madame Seymour was Mademoiselle Jaubert. 
 
 There was some attempt made to bring about a match 
 between her and Jean Louvois Marie Blaise, but that 
 persecuted manw was too much disgusted with the sex to 
 listen for one moment to the proposal. It is incidentally 
 remarked byM. Blaise, towards the end of his pamphlet, 
 
S44 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 that the commandant became reconciled to his daughter's 
 marriage with the English lieutenant, and that both he 
 and madame speak with a proud complacency of Miladi 
 Seymour. One condition of forgiTeness he made, which 
 was that Mademoiselle Jaubert should on no account 
 return to France. He had conceived a violent antipathy 
 to that damsel, who ought to marry and settle in Eng- 
 land. " Eflfectively," adds. M. Blaise, "Mademoiselle 
 Jaubert did marry in Albion, and the dishonour which 
 it was thought to fix upon me was reserved for an Eng- 
 lishman. He would Hot care much for that if she brought 
 him a dowry of six thousand francs." 
 
 Through the Ions offices of Lieutenant Seymour, M. 
 Blaise was sent ashore on some part of the coast of 
 Erance with money in both pockets. 
 
 " From that time," says M. Blaise, " I was the irre- 
 concilable foe of the English nation. Like the Cartha- 
 ginian Hannibal, I shall at a fitting age insist that my 
 two sons, Jean and Philibert, mate oath at the altar of 
 Crod of waging eternal war against that perfidious people 
 by whom I have suffered so much. Meanwhile I volun- 
 teered into active service against them. I entered on 
 , board the Calypso corvette, and may say, without boast- 
 ing, that some rays of the glory acquired by, that vessel 
 fell upon me. After that I was drafted^ to the Eedoubt- 
 able,. Capitaine Lucas. That ship was covered with im- 
 perishable honours at the fatal, but glorious battle of 
 Trafalgar. I was a capital niarksman, and was stationed 
 in the maintop. I saw the famous Nelson on the quarter- 
 deck, pacing to and fro. I aimed at him : my ball took 
 effect, but not that time upon the admiral. No — but 
 one fell ! I afterwards, upon reading the bulletins, 
 thought it might have been his secretary. Perhaps : I 
 am not sure. I fired many times, not without effect. 
 At last I had an opportunity of taking steady aim at the 
 English admirals-there was no mistaking Mm. I fii'ed, 
 as did — let me be frank — thi-ee or tour of my camarades, 
 at the same moment, or nearly iSO. The great admiral — 
 the terror of the French navy — no, not terror ; the word 
 
MONSIEUK BLAISE. 345 
 
 is misplaced : terror is unknown to the French heart — I 
 ehould say the great admiral, who was the most success- 
 ful commander of the English sea-wolves, fell prone upon 
 the deck, mortally wounded. I cannot positively say — I 
 am not entirely sure that it was by my hand the English 
 admiral fell ; but the belief that it was is a bahn to my 
 heart! 
 
 " In that terrible fight I was wounded in the leg. 
 We made frantic efforts, seeing that the battle was in- 
 evitably lost, to avoid an English prison. A dozen of us 
 contrived to let ourselves down into a boat alongside. 
 We rowed towards a Spanish ship, were received on 
 board, and safely landed at Cadiz. Thence, by help of 
 tl;ie French consul, I was enabled to reach France — St. 
 Malo. I at once established in the Eue du Bac, married, 
 and have, as I said, two children — boys — devoted to 
 assist in the destruction of England. For myself, I am 
 constantly studying plans for the annihilation of the 
 British Marine whenever the war breaks out again. I 
 incline strongly to the use of balloons. But there are 
 difficulties^ which I hope to be able to surmount. My 
 wife is opposed to these enterprises of mine ; one reason 
 being, that, by an accidental explosion during an experi- 
 ment, the roof of the house was blown off, and a woman 
 was killed in the street by the falling of a large piece of 
 timber upon her head. Poor woman ! I deplored the 
 accident with a sincere sorrow. But what will you have ? 
 Science, ILfce war, has its victims, yet both are glorious ! 
 Jeannette also fears that I may neglect my business. 
 That is a vain fear. It is still carried on, as I have said, 
 with vigour and success, at Numero 11 of the Eue du 
 Bac. Be pleased to notice the number; and I trust, 
 before long, -to present my beloved France with terrible 
 engines of destruction, that will enable her to amply 
 avenge Trafalgar, Waterloo, and many othet battles, 
 chiefly won by English gold." 
 
 These patriotic aspirations were not to be realised. 
 
546 ECCENTEIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 The enterprising projector blew himself up one fine day, 
 more effectually than did the English oif Eochefort. In 
 one of the graveyards of St. Alalo there is a rather pre- 
 tentious moiiiunental stone, upon wliich is inscribed, 
 " a git Jean Louvois Marie Blaise, Perruqipier, victwie de 
 son goM passimne pour h science. Bis afflicted widow and 
 sons still carry on tfie business at Niimero 11 Rue du 
 Bac." The last t\v(> lines nmst either have been bor- 
 rowed from an inscription at Pero-Ia-Chaise, or the Paris 
 widow must have copied that at St. Malo. 
 
MADAME LA COMTESSE DE GENLIS. 
 
 This lady made a great noise in her time, was one of 
 the self-appointed reformers of the world, and one, too, 
 who set herself seriously to the task of teaching the na- 
 tions how to live. The pity of it was that her lessons 
 had but slight self-applicability. A very clever woman, 
 no doubt of that, laughingly as we may demur to her 
 glorifying self-estimate when, writiag in her eightieth 
 year of the magnificent promise of her youth, she says : 
 " The colossal reputation I have siuce achieved, and 
 which, I am bold to predict, time will confirm and ex- 
 tend, had then scarcely risen above the intellectual 
 horizon." One may smile at this whilst admitting that 
 she composed some very pretty papers. The Palace of 
 Truth, for example, might in these publishing revival- 
 days pay for reprinting. The maiden name of Madame 
 de Genlis Was Stephanie F^licite Ducret de St. Aubin. 
 She was bom at Champcery, pres d'Autun, early in the 
 year 1746. That she was destined to distinction was evi- 
 dent to discerning eyes— I am quoting her own Memoires 
 Inedits — when she was still in her cradle. By a special 
 Providence only was this future light of the world saved 
 from extinguishment, at that tender age, by the heavy 
 blear-eyed mayor of Autun. " The nurse," writes Ma- 
 dame de Genlis, " having much needlework to despatch, 
 and being careful of my bafety, sewed up in a soft pil- 
 low — my body only, nut my head — and placed me in a 
 \sxge fautmil: I was always a quiet docile child, of re- 
 markable sweetness of disposition. Monsieur le Maire 
 dAutnn came in ; he wished to speak with mamma. 
 The nurse said she would inform Madame that Mon- 
 
348 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. ' 
 
 sieur le Maire had called, and wished to see her. ' Thank 
 you,' said the ponderous fiinctionary ; and spreading the 
 tails of his redingoU, was about to seat himself upon me. 
 Happily the nurse had not left the apartment. Her 
 scream of alarm arrested the movement of Monsieur le 
 Maire, and I was saved. It was not the good nurse who 
 savedme ; no ; it was God himself actiag by her instru- 
 mentality. He had given me a mission upon earth, which 
 He had decreed should be fulfilled." 
 
 The success of that mission was, according to Ma- 
 dame's own account, complete. She thus wrote in the 
 «ighty-second year of her age, when her sight needed 
 not the aid of spectacles, and her hearing was as acute 
 as ever ; her memory, intellect brighter, if that could be 
 possible,, than ever,' and she was preparing to rewrite the 
 EncyclOpedie with the very laudable purpose of super- 
 ' fieding the impious compilation of D'Alembert, Voltaire, 
 and then* brother sceptics. " It is I," exclaimed octo- 
 genarian Madame la Comtesse, "who will strike down, 
 never to rise again, the monsters of Infidelity and Atheism. 
 To do so will be the fulfilment of my sacred mission. 
 Already have I dealt terrible blows at a false sterile phi- 
 losophy. And who will deny that I have exercised a 
 supreme and salutary influence upon public and private 
 education, especially as regards' the study of living lan- 
 guages, which I have brought into fashion ? The world, 
 moreover, owes to me the total extinction of fairy tales, 
 ■once permitted to be used in the education of children. 
 To sum up, I have fought victoriously against heresy in 
 all things, especially in literature." 
 
 The marquisate and chateau of St, Aubin had been 
 bought of a bankrupt proprietor by Stephanie F61icite's 
 father, he thereby acquiring nobility by purchase. " My 
 first title to precedence," writes the De Genlis in those 
 «ix thick volumes of Memoires Inedits, — "my first title 
 to precedence was derived from a higher source. At 
 seven years, of age the Grand Prior of the noble Chapter 
 ■of Allix, at Lyon — discerning, he has been pleased to 
 *;iy, the aureole of moral grandeur, the first rays of which 
 
MADAME LA COMTESSE DE GENLIS. 349 
 
 Bhed light upon my youthful brow — created me a ca- 
 noness of the illustrious Chapter ; a dignity which at 
 once confers the secular title of countess. If in after 
 years the neophyte chose to complete her profession, to 
 devote herself to a religious life, she could do so, and 
 thereby share in the rich prebends at the disposal of the 
 Grand Prior." Only"a Frenchwoman, and a singularly 
 eccentric one, could write thus of herself; and with a 
 naive calmness, too, indicatiTC that her self-laudatioD 
 was entirely sincere. 
 
 Stephanie Felicity, I should have before stated, was- 
 publicly baptised in Paris, whatever public baptism may 
 mean; at which ceremony the precious child wore an 
 iron collar round her neck, "to keep my small Greciaa 
 head well set upon my shoulders, and blue goggles on 
 my eyes, to conceal and correct a slight squint, which, 
 if not remedied, would have marred the expression of 
 mild gentle candour which has been held to be my eyes' 
 supremest charm." The Marquise de Bellevue, her god- 
 mother, remarking upon the name given her, Felicite, 
 said, " Ah, dear child, felicity wiU not be hers ! she has 
 too much sensibility." " She was right," remarks Ma-' 
 dame la Comtesse. " Alas, she was right !" 
 
 The reader will understand that I present him with 
 the portrait of Madame de Genlis as painted by herself ; 
 I neither attempt to heighten nor subdue its colouring. 
 " I acquired with wonderful facility the elements of edu- 
 cation. My brother, who was esteemed a prodigy, — he 
 had learned to read and write perfectly in six weeks, — 
 I distanced with ease. In short, and I have earned the- 
 right to say so, before I was fifteen all the mental trea- 
 sures of the world were famfliar to me. Weary at last 
 of poring over the thoughts of others, profoundly im- 
 bued with a prophetic instinct, which has not deceived 
 me, that I had faculties, .divine gifts, equal to those of 
 the greatest lights in literature ; conscious, too, that by 
 force of the harmonies of my being I was a born musi- 
 cian, I determined first to be actress and author. N(y 
 opposition was offered to the gratification of my wishes. 
 
.^>50 ECCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 They were enconraged, stimulated. Private theatricals 
 were extemporised at the chateau ; and it was declared 
 by competent judges that my Zaire was equal to, if it 
 did not surpass, Clairon's ; whilst my Ph^dre [Countess 
 Stephanie being at the time in her sixteenth year} was 
 held to be far superior in passionate force to hers." 
 
 Madame de Genlis piously attributes her faculties, 
 her charms, to the all-powerfal Being who created her. 
 She seems, when half out of breath in enumerating her 
 perfections, to be always modestly ejaculating with 
 Dogberry, "G-ifts that God gives — gifts that God 
 gives !" 
 
 The Oomtesse Stephanie, as author or authoress, was 
 from the first eminently successful. " My pen possessed 
 a charm unknown to myself till I was made aware of it 
 by the ardent applause of all classes. One thing I must 
 Bay in praise of myself. That which distinguished me 
 from all other persons of a romantic imagination was, 
 that I only in my books invented incidents which would 
 afford me opportunity for portraying qualities of the soul 
 which I venerated — patience, courage, presence of mind, 
 firmness. Thus even in the reveries of my infancy there 
 was a foundation of love of glory and virtue, which in a 
 child must be pronounced remarkable." 
 
 It was not alone in the field of literature, of poesy, 
 that she could repeat Csesar's Thrasonian brag, " Veni, 
 vidi, vici" — (" I came, I saw, I conquered"). Kate Kear- 
 ney, — Lady Morgan's Kate Kearney's glance could not 
 have been more fatal to the rash gazer than that of the 
 Countess Stephanie. " I was hut eleven years old," she 
 wi'ites, " and small of my age, When I inspired the first 
 passion — at least the first avowed passion — quite uncon- 
 sciously. I even felt shocked, grieved, when a son of 
 one Pinat, an apothedary, proclaimed a devotion which 
 he could no longer conceal, in verses glowing with a 
 Sappho's fire. If there was no other proof of the distrac- 
 tion of mind, the delirium of love, with which Louis 
 Pinat was afliicted, it would be manifest in the fact that 
 Le had overlooked the impassable gulf which must ever 
 
MADAME LA COMTESSE DE GENLIS. 351 
 
 separate, as to honourable relations with each other, 
 noblemen and apothecaries." Mademoiselle Stephanie 
 Felicite loftily rebuked young Pinat's audacity, and ad- 
 vised him, since it was highly improbable he could ever 
 be cured whilst, residing near, he had daily opportuni- 
 ties of seeing her, to leave that part of the country before 
 the mischief already done was in-emediable, and betake 
 hiniself to some part of the world where such fatal faci- 
 lities would be denied to him. " The young man," says 
 Madame de Genii s, " yielded to my advice, and departed 
 for Paris, where he obtained a situation." When lovers 
 come, it would seem from the young Countess Stephanie 
 Felicity's experience, they come in crowds. "A Mon- 
 sieur de Mendorge, the first man," she says, " who gave 
 me the idea of a conversation really agreeable, after 
 hearing me sing one of his own songs, composed in my 
 honour, and feeling, that the disparity in our ages con- 
 sidered, marriage was out of the question, sought safety in 
 flight, rejoined his family — a large one — and ultimately 
 succeeded in banishing my image from his memory." 
 One Louvel, an avocat, was the next victim. He was a 
 young man of great promise in his profession; but coming 
 within the influence of Stephanie Felicite's " soft spi- 
 ritual eyes," and meeting with a peremptory refusal, first 
 determined upon suicide, but having been educated by a 
 -pious mother, he changed his mind, and emigrated to 
 Saint Domingo. 
 
 This irresistible siren did not herself boast of trans- 
 cendent beauty, with the exception of " the brightest of 
 brown hair, and the sweetj candour of soft spiritual eyes." 
 It must, therefore, have been her accomplishments, her 
 wit, her conversational powers — Madame herself inclines 
 to this opinion — ^which compelled the adoration of man- 
 kind." It is true that some snarling objectors — " sceptics 
 of a mean, malignant type" — have asserted that Madame's 
 " conquests," as reported by herself, are stronger proofs 
 of her imaginative powers than all her acknowledged' ro- 
 mances put together. But it was ever thus. Envy, we 
 all know, does merit like its shade pursue. If Venus 
 
852 ECCEJJTKIC PEESONAGBS. 
 
 and Minerva were to appear in the flesh, thousands would 
 pronounce one to be plain, the other a fool. So at least 
 says the authoress of the Palace of Truth and the Swffe of 
 Rochelle. She was perhaps right. There are scores of 
 decently-educated men of the present day who will tell 
 you to your face that Thapkeray was a sour, pretentious 
 pump; that Dickens is destitute of genuine humour; that 
 Miss Braddon is a mistake. Que voulez-vous ? ■ 
 
 The brightest of brown hair, the sweetest candour of 
 soft spiritual eyes, did not unfortunately avail to pay in- 
 terest on mortgages, liquidate butchers', bakers', wine- 
 merchants' bills. M. de St. Aubin, after some despairing 
 struggles against adverse fate, sold his marquisate and 
 chiUeau ' to meet the demand of ravening creditors, who 
 insolently persisted in claiming and enforcing their just 
 debts. Finding that but about four hundred per annum 
 remained to him, unmarquised Monsieur de St. Aubin 
 embarked for Saint Dpmingo, where he met with Louvel 
 the avocat, whose bleeding, broken heart a successful 
 sugar-speculation had staunched and bound up. De St. 
 Aubin himself was not so fortunate, and after a not very 
 lengthened residence in the island, returned to Europe, 
 not to the port of France for which he sailed. The ship 
 in which he embarked Was snapped up by the English 
 loups de mer, and M. de St. Aubin found himself a pri- 
 , soner in Launceston castle, Cornwall, instead of with his 
 wife and family at Plassy, France, whither they had be- 
 taken themselves when he left St. Aubin, and were still 
 residing. 
 
 " It was at Hassy," says Madapie de G enlis, " that I 
 myself first became conscious of a faculty bestowed upon 
 me by the Eternal — no question with a special pur- 
 pose. It was the gift of judging the soul by the face. I 
 possessed that gift in a high degree. I knew, and told 
 Monsieur de la Papalin&re, a farmer-general and generous 
 patron of literature, that De Chalons, a neighbour, was a 
 secret assassin. This a subsequent discovery confirmed. 
 And I foretold that the Abb6 de la Caste would be hanged. 
 This was not strictly, but substantially correct. The 
 
MADAME LA OOMTESSE DE GENLIS. 353 
 
 abb^, who was not a clergyman, was condemned to the 
 galleys." 
 
 It would have been merciful had the fascinating 
 Countess Stephanie F61icit6 published, placarded her in- 
 exorable determination, arrived at before she had passed 
 her fourteenth birthday, to marry only a man of quahtj 
 and attached to the court. It might have saved the liffe 
 of poor Baron de Zeolachen, Colonel of Swiss Gruards, 
 and eighty years of age, who fell so hopelessly in love 
 with the irresistible, fascinating damsel, "that his days," 
 records his destroyer, " were shortened," — (surely not by 
 many years, he being eighty when he succumbed to the 
 sorceress), — " were shortened by the violence of his emo- 
 tions. It was better so, perhaps," adds Madame. " There 
 is forgetfulness in the grave." 
 
 Mademoiselle Stephanie FfficitS and her mother 
 had meanwhile removed from their dwelling at Plassy to 
 the Convent of Les Filles du Precieux Sang. Whilst 
 there, Mademoiselle wrote a second novel, cured the 
 mother superior and many nuns of seemingly mortal 
 maladies by sirop de calabash — a compound of her own 
 invention — and enslaved the Baron d'Audlaw, a gentle- 
 man of unblemished descent, who could prove that not 
 one of his long Hne of ancestors had ever done any thing 
 useful or beneficial to mankind, — ^built a house or a ship, 
 — written, much less printed, a book, — ^neither invented 
 nor improved anything. He sent a list of this illustrious 
 ancestry, pedigree so called, to the divine Stephanie Fe- 
 licity, accompanied "by an offer of marriage. The young 
 lady, upon whose brow the auriok of coming glory was 
 daily brightening, dechned the honour. " But there 
 was balm in Gilead," she suggested; "could 'he not 
 transfer his offer and pedigree to her mother?" He did 
 so, it being then supposed that Monsieur de St. Aubin 
 was dead. That supposition was premature; but when, 
 very shortly after, he returned to France, and unmistak- 
 ably died a prisoner for debt in Fort I'Eveque, Madame 
 de St. Aubin became Baroness d'Audlaw. A Monsieur 
 de MorvDle, "a youthful widower of large fortune, great 
 
 AA 
 
354 ECCENTRIC PEESONAGES. 
 
 aocomplishments, and of a noble, romantic style of 
 beauty," vainly struggled to resist the spell which the 
 future Madame de Grenlis cast upon him. His suit was 
 rejected, he being neither a man of quality nor attached 
 to the court. Decidedly, if the institution called Com- 
 mittee of Public Safety had been invented in her young 
 days, and the members had' known and acted up to their 
 duty. Mademoiselle Stephanie would have been locked 
 up, — condemned to seclusion for life! 
 
 At last we obtain a glimpse of the right man, soon 
 to be in the right place. He is M. le Comte de G-enlis, 
 who has served in India, under Lally Tollendal, the crazy, 
 chivalrous Irishman whom the French king beheaded — 
 " murdered," wrote Voltaire, "with the sword of justice," 
 — ^because he had not beaten the English soldiers com- 
 manded by Sir Eyre Ooote. The Count de Genlis em- 
 barked for France, but, like M. de St. Aubin, was made 
 prisoner by the English sea -wolves, aft,er "a desperate 
 combat," says Madame, "in which twenty- two out of 
 twenty^three French oificers were slain, andM.de G-enlis, 
 sole survivor, received eight wounds, one of which he 
 kept open tiU he was married." The last sentence is 
 a puzzling one. It could hardly mean a wound in the 
 heart; wounds in that region, not by soft spiritual eyes, 
 but by a cutlass or pistol-bullet, being generally fatal. 
 
 The Count de Genlis was confined in the castle of 
 Launceston with his future father-in-law, M. de St. 
 Aubin. The two became intimate acquaintances, fast 
 Mends; and the young gallant captain heard much from 
 the father's lips of the genius and accomplishments of 
 Mademoiselle de St. Aubin, and promised himself the 
 pleasure of seeing her whenever he again set foot upon 
 the soil of la belle France. Both gentlemen were libe- 
 rated at about the same time, and returned to France ; — 
 M. de St. Aubin to be arrested for debt, and die in Fort 
 rEv4que; the Count de Genlis to be raised to the rank 
 of Colonel of Grenadiers for his gallantry in the naval 
 action related in the Memoires Inedits, the only record 
 of the fight I have met with. He appears to have been 
 
MADAME LA COMTESSE DE GENLIS. 355 
 
 in no hurry to visit the daughter of his deceased friend. 
 Possibly the awkward fact that that friend had died a 
 prisoner for debt had a deterrent effect. He was about 
 to be married, moreover, to a Mademoiselle de la Motte, 
 a lady possessed of forty thousand francs per .annum. 
 
 At last the^'Count de Genlis did pay a visit to the 
 convent of Les Pilles du Prficieux Sang; "saw, conversed 
 with me," says Madame, " and it was immediately evi- 
 dent that I had obtained an irresistible ascendency over 
 Mm." 
 
 So it proved. Mademoiselle de la Motte, with her 
 sixteen hundred pounds aryear, was forgotten, repudiated,, 
 and Mademoiselle de St. Aubin was converted by Holy 
 Church into Madame la Comtesse de Genlis. 
 
 I rather doubt that the gallant count who had married 
 in such haste thought even earlier bhan is generally the 
 case that he need scarcely have been in such a hurry. He 
 should have taken more time to consider. He had mar- 
 ried a remarkably strong-miaded woman^ — young as she 
 was — when her daughter Caroline was bom she was 
 barely twenty; and that particular variety of the female 
 genus does not, with some men, improve upon acquaint- 
 ance — a deficiency of taste, no doubt, upon their parts. 
 Still one can scarcely help sympathising with a gallant 
 colonel of grenadiers whose wife, being a capital horse- 
 woman, was perpetually scouring' the country in quest of 
 interesting people — such as betrayed damsels, neglected 
 geniuses, — indefatigable ia her inquiries as to the state 
 and progress of education; and, as if this were not 
 enough, must study phlebotomy under the guidance of 
 one Eacine, the village barber, to perfect herself in which 
 science by practice, she paid thirty sous to every peasant 
 or peasantess who would allow him or herself to be bled. 
 M. le Comte complained, and one must admit with some 
 reason, of the frightfal expense incurred by such eccen- 
 tricities. He remonstrates in vain; Madame's mission 
 must be fulfilled. 
 
 Soon her aunt, Madame de Montesson, succeeds in 
 inducing the aged imbecile Due d' Orleans, the father of 
 
356 EOCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 Egalitg, grandfather of Louis Philippe, to marry her. 
 Great glory that for Madame la Comtesse, who forthwith, 
 makes her appearance at court, and soon becomes a great 
 favourite with Egalit6 and his amiable duchess. The 
 favour of her grace does not long endure, but that of the 
 dute was lasting, permanent. Egalit6 offered the oflBce 
 of " governor" to his children. M. de Genhs, who had 
 not accompanied his wife to Paris, being informed of the 
 duke's gracious proposition, demurred thereto, and re- 
 quested his wife to rejoia him in the country. She re- 
 fused to do BO, and they never again saw each other. 
 
 Madame de Genlis forthwith .entered upon her func- 
 tions as governor or governess of the Orleans children, at 
 a salary of about five hundred pounds per annum; apart- 
 ments, board, and a promise of the cordon blm, when her 
 task should be fuMled. 
 
 That task was an onerous one, if the lady governess 
 is to be believed. The children knew nothing — ^posi- 
 tively nothing. She writes: " The Due de Valois (after- 
 wards Due de Chartres d'0rl6ans — King Louis Philippe), 
 ■the Due de Valois, who was eight years old, was totally 
 devoid of application. I began with a few historical 
 lectures. He, not even affecting to listen, stretched 
 himself, yawned, lolled back upon a sofa, and placed his 
 feet upon the table before us." This could not be endured ; 
 the young prince was discreetly punished, and thenceforth 
 " he quietly submitted to my firm and reasonable rule." 
 
 One of this lady's educational crotchets was that 
 «very one, no matter what their station in Ufe, should be 
 instructed in one or more useful trades or professions. 
 The male scions of the Orleans family were in accordance 
 with her theory taught gardening,, carpentry, shoemaJdng, 
 Burgery, &c. Madame herself undertook to preside over 
 the pharmaceutical department, which she called instruct- 
 ing her pupils in chemistry. The Due de Chartres, by 
 diligent practice with the servants of the estabhshment, 
 could open a vein with tolerable dexterity, and once broke 
 the jaw of a boy-helper in the stables who was suffering 
 from toothache by way of trying his 'prentice hand in 
 
MADAME LA COMTESSE DE GENLI3. 357 
 
 dental Burgeiy. It was, however, in carpentry that the 
 future King Lonis Philippe best vindicated Madame's 
 educational theory, though his abilities as a bricklayer 
 and builder were far above mediocrity. Madame's suc- 
 cess with the Due de Chartres had but one drawback; 
 he became bo violently attached to her as to be quite 
 troublesome. " He attached himself passionately to me," 
 says the Irresistible, who as of right— being as She then 
 was the young prince's senior by more than a quarter of 
 a century — ^remonstrated with him upon, the absurdity 
 of having no eyes, no ears for any One but her overpower- 
 ing self, putting himself, to use Madame's not very ele- 
 gant expression, " putting himself always in my pocket." 
 It was useless to attempt moderating the ardour of De 
 Chartres' passionate, devotion. It was throwing oil upon 
 flame. Some years subsequently, when a civic crown was 
 awarded to the prince for having saved a man from drown- 
 ing, he instantly despatched a leaf, not to his mother, 
 sisters, or brothers, but to Madame: "for without you, 
 what should I have been?" That leaf the romantic 
 Comtesse preserved with religious care. It was one of 
 her most precious relics of the heart. The fervid at- 
 tachment towards her of Egalitg Due d'Orleans, and of 
 De Chartres, caused Madame, who was on an educational 
 tour through France with her grown-up pupils, to exclaim 
 in her very best, most affecting manner, whilst gazing 
 with them upon the sculptured tomb of Diana of Poic- 
 tiers, " Happy woman! She was beloved alike by father 
 and son." 
 
 Madame, who like De Chartres, had at first hailed the 
 Eevolution — the Prince, as most of us are aware, joined 
 the Jacobin Club — like him was fortunate enough to 
 evade, and but just in time, its deadly clutch. He escaped 
 to Switzerland, Madame to England, thence passed over 
 to Belgium, and was in Hamburgh, when a message from 
 Naipoleon, then First Consul, reached her through Lava- 
 lette. The victor of Marengo, " alive to the necessity of 
 attaching to his triumphal chariot- wheels the great intel- 
 lects of France, invited me to return to Paris. I was to 
 
358 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 have an allowtmce of six thousand francs per annum, 
 upon condition that I wrote something every foTtnight, 
 whether of politics; literature, morality, — any thing that 
 came into my head. I eagerly complied, for exile had 
 became insufi'erable, and ^fiTapoleon acknowledged he had 
 made an excellent bargain." As Madame had previously 
 obtained an annuity of one thousand crowns of Caroline, 
 Qiieen of Naples, " by her Orphean skill on the harp, and 
 impasfiioued advoca,cy of monarchical principles," she 
 was at last quite well off. The consideration which was 
 stipulated for by Napoleon was a mere bagatelle to a 
 lady who boasted of having written in one short morning 
 an article upon the censorship of the Press, by official 
 order; the first chapter of a new novel; a feuiUeton caHei 
 Fredah the Artist;' and an Essay upon Sympathy, at the 
 solicitation of her amiable friends the Misses Byrne. 
 
 Madame continued her career of glory to the end; 
 her powers of intellect and fascination remauiing as 
 bright, — we have her own word for it, and she ought 
 to know, — "as bright and resplendent at eighty as at 
 eighteen!" 
 
 I must not conclude this , eccentric life without tran- 
 scribing an episode which throws a strong revealing light 
 upon it. Madame shall state her own case; the com- 
 mentaiy will be famished by Thomas^ Moore, author of 
 Loves of the Angels. 
 
 In the year 1787 a charming English child was re- 
 ceived into Madame de Genlis' family circle, and edu- 
 cated with her princely pupils. Madame, who was an 
 admirer of Eichardson, gave her the name of Pamela. 
 This child grew up to be a beautiful young woman, and > 
 was, being very amiable and sensitive, profoxmdly grate- 
 ful to her benefactress. When Madame fled, just in 
 time, from Paris, Pamela accompanied her, remaiaing 
 with her throughout her continental wanderings, and 
 when, at Hamburg, where Madame la Comtesse received 
 the welcome as complimentary message from Napoleon, 
 the charming Pamela attracted the notice and subju- 
 gated the heart of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, the unfortu- 
 
MABAJIE LA COMTESSE DE GENLIS. 359 
 
 nate Irish patriot in Milesian estimatibn, an audacious 
 rebel m the English vocabulary. 
 
 Lord Edward, finding himself hopelessly enthralled 
 by the divine Pamela, formally offered her his hand in 
 marriage. This was a great catch foi; the young lady, a 
 second edition of Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded. 
 
 The young lady was quite willing, and her kind, 
 judicious preceptress accepted the homage for her pro- 
 Ugee of so distinguished a nobleman, upon one condition, 
 that the consent iu writing of the Duchess of Leinster 
 to the marriage should be first obtained. This, after 
 some delay, was obtained, and the wedding took place in 
 Hamburg. In the marriage-register the bride is called 
 " Citoyenne Anne Caroline Stephanie FeUcite Sims, 
 daughter of "William de Brixey." Immediately after the 
 ceremony the happy pair set out for DubUh. 
 
 The early history of the interesting Pamela is cir- 
 cumstantially set forth by Madame la Comtesse in one 
 of her books. The pretty story is thus told: 
 
 Pamela's father, whose name was Seymour, married 
 'in the city ot Christchurch, Hampshire, one Mary Sims, 
 with whom he embarked for a place called Fogo, in New- 
 foundland, where Pamela was bom and baptised Anne, 
 after her maternal, grandmother. Seymour died, and the 
 widow with her child returned to Chpstchurch, and there 
 by a happy concatenation of circumstances happened to 
 be M. Forth, an agent of the Duke of Orleans, specially 
 commissioned by his royal highness to procure him a 
 pretty English girl-child. M. Forth was struck Trith the 
 beauty of the infant Pamela; a negotiation ensued, and 
 Madame Seymour, nee Sims, parted with her chUd for a 
 handsome consideration. M. Forth brought her to Paris, 
 and Madame de Genlis, with the tender generosity which 
 distinguished her, agreed to superintend her education. 
 As she advanced in years, beauty, and goodness, she 
 became more and more attached to, and beloved by, 
 Madame la Comtesse, who at last became alarmed lest 
 the mother should reclaim her. " I consulted several 
 eminent jurisconsults," writes Madame, "and was ad- 
 
360 ECCENTEIC PEKSONAGES. 
 
 vised that the only mode by which I could legally secnre 
 possession of one whom to part with would have been 
 death to both of us, was by inducing the widow ' Sims' 
 (sic) to apprentice her daughter to Madamp de Genlis, 
 for the whole term of Pamela's or Anne's minority. This 
 was done," says Madame, " in a legal form. The mother 
 was cited before the grand banc, then presided over by 
 the grand juge. Lord Mansfield; the mother and Lord 
 Mansfield signed the indenture of apprenticeship, and 
 Pamela could no longer be torn from me." 
 
 This farrago of absurdilies could hardly have been 
 that which imposed upon Lord Edward Fitzgerald and 
 the Duchess of Leinster. Pamela's father, as we have 
 seen, was set down in the marriage-register as William 
 de Brixey, — not Seymour, or Bims. The commentary of 
 Thomas Moore in his Life of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, 
 is pithily expressed ': " The indisputable truth is, that 
 Pamela was the daughter of Madame de Genlis by the 
 Due d'OrMans." 
 
 Madame la Comtesse continued to live a pleasant life 
 in Paris. She was the advifeer and confidante of the suc- 
 cessive consular, imperial, royal governments, — "but un- 
 happily," she sadly remarks, " my counsel, the result of 
 profound , study of the actua,l situation — study undis- 
 turbed by passion — was not always followed. Hence 
 the catastrophe of Moscow, — the July barricades ! Napo- 
 leon and Charles X. were wise too late. Had either per- 
 mitted himself to be implicitly guided by me, all would 
 have been well." 
 
 This omniscient, if not exactly immaculate, lady died 
 in her eighty-fourth year, on the 31st of December 1830, 
 a few months only after her distinguished pupil; Louis 
 Philippe, " who without her would have been nothing," 
 leapt from the barricades into the throne vacated by 
 Charles X. 
 
THE LADY- WITCH. 
 
 The curious story of the Lady Morris, once held in Don- 
 caster and the country-side for mileB around to be gospel 
 truth, but for the last century pooh-pooh'd even there into 
 obliyion, must have had a strong foundation of truth. 
 Internal and external evidence seem to prove that. The 
 lady, it may be admitted, was a magician, but hers was 
 natural magic — the magic of singular beauty, combined 
 with an astute, unscrupulous intellect; and her moral or 
 immoral husbandry found an exhaustless field for its ex- 
 ercise in the ever-fruitful soil of human weakness and 
 credulity. The success of the Lady-Witch, like that of 
 Joseph Balsamo, is easily enough accounted for without 
 the attribution of supernatural functions. It seems 
 pretty clear that the only mesmeric influence, in which 
 I have any faith — ^that which flashes from the dark, 
 liquid, penetrative eyes of a beautiful woman, revealing 
 by its dazzling light unfathomable depths — was with her 
 a very potent instrument of power. 
 
 Helen Eoyston was born in a cottage situate in the 
 environs of Doncaster, and distant a few miles o*lyfrom 
 that city. Her mother died when she was still anmfant 
 (1653), and her father, ojice one of Cromwell's world- 
 famous troopers — " Yaliant-for-Truth Eoyston" was his 
 military sohriqmt — after the "crowning mercy" at Naseby, 
 where he was severely wounded, settled down for the re- 
 mainder of his days near his native city; married; had 
 one daughter, Helen; followed his loving and beloved 
 partner to the grave ; and thenceforward the stem prac- 
 tical man of war came gradually to be a dreamer, of 
 dreams. The near approach of the period when Satan 
 
362 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 should be bound for a thousand years — which he h.id 
 once asfirmlj believed in as that it was his duty to smite 
 the ungodly, hip and thigh, and spare not — faded fi'om 
 the tablet of Ms creed. He ceased to believe in the 
 Millennium. At all events he ceased to hope that it 
 would dawn upon a sinfal world in his own lifetime — 
 that is, if that lifetime could not be indefinitely pro- 
 longed. The hazy speculations of the veteran took that 
 direction, and like hundreds of other alchemaic vision- 
 aries, he diligently set himself to the study of the science 
 taught by the adepts conversant with the doctrines 
 taught by the brethren of the Rosy Cross. In other. ' 
 words, he devoted himself to the discovery of the Elixir 
 of Life — the manufacture of gold from the basest me- 
 tals; his dazzUng reward, perennial life; inexhaustible 
 riches ! 
 
 We need not- follow John Eoyston through the mazes 
 of a dream from which he never awoke, dying as he did 
 at the very moment when for the thousandth time he 
 believed that the hour of supreme success was about 
 to strike. 
 
 Eoyston inherited a modest income, partly termin- 
 able with his life, more than sufficient for his own and 
 daughter's needs. He had also skill in pharmacy, was 
 acquainted with the qualities of h^erbs and other simple 
 medicaments. These, in many cases — some pronounced 
 incurable by orthodox practitioners, were administered 
 with great success. His daughter, as she grew up in 
 strength, remai'kable intelligence, and rare beauty, took 
 this good Samaritan work into her own hands. She ac- 
 quired a strange influence over her patients. The most 
 fractious, obstinate, and wayward, were subdued in her 
 presence as by an irresistible spell. Some muttered to 
 themselves or each other that she had " an evil eye," and 
 that though she cured persons for the time, it was only 
 to make them her bond-slaves, and that when the time 
 came they would be made to feel the yoke of slavery to 
 which, by having recourse to her, they had subjected 
 themselves. 
 
THE LADY-WITCH. 3ff3 
 
 No fable was too gross for general acceptance in those 
 days, and, sootli to say, the present day, in many and 
 many a rural district of enlightened England. The old 
 CromweUian and his beautiful daughter, burrowing in 
 such strange seclusion, were believed by hundreds of men 
 and women, who, in the ordinary affairs of the world had 
 their heads screwed on right, to be wizard and witch ; 
 and that,' though apparently kind and charitable, their 
 alms-deeds and medicaments were but devils' gifts, which 
 would have to be repaid with hellish usury one day, no 
 one knows how soon. One thing was certain — ^neither 
 the father nor daughter ever went to church. This 
 would, of course, be the case, orthodox Church-of-Eng- 
 land services being alone tolerated. It was not Hkely 
 that " Valiant-for-Truth" Eoyston would join a prelatic 
 Church, of which Charles I. was the first martyr, or en- 
 courage his daughter to do so. 
 
 The old man died dreaming, as I have said, of the 
 immediate reahsation of his Eosicrucian visions. Helen 
 shut herself up in strict privacy for a while, during which 
 time her keen, ambitious intellect was casting about to 
 discover the true means by which gold could be extracted 
 from inferior substances. 
 
 By and bye it was known that the lady-witch might 
 be again consulted, and it was given out that she not 
 only cured paralytic and otherwise diseased men and 
 women by charms and spells, but that she could tell the 
 future as well as the past of every one's life ; and that 
 any one who should incur her enmity was doomed to 
 destruction. Helen Eoyston had a singularly melodious 
 voice, and would sometimes of a moonlight night betake 
 herself to a sort of arbour not many yards distant from a 
 tiny lake near the cottage, where her father had kept 
 several swans; and, herself concealed, warble forth 
 snatches of delicious song. The singer being invisible, 
 it came to be at last an article of popular faith that on 
 certain moonlight nights Helen Eoyston assumed the 
 shape of a swan, for some purpose certainly not heavenly, 
 and known only to herself .and the Evil One! 
 
364 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 Suddenly an epidemic spread amongst the horses 
 about the neighbourhood; scores died; veterinary skill 
 was powerless to arrest the destruction going on, and 
 horse-doctors whispered-solemn hints that the lady- witch 
 was at the bottom of the sad business. Had not old 
 Gaffer Hunsbridge, in whose stables the disease had first 
 broken forth, quarrelled with and, being drunk, cursed 
 her, — otherwise he would no more have durst do so than 
 have taken a lion by the beard, — ^for allowing or setting 
 on, as he said, the huge savage mastiff, without which 
 animal she 'never left the cottage, to worry a favourite 
 pup of his? There could be no doubt about it; and was 
 she, because she was a lady-witch, — that is, dressed 
 finely, and was beautiful — a device of the devil that too 
 — to escape the veil-merited fate which coarse and ugly 
 witches had righteously undergone? 
 
 Certainly not. Still the most furious held back when 
 it was proposed to convert intent into action. At last, 
 the epidemic not ceasing, a professional witch-finder was 
 summoned to the rescue ; a kind of minor Hopkins, of 
 the name of Stubbs. He had no scruples ; and backed 
 by a mob, the young lady-witch was seized, and spite of 
 the farious resistance of the mastiff, who lost his life in 
 the vain attempt to defend his mistress, would have been 
 subjected to the ordeal by Water, in the tiny lake where 
 she had so often appeared in the semblance of a swan, 
 but for the sudden appearance upon the spot of Arthur 
 Morris and a number of college youths, who, like him, 
 were at home for the vacation. Arthur Morris was the 
 youngest son of the lord of the manor, and had been 
 more than once seen sidling along with the lady-witch in 
 her wood-walks. The interference of Arthur Morris and 
 his friends was decisive. Stubbs, " whose heart was well 
 in his work," angrily remonstrated, assuring Arthur Mor- 
 ris and his friends that whoever interfered by force in 
 favour of a witch would certainly pine away and die be- 
 fore the year had passed. 
 
 The lady-witch was rescued and restored to her home, 
 and the witch-finder's prophecy was realised so far as re- 
 
THE LADT-WrrCH. 365 
 
 garded Arthur Morris. He was the shadow of Helen 
 Eoyston whenever she appeared abroad, and made some 
 excuse for hot returning to Cambridge, when he should 
 have done so. He was not, however, it seemed, a favourite 
 with the fair witch who held him in thrall; so Arthur Mor- 
 ris gradually pined away and died. At the last hour, or 
 nearly so, of his Ufe, the dying son prevailed upon his 
 father, Sir Eichard Morris, to send for the lady-witch, 
 for' whom the baronet felt almost as superstitious a 
 repugnance as did the stupidest of the boors upon his 
 estate. 
 
 There was no end to the stories related of the mis- 
 chievous marvels performed by the beguiling lady — her 
 supernatural reputation being no doubt much heightened 
 by the eccentric vagaries in which she delighted to in- 
 dulge. I have no space to reproduce the many curious 
 anecdotes circulated respecting her. 
 
 At last another victim was about to be offered up to 
 the siren's infernal arts. Richard, eldest son of Sir Rich- 
 ard Morris, the brother of Arthur, had fallen under the 
 spell. He, like that unfortunate, might be seen wander- 
 ing about the woods and meadows with the beautiful witch. 
 Sir Richard was warned. He hastened at once from Lon- 
 don, instantly took his infatuated son into strict custody 
 — at his own manor-house, of course — and consulted his 
 brother magistrates as to how a person who habitually 
 conducted herself in such an altogether out-of-the-way 
 fashion, had, it could be proved, ruined the health, de- 
 stroyed the peace of mind of several very estimable young 
 men, and caused a pestilence amongst the cattle for miles 
 around, should be dealt with. 
 
 There were, it would seem, long and gi'ave consulta- 
 tions, without producing any decided result. The stories 
 told of the fair witch-^her incantations, her flight across 
 the lake, when, in the shape of a swan, she received a fuU 
 charge of shot from the gun of a sportsman, screaming as 
 she flew, and that in consequence of the wound she could 
 not appear out for many days — ^broke down, even in the 
 ■■hazy estimation of the Doncaster ^olomons. At last Sir 
 
366 ECOBNTEIC PBBSONAGES. 
 
 Eidiard,, it was reported, had determined to take the 
 matter into his own hands, and no donbt justice would 
 be done. The lady had been summoned to the manor- 
 house — that was positive, for several persons had seen her ' 
 enter therein. Judgment would no doubt be speedily' 
 pronounced by Sir Eichard. The expectation was verified, 
 and speedily. " It is all settled," said one of Sir Eichard's 
 deerkeepers, entering a hostelry one evenidg. " The lady- 
 witch won't trouble any of us much longer " 
 
 "Hurrah!" 
 
 "Won't trouble any of us much longer: 'cause why? 
 She be gwine to be married right out of hand to Sir 
 Eichard's eldest son! Talk of witches, I say. Whe-e-wl" 
 
A DESCENDANT OF OWEN GLENDOWER. 
 
 I DO not vouch for the authenticity of the genealogy 
 claimed by David Ap Jones Ap Owen, sometime of Gla- 
 morganshire, Wales, and now, as reported, a saint of 
 respectable standing, second or third only ia authority 
 and distraction to the great Brigham Toung himself. 
 "Whether David Ap Jones Ap Owen really was, as he 
 asserts, Uneally descended from the warlike Welshman, 
 at whose birth the front of heaven was fall of fiery 
 shapes, who could call spirits from the vasty deep, but 
 which spirits, if we may believe sceptical Hotspur, did 
 not as a rule come at his call — David Ap Jones was 
 certainly heir-apparent, whilst only sis years old, to a 
 pretty estate ia the vicinity of Grlamorgan, his widowed 
 mother having died soon after her beloved wayward boy 
 had passed his sixth birthday. He moreover inherited 
 shares in coal and iron mines, and was thought to be 
 heir to a nett rental of something like two thousand 
 pounds a-year — not to speat of the accumulations, judi- 
 ciously invested by his guardians, two highly-respected 
 Welsh notabilities, which he would come into possession 
 of on the day he attained his jnajority. Blessed more- 
 over with health, strength, fine animal spirits, and a 
 handsome person, David Ap Jones Was assuredly, could 
 he have thought so, one of the luckiest fellows upon the 
 face of the earth. The genealogy, reaching up to Glen- 
 dower, might be, and probably was, moonshine; but the 
 estate and mining shares were substantial verities, in the 
 title to which the most critical and jaundiced antiquary 
 in creation could detect no flaw. Fortunate youth ! 
 
 Fortunate, do you say ? David Ap Jones would have 
 replied, whilst yet but sixteen — " a disputatious lad from 
 
368 EOCENTEIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 Mb, youth upwards," swore one of his guardians in an 
 affidayit filed for a certain purpose, to be presently men- 
 tioned, in the High Court of Chancery. " Fortunate,' do 
 you say ? No, I am a robber, sir. The arrangements of 
 society are most absurd, and I am one of its absurdest 
 illustrations. What right, what possible right can I 
 haye to the property which the unsocial law will give 
 me in a few years ? None whatever. A new gospel is 
 being preached upon the earth, aid its apostle is Eobert 
 Owen." 
 
 In sober sadness, this descendant of Owen Glendower 
 — that now was a distindtion of which he might be legiti- 
 mately proud — was an enthusiastic adherent at a very 
 early age to the social theories of amiable, crack-brained 
 Eobert Owen. He was endowed with fine qualities — 
 brave, unselfish, generous — a heart open as day to melt- 
 ing charity; but all of which merits, in the eyes of his 
 matter-of-fact friends and relatives, were marred by his 
 ridiculous notions of social equality, equally divided pa- 
 rallelograms, and the like subversive nonsense. 
 
 Once, it would seem, in or about 1825-6, his friends 
 had hopes of him. His fancy was caught by the charms 
 of a young lady whom he met with at a county ball at 
 Shrewsbury. A new light dawned upon him as to the 
 expediency of sharing every thing with every body. He 
 
 would have no partnership in the divine Miss . 
 
 Certainly hot. He proposed for the lady's hand-r-was 
 conditionally accepted; meaning that he might hope to 
 lead the enchantress to the hymeneal altar, if, after due 
 inquiries and wary negotiations, the " settlements" could 
 be satisfactorily arranged. This, to such a young gentle- 
 man as Owen Glendower's Owenised descendant, must 
 have been altogether distasteful, disgusting. But he 
 reflected that the peerless divinity herself could have 
 had no voice in the initiation of such a slave-mart bar- 
 gain: he would appeal direct to her. Love in a parallelo- 
 gram would more than sufl&ce for him; and no doubt the 
 same sublimity of sentiment animated the gentle bosom 
 of his beloved. Influenced by that conviction or feeling, 
 
A DESCENDANT OF OWEN GLESDOWEE. 369 
 
 David Ap Jones, Esquire, of Glendower Hall, Glamorgan- 
 shire, penned the following missive, which subsequently 
 formed one of the grounds of a petition to the Court of 
 Chancery irom his relatives, either to order a commission 
 de lunatico inquirendo,^ or at least to issue an injunction 
 to restrain him from making over a fine property which 
 had been in the Ap Jones Ap Owen family for thirty 
 descents, to social swindlers, or dreamers — ^the petitioners 
 inclining for choice to the stronger designation. Such 
 was the malignity of the old immoral world, as seen 
 through sociaUst spectacles ! In this particular instance, 
 however, that malignity was foiled by Lord Chancellor 
 Eldon, who. after much less doubting than he was wont 
 to indulge in, dismissed the petition in re David Ap 
 Jones Ap Owen. ThefoUowing is a copy of the letter: 
 
 "Dbaeest, — The fluttering delight with which I 
 read your brief, charming though brief, note in answer 
 to the letter I addressed to you, no words of mine could 
 express. Angel of my life ! every hour of that life shall 
 be devoted to promote, insure your happiness. 
 
 "But, as sometimes happens at the brightest noon 
 of a summer's day, an envious chilling cloud shadows 
 and glooms the splendour and warmth of the genial day, 
 so has a letter from Mr. , your esteemed, well- 
 meaning guardian, obscured, chilled the sunshine of soul 
 Idndled by your smiles. He talks of ' settlements.' I 
 am to tie up estates, which but a few weeks since I came 
 into legal possession of, for supposititious heirs : other 
 conditions are mentioned, the sordid air of which could 
 only be proposed by a gentleman whose natural good- 
 ness of heart has been perverted by the doctrines of a 
 false immoral civilisation, which doctrines or dogmas, I 
 feel certain, cannot harmonise with the philanthropic 
 sentiments of my adored Enuly. 
 
 " I will, however, to prevent the possibility of mis- 
 apprehension, be entirely candid with you upon this mat- 
 ter. Candour, openness of speech, is indeed a necessity 
 of my nature, for which I claim no merit, being, as we aU 
 are, formed by the force of circumstances and education. 
 
 BB 
 
370 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 " I hold as an indisputable fact that! liave no right, 
 no moral right, to a larger portion of the earth or the 
 earth's fruits than an equal share with my fellow-men 
 and women. I intend, consequently, to hold the pro- 
 perty which the old immoral law calls mine in strict 
 trust for the general uses of the community, and am 
 now in communication with the venerable apostle of a 
 new gospel of peace and harmony, Eobert Owen, as to 
 how the property at my disposal may be best inrested in 
 order to contribute, as far as it goes, to the general 
 benefit of the human race — ^the conmiunity dwelling in 
 this principality to be first consideired. 
 
 " This declaration of a fixed principle, which nothing 
 can shake or weaken, may, I fear, shock in some degree, 
 I trust in a very slight degree, the natura.! prejudices 
 which an erroneous system of moral polity may, by edu- 
 cation, have engendered in your mind. I shall not there- 
 fore object — and I am certain that the Gamaliel without 
 guile, whose reverent disciple I am proud to avow my- 
 self, would approve of the proposal — to settle upon you 
 for our exclusive use, so long as you may deem it right 
 to avail yourself thereof, three himdred pounds per 
 annum. Beyond this my conscience would not permit 
 me to go. Waiting with ardent impatience for a re- 
 assuring word from you, I am, with my whole heart, 
 Your devoted lover, 
 
 David Ap Jone^ Ap Owen." 
 
 In the Chancery proceedings the young lady's reply 
 is not set forth. She was, there can be little question, 
 alike mystified, angry, and indignant. Three hundred a 
 year ! Preposterous ! ^ She, too, who might, by a smile, 
 
 bring Sir , one of ihe wealthiest magnates of Wales, 
 
 to her feet, ^ot, perhaps, so handsome — certainly not 
 so young, as David Ap Jones Ap Owen ; but having an 
 uncracked brain at all events, and a clear rental of twice 
 the amount of that which David Ap Jones was going to 
 toss to a lot of Bedlamites to scramble for. Three hun- 
 dred a year'! Absurd ! It would scarcely do more than 
 find her in gloves. 
 
A DESCENDANT OF OWEN GLENDOWER. 371 
 
 I take the foregoing to be a pretty accurate guess at 
 beloved Emily's soliloquy, basing that guess upon the 
 fact that the lady's guardian promptly replied on behalf 
 bf his ward as well as himself to the "preposterous" let- 
 ter of the eccentric descendant of Owen Glendower, re- 
 spectfully declining an alliance with a gentleman infected 
 by such levelling, outrageous principles. 
 
 David Ap Jones forthwith fled from his ancestral de- 
 mesne, spite of the dissuasion of his best friends, amongst 
 them a well-knovra M.P. for a Welsh county, betook him- 
 self to London, where he consorted-, in aU innocence of 
 heart, with the chiefs of the Socialist fraternity, and was 
 seen, so his relatives alleged, engaged as a salesman in a 
 bazaar at or near King's Cross, opened under the auspices 
 of Eobert Owen, of Lanark, and closed under an execu- 
 tion for rent. 
 
 David Ap Jones was far from being cured by that 
 catastrophe of his "old corrupt world-despising" opinions. 
 His vagaries, however, did not run in a straight line, — 
 I suppose vagaries seldom do, — and he diverged from 
 King's Cross to some amateur theatrical concern, carried 
 on in what is now Wellington Street, Coyent Garden; 
 played Eomeo, Hamlet, and all the topping characters ; 
 but had not, it seemed, hit upon his true vocation. Cer- 
 tainly he had the, gift of genius, inventive genius, if it 
 be true that he wrote a fictitious narrative, which at- 
 tracted much attention at the time, purporting to be 
 the actual experiences of a young man from the country, 
 who had been buried alive by the falling in of the roof 
 of the Brunswick Theatre. 
 
 It was written, unquestionably, with much graphic 
 power, and I am inclined to believe that the damsel 
 therein mentioned was no mythic personage, but the 
 Eosina KendalT, a pretty and amiable miUiner-girl, am- 
 ' bitious of stage distinction, whom the heir of Owen 
 Glendower ultimately married, and with, whom he lived 
 in tamed-down contentment somewhere in Devonshire. 
 His wife died— whether she was Eosina Kendall or not, 
 but there is very little doubt about that, — and three 
 
372 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES. 
 
 children, all they had, followed her in quick succession 
 to the grave. 
 
 David Ap Jones Ap Owen had not yet made away with 
 the bulk of his patrimony, and appears to have contem- 
 plated returning to the old corrupt world, in accordance 
 with the advice of the M.P. before spoken ,of, who had never 
 lost sight of him. There was blood-relationship between 
 them, and blood, we all know, is. thicker than water; espe- 
 cially so in Wales, and amongst all Celtic nations. 
 
 Unfortunately, judging from my own standing-point, 
 some Mormon itinerants made the acquaintance of Owen 
 Glendower's lineal descendant. Their theories seemed 
 to harmonise with those which had been the dreams of 
 his youth. Joe Smith and his golden book were swal- 
 lowed by the neophyte, and in defiance of the reasoning 
 and efforts of his friendly relatives, who again vainly es- 
 sayed to invoke the restraining power of the law, David 
 Ap Jones Ap Owen, the descendant of an ancient family, 
 if not of the half-mythic Glendower, sold his paternal 
 estate, and, on the 21st of September 1846, embarked 
 at Liverpool, in the Baltimore liner, for New York, with 
 the avowed intention of joining the community of Mor- 
 mons. He realised that purpose, — ^became, and still, it 
 is said, remains the confidential friend and adviser of 
 Brigham Young. He sustained the hardships of the 
 exodus with the people he had joined, till they found at 
 least a temporary resting-place for the soles of their feet 
 at Utah, on the Salt Lake, and, as previously stated, is 
 there, says report, second only in authority to the arch- 
 impostor, Brigham Young. A melancholy catastrophe 
 for such a man, who, no one can deny, was possessed of 
 gifts, both mental and physical, wMch, under proper 
 guidance and discipline, might have assured biTn a high 
 social position in his native laud. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 lOITDOK ! 
 WH1II1I6 AKH 00,, 80 & 32, SABDIirU. STBKBT, lIltCOI.H'»IHH-FIILI>«.