!> V '' I .*' I , 1 ¦;• 'n 1 M "m it i( ,1 1 .' S '^ 3 ?i ' ^>'l' ^ .'./M 4 f I A ^ - y '^ * f if ' f '. ^«" \ff^ ,t -t«,'^ ,1- ' 1 ¦ ; , u ' 5 >^ >5' -»- ' •( y^ f Ii . '^: i>! ;)>^' ^ -t if i! I t ly 1 * J- t . 'i^ ,f'. ', 7 y ' y 1 l^w ^ l^ltJi,,l,l,a*.i'i.ta^u^^.t*^,-V ilUXHTVEWl^ YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Gift of Timothy Dwight College EngT scv&d "by K. Tag-e ,y^^^mza?yiyy yyy^/ v^. J'uy'uf/id, f 'by J.£ohi7is h C?Albwn I^ess. Icyid^n. I£i -' ¦ . i^dz: . «|]ffni)rrfitl 13 mamaM^m at o 'ffiaMGim. IHEI'CIFraACEOi'W^^^ ^gi'-*-^^ ^U;Z',rd '/A^yyyy ' Ky WAon^ttM C|)ararter0: COMPRISING MEMOIRS AND ANECDOTES OF THE MOST REMARKABLE PERSONS OF EVERY AGE AND NATION. COLLECTED FROM THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES BY HENRY WILSON. ^¦1 Non desunt crassi quidam, qui studiosos ab hujusmodilibris deteireant, ceu poeticis, ut vocant, et ad morum integritatem officientibus. Ego veto dignos censeo quos et omnibus in ludis praelegant adolesceutiae literatores, et sibi legant relegantque senos. Erasmus. There are not 'wanting persons so dull and iilsensible, as to deter students from reading books of this kind, which, they say, are poetical, and pernicious to the purity of morals ; but I am of opinion, that they are not only worthy to be read by the instructors of youth in their schools, but that the old and ex perienced should again and again peruse them. £d. VOL. 11, iLonnon : J. ROBINS AND CO. ALBION PRESS, IVY LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1827. WONDERFUL CHARACTERS, JOAN D'ARC. This astonishing and ill-fated herqin.e, the daughter of James d'Arc, a peasant in the village of Domremi, near the borders of Lorraine, was born in the year 1407. In her younger years she assisted in attending her father's little farm ; but her disposition even then ap peared of such a military turn, that the old man was under perpetual apprehension lest Joan should follow^the camp. When she attaiped the age of eighteen, she was no despicable figure. Her mien was graceful, her figure comely, and her agility and vigour very uncommon in her sex. Soon after she quitted her father, and hired herself to a female inn-keeper, who let out horses at Neufchatel in Lorraine. Here she followed, in the quality of a servant, the business she thought most suit able to her dispositioD, as it gave her an opportunity of taking journeys, riding the horses to watev, and knowing how to manage them. In this station she continued five years, and then returned to her father. The old man being fond of his daughter, did not perhaps choose to hazard a second elopement, and therefore indulged her in a more quiet life than she had hitherto known. As Joan was remarkable both for wit and genius, this new life of inactivity, caused her to indulge reflection ; and though distant from the scenes of the misery of her country, she heard of its distress, and was deeply im pressed with its calamities. It is easy to imagine, that 4 JOAN D ARC. the present situation of France was an interesting object even to persons of the lowest rank, and would become the frequent subject of^ conversation : a young prince expelled his throne by the sedition of his native subjects, and by the arraS of strangers, could not fail to move the compassion of all his people whose hearts were uncor- rupted by faction ; and the peculiar character of Charles, so strongly inclined to friendship and the tender passions, uaturally rendered him the hero of that sex, whose ge nerous minds know no bounds in their affections. Great part of France had been subdued b}' the victo rious arms of our fifth Henry who had been crowned at Paris, from which the French monarch was now an exile. Though Henry, the terror of France, was by this time dead, yet his armies, under the conduct of his brother and othier experienced officers, was still proceeding in the career pf victory, and in 1729, had laid siege to Or leans. These things which would scarcely have excited emotion in any ordinary mind, particularly of a female, filled the heart of Joan with deep regret. She figured to herself the unfortunate King Charles as the most de serving prince ever formed by the hand of nature; his followers as so many heroes, undeservedly miserable for preserving their loyalty. She thought there was no toil too painful for her to endure, no danger too great for her to undertake, to serve men so highly revered ; and she had doubtless already within the walls of a cottage, triumphed over the English battalions, and humbled the pride of the ambitious regent. Filled with sentiments like these^ her impatience for action so inflamed her mind, that she mistook the im pulses of her passion for heavenly inspirations. She fancied she saw visions, and heard voices, exhorting her to establish her favourite prince on the throne of his ancestors, and repel the foreign invaders of her country. Thinking herself therefore destined by Heaven to per form this service, she threw oflT that bashfulness and ti- JOAN d'arc. « y .5 midity which would otherwise have naturally adhered to her sex, her years, and her mean station. She repaired to Vaucouleurs, procured admission to Baudricourt the governor, informed him of her inspirations, her visions, and her intentions, and conjured him not to neglect the voice of Heaven, who spoke by her mouth, but to second those celestial revelations which irresistibly impelled her to undertake this glorious work. Baudricourt, who con sidered her as a mere visionary, treated her application, at first, with some neglect, but on her frequent and im portunate solicitations, he began to remark something extraordinary in the maid, and was inclined, at all hazards, to try so easy an experiment. It is uncertain, whether Baudricourt had discernment sufficient to perceive that great use. might be made of so uncommon an instrument ; or whether, as is still more likely in that credulous age, he became himself a convert to this enthusiast. Be this as it may, he at length adopted the scheme of Joan, and gave her a few attend ants, who conducted her to the French- court, then re siding at Chinon, Every historian should endeavour lo distinguish be tween the miraculous and the marvellous, to reject the former in all transactions merely human, to scruple the" latter, and when obliged by the concurrent testimony of all cotemporary writers, as in the pr«sent case, to admit of something extraordinary, but at the same time to re ceive as little of it as is consistent with known facts and circumstances. It is pretended by some visionary wri ters of these times, that Joan immediately on her admis sion knew the king, though she had never seen his face before, and though he purposely mingled in the crowd of courtiers, and had even laid aside every thing in his dress and apparel that might distinguish him. It is added, that she offered that prince, in the name of the supreme Creator, to raise the siege of Orleans, and conduct him to Rheims to be there crowned and anointed ; and on his (5 JOAN d'arc. expressing some doubts of her mission, revealed to hiin, before some sworn confidants,- a secret unknown to all the world except himself, and which it was impossible for her to know but by a heavenly inspiration ; demand ing, .at the same time, as the instrument of her future victories, a particular sword carefully kept in the church of St. Catherine de Fierbois, and which, though she had never seen, she described with all its marks, mentioning the place in which it had long laid neglected and forgot ten. It is very certain that all these miraculous stories were circulated in order to engage the attention of the vulgar. The more the king and his ministers were determined to make use of this religious visionary, the more scruples they pretended to raise against her mission. An assem bly of grave doctors and divines cautiously examined Joan's pretensions, and pronounced them undoubted and supernatural. She was therefore sent to the parliament, then assembled at Poictiers, where she was closely in terrogated. The president and counsellors who came thither fully persuaded of her imposture, returned con vinced of her inspiration, A ray of hope now began to break through the clouds of despair, which had for some time surrounded the court of Charles. He»ven, they said, had now declared in favour of France, and had laid bare its almighty arm to take vengeance on her invaders. Few were able to distinguish between the im pulse of inclination, and the force of conviction ; and still fewer were willing to undertake the trouble of mak ing a scrutiny so disagreeable to their wishes. After these artificial precautions and preparations had been for some time employed, Joan's requests were at last complied with: she was armed cap-a-pee, mounted on horseback, and shown in that martial habiliment before the whole people. Her dexterity in managing her steed, though acquired in her former occupation, was regarded as a fresh proof of her mission, and she was JOAN D ARC. 7 received with the loudest acclamations by the populace. Her former occupation was even denied. She was no longer the servant at an inn ; but was converted into a shepherdess, an occupation much more agreeable to the imagination. To render her still more interesting, seve ral years were subtracted from her age ; and all the senti ments of love and of chivalry were thus united to those of enthusiasm, in order to inflame the fond fancy of the people with pbepossessions in her favour. In the mean time the siege of Orleans was pushed by the English with the utmost vigour, and the besieged still continued to make a noble resistance ; but the want of provisions increasing every day, it became absolutely necessary to send the garrison a supply, and Charles de termined that this service should be Joan's first essay in war, and a proof of the truth or falsity of her mission. He accordingly ordered her to be dressed in a complete suit of armour, and conducted into the council. She was well acquainted with the situation of the English camp, and all the passes leading to the city of Orleans, so that she spoke with great perspicuity on the measures necessary to be adopted for introducing the convoy. riaving satisfied the council, she was carried to Blois, the place intended for the general rendezvous of the troops designed for the convoy, which consisted of ten thousand men, under the command of St. Severe. She immediately, on her arrival, ordered all the soldiers to confess themselves before they set out on the enterprise: she banished from the camp all women of bad fame; and ordered a white standard, in the centre of which was em broidered a picture of the Divine Being, grasping the globe of earth, surrounded by fleur-de-lis, to be conse crated and displayed upon the ramparts. The English officers meanwhile looked upon Charles's affairs as truly desperate, since he was obliged to have recourse to a visionary for relief. But the expedient had already, in sOme measure, answered that prince's inten- 8 JOAN d'arc tions: instead of a convoy, an immense army assembled at Blois, and Joan marched immediately at the head of these forces, for the relief of Orleans. Her first design was to enter the city on the side of the Beausse, but she was met by a messenger from Dunois, who commanded in Orleans during the absence ofthe governor, advising the attempt to be made on the Salogne side, the English having strongly fortified that of the Beausse; adding, that he had already made the necessary dispositions for a sally on the English, on the side of the latter. Previous to this attempt, the maid had written to the regent, and to the English generals before Orleans, commanding them, in the name of the omnipotent Creator, by whom she was commissioned, immediately to raise the seige, and to evacuate France ; and menacing them with divine vengeance in case of their disobedience. All the English affected to speak with derision of the maid, and of her heavenly commission ; but they felt their imagination secretly struck with the vehement per suasion which prevailed in all around them ; and they waited with an anxious expectation, not unmixed with horror, for the issue of these very extraordinary pre parations. In the mean time Florentine d'llliers had been de tached by Joan's particular directions, "at the head of four hundred horse. This gallant officer passed the river in boats, and threw himself with his detachment into the city. The garrison and inhabitants were greatly rejoiced at the dispositions made for their relief, and expressed the highest confidence in the supernatural abilities of the intrepid leader. As soon as the convoy reached the bank of the river, below the first intrenchment of the English, they found boats ready to receive the ammunition and provisions. While these were embarking; Joan drew up her troops with such a show of resolution, that the English did not think it prudent to attack her. They even abandoned 25 JOAN d'arc 9 one of their towers, called St. John le Blanc ; of which she immediately took possession, and the convoy got safe into Orleans. This success fully answered all the ideas the French had conceived of their heroine's mission and virtues. The next morning the Cbunt de Dunois himself passed ov€rto the tower of St. John, where Joan still continued. He was attended by some of the principal inhabitants, and all joined to invite her to cross the river, and take upon herself the defence of the city. Joan received their offers with as much state and dignity as if she had been always used to command the most powerful armies. She, however, yielded to their entreaties, though her ¦fii-st resolution was to have attacked the English quarters, and brought on a general engagement. When she entered Orleans, the people gazed at her as a Divinity, and from that moment considered themselves invincible. Sbe lod^d in the house of one Bouchier, the treasurer to the Dtike of Orleans, whose wife and daughter she liept constantly about her person, to prevent any suspi- ¦cion of her chastity. The garrison and citizens of Orleans thinking tiaey had an army in the person of their female commander, sxiffered the tl-oops whohad guaTded the convoy to return to Blois, under the conduct of St, Severe, who engaged in two or tliree days to introduce another convoy on the •side of Beausse, by whidi they would be free from the inconveniency of embarkitrg the provisions in boats. As they expected a very strong opposition in this quarter, the detachment that guarded the convoy was strength ened by forces from all the neighbouring garrisons be longing to Charles. When the Frenich first presented ibemselves before the English lines, which happened early in the morning, Joan, assisted by the Count de Dttnors, made so.A^igorons a sally from the city, that th* English turned their whole force to oppose them, and ¦snfFeTed the convoy to pass unmolested into Orleans, VOL, II. B 10 JOAN d'arc This success astopished the English; they appeared like men disconcerted and infatuated ; the common sol diers began to believe all the stories propagated by the French, concerning the supernatural power of Joan ; while their officers were struck with the masterly man ner in which every thing was disposed and executed on the side of the besieged. The latter had now even the boldness to think of investing the works of the besiegers. Accordingly, a body of volunteers, more hardy than wise, agreed to sally out of the city, the same day the convoy entered, and attacked the tower of St. Loupe, on the side of the Beausse, Joan, fatigued with the service of the morning, had retired to rest ; but when she awoke she received the dis agreeable news that the volunteers had been repulsed, and were then making a precipitate retreat back into the city. Alarmed at this defeat, she instantly sallied out to stop their shameful flight, while the Count de Dunois posted himself at the head of another party, to cut off all communication between the fort that had been at tacked, and Lord Talbot's quarters. Joan no sooner appeared than the fugitives recovered their strength, their spirits, and their courage. The fortune of the day was changed; the English were driven back to their tower, which Joan, with her party, entered almost at the same time. Scarcely a man of them escaped being put to the sword, and the tower was immediately razed to the foundation, while Lord Talbot was obliged to remain an idle spectator. This amazing success roused Joan's enthusiastic par tisans to the highest point of fury. Nothing was now considered as impossible. She even urged the generals to attack the main body of the English in their intrench- ments; but Dunois, unwilling to hazard the fate of France by too great temerity, and sensible that the least reverse of fortune would be sufficient to dispel all the mists of enthusiasm, and restore every thing to its former JOAN d'arc II condition, checked her vehemence, and proposed an attempt to expel the enemy from their forts on the other side of the river, and open a communication with the country, before she attempted the more dangerous en terprise. It was with some difficulty that Joan could be persuaded to agree with this disposition ; and the next day Sir William Gladdesdale, who commanded an im portant post of the besiegers, drew all his men into the tower of St. Augustine, strengthened the garrison which had been left in the tower of Tourelles, and the bul wark erected at the head of the bridge. By these means the besieged had a free communication with the river, and great part of the garrison immediately passed over in boats to the other side, in order to attack the bulwark erected upon the Portereau. Joan, who commanded the attack in person, advanced with her consecrated standard before her at the head of her men. But the English being supplied with fresh troops from the next tower, made so brave a defence, that Joan soon found herself abandoned by her soldiers, and almost surrounded by the enemy. Brave as she was, she had no other resource than that of a retreat; but it was only to re-animate her troops, whom she instantly rallied, and led back with so much fury to the assault, that the bulwark was carried by storm, and all the English that defended it were put to the sword. On this occasion Joan showed at once her prudence and her bravery. The place she had just taken was filled with provisions, and the baggage of the English officers. She was afraid lest her soldiers, by employing them selves in securing the booty, should give the enemy an opportunity of retaking the bulwark ; she therefore ordered the whole to be set on fire, and commanded all her men to take their several posts, as if she expected every moment lo be attacked by the English. She had herself been wounded in the foot, and was therefore obliged to return that night to Orleans. 12 JOAN d'arc She, however, continued no longer in the city than was absolutely necessary. She rose early in the morning and crossed the river to her troops. On her arrival she found thai the EngUsh bad not only declined all at tempts to regain what they bad lost, but bad also aban doned several other considerable posts, and drawn all their troops on that side of the city within the Tou relles, and the bulwark that defended it. Joan, after re connoitring the works, proposed immediately to attack both places, but was opposed by the joint voice of all the French generals. They remembered at how dear a rate the English had purchased these works ; they repre sented that the English could never have carried these fortresses, had not their attempts been favoured by the lowness of the river when they made the attack ; that there were but two ways of approaching it, one by the bridge, the arches of which were broken down ; the other by the river, which was now too high to be forded. Joan, however, slighted all these reasons and remon strances with an air of authority, and the soldiers, who thought themselves invincible under her standard, call ing aloud to be led on by their brave deliverer, the coun cil was obliged to submit, and it was accordingly agreed to make the attack immediately. On a nearer and more accurate survey, Joan thought the attempt both difficult and dangerous, though far from being impracticable, and ordered the cannon to be placed on that part of the bridge which had not been broken down. Some of the archers were so desirous of beginning the attack that they swam across the river, and climbed to the top of the ruined arch, in order to dis charge their arrows with greater effect. These precau tions being taken, Joan ordered a violent cannonade to be made on both sides of the river, under which she attacked the bulwark at the head of her troops. The English made a noble defence. Joan was wounded in the neck with an arrow at the beginning of the ac- JOAN d'arc 13 lion; she retreated for a moment behind the assail- ants; pulled out the arrow with her own hands, ex claiming, " It is glory, not blood, that flows from the wound!" and returned in a few moments to the attack. The English still made a gallant defence, and the Count de Dunois proposed to give over the assault. But Joan was determined lo carry the place; she flew again to the attack, mounted the bulwark sword in hand, and planted her victorious banner on the ramparts of the enemy. The walls of Tourelle were by this time totally ruined by the artillery on the bridge, so that the place was im mediately stormed, and the greatest part of the garrison put to the sword. The English had now lost above six thousand men in these different actions; and, what was of alill greater importance to the enemy, their wonted courage and confidence had foraakeii tliern, and been succeeded by astoniehment and despair. Joan returned triumphant over the bridge, and was again received as the guardian angel of the city, Sho had now convinced the most obdurate incredulity of her divine mission : persons felt themselves auiraaied us by a superior energy, and thought nothing impossible to that divine l^and which so visibly conducted all their under takings. It was in vain even fur the English generals to -oppose the prevailing opinion of supernatural influence; they themselves were probably infected with the same superstitious sentiments. The utmost they dared to ad vance was, that Joan was not an instrument of God, but a tool of the devil. The English, however, having felt by »ud experience thtjt the devil had sometimes power to prevail, derived very little consolation from this opinion. The Earl of Suffolk saw the danger th;it must attend his army if he sufl'ered his intimidated troops to remain any longer before Orleans, in the presence of such a courageous and victorious enemy, and therefore raised the siig(', on the 8lh uf May, and retreated with all the 14 JOAN d'arc precaution necessary in so critical a conjuncture. In the mean time the French wisely determined to push their advantages, without giving the English time to recover from their consternation, A body of six thousand men were detached to attack Jergeau, whither the Earl of Suffolk had retired with a great part of his army. But the spiritless condition of his soldiers rendered all at tempts to defend it vain and useless. Joan, who served as a volunteer, in this detachment, displayed her usual intrepidity. She descended into the ditch in leading the attack, and there received a blow with a stone upon the head, by which she was felled to the ground. She soon recovered herself, and success crowned the enterprise. Suffolk was obliged to surrender to a Frenchman, named Renaud; but before he submitted he asked his adversary whether he was a gentleman. On receiving a satisfac tory answer, he demanded whether he was a knight. Renaud replied, "he had not yet obtained that honour." "Then I make you one," replied SuflPolk, and immedi ately gave him the blow with the sword, and surrender ed himself his prisoner. John Pole, the earl's brother, was also taken prisoner, together with five hundred of the garrison. Lord Talbot now succeeded to the command of the army. He retired on raising the siege of Orleans to Meun, which he fortified, took possession ofthe town of Laval, and threw a reinforcement into Beaugenci. The French, who, now considered the over-taking of the English equivalent to a victory, immediately determined lo fall down the Loire in boats, and attack those places, particularly Meun and Beaugenci. This resolution was no sooner adopted, than every loyal Frenchman seemed to be in arms; even the constable of France, who had long continued at Parthenay, came to the camp attended with a great train of noblemen, and twelve hundred soldiers, in express disobedience to the orders of Charles, who had dismissed him from his service. JOAN d'arc, 1.5 The maid of Orleans was for arresting him as a traitor ; but the other officers soon made her sensible that the present conjuncture was improper for taking any step of that nature; they even engaged to procure Charles's consent that the constable should serve, Orleans was appointed for the general rendezvous, and the constable, who still retained great authority in the army, promised Joan, that he would merit his master's forgiveness by his future conduct. Every thing being now ready for the intended expe dition, the army fell down the Loire, and after taking Meun by assault, invested the important town of Beau genci. The English, who had foreseen this, were ex tremely solicitous to defend the place, and had there fore strengthened it with the garrison of Ferre Hubert. But the siege was no sooner formed, than they abandoned the town, and prepared to defend the castle, together with the bridge. The French soon assaulted both with great fury, and the bailiff Devereux, who com manded in the castle, hung out a flag of truce, and demanded a capitulation. The French readily agreed to the offer, having learned that the lords Talbot and Scales, with Sir John Fastolf, had taken the field, with a view of raising the siege of Beaugenci ; but find ing that to be impracticable, they marched to surprise the French troops left at Meun. The capitulation of Beaugenci was therefore no sooner signed, than the F"rench troops marched back towards Meun, the bridge of which the English had already attempted, but being repulsed, were again returning the assault, when the van of the French appeared in sight. Upon this the Eng lish drew towards Jenville, where they joined a body of five or six thousand of their countrymen, sent by the Duke of Bedford to reinforce them. The French, desi rous of improving ihe panic of the English, sent out a detachment to observe their motions, and to harass them in their retreat, while the main body of the 16 JOAN D ARC army followed by forced marches, and at last overtook them at the village of Patay on the 18th of June. The French army greatly exceeded that of the Eng lish in number: but this was a consideration of so very little moment that it had never before affected the suc cess of the Jatter. On this occasion however, their native courage yielded to thdr fears. The prepossessioin of the maid's infernal alliance now damped their spirits, unbraced their nerves, and gave wings to their terrt»r. Even the brave Sir John Fastolf himself wa« affected with the epidemical panic; for being placed in the first division, he fled as soon as attacked ; and the order of the garter was afterwards taken ffwm him for this in stance of cowardice. The flight of Sir John, left the lords Talbot, Scales, and Hungerford, together with Sir Thomas Rampstoo, to sustain the whole fury of the French attack. These indeed made a noble defence, because they were above the weaknesses of their country men; but all their efforts could only suspend for a few minutes the total rout of their army, which was soott completed with great slaughter. Neatly tw© thousand of the English were killed upon the spot; aivd am-oBg the prisoners were the lords Talbot, iSeales, and 'Hunger- ford, with all the general officers who behaved like Englishmen. The Erench immediately after the battle, made themselves masters of the strong fortress of Jen ville, where the English magazines both of pixyvisions and ammunitions were depasitecl. The loss of the battle of Patay struck the English with such consternation that they abandoned all the stitkBg places and passes they possessed- near Orleans, and retined towards Paris ; and Cltarles took the field in person, after ordering a general rendezvous of his troops at Giac, In the account of all these successes, the French wri ters to magnify the wonder, represent ihe tnaid military operations, and swaying the deliberations in all councils of war. It is certain, that the policy of the French court endeavoui^ed to maintain this appearance with the public : but it is much more probable> that Du nois, and the wiser commanders, prompiedher in all her measures, than that a country girl, without experience or education, could, on a sudden, become expert in a pcofeaston which requires more genius and capacity than any other active scene of life. It is sufficient prajse that ahe could distinguish the persons on whose judgment she might rely ; that she could seize their hints and sugges- iLons, and, on a sudden, deliver their opinions as her own ; and that she could curb, on occasion, that vision ary and enthuBJAStic spirit with which she was actuated, iindi could temper it with prudence and discretion, Tbe inaidi bad now performed one part of her promise to Charles; the siege of Qdeans was raised; but the other, which related to his coronation at Rheims, was not yet aeoompUshed. Sihe appeared very une^isy at tiliii^, and urgently requested, that be would immediately set out on that enterprise. A few months before, a pro posal, of this ki,nd would have appeared the height of mac^nesa. The city where the caBemony was to h^ per- foiro^d, l«y in a very dliistant quarter of th® kingdom, and) was then in the hands oS a powerful, and, ti|i|< very lately^ a victorious, enemy. Besides, the roads leading tq Rheims were occupied by the English troops, so that no (nuagi nation, not filled with the extravagant notions of aupernAtural assistance, could thin>k of such an acftempt in the present pQiyuocture. It was however the interest qf ChnrleSi to maintain the belief, sohappily propagateiS, of something extraojidinary and divine in those events, (tndi to avail himselfrof the present eonstoiination ofthe finglish. He iheiefotte resolved to follow the dictatesof this ent^husiast, «nd to lead his army on thi* romantic VPL, u, c 18 JOAN d'arc f adventure. He accordingly set out at the head of twelve thousand of his best troops towards Auxerre, in his way to Rheims. He proceeded to Troyes, where there was a garrison of six hundred English and Bur- gundian soldiers. The place was strongly fortified, the garrison resolute, and Charles's army but ill furnished with provisions, and still worse with artillery. These circumstances had such weight in the council of war, that the greater part were for abandoning the enterprise. They represented that the distance to Rheims was yet thirty leagues, through a country in possession of the enemy ; that Giac was the only place whence they could draw any support, and that it would be plunging into inevitable destruction to pursue their march any farther. -But the maid, with invincible spirit, maintained the con trary, requesting they would leave the whole manage ment to her, adding, that if she did not reduce Troyes in three or four days, she would very readily abandon the undertaking. This being agreed to, detachments were sent out to all the neighbouring places to pro cure provisions for the army. These necessary pre cautions being taken, Joan flew from corps to corps, to animate the troops : and at the same time ordered a large quantity of fascines to be immediately procured for fill ing up the ditches. The soldiers, animated by her pre sence, flew to the charge, filled up the ditches, and mounted the walls, under the discharge of a few field pieces. The garrison and inhabitants were amazed at this alacrity ; some considered the maid as divinely com missioned ; others as aided by infernal spirits ; both equally contributing to increase the first panic which had seized them when the French first mounted the walls. Reduced to this extremity, the governor demanded a capitulation, which was readily granted on his own terms. The inhabitants were pardoned for the defection from their lawful prince, and .they willingly returned to their obedience. JOAN d'arc 19 This decisive advantage removed every difficulty that attended the march of the French army. Chalons, the next place of importance, made no resistance ; and the city of Rheims sent a deputation to the king with the keys of the town, before the French approached the walls: so that Charles scarcely perceived, as he passed along, that he was marching through an enemy's country. Soon after his arrival in this city, on the 17ih of July, the ceremony of his coronation was performed with the holy oil, which a pigeon had brought to King Clovis from Heaven, on the first establishment of the French monarchy. The maid of Orleans stood by the king's side dressed in complete armour, and displaying her sacred banner which had so often confounded and dis persed her fiercest enemies : while the people shouted with unfeigned joy on beholding such a complication of wonders. As soon as the ceremony was completed, the maid threw herself at the king's feet, embraced his knees, and with a flood of tears, extorted by tenderness and pleasure, congratulated him on the singular and wonderful event, which she had foretold. This cere mony had such a prodigious effect on the common people, that they joined his standard in crowds : while Laon, Soissons, Chateau Thierri, Provins, and several other towns and fortresses in that neighbourhood, opened their gates, and received him as their king. The war was carried on with various success. Many places were taken, and several skirmishes happened be tween the detachments of the two armies. About this time the maid of Orleans declared to the Count de Du nois, that having relieved Orleans, and seen the corona tion of Charles, at Rheims, her wishes were satisfied ; and she was now desirous of returning to her former domestic tranquillity ; and spending the remainder of her days with her aged. father, in employments more suited to her sex and condition. But the count, sensible 20 JOAN d'arc of the great advantages that might yet be derived from her presence in the army, exhorted her still lo persevere, and not abandon the cause she had undertaken, till the English were entirely driven out of the kingdom. These expostulations bad the desired effect. The maid of Orleans agreed to continue in the, army; and immediately threw herself into the town of Compeigne, then invested by the Duke of Burgundy, assisted by the Earls of Arundel and Suflblk. At her appearance the garrison thought themselves invincible, and determined to make a. desperate sally on the enemy, in order to open a communication with the adjacent country. Ac cordingly on the'24th of May, 1430, Joan put herself at die head of five or six hundred men, and made so furi ous a sally on the quarters of Luxemburg, the Burgun- dian general, that she drove him from his post; but pursuing her advantage too far, a large parly of the enemy advanced, and cut oft^ her retreat. Reduced to this extremity, she did every thing in her power to fa vour the escape of her men, many of whom retreated to the city. Had the officers of the garrison made a brisk sally, this imprudent step might perhaps have been rec tified. But the French commanders, finding every ad vantage they gained over the enemy ascribed wholly to her, remained within the walls, and suffered her to be taken prisoner by the Burguudians. , This acquisition was considered by the English as a decisive advantage. Te Deum was sung publicly al Paris. The Duke of Bedford was persuaded, that by the captivity of this extraordinary person, who had Ijksted all his hopes, and laid his conquests in the dust, be should again recover his former ascendency over France. He therefore purchased the prisoner from John of Luxemburg, in order to carry on a prosecution against her, which whether it proceeded from vengeance, or policy, was equally barbarous and dishonourable. In the mean lime, the Duke of Burgundy being obliged JOAN D ARC. 21 to repel an invasion in Brabant, left the siege of Com- peigne, with the greater part of bis forces, and the Engliph, not being sufficieni;ly numerous to invest the place, were forced to raise the siege with considerable loss. ,,. While Joaa continued a pfisOner under Luxemburg, she considered herself as in a place of safety, and might be either ransomed or exchanged: but she no sooner heard of his having treated with. the English for the de livery of her person, than she gave herself over for lost, and thereforeendeavoured to make her escape from the tower where she was confined, by jumping from the very top to the ground. But the effect of the fall was so great, that she was unable to walk, and therefore easily retaken.. Soon after this attempt she was delivered up to the English who sent her to R>ouen, where she was load ed with chains, and confined in the casile. There was no possible reason why Joan should not be regarded as a prisoner of war, and be entitled to all the courtesy and good usage which civilised nations practise towards enemies on tljiese occasions; She had never, io ber military capacity, forfeited, by any, act of treachery or cruelty, her claims to that treatment: she was un stained by any civil crime : even the virtues and the very decorums of her sex had ever been rigidly observed by her : and though her appearing in war, -and leading armies to battle, tnay seem an exception, she had thereby performed such signal service to her prince, that she had abundantly compensated for this irregularity; find was, on that very account, the more an object of praise and admiration. It was necessary, therefore, for the Duke of Bedford to interest religion some way in the prosecution; and to cover, under that cloak, his viola tion of justice and humanity. The Bishop of Beauvais, a man wholly devoted to the English interests, presented a petition against Joan, on pretence that she was taken within the bounds of his 22 JOA*f d'arc diocese ; and he desired to have her tried by an ecclesi astical court for sorcery, impiety, idolatry, and magic. The university of Paris was so mean as to join in the same request : several prelates, among whom the Cardinal of Winchester was the only Englishman, were appoint ed her judges: they held their court in Roiien, where the young King of England then resided, and ,the maid, clothed in her former military apparel, but loaded with irons, was produced before this tribunal. This was in the year 1431. She first desired to be eased of her chains : hej- judges answered, that she had once already attempted her escape, by throwing herself from a tower: she confessed the fact, maintained the justice of her intention, and owned, that, if she could, she would still execute that purpose. All her other speeches showed the same firm ness and intrepidity ; though harassed with interroga tories during the course of near four months, she never betrayed any weakness or womanish submissiroh ; and no advantage was gained over her. The point which her judges pushed most vehemently, was her visions and re velations, and intercourse with departed saints; and they asked her, whether she would submit to the church the truth of these inspirations: she replied, that she would submit them to God, the fountain of truth. They then exclaimed, that she was a heretic, and denied the au thority of the church. She appealed lo the pope, they rejected her appeal. They asked her why she pul trust in her standard, which had been consecrated by magical incantations? She replied, that she put her trust in the Supreme Being alone, whose image was impressed upon it. They de manded, why she carried in her hand that standard at the anointment and coronation of Charles al Rheims ? She answered, that the person who had shared the dan ger, was entitled to share the glory. When accused of going to war, contrary lo the decorums of her sex,.and of JOAN d'arc 23 assuming government and command over men-; she scrupled not to reply, that her sole purpose was to de feat the English, and to expel them the kingdom. In the issue, she was condemned for all the crimes of which she had been accused, aggravated by heresy ; her revelations were declared to be inventions of the devil to delude the people ; and she was sentenced to be deliver ed over to the secular arm. Joan, so long surrounded by inveterate enemies, who treated her with every mark of contumely ; brow-beaten and overawed by men of superior rank, and men invested with the ensigns of a sacred character, which she had been accustomed to revere; felt her spirit at last sub dued; and those visionary dreams of inspiration, in which she had been buoyed up by the triumphs of suc cess and the applauses of her own party, gave way to the terrors of thati punishment to which she was sen tenced. She publicly declared herself willing to recant ; she acknowledged the illusion of those revelations which the church had rejected; and she promised never more to maintain them. Her sentence was then miti gated : she was condemned to perpetual imprisonment, and to be fed during life on bread and water. Her trial lasted two months, and she was examined twice every week. Enough was now done to fulfil all political views, and lo convince both the French and the English, that the opinion of divine influence, which had so much en couraged the one and daunted the other, was entirely without foiundation. But the barbarous vengeance of Joan's enemies was not satisfied with this victory. Sus pecting, that the female dress, which she had now con sented to wear, was disagreeable tg her, they purposely placed in her apartment a suit of men's apparel ; and watched for the effects of that temptation upon her. On the sight of a dress in which she had acquired so much renown, and which, she once believed, she wore by the 24 JOAN d'arc. particular appointment of Heaven, all her former ideas and passions revived ; and she ventured in ber solitude to clothe herself again in the forbidden garment. Her insidious enemies caught her in that situation : Her fault was interpreted to be no less than a relapse into heresy : no recantation would now suffice, and no pardon could be granted her. She was condemned to be burned in the market-place of Roiien; and the infamous sentence was accordingly executed with brutal severity on the I4th of June, 1431. " Blessed be God !" were the last woirds she uttered. This admirable heroine, to whom the more generous superstition of the ancients would have erected altars, was, on pretence of heresy and magic, delivered over alive to the flames, and expiated, by that dreadful panishment, the signal services which she had rendered to her prince and to her native country. Historians have stated with great. inaccuracy the pron ceedings of the extraordinary trial of this unfortunate woman ; we shall therefore give a circumstantial ac count of the result of her varipus examinatioos. It is extracted from a manuscript in the French national Ijn brary and is as follows:— " At the age qf thirteen," said she, " I heard a voice in my father's garden al Domremi, proceeding from the right on the side of the church, accompanied with ^ great light. At fi^rst I was afraid, but presently found that it was the voice of an angel, who has protected roe ever since, who has taught me to conduct myself pro perly, and to frequent the church. It was Saint Mich^^l. I have also seen Saint Gabriel, but never Saint Denys. I have also seen Saint Catherine and Saint, Margsret* who spoke to me, exhorted me to go frequently to oqn- fession, and directed me in almost all my actions. These two saints appeared lo me almost daily, and often njore than once in the same day. I have seen them as distinctly as I see my judges. I wept when they left me, because I wished that my spirit might accompany them. )[, ^pqke, 26 JOAN D ARC 25 of these occurrences to no one, except to the Captain de Baudricourt, and the king: not because I was forbidden to do so ; but I feared if it were known, that my father, or the Burgundians of the neighbourhood, would create obstacles to my departure. " The. angels were sometimes accompanied by many other angels, for they come often among Christians. I have seen them many times amongst them, although the others did not see them. They have never written me any letters. 1 can easily distinguish whether it is the voice of an angel or a saint that speaks to me. They are generally accompanied by a light, but not always. Their voices are soft and kind. They spoke to me in French and not in English, because they are on the side of the former, 1 have never failed to see the two saints, even during my trial. The angels, appeared to me with heads in their natural shape. 1 see them and have seen them with my own eyes. I am convinced of it as strongly as I believe that God exists. Both the saints were always richly crowned. " It is God who hath given them the form under which they showed themselves to me. I bent the knee to them, and made reverences, joining my hands together; bijt I never made offerings of flowers or of my hair, or burnt wax-tapers to their honour, but in the church and before the images of the holy saints who are in Heaven, and never before the tree of the fairies. " Saint Michael hath appeared to me under the form of a true and honest man. He certified to me that it was God who sent the two saints to me, and that they only spoke to me by his orders. I am sure that it was Saint Michael from the expressions he used, for it was the language of angels. 1 cannot explain myself more particularly as to their appearances. They had hair, and their faces were perfect. I have often embraced the two female saints by the middle of the body ; and when they left me, I kissed the earth where they passed. I VOL. II. n 26 JOAN D ARC have been asked how I could prevent being deceived, if a demon bad presented itself to me under the resem blance of Saint Michael. I answer, that after the proofs I had, I could easily distinguish that saint from any other. He hath never said any thing to me but what was good : he hath instructed me rightly, and I believe in his words and deeds as firmly as I believe that Jesus Christ suffered for our redemption. " It is true that there is at Domremi, as has been said, a beech tree, which they call le beau Mai ou I'arbre des fees, and a spring in the neighbourhood where sick per sons come to drink to be cured of a fever; but I do not know whether they are relieved by il. Old people in the neighbourhood say, that fairies formerly came to this tree, A woman said that she had seen them. For my self I do not know whether it be true or not, for I have never seen them. They also say at Domremi that a mandrake is concealed in the earth near to this tree who could discover hidden treasures, but I know nothing more about it. The 5'oung girls are wont to amuse themselves near this tree ; I have been there with others, but I have neither sung nor danced, but have made nosegays for the holy virgin of Domremi. However, since the age of discretion, and since I have seen the angels and the holy saints, I no more amused myself with these childish games. I have neither had visions nor revelations near this tree; but the two saints have appeared to me near the fountain, but I do not recollect what they said to me at that time. There is in the neighbourhood a wood, called the oak wood, which may be seen from my father's house ; and when I went to find the king, they asked me if that were true, because they told me that the prophetesses had foretold that there would come from near the oak wood a girl who would perform wotiders ; but I have no other knowledge in this respect. " Sami Michael informed me long ago of the cala- JOAN D ABC. 27 mities which Prance would experience. He told me that I was a good yonng girl, and that I should go to the king's assistance. The two saints have also toU me that I mast go into France and cause the siege of Orleans to be raised, and render great services to the king. I asked tbem how that could be, as I was bat a poor eirl, and could neither ride nor fight. They told me to go and find out the Captain de Baadriconr t, who command ed for the king at Vancoalears. I had only quitted once my father's and mother's house, excepting as I am going to inform yon. My mother iostmcted me in religioD. She taught me the Pater Xoiter, which I repeat freely, and which I never refused to do but once, in order to prevail upon the Bishop de Beaavais to confess me. She also taaght me the salutation ofthe angels and the creed, which I repeated to my confessor. I was only employed in my father's house in domestic aflFairs, and not out of doors, and but seldom to take care of the flocks. " I wa; obliged to go to Toul, on account of a man's having cited me before the magistrates, in order to oblige me to marry bim; but I gained my trial, on af firming, as the truth was, that I never promised him; on the contrary, from the first day that I had seen the two saints, I made a vow of virginity both as to body and soul between their bands, altbongh they did not de mand it; and they assured me that, if I kept my vow, they would conduct me into Paradise, for which cause I do not believe myself to be in deadly sin, because if I had that misfortune they would not have come and shown themselves to me. Therefore, if I observe my vow, I believe as confidently in my salvation as if I were now in Heaven. Why do yon ask me for what reason I confess having this belief; I answer that I believe no person can purify his conscience too much. In short if I had com mitted a deadly sin, it would be to my confessor that I would reveal it. "About two years before I went to seek the king, my 28 JOAN d'arc father dreamt that I should one day join the army, which made him watch me with extreme care, and keep me in the greatest subjection during my youth. My father was so much afraid of this, that he said he would hurt me sooner than permit it, and he desired my bro thers to do it, if he failed. I have always obeyed my father and mother in every thing. I have only disobeyed them in this instance, and they have never forgiven me since, notwithstanding the grief which they felt on my departure with which they were extremely affected. " It was one of my uncles who carried me to Vaucou leurs to see the Captain de Baudricourt, for I was so re solved to obey what was commanded to me on the sub ject from God, that I would have preferred being torn in pieces by horses sooner than not have obeyed ; and although I had had a hundred kings for my father, I should nevertheless have gone, seeing that the voice of the saints came from God, and as they assured me that the king would receive and employ me in his service, and because I was also as sure that they spoke to me by the order of God himself, as I am of the truth of the Christian religion, and that God has redeemed us from the torments of hell. I was yet more resolved to act in this manner, because the two saints had assured me that the king would recover his kingdom entirely, either by will or force. " On entering the house of Captain de Baudricourt, 1 recognised him immediately from among those who were with him, although I had never seen him before ; for the two saints pointed him out lo me. Notwithstanding what I told him of the revelation which had been made to me, he twice refused, at diff-erent times, to pay any regard to it; but at length, on the third visit, he made me set out, dressed in the habit of a man, as the voices of the saints had commanded me, with a sword which he gave me, and caused me to be carried to the king, attended by a knight, a squire, and four servants; JOAN D ABC. 29 saying, as we parted, FareweU : go, come on it what may. " I add that I have never wished to quit the dress of a man, and I have refused many times lo do it, before, as well as since my confinement: because I did right in obeying my sovereign master. If I have been confessed, or received the communion in this dress in many large towns, 1 was never in armour at the time. I have al ways had a woman to sleep with me, and when I could not have one, I always lay down entirely clothed and armed. On my arrival before the king, I was examined and interrogated for three weeks at Chinon and at Poic tiers. They wrote down all that I said. I wish that my judges had it now before tbem. ' " It was revealed to me that I should cause the siege of Orleans to be raised. I assured the king of it, whom I recognised at first, among those who surrounded him, although I bad never seen him before, by means of a vision which I had at that moment, accompanied with a great light. They found at St. Catherine de Fierbois, in the place which I had described after a revelation which the saints had made to me, a sword concealed in the earth. It was entirely rusty, but this disappeared all at once, without any superstitious ceremony being em ployed. This I wore a long time and left it at Lagni. " I wished to prevail npon the Duke of Burgundy to make peace with the king; and I told the king that he would one day compel him to do it, if the duke would not then consent; but it is true that I said at the same time that no peace was to be made with the English, but that they must be compelled to return to their own country. " From this time I have done nothing, but under the guidance of the revelations which were made to me, and even now upon my trial, I only speak, after it has been revealed to me, what I may be permitted to say. You reproach me with having commanded in battle, at the 30 JOAN D ARC. head of 6000 men, of princes, of barons, and of nobles, as if I were their captain ; but if I have been a leader in the war, il was in obedience to the saints and angels, and for that my reliance is in God, as it is for all that I have done. For the rest, I have never practised any sorcery, or enchantment, or any thing which has the least rela tion to either, " If my standard, or the particular banners of my troops, represented two angels supporting God, who held the world in his hands, with the words Jesus Maria, the voices of the saints- pointed it out tome, and many per sons advised me to it. Nothing particular was done with respect to these colours, and the angels were painted upon them in the same manner as they are painted in churches. If I have often said that these colours and banners were fortunate, it was not because I pretended to attribute to them any particular virtue, but because I wished they might be so, and to encourage the soldiers: but without that, the two saints had asssured me of suc cess. If I had been wounded in the neck at the siege of Orjeans, the two saints would have previously informed me of it, and I should have told it to the king : but I was not quite sure of being able to raise the siege, because they had told me so, " If I have always borne my own standard myself, I have never had any other object in doing so but to avoid shedding human blood, I have never, in fact, killed one man in battle. If I have hung up my arms in the church of Saint Denys, it was that I might thank God for not having been killed at the attack of the city of Paris, where I was wounded, and without having any other motive, much less that of exposing them for public ve neration. If many persons have kissed my hands and my rings, they have done it in spite of me. I did all that was in my power to prevent them, and I only received with pleasure poor persons who came to me, and whom I consoled in the best manner that I could. As to my JOAN DAKr. .51 rings, I never had but two, one given me by my father, and the other by my brother, and I have never attributed any charmf or power to them. " If there were any who did not approach me until they had made the sign of the cross with holy water. I have said to them. Approach without fear, I shall notfy away. If one Friar Richard has pressed me to adopt the revelations of a woman whom he caused me to see, I have not believed in them after having made the ex amination which I judged necessary. If they have painted portraits of me, I have only seen one, which re presented me kneeling and presenting a letter to the king. If they have made images or other representations of me on paper, in lead, or any other metal ; if they have been worn suspended at the neck, if they have called me a saint, if they have taken rbe for the first saint in Paradise after the Holy Virgin, if they have taken me for an angel rather than a woman, if they named me in church in their prayers, or if they have raised statues to my honour, as you pretend, I know nothing at all about it. I am even ignorant whether those who are on the king's side believe me sent by God for the purpose of doing what I have ; but whether they believe it or not, it is not the less true, since I have only acted by virtue of the revelations which have been made to me. " You ask me if I think that he, whom I call my king, hath done right in putting the Duke of Burgundy to death. I will tell you upon that point that his death hath been a great misfortune to France; but, whatever might exist between those two princes, God hath not the less sent me to the assistance of the King of France. If my letters bear the words Jesus -f- Maria, with a cross between them, it is what the ecclesiastics advised me to; and I will own to you, that when I added another cross it was to indicate, for some secret reason, that the con tents of the letter should not be obeyed. " If it be alleged, as the troth is, that the Count 32 - JOAN d'arc d'Armagnac wrote to me, desiring to know which of the three pretenders to the papal chair he should obey, I made no other answer to him than what is (iontained in the letter produced to me, and which says, that I would inform him on my arrival in Paris, to which ofthe three he should give credit, and that by the counsel of my rightful and sovereign Lord, the King of all the universe. I was on the point of mounting my horse. I had only time to write that I could not answer him then but would do it at Paris, which made it important, because his messenger ran the risk, if he did not immediately re turn, of being thrown into the river. But I never wrote to him on the subject of the three popes, other than that I always had been, and was now, subject to the pope who was at Rome. " If it be alleged that I brought to life an infant at Lagni, I will tell you how that happened. It gave no signs of life for three days after it was born, and had not been baptized : the girls at Lagni prayed for it before the image of the Holy Virgin. The voices of the two saints said lo me that, if I went, life would be restored to it. I accordingly repaired to the church and saw the infant, black as my tunic, and without any motion. 1 joined the girls of the village, and prayed with them. The infant revived — it appeared at first less black, cried three times, was baptized immediately, and, dying pre sently afterwards, was buried in holy ground ; bull have no other information on the subject, nor do I know whether they attribute its being brought to life to me. " If 1 called upon the people of Paris to surrender the city, it was not lo me that I called upon them to do so, as you allege, but to the king. If I gave out that God loved the French, but did not love the English, 1 never intended to speak of the salvation of the latter, for I am totally ignorant on the subject; but I said that God loved the king, the Duke of Orleans, and some others ; that is,. I meant that he would protect them, and I have said 36 JOAN d'arc 83 no more than what I knew. I said, what I know well, that the will of God is that the English should be driven out of France, and that God would give victory over them to the French, because if the English had success at the first, God only permitted il in order to punish ) and were come for the service of the most faithful people ;" which was the denomination the rabble gave themselves. ^ As soon as Masaniello saw the new comers, he thanked them for their good will, and, telling them to alight, appointed them different quarters of the city, where they should expect his further orders, on foot: upon which Perrone, who was by, told him, that he judged it much more proper to assign them a separate station to themselves, and by no means to dismount them, because, being on horseback, they would be much readier to as sist him in case of any urgent necessity. To this Masaniello replied, "that it was altogether unnecessary for them to continue as a separate body, and that they would be as serviceable, lo him on foot as on horseback." But Perrone, warmly insisting upon their going mounted, and in a body, and that without being able to give any good reason for it, Masaniello began to suspect that some dark business was going forward, and therefore peremptorily commanded the banditti to go on foot to the quarter he assigned them, and not to stir from thence without his orders. He had no sooner spoke than a musket was fired off, which Masaniello considering as the signal of some mischief, cried out, "Treason! Treason! there is a plot on foot!" and immediately five muskets were discharg ed at him by some of the banditti, who had found means to mix themselves amohg the crowd thatsurround- 70 TOMASO ANIELLO. ed him. He, however, received no hurt, though a bullet or two came so near him as to singe his shirt. The people, seeing their general alive, and without harm, cried out, one and all, " that God and the Lady Carmine had protected him, and that this miraculous deliverance of his pereon was a manifest token that they approved of his undertaking." They had no sooner said .this, than they fell, without mercy, upon the banditti, thirty of whom were killed on the spot, and the remain der in the church and convent of Carmine, whither they fled for shelter. Among them perished Dominico Perrone, and Gregory Perrone;. the former lost his life for being an accomplice in the conspiracy, and the latter for being his brother. This being discovered, by the confession of one of the banditti, to have been the contrivance of the Duke de Mataloni and Don Pepe Caraffa, his brother, two rich and powerful noblemen, Masaniello spared no pains to find them out. And at length having discovered the latter in the monastery of Santa Nova, where he had taken refuge, be was soon demolished by the mob, and his head, together with tbosb of^the principal banditti, were, by the general's oixiers, fixed upon poles in the market-place. The duke fortnnately made his escape; but was proclaimed a traitor, and a large reward offered for apprehending him. Masatiiello having grown very diffident and suspicious, since the discovery of this plot against his life, he made no scruple to believe that it had been contrived by, or at least carried on with the consent and approbation of the viceroy. He therefore determined to reduce him lo such straits as should at once satiate his revenge, and force him to accept of whatever conditions he mighl think fit to impose upon him. For this end he published an order, prohibiting, upon Ipain of death, all persons from conveying any kind of provisions into Castlenovo, where the viceroy was in a TOMASO ANIELLO. 71 manner pent up, with the duchess his wife, the councils of state, and the greatest part of the nobility and gentry of the kingdom. He likewise caused the aqueducts that supplied the castle with water to be cut off, issuing at the same time several other mandates ; one of which was that the city gales should be shut, and nobody suffered to pass and repass, without a special order from himself; and all these orders were as punctually and diligently executed, as those of the Grand Signior are at Constan tinople. Upon the approach of evenings he directed, that during the night, all the windows throughout the city and suburbs sl)ould be illuminated, and the people be under arms ; and almost in an instant, every house in Naples, as well those of noblemen as others, had lights in their windows; for, what the people did out of love to their chief, the nobles did through fear of him. The viceroy seeing that Masaniello treated thus, with sword in hand, and fearing that the storm which had so long hovered over his head, should at last burst upon him, and overwhelm him, he resolved, upon any terms, to conclude the treaty of accommodation, not doubling but that time and cunning would furnish him with an opportunity of breaking any engagement that should prove prejudicial either to his own interests, or those of the prince he represented. For this purpose he wrote a letter to the Archbishop of Naples, wherein he disclaimed having any share in the late conspiracy, protesting at the same time, that he had nothing so much at heart as the peace of the city, and the good of the people ; he therefore pressed him to bring the treaty to a conclusion as soon as possible. The letter, which the archbishop showed to Masaniello, had the desired effect. The people began to believe that the viceroy was innocent, and abated very much of their former rage and insolence; so that the treaty, which had heen interrupted by various unlucky accidents. 72 TOMASO ANIELLO. was now in a fair way of being brought to a conclusion, through the medium ofthe archbishop, or rather through the craft and subtlety of Julio Genovino, the ecclesias tic before mentioned as Masaniello's prime coadjutor. This artful priest, though a sworn enemy to government, having more of ambition in him than of animosity, wavered almost as soon as he engaged in the sedition, and listened to the promises of favour and preferment, which were secretly made to him by the viceroy, by whose instructions he fomented the misunderstanding between the nobles and the commons, and now managed with great art and dexterity the treaty of accommodation in favour of the Spanish court; which being at length perfected, and fairly drawn up by Genovino, and read by him/ received the approbation of Masaniello and the other ringleaders of the rabble. The concessions comprised in the agreement were to the following purport : — " That the people should from that time forward enjoy all the benefits, privileges and immunities granted to them by the Emperor Charles V. and King Ferdinand, according to the purport and meaning of the original charters, which should hereafter remain in their hands ; that all excesses and outrages committed on the 7th of July, when the insurrection began, to the date of these articles, should be pardoned by a general amnesty;— that the elect, as well as the counsellors and deputies of the people, and other infe rior officers therein specified, should be chosen every six months by the commons, without need of further con firmation ; — that the said elect should have as many voices as all the nobility together, as it used to be before they had been stripped of this privilege by Don Frede rick, and which the most Catholic King Ferdinand had, in the yeAr 1505, promised to restore to them ; — that the viceroy should cause the said articles to be ratified by the King of Spain, within three months after their pub lication; when they should be engraved on marble, and 28 TOMASO ANIELLO. 73 set up in the middle of the great market-place : — that the people should not lay down their arras, till the said confirmation of their privileges: — and, lastly, that in case they could not obtain such a ratification, and the execution ofthe said articles and privileges, they might with impunity rise in arms, and strive to redress them selves, without being guilty of irreverence to the King of Spain." Although the viceroy well knew that these articles tended to the ruin of at least ninety thousand persons, who were concerned either in the collection or the pro duce of the gabels; and what was still of more import ance to him, that ministers could not hereafter raise any more subsidies, nor oppress the stibject, in order to sup port their ambition and luxury ; yet he signed them with a smiling countenance, sind gave them to the different councils, who signed them in their turns. After this, they were read aloud by a notary in the church of Carmine, the cardinal archbishop being pre sent, with Masaniello, Genovino, and an infinite num ber of people, who, by their repeated los, seemed to give their assent to them, and seal the peace. The whole concluded with a grand Te Deum. This being accomplished, the archbishop informed Masaniello, that the viceroy desired much to see him ; and at the same time expressed a wish of having the pleasure to introduce him to his excellency. Masaniello, as well as the other leaders, seemed at first very averse to the interview; but his eminence, by the force of his reasons, and the veneration in which he was held by all ranks, at length prevailed ; and they immediately set forward towards the viceroy's palace. Upon this occasion Masaniello threw off his mariner's dress which he had hitherto worn ; and appeared on horseback, in a magnificent habit, a lowering plume of feathers in his hat, and a drawn sword in his hand. Thus accoutred, he rode before the archbishop's VOL. II. K 74 TOMASO ANIELLO. coach. His brother, Mateo d'Amalfi,. clad likewise in a rich embroidered suit, rode on the right side of his eminence, and Aspaja, the tribune of the commons, on the left; Julio Genovino came last, followed by one hundred and sixty companies of horse and foot, consist ing in all of about fifty thousand men. Numberless were the praises and blessings bestowed upon Masaniello, as he passed along the streets, by the spectators, who, out of a grateful sense of the great de liverance he had wrought for them, honoured him with the glorious title of the saviouk of his country. Nor did they express their gratitude more by their words, than by their actions. The men strewed the way before him with palm and olive branches ; while the ladies, from their windows and balconies, which were hung with the richest silks and tapestries, curtsied as he went by, and threw down flowers and garlands. The air was filled with the harmony of musical instruments, and nothing was to be heard but universal sounds of joy and triumph. Masaniello being arrived at Castlenovo, the captain of the viceroy's guard came out to salute him in the name of his excellency, and bid him welcome to the palace. The general returned the compliment in a few words, uttered with great gravity, and then making a sign to the people that they should be silent, he addressed him self to them in a speech, wherein he pointed out the im portance ofthe privileges he had been the means of ob taining for them ; and, without arrogating to himself any merit for what he had done, warned them to be very attentive to the preservation of their newly re stored rights. Among other singular passages in his speech, which was of considerable length, and uttered with becomin^ energy, and in a language not to be expected from a fisherman, were the following :—" The archbishop has experienced my disinterestedness in my refusal of two e> TOMASO ANIELLO. 75 hundred crowns a month, which, during the first day of the revolution, he offered to settle upon me for life, if I would but calm your resentments, and make you desist from your just pretensions. Nor even at this time, should I have thrown off my tattered weeds, to assume this gaudy magnificence, had not his eminence, for decency's sake, and upon pain of excommunication, obliged me to it. No, no — ^l am still Masaniello the fisherman ; such was I born, such have I lived hitherto, and such I intend to live and die. And after having fished for, and caught the public liberty, in that tempes tuous sea wherein it had been immersed so long, I'll re turn to my former condition ; reserving nothing for my self but iTiy hook and line, with which lo provide daily for the necessary support of the remainder of my life. The only favour I shall desire of you, in token of ac knowledgment for all my labours, is, that when I am dead, you will each of you say an A-de Maria for me : do you promise me this?" An answer immediately burst forth from thousands, — " Yes ! but let it he a hundred years hence." Upon which Masaniello thanked them, and then proceeded to give them his advice relative to their future caution ; and concluded with saying, "lam now going to negociate with the viceroy, and shall soon be with you again, at least before to-morrow morning; but if you do not see me then, you may set' fire to the palace." Having ended his speech, and the archbishop having, at his request, given his blessing lo the people, Masani ello comma/ided them, on pain of his displeasure, lo follow him any farther; aiid then went into the palace, accompanied by the Archbishop, Genovino, Arpaja, and his brother Mateo. The viceroy stood ready al the top of the staircase to receive them. As sooq as Masaniello saw him, he threw himself at his feet, and having kissed them, and thanked his excellency, in the name of all the people, for his 76 TOMASO ANIELLO. gracious approbation of the treaty, he told him he was come there to receive whatever sentence his excellency should think fit to pass upon him. The viceroy, with the dissimulation of a true courtier, raised him up, and embracing him, answered, " that he was happy to see him there; and so far from thinking him criminal, that he would certainly give him daily proofs of his favour and esteem." To this Masaniello replied, " that God could witness for him, that the only scope and end of all his designs was the service of the king and his ex cellency." These mutual salutations being ended, the viceroy, the archbishop, and Masaniello, retired into a private apartment, in order to consult what were the best mea sures to be pursued in the present posture of affairs. During this conference, an incident happened which sufficiently gave the Spaniards to understand how much Masaniello was esteemed by the people, and how anx ious they were for his safety. Those who had assembled in the palace-yard, thinking that he was long before he made his appearance, began to murmur, fearing that some mischance had befallen him ; and that the viceroy had violated his faith to him, and caused him to be ar rested, or perhaps murdered. The murmur increased, and the rabble grew at last so clamorous, that their noise reached the viceroy's ears; who being informed of the reason of it, to appease the tumult, immediately showed him'self, with his company, in a balcony ; where Masaniello having assured the multitude that he was safe, and under no manner of re- sti'aint, they all cried out. Long live the King of Spain ! Long live the Duke d'Arcas ! Masaniello then told his excellency, that he would let him see how obedient the, Neapolitans were. At the same time, putting his finger to his mouth, the rabble ceased their cry ; a profound silence instantly followed; and, among so great a multi tude, there was scarce one of them seen to breathe. TOMASO ANlELLa. 77 Then commanding, upon pain of his displeasure, that every soul should retire, the court- yard was cleared as it were in an instant, and not a man left upon the place. The conference ended with the warmest professions of friendship and esteem from the viceroy to Masaniello, and not without more substantial marks of his favour j for he made him a present of a gold chain of consider able value, which Masaniello refused several times to accept, but, at the earnest solicitation of the archbishop, ' he at length complied. He was'at the same lime created by his excellency, Duke de St. George. The viceroy accompanied this great honour with many caresses, which probably were meant only to amuse his visitor. After having kissed the viceroy's knee, and taken leave, Masaniello waited upon the archbishop to his palace, and from thence retired in his eminence's coach, pretty late in the evening, to his own house, attended by a numberless throng of people, who, by their acclamations, bonfires, and ringing of bells, gave public demonstrations of their joy and gratitude. The day following, Masaniello issued out various pro clamations, as captain-general ; which office had been confirmed to him by the viceroy. All of these were drawn up with the judgment of a veteran in politics, and were all of the most salutary nature, tending to restore order and tranquillity, and at the same time to establish the rights he had obtained for the people upon a solid foundation. These proclamations^ which were subscrib ed Thom_as Aniello d'Amalfi, head and captain-general of the most faithful people of Naples, were obeyed with wonderful exactness, by persons of every rank and quality. We now see this extraordinary man arrived at the highest pitch of his glory. We see him exalted from the state of a poor fisherman, to an eminence that has immortalized his name, and which has procured him a place among our instances of the mutability of fortune. 78 TOMASO ANIELLO. Sunday the I3th of July was the great day in which the treaty that had been entered into between the viceroy and the people was to be ratified in the cathedral. Masaniello spent the morning in hearing causes, redress ing grievances, and making regulations relative to the affairs of the city, both civil and military. Immediately after dinner, the viceroy having sent a pair of very fine horses, richly caparisoned, for the ge neral and his brother to appear on at the cavalcade ; they mounted, both dressed in cloth of silver tissue, and moved slowly towards the castle; the former bearing a drawn sword in his hand, the latter the articles of capi tulation. From thence, after being joined by the vice roy and his whole court, they proceeded to the church, where his excellency, and all the great officers of state, swore upon the holy evangelists to observe inviolably the conditions of the treaty. All the time the articles were reading, Masaniello stood up, with his sword drawn in his hand, and was very busy in explaining some of tliLUi lo the people, and enlarging upon others. As soon as the oath had been administered, and the Te Deum sung, he made a long harangue, sometimes addressing himself to the viceroy, and sometimes to the multitude, and confounding seve ral good things with many senseless and impertinent ones. Having finished his discourse, he began to tear in pieces the rich dress he had on, and desired the arch bishop and viceroy to help him off with it, saying, "That as he bad only put it on for the honour of the ceremony, it was now become useless since that was ended ; that, for his part, he had done all he had to do, and would now return to his hook and line." Being, however, made to understand that it would be very in decent to strip in the church, and in the sight of so many persons, he accompanied the viceroy : who, with all the nobility and gentry, went in procession throusrh TOMASO ANIELLO, 79 the most public streets of the city, and then returned to the castle, Masaniello having there taken leave of his excellency, retired to his house in the market-place, through all the acclamations and blessings that were due from the people to the great restorer of privileges, Tdius ended that happy day, which crowned all Naples with joy; and the next day, Masaniello, as the author of this great change, was congratulated by, and receiv ed the compliments of, several of the nobility and gentry, the ministers of state, and almost all the ecclesiastics and religious orders of the city. Such were the honours bestowed upon this poor fish erman. — But there is a certain point to which these sud den elevations are permitted to rise; a boundary which they seldom exceed. The more bright the glare of these political meteors, the sooner do they evaporate. Of this, Masaniello is a most conspicuous proof. He, who from the seventh day of July to the thirteenth, had behaved himself with so much wisdom and kingly authority, and in that short period had perfected a re volution as extraordinary as beneficial to his fellow-citi zens, on a sudden, to the surprise of every one, exhibited signs of insanity. His late behaviour in the cathedral, where he was about publicly to disrobe himself, seems to have been the first visible prelude to it. It afterwards showed itself in various shapes ; — such as, the most ludi crous behaviour to the Archbishop of Santa Severina, and some others; — by riding full speed through the streets of Naples,- abusing, maiming, or kicking who ever had the misfortune to come in his way; — and by many other pranks that too plainly indicated a mind deranged. Numberless were the causes to which this sudden alteration in Masaniello has been attributed. Some were of opinion, that the stupendous height of power to which he had arrived as it were in an instant, made him giddy, and overturned his reason. Others would have 80 TOMASO ANIELLO. it to have been occasioned by the great and continual fatigues he had undergone, as he scarcely allowed him self to take the natural refreshments of food or sleep. But the most probable and most received opinion was, that the viceroy had caused an intoxicating draught lo be given him, which, by inflaming his blood, sl^uld make him commit such extravagances as would oblige the people to despise and forsake him. About three o'clock in the afternoon, Masaniello went to the palace, having a ragged coat on his back, only one stocking, and without either hat, sword, or band ; and showing himself in this condition to the viceroy, told him that he was almost starved, and would fain eat something : whereupon his excellency commanded something to be brought and set before the Lord Masa niello ; to which he replied, that it was no matter, for he did not then come to eat, but to desire his excellency to accompany him as far as Posilipso,. where they would take a collation together, having provided every thing necessary for that purpose. As soon as he had said this, he gave a call, and immediately several mariners came in, laden with all sorts of fruits and dainties. But the viceroy, who was not in a humour to drink with a crazy fisherman, excused himself on account of a pain in his head, with which he said he was that mo ment taken. He, however, ordered his own gondola to be made ready ; and when it \^as prepared, Masaniello went on board, forty feluccas attending him, filled with persons, who used their utmost endeavours to divert him; some of them dancing, some playing upon musi cal instruments, and others diving to pick up pieces of gold, which he threw from time to time into the sea. This agreeable airing, instead of refreshing him, ra ther contributed to extinguish that small spark of reason that was left in him, and wholly deprive him of his senses; for it is said, that, in going and coming he drank no less than twelve bottles of strong-bodied wine, 29 TOMASO ANIELLO. ' 81 called Lachrymm Christi, which so dried up his brain, that he was never after seen to act or to speak in cool blood. While Masaniello was upon this excursion, his wife went' to visit the vice-queen, in a new coach, which the Duke of Mataloni (whose escape we had before noticed) had bespoke for his wedding-day, and for which he was to pay eight thousand ducats. She was magnificently dressed, and had about her a vast quantity of rich jewels, that had been presented to her by his excellency. The vice-queen gave her an honourable reception ; and hav ing treated her very splendidly, and put upon her finger a ring of great value, she returned home, very well pleased. Her husband's mother, and his two sisters, who had accompanied her in this visit, likewise received tokens of her excellency's kindness. After Masaniello's return from Posilipso, he committed so many extravagant acts, that the citizens were greatly oftended thereby, and came lo a resolution to confine hiin; but none could find in his heart to take away the life of the deliverer of his country. This resolution was not, however, powerful enough to remove the fears of the viceroy, who trembled at his very name. He ac cordingly employed four conspirators, who dispatched him by a musket shot from each, while playing his mad pranks in the ehurch of Carmine; as he fell beneath their wounds, he exclaimed, " ungratefu^l traitors," and immediately expired. The assassins having cut ofl' his head, fixed it on a pole, and" carried it directly to the viceroy, crying out, as they went, " Masaniello is dead !" — " Let the King of Spain live, and let nobody hereafter presume to mention the name of Masaniello." The bold action so terrified the rabble, who, to the number of ten thousand or more, were assembled in the church and market-place, that far from avenging the death of one that had lately stood so high in their VOL. II. L 82 TOMASO ANIELLO. esteem, they became stupified an^ ftiotionless : affording .upon this occasion, a memorable instance of the incon stancy of the populace. And those who from the be ginning of the insurrection had loved Masaniello to adoration, now calmly saw him murdered ; his head taken off, and thrown into a ditch ; and his body, as he had himself foretold, dragged through the streets of Naples, by the lowest of the mob. Masaniello was no sooner dead, than the nobility and gentry, who had not dared to stir abroad during the com motions, now flocked in shoals to congratulate the viceroy upon the happy event. After which, his excellency, with the chief officers and magistrates of the kingdom, went with great solemnity to the church of Carmine, to offer up his thanks to Heaven for the deliverance he had experienced; and having again confirmed the articles of the last treaty, returned to his palace, with the uni versal acclamation of that very rabble, who, but a few days before, had pulled him by the whiskers, and offered h'im all manner of indignities. Thus rose and fell, Masaniello d'Amalfi, the dread of the Spaniards, the avenger of public oppressions, and the saviour of his country. Antiquity cannot furnish us with a similar example; and after ages will hardly be lieve to what a height of power this fisherman arrived at, who trampling barefoot on a throne, and wearing a mariner's cap instead of a diadem, in the space of four days, raised an army of above one hundred and fifty thou sand men, and made himself master of one of the most populous cities in the world. In short, it may be aver red without exaggeration, that neither the most formi dable tyrant, nor the most beloved prince, were ever so much dreaded, or so soon obeyed, as Masaniello was, during his short, but stupendous reign. His orders were without reply ; his decrees without appeal; and the destiny of all Naples might be said to have depend ed upon a single motion of his hand. TOMASO ANIELLO. 83 This is the more amazing, as he had never had any education, and had always passed among those of his acquaintance, for a simple, joking fellow ; and yet, all on a sudden, he was seen to act and speak as if he had been long conversant in politics, and the manage- itient of public affairs. In the very heat of the commo tions, he made, and maintained, the most useful orders and regulations, with more wisdom and discretion than the wisest legislators, and the most experienced generals, could have been capable of. With what art and address did he not insinuate himself into the hearts of so many thousands, by far his superiors ; encouraging the fear ful, extolling the bold, reproaching the coward, and pathetically describing to all the miserable state of their country, and animating them to revenge and redress themselves ! In short, when we reflect upon the magnitude of the enterprise which he projected and executed ; the inde fatigable assiduity with which he applied himself to it Can assiduity that robbed him of the hours of nourish ment and repose, and made him dictate to seven secre taries at a time); the just severity, which, though it compelled him to put many persons to death, never ex erted itself on any whose crimes had not deserved it; and above all, that noble and generous disinterestedness, which kept him poor in the midst of such vast heaps of wealth ; we may truly say, ihat Masaniello was endow ed with all those qualifications, high birth excepted, that constitute the great man and which must render his name immortal. The policy of the viceroy, in causing Masaniello to be put to death, has admitted of some doubt. For, al though the sedition which he was the first promoter of, seemingly tended to the hurt of the state, and the weakening of the sovereign authority, yet his loyalty to the King of Spain, throughout the whole, was never to be doubted : and the very abolishment of the gabels 84 TOMASO ANIELLO, would, instead of lessening his revenue, have proved beneficial to his Catholic majesty, as Masaniello had taken measures for presenting him with a very large do native, had he lived. Having mentioned the ingratitude of the people of Naples, in forsaking their great deliverer, and suffering his remains to receive the indignities they did, it is but reasonable that we notice the sorrow and penitence which they afterwards expressed for it. His remains being collected, it was resolved in a general assembly of the people, who were gathered together on purpose, that he deserved to receive all the honours due to the captain-general of Naples, He was accordingly buried on the 17th, with all the solemnities which are com monly used at the funeral of a martial commander. Upon this occasion his corpse was preceded by above five hundred priests and religious, and followed by forty thousand men in arms. As the procession passed by the palace of the viceroy, his excellency, to conform to the present temper of the people, sent eight of his pages, with flambeaux in their hands, to join in it, and at the same time ordered the guard to salute the bodv. Being arrived at the cathedral, he was there interred, amidst the tears and lamentations of an infinite multi tude, who showed so much respect and veneration for his dust, that it might be said, that, in less than three days, Masaniello was obeyed like a monarch, murdered like a villain, and revered like a saint. Not many days after Masaniello's death, the viceroy made Julio Genovino president of one of the courts of justice, and bestowed on him other public marks of his favour : which, added to a discovery of an article in the treaty of accommodation, that had not been read at its first publication, and which annulled all the others, alarmed the whole city; and the people flying once more to their arms, a civil war ensued, which in the end proved fatal to the Spaniards. NICHOLAS SAUNDERSON. JJocTOE Nicholas Saunderson, an illustrious pro fessor of the mathematics in the university of Cambridge, and fellow of the royal society, was borii in January, 1682, at Thurlston near Penniston in Yorkshire ; where bis father, besides a small estate, enjoyed a place in the Excise. When he was twelve months old, he was de prived, by the small pox, not only of his sight, but of his eyes also; for thej' came away in abscess : so that he retained no more idea of light and colours, than if he had been born blind. He was sent early to the free- school at Penniston, and there laid the foundation of that knowledge of the Greek and Roman languages; which he afterwards improved, so far by his own appli cation lo the classic authors, as to hear the works of Euclid, Archimedes, and Diophontus, read in their ori ginal Greek, As soon as he had gone through the busi ness of the grammar-school, his father, whose occupa tion led him' to be conversant in numbers, began to in struct him in the common rules of arithmetic. Here it was that his genius first appeared : he soon became able to work the common questions, to make long calcula tions by the strength of his memory, and to form new rules to himself for the more ready solving of such problems, as are often proposed to learners, more with a design to perplex than to instruct. At the age of eigh teen, he was introduced to the acquaintance of Richard West, Esq. of Underbank, a gentleman of fortune, and a lover of the mathematics : who, observing Mr. Saun- derson's uncommon capacity, took the pains to instruct him in the principles of algebra and geometry, and gave him every encouragement in his power to the prosecu tion of these studies. Soon after, he grew acquainted with Dr. Nettleton, who took the same pains with him ; 86 NICHOLAS SAUNDERSON. and it was to these gentlemen, that Mr, Saunderson owed his first institution in the mathematical sciences. They furnished him with books, and often read and ex pounded them to him ; but he soon surpassed his masters, and became fitter to teach, than learn any thing from them. Our author's passion for learning growing with him, his father encouraged it; and sent him to a private academy at Attercliff near Sheffield, Logic and meta physics, it seems, made up the principal learning of this school : the former being chiefly the art of disputing in mood and figure, a dry study, conversant only in words, the latter dealing in such abstract ideas, as have not the objects of sense for their foundation, were neither of them agreeable to the genius of our author ; and there fore he made but a short stay here. He remained some time after in the country, prosecuting his studies in his own way, without either guide or assistant : indeed he needed no other than a good author, and some person that could read it to him ; being able by the strength of his own abilities to surmount all difficulties that misht occur. His education had hitherto been carried on at the expense of his father, who having a numerous family grew uneasy under the burden: his friends there fore began to think of fixing him in some way of busi ness, by which he might support himself. His own in clination led him strongly to Cambridge; but the ex pense of an education there, was a difficulty not to be got over. At last, it was resolved he should try his for tune there, but in a way very uncommon ; not as a scholar but a master : for his friends observing in him a peculiar felicity in conveying his ideas to others, hoped that he might teach the mathematics with credit and ad vantage, even in the university ; or if this design should miscarry, they promised themselves success in opening a school for him in London. Accord in illy, in the year 1707, being now twentv-five NICHOLAS SAUNDERSON. 87 lyears of age, he was brought to Cambridge by Mr. Joshua Dunn, then a fellow-commoner of Christ-college • where he resided with his friend, but was not admitted a member of the college. The society were much pleased with so extraordinary a guest, allotted him a chamber, the use of their library, and indulged him in every privilege, that could be of advantage to him. But many difficulties obstructed his design : he was placed here without friends, without fortune, a young man un taught himself, to be a teacher of philosophy in an uni versity, where it then reigned in the greatest perfection. Mr. Whiston was at this time in the mathematical pro fessor's chair, and read lectures in the manner proposed by Mr. Saunderson ; so that an attempt of this kind looked like an encroachment on the privileges of his office: but, as a good-natured man and an encourager of learning, he readily consented to the application of friends, made in behalf of so uncommon a person. Mr. Dunn had been very assiduous in making known his character; his fame in a short time had filled the university ; men of learning and curiosity grew ambitious and fond of his acquaintance ; so that his lec ture, as soon as opened, was frequented by many, and in a short time very much crowded. ThePrincipiaMa- thematica. Optics, and Arithmetica Universalis of Sir Isaac Newton were the foundation of his lecture ; and they afforded a noble field to display bis genius in. It will be matter of surprise to many, that our author should read lectures in optics, discourse on the nature of light and colours, explain the theory of vision, the effect of glasses, the phenomena of the rainbow, and other objects of sight: but if we consider, that this science is altogether to be explained by lines, and is subject lo the rules of geometry, it will be easy to conceive, that he might be a master of these subjects. As Mr. Saunderson was instructing the academical youth in the principles of the Newtonian philosophy. 88 NICHOLAS SAUNDERSON. it was not long before he became acquainted with the incomparable author, although he had left the univer sity several years ; and enjoyed his frequent conversa tion concerning the more difficult parts of his works. He lived in friendship also with the most eminent ma thematicians of the age ; with Halley, Cotes, De Moiv're, &c. Upon the removal of Mr. Whiston from' his pro fessorship, Mr. Saunderson's mathematical merit was universally allowed so much superior to that of any competitor, that an extraordinary step was taken in his favour, to qualify him with a degree, which the statutes require. Upon application made by the heads of col leges to the Duke of Somerset their chancellor, a man date was readily granted by the queen, for conferring on him the degree of master of arts : upon which he was chosen Lucasian professor of the mathematics in No vember 1711, Sir Isaac Newton all the while interesting himself very much in the affair. His first performance, after he was seated in the chair, was'an inauguration speech made in very elegant Latin, and a style truly Ciceronian; for he was well versed in the writings of Tully, who was his favourite in prose, as Virgil and Horace were in verse. From this time he applied him self closely to the reading of lectures, and gave up his whole time to his pupils. He continued among the gen tlemen of Christ's college, till the year 1723 ; when he took a house in Cambridge, and soon after married a daughter of the Rev. Mr. Dickons, rector of Box worth, in Cambridgeshire ; by whom he had a son and a daughter. In the year 1728, when King George II. honoured the university with a visit, he was pleased to signify his de sire of seeing so renrarkable a person ; and accordingly our professor waited upon his majesty in the senate-house and was there created doctor of laws by royal favour. Dr. Saunderson was naturally of a strong healthy constitution; but being too sedentary, and constantly confining himself to the house, he became at len»th a 29 NICHOLAS SAUNDERSON. 89 valetudinarian of a very scorbutic habit. For some years he frequently complained of a numbness in his limbs, which in the spring of the year 1739, ended in a mortification of his foot; when his blood being in a very ill state, no art or medicines were able to stop its progress. He died the 19th of April, in the 57th year of his age ; and lies buried according to his request in the chancel at Boxworth. He was a man rather to, be admired than loved. He had much wit and vivacity in conversation, so that none could be a better companion. He had also a great regard to truth, and was one of those sincere men, who think it their duty to speak it at all times; and therefore his sentiments on men and opini ons, his praises or censures, his friendship or disregard, were expressed without partiality or reserve : which, as must easily be imagined, would raise him up many enemies, and expose him to many animosities. He re ceived the notice of his approaching death with great calmness and serenity ; and after a short silence, resum ing life and spirit, talked with as much composure as usual. He was not supposed to entertain any great notion of revealed religion, yet, we are told, appointed to receive the sacrament the evening before hisd eath ; which a delirium, that never went off, prevented him from doing. A blind man, moving in the sphere of a mathemati cian, seems a phenomenon difficult to be accounted for, and has excited the admiration of every age in which it has appeared. Tully mentions it as a thing scarce cre dible in his own master in philosophy Diodolus, that " he exercised himself therein with more assiduity, after he became blind: and what he thought next to impos sible to be done without sight, that he professed geome try ; describing his diagrams so expressly to his scholars, that they could draw every line in its proper direction." St. Jerom relates a more remarkable instance in Didy- mus of Alexandria, who, "though blind from hisinfancy, VOL. ii. M 90 NICHOLAS SAUNDERSON. and therefore ignorant of the very letters, appeared so great a miracle to the world, as not to learn logic, but geometry also to perfection; which seems the most of any thing to require the help of sight." But, if we consider that the ideas of extended quantity, which are the chief objects of mathematics, may as well be ac quired from the sense of feeling, as that of sight; that a fixed and steady attention is the principal qualification for this study ; and that the blind are by necessity more abstracted than others, for which reason Democritus is said to-have piit out his eyes, that he might think more intensely; we shall perhaps find reason to suppose, that there is no other branch of science more adapted to their circumstances. It was by the fense of feeling, that Saunderson ac quired most of his ideas at first ; and this he enjoyed in great acuteness and perfection, as it commonly happens to the blind, whether by, the gift of nature, or, as is more probable, by the necessity of application. Yet he could not, as some have imagined, and as Mr. Boyle was made to believe of a blind man at Maestricht, distin guish colours by that sense; and having made repeated trials, he used to say, it was pretending to impossibili ties. But he could with great nicety and exactness dis cern the least difference of .rough and smooth in a sur face, or the least defect of polish. Thus he distinguish ed in a set of Roman medals the genuine from the false, though they had been counterfeited with such exactness, as to deceive a connoisseur, who had judged by the eye. His sense of feeling was very accurate also in distin guishing the least variation in the atmosphere: and he has been*. seen in a garden, when observations have been making on the sun, to take notice of every cloud, that interrupted the observation, almost as justly as they who could see it. He could tell when any thing was held near his face, or when he passed by a tree at no great distance, provided there was a calm air, and little NICHOLAS SAUNDERSON. 91 or no wind : these he did by the different pulse of the air upon his face. An exact and refined ear is what such are commonly blessed with, who are deprived of their eyes: our pro fessor was perhaps inferior to none in the excellence of his. He could readily distinguish to the fifth part of a note; and by his performance on the flute, which he had learned as an amusement in his younger years, discover ed such a genius for music, as if he had culiivaled the art, would have probably appeared as wonderful as his skill in the mathematics. By his quickness in this sense he not only distinguished persons, with whom he had ever once conversed, so long, as to fix in his memory the sound of their voice, but in some measure places also. He could judge of the size of a room, into which he was introduced, of the distance he was from the wall ; and if ever he had walked over a pavement in courts, piazzas, 8lc. which reflected a sound, and was after wards conducted thither again, he could exactly tell whereabouts in the walk he was placed, merely by the note it sounded. There was scarce any part of the mathematics, on which he had not wrote something for the use of his pupils : but he discovered no intention of publishing any of his works, till the year 1733. Then his friends, alarmed by a violent fever that had threatened his life, and unwilling that his labours should be tost to the world, importuned him to spare some time from his lec tures, and to employ it in finishing some of his works - which he might leave behind him, as a valuable legacy both to his family and the public. He yielded so far to these entreaties, as to compose in a short time his "Elements of Algebra ;"^ which he left perfect, and transcribed fair for the press. It was published bj' sub scription at Cambridge 1740, in two volumes 4to ; with a good mezzotinto print of the author., and an account of his life and character prefixed. 92 EPHRAIM LOPES PEREIRA D'AGUILAR. It would be wrong to conclude this account of Saun derson, without mentioning the profound veneration he had for Sir Isaac Newton. If he ever differed in senti ment from any thing in Sir Isaac's mathematical and phi losophical writings, upon more mature consideration, he said, he always fbund the mistake to be his own. The more he read: his works, and observed upon nature, the more reason he found to admire the justness and care, as well as happiness of expression, of that incom parable philosopher. He has left some valuable com ments on his Principia, which not only explain the more difficult parts, but often improve upon the doc trines ; and, though far short in their present state of what he would himself have published on the subject, yet they might be no unacceptable present to the public. EPHRAIM LOPES PEREIRA D'AGUILAR. -Baron d'Aguilar mayjustly be classed among the most singular characters of the age ih which he lived. "The elements were so mixed up in him" as to form a truly ex traordinary combination of vice and virtue: of misan thropy and benevolence; of meanness and integrity ; of avarice and liberality ; of pride and humility ; of cruelty and kindness. Courted during the early part of his life in the walks of elegance and fashion, he rendered him self despised towards the conclusion of it by his menaces and degeneracy. tin Ephraim Lopes Pereira d'Aguilar, descended of Jewish parents, was born about the year 1740, at Vienna. His father was a native of Portugal, but in 1722, quitted the country on account of his religion, and came lo England, In 1736 he went to Vienna, where he submitted to that imperial court proposals for farming the duties on to- Engr ETve i "bT E- . P a g^ - 17-^y Qiy//}/'/ y/fr 7/ ' (y '''A/y///. '¦ ^ <- JiiMU/ic^ h:i J.JUiimf I: y'^BMon -fn'sy, y '•"''•'" .%'-Sj the peo^ple of the house not altogether approving tlieir conduct ; and from thence they removed to lodg ings behind St, Sepul(;h.re's-churcb, Snow-hill; after whiell they decamped teahouse in Bartlett-court,, in tbw parish of St. John's, Cierkenwell, where he cantinuesdi iQ cohabit with the, young lady,, "J. A, L." To .l(he above narrative was su.bipined the foHowiug supplement: — , .jtji, "Some time afcoi^t the latter end of JaniUary, 1760, the.ypUirig lady was taJten iU n^f the stnallipox, and on Ott about iihe 31st of the s^me month,, ber sister, who lived in gopd rcputatjop in PaU-pialli, vas made acquainted with \\at was the poison administered, beer, or purl? —A. Purl. Hi MISS PAKSONS. Q. How long before your death f — A. Three hours. Q. Is the person called Carrots able to give any infor mation about the poison ^^^A. Yes* Q. Are you Kempe's wife's sister ? — A. Yes. Q. Were yoii married to Kempe f—A. No. Q. Was any other person besides Kempe concerned in the poisoning.? — A. No. Q. Can you appear visibly to aay one f—A. Ye4. Q, Wilfyou do so i—A. Yes. Q. Can you go out of this house l-^A. Yes. Q. Can youTollow the child every where f'—A. Yes, Q. Are you pleased at being asked questions ? — A. Yes. Q. Does it ease your mind ? — A. Yes. Here a mysterious noise, compared to the fluttering of wings round the room was heard. Q. How long before your death did you tell Carrots that you were poisoned ^—A, One hour. Here Carrots, who had been servant to Mrs. Kempe, and was admitted to be one of the company, asserted, that the deceased had not told her so, being at that time speechless. Q, How long did Carrots live with you f— ^. Three or four days,— (Carrots attested the truth of this.) Q. If the accused should be taken up, will he confess? —A. Yes. Q. Will you be at ease in your mind if the man be hanged i*— ^. Yes. Q. How long will it be before he is executed i'— .^, Three years. Q. How many clergymen are there in the rootn ?— ^. Three. Q. How many negroes ? — A. Two. Q. Can you distinguish the pevst)h of any one in the room i—A. Yes. One of the clergymen holding up a watch, asked whether it was white, yellow, blue or black ; to which he 30 MISS PARSONS. U3 was answered black. The watch was in a black shagreen case. Q. At what time will you depart in the morning ?— .^. At four o'clock. Accordingly at the appointed hour, the noise is said to have rempved into the Wheat Sheaf, a public-house at the distance of a few doors, where it was heard in the bed-chamber of the landlord and landlady, to the great affright and terror of them both. During the above ihter,rogation, one of the gentlemen placed himself by the bed-side, leaning on the bed, when one of the company, on the other side ofthe room, desired him not to sit in that posture, on which the for mer very justly replied : " Sir, I came hither with a de sign to ascertain the truth of this affair, and I think I have a right to place myself in an}' part of the room which I look upon as most suspicious." Some other little altercations of this kind took place, which ended in the departure of the persons who were dissatisfied. The gentleman who had leaned upon the bed, requested per mission of Mr. Parsons to remove the girl to his own house, promising sh« should have a room to herself, a maid to attend her, and whomsoever her father pleased to be with her; adding, he had authority to say, that, if any thing material happened, a person of distinction would interest himself in obtaining a discovery of this apparently intricate affair. His offer was rejected by Mr. Parsons.— Nothing more occurred till the following morning, when the knocking began again about seven o'clock. Though many were, by this time, inclined to believe that what they had witnessed was the effect of superna tural agency, yet the rational part of the company could not be brought to believe but that there was some fraud in the affair. It was therefore determined to remove the child a second time, and accordingly, instead of being carried home, she was conveyed to a house in Crown VOL. II. p 114 MISS PARSONS. and Cushion-court, at the upper end ol t'owlfuie, miir Smithfield. whore two elorgymcn, sfver.il f;eullciHt'n, and some ladies assembled on Thursday (vening. About eleven o'clock the knoekint; lH\i;jin ; wluii a gentleman in the room began speaking angrily i" the girl, and hinting that he suspected it was some trick ol her's, the child was uneasy nnd eried ; on which the knocking was III ard louder, and mm h iiisler than lieloii-; but no answer could be olitniiied to any question while that gentleman staid in th(> room. After he was gone the noise eeaseil, und nothing was heard till a little alter twelve, when the child was seized with a trembling and shiverinu;, in which man iter she always appeared to be alfeeted on the depurlure, as well ns at the approach ol" the spirit. On this, ont> ofthe eiim- pauy asked when it would return again, and at what time. Answer was niuilc in the usual manner by knocks, that it would be theie again before seven in the morning. A noise like the fluttering of wings wns then beard, after which all was quiet, till between six and .seven on I'ri- dny morning, when the knocking began ngnin. A little before seven two clergymen came, when the flattering noise was repeated ; which was considered as h sign that the spirit was pleased. Several questions were then put, particularly one by a female, an ac(|iiaiiitance of the deceased, who came out of mere curiosity, and had been to see Mrs. Keinpc some time before she died. The question wns, how many days before the death of the latter this gentlewomon had been to see her, Tlie answer given was three knocks, signifying thre<> days, which was exactly right. Another qnestiun was whether some one of the company then present had not n rela tion who had been buried in the vault where Mrs. Kempe lay. The reply was made by one knock, in the ullirmn- tive. They then asked severally if it was their relation ; all excepting the two last were answered no ; but to the last the reply was by one knock, which was right. Thrse MISS PARSONS. 115 two circumstances produced considerable surprise in the company. The clergyman then asked several questions, the most material of which, with the responses, were as follow : — You have often signified that Mr. Kempe poisoned you ; if this is really the truth, answer by nine knocks. An swer was made by nine very slow and distinct knocks. Q, Would it give you rest or satisfaction to have your body taken up ? — A. Yes. Q. Would the taking up and opening your body lead to any material discovery \—A. Yes. The child however had a tolerable night, having pre viously had a fit which greatly fatigued her, and the spi rit was not remarkably troublesome. On the night of Friday, the 22d of January, the girl was again removed, and conveyed to the house of the matron of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Her being there was kept secret, to prevent a multitude from collecting round it, which would have greatly obstructed the me thod intended to be adopted for the discovery of the im position, if any were employed. About twenty persons sat up in the room, but it was not till near six Jn the morning that the first alarm was given, which coming spontaneously, as well as suddenly, a good deal struck the imagination of those present. The scratch ing was compared to that of a cat on a cane chair. The child now appeared to be in a sound sleep, and nothing farther could be obtained. It had been observed by a person in conversation, who expressed his opinipn with great warmth, that the whole affair was an imposture; this caused some altercation in the company, some be lieving, and some disbelieving the reality of the spirit. When the dispute on this subject commenced, the spirit took its leave, and no more knocking or scratching was heard. About seven o'clock the girl seemed to awake in a vio lent fit of crying and tears. On being asked the occa- 116 MISS PAMSONS. sion, and assured that no harm should happen to her, she declared that her tears were the effect of her imagining what would become of her father, who must be ruined and undone if the matter should be supposed to be an im posture. She Was told that the company had taken her to be in a sound sleep, when the above dispute happen ed; to which she replied, "Aye, but not so sound but that I could hear all you said." This one would have supposed would have been sufficient to open the eyes of all who were not wilfully blind, but that was not the case. On Sunday night the girl la~y at a house opposite the school- house in Cock- lane, at which place a person of distinction, two clergymen, and several other persons were present. Between ten and eleven the knockiBg be gan, the principal questions and answers were the same as those already mentioned. Among some new ones of little consequence was the following : " Will you attend the girl to any place whither she may be appointed to be carried by authority i"' — Answer, " Yes." At eleven o'clock, eleven distinct knocks were heard, and at twelve o'clock, twelve. The spirit being then asked if it was going away and when it would return .? seven knocks Were given. Accordingly when St. Sepulchre's clock struck seven, on Monday morning, the invisible agenit knocked the same number of times. Some few questions were asked at this meeting much to the same purport as those already inserted, arid answered in the same manner. Every person was put out of the room, who could be supposed lo have the least connexion with the girl ; her hands were laid over the bed-clothes, the bed carefully looked under, 8cc, but no discovery was made. The public had now been for some time amused at least, if not edified by the extraordinary pranks of this spirit, and were by no means unanimous respecting the degree of credit which ought to be given to its intimations, when the following advertisement appeared in the news papers. MISS PARSONS. 117 To the Public. " We, whose names are hereunder written, thought it proper, upon the approbation, of the Lord Mayor, re-* ceived on Saturday last in the aftermoon, to see Mr. Par sons yesterday, amd to ask him in respect of the tiifte when bis child should be brought to Clerkenwell. He replied in these wordsy ' that he consented to the examination propojsed, provided that some persons connected with the girl might be permitted to be there, to divert ber in the daiy^time,' This was refused, being contrary to the plan. He then mentioned a woman, whom he affirmed to be unconnected^ and not to have been with her. On being sent for she came, and was a person well known by us to have been constantly with her, and very intimate with the familiar, as she is called. Upon this, Mr. ParsoWs re commended att unexceptionable person, the daughter of a relation, ve'ho Was. a gentleman of fortune. After an inquiry into her character, he informed Us, that (his un exceptionable person had disobliged her father and was out at service. On this we answered, ' Mr. Parsons, if you can procure any person at persons of strict charac ter and reputation who are housekeepers, such will be With pleasure admitted.' Upon this he requested a little time. Instead of conlirig, sis he prdmised, and we ex pected, one William Lloyd came by his direction and said as follows : — " * Mr. Parsons chooses first to consult with his friend's before he gives a positive answer concerning the removal of his daughter to the Rev. Mr. AfdVich's.' "Within three hqirrs after this, the following message was sent by Mr. Parsons, through the same hand. " 'If the Lord Mayor vi>ill give his approbation, the child shall be removed to the Rev. Mr, Aldrich's.' " The plan abo^e mentioned was thus set forth; the girl was to be brought to the hdtxse of the said clergy man (the ReV. Mr. Aldrich), without any person whiil- 118 MISS PARSONS. ever that had, or was supposed to have the least connex ion with her. The father was to be there ; not suffered to he in the room, but in a parlour where there could be no sort of communication, attended with a proper per son, A bed, without any furniture, was to be set in the middle of a large room, and the chairs to be placed round it. The persons to be present were some of the clergy, a physician, surgeon, apothecary, and a justice of the peace. The child was to be undressed, examin ed, and put to bed, by a lady of character and fortune. Gentlemen of established character, both of clergy and laity, (among whom was a noble lord, who desired to attend,) were to have been present at the examination. We have done, and still are ready to-do, every thing in our power to detect an imposture, if anj', of the most unhappy tendency, both to the public and individuals. Ste, Aldrich, Rector of St. John's Clerkenwell. James Penn, Lecturer of St. Ann's Aldersgate." In pursuance of the above plan, many gentlemen eminent for their rank and their character, by the invi tation of the Rev. Mr. Aldrich, of Clerkenwell, assem bled at his house the 31st of January, and the nextday appeared the following account of what passed on the occasion : — " About ten at night the gentlemen met in the cham ber in which the girl, supposed to be disturbed by a spi rit, had with proper caution been pul to bed by several ladies. They sat rather more than an hour, and hearing nothing, went down stairs, where they interrogated the father of the girl, who denied, in the strongest terms, any knowledge or belief of fraud. "As the supposed spirit had before publicly promised, by an affirmative knock, that it would attend one ofthe gentlemen into the vault, under the church of St. John, Clerkenwell, vyhere the body is deposited, and give a MISS PARSONS. 119 token of its presence there by a knock upon the coffin ; it was therefore determined lo make this trial of the ex istence or veracity of the supposed spirit. " While they were inquiring and deliberating, fhey were summoned into the girl's chamber by some ladies who were near her bed and had heard knocks and scratches. When the gentlemen entered, the girl de clared that she felt the spirit like a mouse upon her back ; and was required to hold her hands out of bed* From that lime though the spirit was very solemnly re quired to manifest its existence by appearance, by im pression on the hand or body of any present, bv scratches, knocks, or any agency, no evidence of any preternatural power was exhibited. " The spirit was then seriously advertised that the per son, to whom the promise was made of striking the coffin, was then about to visit the vault, and that the performance of the promise was then claimed. The company, at one, went into the church, and the gentle- mah to whom the promise was made, went with two more into the vault. The spirit was solemnly required to perform its promise, but nothing more than silence ensued. The person supposed to be accused by the ghost, then went down with several others, but no ef fect was perceived. On their return they examined the girl, but could draw no confession from her. Between two and three she desired, and was permitted, to go home to her father. " It is therefore the opinion of the whole assembly that the child has some art of making or counterfeiting particular noises, and that there is no agency of any higher cause." To elude: the force of this conclusion, it was given out that the coffin in which the body of the supposed ghost had been deposited, or at least the body itself, had been displaced, or removed out of the vault. Mr. Kempe, therefore, thought proper to take with him to 120 MISS PARSONS. the vault, tjie undertaker who buried Miss Fanny, and such other unprejudiced persons as, on inspection, might be able to prove the fallacy of such a suggestion. Accordingly in the afternoon ofthe 25th of February, Mr. Kempe, with a clergyman, the undertaker, clerk, and sexton of the parish, and two or three gentlemen, went into the vault, when the undertaker presently knew the coffin, which was taken from under the others, and easily seen to be the same, as there was no plate or in scription. As a farther satisfaction to Mr. Kempe, the coffin was opened «n his presence and the body found in it. Other persons in the mean time, were taking different steps to find out where the fraud, if any, lay. The girl was removed from one place to another, and was said to be constantly attended with the usual noises, though bound and muffled hand and foot, and that without any motion in her lips, and when she appeared to be asleep; nay, they were often said to be heard in rooms at a con siderable distance from that where she lay. She was at last removed to the house of a gentle man, where her bed was tied up in the manner of a hammock, about a yard and a half from the ground, and her hands and feet extended as wide as they could be without injury, and fastened with fillets for two nights successively, during which no noises were heard. The next day being pressed to confess, and being told, that if the knocking and scratching were not heard any more, she with her father and mother would be sent to Newgate ;, and half an hour being given her to consider, she desired she might be put to bed, to try if the noises would come. She lay in bed this night much longer than usual, but there were no noises^ This was on a Saturday. Being told on Sunday, that the ensuing night only would be allowed for a trial, she concealed a board about four inches broad, and six long, under her stays; this 31 MISS PARSONS. 121 board had been used to set the kettle upon. Having got into bed she told the gentlemen she would bring Fanny at six the next morning. The master of the house and one of his friends, being, however, informed by the maids, that the girl had taken a board to bed with her, impatiently waited for the appointed hour, when she began to knock and scratch upon the board ; remarking at the same time, what they themselves were convinced of, that " these noises were not like those which used lobe made." She was then told that she had taken a board to bed, and on her denying it, was searched and caught in the lie. The two gentlemen, who, with the maids, were the only persons present al this scene, sent to a third gen tleman, to acquaint him that the whole affair was de tected, and to desire his immediate attendance. He complied with their request, and brought another along with him. They all concurred in the opinion that the child had been frightened into this attempt by the threats which had been made the two preceding nights. The master of the house, and his friend, both declared, " that the noises the girl had made that morning, had not the least likeness to the former." Probably the organs, with which she made those strange noises, were not al ways in a proper tone for the purpose, and she imagined she might be able to supply the place of them by a piece of board. At length Mr. Kempe thought proper to vindicate his character in a legal manner. On the 10th of July, Mr. and Mrs. Parsons, one Mary Fraser, who it appeared acted as interpreter between the ghost and those who examined her, the Rev. Mr. Moore, curate of St. Sepul chre's, and Mr. James, a tradesman, were tried at Guild hall, before Lord Mansfield and a special jury, and were convicted of a conspiracy against the life and character of Mr. Kempe. The trial lasted twelve hours, but judg ment was respited as Lord Mansfield wished lo take VOL. II. <3 122 MISS PARSONS. the opinion of the other judges on this extraordinary case. \ The court choosing that Mr. Kempe, who had been so much injured on this occasion, should receive some re paration by the punishment of the offenders, deferred passing sentence for seven or eight months, in hopes the parties might in the mean time make up the affair. Ac cordingly the Rev. Mr, Moore, and Mr, James, were discharged on paying the prosecutor SCO/, and his costs, which amounted to nearly as much more. Brown, who published the narrative, which we introduced in the eariy part of this history, and Say, the 'printer of the newspaper in which it was made public, had previously made their peace with the prosecutor. As to the grand culprit. Parsons, he was ordered to be set in the pillory three times in one month, once at the end of Cock-lane, and after that to be imprisoned two years; Elizabeth his wife, one year, and Mary Fraser, six months, in Bridewell, and to be there kept to hard labour — a punishment which appears much too lenient, when we consider the atrocious and malignant motives which instigated the framers of this artful and villan- ous contrivance. Parsons appearing to be out of his mind at the lime he was first to stand in the pillory, the execution of that part of his sentence was deferred till another day ; when, as well as on the other days of his public exhibition, the populace, instead of using him ill, took so much com passion on him, that a handsome collection was made for his use. The term of his confinement in the King's Bench prison having expired on the 13th of February, 1765, he was consequently discharged. Such was the termination of an affair, which not only found partisans among the weak arid credulous, but even staggered many men of extensive- talents and sound un derstandings. The Rev. Mr. Moore, whose faith was stronger than his reason, and who had warmly interest- MISS PARSONS, 123 ed himself in behalf of the reality of the spirit, was so overwhelmed with grief and chagrin, that he did not long survive the detection of the imposture. Mr. Moore whs the person lo whom the spirit made the promise of striking the coffin, and vvho, in conse quence, visited the vault, accompanied by the celebrated .Dr. Johnson and another gentleman. The three heroes in this nocturnal adventure were consigned to perpetual ridicule in one of Churchill's satirical poems, entitled the Ghost ; a short extract from which may not be un- enlertaining to the reader. Dark was the night, it was that hour When Terror reigns in fullest power, When, as the learn'd of old have said. The yawning grave gives up her dead. When Murder, Rapine by her side. Stalks o'er the earth with giant stride ; Our Siuixotes (for that knight of old Was not in truth by half so bold, Though Reason at the same time cries. Our Quixotes are not half so wise. Since they, with other follies, boast An expedition 'gainst a ghost !) Tlirough the dull surrounding gloom, In close array, toward Fanny's tomb, AdventurM foHh— Caution before,. Will) heedful step, a lantern bore, > Pointing at graves, and in the rear, Tri-mbliiig and talking loud, went Fear. The church-yard teem'd— th' unsettled ground As in an ague, shook around ; While in some dreary vault confin'd. Or riding on the hollow wind. Horror, which turns the heart to stone. In dreadful sounds w,as heard to groan. Ail staring, wild, and out of breath, Al length they reacii the place of death. A vault it was — ***»*»»f»^ Thrice each the ppnd'rous key applied And thrice to turn it vainly tried, 124 MISS PARSONS. Till taught by Prudence to unite, And straining with collected might. The stubborn wards resist no more, But open flies the growling door. Three paces back they fell amaz'd. Like statues stood, like madmen gaz'd The frighted blood forsakes the face, .And seeks the heart with quicker pace ; The throbbing heart its fears declares, And upright stand the bristled hairs ; The head in wild distraction swims ; Cold sweats bedew the trembling limbs ; Nature, whilst fears her bosom chill, Suspends her pow'rs, and Life stands still. Thus had they stood till now, but Shame, An useful, though neglected dame, * * * Came to their aid in happy hour. And, with a wand of mighty pow'r. Struck on their hearts ; vain fears subside, And baffled, leave the field to Pride. Shall they, (forbid it Fa7ne .') shall they The dictates of vile Fear obey i Shall they, the idols of the town,- To bugbears. Fancy form'd, bow down > * * How would the wicked ones rejoice. And infidels exalt their voice. If Moore and Plausible were found. By shadows aVd, to quit their ground ; How would fools laugh, should it appear, Pomposo was the slave. of Fear ? " Perish the thought ! though fo our eyes " In all its terrors Hell should rise ; " Though thousand ghosts in dread array, " With glaring eye-balls, cross our way ; "Though Caution trembling stands aloof; " Still will we on ^nd dare the proof." They said, and without farther halt. Dauntless march'd onvrard to the vault. What mortal man, who fe'er drew breath, Shall break into the house of Death, With fool unhallow'd, and from thence The myst'ries of that state dispense ? * * 7 .7 77 ,' 7 -/ X yy y//,i ,'7/7/77. ' 7/y//,W^ /i/7?t///,7y7/yc yv //< CHEVALIER DESSEASAU. 125 Poets themselves, without a crime Cannot attempt it, e'en in rhyme ; But always on such grand occasion. Prepare a solemn invocation. * « * * Descend, then. Truth, and guard my side, My muse, my patroness, and guide ! Let others at invention aim, And seek by falsities for fame ; Our story wants not, at this time. Flounces and furbelows in rhyme: Relate plain facts ; be brief and bold ; And let the poets, fam'd of old, Seek, whilst our artless tale we tell. In vain to find a parallel j Silent all three went in — about All three turn'd silent, — 'arid came out. CHEVALIER DESSEASAU. Among the eccentric characters who, in the early part of the reign of George III. attracted public notice in the British metropolis was the Chevalier Desseasau. He was a native of Prussia, of French extraction, and early in life bore a commission in the Prussian service. This he found himself under the necessity of quitting abruptly, through a disagreement between him and a brother officer, which was carried to such a height that a duel ensued, when his antagonist '«'as dangerously wounded. Uncertain of the event, and dreading the consequences should the wound prove fatal, he ensured his safety by flight. The chevalier sought a refuge in England, and con tracted so great a partiality for this country, that he re solved to pass in it the remainder of his days. The sin gularity of his dress and character soon drew the atten tion of the curious. He was well acquainted with 126 CHEVALIER DESSEASAU. Foote, Murphy, Goldsmith, Johnson, and most of their contemporaries, eminent for genius and talent in the walks of literature and the drama : nor was there a book seller of any note who did not know the Chevalier Des seasau. His chief places of resort were Old Anderton's coffee-house in Fleet-street, the Barn in St. Martin's Lane, and various coffee-houses in the vicinity of Covent- garden. His originality and good-nature caused his company to be much courted. He either had, or fancied that he possessed a talent for poetry, and used to recite his compositions among his friends. On these occasions his vanity often got the better of his good sense, and led him to make himself the hero of his story. As an instance of this he fre quently repeated the following lines with an emphasis which indicated the most self-complacent satisfaction : II n'y a au monde que deux heros, Le roi de Prusse, et Chevalier Desseasau. which may be thus rendered : In all the world but heroes two I know, Prussia's fam'd king, and Chevalier Desseasau. He never submitted any of his performances to public view, but confined them to the circle of his friends. He would often rehearse them himself before select company, and during the last years of his life, he de- - rived his principal means of subsistence from the pre sents made him in return. At this period he was reduced by misfortunes, and per haps also by the infirmities of age, to a residence within the rules of the Fleet prison; but such was the confi dence placed in his honour, that he was suffered to go wherever he pleased. He appeared in the streets in the singular dress and accoutrements delineated in our engraving. His clothes were black, and their fashion STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. 127 had all the stiff formality of those of an ancient buck. In his hand he generally carried a gold-headed cane, a roll of his poetry, and a sword, or sometimes two. The reason for this singularity was, according to his own ex pression, that he might'afford an opportunity to his an tagonist, whom he wounded in the duel, to revenge his cause, should he again chance to meet with him. This trait would induce a belief that his misfortunes had oc casioned a partial derangement of the ^chevalier's in tellects. Desseasau died at his lodgings in Fleet-market, aged upwards of 70, in February 1775, and was interred in St. Bride's Church-yard. The Gentleman's Magazine of that month, contained the following notice concerning him : — " Died the Chevalier Desseasau, commonly call ed the French Poet; he has left a great personage, a curious sword, a gold medal, and a (^curious picture." Whether these articles were ever disposed of conform ably to his bequest is not known. STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. jMoKLACHiA is a province belonging to the Venetian stale, lying between the Gulf of Venice, Croatia, and Bosnia, having Dalmatia to the south. Some reckon it a part of Croatia : the capital town is Seng, or Segna. The inhabitants are inveterate enemies to the Turks, and never spare them when they get them into their power. This will appear in the history of Socivizca, and is the only thing that can be urged. in extenuation of his crimes, or as an excuse for the conduct ofthe late Em peror of Germany, who, in the year 1776, retained him in his service, as Arambassa, an officer in his regiment of Pandours. The Morlachians are amazingly strong ; travellers affirm that four of them will carry a man on 128 ' STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. horseback twenty or thirty paces over the most danger ous passes of the mountains. Their habits are of divers colours, quite different from those ofthe Venetians, and they commonly go armed with an axe. This singular man- will not excite in us that horror and aversion which we generally feel in reading the lives of common thieves and murderers, nor does he deserve to be considered wholly in that light, since he did not lie in wait for travellers indiscriminately, to strip and murder them, but confined his depredations and barbarity to the Turks, against whom he had a native animosity, roused and augmented by personal injuries. Before we proceed to the incidents of his life, it may be proper to show, that the Morlachians of our time differ very little in their manners and customs from the ancient inhabitants of their country, described thus by Ovid in his Epistola ex Ponto : " The men that I see here Csays the author) are scarce worthy to be called men, for they have the natural ferocity of wolves. They neither fear nor obey the laws: justice with them yields to strength, and the laws annulled by the force of arms. They live on pillage, but they fight bravely and openly for their prey ; all other means of procuring the necessaries of life appear to them to be base and igno minious. W^ithout any fear or apprehension of them the sight of them is alone sufficient to create aversion. Their voice is savage ; their wan and furious physiog nomy is a just representation of death." Stanislo Socivizca was born in the year 1715, atSimi- ovo, in a farm-house, about sixteen miles from Tre* bigne, a city dependant on the Ottoman empire. His father, who was in extreme indigence, laboured, with three other sons, in cultivating the lands of a very rich Turkish family, called the Umitalcichi, and these poor people were cruelly oppressed by their masters, inso much that they not only loaded them with insults, but 31 STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. 120 beat them severely. Neither Socivizca, whose tempera ment was naturally savage and cruel, nor his brothers, could any longer endure their repeated acts of tyranny, bat their father constantly exhorted them to forbearance, and bound them by ties of filial obedience to submit, for several years, with resignation to their hard fate. At length, however, chance threw in their way, the three Turkish brothers who were the chief persecutors of these unfortunate labourers. Having amassed the sum of 18,000 sequins arising from exactions called the Arai, that is to say, the forced contributions of the in habitants of several villages, their vassals, they came to pass a few days on the farm where Socivizca and his family cultivated the lands. This favourable opportunity awakened their resentment, and deaf lo all the remon strances of their mild and peaceable father, they resolv ed to avenge themselves of the whole house ofthe Umi talcichi in the persons of these three young men : ac cordingly they massacred them, and buried their bodies in a deep ditch which they dug round the farm. The young men being missed, the Turkish bashaw of Tre- bigne, and the captain of the guards, arrested upwards of. fifty Christians of the district ; some of whom were put lo death, and others made slaves for not confessing, thongh innocent, that they were the criminals ; but not the smallest suspicion fell upon the family of Socivizca. It is a custom among the Turks that when a sum of money has been stolen from any person, and cannot be recovered, all the inhabitants of the village or town wherein the robberj' is committed are assembled together, and a tax is levied upon each family, in proportion to their property, to make up the amount; this was put in practice in the present case, and the neatness of Soci- vizca's dress, the pride he had assumed, and which he had not shown before, together with his temerity and audacity, of which he had given frequent proofs since this event, left no doubt in the minds of the Turks that VOL. II. R 130 STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. he was the murderer; but a full year elapsed before they wer? confirmed in their opinion. Upon the first rumour of his family being suspected, Socivizca had advised his brothers to retire to a distant province with the remains of the money. Accordingly they all fled together with their father, who, being very old and infirm, died upop the road ; and they reached Imoschi, a small town upon the Venetian territories. This happened in the year 1745 ; where they purchased lands, built a house, and stocked a warehouse with the most valuable merchandize. As for Spcivizca, as he did not think the slow returns of trade, or annual rents, worth his notice, he resolved to return to Monte Vero, where, with a small band of chosen relations and friends, he commenced public robber and murderer of the Turks: in one summer they attacked, assassinated, and robbed forty. One of his comrades having lost his carbine, Spcivizca resolved to take one by force from, the first person he met ai;med, but in this attempt, when he least suspected it, he found himself in the mi^st of a Tiirkisli caravan. The guard who first perceived him, took him for what be really vvas, an Aiduco, a name formerly given to a party of Morla chians, \yho devoted their whole lives tO;the destruction of the Turks, at present they call every highway robber an Aidufo; hedenied it with terrible oatjhs, but in vain; siix ether Tiirks surrounded him, and wtthout any fur ther trial, were preparing to bind him. Socivizca, seeing himself in this situation, fired a pistol as an alarm to his comipanions, and told the Turks they consisted of a large band at a little distance: at the same time he sh.outed as loud as possible. The Turks took the alarm, and imagining they already saw a hardy troop of veteran assassins advancing, fell back a few paces to observe frotn what quarter they would come; this gave him an opportunity to escape by flight : but the Turks, perceiv ing the stratagem, pursued him with their carbines STANTSLO SOCIVIZCA, 131 loaded, Socivizca, who knew that it was the tustom of the Turks to fire all together, and not to reserve a single carbine for an emergency, just as they were on the point of discharging their pieces, laid himself down flat on the ground, and the enemy having fired, instantly approached him thinking they had mortally wounded him, either in the middle of the body or in the head ; when rising suddenly he shot one Turk, and knocked down another with the but-end of his pistol ; then recol lecting that he had another' pistol loaded, he dispatched him. In the interval his comrades joined him, and the five remaining Turks took to their heels. The caravan now came up, and thbugh Socivizca and his companions had no inclination to let so rich a booty escape them, they found it so numerous that they durst not venture to at tack it. After this expedition he returned to Imoschi, where he lived retired for nine years, aiid followed the traffic his family had established ; but when he wanted recreation he made a sport of hunting the Turks, assassinating one or two from lime to time. One of the brothers of Socivizca following his ex ample, became the terror of the country : he associated himself with a banditti, at the head of whom was one Pezeirebj who took pleasiire in empaling alive all the Turks v^ho had the misfortune to fall into his -hands. This monster of cruelty at last was taken by the Turks, who ran a stake through his body, atid then fastened him with cords to another, leaving him in this condition 16 expire at the side bf a high roAd. Passenger*, and the peasants inhabiting the neighbburhood, affirmed that he lived in this horrid situation three djiys, preserving his ferotity to the last, and smoking repeated pipes given bim by them as long as he had breath> Notwithstanding the agonies he endured. Socivizca's brother, after the death bf his chief, entered 132 STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. into a close friendship with a Morlachian of the Greek church, but a subject of the Turks. This man was a Probatim, a name assumed by a fraternity in Morlachia, who, by solemn rites and ceremonies, at the foot of the altar, swear an unalterable friendship to each other, and a mutual alliance offensive and defensive. The usual vows had been exchanged between this Greek and Soci vizca's brother, and in confirmation of their friendship, he invited him to pass a few days at his house on the con fines of Imoschi: there having shown him every mark of hospitality and attention, when he had made him quite drunk, he advised him to retire lo rest, and while he slept, sent for a party of the Turks, to whom, for a bribe, he delivered up his unsuspecting guest. The Turks carried him to the Bashaw of Trawnick, who knowing him to be the brother of a man who had sworn destruction to the. Ottoman race, held a council which lasted eight hours, to devise the most cruel mode of tor turing him to death. The news of this dreadful catas trophe soon reached the ears of Socivizca, but as he re mained ignorant of the circumstance of his falling into their hands, he went directly to the house of the Pro batim for intelligence. The father of the perfidious friend, received him with the greatest composure, and being a venerable old man, Socivizca readily believed the artful tale he told him, of their being unexpectedly surrounded by the Turks, who had received some secret intelligence, no doubt, from an unknown -hand. The Probalim, likewise received him with such an appearance of real kindness, that he did not entertain the smallest suspicions of treachery : for he invited him to stay the night, and told him, he would fetch a fine lamb from the fold to make him an excellent supper. With this pretence he left him, in effect, lo run as fast as he could to 'give notice to a party of the Turkish cavalry stationed about twelve miles from his house, that he had got their great enemy under his roof. STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. 133 The hour of midnight was passed, when Socivizca finding the Probatim was not returned with the lamb, went to bed, as well as the rest of the family, who soon fell into a profound sleep, but as for Socivizca, his sus picions were awake, and he could not close his eyes. •'And such were my forebodings," said he, (his own words to the emperor) " as if I was at the brink of some imminent danger, that I jumped from my bed and en deavoured to light a lamp by the ashes of a fire that had been in the room, but the old man was in the plot with his son, and knowing what they expected to happen in the course of the night, had taken care to extinguish every spark." He was then convinced that sqme horrid conspiracy was formed against his life, and rage took possession of his soul ; he sought in vain for his arms, they were concealed : he then called aloud to know if any of the family could tell him where to find them, but no one replied except an old woman, who bid the brute lie still, and not make a noise to disturb the children. Fortunately he had a flint and a knife in his pocket, with which he struck a light, and applied it to the lamp. He thenVepaired to the old man's bed, and asked in a severe tone of voice \yhere they had put his arms ? but the traitor, to gain time, feigned to be asleep, but being compelled to answer, he pretended not to understand him, which cost him his life, for Socivizca took up a hatchet that lay by the chimney and dispatched him. This so terrified the woman, that she instantly produced his arms} and he no sooner got them, than he made his escape from the house, and concealed himself in some thick bushes, at a small distance to wait the event. He had not been long in this situation before he heard the trampling of a great number of horses, and by the light of their torches he discovered them to be a detach ment of Turkish cavalry, who dismounled, went into the house, and in a few minutes returned, seemingly much disappointed. Socivizca observed their motions 134 STANISLO SOC1VI2CA. when they remounted and returned by the same hoad ; at length, having narrowly watched that not one of them ~ remained to lay wait forhim, he ventured from his hid ing place and made the best of his way to Imoschi. This double perfidy of the Probatim ttiade such an impression upon his mind that it was never out of his thoughts,nor was he easy till he had taken a most ample and cruel revenge. As soon as he could get together seven companions on whbni he could rely for their reso- Ihtiony insensibility, and attachment, he proposed to them his horrid expedition, which was to set fire to the house in the dead of night. This they efFected so se cretly and stiddenly, that the cottage, which was built Ttrith wood and thatch, was in flames before any of the family perceived it, except one woman, who endeavour ing to make her escape by the door, was shot through the head. Seventeen persons fell a victim to his savage vengeatice ; and the Turks represented this barbarous transaction in such Strong terms, in a mertiorial against him, addressed to the governor general of Dalmatia, that he issued a decree ordering the house of the Soci vizca to be razed level with the groiind, and settiiig a price upon his head, by offering twenty sfequins to any person who should kill hini, and forty to those who should take him alive. Before this decree appeared, he had withdrawn himself from Imoschi, and secreted him self under different disguises, in varibus plates, without enjoying one hour of tranquillity, frohi the constant ex ertion of his mind, to find means of avoidiHg a surprise. Being at the fair of Sign, in August 1754, the year in which he had burnt the family of the Probatim, he narrowly escaped the pursuit of a party of Croats, who ' were out iri Searth of hini, and therefore finding he wafe no longed safe iri any patt of the Venetian territories, he virrote Jirivately to one of his cbhfideiitidl friehds tp send his vVife and family, with hiseffects, after him to Carlo- witz, near the river Zermahga, as Soon as ihey could STAMISl-Q SOQivizpA. \^^ securely quit the retreat in which they lay conc^^led. Thither he travelled on foot, with all possible expedi tion, and not long after his family Arrivjed with all his effects, which were considerable. His household con sisted of himself, his two remaining brothers, his wife, a son, and two daughters. This place being so situated that; he, had no opportunity to pursue his savage ven geance against the Mahometans, his manners were in sensibly softened, he lived a. peaceful life for three years, and might have been totally reformed, if a cer tain person in authority in tliat countryihad not beep tempted from- motives of avarice to deliver him and his brothers into the h^nds of the Turks. It is sa.id, he af terwards paid dear for, his perfidy ; but be this as it n^ay, poor Socivizca and his two brothers were sent to a fort beyond the Udbine, on the frontiers of the territories of Austria, Venice, and Turkey, from whence they were escorted by adetachmentof one hundred Turkish horse to the Bashaw of Trawnick, the same who had put the fourth brother to death a few years before. After they had lain in prison some time, sinking under the weight of double irons, and strictly guarded night and day; the alternative was proposed to tbem, either to turn Mahonietans, or to be impaled. It may well be imagin ed they preferred the milder operation of circupicision ; and at the same lime it shows the force of Turkish su perstition, which beats down the fence of justice : for Socivizca was publicly known t<) be the mortal foe of their race; and had massacred many of their brethren. Socivizca upon this occasion took the name of Ibrahim, bat he did. not thereby regain his liberty: his two bro thers indeed were released, and one of them had the post of Aga bestowed upon him ; but this did not prevent tbem from taking the, first fair opportunity lo fly from the Turkish dominions. The Bashaw enraged at this step, ordered the new Ibrahim to be more closely con fined; that the indulgence lately granted to him should 136 STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. be withdrawn, and notwithstanding his pretended zeal for the Mahometan faith, that the guards should never lose sight of him. Perceiving at length, that all his religious adorations, his affected docility, and exemplary patience did not advance his deliverance ; his fruitful imagination fur nished him another stratagem. His only relief from the horror of his fate was to converse with his guards,- whom he one day addressed in the following terms. "My condemnation to perpetual captivity I could bear with fortitude; I have been guilty of crimes which deserve this punishment; but I regret the quantity of money I have been obliged to bury under ground, while the hand of justice pursued me from place to place : considerable sums are likewise owing to me from m,y former neigh bours and friends. The Bashaw cannot demand the one, nor find the other, but if he would permit me to demand my dues in person, or to find the money I have conceal ed, it should be his : and I should be happy to regain his favour by these presents, and lo be restored to the privi leges I enjoyed before my brothers incurred his displea sure by their escape." The substance of this speech was carried to the Bashaw: avarice, the ruling passion of the Turks, pre vailed over every other consideration, and an order soon came to the gaoler, to permit Ibrahim to leave the pri son, escorted by ten of the guards, and to give them di rections to conduct him to every spot where he should indicate that he had concealed any treasure. Restored by this artful device to the liberty of breath ing the free air, his subtilty furnished him with various pretences to amuse his guards for upwards of a month; sometimes he directed them to pursue one route to arrive at a cavern in which he had concealed a considerable sum, at others he declared that he had mistaken the place, and finally, at Sign, being confronted by several persons whom he called his debtors to a large amount, 31 STANISLO SOCIVIZCA, 137 but who solemnly and juridically protested they did not owe him a single sequin, the guards to punish him loaded him with heavy irons and confined him in an obscure "apartment, placing two sentinels at the door night and day; till they reposed themselves sufficiently after the fatigue of travelling, and had procured depositions in form of the falsity of his pretensions to give to the bashaw. By way of revenge, they found means to send for his wife and two children, a boy and a girl, from the county of Zara, pretending that he was at full liberty, and had ordered them to repair to him, but as soon as they arrived, they took them into custody. This was an unexpected aggravation of his misfo'r- tunes, but it did not conquer his fortitude, nor check the fertility of his genius, ever meditating the means of escape. On the 26th of November, 1758, Socivizca and his family were carried before the Effendi by his guards, in order to receive instructions for reconducting him lo TraUnick, his wife wa^ ordered to kiss the hand of the officer as a token of obedience ; he suffered her and his daughter to submit to this ceremony, but when they ortjered his son to do the same, he called to him in a fu rious tone — "Stand off! and do not offer to kiss the hand of that dog." The Turks were struck dumb with surprise, and the Effendi admiring his greatness of soul, made an apology to him, expressing regret that his people urged the compliance with this ceremony, only as a matter of custom. One of the spectators showing a forwardness to seize him, in order to tie him on the horse he was to ride, he shook his chains in a terrible manner, and bid him keep his distance, adding these words, in the same furious tone: " Soul of a dog, think'st thou, that I am a woman lo be held by the hand!" and then, notwithstanding the weight of his chains, he mounted his horse without assistance, and would not suffer any subaltern to tie him on, oblig ing the Effendi himself to perform this office, to VOL, II. s 138 STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. whom he submitted quietly. His wife and children were obliged lo follow upon other horses. The inhabitants of Sign, affected by this melancholy cavalcade, in compassion for his wife and children, made a collection for him, and these charitable contributions he turned to more advantage than a rich booty, so dex terous was he in resources. The liberality of Socivizca soon became the theme of praise with his guards, for most ofthe money given to him for his support he spent in regaling them with brandy, till they got drunk by drink ing bumpers to his health. As soon as they had passed the frontiers of the Venetian territories, Socivizca com plained of the extreme cold, upon which they covered him with a long Turkish cloak called a kabanizca, and his wife having secretly conveyed to him a knife some lime before, he took an opportunity, under this conceal ment, to cut the rope with which he was tied upon the horse, first in two, and afterwards by degrees into small bits which he dropped from time to time unperceived upon the road. About sun-set they arrived at the tower of Prologh, not far from Bilibrigh, where there is a station of Turkish cavalry. Here a dispute arose, if they should proceed farther, or stpp, and it was decided by the majority to go on. At the distance of about two hundred yards beyond the tower of Prologh, the road on one side passes along the edge of a very steep descent; at this part of it Socivizca slid from the horse, and took the chance of rolling down the declivity, till he caught hold of the branch of a tree, which stopped him, and behind this tree he sheltered himself. The snow lay upon the ground, whith at other times was a fine valley lined with fruit trees. As soon as the guard nearest the horse missed his prisoner, he imparted it to his compa nions, who were stupified with astonishment, and not suspecting that he had stopped, they separated and gallbpped on in pursuit of him. Night came on, and a heavy fall of snow, and when Socivizca thought it was STANTSLO SOCIVIZCA. 13Q so dark that pbjects could not be any longer distinguish ed, he traversed the mountains and woods, continuing his journey all night to regain the Venetian frontiers. He was frequently obliged to climb up into trees to avoid the fury of wild beasts, but the weight of his chains ge nerally brought him to the ground, and probably nothing but the rattling of them preserved him from being de voured. At length, however, he reached Morlachia in safety ; his countrymen released him from his chains, made great rejoicings upon the occasion, and composed songs in their language to be sung in honourof their hero. He told the emperor, that at this period of his life he had resolved to support himself and family by the labour of his hands in private retreat, and not to comtnit any more depredations on the Turks, if he could have pre vailed on the Bashaw of Traunick to restore to him his wife and son ; as for his daughter she had been compel led to embrace the Mahometan religion, and was well married to a rich Turk, who said it was a pity such fine blood should be contaminated by a Morlachian contract. But the bashaw, deaf to all his entreaties, and enraged by disappointment, would not answer the letters he wro e him, in which he remonstrated, that he had only followed the common Jaw of nature in using every stra^ tagem to recover that first of blessings, liberty. Instead of restoring his wife and son, he /sent an embassy to the Margrave Contariui, governor general of Venetian Dal matia, requiring him, by the law of nations, to find him out, to seize him, and to send him to him. The mar grave, who understood-politics better than the bashaw, replied, that having once got him into their hands, within their own dominions, they should have taken care to prevent his escape ; and that an attempt to make him compensate for their negligence was a mani fest affront: in short, he dismissed the envoys with contempt. As for Socivizca, finding all his endeavours torecpver 140 STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. his wife and son by fair means were fruitless, he resolved to resume his former occupation and to avenge himself on the bashaw's subjects. For this purpose he put him self at the head of twenty-five select companions, all of them intrepid, and in the vigour of youth : with this chosen band he took the road for Serraglio, the first Turkish town beyond the frontiers; for he had the pru dence not to commit any act of violence within the ju risdiction of the Venetian state, that he might not make that government responsible for his depredations. In a few days he met with a Turkish caravan, consist ing of one hundred horses laden with rich merchandize, and escorted by seventy men. The Turks seeing him accompanied by so strong a band, though they were so much superior, dreaded him to such a degree, that they fled with the utmost precipitation, and only one' Jew merchant lost his life, in defence of his valuable effects. This audacious robbery alarmed the whole Ottoman empire. Parties were sent out against him from all quarters, he was sought for in the mountains and in the valleys, every field and almost every bush was beat, as if they had been in chace of a wild boar ; but this was all mockery to disguise their cowardice, for while all these parties were making such strict researches, he and his companions appeared at noon-day in their villages, and supplied themselves with provisions in the markets of their towns. He generally lodged his booty at a con vent of Caloyers, an order of friars ofthe Greek church, who make a vow of rigid abstinence, but whose religion does not prevent them from harbouring the Aiduzee (highwaymen) of the country, and sharing their plunder : the guardian of one of these convents situated at Dra- govich, seven miles beyond the springs of Cettina, was his particular friend, and here he often retired, separat ing himself from his companions for many months, so that the Turks often thought he was dead ; while he was only waiting for an opportunity to fall upon them, and STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. 141 to exterminate as many of their race as possible. At length, his robberies and massacres became insupport able lo the Ottomans, and occasioned gieat inconveni ences to the Venetian state ; for they were the constant source of quarrels between the inhabitants of the fron tiers of the two powers, so that it became the interest of the latter to seize him ; therefore upon every new com plaint of the Turks, the government of Dalmatia in creased the reward offered to take him, dead or alive, Socivizca Vas not insensible of the great danger he was in of being seized by open force,or betrayed by some false friend for the sake of the price set on his head, yet such is the force of habit, that nothing could deter him from continuing his depredations on the Turks. In the course ofthe year I76O, a certain Turk, whose name was Acia Smaich, a very formidable man in the opinion of his countrymen, and in his own idea a great hero, boasted in all companies that Socivizca durst not en counter him in single combat. It happened, however, that this man and one of his brothers escorted, in com pany with eight others, a rich caravan which passed through a village near Glamoz in the Ottoman territo ries, where Socivizca and six of his comrades lay con cealed wailing for an opportunity to exercise their va lour, and to gain some considerable booty. By their spies they easily got intelligence who was at the head of the escort, and Socivizca, who was not of a temper to put up with the insolence of Smaich, went out to meet the caravan, and as soon as he approached it, publicly called upon the Turk to defend himself. Smaich advan cing, instantly fired from his carbine at Socivizca, and aimed so well that the ball struck the upper part of his forehead, fortunately for him he had turned his head, to see that the enemy did not surround him while he was engaged with his adversary, and in this position, the ball passed obliquely and only gave him a slight wound; bul it rendered him desperate, and with amazing rapidity 142 STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. be fired one ball which entered the barrel of Smaich's carbine, and a second which shot him through the head, and killed him on the spot. His companions instantly fled, but five of them were overtaken in the pursuit and put to death by Socivizca's comrades. After they had plundered the caravan and divided the spoils, they disguised themselves and took differ ent roads, the better to avoid the researches of the Turks, who generally go in search of troops of robbers, and pay little or no attention to single persons on the road. For some time after this event, Socivizca lived so retired and quiet, that it was generally believed he was dead ; but when it was least suspected^ he suddenly ap peared at the head of a formidable banditti, cpnsistingof twenty-five young men, with whonj he marched to at tack a very considerable caravan that was going from Ragusa into Turkey with a prodigious quantity of vis- clini, a silver coin of base alloy, worth about fourpence of our money. At the first onset, they killed seven teen of the Turks and look three prisoners; which so terrified the rest of the guards, that they fled with th« utmost precipitation and left him in quiet possession of the treasure. Socivizca was no sooner arrived at a neigh bouring wood, than he ordered two of his prisoners to be impaled alive, and assigned to the third the dreadful of fice of turning the stake which was passed thi-oogh their bodies before a slow fire ; his companions advised him to put the third to death, but instead of this, when the vic tims were half roasted, he ordered their heads to be cut off, which he delivered to the surviving ^prisoner, with this commission : " Carry these to the Bashaw of Tran»' nick, and tell him from me, that if he does not release my wife and children without delay, I will serve every Turk who falls into my hands in the same manner ; and, that God only knows what excessive pleasure it would give me to roast the bashaw himself." The melancholy ambassador no sooner arrived at STANISLO sacivizcA. 148 Traunick and made known the unhappy fate of his countrymen, than all the inhabitants vowed revenge, and rivalled each other in eagerness to arm and go in pursuit of Socivizca ; several strong parties of foot and horse took different routes to traverse mountains, woods, and valleys in search of this desperate enemy. Upon this occasion they were so exasperated, that they resolv ed to quit every other employment, and to think of no thing else but the extermination of Socivizca and his band ; and they were very near succeeding, for not ex pecting so much celerity on the part of the Turks, they were surprised in a wood, and obliged to maintain a flying skirmish, in which five of his comrades were wounded and one killed, whose brother cut off his head, that the Tui'ks might not have it to expose upon a gib bet: the Turks pursued them almost to Mitcowick in the Primorio, and in this place, belonging to the Vene tians, they took refuge. Escaped from this imminent danger, Socivizca once more separated himself from his companions, and to avoid the consequences of such a general pursuit, he retired for several months and con cealed himself in the most dismal caverns in the sides of the mountains, or in woods that were seldom penetrated by any human foot-step: here he endured hunger, fatigue, and all the horrors of solitude, venturing forth but seldom for food, from the apprehension of being traced to his retreats. In the mean time the Bashaw of Traunick was recall ed to Constantinople, to answer the accusations of ty ranny in his government, and a design to pillage the province of Mostar. Socivizca had always foretold this event, and that whenever it happened, the festivity and disorder which is occasioned by the arrival of a new bashaw, would afford a favourable opportunity for his wife and children to escape. After a great many fruit less attempts to accomplish this grand point, he fell upon a stratagem which succeeded. A comrade who had 144 STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. found him out, and informed him of the revolution at Traunick, agreed to he dressed in the habit of the La- lac'ee persons who have an exclusive privilege from the Gran'd Signior to sell silks and other merchandize, in the nature of travelling pedlars, throughout all Turkey. Having collected four more of his troop, he sent this mar to Traunick, and with the others he arrived by another road within four miles of that city, and there waited the issue of the enterprise. We know not how it happened, but his four companions had one day lelt him alone, when three of the Turkish cavalry accosted h'im who strongly suspected he was an Auduco, but little imagined he was Socivizca. Finding no excuse to evade them, he thought the only way of removing their suspicion was to offer to go with them to the pity of Prusack,,which was at no great distance; many people in that place knew him personally, and he would not have made this offer, if be had not imagined that their doubts concerning him would have ceased, and that they would have left him, for'it was hardly possible to conceive that any notorious robber would make such an offer. Contrary lo his expectatipns the Turks replied, " Well then, we will go with you;" accordingly they set out ; when they arrived on the banks of a river, the sol diers dismounted to water their horses, Socivizca' dreyv hissabre unperceived, and in a moment severed the head of one of them from his shoulders, the second turning round upon Ms companion's falling at his feet, met with the same fate, and the third, like a poor bird, who sees the Ira wk ready to bounce upon him, was struck motion less, he had not the power lo mount his horse, or to at tempt his escape on foot ; this man he took aside into a wood, and after he had drawn from him all the infor mation he could procure concerning the number and ¦ disposition of the troops that were in search pf him, he sacrificed him also to the savage resentment he harbour ed against all the Ottoman race. His four comrades 32 STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. 145 found him employed in this dreadful manner, and with them he returned lothe village where he was to wait for his emissary to Traunick. The pretended pedlar went about that city vending his silks for some days, till at last he met the wife of Socivizca, and imparted to her his secret design : overjoyed to find her husband was so near, she determined to join him if possible, and she would have brought off her daugliter, but she enjoyed so much pleasure in the arms of her husband, that she would only consent to facilitate the escape of her mother and brother. In the dusk of the evening they followed the pedlar, as if they were bargaining for some of his goods, and walking gently out of the gates, as if intending to return, they stole out without notice, and got clear off. The joy of Socivizca at their meeting could only be restrained by the sense of their immediate danger, and therefore as soon as the first embraces were over, he and his companions escorted his wife and his son to Dracovick, the usual place of refuge for them, and he desired the Caloyer, his confidential friend, to teach, the hoy to read and write. When it was known in Traunick that the wife and son of Socivizca were not to be found, after the strictest search, the inhabitants were in as much consternation as if their city had been besieged ; fear was on every coun tenance: for the name of Socivizca was become so formidable to the Turks, that instead of terrifying their children with the appearance of ghosts, they had only to name Socivizca to make them shudder, and as the sum of all punishment: not doubting that he himself had conducted this bold enterprise, they entreated the new bashaw, lo make the strongest remonstrances to the governor of Dalmatia, declaring that they could not sleep in tranquillity, unless his excellency would cause him to be seized and put to death. The Turkish envoys positively maintained that he resided in Dalmatia, and the Venetian governor as obstinately insisted that he VOL. 11. T 146 STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. durst not remain a single day within any part of his ju risdiction, which was the fact, and therefore the dis putes about him occasioned jealousies between the two powers without producing any effect. About the latter end ofthe year 1764, Socivizca found himself deprived of most of his comrades, some being carried off by the plague, which raged with great vio lence in the territory of Sign, and others, amongst whom were the most desperate, being taken and exe cuted for robberies in the Venetian dominions. Thus circumstanced, he could not undertake any considerable enterprise, for which reason he retired to the Austrian frontiers near the river Zermagna, and his name was not heard of again for some years, insomuch that the Turks had entirely forgot him, imagining he was either dead, or had taken refuge in some very remote part of the world. However, he was not quite idle all this time, forunderthe name and disguise of a chief of another banditti who died, he assisted in some attacks on small caravans, and collected a little booty, just sufficient for the support of bis family. But in the year 1769,' he ap peared publicly again, having picked up eight associ ates of determined valour ; they attacked and pillaged larger caravans with success, and once more spread an ' alarm throughout the Turkish territories. Innumerable and almost incredible stories are related of his intrepi dity and dexterity about this time, in his encounters with large bodies of the Turkish horse sent out to scour the country in search of him. At one time perceiving a party of twenty-five approaching, he ordered his com rades to conceal themselves behind some trees, and lo place their caps in such a manner in others near, that they should appear to be upon the heads of men ; by this stratagem he doubled the number of his little corps, and confounded the enemy, for having fired at the caps, which all fell down, and yet still receiving a warm dis charge of shot from another quarter, they thought there STANISLO SOCIVIZCA. 147 was some magic in it, and were struck with such a panic, that they fled with the utmost precipitation. Another party, consisting of forty, coming upon him by surprise in a wood near the banks of a river, his companions had just time to escape by flight, and while the Turks were pointing their musketry at them, he darted into the river and lay concealed under the water, in the hollow of a bank. The astonished Turks thought it iriipossible he could escape them, and at last fatigued with a fruit less search, they gave him to the devil, with whom they were certain he was in league, otherwise he could not have rendered himself almost instantaneously invisible. At length he began to grow tired ofthe wretched kind of life he led, and resolved to employ the money he had saved in purchasing some little post for the remainder of his days ; but his design was frustrated by a cruel misfortune. The Caloyer, his confessor, with whom he had deposited five hundred sequins and some valuable jewels, the principal fruit of his robberies, ran away with them and was never heard of more : and* to com plete his misery, while he was gone as far as the Danube in pursuit of him on false intelligence, one of his cou sins from Imoschi came to pay him a visit, and availing himself of his absence, stripped the house of his clothes and linen. These events happened in the beginning of the year 1775, and the bitter complaints he made ofthe perfidy of these two thieves, showed that he was aban doning himself to despair, when by one of those unac countable vicissitudes for which the lives of some men are remarkable, chance brought the Emperor of Ger many to the village where he resided ; it lay in the route of his memorable travels under the title of Count Fal- kerslein : and the fame, such as it was, of this bold man having reached Vienna many years before, his majesty sent for him, that he might be entertained with his ad ventures from his own mouth. The emperor perceived that the man was born with talents for military enter- 14B EDWARD BRIGHT, prise?, and the command of armies; that in all proba bility if he had been civilized by education he would have made a great figure in the world ; and after a strict scrutiny, finding that he had limited his assassina tions and robberies to the Turks alone, from whom he had experienced every injury almost from his birth, he generously provided him a secure protection from the fury of his enemies, and a comfortable subsistehce for life, by appointing him to be Arambassa, or chief of a company of Pandours, at the advanced age of seventy- four years. His residence was at the borough of Gra- zact in Austria, about forty miles from Kuin, where he died at the age of upwards of ninet}'. He was of the middle stature, longvisaged, with large dark -blue eyes, but his countenance fierce, and his whole demeanour of a wild savage appearance. EDWARD BRIGHT. ijRiGHT was descended from families greatly inclined lo corpulency, both on his father's and his mother's side. Many of his ancestors and relations have been remark ably fat, though very inferior to him in bulk. He was always fat from a child, and yet very strong and active, and used a great deal of exercise, both when a boy, and after he becathe a man, which he continued to do till within the last two or threeyears of his life, when he became too unwieldy. He could walk very well and nimbly too, having great strength of muscles; and could not only ride on horseback, but would sometimes gallop, after he was grown to between thirty and forty stone weight. He used to go to London, about his bu siness, which was that of ai grocer, till the journey of forty miles, and going about there, became too great a fatigue to him ; and he left it off for some years before EDWARD BRIGHT. 149 he died. But he was grown to such a size before he left it off, that he was the gazing-slock and admiration of all people, as he walked along the streets. In the last year or two he could walk but a little way, being soon tired, and out of breath, and travelled abrpad but little, and that in a chaise. He was so large and fat a boy, that at the age of twelve years and a half, he weighed ten stone and four pounds, horseman's weight, i. e. 144 pounds. And he increased in bulk, as he grew up, so that in seven years more, that is, before he was twenty, he weighed twenty- four stone, or three hundred and thirty-six pounds. He went on increasing, arid probably in pretty near the same proportion; for the last time he was weighed, which was about thirteen months before he died, his weight was forty-two stone and twelve pounds, with only his waist coat, shirt, breeches, and stockings on, and these clothes being afterwards weighed, were found to be sixteen pounds ; so that his neat weight at that time was forty- one stone and ten pounds, or five hundred and eighty- four, pounds. What his exact weight was at the time of his death cannot be told; but as he was manifestly grown bigger since the last weighing, which he himself, and every body about him, were sensible of, if we take the same proportion, by which he had increased for many years, upon an average, namely> of about two stone a year, and only allow four pounds addition for the last year, on account of his moving about but very little, while he continued to eat and drink as before, (which allowance is, perhaps, less than might be grant ed) this Will bring him to forty-four stone, or six hun dred and sixteen pounds neat weight, which, by the judgment of the most reasonable people, who knew him well, and saw him often, is reckoned a very fair and modest computation, and the lowest that can be made. As to his measure, he was five feet, nine inches and a half high. His body round the chest, just under the arms, measured five feet six inches, and round the belly 150 EDWARD BRIGHT. si.v feet eleven' inches. His arm, in the middle of it, was two feet two inches about, and his leg two feet eight inches. , He had always a good appetite, and, when a youth, used to cat somewhat remarkably; but of late years, though he continued to eat heartily, and with a good relish, yet he did not eat more in quantity than many other men, who we say have good stomachs. As to his drink, though he did not take any liquor to an intoxicating degree, yet perhaps upon the whole he drank more than might have been advisable to a man of his very corpulent disposition. When he was a very young man, he was fond of ale and old strong beer; but for some years past his chief liquor was small beer, of which he commonly drank about a gallon in a day. In other liquors he was extremely moderate, when by him self, someiimes drinking half a pint of wine after dinner, or a little "punch, and seldom e.s'ceeding his quantity; but when he was in company, he did not confine himself to so small an allowance. He enjoyed, for the most part of his life, as good health ns any man, except that in the last three years, he was two or three limes seized with an inflammation in his leg, attended with a little fever; and every time with such a tendency to mortification, as to make it necessary to scarify the part. But by the help of scarifi cation and fomentations, bleeding largely once or twice in the arm, and purging, he was always soon relieved. Whenever he was bled, it was always the custom with him, to have not less than two pounds of blood taken away at a time ; and he was no more sensible of the loss of such a quantity, than another man is of 12 or 14- ounces. ^ He married when he was between twenty-two and twenty-three years old, and lived a little more than seven years in that state ; in which time he had five children born, and left his wife with child of the sixth, near her time. EDWARD BRIGHT. 151 There was an amiable mind in this extraordinary overgrown body. He was of a cheerful temper, and a good-natured man, a kind husband, a tender father, a good master, a friendly neighbour, and a very fair honest man. So that he was beloved and respected by all who knew him, and would have been as much lamented by his acquaintance, as any man in any station of life ever was, had it not been that they looked upon him for se veral years as a man, who could not live long; and out of regard and compassion to him, considered his life as a burden, and death as a happy release to him, and so much the more, as he thought so himself, and wished to be released. His last illness, which continued about fourteen days, was a miliary fever, k began with pretty strong in flammatory symptoms, a very troublesome cough, dif ficulty of breathing, &c. and' the eruption was extremely violent. For some days he was thought to be relieved in the other symptoms by the eruption ; but it seems \o be no wonder at all, that his constitution was not able to struggle through such a disease,, which proves so fatal to many, who appear to be much more fit to grapple with it. He died, November 10, 1750, in the 30th year of his age. His body began to putrify very soon after he was dead ; so that, notwithstanding the weather was cool, it became very offensive the next day, before they could get a coffin made. As the corpse was of a surprising bulk, the coffin must be so too. It was three feet six inches broad at the shoulders, two feet three inches and a half at the head, twenty-two inches at the feet, and three feet one inch and a half deep, A way was cut through the wall and staircase to let it down into the shop ; it was drawn to the church on a low wheeled car riage by twelve men ; artd was let down into the grave by a machine, fixed up for that purpose, amidst a vast concourse of spectators, not only from the town bul 1.52 PETER THE WILD BOY. from the country for several miles round. After his death a wager was laid that five men, twenty-one years of age, could be buttoned in his waistcoat. It was de cided on the 1st of December, 1750, at the Black Bull, at Maiden, when not only five, as proposed, but seven men were enclosed in it without straining a stitch. PETER THE WILD BOY. On the continent of Europe, the regions of which are interspersed with vast forests and uncultivated tracts, various individuals of the human species have at differ ent times been discovered in a state no better than that of the brute creation. With nearly all of them this has been the case to such a degree, that it has been found impossible to obtain from them any information respecti ing the circumstances which reduced them to such a deplorable situation, or of the manner in which they contrived to preserve their lives amidst the numerous perils by which they were surrounded. Most of these unfortunate beings were so completely brutalized as to be utter strangers to the faculty of speech and totally incapable of acquiring it— a fact which demonstrates how much man is indebted to the society of bis fellow- creatures for many of the eminent advantages possessed by him over the other classes of animated nature. One of the most singular of these human brutes, as they may justly be denominated, was Peter the Wild Boy, whose origin and history, previous to this discovery, must, from the reasons already mentioned, remain for ever a secret. He was found in the year 1725, in a wood near Hamelin, about twenty-five miles from Hanover, walking on his hands and feet, climbing trees like a squirrel, and feeding on grass and moss ; and in 32 ^. /y///// //Z //l< //^/VV.^y ^Z . 7(ay^/y/7;i I'uJ'iLslud yyiL'biiLS ,t .'.''^i';'';,',-? />v,f.'',_'.'.;,.-'. PETER THE WILD BOY. 153 the month of November was conveyed to Hanover by the superintendent of the Hoiise of Correction al Zell. At this time he was supposed to be about thirteen years old, and could not speak. This singular creature was presented to King George I. then at Hanover, while at dinner. The king cansed him to taste of all the dishes at the table ; and in order to bring him by degrees to relish human diet, he directed that he should have such provision as he seemed best to like, and such instructions as might best fit him for human society. Soon after this, the boy made his escape into the same wood, where he concealed himself among the branches of a tree, which was sawed down to recover him. He was brought over to England at the beginning of 1726, and exhibited to the king and many of the nobility. In this country he was distinguished by the appellation of Peter the Wild Boy which he ever afterwards re tained. He appeared lo have scarcely any ideas, was uneasy at being obliged to wear clothes, and could not be in duced to lie on a bed, but sat and slept in a corner of the room, wRence it was conjectured that he used to sleep on a tree for security against wild beasts. He was committed to the care of Dr. Arbuthnot, at whose house he either was, or was lo have been baptized ; but not withstanding all the doctor's pains, he never could bring the wild youth to the use of speech, or the pronunciation of words. As every effort of this kind was found to be in vain, he was placed with a farmer at a small distance from town, and a pension was allowed him by the king, which he enjoyed till his death. The ill success of these efforts seems to have laid curi osity asleep, till Lord Monboddo again called the pub lic attention to this phenomenon. That nobleman had been collecting all the particulars he could meet with concerning Peter, in order to establish a favourite but VOL, II. V 1.54 PETER THE WILD BOY. truly whimsical hypothesis. The plan of his work on the "Origin and Progress of Language," necessarily involved the history of civilization and genera! know ledge. His lordship carried his researches to a period far beyond the records of history, when men might be sup posed to possess no means of the vocal communication of their thoughts but natural and inarticulate sounds. Abstracting, in imagination, from the rational superi ority of man, whatever seems to depend on his use of artificial language, as a sign of thought, he represents the earlier generations of the human race, as having been little, if at all, exalted in intelligence above the ape and the oran outang, whose form bears a r^semr blance to the human. The spirit of paradox even in clined him to believe that those rude men, who wanted articulate language must have had tails, of which they might gradually have divested themselves, either by at tentions to the breed, like those of a Cully or a Bakewell, or by cPnlinual docking, till the tail was utterly ex tirpated. In a very witty and ludicrous piece, by Dean Swift, entitled, " It cannot rain bul it pours," — he gives an ac count of this wonderful wild man, as he calls him, re plete with satire and ridicule, but containing many par ticulars concerning him that were undoubtedly true. Lord Monboddo, therefore concluded that the other facts mentioned by that witty writer, though no where else to be found, are likewise authentic, whatever may be thought of the use and application he makes of them : such as, that in the circle at court he endeavoured to kiss the young Lady Walpole; that he put on his hat before the king, and laid hold of the Lord Chamberlain's staff-; that he expressed his sensations by certain sounds which he had framed to himself, and particularly that he neighed something like a horse, in which way he commonly expressed his joy ; that be understood the language of birds and beasts, by which they express PETER THE WILD BOY. 165 their appetites and feelings; that his senses were more acute than those of the tame man; and, lastly, that he could sing sometimes. These facts, his lordship con tends, the dean must have knoWn, for he was at Lon don at the lime, and of Swift's integrity in not staling any facts that were untrue, even in a work of humor, his lordship has no doubt. The dean farther said, that it was evident, by several tokens, that this wild boy had a father and mother like one of us, "This," says Lord Monboddoy " I believe also to be true; because 1 waS told by a person yet living, that vvhen he was caught he had a collar about his neck with something written upon it." In Peter the Wild Boy, Lord Monboddo conceived that he had discovered a corroboration of his eccentric opinion. His lordship, accordingly, went lo see him, und the result of his inquiries is thus stated in his " Ancient Metaphysics :" — " Il was in the beginning of June, 1782, that I saw him in a farm-house called Broadway, about a mile from Berkhamstead, kept there on a pension of thirty pounds, which the king pays. He is bnt of low stature, not ex ceeding five feet three inches, and though he must now be about seventy years of age, he has a fresh, 'healthy look. He wears his beard ; his face is not at all ugly or disagreeable,andhehas a look that may be called sensible orsagacibus for a savage. About twenty years ago he used to elope, and once, as I was told, he wandered as far as Norfolk; but of late he has become; quite tame, and either keeps the house, or saunters about the farm. He has been during ^ the thirteen last years where he lives at present, and before that he was tvfrelve years with another farmer, whom I saw and conversed with, i This farmer told me he had been pul to school somewhere in Hertfordshire, but hadonly learned to articulate his own name Peter, and the name of King George, both which I heard him pronounce very distinctly. But the woman of the houfee where he now is, for the man hapfjcned 156 PETER THE WILD BOY. not to be at home, told me he understood every thing that was said to him, concerning the common affairs of life, and I saw that he readily understood several things she said to him while I was present. Among other things, she desired him to sing Nancy Dawson, which he accordingly did, and another tune that she named. He was never mischievous, but had that gentleness of manners which 1 hold to be characteristic of our nature, at least till we become carnivorous, and hunters or war riors. He feeds at present as the farmer and his wife do, but, as I was told by an old woman, who remembered to have seen him when he first came to Hertfordshire, which she computed to be about fifty-five years before ; he then fed much on leaves, particularly of cabbage, which she saw him eat raw. He was then, as she thought, about fifteen years of age, walked upright, but could climb trees like a squirrel. At present he not only eats flesh, but has acquired a taste for beer, and even for spirits, of which he inclines to drink more than he can get. The old farmer with whom he lived before he came to his present situation, informed me, that Peter had that taste before he came to him. He is also become very fond of fire, but has not acquired a liking for money; for though he takes it, he does not keep it, but gives it lo his landlord or landlady, which I suppose is a lesson they have taught him. He retains so much of his natu ral instinct, that he has a fore-feeling of bad weather, growling and howling; and shewing great disorder be fore it comes on." His lordship afterwards requested^ Mr. Burgess of Oxford, to make farther inquiries for him on the spot, concerning Peter, and that gentleman transmitted him an account, which was in substance as follows :— Peter, in his youth, was very remarkable for his strength, which always appeared so much superior, that the stoutest young men were afraid to contend with him. His vigour continued unimpaired till the year 1781, PETER THE WILD BOY. 157 when he was suddenly taken ill, fell down before the fire, and for a time lost the use of his right side, I met with an old gentleman, a surgeon of Hempstead, who re members lo have seen Peter in London, between the years 1724, and 1726, He told me, when he first came to England, he was particularly fond of raw flesh and bones, and was always dressed in fine clothes, of which Peter seemed not a little proud. He still retains his passion for finery ; and if any person has any thing smooth or shining in his dress, it soon attracts the notice of Peter, who shows his attention by stroking it. He is not a great eater, and is fond of water, of which he will drink several draughts immediately after breakfasting on lea, or even milk. He would not drink beer till lately, but he is fond of all kinds of spirits, particularly gin, and likewise of onions, which he will eat like apples. He does not often go out without his master, but he will sometimes go to Berkhamstead, and call at the gin-shop, where the people know his errand, and treat him. Gin is one of the most powerful means to persuade him to do any thing with alacrity ; hold up a glass of that liquor and he will not fail to smile and raise his voice. He cannot bear the sight of an apothecary who once attend ed him, nor the taste of physic, which he will not take but under some great disguise. If he hears any music, he will clap his hands, and throw his head about in a wild frantic manner. He has a very quick sense of music, and will often repeat a tune after once hearing. When he has heard a tune which is difficult, he continues humming it a long time, and is not easy till he is master of it. He understands every thing that is said to him by his master and mis tress: while I was with him, the farmer asked several questions, which he answered rapidly, and not very dis tinctly, but sufficiently so as to be understood even by a stranger to his manner. Some of the questions and answers were as follow : — " Who is your father f" " King 158 PETER THE WILD BOY. George."—" What is your name ?" "Pe— ^ter," pronoun cing the two syllables with a short interval between them—" What is that?" " Bow-wow, (the dog)— " What horse will you ride upon ?" " Cuckow." This is not the name of any of their horses, but it is his con stant reply to that question ; so that it may probably have been the name of one of the horses belonging to his former master. His answers never exceed two words, and he never says any thing of his own accord. He has likewise been taught when asked the question — "What are you?" to reply, "Wild Man."— " Where were you found?" "Hanover;' — " Who found you?" "King George." If he is desired to tell twenty, he will count the numbers exactly on his fingers, with an indistinct soijud at each number : but after another person, he will say, one, two, three, &c. pretty distinctly. Till the spring of 1782, which was soon after his ill ness, he always appeared remarkably animated by the influence of the spring, singing all day; and if it was clear, half the night. He is much pleased at the sight of the moon and stars; he will sometimes stand out in the warmth of the sun, with his face turned up towards it in a strained attitude, and he likes to be out in a starry night, if not cold. These particulars naturally lead to the inquiry, whether he has, or seems to have any idea of the great author of all these wonders. I thought this a question of so much curiosity, that when 1 left Broadway, I rode back several miles lo ask whether he had ever betrayed any sense of a Supreme Being. I waS' told, that when he first came into that part of the country, different methods were taken lo teach him to read, and to instruct him in the principles of religion, but in vain. He learned nothing, nor did he ever show any feeling of the consciousneW of a God. He is very fond of fire, and oftert brings in fuel, \Vhich he would heap up as high as the fire-place would contain it> were he not prevented bj his master. He will PETE^ THE WILD BQ¥. 159 sit in the chimney-corner, even in summer, while they are brewing with a very large fire, sufficient to make another person faint who sits there long. He will often amuse himself by setting five or six chairs before the fire, and seating himself on each of them by turns, as the love of variety prompts him to change his place. He is extremely good-tempered, excepting in cold and gloomy weather, for he is very sensible of the change of the atmosphere. He is not easily provoked, but when made angry by any person, he would run after him, making a strange noise, with his teeth fixed in the back of his hand. I could not find that he ever did any vio lence in the house, excepting when he first came over, he would sometimes tear his bed-clothes, to which it was long before he was reconciled. He has never, at least since his present master has known him, shown any at tention to women, and I am informed that he never did, except when purposely or jocosely forced into an amour. He ran away several limes since he was at Broadway, but never since he has been with his present master. In 1745, or ]746, he was taken up as a spy from Scotland ; as he was unable to speak, the people supposed him ob stinate, and threatened him with punishment for his contumacy; but a lady who had seen him in London, acquainted them with the character of their prisoner, and directed them whither to send him. In these ex cursions he used to live on raw herbage, berries, and young tender ropts of trees. Of the people who are about him, he is particularly attached to his master. He will often go out into the field with him and his men, and seems pleased to be employed in any thing that can assist them. But he inust always have some persons to direct his actions, as you may judge from the following circumstance. Peter was one day engaged with his master in filling a dung- cart. His master had occasion to go into the house, and left Peter to finish the work, which he soon accom- 160 WILLIAM STEVENSON. plished. But as Peter must be employed, he saw no reason why he should not be as usefully employed in emptying the cart as he had before been in filling it. On his master's return he found the carl nearly emptied again, and learned a lesson by it which he never after wards neglected. To these accounts we have nothing farther lo add, than that Peter did not long survive the visits of Lord Monboddo and his friend. He died at the farm in the month of February, 1786, at the supposed age of 73 years. * WILLIAM STEVENSON. This extraordinary man was born at Dunlop, and bred a mason; but during many of the latter years of his life, he wandered about as a common beggar. In 1788, he and his wife separated upon these strange conditions — ^that the first that proposed an agreement should for feit 100/.- This singular pair never met again, and it is not known what became of the heroine. Stevenson was much afflicted during the two last years of his life with the stone. As his disease increased, he was fully aware of his approaching dissolution; and for the event, he made the following extraordinary prepa ration : he sent for a baker, and ordered twelve dozen of Ijurial cakes, and a great profusion of sugar biscuit; together with a corresponding quantity of wine and spirituous liquors. He next sent for the joiner, arid ordered a coffin decently mounled, with particular in struction that the wood should be quite dry, and the joints firm and impervious to water. The grave-digger was next sent for, and asked if he thought he could get a place to put him in after he was dead. The spot fixed on WPS in the church-yard at Riccarton, a village about half a mile distant from Glasgow, He enjoined the sex- 33 Wn^'ijjLjkm ^=2riST:E FT S'DJi, y y /y/^^Y/'Y-' yy/ >(-e. JWiHshaf h/ .rs. VI',:,- .t t' '-i",''.-. 'A' J^;-yr Zo/uim. , '.-yy y-u WILLIAM STEVENSON. 161^ ton to be sure and make his grave roomy ; and he might rest assured, that he would be well remembered for his care and trouble. Having made these arrangements, he ordered the old woman who attended him, to go to a certain nook, and bring out nine pounds, to be appro priated to defray his funeral expenses. He told her al the same time not to be grieved, for he had not forgot ten her in his will. In a few hours, afterwards, in the full exercise of his mental powers, but in the most ex cruciating agonies, he died in Glen-street, Kilmarnock, on Friday, July 17, 1817, in the 87th year of his age. A neighbour was immediately sent for, to examine nnd seal up his effects. The first thing they found was a bag, containing large silver pieces, such as crowns, half crowns, and dollars, to a large amount: in a corner was secreted, amoiigst a vast quantity of musty rags, a great number of guineas, and seven shilling pieces. In his trunk was found a bond for 300/. and othe^r bond? and securities to a considerable amount. In all, the property amounted to 900/. His will was found among some old paper, jeaving to his hpusekeeper 20/, ujui the rest of his prpperty among his distant rela tion^- A^ "^ requirec) soi^e time to give his relatives in- limutipu of his death, and to make preparation for his funeral, hp lay in state fpur days, during which period, the place where he was, (esembled niore an Irish wake, than a deserted room where the Scotch look up their de^d. Tjie invit^tians to his funeial were most singular. Persons were not asked individually, but whole families; 80 that, except a few relations dressed in black, his ob sequies were attended by tradesmen in their working clothes, bare-footed boys and girls, and an immense crowd of tattered beggars, to the aged among whom he left sixpence, and to the younger threepence. After the interment, this motley group retired to a large barn fitted up fur the purpose, where a scene of profusion and inebriety was exhibited almost without parallel. VOL. 11. K J 62 THE PRINCE OF MODENA. As the real name of the person whose adventures are recorded in the following pages, will, in all human pro bability, never be ascertained, we have thought fit to distinguish him by that title under which, aided by an extraordinary concurrence of circumstances, he con trived to obtain some degree of celebrity. The air of mystery which prevails throughout the life of this young adventurer, who, about the middle of the last century, made his appearance in the French West-Indiaisland of Martinico, gives it additional interest. The narrative is from the pen of an eye-witness, who, having escaped the contagious influence of public credulity, had an op portunity of observing, unbiassed, all the extraordinary incidents which paved the way to the success of the youthful impostor. What appears perhaps the most re markable is, that from first to last, he seems to have had in view no end, no object whatever in his operations. The commission of crime or the practice of imposture generally results from a desire to gain some favourite point, tending either to promote private interest or to gratify some ruling passion. Nothing of this kind seems to have influenced the pretended Prince of Modena, unless he can be supposed to have been so weak as to sacrifice the happiness of his whole life to the enjoy ment of a shorl-liveB ambition and the temporary grati'- fication of sensual appetites, of which the discovery of his imposture must infallibly deprive him. Whether he had any motive for his conduct, or whether he was merely the puppet of a fortuitous combination of cir cumstances,, it is impossible, particularly at this dis tance of time, to decide. We shall now proceed to the narrative. At the commencement of the year 1748, while France THE PRINCE OF MODENA. 163 was still at war with Britain, a small French merchant ship from Rochelle, bound to Martinico, was so closely pursued by the English cruizers which blocked up the harbour of the island, that the captain, finding it im possible to save the ship and cargo, resolved at least to make an attempt to escape being taken. He therefore betook himself with his whole crew, to his boat, by means of which they arrived on shore in safety, but with the loss of all they possessed. His crew was not numerous, and he had on board one passenger, a young man, eighteen or nineteen years of age, of a figure rather pleasing than handsome and re gular, of dignified deportment, though ofthe middling stature, but particularly remarkable for the extreme de licacy of his skin, which seemed to denote that he was a person of rank. He said that his name was the Count de Tarpaud, and that his father was a field-marshal ; and the respectful behaviour of lhe crew, appeared to announce a person of still more elevated dignity. He had embarked without any attendant, and the only per son who appeared particularly attached to him was a young sailor, called Rhodez, with whom he became ac quainted during the voyage. Though Rhodez seemed to possess the unlimited confidence of the stranger, yet on his part this intimacy never produced familiarity, as he treated him on al! occasions with the most marked demonstrations of respect. As soon as he had landed, the youth inquired for some creditable inhabitant of the island, in whose house he might firid lodging and relief. He was directed to the habitation of an officer, whose name was Duval Ferrol, sittiated near the place where he landed. Thither he repaired, with no other recommendation .than the misfortune he had so recently experienced. Being re ceived with the utmost hospitality, he fixed his residence there,- together with Rhodez. .nAt this place every re spect was paid him ; he appeared rather to take these 164 THE PRINCE OP MODENA. attentions as his due than to receive them as faVours ; and to the abundance of questions that were asked, he gave vague replies. The mysterious conduct of Rhodez kept alive and increased the curiosity thus excited, aad it began to be directed the more powerfully towards the yonng stranger, as the captain when questioned concern ing him, absolutely refused to give any answer whatevej. He only informed the governor of the cul-de-sac Marin, the port of Martinico, as a secret, that the youth had been brought to him by a merchant, who had privately recommended him, without entering into any farther ex planation, to treat him with great attention, as, he said, he Was a person of distinction. Every thing indeed, relating to this individual, ap peared mysterious and extraordinary. He had been seen to arrive at Rochelle, as it was afterwards discovered, some time before bis embarkation. He was then ac companied by an elderly, grey-headed man, who ap» peared to act the part of a Mentor. It was not known by what conveyande they had come. Both were dressed with the greatest simplicity. On their arrival at Ro chelle, they hired a small aparbalent at a private house, which they immediately furnished at their own expense, without luxury or splendour, but in a very decent man ner. During his residence in that town, the youth had lived very retired, never going abroad, seeing no person, and living on scarcely anything but shell-fish, and prin cipally fresh water crabs, which are extremely scarce and dear at Rochelle. The old man, on the contrary, often went abroad; it appeared as if his principal business was to find an op portunity of embarking his pupil, which since the com mencement of the war wit?h Etigland, did not very often occur. Avi opportunity at length offered ; and on the final departure of the youth for the purpose of embark ing, the mistress of the'house at which he Ipdged, asked him what he intended to do with his furniture, to which THE PRINCE OF MODENA. 165 be replied, "Keep il to remember me by." His con ductor, though a witness to this generous proceeding, scarcely appeared to take notice of it. This present might be estimated at about five hundred livres (about twenty guineas); but what was still more extraordinary, the donor did not take with him money and effects to a much greater amount, and from his conduct on his first arrival at Martinicd, it could not be presumed that he |)ossessed any certain resources. Nothing, however, seemed to give him any uneasiness during the passage. His manners had been constantly generous, without pro fusion. The crew being reduced to great extremity by hunger, at the time when, to avoid the English cruizers, they were obliged to keep close along the coast in the boat, in which they had not time to fake provisions with them, he bought of one ofthe natives, who was passing in his canoe, the refreshments which he was conveying to his habitation, and distributed them among the sailors. The latter, as may be easily conceived, were inspired with increased respect for the young passenger, whom they had before concluded to be a person of distinction, from the mysterious recommendations given to the captain. These circumstances were soon reported in the island, and the crew added, that the young passenger had been taken ill on board the ship ; that he was treated with the utmost care and attention which he received with great benigBity, but mixed with a certain 'degree of baughli- nefes. During his illness, Rhodez, by the captain's di rections, never quitted tlie patient, and it was on this occasion that the confidence of the one, and the ex traordinary allachment of the other, seemed to have commenced. These particulars were more than sufficient to attract attention and excite curiosity. It was instantly known, throughout the whole colony, that a person of high rank had arrived ; all the circumstances attending his 166 THE PRINCE OF MODENA. embarkation were related ; the facts were, altered, exag gerated, and multiplied ; and before the stranger had been four days in the island he was the subject of an in finite number of ridiculous suppositions, of romances each more astonishing than the other, all of which were repeated with equal assurance, and heard with equal avidity. In a few days Duval Ferol infornied the stranger that as he did not know him, and was only a subaltern, he was under the necessity of acquainting the king's lieutenant, who commanded at the cul-de-sac Marin, of his arrival ; and that the latter requested lo see him al his house. The young man complied ; and presented himself as the Count de Tarnaud. The commandant having heard the reports that were propagated concerning the stranger, determined to unravel the mystery, and with that view offered him the use of his bouse and table, which was accepted by Tarnaud. Rhodez did not leave him, but removed with him to the house of the commandant, M. Nadau, thus apparently avowing a kind of voluntary dependance, which he did not endeavour to conceal. Two days after young Tarnaud's removal to the house of the commandant, the latter had company to dinner, and just as they were sitting down to table, the young man found that he had forgotten his handkerchief, on which Rhodez got up and fetched it for him. The company gazed at each other in astonishment; for in the West Indies it was considered an unheard-of, a dis honourable submission for a white to wait upon a white, (except it were a prince, or at least the governor of the island,) to which not even the meanest colonist would submit. It was immediately surmised that Rhodez, a man of a respectable family, of a liberal education, and acquainted with the custom of the place, would not cer tainly thus degrade himself for a mere gentleman. Another circumstance soon occurred to renew and in crease the astonishment of the governor. In the mid- THE PRINCE OP MODENA. 167 die ofidinner, Nadau received a letter from Duval Ferol to the following effect: " You wish for information re- lative to the French passenger who lodged with me some days ; his signature will furnish more than I am able to give. I enclose you a letter I have just received from him.'' Nadau threw his eye over the letter inclosed by Duval; it contained nothing bul expressions of thanks, written in a very bad style, but he was confounded to find that it was signed Eil and not Tarnaud. Immediately after dinner, he took aside one of his friends, to whom he communicated the contents of the note. The latter in stantly repaired to the house of the Marquis d'Eragny, which was at no great distance. The marquis was stil.1 at table with several persons who were dining with him; the conversation soon turned on the young stranger, and the person who had last arrived mentioned what had just happened at Nadau's. On hearing the name of Est they were astonished ; they endeavoured to discover who it could be, and by the assistance of the calendar, con cluded that the stranger was no other than Hercules Renaud d'Est, hereditary Prince of Modena, and bro ther of the Duchess of Penthi^vre. It was thonght ex tremely easy to ascertain whether this-was the fact, for one of the company, whose name was Bois-Ferm6, and who was brother-in-law to the commandant, declared that he had several times been in company with the prince only the year before; and Another had seen him with the army. They therefore resolved to ascertain the matter; and meanwhile pushed about the bottle, till the evening, when the whole company, mounting their horses, proceeded to the house ofthe commandant, who was just going to supper. They fixed their eyes on the stranger, and Bois-Ferme exclaimed, that it was cer tainly he. Boi8-Ferm6, indeed, never spoke a word of truth, not even when he was drunk. He had a negro called La Plume, who waited on him at table, and whom 168 THE PRINCE OF MODBNA. he taught to pronounce only the French word 'f Oni.". — " Is it not true. La Plume ?" said his master, turning to wards him whenever he had been practising with, the long bow, "Oui," invariably and laconically replied La Plume. He was supported by the other officier, who went up to the governor, and said ; "You have in yotrir house the hereditftry Prince of Modena." The ootapidny was scarcely seated at table^ wheti the sound of instru ments was heard : they were bugle horns, broughib by Bois-Ferme: who, with his friends, drank with repeated cheers to the health of Hercules Renaud d'Est, heredi tary Prince of Modena. The person on whose account this scene was atited, at first appeared astonished and embarrassed, and aftjerwards testified his dissatisfaction at such an indiscretion. At this juncture, the French colonies, and especially Martinico, were in a very critical situation. It wa» blpcked up by the English^and in extreme want of pro^ visions, which cOuld be procured only from Curacea.and St. Eustalia; but this resource, which of itself wa? extremely expensive, was rendered still more so by the avidity of a few, who were intent only on itncreasiQf their private fortnhes by the public misery. : At the head of these men was the Marquis de Caylus, gx^ve^tior of the windward islands, who resided at Martinico, a map, who was induced by the derangement of bift affairs, to listen to a great number of projectors, who invoked faiiu in Speculations, of whitsh they derived all the profit, and be had to bear all the odium. A general discontent was thus excited against him ; it was aggrayated by the alarming prospect of a famine, and waiited only for,£^ proper opportunity to burst fortlj. Minds thus prepared eagerly hailed the intelligence of the arrival of the supposed prince. What should bring a prince of Modena to Martinico was a queftion they never thought of asiking; their imaginations were wholly engaged with the advantages which the colony 33 THE PRINCE OF MODENA. 169 was likely to derive from his presence. Nadau, who en tertained a private pique against the governor, eagerly seized the opportanity to lay before his guest the com plaints of the colony, to acquaint him with the tricks of interested men to raise lhe price of provisions, and to describe the misery resulting from such conduct. The prince, indignant at the recital, swore that he would put an end to such villany, that he would punish those who thus abused the confidence of the king ; and should the English effect a landing, he would himself bead the in habitants to repulse the invaders. This declaration, which Nadau did not fail to repeat, augmented the general enthusiasm. The fermentation extended to Fort St. Pierre, where the Marquis de Caylus then resided. The governor flattered himself that he should extinguish iti a moment the faction created against him, and ordered Nadau to send the stranger to St. Pierre. Nadau returned for answer, that there was no doubt but the youth was the hereditary Prince of Modena; on which the governor sent a letter by two of ficers, addressed to the Count de Tarnaud, and inviting him to repair to his residence. " Tell your master," re plied the pri»ce, " that to the rest of the world I am the Count de Tarnaud, bnt that to him I am Hercules Re naud d'Est. If he wishes to see me, let him come half way. Let him repair to Fort Royal, in four or five days; I will be there." The governor, struck with the report made by the of ficers of the stranger's resemblance to the Duchess of Penthievre (sister to the hereditary Prince of Modena), began lo yield to the general conviction. He set out for Fort Royal, but changed his mind, and returned to St. Pierre. The prince, agreeably to his appointment, repaired to Fort Royal, and not finding the governor there, p roceeded to St. Pierre, which he entered in tri umph, attended by seventeen or eighteen gentlemen. VOL. tl. Y 170 THE PRINCE OF MODENA. He sent word to the Jesuits to prepare for his reception ; and on his way passed before the governor's house, who, the moment he saw him, exclaimed, " ihat he was the very image of his mother and sister;" and, as if panic- struck instantly quitted St. Pierre, and retired to Fort Royal, leaving the field to his antagonist. "The prince, who now fixed his abode at the convent of the Jesuits, appointed his household. The Marquis d'Eragny was his grand equerry ; Duval Ferol and Lau rent Dufont were his gentlemen ; and Rhodez his page. He kept a court, and gave regular audiences, which were attended by all who had memoirs to present against the government, or such officers of the administration who wished to pay their court to him. The Duke de Penthievre possessed considerable pro perty in the hands of an agent at Martinico. This man was not one of the last to present himself lo his master's brother-in-law. The prince received him very graciously, and had a conversation of half an hour with him, the re sult of which was, that all the cash and property in his possession, were placed at the disposal of his highness. Had any doubts remained, relative to his right to the title he had assumed, this circumstance would have been sufficient to remove them. Liewain, the agent of the duke, was regarded as an honest and a prudent man ; he was perfectly acquainted with the affairs and connexions of the house of Penthievre, in consequence of which, it was surmised, that he would not have taken such a step without very strong reasons. The Dominicans were jealous of the honour conferred on the Jesuits, and the prince, to satisfy them, on his re turn from a short excursioti, changed his residence to their convent. He was there entertained with the great est magnificence. A table of thirty covers was daily laid for him, and those whom he chose to invite; he dined in public, amidst the sound of trumpets; and the people THE PRINCE OF MODENA. 171 flocked in such crowds to see him, that had it not been for rails placed in the middle of the hall, he would have run the risk of being suffocated. Never was such a spectacle exhibited at St. Pierre; never was confusion more complete, and joy more ge neral. The operations of government were entirely suspended, bul its absence was perceived only in the cessation of the oppression which it had exercised. Money again made its appearance in abundance ; pro visions arrived from all ¦ quarters ; and at length, the news of the peace completed the general intoxication. Vessels had in the mean time been dispatched to France. The prince had written to his family, and had intrusted the captain of a merchant vessel, sent by Liewain, with his letters. No answer arrived, and the prince seemed very uneasy. The governor, on his part, had sent to the minister, the engineer Des Rivieres, to inform him of what happened, and to request instruc tions how lo act. Six months had elapsed since the de parture of Des Rivieres, and he had not returned ; his arrival might, however, be hourly expected ; but this gave the prince no concern. He amused himself with defying the governor, who had in vain endeavoured to insinuate himself into his good graces. He paid his court to all the wom^en ; gave way- to every excess in eating and drinking; and indulged all his caprices. Among the rest, he one day took it into his head to as sume the blue ribbon, which, had he been the heir to Modena, would have been perfectly ridiculous. This absurd pretension he grounded on a story still more ab surd ; which, however, did not on that account obtain the less credit; Had be declared himself the son of God, and the Duchess of Modena, he would have been believed. It cannot, however, be denied that he was an astonish ing youth. Amidst the most childish and absurd fan cies, his actions always displayed a certain degree of 172 THE PRINCE OF MODENA. dignity. Never, either in the company of the women, of whom he was fond to distraction, or in fits of intoxi cation, or in the unfortunate situations in which he was afterwards placed, did he for a moment relinquish that haughty and dignified character which he at first assum ed. He always appeared disinterested and liberal, bul without profusion ; living at the expense of another, as if at his own cost, wiihout seeking to amass for the fu ture, and without squandering, like a man who has but a short time to enjoy prosperity. His education, which had only been commenced, seemed to have been con ducted with extraordinary care. He had confused ideas of various sciences ; spoke French, ltalian,'and German,, but not \Kry well, and understood something, though still less of Latin. He wrote very ill, but drew tolerably, and was a capital horseman. His under standing was lively and just; and excepting the ridi culous fables and vague assertions with which he was obliged to support his pretensions, he always answered any thing serious that was said to him, with great dig nity, good sense, and precision. But the most inexpli cable part of his character was the uniform serenity antl tranquillity which he manifested. So far from enter taining apprehensions on account of the arrival of the numerous strangers, who in consequence of the peace repaired to the island, he eagerly sought their company, A new acquaintance was a treat to him ; and among these strangers, chance directed that he should not find one who was able to detect him. One of them had seen the prince at Venice, but a considerable time before. He had met With him in a shop, where his highness had un masked, after breaking for sport, glass to the value of fifteen hundred pounds, which he afterwards paid for. He who was capable of such a frolic, might easily take a fancy to go to Martinico, and a person who had played such tricks, might still be the Prince of Modena. Des Rivieres had not returned ; and the rainy seasoQ THE PRINCE OF MODENA. 173 appiiO(>ched. The prince began to be apprehensive for his health ; and the inhabitants to discover that his resi dence was rather expensive to them, He wisbed to leave the island, and they were not less desirous that bp should. After a stay of seven months at Martinico, he embarked for Fr^ince, in the Raphael, of Bourdeaux, taking with hitn all h's hQUsehold, an almoner, and Gamier, the king's physician at the colony. When he went on board, he hoisted an admiral's flag, and after being saluted by the c^innon of the fort, departed. A fortnight afterwards arrived Des Rivieres with orders to put his highness in confinement, but these orders had heen six months in preparing, apd the inhabitants sur mised that this delay was intended only to give him lime to leave the island, his visit to which was probably nothing more than a youthful frolic. Liewain's messen ger had likewise returned, and his story had been treated at Paris with as little ceremony as that of Des Rivieres. Jle brought Liewain a letter from the Duke of Penthievre, reprimanding him for suffering himself to be duped ; but, considering that liis conduct was the result of his zeal, and 'hat his predulity might be ex cused by the example of those who were at the head of the colony, the duke cpnsented to share the loss with him, confirmed him in his situation, and assured him of his protectlipn. The tnpney advanced by Liewain amounted to 50,000 crowns ; and this kindness of the duke ap peared lo be a further confirmation of the reality of the prince's pretensions. The Raphael meanwhile proceeded towards Europe, and arrived at Faro, io Portugal, where the prince was received with a salute of artillery. He demanded a courier, to send off to Madrid, to the charg^ d'affaires of the Duke of Modena, and likewise required the means of repairing, with his retinue, to Seville, where he in tended lo wait the return of his messenger. All his wishes were complied with ; and he set out for Seville a» 174 THE PRINCE OF MODENA. tranquil and as cheerful as ever, intent only on paying his court lo all the handsome women he met with on the way. He arrived, in safety, at Seville, preceded by a great reputation for gallahtry. All the females were at the windows to see him pass, and all the first people. of the town went to pay their re spects to him. Sumptuous entertainments were prepared in his honour, and he relumed them with such magni ficence and grace, that he soon turned the heads of the inhabitants of Seville, particularly the females, as he had before done those of the inhabitants of Martinico. During the day, he was almost always in public; but at night he was not so easily to be found ; and though be observed but little secrecy in his intrigues, yet his atten dants sometimes lost all traces of him, so that the Mar quis d'Eragny, who began to be Suspicious, was afraid lest he might give them the slip. For his part he mani fested no concern except on account of the delay of bis courier, whose return he seemed to await with the ut most impatience. , At length an order arrived for his confinement, till the king should decide concerning his fate ; which being communicated lo him by the governor, the prince appeared much astonished but not disconcerted, and re plied, " I was born a sovereign as well as he ; he has no control over me ; but he is master here, and I shall com ply with his desire." * He was then conducted to a small lower occupied by a lieutenant and a few invalids. Here he was left with out being locked up and was even permitted to send for such of his retinue as he wished to have with him. After examining his new habitation, he declared he could not remain there, or he should die. The lieu tenant represented lo him that he was on bis parole. " I have promised," said he, " to remain in a habitable place;" to which the lieutenant replied, "he had no orders to use force." The prince then privately sent to THE PRINCE OF MODENA. 175 the Dominicans to request a lodging, and permission to wait in their convent for the king's orders. The friar consented to receive him, and he removed without mo lestation to the convent. In Spain these institutions are privileged places, and whoever takes refuge in them cannot be removed by force. It was therefore necessary to enter into a negociation with the provincial of the order, and the Archbishop of Seville. The Dominicans at length consented to the removal of the prisoner, if il could be effected wiihout the effusion of blood. The oflicer charged with this business entered his apartment with his hat in one hand, and his drawn sword in the other, requiring him in the name of the king lo surrender. The youth instantly seized his arms, and gaining one of the corners of the room, protested he would kill the first who should venture to touch him. He was surrounded with bayonets, which he parried with his sword, and defended himself with such resolu tion, that it would have been impossible to take him without violating the condition which had been stipu lated. The soldiers therefore retired ; but in the mean time the people had collected at the gate, and the report of the affair had spread throughout all Seville. The government was censured for what it had done, and what it had not done ; the women, in particular, fired with in dignation at the outrages committed on the young stranger, exclaimed against such unworthy treatment of a young man so handsome, noble, generous, and brave. " He is a prince," said they, " or there never was one; perhaps there never was his equal, and yet he is used in this cruel manner !" This fermentation convinced the government of the necessity of bringing the affair to a speedy issue. They renewed their negociations with the Dominicans, who were willing to deliver up their guest; but it had now become a difficult matter. He never went without a brace of pistols in his pockets; at night he kept them 176 THE PRINCE OF MODENA. under his pillow; at dinner he placed one on each side of his plate; and for the greater security he took his repasts only in his own apartment opposite to the door. A method was, however, at last contrived. A young lay- brother, gay, vi^rbus and active, had been directed to wait upon him. His services were very agreeable to the prisoner, who was likewise much diverted with his gaiety. One day the monk, who always stood behind him when at table, had been relating a very merry story, at which the prince could not forbear laughing very heartily. The monk, seizing the opportunity, laid hold of both his arms behind, and stamped with all his force. Some alguasils instantly appeared, and hurried away the unfortunate prince, into the most gloomy dungeon of the most infamous prison in Seville, where they fastened a chain round his middle, and others round his legs and arms. In about twenty-four hours he was sent for, to be examined, but he refused to answer to the interrogatories of his judges. His irons were taken off, and instead of being sent back to his dungeon, he was allowed the best apartment in the prison, iii which a guard, commanded by a captain and a lieute nant, was placed expressly on his account. His retiniae were meanwhile examined relative to the supposed de sign of withdrawing Martinico from its allegiance to France, and without farther ceremony the principal person was condemned to the gallies, or to labour at the king's fortifications in Africa, and his attendants were banished the dominions of Spain. The time at length arrived when the prince was to set off for Cadiz, where those sentenced to labour at the fortifications at Ceuta in Africa were collected. A car riage drawn by six mules appeared at the gate of the prison, and the whole garrison of Seville was under arms. The prince, supported by the captain and lieu tenant, entered the carriage, and proceeded through the city between two files of infantry which lined the streets. 33 THE PRINCE OF MODENA. 177 Il has been asserted that apprehensions were enter tained of a commotion in his favour. It is certain that the imaginations of the people were highly inflamed, and that at this time wagers to the amount of sixty thousand piastres were depending in Spain on the ques tion, whether he was really the Prince of Modena or an impostor. What appeared not a little extraordinary, the court prohibited the laying of wagers. Some of the parties then went in quest of the real Prince of Modena : but it was long biefore he was discovered. He was neither at Modena nor al Reggio, nor at Massa-Carrara. It was reported that he was gone lo Venice ; but four notaries attested that he had not made his appearance in that city, so that it might almost have been surmised that he concealed himself for the purpose of keeping alive the doubts and uncertainty of the public. On the prisoner's arrival at Cadiz, he was conducted to the Fort of la Caragna, whiph commands the port. The commandant was informed, that he must be an swerable for the prisoner ; but his orders at the same time directed that the should treat him con maniera, with politeness. The commandant a native of France, named Devau, who had raised himself by his, merit to the situation he held, after reading his orders, observed : " When I am to be answerable for the safety of any per son, I know but one wiflniera of treating him, and that is to put him in irons." The moment having arrived for the departure of the convoy for Ceuta, ihe prince was put into a vessel sepa rate from the other galley-slaves. When they were _ setting sail, the secretary of the governor appeared. He brought what remained from the sale of his effects after deducting all that had been expended on his ac count. The surplus amounted lo seven or eight hundred reals, (about ten guineas.) " Aha !" said he, " the go vernor lakes me for his almoner." — Then raising his voice, he continued : " Sailors, the governor is very VOL. 11. z 178 THE PRINCE OP MODENA. generous, he has sent you some money," and distri buted the whole among them in the presence of the secretary. Nadau, who had heen ordered home lo France to give an account of bis conduct, received on his return to Martinico, a pair of pistols of the finest workmanship, accompanied with a letter from the prince, in which, after some excuses for the uneasiness he roust have caused him, be informed that officer that he was at Ceuta in the convent of the Cordeliers, where be was very well treated, and under Uttle restraint. He pretended that he had received a visit from Alt Obaba, the brother of the Emperor of Morocco, who had offered him 40,000 men and artillery to attack the Spaniards ; but motives of honour and of religion obliged him to refuse his as sistance. After relating the particulars of this interview with Aii Obaba, he informed Nadau that he had receiv ed a letter from a mulatto named Louison,one of the two valets de ohambre who had attended him to Europe; in which the unfortunaite man had stated that he was out of place, and afllicted with a disease, the cure of which was very expensive. In consequence of this intellif' gence he had caused him to be placed under the hands of an able surgeon at Cadiz, whom he had directed to be paid, and had transmitted to Louison sufficient to enable him to return to Martinico. Thus, both by his actions and his words, he supported the character he had origi nally assumed ; which is certainly not the least remafk- able part of his history. Liewain likewise received a letter, in which he la mented the losses he had suffered on his account, and held out hopes that he should one day make him a com pensation for them. These letters were the first and the last. It appears that tired of his prison, however com fortable it might have been made for him, the young man found an opportunity of escaping. About this time a merchantman came to anchor in the road of Gib- JOHN COTTINGTON. 179 raltar. The captain, Who was an Englifehrnan, went on shore, and informed the governor that he had on board his ship the person known by the name ofthe Prince of Modena, who demanded permission to land. " Let him beware of coming on shore here," replied the go vernor, •' [ should treat him con rnaniettk, in the English style; he would be apprehended immediately." The captain took him at hit word ; he set sail, nnd with hiiti disappeared for ever this extraordinary youth, leaving behind him no trace of his existence except the recol lection of a mystery, which in all probability will never be explained. JOHN COTTINGTON. U/HI8 notorious character, better known by the name of Mull'd Sack, was born in, or about, the year 1604, in Cheapside, London; where his father, who wus mc(ch addicted to itiebriety, kept a small haberdasher's shop. His propensity for drinking so ruined his affairs, that he became dependant on the relief of the parish, where his son, the subject of the present narrative. Was brought ilpv and pi aped, at the age of fourteen, ds an apprentice to a chimney-sweeper. After five yeiirs' servitude, he left his master and set up for himself, when he became notorious for drinking mull'd sack and sugar.* His orgjes about Fleet-street and Temple-bnr, often disturbed the watch, and he was as often found inciucerated in durance vile for his excesses. Rifgaling himself one • Rhenish wJrte was, at this pe'tfo^, called Stick, not frdrti its swcet- ne88,or teccharm* fla'vour, but from the sacks, or bffrrachiies, in which it was generally contained. Apothecai'fes sold it in their shops, atrd it was most frequently draftik in a warm, or mull'd State, sweetencid with sugar. ISO JOHN COTTINGTON. night at the Devil Tavern, in Fleet-street,* a match was made up between him, and one whom he took to be of the fair sex, with whom he shortly after contracted marriage at the Fleet ;-j- he soon after, however, found out his mistake, as his good wife proved to be an her maphrodite, well known by the name of Anniseed Robin. Thus disappointed in his expectations, Mull'd Sack became a professed debauchee, followed the most evil courses, extorted money from travellers on the road, and squandered his booty upon the five notorious women barbers^ in Drnry-lane. * This tavern stood between the Temple-gate and Temple-bar, and was formerly the scene of much mirlh and revelry ; it was here where the facetious Ben Jonson held his Apollo club, and where the cele brated Lord Rochester frequently made one of the party. It had for its sign St. Duustan taking the Devil by the nose with a pair of tongs. The ground on which it stood was purchased by Messrs. Child's, bankers, and the present erections were, after them, named Childs- place. f On the east side of Fleet-market, beyond the prison, was formerly hnng up the sign of a male and female hand conjoined, with " Marriages performed within," written beneath. A dirty fellow ac costed most passengers, with, " Sir will you please to walk in and be married," and the parson, a squalled profligate figure, was seen vralk- ing before his shop, clad in a tattered plaid night-gown, with a fiery face, ready to couple any who might be disposed to enter into the holy state of wedlock, 'and, independent of his fee, expected a dram of gin, or a roll of tobacco. Lord Chancellor Hardwicke put these demons to flight, and saved thousands from the misery and disgrace proceeding from such unlawful unions. X These celebrated female shavers were often the exemplary objects ofthe criminal law j vindictive and cruel in their manners, they were frequently the abettors of many disgusting and atrocious proceedings. A female suspected to be the favourite of the principal shaver's- hus band, once fell into their bands. They stripped and shaved her all over, and afterwards soused her in suds and water, till she was almost smothered ; the law, however, took cognizance of so atrocious an act, but ere it could bring its subjects to condign punishment, three of the five made their escape to Barbado^s ; the other two expiated their crime in some measure by standing in the piilory. JOHN COTTINGTON. 181 His profligacy seems in no way to have hindered his being concerned in an amour with a rich citizen's wife in Mark-lane ; this was, on the whole, what suited Mull'd Sack extremely well, for he is said to have dress ed genteelly, and to have carried himself with good de portment towards the ladies in conversation. From this lady he did not get more than 120/. before she died of a then fashionable disorder, and left a family of twelve children behind her. On her death bed she made a full confession of her incontinency, in which she owned that Mull'd Sack was the father of her youngest child. This confession, though it might ease her conscience at that time, made a considerable impression upon the mind of her husband, for it appears he did not long survive her death. Mull'd Sack having thus lost his benefactress, turned pick-pocket with considerable success, and in a short time became a top-man in the profession. Dressed in black, with a roquelaure ofthe same colour, he visited the churches and puritan meeting-houses in different parts of the town, from the congregations of which he obtained watches and money to a considerable amount. One day Mull'd Sack observed the lady of Sir Thomas Fairfax, general of the parliament forces, go to Dr. Ja- comb's lecture, at Ludgate, (now called St. Martin's,) he followed her in, and, in the most devout manner du ring the lecturer's long prayer, purloined her gold watch set with diamonds, and the gold chain to which it was appended. In a few weeks afterwards, dressed as a cavalier of the army, with rich accoutrements, he robbed her ladyship again. To accomplish this, he watched her carriage, and contrived to get the linchpin of the wheel out, as it came near Ludgate : this caused the carriage to fall, and alarm her ladyship, who, at the intimation of Mull'd Sack, consented to be led by him into the church; by this stratagem, he deprived her of another gold watch and seals, between the church-door and her seat, and decamped off with the greatest ease. 182 JOHN COTTtNOTON. leaving her to measure the length of the parson's sermon without her time-piece. The notoriety of Mull'd Sack's character became now a common topic of conversation. — He placed himself at the head of a notorious gang of the most depraved and lawless ruffians, who unanimously chose him for their captain. In this dignified station he assumed some little consequence ; — organized their proceedings, and was the principal projector of all their schemes of villany : and with so much success did he carry on his depredations, that he scarcely knew the extent of his wealth. He moreover had the audacity publicly to exhibit, in differ ent ale-houses, his expertness in the art of pick-pocket ing, and actually had a number of pupils under his tui tion, who handsomely paid him for his instructions! His impudence had not yet arrived at its h'eight ; and his extravagance was unbounded: his connexions with profligate women eonstituted the means of squandering away his ill got wealth, as well as a great part of his time; in short, according to Mr, Granger's account, he and his companions got enough by picking of pockets in the city to have rebuilt the cathedral of St. Paul's! From Charing-cross to the Royal Exchange, were limits too confined for his depredations, he consequently visiited White-hall, the Parliament-house, and the courts of Law at Westminster, till, at length, detected in picking the pocket of Oliver Cromwell, as he came from the Parliament-house, he was tried and stood a narrow chance of being hanged ; for the robbery of his person, roused the anger of the Protector ; happily for Mull'd Sack, there was no act of legislature, to fix an exemplary punishment on the offender, and he escaped, though with such rough treatment, that put him so out of conceit of his former course that he took to the dan gerous pursuit of robbing on the highway. Accom.panied by one Tom Cherry, an associate, he robbed Colonel Hewson of his purse on Houoslow- JOHN COTTINGTON. 183 heath. Cherry was afterwards taken and hanged, but Mull'd Sackjhad the good fortuneto secrete himself, and thereby saved his neck. , His next companion was one Home, a pewterer, \yho had been a colonel in Down's regiment of foot 5 with this man he robbed Oliver Cromwell, as he was passing alone over Hounslow-heath ; they were, however, quickly pursued ; Hofne was taken and hanged the same afternoon, but Mull'd Sack bad the good fortune to escape a second time, of which he frequently made his boast among his dukinas of Drury-lane and its purlieus. The surprising extent to which he carried on his de predations is incredible, and were not the facts well at tested we should be disposed to doubt the veracity of many circumstances which are attributed to bim., Re solute and determined in all his actions he ventured, aided by twelve others, to attack a government waggon, laden with money to pay the army* and dispersed twenty horse-troopers) that guarded, il. Their plunder was great, and was soon distributed amongst the fair (Jgmsels above mentioned. Spies were appointed in different parts of London, for the purpose of obtaining the earliest infor mation of all property that was within the cqn^pass of Mull'd Sack's ability. The contents of a jeweller's shop, while on its removal from Reading to London, were captured by him, and for a length of time he wore the most valuable articles about his person. 'Shortly after this he robbed the Receiver's office, at Reading, of 600/, sterling, which he conveyed off on horseback, and lodg ed it, without detection, at his residence ; the magni tude of this depredation, and his notorious character, caused him to be takeO on suspicion, and tried at the Abingdon assizes, where he so managed the affair, that, notwithstanding Judge Jermin exerted all his powers to hang him, the jury gave him an acquittal. The circumstance which tended to terminate the career of Mull'd Sack's depredations, arose from an in- 184 JANE LEWSON. irigue between him and the wife of one John Bridges, a royalist. This man, it appears, narrowly watched his wife, and prevented the frequent intercourse which would otherwise have taken place between her and Mull'd Sack, , The latter, however, soon found means to quarrel with her husband, caused a fray in the house, and murdered him, for the sake of having a more easy access to her. This murder, and the circumstances re specting it, at length became noised abroad, and fearful of again being apprehended, he fled beyond sea, and at Cologne robbed King Charles II., then in his exile, of as much plate as, at that time, nmoumed to 1500/.; with this booty lie returned to London, and to atone, in some measure, for his past offences, he promised Crom-' well the disclosure of sOme secret papers of that prince's correspondence, of which he boasted the possession ; unable, however, to perform what he himself had pro posed, and the circumstances connected with the plate robbery becoming known, he was sent to Newgale lo stand his trial at the Old Bailey, where he was found . guilty, and received sentence of death. He was execut ed in Smithfield-rounds, April 1659, at the age of fifty- five years. JANE LEWSON, Mrs. Lewson (commonly called Lady Lewson, from her very eccentric manner of dress) was born in the year 1700, during the reign of William and Mary, in Essex-street in the Strand, of reputable parents of the name of Vaughan, and was married at an early age to Mr, Lewson, a wealthy gentleman, then living in the house in which she died. She became a widow at the age of iwenly-six, having only one daughter living at 34 JAMS ILISWSCDFI, 'yA-y//////y/7/yy yy //-l ^y -y/zy /ic'7//ua-/Yy7J, / y JANE LEWSON. 185 the time. Mrs, Lewson being left by her husband in af fluent circumstances, preferred to continue single, and , remained so, although she had many suitors. When her daughter married, being left alone, she became fond of retirement, and rarely went out, or permitted the visits of any person. For the last ibirty years of her life she kept no servant, except one old female, who died after a servitude of twenty years, and was succeed ed by her grand-daughter, who marrying shortly after, was replaced by an old man, who attended the different houses in the Square to go of errands, clean shoes. Sac. Mrs. Lewson took this man into her house, and he acted as her steward, butler, cook and housemaid ; and, with the exception of two old lap dogs and a cat, he was her only companion. The house she occupied was large, and elegantly furnished, but very ancient: the beds were kept constantly made, although they had not be^n*lept in for about thirty years. Her apartment being only occasionally swept out, but never washed, the windows were so crusted with dirt that they hardly admitted a ray of light. She used to tell her acquaintance, that, if the rooms were wetted, it might be the occasion of fier catching cold ; and as to cleaning the windows, she ob served, that many accidents happened through that ridi culous practice: the ^lass might be broke, the person might be wounded, and the expense would fall upon her to repair them. A large garden in the rear of the house was the only thing she paid attention to; this was al ways kept in good order; and here, when the weather permitted, she enjoyed the air, or sometimes sat nnd read, of which she was particularly fond ; or else chatted on times past, with any of the few remaining acquaintances whose visits she permitted. She seldom visited, except at a grocer's in the square, with whom she dealt. She had for many years survived every rela tive within many degrees of kindred. She was so partial to the fashions that prevailed in her youthful days> that VOL, II, 2 A 186 JANE I4SWSON. she never changed the manner of her dress from that worn in the time of George 1. being always decorated "With rulfs, and cuffs, and fardingales, and things." She always wore poypder, with a large tache made of horse hair, upon her head, over which the hair was turned up, and a cap over it which knotted under her chin, and three or four curls hanging down her neck ; she generally wore silk gowns, and the train long, with a deep flounce all round ; a very long waist, and very tightly laoed up to her neck, round which was a kind of ruff or frill. The sleeves of her gown came down below the elbow, from each of which four or five large cuffs were attached ; a large bonnet quite flat, high heeled shoes, a large black silk cloak, trimmed round with^lace, and a gold headed cane, completed her every day costume for the last eighty years, and in which she walked round the square. She never washed herself, because those people who did s*o, she said, were always taking cold, or laying the foundation of some dreadful disorder; her method was, to besmear her face and neck all over with hog's-lard, because that was soft and lubricating ; and then, be cause she wanted a little colour on her cheeks, she used to bedaub tbem with rose pink ! Her manner of living was so methodical, that she would not drink her tea out of any other than a favorite cup. She was equally particular with respect to her knives, forks, plates, &c. At breakfast she arranged in a particular way the paraphernalia of the tea table ; at dinner, she also observed a general rule, and always sat in her favorite chair. She always enjoyed an excellent state of health, assisted in regulating her house, and never had, until a short time previous to her decease, an hour's illness. She entertained the greatest aversion to medicine; and what is remarkable, she cut two new teeth at the age of 87, and was never troubled with the JAMES TAYtOR. 187 tooth-ach. She lived in five reigns, and was supposed the most faithfijl living historian of her time; events of the year 1715 being fresh in her recollection. A few days previous to her death, an old lady, who was her neighbour, died suddenly, which had such an effect upon her, that she frequently said her time was also come, and she should soon follow. She enjoyed all her faculties until that period, when she became weak, took to her bed, and refused medical aid. Her conduct to her few distant relations was exceedingly capricious, and she would never see any of them ; and it was not until a few hours before her dissolution, that any alteration was observed in her temper. She died on Tuesday, May 28, 1816, at her hou«e in Cold Bath Square at the advanced age of 1 16 ; and was buried in Bunhill-fields burying ground. JAMES TAYLOR. J. HIS extraordinary -character, better known by the name of Jemm}' Taylor, the Southwark miser, was a native of Leicestershire, bred a weaver and afterwards became a stock-broker. At this trade he wove a web worth 200,000/. a proof that the shuttle of politics, and the silk of Usury, had produced a sum far exceeding the value ofthe most gorgeous garment worn by any eastern toonarcb, from a Persian loom. Yet this sum never adorned him or kept him warm. The blanket of a beg- igar would have served his purpose as well. He fared ^worse than the meanest mechanic.; His raiment was ragged, his food indifferent and scanty, and his bed bard ; fbr belay upon nothing but rags and straw on the bare floor; and in ahbuse Which was hardly habitable. Two banker's clerks once called upon Jemmy, at his earnest^ in ?itatiot), to take pat-luck with him. They 188 JAMES TAYLOR. found him boiling a solitary mutton chop, in an ocean of water, to make, what he called> some comfortable broth, for himself, and for his old friend Daniel Dancer, whom he hourly expected. After some coYnplimenlary solicita tion, they prevailed upon him to fetch a pot of porterj; and while he was gone, they threw three halfpenny candles and two pieces into his cookery : which, no doubt, improved the culinary mess, and made il more delectable to these old hunks, who, as it appeared, de voured it with keen appetites. But the next time Jemmy Taylor met his visiters upon the Change, he accused them of stealing his candles. Of this charge they cleaired themselves, by solemnly declaring, they had only committed them lo the pot, at the bottom of which he would find the wicks, if his hunger had not caused him to swallow them unperceived. ;- Jemmy Taylor always appeared in the streets with a long stick and clouted shoes, and innumerable darns and patches in his clothes. He never went to market for more than a twopenny steak at a time, and this he generally chose for its savoriness ; an outside piece, grown black by the wind, and mostly fly-blown, was his choice; for he thriftily observed, " that meat was no thing, unless it smelt as well as tasted." His acquaint ance used often to represent to him his folly in being so parsimonious and self-denying; an^ as, he was fast growing old, observed to him the propriety of indulging himself a little in comfortable things : but to all idea of expense. Jemmy Taylor was totally deaf. His reply used always to be, "that if his successors had as much pleasure iti spending his property, as he bad in hoarding it up, they need not complain of their lot in the world." If parity of years is the first step to friendship, parity of pursuits may be said to be the second. Jemmy Taylor knew all the miserables of the metropolis ; among the most conspicuous of whom, he ranked two well- James Baylor. 189 known brothers of Spitalfietds. These were likevfrisc weavers; and in their time had accumultited, by usury and speculation," the enormous sum of 300,000/. which they kept at interest in the funds, and were thus always able to oblige a _/"ne«d with, any sum at a moment's warning. Previous to the tax upon legacies, these worthies had made wills; but upon the necessity of using stamps, they made over their property to their nephews and nieces, in order to evade the duty, and thereby saved from government, into their own pockets, upwards of 3000/. The eldest of these saving ones ordered a very old shirt to be put on him but a day before he de parted the world, in order to disappoint the nurse of a good onel Had Jemmy Taylor lived to hear ofthe deaths of these friends of his, he, no doubt, would have very much approved of these saving contrivances. A short time after the conclusion of the American war; the Earl of Northumberland having occasion for 74,000/. to make a purchase, applied to his broker, and appointed a certain day to do the transfer. At the time and place of meeting, which was the round room at the Bank, they found Taylor, whose ap pearance was exactly that of a coachman's watering- man. The brokerbrought Jemmy forward to his grace; who not knowing him, thought he was a beggar, that wanted alms; but being assured by Mr. Consols, that he was a warm man, his grace at last shook hands with him, and Jemmy accommodated the peer with lhe 74,000/. out of one stock, in the four per cents, where he usually kept his largest bulk of cash ; and whence it appeared by the books, he could have sold but as much more, and yet have had as much left, as would _have made him comfortable all the rest of his life. One day, observing some ladies, near the Bank buying some very fine fruit, he kept his eyes so wistfully fixed upon them, that one of them, thinking him in great want, sent him out sixpence, which he received with a 1^0 CHRISTIAN DAVIES. low bow, and immediately set off, and bought a two penny steak, which he brought past the ladieSj to show them that he had not misapplied their bounty. That Jemmy was in the habit of practising the virtue of 'Self-denial, the following anecdote will evince :— The person appointed to collect the parish-rate having one day Called for his assessment at his house, in King-street, and inquiring for Mr. Taylor, he was told by the servant who opened the door, that " there was not a soul in the house." The collector, perceiving old Hunks peeping between the banisters, replied, "that she was quite right, as he could only perceive her master, who was well known to have no soul at all !" Though Jemmy had but little religion in his life, yet towards his latter end he discovered some thoughts of an hereafter. Finding himself ill, and fearing his illness might finish his days, he sent for the parish officers, the parson, clerk, and curate, and, after intimating his in tention of making a handsome bequest, paid them down twelve hundred pounds for their prayers for the rest of his .soul ; but this bargain was not entirely settled until the -gentlemen had returned him twelve months' interest by way of discount— his usual demand for prompt payment ! His enormous fortune devolved to two relatives in the country; whilst his kindred in London were cut off from all participation in it. The name of Mr. Taylor now adorns the donation board of the ancient church of. St. Saviour, in the Borough. He died in 1793. CHRISTIAN DAVIES. The extraordinary adventures of Christian Davies, who was for a considerable time exposed to all the dan gers and hardships incident to a military life, while serving ns a private soldier in the English army, would CHRISTIAN DAVIES. 191 appear scarcely credible, had we not in our own times instances of ferti ale courage, resolution, and intrepidity, equally honourable and surprising. Christian Davies, of whose maiden name we are not informed, was born at Dublin, in the year 1667. Her father, a maltster and brewer, employed a considerable number of servants in that business, and likewise held a farm at Leixlip, which he left to the management of his wife. They spared no expense in the education of our heroine, who though she learned to read, and became a good needle-woman, yet conceived a violent dislike for sedentary employments, for which reason she was al ways at the farm to assist her mother. This preference for the country proceeded rather from inclination than duty, as she coitld there indulge her love of boyish amusements, and the pleasure she took in manly occupa tions ; for she was never more'delighted than when fol lowing the plough, or handling a rake, flail, or pitch fork, in the use of which she showed as much strength and dexterity as any of the servants. Another favourite exercise was to get astride upon the horses, and to ride them bare-backed about the fields, leaping hedges and ditches, by which she occasionally met with some severe accidents. In a word, while a girl, she manifested that masculine spirit which enabled her afterwards to sustain so well the character she assumed. When James II. had abdicated the English throne and applied for assistance to his Irish subjects, the father of our heroine, though a Protestant, embraced his cause with such ardour, that with the sale of his standing crops, and the money he had before in his possession, he raised a troop of horse in favour of the unfortunate monarch. It was not more than a year afterwards that he received a mortal wound at the battle of Aghrim, in which General Ginkle obtained a complete victory over the forces of King James, and all bis effects were seized by thegovexnment. 192 CHRISTIAN DAVIES. Our heroine had now attained the age of maturity, and attracted the notice of her mother's first cousin, named Thomas Howel, fellow of Dublin College, who paid his addresses to her. Her esteem for him caused her for two years to resist his solicitations on account of her poverty. This affection on her part was repaid with the blackest ingratitude ; he availed himself of it, when time and opportunity favoured his purpose, to seduce her; after which, notwithstanding all his vows of eter nal constancy and marriage, he abandoned her to la ment her credulity and imprudence. Her grief on this occasion was such that it had a visible effect on her health, and when her mother inquired the cause, her only reply was a request to leave her house. This was readily complied With, and she was sent to her aunt, who kept a public-house in Dublin. Here she recovered her cheerfulness, and lived upwards of four years with her aunt; who at her death left her sole heiress to her property and business. It was not long after this accession of fortune that she married a young man named Richard Welsh, who had been waiter to her aunt, and remained with her in the same capacity. With bim she passed four happy, years, during which she brought him two boys. She was preg nant of her third child, when her husband having one day gone to pay the brewer a sum of money, failed to re turn. Notwithstanding all her inquiries, the only in telligence she could obtain concerning him was, that a gentleman was seen in his company when he paid the brewer, and that they went away together. The only conclusion she could draw from this extraordinary cir cumstance was, that he had been privately murdered. A year had somewhat mollified her grief for bis loss when she was surprised with the receipt of a letter from him, in which he related how he had been inveigled and carried, while intoxicated, on board a vessel with recruits, in which he was conveyed to join the army in 34 CHRISTIAN DAVIES, 493 Flanders. She no^, conceived the idea of going to seek him out, and having placed her children with a nurse, dressed herself in a suit of her husband's clothes. Thus equipped, she repaired to an officer who was beating up for, recruits, and enlisted with him by the name of Christopher Weigh. It vvas not long before she embark ed with the other recruits, and landing at Williamstadt in Holl^n<^) ,'^hey iinmediately proceeded to join the grand army, then encamped at Landen, and on the eve of a genera) engagement. In this hattlfe our heroine re ceived a wound from a musket-ball a little above the ankle, which rendered her incapable of service for two months. In the course of the following summer she was jtak.en prisoner with a foraging party by the French, and carried to St. Germe^in en Laye, but vefy poon exchanged. In tl^e winter of 1684, bejng in quarters at Gorcum, she made love Jo tjjp daughter of a bprgl|e|" of ihtit place, whose affections she contrived tp ^ain, as much by b^y spirit as by the passion she pretended for her : fqr a serr jeant of the same regiment, having grps^ly insulted the girl, was challenged and d?ingerous.ly wounded by our heroine, who was imprisoned as the aggressor. By a re presentation of the circumstanc/e^, the burgher, bow- ever, procured her release, but she was discharged from the regiment. She now entered into Lord Jphn Hayes's dragoons ; and, after the taking of Namur, a child was sworn to her, for which, rather than betray the secret of her sex, she agreed to provide; bul it died in a month, and thus de livered her from that expense, though it left her the re- put,ation of being a father. On the conclusion of the peace of Ryswick, in l697j the army was disb^nfled, and our herpine repaired to her native land, where she fonnd means to see her mother, children, and friends without being ,kpown by them. It was not long before the war of the Spanish succession VOL. II. .2b 194 CHRISTIAN DAVIES. commenced ; and her martial inclination being awaken ed, she enlisted once more into. Lord John Hayes's regi ment, which again repaired to the former scene of ope rations. She was present at most of the engagements, during the campaigiis of 1702 and 1703, under the Duke of Marlborough ; and on the 2nd of July, the en suing year, received a wound at the battle of Donawert, from a ball which penetrated her hip, and lodged be tween the bones in siich a- manner that it could never be extracted, and almost deprived her of the use of her leg and thigh. She was carried to the hospital at Schel lenberg, where she was put under the care of ihree'sur- geons ; through which she narrowly escaped being discovered. After the battle of Hochstett, in which, though often in the hottest fire, our heroine received no injury, she accidentally perceived a man whom she thought she knew, and at length recognised to be her husband, whom she had not seen for twelve years ; she procured an interview with him, and satisfied herself, notwith standing his apparent affection for a Dutch woman with whom he cohabited, of his tenderness for her. At length he discovered that the inquisitive dragoon was no other than bis wife, and his astonishment may be more easily conceived than described. After reproaching him for his inconstancy, she told him that notwithstanding the hardships she had experienced, she had such a lik ing for the service, that she was resolved to continue in it ; that she would pass for his brother, and would fur nish him with any necessaries he might want while he concealed' her sex, but if ever he betrayed her she would forget that he was her husband, and he should find her a dangerous enemy. This resolution he endeavoured to shake off by his solicitations, but in vain; and they at least enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing and conversing with each other every day. Nothing of consequence occurred to our heroine till CHRISTIAN DAVIES. 195 the battle of Ramilies, on the 23d of May 1705, when a shell struck the back part of her head and fractured her skull. She was removed to Meldre, where she was tre panned, but this accident led to a discovery of her sex by the surgeons, who saw her breasts when fixing on the dressing. The pain she received from this circumstance exceeded the torture of her wound, which was upwards of ten weeks in healing. Her dismission from the ser vice was the natural consequence; her officers generously furnishing her with every thing requisite for the dress of her sex. After the metamorphosis of our heroine, she still re mained with the army, engaged sometimes in the occu pations of the kitchen, and sometimes in those of plun der; At length at the battle of Taisnieres she had the mis fortune to lose her husband, and though she represented herself as having been for some time inconsolable for bis loss, it was only eleven weeks after his decease that she married Hugh Jones, a grenadier ; who during her hus band's life-time had expressed a great esteem for her. She was left a widow a second time on the death of Jones, who received a mortal wound in the attack on St. Venant. After this our heroine still remained with the army, engaged in' the same kind of occupations as before, till the conclusion of the war, when she returned to Eng land ; where by the advice ofthe Duke of Argyle, under whom she had served, she had a petition drawn up, and presented it to the queeuj who received her very graci ously, and ordered her a considerable gratuity. Il was not long before she repaired to Dublin, to inquire after her family and affairs. There she met her mother, then upwards of a hundred years of age,- who had long con- clued her to be dead. Of her two children, the elder as she was informed had died at the age of eighteen, and the younger was in the work-house. Those to whom she had intrusted the care of her house and property had 196 CHRISTIAN DAVIES. converted them to their own use ; and not having mi!iney to defray the expenses of an attempt to recover them by legal methods, she was obliged to be contented with the loss. During her residence al Dublin, she chanced to meet the Rev. Mr. Howell, whose name has been mentioned at the commencement of this narrative. He would have spoken to her, bul she avoided him. From this time be fell into a settled melancholy, the cause of which he ac knowledged to his sister, was the injury he had done her, and the perjury of which he had been guilty. He quitted Dublin the next day and returned to England, having settled in Shropshire, where he had married. A few weeks afterwards his sister received an account that he had destroyed himself, leaving his wife with a family of eleven children to provide for. A short time previ ous to the commission of this rash action, he wrote to his brother, informing him, that the reflecl^ron on his con duct to Mrs, Davies, had robbed him of all pteace of mind, and had reduced him to such a state of despair^ that he need not be surprised to hear of his laying violeiit hands on himself. At Dublin she married, for her third husband, a soldier, named Davies, who had served in the low countries, and with him repaired to London, where she obtained ffotn the queen, in addition to her former bounty ef fifty pounds, an order for a shilling a day fbr life. She now settled at Chelsea, and found means to get her hug- band into the college, with the rank of serjearit. Here we suppose, as we have no farther account of hei", termi nated her peregrinations ; and as she does not appear t* have possessed the virtue, prudence, it is not unlikely that the closing scenes of her life were obscured by the gloolny clouds of penury. 197 JAMES NAILER. ±HE avoiding of a bad example may often prove as conducive to happiness as the imitating of a good one. Under this impression we here lay before the reader some particulars of the life of James Nailer, a man no torious in the seventeenth century for his fanaticism, and the singularity of his religious opinions. James Nailer, or Nayler, was the son of a farmer of some property, and was born in the parish ofArdesley, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire, about the year 1616. His education went no farther than English. At the age of twenty-two he married, and removed into Wakefield parish, where he continued till the commencement of the civil war in 1641. He then entered into the parlia mentary army, and serVed eight years, first under Lord Fairfax, and afterwards as quarter-master. Under Gene ral Lambert ; till, disabled by sickness in Scotland, he returned home, in 1648. Hitherto he had professed himself a Presbyterian and Independent, but in 1651, he becalme a convert to the doctrines of George Fox, and joined the persons pretending to new lights, who were afterwards known by the appellation of Quakers. Being a man of good natural parts, aind strong imagi- bation, he soon cPmmenoed preacher: »nd, in the opinion of his followers, acquitted himself well, both in word and writing, among bis friends. Towards the end of 1'664, or beginning of l!655, he removed to Londouy and there found a meeting which had been gathered by Edward Burrough and Francis Ho wgil. He soon distinguiahed himself amoiig libem : so that many, admiring his talents, began to esteem himfdr above his brethren, which occasioned differences and disturbances in the society. These were carried to such a height, that some of Nailer's forward and inconsiderate fethale 198 JAMES NAILER. adherents, publicly interrupted Hojvgil and Burrough in preaching, and disturbed their meetings. Being re proved by them for their indiscretion, the women com plained so loudly and passionately lo Nailer, that as Sewel, in his " History of the Quakers," observes, " It smote him down into so much sorrow and sadness, that he was much dejected in spirit, and disconsolate. Fear and doubting then entered into him, so that he came to be clouded in his understanding, bewildered and at a loss in his judgment, and estranged from his best friends, be cause they did not approve his conduct ; insomuch that he began to give ear to the flattering praises of some whimsical people, which he ought to have abhorred and reproved them for." It will be seen from the subsequent part of this history, that these " flattering praises," of which Sewel speaks, were too powerful for the poor man's intellects, and produced that mental intoxication or derangement, to which alone his frantic conduct can be attributed. In 1656, we find him in Devonshire, whither he was undoubtedly carried by a zeal for propagating his opi nions. These were of such an extraordinary nature, that he was apprehended and sent to Exeter gaol, where letters, conceived in the most extravagant strain, were sent to him by his female admirers and others. Nay, some women had arrived at such a height of folly, that, in the prison at Exeter, they knelt before him, and kissed his feet. We find in Nailer a striking proof that circumstances, apparently the most trivial, operate frequently with irre sistible and fatal force on the mind of the visionary and enthusiast. As his features bore a near resemblance to the common pictures of Christ, his imagination conceiv ed the wild idea that he was transformed into Christ himself. He assumed the character of the Messiah, was acknowledged as such by his deluded followers, and ac- cordi'ngly affected to heal the sick and raise the dead. JAMES NAIliER. 199 After his release Srom the prison at Exeter, he in tended to return to London ; but taking Bristol on his way, as he rode through Glastonbury and "Wells, his frantic attendants strewed their garments in his way. Arriving on the 24th of October at Bedminster, about a mile from Bristol, they proceeded in mock procession tp that city. One man walked, before with his hat on, while another, bareheaded, led Nailer's horse. When they came to the suburbs of Bristol, some women spread scarfs and handkerchiefs, in his way ; two other women going on each side of his horse. The whole company, knee-deep in dirt, it being very rainy and foul weather, began to sing : " Holy, holy, holy. Lord God of Sa- baoth ! Hosanna in the highest ! Holy, holy, holy. Lord God of Israel!" In |his manner they entered the city, to the amazement of some, and the diversion of others; but the magistrates not thinking it proper to suffer such an indecent mockery of Christ's entrance into Jerusa lem to pass unpunished, apprehended Nailer, and com mitted him to prison, with six of his associates. ^ Being searched after his apprehension, some letters, which show the fanaticism of his followers, were found upon him. Some of these were as follow : — " In the pure fear and power of God, my soul salutes thee, thou everlasting son of righteousness,- and prince of peace. I beseech thee wait, my soul travelleth to see a pure image brought forth, and the enemy strives to destroy it, that he may keep me always sorrowing and ever seeking, and never satisfied, nor ever rejoicing. But he in whom I have believed will shortly tread Satan under our feet, and then shalt thou and thine return to Zion with everlasting rejoicings and praises. But till then, better is~the house of mourning than-rejoicing. O let innocency be thy beloved, and righteousness thy spouse, that thy father's Iambs may rejoice in thy pure and clear unspotted image of holiness and pbrity .which my soul believeth I shall see, and so in the faith rest, " Han. Stranger." " From London, iQth day of the 7th rfionth." " O THOU fairest of ten thousand, thou only begotten son of God, 200 JAMES NAILER. how my heart panteth after thee, O stay me with flaggons ?nd com fort me with wine. My well beloved, thou art like a roe, or young hart upon the mountains of spices, where thy beloved spouse hath long been t;aHing thee to come away, and I am, " Hannah Stranger." To this blaspbenipfs rhapsody was subjoined the folp lowing by the husband of the writer : " Postscript. Remember my dear loye to thy master. Thy name is no more to be called James, but Jesus. " John Stranger." In another letter, from one Jane Woodcock, we find these equivocal expressions : — " O thou beloved of the Lord, the prophet of the most high God, whom the Lord brought to this great city, for to judge and try the cause of his Israel ; faithful and just hast thou carried thyself in it, for thou becamest weak to the weak, and tender to the broken-hearted.'' Nor were these raptures confined, as may be imagined, to the weaker sex. From an epistle from one Richard Fairman, it is evident that there were men infected in an equal degree with this ridiculous mania. " Brother in the life which is immortal," says he, " dearly beloved, who art counted worthy to be made partaker of the everlasting riches, I am filled with joy and rejoicing, wben I behold thee in the eternal unity, where I do em brace thee in the eternal unity, where I do embrace thee in the everlasting arms of love. O thou dear and pre cious servant of the Lord, how doth my soul love ! I am overcome with that love that is as strong as death. O my soul is melting within me when I behold thy beauty and innocency, dear and precious son of Sion, whose mother is a Virgin, and whose birth is immortal." The particulars of Nailer's examination previous to his commitment are too curious to beomitted. Being asked his name, or wbether he was not called James Nailer, he replied— the men of this world call me James Nailer. 35 JAMES NAILER. 201 Q. Art thou the man that rode on hoi^eback into Bristol, a woman leading thy horse, and others singing before thee, "Holy, holy, holy, Hosanna," &,c.?—A. I did ride into a town, but what its name was I know not and by the spirit a woman was commanded to hold my horse's bridle, and some there were that cast down clothes, and sang praises to the Lord, such songs as the Lord put iiito their hearts; and it is like it might be the song of Holy, holy, holy. Q. Whether or no didst thou reprove these women f— A. Nay, but I bade them take heed that they sang nothing but what they were moved to of the Lord. Q. Dost thou o.wn this letter which Hannah Stranger sent unto thee i^A. Yea, I do own that letter. Q. Art thou, according to that letter, the fairest of ten thousand i—A. As to the visible, I deny any such attribute to he due to me; but if as to that which the father hath begotten in me, I shall own it, Q. Art thou the only Sola of God ? — A, I am the son of God, but I have many brethren, Q. Have any called thee by the name of Jesus? — A. Not as unto the visible, but as Jesus, the Christ that is in me. Q. Dost thou own the name of the King of Israel i — A. Not as a creature, but if they give it Christ within me, I own it, and have a kingdom ; but not of this world ; my kingdom is of another world, of which thou wast not. Q. Whether or no art thou' the prophet of the Most High ? — A. Thou hast said I am a prophet. Q. Dost thou own that attribute, the judge of Israel.'— A. The judge is but one, and is witnessed in me, and is the Christ; there must not be any joined with him. If they speak of the spirit in me, I own it only as God is manifest in the flesh, according as God dwelleth in me, and judgeth there himself. Q. By whom were you sent ? — A. By him who hath VOL. II. 2 c 202 JAMES NAILER. sent the spirit of his son in me to try, not ^.s to carnal matters, but belonging to the kingdom of God, by the indwelling of the father and the son, to be. the judge pf all spirits, to be guided by none. Q. Is not the written word of God the guide ? — A. The written word declares of it, and what is not according to that, is not true. Q. Whether art thou more sent than others, or whether others be not sent, in that measure.— ji. As to that, I have nothing at present given me of my father to answer. Q. Was your birth mortal or immortal?— u^. Nbt ac cording to the natural birtji, but according to the spi ritual birth, born of the immortal «eed. Q. Wert thou ever called the Lamb of God ?— .4. I look not back to things behind, but there might be some such thing in the letter ; I am a lamb, and have sought it long before I could witness it. Q. Who is thy mother, or whetheror no is she a vir gin ? — A. Nay, according to the natural birth. Q. Who is thy mother according to the spiritual birth ?—A, No carnal creature. ^ Q. Who then ? (No answer.) Q. Is the hope of Israel in thee ?— .4. The hope is in Christ, and as Christ is in me, so far the hope of Israel stands; Christ is in me the hope of glory. Q. What more hope is there in thee than in others? — A. None can know but them of Israel ; and Israel must give an account. Q, Art thou the everlasting son of God ? — A. Where God is manifest in the flesh, there is the everlasting son, and I do witiless God in the flesh : I am the Son of God, and the Son of God is but one. Q. Art thou the Prince of Peace?— ^." The prince of everlasting peace is begotten in me. Q. Why dost thou not reprove those that give thee . those attributes ? — A. I have said nothing to them bat such things as are written. JAMES NAILER. 203 Q. Is thy name Jesus ? — For what space of time hast thou been so called ? — Is there no other Jesus besides thee.? — To these three questions he meide no reply. Q. Art thou the everlasting son of God, the king of righteousness ? — A. I am ; and the everlasting righteous ness is wrought in me ; if ye were acquainted with the Father, ye would also be acquainted with me. Q. Did any kiss ^by feet? — A. It might be they did, but I minded them not. Q. When thou wast called the King of Israel, didst thoti not answer— thou sayest hi-^A, Yea, . Q, How dost thou provide for a livelihood ? — ^, Asdo the lilies, without care, being maintained by my Father. Q. Whom dost thou call thy father ? — A, Him whom thou callest God. Q. What business hadst thou in Bristol, or that way ? —A. I was guided or directed by my Father. Q. Why wast thou called a judge to try the cause of Israel ? (No reply.) Q. Are" any of these sayings blasphemy or not ? — A. What is received of the Lord is truth. Q. Whose letter was that which was written to thee signed T. S. ? — A. Jt was sent to me to Exeter gaol, by one the world calls Thomas Symonds. Q. Didst thou not say : if ye had known me, ye had known the Father?— -4. Yea, for the Father is my life. Q. Where wert thou born? — A. At Ardeslow in Yorkshire. ''' Q. Where lives thy wife ? — A. She whom thou callest my wife lives ih Wakefield. Q. Why dost thou not live with her i—-A. I did till I was called to the army. a. Doth God in any manner sustain thee wiihout any corporeal food ? — A. Man doth not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of the Father. The same life is mine that is in the Father, but not in the same measure. 204 JAMES NAILER. Q. How art thou clothed.? — A. I know not. Ct. Dost thou live without bread ? — A. As long as my, Heavenly Father will. I have tasted of that bread of \vhich he that eateth shall never die. Q, How long hast thou lived without any corporeal sustenance, having perfect health ?—A. Soine fifteen or sixteen days, sustained without any other food except the word of God. Q. Was Dorcas Erbury dead in Exeter two days, and didst thou raise her ?— -i4. lean do nothing of myself. The scripture beareth witness to the power in me, which is everlasting; it is the same power we read of in the scripture. Q. Art thou the unspotted Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the world ? — A. Were I not a lamb, wolves would nbt seek to devour me. Q. Art thou not guilty of most horrid blaspheiby"i by thy own words? — A. Who made thee a judge over them ? Q. Whom meant thy companions by holy, holy^&Cw? — A. Let them answer for themselves, they are at age. Q. Did not some spread their clothes on the ground be fore thee> when thou didst ride through Glastonbury and Wells? — .4. I think they did. Q. Wherefore didst thou call Martha Symonds mother, as George Fox aflSrtas? — A. George Fox is a liar and a fire-brand of hell ; for neither I nor any with me called her so. ,,¦.._ . Q. Hast thou a wife at this time? — A. A woman i have, who by the world is called my wife ; ahd some children I have, which, according to the flesh, are mine* Q. Those booftsi which ih'Olu hast v^ritten, wilt thou maintain them and affirm what is therein ? — A. Yea, with my dearest blood. The frantic adherents of Nailer were liJje wise examin ed. They uniformly attested their conviction that he was Jesusj the Son of God, the Prince of Peace,; the everlasting Son of Righteousness, and King of Israel^ JAMES NAILER. 20§ and that in their conduct towaifdB.hina' they had only complied with the injunctions of the Loitl, But the tes timony of Dorcas Erbury, mentioned above, and who was the widow of William Erbury, once a minister, is an astonishing compound of blasphemy and delusion. Being asked. Dost thou own him that rode on horse back to be the Holy One of Israel ? — She replied. Yea, I do, and with my blood will seal it. Q. And dost, thou own him for the Son of God? — A. He is the only begotten Son of God. ¦ Q. Wherefore didst thou pull off his stockings, and lay thy clothes beneath his feet? — A. He is worthy of it, for he is the Holy Lord of Israel. Q. Knowest thou no other Jesus, the only begotten Son of God ? — A. I know no other Saviour. Q. Dost thou believe io James Nailer? — .^. Yea, in him whom thou callest so I do. Q. By what name dost thou use to call him ? — A. The Son of God ; bnt I am to serve him, and lo call him Lord and Master. Q. Jes«s was crucified ; but this man yon call the Son of Ood is alive.— -yjf. He hath shaken off his carnal body. Q. Why what body hath he tben ?— .itft Say not the scriptures, thy natural body I will change, and it shall be spirituals Q. Haith a spirit flesh iand bones ? — A. His flesh and bones are new^ Q. Christ raised those thai had been dead ; so did not !>&'— ^. ,He raised me. Q. In:what manner ? — A. He laid his hand on my head, after, I had been dead two days, and said; "Dorcas- arise !" and I aiose and live as thou seest. Q. Where did he this ? — A. In the gaol at Exeter. Qi. Whiat witness hast thou for this ? — A. My mother, who was present. a. His power being so great, wherefore opened he 206 JAMES NAILER. not the prison-doors, and escaped i—A. The doors shall open when the Lord's work is done. a. What apostles hath he?— ^. They are scattered;- but some are here. Q. Jesus Christ doth sit on the right-hand of the fether, whete the world shall be judged by him. — A. He whom thou callest Nailer shall sit at the right-hand of the Father, and shall judge the world in equity. Soon after this examination. Nailer and his followers were sent to London, to be dealt with as parliament should think proper. Having been examined by a com mittee of the house, which made their report on the5th of December, he was next day summoned to appear, and heard at the bar. On the 8th the house came to this re solution : "That James Nailer is guilty of horrid blas phemy, and that he is a grand impostor and a great se ducer of the people." The subject was resumed from that time both forenoon and afternoon, not without some warm debates> and was proposed the twelfth time on the l6th of December. How much lime it took up in the house appears from two letters of Secretary Thurloe, dated December the 9th and l6th. In the first he says, "These four or five last days have been wholly taken up about James Nailer, the quaker, who hath had achatge of blasphemy exhibited against him ; and upon hearing matter of fact, he is voted guilty of blasphemy ; and the consideration now is, (which I-believe may be deter mined this evening) what punishment shiall be inflipted. Many are of opinion that he ought to be put to death." This point, however, was not so soon settled as the secre tary imagined, for in the second letter he writes : "The parliament hath done nothing these ten days but dispute whether James Nailer, the quaker, shall be put to death for blasphemy. They are much divided in their opinions. It is possible that they may come to a resolution this day. It is probable that his life may be spared." In the postscript he adds : " The parliament came this day JAMES NAILER. 207 to a vote on Nailer's -business, viz. that he should have his tongue bored; abrand set on his forehead, be set in the pillory, and wWpped, and imprisoned for life. The question for his life was lost by fourteen voices," On the 17th, after another long debate, the parliament, pursuant to their vote, came to the following resolutipn : — " That James Nailer be set in the pillory, in the Pa lace-yard, Westminster, during the space of two' hours, on Thursday next, and be whipped by the hangman through the streets from Westminster to the Old Ex change, ahd there likewise be set in the pillory, with his head in the pillory, for the space of two hours, between the hours of eleven and one on Saturday next; in each place wearing a paper containing an inscription of his crimes : and that at the Old Exchange his tongue be bored through with a hot iron, and that he be there alsp stigmatized in the forehead with the letter B for blasphe mer. And that he afterward be sent to Bristol, and be conveyed into and throiigh the said city on horseback, with his face backward; and there also publicly whipped the next market-day after he comes thither. And that from thence he be committed to prison in Bridewell, London, and there restrained from the society of all people, and there to labour hard till he shall be released by parliament ; and during that time be debarred the use of pen, ink, and paper ; and shall have no relief but what he earns by his daily labour." Cromwell was at this time protector of the kingdom, "and several petitions in behalf of Nailer were presented to him by persons of different persuasions, but he resolv ed not to read them until sentence had been passed. On the 18th of December he suffered the first part of his punishment, which was inflicted with such rigour, that some judged his sentence would have been more mild if it had been present death. The other part, namely, boring his tongue and branding his forehead, should have been execute^ tv^o days afterwards, but he was 208 JAMES NAILER. reduced so low by the cruel whipping, that his further punishment was respited for a week. During that inter val many persons, looking upon him rather as a madman, than guilty of wilful blasphemy, petitioned the parlia ment and Cromwell to remit the remainder of his sen tence. On this some of the protector's chaplains went and conversed with the culprit, and their report frus trated the design of these applications. The rest of his sentence was executed on the 27th of December, after which, being sent to Bristol, he was conducted through that city on horseback, with his face backwaifl, and pub licly whipped. Then being remanded to London, he was committed to Bridewell. Nailer's sufferings brought him to his senses, and to some degree of humility. He wrote a letter to the magistrates of Bristol, expressive of his repentance of his former behaviour in that city. During the time of his confinement in Bridewell, which was about two years, he manifested unfeigned contrition for his follies and of fences. Having also, notwithstanding his sentence, ob tained pen, ink, and paper, he wrote several small books, in which he retracted his past errors. In one of them he says: "Condemned for ever be all false wor ships, with which any have idolized my person, in the night of my temptation, when the power of darkness was above all; their castings of their clothes in the way, their bowing and singings, and all the rest of those wild actions which did any ways tend to dishonour the Lord, or draw the minds of any from the measures of Christ Jesus in themselves lo look at flesh which is as grass, or to ascribe that to the visible which belongs to Christ Jesus. All that I condemn, by which the pure name of the Lord, has been any ways blasphemed through me, in the time of temptation, or the spirits of any people grieved. And also that letter which was sent me to Exeter by H. Stranger, when I was in prison, with these words:— 'Thy name shall be no more James Nailer, but 35 JAMES NAILER. 209 Jesus.'— This I judge to be written from the imagination ; and a fear struck me when I first saw it, and so I put it in my pocket close, not intending any should see it; which they finding on me, spread it abroad, which the simplicity of my heart never owned. So this I deny also, that the name of Christ Jesus was received instead of James Nailer, or ascribed to him.-^And all these ranting wild spirits which then gathered about me io that time of darkness, and all their wild actions and wicked words against the honour of God and his pure spirit and people; and deny that bad spirit, the power and the works thereof; and as far as I gave advantage, through want of judgment for that evil spirit in any to arise, I take shame to myself justly. And that report, as though I had raised Dorcas Erbury from the dead carnally, this I deny also, and condemn that testimony to be out ofthe truth ; though that power that quickens the dead I deny not, which is the word of eternal life." He likewise composed some other pieces, which may be seen in Sewel's History of the Quakers. These people had disowned him during his extravagant flighrd> but after his repentance, they re-admitted the lost sheepr into their society. About the latter end of October, 166O, Nailer set out from London towards the north, with an intention of going home to his wife and children, who still Uved at Wakefield. Some miles beyond Huntingdon he was- taken ill, having, as it was reported, been robbed by the way, and left bound. Whether he received any personal injury is not recorded, hut being found in a field by a countryman, towards evening, he was carried to a friend's house, at Holm, near King's Ripton, where he expired" in November, 1660. Such was the end of this' enthusiast, who rendered himself as miserable as possible^ without dbiflg any ser vice to mankind. From him we learn that a most abun dant source of error and delusion, and a principle the VOL. II. 2d 210 MARGARET M'AVOY. most mischievous of any in its consequences, is a spirit of enthusiasm, spurred on by ambition and pride. This blind and ungovernable guide has, at different times, led an incredible number of persons of weak judgment and strong imagination, through a maze of such strange and unaccountable follies, as one would imagine, could never have entered intO' the thoughts of a being endowed with reason — such follies as have rendered the persons pos sessed with them a plague to the world, as well as to them selves; while their actions have been a disgrace to human nature, and a scandal to the Christian name.. It therefore behoves every rational person to take particu lar care to preclude the access of so disagreeable a guest into his bosom, not only for his own sake, but for that of the society of which he is a member. MARGARET M'AVOY. J HE peculiar faculties which this astonishing young lady, who although quite blind, possessed, in telling the various colours, and reading every word with her finger's end,* excited universal attention, as she was supposed by many to be an impostor, like Johanna Southcott or An^n Moore. Several learned statements and narratives have been written, particularly one by Dr. Ren wick, who was her physician. She was born at Liverpool, June 28, 1800, and from her birth to nine months old, was a healthy girl, and able then to walk, alone ; but du ring the following nine months was often indisposed. * Cardinal Albani, although quite blind, had acquired, by the ex quisite delicacy of bis touch, and the combining powers of his mind, such a sense of ancient beauty, that he excelled all the virtuosi of bis time, in Rome, in the correctness of his knowledge of the verity and peculiarities ofthe smallest medals ahd intaglios',— Gaft'i Life of West- MAlS©A:£ia^ MfAW^lf, '/// 7.r.^'7/('7/-' //// 7y y// y // (/^ yy/r^ rublishcd •fi'JJt^'b'y..' y yyl.7>- v.- I\y.-I.,- . -' .y,\ MARGARET M'AVOY. 211 Her complaint increased till June 7th, 1816, when she became totally blind. The first public notice of this extraordinary lady, was thus communicated by Mr. Egerton Smith to the editor of the Liverpool Mercury : — "At my first interview, I learnt from herself, what I had indeed previously been told by others, that she had recently acquired the faculty of distinguishing not only the colours of cloth and stained glass, but that she could actually decypher the forms of words of a printed book ; and, indeed, could read, if the phrase may be permitted, with tolerable facility.* To put these pretensions to * A case, somewhat similar to Miss M'Avoy's, occurred in France, of a young lady. Mademoiselle de Salignac, of Xaintonge: her ex traordinary powers are thus related in a letter from Mons, de la Sauva- gere, to Mons. Freron : — " Mademoiselle Salignac, now in her 18th year, lost her sight when only two years old, her mother having been advised to lay some pigeon's blood on her eyes, to preserve them in the sniall-pox, whereas, so far from answering the end, it eat inter them ; nature, however, may be said to have compensated for that unhappy mistake, by- beauty of person, sweetness of temper, vivacity of genius, quickness of conception, and many talents which certainly much soften her misfortune. " She plays at revertis without any direction, and often faster than others of the party ; she first prepares the two packs allotted to her, pricking them in several parts, yet so imperceptibly that the closest in spection can scarce discern her indexes ; every party she alters them, and they are known only to her : she sorts the suits and arranges lhe cards in their proper sequence, with the same precision, and nearly the same facility, as they who have their sight. Allshe requires of those who play with her is to name every card as it is played ; and these she re tains so exactly, that I have seen her perform some notable strokes at revertis, such as shewed a great combination and strong memory. " A very wonderful circumstance is, that Mademoiselle de Salignac should even have leiirnt to read and write; for when I had the plea- , sure of seeing her, she regularly corresponded with her elder brother, whom some mercantile affairs had called to Bourdeaux ; from her hand he received an e.xact account of every thing that concerned them. 212 MARGARET M'AVOY. the test, she permitted a shawl to be passed across the eyes in double folds, in such a way that all present were convinced that they could not, under similar cir cumstances, discern day from night. In this slate a She has favoured me with a letter, and has herself read my answer. The possibility of this is readily conceived, on knowing their method ; yet is the wonder not less surprising. In writing to her, no ink is used, but the letters are pricked down on the paper, and by the delicay of her touch feeling each letter, she follows them successively, and reads every word with her finger's end. Isaw a person with a scissai's point scratch a card, on which was written Mademoiselle de Salignac est fort amiable; she fluently read it, yet was the writing small, and letters very ill shaped : she herself, in writing, makes use of a pencil, as she could not know when her pen was dry ; her guide on the paper is a small thin ruler, and of the breadth of her writing. On finishing a letter she wets it, which fixes the traces of the pencil that they are not obscured or effaced ; then proceeds to fold and seal it, . and write the direction ; all by her own address, and without the assistance of any oth(?r person. I must add, that her writing is very straight, well cut, and the spelling no less correct. To reach this singular mechanism required such a subject and the indefatigable cares of her affectionate mother, who accustoming her daughter to feel letters cut out on cards or pasteboard, brought her to distinguish an A from a B, and thus the whole alphabet, and afterwards to spell words ; then by the remem brance of the shape of the letters to delineate them on paper, and, lastly, to arrange them so as to form words and sentences. " She l^s lesrnt and almost by herself, to play on the guitar suffici ently for her little companions to dance by, and had even contrived a way of pricking dowD her tunes, as an assistance to her memory ; but at present, being at Paris with her father and mother, a music-master teaches her in the common method, observing the way u^ed in writing to the youn,g lady by pricking ; and to distinguish the whites, they are made larger; She learnt to sing, and 1 have, with much pkasure, heard her sipg in concert ; so delicate are her organs, that in singing a tune,, though new to her, she is able to name the notes, for them to be pricked down, whilst singing. She even tells the movement of tliem. " In figured dances she acquits herself extremely well, and in a mi nuet with inimitable ease and gracefulness. As for the works of her sex, she has a masterly hgnd, and I cannot forbear the indiscretion of telling you, that she made me a present of a silk and silver purse, wrought in knotted points on a wooden mould. She has even begun MARGARET M'AVOY. 213 book was placed before her, and opened indiscriminately; when, to our extreme surprise, she began to trace the words with her finger and repeat them correctly. She appeared to recognise a short monosyllable by the simple one of five colours, of which several rows are already finished. She sews and hems perfectly well, and is no less skilful in making marly. At present her dexterity is chiefly employed on a sack with bead-work. In ill! her works she threads the needles for herself however small. " As the young lady is now at Paris, you riiay yourself see her. She has a watch at her side, a repe.-jting watch, to be sure, say you ; no, only a plain one, and her touch never fails teUing her exactly the hour and minute, Your's &c." As a supplement to this letter, we shall give a postscript of the late Bishop (then Dr.) Burnet, to the second letter of his travels. " In the account that I gave you of Geneva, I forgot to mention a very extraordinary person that is there, Mrs. Walkier ; she lost her sight when she was but a year old, by being too near a stove that w.is very ho». There rests in the upper part of her eyes so much sight, that she distinguishes day Irom night ; and when any person stands between her and the light, she will distinguisli by the head and its dress a man from a woman, but when she turns down her eyes she sees nothing : she not only sings well, but she plays rarely on the organ ; and I was told she played on the violin, but her violin was out of order. But that which is most of all, she writes legibly ; in order to her learning to write, her father who is a worthy man, and hath such tenderness for her, that he furnished her with masters of all sorts, ordered letters to be carved in wood, and she by feeling the characters formed such an idea of them, that she writes with a crayon so distinctly, that her writing can be well read, of which I have several essays. I saw her write, she doth it more nimbly than can be imagined; she hath a machine that holds the paper, and keeps her always in line." The following Memoir presents us with another proof of the won derful powers possessed by blind people : — "MademoiselleTheresaParadis, of Vienna, (a young lady who lost her sight by a paralytick stroke, when two years old) displayed ber asto nishing musical powers before their ntajesties, in London, January 1785. Besides her musical acquirements, she was able, with printing types, to express her thoughts on paper, almost as quick as if shecQuld write. She understood geography, by means of maps prepared for her 214 MARGARET M'AVOY. contact of one finger, but in ascertaining a long word, she placed the fore finger of her left hand on the be ginning whilst with that of her right hand she proceeded from the other extremity of the word ; and when the two fingers, by having traversed over all the letters, came in contact with each other, she invariably and precisely ascertained the word. By my watch I found that she read about thirty words in half a minute; and it very naturally occurred to us, that if notwithstanding her supposed blindness and the double bandage over her eyes, she could still see, she would have read much more rapidly, if her motive had been to excite our astonishment. And here it may not be amiss to state, that there does not appear to be any adequate motive for practising a delusion upon the public. Her situation in life is respectable ; and her mother disavows any in tention of ever exhibiting her daughter as a means of pecuniary remuneration. " According to her own statement, her powers of touch, vary very materially with circumstances; when her hands are cold, she declares that the faculty is alto gether lost; and that it is exhausted also by long and unremitted efforts ; that she considers the hours of from ten until twelve, of each alternate day, the most favourable for her performance. Her pulse during the experiments have varied from 110 to 130 degrees. " One circumstance, which has created much doubt and suspicion, must not be concealed ; which is, that if use, in which she could find and point out any province, or remarkable city in the world : and was likewise able, by means of tables formed in the manner of draught boards, to calculate, with ease and rapidity, any sums or numbers in the first five rules in arithmetic. She could like wise distinguish many colqursby the touch; play at cards when pre pared for her by private marks unknown by the company ; and' in her musical studies, her memory and quickness were wonderful, as she learnt in general, the most diillcult pieces for keyed instruments, how ever full and complicated the parts, by hearing them played on a violin." MARGARET M'AVOY. 215 any substance, for instance, a book and a shawl, be in terposed between her hands, artd the object she is inves tigating, she is much embarrassed, and frequently en tirely baffled. She explains this by saying, that it is ne cessary there should be an uninterrupted communication between her fingers and her breath. " I took from my pocket-book an engraved French assignat, * which was hotpressed and smooth as glass; she read the smallest lines contained in this with the same facility as the printed book. A letter received by that day's post was produced, the direction and post mark of which she immediately and correctly de- cyphered. ; - " She also named the colour of the separate parts of the dresses of the persons in company, as well as various shades of stained glass which were purposely brought. " Not the sHghtest objection was offered to my pro posal of the candle being extinguished ; her mother si;ationed herself before the fire, which was extremely low, and afforded so little light, that I could not have * Sir Kenelm Digby mentions a blind man who lived in his house, and was preceptor to his. sons, the loss bf whose sight seemed to be over paid by his other abilities. He would play at cards and tables as well as most men, and likewise at bowls, shovel-board, and other games, wherein one would imagine a clear sight to be absolutely requi site. When he taught his scholars to declaim, to represent a tragedy, or the like, he knew by their voice whether they stood or sat down, and all the different gestures and situations of /their bodies; so that they behaved themselves before him with the same decency as if he had seen them perfectly. Our author adds another strange particular concern ing him, viz. that he could feel in his body, and chiefly in his brain, (as he himself affirmed) a certain effect whereby he knew when the sun was up, and could discern a clear from a cloudy day. This he has frequently told without being mistaken, when for trial's sake he has been lodged in a close chamber, into which the sun-shine had no ad mission, nor any body could come to him to give him notice of the state of the weather. — Digby's Treatise of Bodies. 216 MARGARET M'AVOY. read one word of moderate sized print, if it had been brought almost in contact with the bars of the grate. I then took from my pocket a small book, the tpye of which was very little larger than that of an ordinary newspaper; observing at the time, that I was afraid the print was too minute ; to which she replied, that her fingers were in excellent order, and that she had no doubt but she should be able to make it out. Miss M'Avoy sat in the furthest part of the room with her back towards the grate, in such a situation that I could barely discern even the leaves of the book which lay open before her; the title of which she proceeded to read with complete success, with the exception of one very minute word. " I then presented "to her a small piece of smooth writing paper, which was ruled with horizontal faint blue lines, between each of which were traced lines with a pen and black ink ; there were also perpendicular red lines, between which were scored black lines; all these, with their direction and order, she determined without any apparent difficulty. " Gogglers were next tried, in this manner :— 35 MARGARET M'AVOY. 217 They are intended to be worn by travellers to guard the eyes against the wind or the dust, and consist of two glasses, sometimes green, fitted into a bandage of leather, which is passed horizontally across the face, and is lied with ribbons round the back of the head. The gogglers provided for Miss M. instead of glasses were fitted up with opake pasteboard, lined with paper, and not An aperture was left tlirough which a single ray of light could penetrate. One part of the performance was so truly astonishing, that I should almost hesitate lo relate it, if two gentlemen had not been present to vouch for the truth. I had furnished myself with a set of stained landscape glasses, usually termed Claud Lorrain glasses. They were seven in number, contained in a frame. She ascertained the precise shade of each correctly ; one glass, however, appeared to embarrass her, and after considerable scrutiny, she said it was not black, nor dark blue, nor dark brown; but she thought it was of a very deep crimson. We did not know whether the con jecture was correct or not, as we could not ourselves as certain the shade. By reflected light it appeared to us to be perfectly black ; nor was the flame of the fire, which was stirred for the occasion, visible through it in the faintest degree. We had abandoned all expectation of determining this point, when the sun suddenly emer ged from behind the clouds : and by that test, and that alone, were we enabled to discover that she was correct, as we could just discern the solar image of a very deep crimson. " Miss M'Avoy, it appears, had recently found out that this extraordinary faculty was not confined to fingers; and that she could also distinguish the colour of an object which was brought into contact with the back of her hands. This was immediately made the sub ject of experiment, and she was completely successful upon this occasion. " I have now given a faithful narrative of what I have VOL. 11. 2 E 218 MARGARET M'AVOY. actually witnessed, and what has been the subject of no toriety and astonishment probably of thousands in this town. " She had also begun to tell the hour and minute through the watch glass, without opening the case ! But the most wonderful thing of all, and which forms an ap propriate climax to the other mysteries, was the newly acquired power of ascertaining objects at a distance, with her back towards them, and by simply stretching out the fingers in the direction of such objects." Shortly after the publication of Mr. E. Smith's state ment. Dr. Renwick favoured the public with a very in teresting and erudite narrative of Miss M'Avoy's case; from which we copy the following extraordinary facts : On the 7lh June, 1816, Miss M'Avoy became totally blind; her health declined; and the immediate termi nation of her life was daily looked for by her friends.. In this distressing stale, she continued till the middle of the following month, when she begun to recover her health and spirits ; and in a short time, was able lo amuse herself by knitting and sewing : * and it was at that period, she gave evidence of her extraordinary powers of reading ; as mentioned by Mr. Smith. She also endeavoured to amuse herself in making small baskets of coloured paper :¦!- It was curious to observe * Miss M'Avoy sewing or knitting is not at all extraordinary. In the blind asylums at Paris, London, and Liverpool, the blind people are not onl^ taught to sew, knit and spin, but also to work at the letter press printing business; to weave, and make mats, carpets, rugs, twine, &c. In 1813, Natlianiel Price, a blind man, formerly a bookseller at Norwich, exhibited himself in the Strand, London; the clothes he was dressed in were all of his own make : he likewise bound several bibles, one of which is in the possession of the Duke of Marlborough. He used also to work at the copper-plate printing business. ^ + William Kennedy presents a singular instance of mechanical genius.— This ingenious man was born in Wisborn, near Banbridge, in MARGARET M'AVOY. 219 her passing the paper through the irtsticesof the basket- work. She was often foiled by the point of the paper being turned inward or outward. If she found she did not succeed) after two or three attempts, she used her the county of Down, in the year 1768, and lost his sight at the age of four years. Having no other amusement (being deprived of such as children generally have) his mind turned itself to mechanical pursuits, and he shortly became projector and workman for all the children in , ' the neighbourhood. As he increased in years, his desire for some kind of profession or employment that might render him not burthensome, though blind, induced him to think of music. At the age of 13, he was sent to Armagh to learn to play the fiddle, his lodging happened to be at the house of a cabinet (naker; this wis a foriunate circumstance for him, as he there got a knowledge of the tools and manner of working, as was useful to him ever after : though these things engaged his mind and occupied a great part of his time, yet he made as great a progress in music, as any other of his master's, Mr. Moorhead's, scholars, except one. After living a year and a quarter there, he returned home, where he made and got tools so as to enable him to construct different pieces of household furniture. Not being satisfied with the occupation of a cabinet maker, he purchased an old set of Irish bagpipes, and without instruction it was with difficulty he put them into playing order. He ' soon however became so well acquainted with the mechanical part of them, that instruments were brought from every part of the neighbour hood to be repaired. He found so many defects in this instrument, that he began to consider whether there might not be a better plan for it, than any he had yet met with, and from his early instructions in music, and continued study of the instruments (for indeed he slept but little) in about nine months time, having his tools to make, he protKi- ced the first new set. He then began clock and watch making, and soon found out a clock maker in Banbridge, who had a desire to play on the pipes, and they mutually instructed each other. From this time, he increased in musical and mechanical knowledge, but made no pipes, though he repaired many, till the year 1793, when he married, and his necessities induced him to use all his industry for the maintenance ofljis wife and family ; his employment, for twelve years, was making and repairing wind and stringed instruments of music. He also constructed clocks, both common and musical, and sometimes re curred to his first employment of a cabinet-maker. He also' made linen looms with their different tackling. His principal employment, however, was as the ronstructor of the Irish bag pipes, of which he made 30 sets in the town he lived in, within eight years— Hewas un- 320 MARGARET M'AVOY. fingers to straighten it, and then passed it through. A basket thus made by Miss M'Avoy, is in the possession of the Countess of Derby. In the presence of Dr. Brandreth and Mr. Shaw, she equalled for elegance of workmanship, of the bag pipe. From a rude block of ebony, a fragment of an elephant's tooth, and a piece of silver, having first formed his lathe and bis tools, he shaped and bored the complicated tubes, graduated the ventages, adapted the keys., and formed an instrument of perfect external, finish and! beauty " that dis coursed most eloquent miusie," incapable of expressing the finest move ments of melody, but by no means deficient, in harmony ; and all this by the exquisite sensibility of the touch, for he was stone blind, and quite incapable of distinguishing the black colour- of ebony from the white of ivory ! A boy that was blind from the seventh year of his age made organs of great value wdth his own hands. Plalierus saw an organ of this arti&t's. making, and heard him ptay on it.; and he was informed, as a GonviBcing proof of his blindness, that he often worked in the da!rk,.and could distinguish' the several sorts of wood by the touch only. Baittholin, tells us of a blind seulptor in D^enmark, who distinguished perfectly well, by mere touch, not only all kinds of wioody bulaU the colours ; and Grimaldi gives, us an instance of the ^ame kind. Stergel relates, that in 1602, a blind cabinet maker, at Ingoldstadt. made,, without) any other instrument than a coarse laiife, two pepper mill^ Wiithi wheels^ and teeth, and every thing necessary for grinding. D« Piles %m'. in Italy, a bilind man,, abaut; fifty years.ohl, full of genius and intelligence., and an excellent draftsman. He met him ia the Justinianl Palajce, moxleliling in wax a statue of Minerva. This man* couUl, by the toudi, discover the forms and propiartions of the aii^nals. The Duke of Bracciano, who saw him at work, had some doubts of his being completely blind,; and to be certain of it,, he made the blind man take his picture in a dark cave ; but it was a per fect resemblaiice. It being, objected to liim, that the duke's beard helped) him to know hiiw*, he. offered to take the portrait of one of his damghtets^ which he drew alsp perfectly like. " I saw," says De Piles,, " by this.famoU(S bluid man,, the portraits of the late King of England,, Gb^rles! L, and of Pope Urban VIII.;, and in France, that of M. Hesselin, aJil perfectly well executed," He found some difficulty in reprcsentkig hair,, bscause it is moveabk; and all his art was in drawing'. ' JohnGambasius, of Volterra ; who after being 10 years in a stale of blindness, all at once felt a desire of trying to make a statue, and MARGARET M'AVOY. 221 read the maker's name in Dr. Brand reth's bat, "Capon, Hat-maker, London," with her hands behind fier. The eyes were covered with black velvet and gold beater's skin, with a silk handkerchief tied over the whole. She traced with her fingers, a landscape which consisted, among other objects, of two cocks fighting; she said they were like two peacocks : the tails ofthe cocks were very full. A few days after, several gentlemen who had heard of Miss M'Avoy's very extraordinary powers, wished to be introduced to her. Dr. Renwick accordingly pro4 ceeded with them to Her residence. He covereci her eyes with slicking plaisler and black silk, in sd complete a manner to all appearance, that it was agreed by the gentlemen present, it could not be more secure. A silk handkerchief was then tied over the whole, crossed at the eyes, and pinned over the ears. Several pieces of silk were given her, all of whom she named correctly. Twelve square pieces of glass were provided, betiween each piece a small portion of silk was enclosed; they were sealed together by sealing wai, and were given in the following order: — ., 1. Light blue answered Lighlblue. 2, Straw colour... ... Light yellowj or straw colour. 3. Two pieces of glass, > f Nothing. The glasses of without silk y '" \ a greenish colour. 4. Scarlet •¦• Scariet. having felt alV over a marble statue Of CoshiO de Medicis, Ke made* one of clay so, like it as to astonisii every body wliosaw it. His l/tkttt fbr slatuary so improved, that Prince Ferdinand, Grand Duke of Tuscajiy, sent him to Bome to model the statue of Pope Urban VIII. which was also very like. He afterwards made many others with equal success. Amon^ the objects of, curiosity in the Museum at Copenhagen, are modelssttuck by the blind, and a superij sideboard of ivory and ebony, made by a Noiwegian- artist, who was blind. 222 MARGARET M'AVOY. 5. Darkruby,poppy,or^ ... Ruby, or dark poppy. mulberry § 6. Pink, with white spots ononeside, and-whiteb wi,- • i with pink spots on the f "• ^nitish, other. She told the colour of two seals belonging to the watch of one of the gentlemen, also the colour of the metal of his watch, and ofthe riband attached to it, which was red, with a black border: she told the time of the day exactly to half a minute, in two diflerent watches,. A piece of paper was given her, cut out from the covering of Ormerod's History of Cheshire, and she read with her fingers, " Ormerod's History of Cheshire, Part III. sub scriber's copy. No. 200, collated and perfect,. Dr. Ren wick, Liverpool." A copy of one of the laws of the Athenaeum, printed in a very small type, was given to her; which, with the help of a magnifying glass, she read part of correctly. On July 30, 1817, Dr. Renwick having blindfolded Miss M'Avoy, made the following, among many other experiments : — ¦ With her hands upon the window, she perceived two newly-cut stones, of a yellow colour, lying one on the other against the wall on the other side of the street; distance about 12 yards; also, a heap of cast-iron rail ing, piled one upon each other. One of the company being dispatched to place himself on the ground, stones, rails, &c. she mentioned whenever he moved his posi tion ; perceived him jump ofl^ the railing ; mentioned the colours of his dress correctly, only said that a plum- coloured coat was black; mentioned two children acci dentally passing by at the time. She said, they appear ed very small indeed ; the person who was thus sent, ap peared about two feet high, when at the distance of twelve yards; as he came nearer, she observed, that she , MARGARET M'AVOY. 223 felt him grow bigger. All the objects appeared to her, as if painted on the glass. With her fingers on the window, she described a workman in the street, distance ten yards; a cart loaded with barrels of American flour; another with two loaves of sugar; a third, empty ; a girl with a small child in her arms, &c. all exactly true, except that there were three loaves of sugar in the second cart. With her hand placed behind her upon the window, opposite to the communion end of the church, she told the figures of different people passing, and sometimes mentioned the colour of the clothes, or of any thing that might be on the head, or in the hand, or upon the shoul der or back of the person. She told also, the positions of four different workmen in the church-yard, one by one, as they sat down; she stated one to be reading a paper or book ; the second to have his hands in his breeches pocket ; and the third to have his hands folded across his breast, and her description of the position of the fourth is not recollected. She traced the outline of a very irregular figure, formed b}' squeezing the portions of two wafers, one black, the other red, between two plates of glass. Read common print easily by touching a piece of window glass, held 12 inches from the book: at a greater distance she could not read, but could read much easier when the glass was brought nearer to the book. In like manner, and at the same distance, she discovered a sixpence, half guinea, three shilling piece, &c. She mentioned which had the head, which the re verse upwards, read the dates ; pointed out on the six pence, the position of the harp, lions, crown, &c. She observed, unasked, that one half guinea was crooked ; said it did not lie flat on the paper ; that the crown was downward; that it was not a brass counter: did not think it was the shadow of the half guinea which made her know it to be crooked. 224 MARGARET M'AVOY. Could not discover the colour by the tongue ; but closing between her lips, * the red, yellow, blue and white petals of flowers, she told each distinctly. On October 24ih, 1817, with the goggles on, cover ing the face, she named the colour of several silks, the time of the day in two watches, the colour of a green, and of a whitish seal. She f^t the reflected image of Dr. Freckelton, who hdd just come into the room with Dr. Brandreth, when feeling through plain glass, and named him. She described in a similar manner, the face and colour of Lady Mary Stanley, and of Mrs. Heskelh, and the colour of the hair of each, but she did not describe Miss Hornby, who afterwards looked into the glass. She traced the figure of an old man upon Dr. Brandreth's snuffbox. She read, through amagnifying- glass, a word or two only in a book. It was observed, that both the box and the book, as held in her hands at the time, were totally out of the line of vision, if even she had the most perfect command of sight, and could have seen, as it had been asserted, down the sides of the nose. The red and orange rays of the solar spectrum being thrown by a prism upon her hand, she said it appeared as gold. All the colours being thrown on the back of * Dr. Guillie, in his " Essai sur I'instruction des Aveugles," says, " if the blind distinguish some colours, it is not the colour, properly speaking, but the colouring matter ; and the best proof of this assertion is, that when they cannot guess the colour by the touch, Ihey taste it. U in touching they confound blue with black, they are no longer m'istaken when they taste it : indigo and nutgalls do not appear the same to them, as our eyes, so apt to deceive us, often make us believe. The distinction of colours, analogous, not by their shade, but by the dye : yellow and green, for example, appear diflScult to them, while deep pink and light red, which appear to us almost identical, are to them much more striking colours than yellow and green. Respectable Writers have declared, they knew blind men who could tell, by the touch, the colour of the hair of certain animals." 36 MA&teARiEl? M'AtOV. 225 her hand, she distinctly descHbfed the different parts of her hand. She marked the moments when the colours became faint, and again vivid, by the occasional pas sage of a cloud, without beitlg desired to do so. The prismatic colours afforded her the greatest pleasure that she had experienced since her blindness. Never saw a prism in her life. She felt the spectrntti v^arnl. The violet rays were the least pleasatit. She obserVed that the red rays appeared wartner and more pleasant than the violet; which opinion coincides With that of Dr. Herschell, who proved the great differentie of heat be tween the different prismatic rays. These questions were put to MiSs M'Avtjy, which she answered in the following manner :— Q. Did you ever knit a stocking before you were de prived of sight!' — A. Yes. Q. When your nlidther gave yOu the knitting, did you find it difficult to execute ? — A. I fotlfld it very difficult at first, and did not know well how to begin ; biit I Soon lekrnt it, and felt gratified that I had succeeded. Q. Were you more expert in sewing;' — ^. lexperieti- ced mti'th the same feeling as in kditflng. Q. What sensation did you feel when you first were asked and told the colour of my coat i*—A. At first it was a Sensati6h of astoriishirient, and then of pleasure. Q. Da you prefer any colour ? — A. I prefer the brightest colours, as they give a pleasurable feeling : a sort of glow to my fingers, and indeed all through me. Black gives me rather ft shuddering feel. Q. Is the feeling similar when they are ehdoSed in a phial bottle, or when you feel through the plain glass? — A. Yes : il is similar : but not exactly so, if the bottle be eold. Q. Do you feel- the colour equally well as if tWo glasses are placed before tKe object f—^; If the glasses are very close to eadh other, as if there were only one glass, I feel the* colour, but it appears more faint ; but VOL. 11. 2f 226 MARGARET M'AVOY. if they are placed at a distance frdm each other, I do not feel the object. Q. If coloured glasses are given to you, what sensa tion do you fee]i-'A. Much the same as when silks are put into my hand. Q. How do you tell glass from stones ? — A. The stones feel harder and more solid, and the glass softer. Q. Did you not lately feel a seal which you declared was neither stone nor glass? — A. Yes : I did say so, and it felt softer than glass. Q. In what way was the impression made upon the fingers, when you felt the figures reflected from the mirror through the plain glass.? — A- I feel the figures as an image upon each finger. Q. How do figures, or letters feel through the glass? —A. As if they were raised up to the finger. Q. How do they feel through the magnifying glass?— A. In a similar way, but larger. Q. How do they feel through the short sighted, or concave glass, similar to that which the Rev. George Hornby gave you ? — A. The object is smaller in propor tion, as it is held at a distance; but placed upon the paper, the letters feel the same as through common glass. Q. What is the feeling you have of different metals ? —A. I feel gold and silver lo be more pleasant than brass, copper, or steel, Q, What is the feeling you have of different fluids? — A. Similar to my feelings of silks, Q. How do you know the difference between water and spirits of wine ? — By the spirits of wine feeling warmer than water. Q. How do you know that a person is putting out his hand, or when they nod to you i^A. If any one puts out his hand upon entering, or going out of the room, I feel as if air, or wind, was wafted towards me, and I put out mine. If a nod is made pretty near to my face, a MARGARET M'AVOY. 227 similar sensation is felt ; but if a finger be pointed al me, ' or a hand held before me in a gentle manner, 1 do not feel it, unless I am about lo read or tell colours, and then I very soon lell if there be any obstruction between the mouth, the nostrils, and the object. Q. How do you calculate the height of persons enter ing the roomi—A. By a feeling, as if less or more wind was wafted towards me, according to the height of the person. Q. Can you distinguish persons who have visited you since your blindness, or- whom you have known before ? — A. Generally speaking, I can by the tread of the foot ; but almost certainly by the voice, and sometimes by the breathing. Q, If a person passes you quickly, do you feel any additional sensation ? — A. Yes, I feel a greater sense of heat, according to the quickness with which a person passes me, or comes into the room. Q. Is your sense of feeling as strong upon any other part of the body as in the fingers, upon the hand, or upoh the cheek? — A. Upon the foot, elbow and leg, and upon the lip; but it is not so sensible upon the foot, or leg or elbow, as it is upon the lip; nor upon the lip, hand, or cheek, as in the fingers. Q. Is your sense of hearing more acute than before your illness ? — A. Much more acute. Q, Is your sense of smell increased also ? — A. It is very much increased. Q. Can yoti distinguish colours by smelling them ?— ^ A. No. Q. Is your taste also more acute ? — A. Very much more acute. , Q. Have you preference to any sort of food i" — A. I > prefer those which are sweetest. , Q. Do you prefer any particular kind of meat ? — Yes ; I prefer lamb to any other sort pf meat : but I never was fond of it before my illness. 228 MARGARET M*AVOY, These extraordinary and unheard-of powers of Mis^ M'Avoy,* were not credited by many people, among whoqi was a Mr. Joseph Saunders, who published a pamphlet, entitled " Hints to Credulity," which was * The following interesting Memoir, so illustrative of the case of Miss M'Avoy, will be read with pleasure; and must entirely remove the doubts of those persons who thought Miss M'Avoy an impostor, because, it was generally believed a similar case was not before known : this most extraordinary paper appeared in Lloyd' st Evening Post, September Gth, 1757. " This young lady, was attacked with a confluent kind of the small pox, and was attended by the celebrated Sir Hans Sloane, several threatening symptoms appeared, which, however, were at length over come, and the patient, being thought out of danger,- took several doses of purgative medicines, as are usually administered in the de cline ofthe disease, without any bad consequences. " But in the eveiningof the day on which shp had taken the last dose that was intended to be given her on that occasion, she was suddenly seized with pain and convulsions in the bowels ; the pain and other symptoms became gradually less violent, as the force of the medicine abated, and by such remedies as were thought best adapted to the case, they seemed at length entirely subdued. " They were, however, subdued only in appearance ; for at eleven. o'clock in the forenoon of the next, day they returned with great vio lence, and Continued some hours : when they went off, ,they left the muscles of the lower jaw so much relaxed, thai it fell down, and the chin was supported on the breast. The strength of the patient was so much exhausted during this paroxysm, that, she lay near two hours with no other sign of life than a very feeble respiration, which was often so difficult to be discerned, that those about her concluded she was. dead. "From this time the fits returned periodically every day at about the Same hour. At first they seemed to affect her nearly in the same de gree, but at length all the symptoms were aggravated, the convulsions became more general, and her arms were s'ometimes convulsed alter nately ; i'falso frequently happened, that the arm which was Ijst con vulsed, remained extended and inflexible some houi-s after the strug- les were oyer. Her neck was often twisted with such violence, that the face looked directly backwards, and the back part of the head was over the breast; ihe muscles ofthe countenance were also so contracted and writhed by the spasms, that the features were totally changed, and MARGARET M'AVOY. 329 ably answered by Dr. Renwick, in his " Continuation of the Narrative of Miss M'Avoy's Case, &c. 8vo. 1820." From this edition, we extract the following interesting additional matter. it was impossible to find any resemblance of her natural aspect by which she could be known. Her feet were not less distorted than her head, for they were twisted almost to dislocation at the instep, so that she could not walk but upon her ancles. " To remove or mitigate these deplorable symptoms many remedies were tried, and, among others, the cold bath ; but either by the natural elfects ofthe bath, or by some mismanagement in the bathing, the un happy patient first became blind, and soon aftenvards deaf and dumb. It is not easy to conceive, what would increase the misery of deafness, dumbness, blindness, and frequent paroxysms of excruciating pain ; yet a very considerable aggravation was added, for the loss of her sight, her hearing and her speech vnas followed by such a stricture of the muscles of her throat, that she could not swallow any kind of ali ment, either solid or liquid. It might reasonably be supposed, that this circumstance, though it added to the degree of her misery, would have shortened its duration ; yet in this condition she continued near three quarters of a year, and during that time was supported in a very uncommon manner, by chewing her food only, which having turned qftea, and kept long in her mouth, she was obliged at last to spit out. Liquors were likewise gargled about in her mouth for some time, and then returned in the same manner, no part of them having passed the throat by an act of deglutition ; so that whatever was conveyed into the stomach, either of the juices, of tlw solid food, or of the liquids, was either gradually, imbibed by the sponginess of the parts, which they moistened, or trickled down, in a very small quantity along the sides of the vessels. , " But there were other peculiarities in the case of this lady, yet more extraordinary. During the privation of her sight and hearing, her touch and smell became so exquisite, that she could distinguish the different colours of silk and flowers, and was sensible when any stranger was in the room with her. " After she became blind, and deaf, and dumb, it was not easy lo contrive any method by which a question could be asked her, and an answer received; This, however, was at last effected, by talking with the fingers, at which she was uncommonly ready. But those who conversed with her in this manner, were obliged to express themselves by touch ing her hand and fingers instead of their own. 230 MARGARET M'AVOY. "On August 2, 1816, I was induced tO call upon Miss M'Avoy with Mr. Thomas, who had told me, she had become very expert in sewing. I found her in the act of sewing, which she appeared to execute with " A lady, who was neariy related to her, having an apron on that was embroidered with silk of different colours, asked her, in the manner which has been just describ^ed, if she could tell what colour it was.' And after applying her fingers attentively to the flowers of the embroidery, she replied, that it was red, and blue and green, which was true; but whether there were any other colours in the apron, the writer of this account does not remember. The same lady having a pink coloured ribbon on her head, and being willing still farther to satisfy her curiosity and her doubts, asked what colour that was ? Her cousin, after feeling it some time, answered, that it was a pink colour ; this answer was yet more astonishing, because it shewed not only a power of distinguishing different colours, but dif ferent kinds of the same colour ; the ribbon was not only discovered to be red, but the red was discovered to be of the pale kind, called a pink. " This unhappy lady, conscious of her own uncommon infirmities, was extremely unwilling to be seen by strangers, and therefore, gene rally retired to her chamber, where none but those of the family were likely to come. The same relation, who had by the experiment of the apron and ribbon discovered the exquisite sensibility of her touch, was soon after convinced by an accident, that her power of smelling was acute and refined in the same astonishing degree. " Being one day visiting the family, she went up to her cousin's cham ber, and after making herself known, she intreated her to go down, and sit with her among the rest of the family, assuring her, that there was no other person present; to this she at length consented, and went down to the pariour door, but the moment the door was opened, she turned back, and retired again to her chamber much displeased, alledging, that there were strangers in the room, and that an attempt had been made to deceive her. It happened, indeed, that there were strangers in the room, but they had come in while the lady was above stairs; so that she did not know they were there. When she had satis fied her cousin of this particular, she was pacified; and being afterwards asked how she knew there were strangers in the room ? she answered by the smell. " But though she could by this sense distinguish in general between persons with' whom she was well acquainted, and strangers, yet she MARGARET M'AVOY. 231 considerable neatness. She pul into my hands a stole, which she had assisted in finishing for the Rev, Edward Glover, her confessor, to whom she was under consider able obligation for his kindness and attention during her could not so easily distinguish one of her acquaintance from another, without other assistance. She generally distinguished her friends by feeling their hands ; and when they came in, they used to present their hands to her, as a means of making themselves known ; the make and warmth of the hand produced in general the differences that she dis tinguished ; but sometimes she used to span the wrist, and measure the fingers. A lady, with whom she was well acquainted, coming in one very hot day, after having walked a mile, presented her hand, as usual ; she felt it longer than ordinary, and seemed to doubt whose it was ; but after spanning the wrist, and measuring the finger, she said, " It is Mrs. M. but she is warmer to day than ever I felt her before." "To amuse herself in the mournful and perpetual solitude and dark ness to which her disorder had reduced her, she used to work much at her needle ; and it is remarkable, that her needle-work was uncom monly neat and exact : among many other pieces of her work thit are preserved in the family, is a pincushion, which perhaps can scarce be equalled. She used also sometimes to write, and her writing was yet more extraordinary than her needle-work. It was executed with the same regularity and exactness ; the character was very pretty, the lines were all even, and the letters placed at equal distances from each other; but the most astonishing particular of ^11, with respect to her writing, is, that she couldljy some means discover when a letter had by mistake been omitted, and- would place it over that part of the word where it should have been inserted, with a caret under it. It was her custom to sit up in bedat any hour of the night, either to write or to work, when her pain or any other cause kept her awake. "These circumstances were so very extraordinary, that it was long doubted whether she had not some faint remains both of hearing and sight, and many experiments were made to ascertain the matter ; some of these experiments she accidentally discovered, and the discovery al ways threw her into violent convulsions. The thought of being sus pected of insincerity, or supposed capable of acting so wicked a part as to feign infirmities that were not inflicted, was an addition to her misery which she could not bear, and which neverfailed to producean agony of mind not less visible than those of her bodji, A clergyman, who found her one evening at work by a table with a candle upon it, pot his hat between her eyes and the candle, in such a manner that it 232 MARGARET M'AVOY. illness. She also made several neckerchiefs, and a frock for her little sister, and darned a pair of black silk gloves with great neatness. It appeared from the ac count of her mother, Mrs. Hughes, that before Miss M'Avoy was able to leave her bed after the first attack, she complained of weariness and anxiety, particularly in the night, which, from not sleeping well, appeared long and dull. Miss M'Avoy requested her mother to give her a needle, that she might try to thread it. The first time she made four attempts before she succeeded in threading it, and the second time she threaded the needle after two trials. She then asked for sewing, and her mother gave her a coarse towel. She was aukward at first, and this aukwardness was much increased by not was impossible she could receive any betiefit from the light of it if she had not been blind. She continued still at her work, with great tran quillity, till putting up her hand suddenly to rub her forehead, she struck it against the hat, and discovered What was doing ; upon which she was thrown into violent convulsions, and was not without difficulty recovered. The family were, by these experiments, and by several accidental circumstances, fully convinced that she was totally deaf and blind, particularly by her sitting unconcerned at her work, during a dreadful storm of thunder and lightning, though she was then facing the window, and always used to be much terrified in such circumstances: But Sir Hans Sloane, her physician, being still doubtful Ofthe truth of facts; which were scarce less than miraculous, he was permitted to satisfy himself by such experiments and observations as he thought proper; the issue of which was, that he pronounced her to be abso lutely deaf and dumb. " She was at length sent to Bath, where she was in some measure re^ lieved; her convulsions being less frequent, and her pains less acute; but she never recovered her speech, her sight, or her hearing in the least degree. " Many of her letters, dated at Bath, in some of which there are in stances of interiineatiOns with a caret, the writer of this narrative hath seen, and they are now in the custody' of the widow of one of her bro thers. Who, with many other persons, can support the facts here related, however wonderful, with such evidence, as it would not only lie injus tice, but folly to disbelieve." 36 MARGARET M'AVOY. 283 looking at her 'work, and her eyes seemed to be wan dering in every direction, about the room, but where they ought to be. ¦ Her mother desired her to fix her eyes, as if she were looking intently at her work. Miss M'Avoy endeavoured to follow this advice, and applied with so much perseverance, that she succeeded not only in this point, but sewed much better than ever she had done before her deprivation of sight. Mr. Thomas and I particularly examined her eyes, exposed to the light of a candle, as near to the eye as possible, with out burning her, but wiihout observing the slightest contraction or dilatation of the pupil, or the least sen sibility in the eye. I have frequently, since this period, thrown my hand suddenly towards her face ; have pre tended to dash a pointed penknife at the eye; and have often applied the point of the finger in a quiet and steady manner,'as near as possible to the pupil, without observing the slightest sensation in the eye. Mr. Thomas assured me he has more than once put his finger upon the cornea itself, which then appeared insensible ; but when he touched the eye-lid or eye-lash, she was in stantly sensible of it. I have sat a considerable time attending to her sewing, but apparently indifferent about it; and during these visits, I have examined her every action as minutely as possible, and I have been satisfied she could not see. In threading her needle, it some times required only one effort^ hut often three or four, before she was successful. It was curious to observe her when, by accident, the point of the thread was bent: she would try to thread the needle three or four times, and if she did not succeed, would put it into her mouth, and bite off a part, or take her finger and feel whether the thread were straight or not. More than once I have given her the needle with the point upwards, when she accidentally dropped it : she attempted, but find* ing, after a few trials, that she could not thread it, she would put her finger upon the needle, and feeling the VOL. II. 2 G 234 MARGARET M and read a few words. In a jocular manner Mrs. Hughes asked her if she could feel the letters with her fingers. She said she felt the words she had read, and would try again if her father would give her a book. A number of a folio bible, of tolerably large print, was given, and she read several verses to the great astonish ment of her father and mother. Upon hearing this ac count,! was induced to visit her again with Mr. Thomas, MARQtARET M'AVOY. 235 and took considerable piins in examining the eyes; but we found little or no alteration in their general ap pearance, except that the pupil was not quite so dilated as before ; but the light of a candle appeared to have no influence upon it. We found her father's account very accurate, and that she really could read by the applica tion of the fingers to the letters, with considerable fluency. As it was probable any other person, who had not the same opportunity of judging of her blindness with Mr. Thomas and me, might think it possible she could see, I thought it right to bind something over the eyes, and I made use of a Manchester cotton shawl, which went twice round the head, crossed the eyes, and was tied at the back of the head, as firmly as she could bear it. I placed in her hand a number of the Bible above mentioned, and she read very correctly one verse of a chapter in Genesis. I then requested to have another book, which happened to be a volume ofthe Annals of the Church. I opened it, and she read to me several lines, with the alteration ih a proper name of only one letter, which, upon being desired to read over again, she corrected. I then turned to a few lines of errata, and she read them correctly, only reading the letter I. as an I and a dot. The mode she follows is to place her fingers upon the letters, to proceed from the beginning to the extremity of the word, and back again until she names it, and so on to the next word. She often makes use of the fingers of both hands, particularly the fore fingers ; and when they are in good order, she will read from twenty-five to thirty words in half a minute. " On the following day I mentioned the circumstance to a friend, who was anxious to see a phenomenon of this kind, and he met me in St. Paul's-square. Miss M'Avoy again read over to us a verse in the Bible, a few lines in the Annals of the Church, and the title- page, mottos, and several lines in a ISmo. edition of Grahame's Sabbath. I placed her fingers upon a blank 236 MARGARET M'AVOY. leaf and desired her to read. The attempt was made, but she said she could not feel any letters. Her fingers were then placed upon another leaf which she declared was also blank. I then desired her to feel the upper part of the leaf; she did so, and said she felt something, but it was so confused she could not make out what it was. The fact was, a lady's name had been written in the book, and when I took it from my library, I scratched the name out with a pen, so that it was not distinguishable to the eye. " The persons who have visited her once, are gene rally known to her again by their manner of walking or breathing, or by the voice. She tells the difference in the size of one person from another who enters the room, if asked to do so. She has read with her hands behind her and under the bed-clothes, or under a sheet of paper, but seldom for any length of time." Within a few days of her death, she wrote a letter to her executor. She made no slops. She ruled her paper with a knife, and wrote upon the line thus formed, by which means the words were suflSciently separated from each other. It seemed before her illness, she could hardly write at all, and although the writing was not good, it was sufficiently disiingnishable lobe easily read. Previous lo her blindness, it is said, she could scarcely join the letters. After a long and sad tormenting illness of five years duration. Death pul an end to all her miseries, on Au gust 9th, 1820; and on the same day, her body was dis sected by Mr. Harrison, one of the demonstrators of Anatomy, &c. to the School of Surgery in Dublin ; be fore Drs. Renwick and Jeffreys, and several surgeons. Little information was, however, gained by this dissec tion, so as to enable the medical gentlemen to account for her extraordinary faculties. 237 JAMES CRICHTON. This gentleman, was a native of Scotland, who in the course of a short life acquired an uncommon degree of celebrity, and on account of his extraordinary endow ments both of mind and body, obtained the appellation of " the admirable Crichton," by which title he has con tinued to be distinguished to the present day. The time of his birth is said, by the generality of writers, to have been in 1551 ; but the Earl of Buchan, in a memoir, read to the Society of Antiquaries at Edinburgh, asserts that he was born in the month of August, 1360. His father was Lord Advocate of Scotland in Queen Mary's reign from 1561 to 1573; and his mother, the daughter of Sir James Stuart, was allied to the family which then filled the Scottish throne. James Crichton is said to have received his gramma tical education at Perth, and to have studied philosophy al; the university of St. Andrews. His tutor atthat uni versity was Mr. John Rutherford, a professor, at that time famous for his learning, and who distinguished himself by writing four books on Aristotle's logic, and a commentary on his poetics. According to Aldus Manu- tius, who calls Crichton first cousin to the king, he was also instructed, with his majesty, by Buchanan, Hep-t burn, and Rdbertson> as well as by Rutherford ; and he had scarcely arrived at the twentieth year of his'age> when he had gone through the whole circle of the sciences, and could speak and write to perfection in ten different languages. Nor had he neglected the ornamental branches of education ; for he had likewise improved himself, to the highest degree, in riding, dancing, and singing, and was a skilful performer on all sorts of instruments. ' ¦' Possessing these numerous accomplishments, Crichton 238 JAMBS CRICHTON. went abroad upon his travels, and is said to have first visited Paris. Of his transactions at that place, the fol lowing account is given. He caused six placards to be fixed on all the gates of the schools, halls, and colleges of the university, and on all the pillars and posts before the houses belonging to the most renowned literary cha racters in that city, inviting all those who were well versed in any art or science, to dispute with him in the college of Navarre, that day six weeks, by nine o'clock in the morning, when he would attend them and be ready to answer to whatever should be proposed to him in any art or science, and in any of these twelve lan^- , guages, Hebrew, Syriac, Arabic, Greek, Latin, Spanish, French, Italian, English, Dutch, Flemish, and Sclavo nian; and this either in verse or prose, at the discretion of the disputant.' During the Whole intermediate time, instead of closely applying to his studies, as might have been expected, he attended to nothing but hunting, hawking, tilting, vault ing, riding, tossing the pike, handling the musket, and other military feats; or else he employed himself in do mestic games, such as balls, concerts of music, vocal and instrumental, cards, dice, tennis, and the like di versions of youth. This conduct so provoked the stu dents of the university, that beneath the placard which was fixed on the Navarre gate, they wrote the following words : — " If you would meet with this monster of per fection, the readiest way to find him is to inquire for him at the tavern, or the houses of ill fame."' Nevertheless, when the day appointed arrived, Crich ton appeared in the college of Navarre, and acquitted himself beyond expression in the disputation, which lasted from nine o'clock in the morning till six at night. At length the president, after extolling him highly for the many rare and excellent endowments which God and nature had bestowed upon him, rose from his chair, and accompanied by four of the most eminent professors of JAMES CRICHTON. 239 lhe university, gave him a diamond ring and a purse full of gold, as a testimony of their respect and admiration. The whole ended with the repeated acclamations and huzzas of the spectators, and henceforward our young disputant was called " the admirable Crichton." It is added, that so little was he fatigued with his exertions on this occasion, that he went the very next day to the Louvre, where he had a match of tilting, an exercise then in great vogue, and in the presence of a great number bf ladies, and of some of the princes of the French court, carried away the rising fifteen times suc cessively. We find him, about two years after this display of his talents, at Rome, where he affixed a placard in all the conspicuous places of the city, in the following terms : "We, James Crichton, of Scotland, will answer extem pore any question that may be proposed." In a city which abounded in wit, this bold challenge could not escape the ridicule of a pasquinade. It is said, however, that being nowise discouraged, he appeared at the time and place appointed ; and that, in the presence of the pope, many cardinals, bishops, doctors of divinity, and professors in all the sciences, he exhibited such wonder ful proofs of his universal knowledge, that he excited no less surprise than he had done at Paris, Boccalini, however, who was then at Rome, gives a somewhat dif ferent account of the matter. According to that writer the pasquinade made such an impression upon him, that he left a place where he had been so grossly affronted, as to be put upon a level with jugglers and mountebanks. Frome Rome, Crichton proceeded to Venice, where he contracted an intimate friendship with Aldus Manu- tius, Laurentius Massa, Speron Speronius, Johannes Donatus, and various other learned persons, to whom he presented several poems in commendation of the city and university. At length he was introduced to the doge 240 JAMES CRICHTON. and senate, in whose presence he made a speech, which was accompanied with such beauty of eloquence, and such grace of person and manner, that he received the thanks of that illustrious body, and nothing but this pro« digy of nature was talked of through the whole city. He likewise held disputations on the subjects of theo logy, philosophy, and mathematics, before the most eminent professors and large multitudes of people. His reputation ' was so great, that the desire of seeing and hearing him, brought together a vast concourse of per sons from different quarters to Venice. It may be col lected froiii Manutius, that the time in which Crichton gave these demonstrations of his abilities was in the year 1580. • During his residence at Venice he fell into a bad state of health, which continued for the space of four months. Before he was perfectly recovered, he went, by the ad vice of his friends, to Padua, the university of which was, at that time, in great reputation. The day after his arrival, there was an assembly of all the learned men of the place at the house of Jacobus Aloysius Cornelias, wbeii Crichton opened the meeting with an extempore poem in praise of the city, the university, and the com pany who had honoured him with their presence. After this, he disputed for six hours with the most celebrated professors on various subjects of learning; and he ex posed, in particular, the errors of Aristotle and his commentators, with so much solidity and acuteness, and at the same time with so much modesty, that he excited universal admiration.. In conclusion he delivered ex tempore an oration in praise of ignorance, which was conducted with such ingenuity and elegance, that his hearers were astonished. This exhibition of Crichton's talents was on the 14th of March, 1581. He soon afterwards appointed a day for another dis putation, to be held at the palace ofthe Bishop of Padua, not for the purpose of affording higher proofs of his abi- 37 JAMES CRICHTON, 241 lilies, but in compliance with the earnest solicitations of some persons who were not present at the former as sembly. According to the account of Manutius, various circumstances occurred which prevented this meeting from taking place ; bul Imperialis relates that he was in formed by his father, who was present on the occasion, that Crichton was opposed by Archangelus Mercenarius, a famous philosopher, and that he acquitted bimself so well as to obtain the approbation of a very honourable company, and even of his antagonist himself. Amidst the high applauses that were bestowed upon the genius and attainments of the young Scotchman, still there were some who endeavoured to detract from his merit. For ever, therefore, to confound these invi dious cavillers, he caused a paper to be fixed on the gate of St. John and St. Paul's church, in which he offered to prove before the university, that the errors of Aris totle, and of all his followers, were almost innumerable; and that the latter had failed both in explaining their master's meaning, and in treating on theological sub jects. He promised likewise to refute the dreams of certain mathematical professors, to dispute in all the sciences, and to answer to whatever should be proposed to hiiri, or objected against him. All this he engaged to do, either in the common logical way, or by numbers and mathematical figures, or in one hundred sorts of figures, or in one hundred sorts of verses, at the pleasure of his opponents. According to Manutius, Crichton sustained this contest wiihout fatigue for three days ; during which lime he supported his credit and maintain ed his propositions with such spirit and energy, that he obtained, from an unusual concourse of people, un bounded praises and acclamations. From Padua Crichton set out for Mantua, where there happened to be at that time a gladiator who had foiled in his travels the most skilful fencers in Europe, and had lately killed three who had entered the lists with him in VOL. II. 2 H 242 JAMES CRICHTON. that city. The Duke of Mantua was much grieved at having granted this man his protection, as he found it to be attended with such fatal consequences. Crichton being informed of his concern offered his service to drive the murderer not only from Mantua, but from Italy, and to fight him for 1500 pistoles, Though the duke vvas unwilling to expose such an accomplished person to so great a hazard ; yet relying on the report he had heard of his martial feats, he agreed to the proposal, and the time and place being appointed, the whole court attended to behold the performance. At the be ginning of the combat, Crichton stood only upon his defence; while the Italian made his attack with such eagerness and fury, that he began to be fatigued. Crichton now seized the opportunity of attacking hi» antagonist in return, which he did with so much dex terity and vigour, that he ran him through the body in three different places, so that he immediately died of the wounds. On this occasion the acclamations of the spec tators were loud and extraordinary; and it was acknow ledged by all of them, that they had never seen art grace nature, or nature second the precepts of art, in so striking a manner as on that day. To crown the glory of the action, Crichton bestowed the prize of his victory on the widows of the three persons who had lost their lives in fighiing with his antagonist. It is asserted, that in consequence of this and his other wonderful performances, the Duke of Mantua made choice of him as preceptor to his son Vincentio de Gon- zaga, who is represented as being of a riotous temper and a dissolute life. The appointment was highly plea sing to the court. We are told that Crichton, to testify his gratitude to his friends and benefactors, and to con tribute to their diversion, composed a comedy, in which he exposed and ridiculed all the weak and faulty sides of the various employments in which men are engaged. This was regarded as one of the most ingenious satires JAMES CRICHTON. 243 that ever was made upon mankind. But the most asto nishing part of the story is, that Crichton sustained fif teen characters in the representation of his own play. Among the rest, he acted the divine, the lawyer, the mathematician, the soldier, and the physician, vfith such inimitable grace, that every time he appeared upon the theatre he seemed to be a different person. From being the principal actor ih a comedy, Crichton soon became the subject of a dreadful tragedy. One night, during the carnival, as he was walking through the streets of Mantua, and playing upon his guitar, he was attacked by half a dozen of people in masks. The assailants found that they had no ordinary person to deal with, for they were not able to maintain their ground against him. Having at length disarnied the leader of the company, the latter pulled off his mask, and begged his life, telling him that he was the prince, his pupil. Crichton immediately, fell upon his knees, and expressed his concern for his mistake ; alledging that what he had done was only in his own defence, and that if Gonzaga had any design upon his life, he might always be master of it. Then taking his sword by the point, he presented it to the prince, who was so irritated at being foiled with all his attendants, that he instantly ran Crichton through the heart. Various have been the conjectures concerning the motives which could induce Vincentio de Gonzaga to be guilty of so brutal and ungenerous an action. Some have ascribed it to jealousy, asserting that he suspect ed Crichton to be more in favour than himself with a lady whom he passionately loved ; while others, with greater probability, represent the whole transaction as the result of a drunken frolic : and it is uncertain, according to Imperialis, whether the meeting of the prince and Crichton was by accident or design. If is, however, agreed by all, that Crichton lost his life ifl this rencounter. The time of his decease is said by the 244 JAMES CRICHTON. generality of his biographers to have been in the begin ning of July 1583, but Lord Buchan fixes it in the same month of the preceding year. The common accounts declare that he was killed in the S2d year of his age, but Imperialis asserts that he was only in his 22d year, at the period of that tragical event, and this fact is con firmed by the nobleman just mentioned. Crichjon's tragical end excited a very great and gene ral lamentation. If Sir Thomas Urquhart is to be cre dited, the whole court of Mantua went into mourning for him three quarters of a year; the epitaphs and ele gies composed upon his death, would exceed, if col lected, the bulk of Homer's works; and for a long time afterwards, his picture was to be seen in most of the bed-chambers and galleries of the Italian nobility, re presenting him on horseback with a lapce in one hand and a book in the other. The same author tells us that Crichton gained the esteem of kings and princes by his magnanimity and knowledge ; of noblemen and gentle men by his courtliness, breeding and wit ; of the rich by his affability and good company; of the poor by his munificence and liberality; of the old by his constancy and wisdom ; of the young by his mirth and gallantry ; of the learned by his universal knowledge; of the sol diers by his undaunted valour and courage ; ofthe mer chants and dealers, by his upright dealing and honesty; and of the fair sex by his beauty, in which respect he was a master-piece of nature,. Such are the accounts of the admirable Crichton which have been given by a succession of writers. They are indeed so wonderful that many have been dis posed to consider them in a great measure, if not alto gether fabulous; and the arguments to this effect addu ced by Dr. Kippis in the Biographia Britannica seem to have considerable weight. That writer questions, and apparently on very just grounds, the authority of those by whom those accounts were first circulated, and redu- DIOGENES. 245 ces the pretensions of Crichton within a much narrower compass. "What then," he asks, " is the opinion which on the whole we are to form ofthe admirable Crichton? It is evident that he was a youth of such lively parts as excited great present admiration and high expectations with regard to his future attainments. He appears to have had a fine person, to have been adroit in his bodily exercises, to have possessed a peculiar facility in learn ing language.s, to have enjoyed a remarkably quick and retentive memory, and to have excelled in a power of declamation, a fluency of speech, and a readiness of re ply. His knowledge, likewise, was probably, very un common for his years ; and this, in conjunction with his other qualities, enabled him to shine in public disputa tion. Bul whether his knowledge and learning were accurate, or profound, mayjustly be questioned, and it may equally be doubted whether he would have risen to any extraordinary degree of eminence in the literary world. Il will always be reflected upon with regret, that his early and untimely death prevented this matter from being brought to the test of experiment." DIOGENES. Diogenes, a celebrated cynic philosopher, born at Sinope, a city of Pantus, in the third year ofthe ninety- first Olympiad, or 414 years before Christ. His father, who was a banker, having 6een guilty of coiqing false money, was either exiled or obliged to fly from his na tive place, and was accompanied by his son, who was involved in his disgrace, if not in hiscriminality. Ar riving at Athens, Diogenes determined to devote himself lo the study -of philosophy, and wished to place himself under the tuition of Antisthenes, the founder of the cynic sect. When ^^ applied to that philosoper to be 246 mOGBNES. received into the number of his disciples, his appearance was so forbidding, that be was repulsed with harshness, and even threatened to be driven away from his school by blows. " Beat me," said he, " as you please, I will submit to the strokes of the hardest cudgel, if I may be allowed to benefit by your instructions." Antisthenes was prevailed upon to admit him among his pupils, and afterwards entered into the strictest friendship with him. Diogenes entered thoroughly into the views, and imi tated the manners, of his master, but with a still greater degree of rigour and austerity. He practised the most hardy self-control, and most rigid abstinence ; exposed himself to the utmost extremes of heat and cold, and lived upon the simplest diet; and exhibited a degree of contempt not only for the luxuries, but also for the con veniences, of life, that subjected him to ridicule and in dignity, and justifies the remark of Bayle, that be "was one of those extraordinary men who are upon the ex tremes in every thing, not excepting reason, and who verify this maxim, that there is no great wit without a mixture of folly." He wore a coarse cloak, carried a wallet and a staff, frequently made the porticoes, and other public places, his habitation, and often depended for subsistence on charitable donations. It is reported by some of his biographers, that having once desired a friend to prepare a small apartment for him, and not finding it ready as speedily as be wished, he took up his abode in a tub that was in the temple of the mother of the gods. Arid they add, that he after wards affected, in the different places wherein he resid ed, to attract public notice by confining himself to such a kind of dwelling. Several circumstances in his life, however, and the total omission, of that anecdote by some of the most respectable ancient writers, leave us reason to suspect that it deserves to be classed among the tales which have been invented to expose the sect of the cynics to ridicule. To such an origin are we dis- DIOGENES. 247 posed to ascribe some other stories preserved in Athenaeus and Diogenes Laertius, which accuse this philosopher of practising, in an open and scandalous manner, the most filthy actions, and some of the grossest indecencies. The truth of such stories is utterly irreconcileable with the high respect in which he was unquestionably held by his contemporaries, and the honours which, after his death, they vied with each other in conferring on his memory. The great object of his profession was to ex pose the prevalent vices and follies of the times, and to inculcate pure morals, and honourable sentiments. In his discourses, for these purposes, at the public assem blies, or on particular occasions, and in his addresses to, or conversation with, individuals, Diogenes discovered a bold and independent spirit, an intimate knowledge of mankind, an ardent zeal for the true interests of virtue, and a degree of learning, ingenuity, and wit, that com manded the admiration even of those who were the sub jects of his censure. But he distinguished himself by such a ruggednessof manners, such an avowed contempt of othqr philosophers, and such a neglect of civility and decorum towards magistrates and other public men, as lay him open to the charge of indulging an unworthy spirit of philosophical pride. When Diogenes was far advanced in life, he had oc casion lo visit the island of .^gina. On his passage thither he was captured by pirates, who carried him into Cretei ^ti/ /y^ c_ir^//^. r.'uvV-ir.(.r.'f/.'Y.' ; ."-v.si- .*'.;..-'.',v ''S,r.-i,jy;i THOMAS PARR. 253 " The Right Hon. Thomas Earl of Arundell and Surrey, Earl Marshall of England, &c. being lately in Shropshire to visit some lands and manors, which bis lordship holds in that county ; or, for some other oc casions of importance, the report of this aged man was certified to his honour ; who hearing of so remarkable a piece of antiquity, his lordship was pleased to see him, and in his innate noble and Christian piety, he took him into his charitable tuition and protection ; com manding a litter and two horses, (for the more easv car riage of a man so enfeebled and worn with age) to be provided for him ; also, that a daughter-in-law of his (named Lucye) should likewise attend him, and have a horse for her owne riding with him; and to cheere up the olde man, and make him merry ; there was au antique faced fellow, called Jacke, or John the Foole, with a high and mighty no beard, that had also a horse for his carriage. These all were to be brought out of the country to London, by easie journeys, the charges being allowed by his lordship : and likewise one of his honour's own servants, named Brian Kelly, to ride on horseback with them, and to attend and defray all manner of reckonings and expenses ; all which was done accord ingly as followeth. " Winningion is a hamlet in the parish of Alderbury, near a place called the Welsh Poole, eight miles from Shrewsbury ; from whence he was carried to Wim, a towne of the carle's aforesaid ; and the next day to Sheffnal, a (mannour house of his lordship's) where they likewise staled one night; from Sheffnal they came to Woolverhampton, and the next day to Brimichamj from thence to CoveDtry, and altboogh Master Kellej had much to do, to keq)e the people «»ff they pressed upon him, in all places where he came, yet at Coventry he was most opprest : for they came in such multitudes to see the olde man, that those who defended him were almost quite tvred and spent, and the aged man in 254 THOMAS PAUU. danger to have been stifeled ; and in a word, the rabble were so unruly, that Bryan was in doubt he should bring his charge no further; (so greedy are the vulgar to hearken to, or gaze after novelties.) " The trouble being over, the next day ihey passed to Daventry, to Stony-stratford, to Redburn, and so to London, where he is well entertained and accommo dated with all things, having all the aforesaid attendants at the sole charge and cost of his lordship." The above-mentioned writer then proceeds to inform us, in verse, that "John Parr, (a man that lived by husbandry) " Begot this Thomas Parr, and born was liee rrhe yeare of fourteen hundred, eighty three. And as his father's living and his trade. Was plough and cart, scitlie, sickle, bill, and spade; The harrow, mattock, flayle, rake, fork, and goad. And whip, and how to load and to unload : Old Tom hath shew'd himself the son of John, And from his father's function has not gone." He then continues : — " Torn Parr hath liv'd, as by record appeares. Nine monthes, one hundred fifty and two yeares. For by records, and true certificate, From Shropshire late, relations doth lelate, That hee lived seventeen yeares with John his father. And eighteen with a master, which 1 gather To be full thirty-five ; his sire's decease Left hirfi four yeares possession of a lease ; Which past, Lewis Porter gentleman, did then For twenty-one yeares grant his lease agen ; That lease expir'd, the son of Lewis, called John, Let him the like lease, and that time being gone. Then Hugh, the son of John, (last nam'd before) For one and twenty years, sold one lease more. And lastly, ho hath held from John, Hugh's son, A lease for's life these fifty years outrun ; And till olde Thomas Parr, to earth againe Returne, the last lease must his own remaine," THOMAS PARR. 255 John Taylor then relates the following curious anec dote of Olde Parr's craft in endeavouring to over- reach his landlord. " His three leases of sixty-three yeares being expired, he took his last lease of his landlord, (one Master John Porter) for his life, with which lease hee hath lived more than fifty yeares ; but this olde mati would (for his wife's sake) renew his lease for yeares, which his land lord would not consent unto; wherefore old Parr, (having beene long blind) sitting in his chair by the fire, his wife look'd out of the window, and perceiv'd Master Edward Porter, son of his landlord, to come towards their house, which she told her husband ; saying, " husband, our young landlord is coming hither." " Is he so ?" said old Parr, "I prithee wife lay a pin on the ground neere my foot, or at my right toe," which she did, and when Master Porter, (yet forty yeares old) was come into the house, after salutations between them, the olde man said, " wife, is not that a pin which lyes at my foot ?" "¦Truly husband," quoth she, " it is a pin indeede," so she took up the'pin, and Master Porter was half in a maze that the olde man had recovered his sight again ; but it was quickly found to be a witty con ceit, thereby to have them suppose him to be more lively than hee was, because he hop'd to, have his lease renew'd for his wife's sake, as aforesaid." With respe'Ct to his matrimonial connexions, Taylor says : " A tedious time a batchelour he tarried. Full eightie years of age before he married : His continence to question PU not call, Man's fraitie's weak, and oft to slip and fall. No doubt but hee in fourscore years "doth find. In Salop's counlie, females fair and kind : • But what have I to do with that ; let passe. At the age aforesaid he first married was To Jane, John Taylor's daughter ; ahd 'tis said. The shee, (before hee had her) was a mayd. 266 THOMAS PARR. With her hee liv'd yeards three times ten and two. An then she dy'd (as all good wives will doe.) Shee dead, hee ten yeares did a widower stay. Then once more ventured in the wedlock way : Atid in affection to his first wife Jane, He tooke ahother of that name againe : (With whom he now doth live) she was a widow To one nam'd Anthony (and surnam'd Adda) She was (as by report it doth appeare) Of Gillsett's parish, in Montgom'ry-shiere, The daughter of John Floyde (corruptly Flood) Of ancient house, and gentle Cambrian blood." Of Thomas Par's issue, the same Wrriter says, in plain prose, " Hee hath had two children by his first wife, a son, and a daughter ; the boyes name was John, and lived but len weekes, the gifle was named Joan, and she lived but three weekes,"^ A story of an intrigue for which Old Thomas was chastised by the church, is thus versified by Taylor : — -Id's first wife's time. Hee frayly, foully, fell into a crime. Which richer, poorer, older men, and younger. More base, more noble, weaker men, and stronger Have falne into, • For from the emp'rour to the russet clown. All states, each sex, from cottage to the crowne. Have in all ages since the first creation. Bin foyl'd, and overthrown with love's temptation : So was Old Thomas, for he chanced to spy A beauty, and love enter'd at his eye; Whose pow'rfull motion drew on sweet consent. Consent drew action ; action drew content ; But when the period of those joys were past. Those sweet delights were sourly sauc'd at last. ¦ Faire Katharin Milton was this beauty bright, (Faire like an angell, but ij.) weight too light) Whose fervent feature did inflame so far. The ardent fervor of old Thomas Parr, That for Jawes satisfactjou, ^was fhotight meet, He shpHld be pur.g'd, Jjy staading in a sheet ; 37 THOMAS PARR. 257 Which aged (he) one hundred and five yeare. In Alberbury's parish church did weare. Should all that so offend such pennaunce doe. Oh, what a price would linen rise unto : All would be turn'd to sheets ; our shirts and smocks. Our table linen, very porters frocks Would hardly scape transforming." The Reverend Mr. Granger, in his Biographical History of England, says, that "At an hundred and twenty he married Catharine Milton, his second wife, whom he got with child; and was, after that asra of his life, employed in threshing, and other husbandry work. When he was about an hundred and fifty two years of age, he was brought up to London, by Thomas, Earl of Arundel, and carried lo court. The king (Charles I.) said to him, 'you have lived longer than other men, what have you done more than other men?' He re plied, 'I did penance when I was an hundred years old.' " The concluding scene of Old Parr's life is thus described by Taylor : — -His limbs their strength have left, His teeth all gone (but one) his sight bereft. His sinews shrunk, his blood most chill and cold. Small solace, imperfections manifold : Yet still his spirits possesse his mortall trunk. Nor are his senses in his ruines shrunk ; But that his hearing's quicke, his stomacke good, Hee'll feed well, sleep well, well digest his food. Hee will speak heartily, laugh and be merry ; Drink ale, and now and then a cup of cherry ; Loves company, and understanding talke. And on both sides held up, will sometimes walk. And, though old age his face with wrinkles fill, Hee hath ben handsome, and is comely still ; Well fac'd ; and though his beard not oft corrected. Yet neate it grows, not like a beard neglected." According to Taylor he appears to have laboured hard, and to have lived on coarse fare, for the water poet says: VOL, It. - K 258 THOMAS PARR. " Good wfiolesbme labour was his exercise, Down with the 'lamb, and with the lark would rise; In mire and toiling sweat he spent the day, And to his team he whistled time away : The cock his night-clock, and till day was done. His watch and chief sun-dial was the sun. He was of old Pythagoras' opinion. That green cheese was most wholesome with an onion ; Coarse meslin bred, and for his daily swig, Milk, butter-milk, and water, whey and whig: Sometimes metheglin, and by fortune happy. He sometimes sipp'd a cup of ale most nappy, Cyder or perry, when he did repair T' a Whitson ale, wake, wedding, or a fair ; Or when in Christmas-time he was a guest At his good landlord's house amongst the rest : Else he had little leisure-time to waste. Or at the ale-house huff- cap ale to taste ; His physic was good butter, which the soil Of Salop yields, more sweet than candy oil ; And garlick he esteem' d above the rate Of Venice treacle, or best mithridate. He entertain'd no gout, no ache he felt, The air was good and temperate where he dwelt ; While mavisses and sweet-tongued nightingales Did chant him roundelays and madrigals. Thus living within bounds of nature's laws, Of his long lasting life may be some cause." Thomas Parr seems to have been a man of very difle- rent constitution from the rest of mankind, for the same writer thus describes hiiti : — " From head to heel, his body hath alt over A quick-Set, thick-set, nat'rall hairy cover." John Taylor coiicludes his account of this wonderful old man, by saying, " that it appeares hee hath out-lived the most part of the people near there (meaning Alder bury) three times over." Old Parr did not long survive his removal to the me tropolis, where he died on the 15th of November, l635. CHAR LIBS PRICE. 259 and was bufied in Westminster-abbey. It is conceived that the change of air and diet, together with the trouble of numerous visiters, must have accelerated his death. His body was dissected by Dr. Harvey, and proved to \>e very fleshy ; his heart and kidneys were remarkably stout and fat, as was his body altogether. The portrait which accompanies this account is from a likeness taken by the celebrated Rubens, who saw Parr when he was above 140 years of age, and painted him. CHARLES PRICE. The depredations of artful and designing men upon the credulity of the honest and industrious, have some times been carried to such a pitch, as E^lmost to exdeed the conceptions of the most acute and discerning; and few men can have practised vvith more success for a time, the grossest impositions on society than the subject of our present memoir; selectee! as it is, with a view to exhibit man under the several forms in which he actu ally presents himself to public notice, varying and ac. commodating himself to the circumstances in which he may be placed ; he is scarcely ever the same for any long period of duration. Characters, however, there are to be found in the community who add to these trails of variation by their dissimulation and hypocrisy. Such an one was Charles Price, who on account of this cir cumstance attained to a singular celebrity. In selecting the life of this extraordinary impostor, we may learn the progress of iniquity, teach the rising generation to guard against its first approaches, and warn our readers against those depredations which are daily infesting society. Such examples of depravity are indeed huiniliating to our natures, but at the same time 260 CHARLES PRICE, they hold forth instructive lessons, and consequently are well deserving of our serious contemplation. Charles Price was born about the year 1730 ; his father lived in Monmouth-street, and carried on the business of a dealer in old clothes; here he died in the year 1750, of a broken heart, occasioned (as it is said) by the bad conduct of his children. Charles began early to manifest those traits of du plicity for which he afterwards became so greatly dis tinguished ; one reniarkable instance deserves to be mentioned as an example of juvenile hypocrisy scarcely to be paralleled. He ripped oif some gold lace from a suit of old clothes which his father had bought, and putting on his elder brother's coat, went to sell it to a Jew. The Jew became a purchaser, and in the way of trade most unfortunately afterwards oflfered it to the father for sale. He instantly knew it, and insisted on the Jew's informing him from whom he received it. The boys coming in al the time, and the Jew recol lecting the coat of the elder, immediately "declared he" was the person from whom be purchased iti; in conse quence of which he was directly seized and severely flogged, notwithstanding his protestations of innocence; the father was inflexible, while the conscious depreda tor, with an abominable relish for hypocrisy, witnessed the sufi"ering of his brother, and inwardly rejoiced in the castigation. By a continued series of tricks and knaveries, prac tised under the eye of the father, he at length grew tired of his son, and placed him with a hosier in St. James's-street. Here he continued but for a short time, indulging in all the vagaries of his prolific imagination, and exercising himself in all the arts and deceptions of which he eventually made himself master. He robbed his father of an elegant suit of clothes, in which having dressed himself he went in that disguise to the hosier, and bought about ten pounds worth of the most fashionf- CHARLES PRICE. 261 able and' expensive silk stockings, desiring them to be sent home for him in an hour, and assuming the name of Henry Bolingbroke, Esq. The cheat was successful, for his master did not know him ; but this was not enough, for in about half an hour after he appeared in the shop in his usual dress, and was desired to take the goods home, which he actually pretended to do ; thus both his father and master were robbed. He was, how ever, soon discovered and dismissed. From this period we shall have to consider him at large in society, where he continued to practice the most outrageous acts of duplicity for many years. Soon after this he set ofl^ for Holland, under the name of Johnson. Forging a recommendation to a Dutch merchant he became his clerk, debauched his daughter, and was offered herhand in marriage; — robbed his master, and returned to England. Upon his arrival, be con trived to get himself engaged in his Majesty's small beer brewery nearGosport. In thi's situation he conducted himself so well as to gain the confidence of his em ployer; and was upon the point of forming a matrimo- *nial connexion with his d^ghter. This match, however, was prevented by an accidental discovery : the Jew, to whom he had formerly sold the gold lace, happened to reside at Portsmouth, and by his means the character of Price was soon disclosed ; his schemes frustrated, and he was again thrown upon the world. His wits, however, were not exhausted, nor did they ever slumber long, though always employed for some deceptive end. He determined upon a trial to esta blish a new brewery, by obtaining a partner with money, and as a first step towards it, in the year 1775, he issued the following curious advertisement : — Wanted. "A partner of character, probity, and extensive acquaintance, upon a plan permanent and productive. Fifty per cent, without risk, may be obtained. It is not necessary he should have any knowledge of 262 ClUARLES PRICE. the business, whicii the advertiser possesses in its fullest extent ; bi|t he must possess a capital of between five hundred and one thousand pounds to purchase materials, with which, to the knowledge of the ad vertiser, a large fortune must be made in a very short time. Address to P. C, Cardigan-head, Charingicross, " P. S. None but principals, and those of liberal ideas, will be treated with." By means of this advertisement, the famous Comedian Samuel Foote, was brought into the sphere of our hero's depredation. Eager to sei^e what he conceived to be a golden opportunity, he was induced to advance 500^- for a brewery. This sum did not last long; and instead of the rapid fortune which the advertiser appeared so certain of, Foote was glad to disengage himself from the concern with the loss of his capital, and retired wrung with the anguish of disappointment. Notwith standing which. Price had the impudence not long af terwards to apply to him again, under the idea of getting him to enibark in the baking trade ; the wiw^y comedian, however, by this time knew his Price," and archly replied, "As you have brewed, so you may bake; bul I'll be cursed if ever you bake as you have brewed." Price, after this unfortunate business, assunted a new character and appeared as a methodist preacher, in which disguise he defrauded several persons of large sums of money. He issued advertisements, offering lo procure gentlemen wives, and,swindled a person of the name of Wigmore of fifty guineas ; this turned out more serious than he ejxpected, for Mr. Wigmore brought an^^d.ictmenl against hini, but he fqund means to refund a p^rt of the money, and effected his escape. These and other fraudulent ijneans were long l-he objects of his ambition, though they were all the certain roads to infamy. Still undismayed in his career, he had the astonish ing impudence to set tip again ^s a brewer, in Gray's Inn-laiie; bcre, however, alter committing a variety 61" CHARLES PRICE. 263 frauds; he became a bankrupt in the year' 1 776. With ingenuity ever fruitful, he now set oui for Germany, and engaged in a smuggling scheme, for which he was thrown into a prison in Holland, after realizing 300/. From this confinement he had address enough, by an artful de fence, to extricate himself, and immediately returned to his native country. Here he again engaged himself in a sham brewery at Lambeth, were he was married ; still continuing his depredations, till at length he found it necessary to decamp ;— he actually went to Copenhagen. After some time he came back to England, where he was doomed lo close his days. His brewing attempts having all failed, he was oblig ed to study some new mode of plundering society, and under the pretence of charity he obtained money, for which he was imprisoned, and having obtained libera tion, he, in the charatter of a clergyman, succeeded in various depredations which eventually .brought him to the King's Bench, from the walls of which he had dex terity enough to extricate himself. His next scheme was to try his success among the schemers in the Lottery, and made his efforts answer his purpose for a time ; but absconding with a ticket of very consiiderable value, his attempts in this way were brought to a termination; indeed, his arts and his tricks were so various, that to recount them all, would extend our me moir of him beyond the limits of a publication of this kind : Alas ! for human depravity. We are now arrived at that period of our hero's life, when, by connecting himself with the Bank of England, he immortalized himself, by recording his^ name on the lists^ of notoriety, as one of the most artful, and for a time the most successful of impostors ; but the result was as might be expected, the loss of his life, ftfter practising a series of the most iniquitous devices that were ever brought to play upon mankind. In the year 1780, memorable for the riots in London, 264 CHARLES PRICE. he assumed the name of Brant, and engaged a plain, simple; honest fellow as a servant, whom he converted into the instrument of passing his forged notes, without detection. He advertised for this servant, and conduct ed himself in a manner truly curious towards him. Of the advertisement he heard nothing for about a week. One evening, however, just about dusk^ a coachman was heard inquiring for the man who had answered the ad vertisement, saying, there was a gentleman over the way in a coach who wanted to speak to him. On this, the young fellow was called and went to the coach, wheie he was desired to step in ; there he found an apparently old man affecting the foreigner, seemingly very much afl[licted with the gout, as he was completely wrapped up in flannel about the legs, and wore a camblet surtout, buttoned over his chin close up to-his mouth; a large black patch over his left eye, and almost every part of his face so hid, that the young fellow could scarcely discover a feature, except his nose, his right eye, and a part of that cheek. The better to carry on this decepj- tion. Price took care to place the young man on his left side, on which the patch was, so thai the old gen tleman could take a look askaunce at the young fellow with his right eye, and by that means discover only a portion of his face. In this disguise he appeared to be between sixty and seventy years of age, and when this man whom he engaged saw him afterwards not much under six feet high, his surprise and astonishment were so great, that he could scarcely believe his own senses; and in addition to the deceptive dress in which he has been described, he sometimes wore boots or shoes with heels very little less than three inches high, and ap peared so buttoned up and straitened, as to look quite lank. While we are thus remarking upon the expedi ents to which he resorted, the better to effect his dia bolical purposes, it may not be ill-timed, to thpse who did not know him, to give'a true description of his per- CHARLES PftlCtS. ^^ son : he was in reality about five feet six inches high, a compact neat made man, stjuare shouldered, inclined to corpulency, his legs were firiii and Well set, bdt by na ture his features gave him a look of mbte age than really belonged to him, which, at the time we are de scribing him, was, near upon fifty ; his nose Was aquilitie, and his eyes ^mJill and grey, his mouth stood very much inward, with very thin lips, his chin pointed and pro^ minent, with a pale complexion ; but What favoured \'n the greatest degree his disguise of .speech, was the lotes of his teetlu His walk was exceedingly upright, and his manner bctive; in a word-, he was something above what the world in gtnefnl would teim a dappir rtvadt man. The Jittnest simplicity of the ybung man whoitt he had thus dUped into his service was stich, that Pirice found no dlfficully whatever,, in ftegociating fcfanuugh his hands his forged bills, which were princi pally disposed of in the purchasing of lottery tickets and shares, at the same lime taking care never fully to disclose to poor Samuel his real name, person, or history • and it must be confessed hi& plati wasdeviseiJ atid exe cuted with the Utmost skill and ttbility. Siittiliel, 'who ooBtinued for some time theinttdcent and Unsuspecting iAfetrument of these lief&rious pr&ctice^ after pjissihg bill* to the anwutti of 1400/. Was detected and taken into custody. UpOti learning this. Price retired with hk booty into the shades of the deepest obsburity, leaving poor Sam, "Who was terrified out of his wits at a contempl-ation of th-e ctmsequencCs that might ensUe from being an accOtapliee in such complicated VillAWy, to suffer ne^r a twelve tnt;>nth's imprisonment. Prifce Vvith a purse y^e\\ lined, having sought refuge in some k>ne place of reliitltient, was heard nf disembarking at Port I'Orient, be re signed all claim to the vessel and her appurtenances to PAUL JONES. 279 his companions ; binding them, however, in a solemn oath, that they should, deal with him onjy in suchi articles as were proper for sale at Boulogne and the Isle of Man. Paul having spent the greatest part of the night in a joyous manner on boaijd the vessel, took leave ©f hisi friends; he slept that night on shore, and the next morning, after sending his comrades a present of twelve dozen of wine, and a liberal supply of fresh provisions, set out for Boulogne. On hisi arrival he was heartily welcjomed by the widow, with whom he had held a cor respondence by letter during the several months of hia absence. In about four days they were married ; and having assumed the character of landlord, he gave the customers bf the house an elegant entertainment upon the occasion. During several weeks his behaviour was so affable and condescending, and the articles in which he dealt so good of their respective kinds, and so mcderate in price, that the custom of the house surprisingly increased. But nature had not formed him to keep within the boundsi of moderation. The idea of being possessed of property sufficient to render him independent of business, and the prospect of greater niches, elated him to that de gree, that he was no longer able to act under the mask of humiility tbat had for some time disguised^ the natural' turbulence of his temper. He often abruptly interfered in the conversation in which the frequenters of the house was engaged'; ob truded, his. own dogmatical observations, and at length' became so brutal in his conduct, that his customers soiighti other places of entertainment, where they could bes treated with civility and' respeet. The decay of his business ioffamed him to a pitch of the utmost extrava» gance ; and in all probability, his wife would' have &llen asaciifice to the im>petiiios9ty of his temper, had- not the amiable tenderness &f h'er dispositidii been 280 PAUL JONES. capable of giving some degree of moderation to his rest less, violent, and impatient spirit. , About this period he received information that the Earl of Derby was about to sell the Isle of Man, to be annexed to the crown of Great Britain ; and judging it a fine opportunity to traffic in that island on an eli gible footing, before the proposed regulation could take place, he repaired thither, leaving his wife to conduct the business of the public bouse. A few hours after he had embarked, the vessel was accosted by the gang of smugglers with whom he had parted at Port I'Orient; but, upon his appearing on deck^ and waving his hand, they immediately altered their course. As soon as he arrived, be made the first entry of licensed goods transported from England into the Isle of Man, and his name stands first in the Cus tom-bouse books at Douglas. He then returned back to Boulogne, and for some time carried on an extensive trade with different parties of smugglers. Upon the decease of his wife, he again went to the Isle of Man, and transacted some business in the legal way, the better to elude the suspicion of his being engaged in contraband dealings. When any capital enterprise was resolved on, he fre quently took the command of a smuggling vessel; and on these occasions it was seldom that he did not prove successful. Paul was not yet an absolute pirate, but a desperate smuggler; and his crew consisted of some of the boldest and hardiest fellows he could pick up, or who sought refuge from their crimes under his colours. Blacks, Swedes, Americans, Irish, Whitehaven and Li verpool men, were particularly welcome to him ; and in the north of England he was called the English Corsair. Paul having amassed upwards of two thousand pounds by the most iniquitous practices, considered that his situation was very precarious, as his avaricious turn of 39 PAUL JONES. 281 mind had led him to take great advantages of several of the smugglers with whom he dealt, some of whom he iipprehended might, al length, be provoked to lodge in formation against him on account of the illegal traffic he had so long pursued. He therefore determined to sell off what effects he had in the, Isle of Man, and re pair to London : but before he put his scheme in exe cution, he borrowed several sums of money, and ob tained goods from' different people to a large amount, after which he secretly decamped. Fearing that if he came immediately to England, his place of residence would be discovered and measures pursued to punish him for his fraudulent practices, he went to Dunkirk in France, and there opened a coffee house for the entertainment of English travellers. Here he renewed his practice of dealing in contraband goods; but in a few months he, in several instances, experienced a reverse of fortune. Several capital seizures being made of goods that he had sent lo England, he was driven nearly to a state of distraction, and vowed destruction to the person with whom he had intrusted so considerable a part of his property ; as through his want of precaution the goods had fallen into the hands of the king's officers. Paul now shut up his house at Dunkirk, and prepared to embark for England, having previously remitted a small sum to each of the persons he had defrauded in the Isle of Man; and as they accepted of payment in part, they destroyed every legal idea of felony, and con stituted their respective claims into mere matters of debt; he was therefore no longer under apprehension of prosecutions under the criminal laws. On his arrival in England, he went to Rochester, in Kent, in order to solicit payment for some smuggled goods which a tradesman of that town had bought of him about nine months before. Having succeeded in that 'business, he came lo London, and hired a lodging VOL. 11. 2 N 282 PAUL JONip:S. in Mercer's street. Long-acre, where he had not resided m^ny weeks before he debauched his landlady's daughter, who removed with him to Tottenham-court-road : but in about three months he deserted her, and she became a common prostitute. He soon after fell in with the noted Miss Roach, of meretricious memory. He attended her to several places; and at last became greatly enamoured ; but after many protestations of love and honour, he had the pre valence to seduce her, and then deserted her. Paul now engaged in a criminal intercourse with the mistress of a notorious brothel in the neighbourhood of Coventrgarden, who assumed his name, and passed under the character of his wife. This woman one day being seized with a fit of apoplexy, expired ; she died while he was examining some accounts in a small par lour adjoining to ber bed-room. He no sooner dis covered her situation, than he searched her pockets, and taking her keys, secreted all her ready money, and some other valuable effects, amounting in the whole to about two hundred pounds, and absconded with his booty. About this time he made a conspicuous appearance in the city of London, where he lodged at Jaques and Thornthwaite's, in Paternosterrrow. These gentlemen were drapers and tailors, and equipped him in such a manner, that he made a respectable appearance at the Royal as well as the Coal Exchange, and was frequently seen at Billingsgate and Wapping. He then -conceived a violent attachment to gambling : but being by po means an expert artist in this science, he, in about s^x months, fpund that his who|p stock of wealth amounted to no more than 107/. Still he continued to frequent billiard tables, and other places of gaming ; but his unfair practices involved him in frequent contentions and disputes. Finding his money nearly exhausted, he engag,ed again with a party of smugglers; with these robbers he PAUL JQVilii. 2!88 obtained but little advantage. He then found means to procure the command of a small vessel ; and after some depredations committed on the trading ships of these kingdoms, he went to the coast of Spain, and made capture of a rich vessel bound to the port of Ferrol. Paul intended to tarry this prize to Genoa, but two days after her capture she struck on a rock, and sunk with all her cargo; four of the men were drowned, but the rest were takert up by a Danish vessel. Soori after this exploit he returned to his old practice of aftnoying the coasting trade of oUr northern parts, and in a short time engaged the John and Mary, near Leith, which, after an obstinate resistance, de drove right upon the Bell rock in the harbour, where the ship sunk, and he lost his prize once more. He picked up all the hands but four, who were wounded, and unable to iiwm. In retiring frocbi this Action, he fell in with his old master, Csiptain Johnstone of Whitehaven, in his own ship, the Anne. He gave a salute as hepasSed; for he fired into his ship, and kept up the fight with his Stern chace till he got into Whitehaven; but the Lynx, and another king's sloop, heavifig in sigtit, he retired, without doing any farther mischief. He now only kept hovering near the Humber, where he picked up but little ; for the coasters cautiously kept in shore, and he was forced to sheer oflf' without accomplishing his purpose. Upon his return lo WhiteKaven, which he had soon the s(ndacity to do, he stole a young wothan, one Mary Young, a maid-servant, as she was standing on the Quay. At the same time he had a fisherman, that kept a liijuor-shop in the town, brought on board hiS vessel by force. How he disposed of the girl is quite un- ktio'Wn ; but the man returned about seven years after wards, and found his wife married to another man, and several children born in his absence. This was upon the event of the first open rupture between England and 284 PAUL JONES. America. He found the notoriety of his character to be so great a bar to his getting into any reputable trade, that, after refitting and victualling in France, he made ' the best of his way to America, This was in 1 774, when il became evident that hostilities. would soon ensue. As soon as he arrived, he wrote to Silas Deane, and others, afterwards leaders of congress, and offering very valu able communications and intelligence, he obtained from time to lime several remittances, and crossed the At lantic to Europe twice, to pick up further particulars of the situation of our coasts. Upon this account he is generally said to have changed his name, and assumed that of Captain Paul Jones. Government not being ap prized of the sort of spy that had arrived in the country, he was at liberty to go about the capital, and dwelt for a short time in Wapping, daily buying maps, charts, soundings, and every thing relating to the navigation of the home seas, abundance of which he found upon Tower-fhill, as well as upon the disposition of our naval force. At his return, he was examined by several per sons of science respecting the coasts of England, and parts adjacent. His information was considered of so much importance, that great distinction was paid to him by the leaders of the American opposition, and he was soon appointed to the command of one of the pri vateers fitted out against this country. His success greatly exalted him in the opinion of the great men there, who were so entirely satisfied with his conduct, that they imposed iio commands on him, but left him to act according to his own discretion ; and in this their policy was very conspicuous, for he proved a far greater annoy ance to our trade in those parts, than any other com mander in the American service ; his repeated successes, about the early part of 1775, being so highly thought of by the principal leading men of America, that he was soon employed to fit out the-little squadron which the congress had placed under Commodore Hopkins, who PAUL JONES. 285 had then the command of all the armed vessels belong ing to America;, and accordingly it is a fact, that he then hoisted with his own hands the first American flag on board the Alfred, which was then the first display of the thirteen stripes. The vexatious condnet at tbat time exercised by Lord Dunmore in Virginia, determined tlie congress to detach the squadron against him; but Mr. Hopkins, the com mander, who was secretly in the interest of Great Bri tain displayed neither zeal nor talents for such an enter prise, and on this occasion lost so much time, that the squadron was froze up in the Delaware river, ¦The frost continued for more than two months; nnd after that delay the squadron was disengaged, vvhen it set sail for New Providence, the principal of the Ba hama islands, where they found a large quantity of military stores and artillery, of which the Americans then stood greatly in need; with particularly large quantities of slops and shoes, sufficient to supply 10,000 men. Here he hud the good fortune to recom mend himself to the commodore, by his diligence and tactical knowledge. This officer was entirely indebted to Paul Jones for the plan he adopted when his squadron arrived in sight of New Providence, where he mpored the ships in a proper manner to execute the purposes of the expedition. On their return from this service, they took two armed vessels, one of which was loaded with bombs; and fell in, near Rhode island, with the Glasgow, an English man of war of twenty-four guns ; but this ship made her escape. After this, the squadron entered the port of New London, in Connecticut; when Commodore Hopkins, on receiving intelligence that the English frigates had been driven from Newport, and were out at sea, took ad vantage of the darkness of the night to repair to Rhode island. At this place a council of war having dismissed i§B PAUL JOTSBS. the captain of the Providence, one of the ships of the sqUadrota, the commodore gave Paul Jones orders, in writing, to take the command of her, and to escort some troops that were proceeding from Rhode island to New York, and who were destined for General Washington's camp. After this he received instructions to escort a convoy of artillery and ammunition from Rhode-island, fo New York, for the defence of which it was destined. On this occasion he had two different engagements with the Cerberus frigate ; the first for the protection of the vessels under his command ; and the second for the preservation of a vessel from St. Domingo, laden with naval stores for the congress. In the course of this ser vice, between Boston and New York, he had also many actions with ships of war under the command of Lord Howe ; but on these, as on former occasions, he was en abled to preserve his convoy ; and at length he arrived safe in the Delaware, August I, 1776. On the eighth of the same month, the President of the congress presented Paul Jones in person with the com mission of Captain in the Marine of the United States; this was the first granted by congress after the declara tion of independence, which took place on the 4th of July of that same yeiit 1776. The prudence of congress was visible in the choice they had made, and Captain Paul Jones yet looked up with ambition Upon future elevation in the American marin'e ; in short, he seemed mad^ for tlie time and riieastfres he pursued. iThe o'/ders of congress had been given, and the ne cessary preparations begun for the construction of thir teen fi'i'gat^s ; but, as none of them were yet ready, he proeeedfed to sea alone, on boittrd the Providence, \vhich \Vas a vessel of but sUiall force, as she carried no more than seventy men, and twelve small/ cannon. WheVi in the neighbourhood of Bermudas, they fell in with the Solebsty, and her c6hvoy, from Charlestown ; PAUf- ^ON«!S. §87 she was a thirty-two. gun frigate, and formed part ofthe squadron under Admiral Parker. Captain Jones was of course desirous of avoiding an engagement with such snperior force; but as his officers and men insisted that it was the Jamaica fleet, and as it was necessary to com mand by means of persuasion at this eppch of the war, the result was a serious engagement during six hours, which, towards the close, was carried on within pistol shot. A desperate manoeuvre was the sole resource left fiipi ; he attempted this, it succeeded, and he was for tunate enough to disengage himself. A short time after this, he took ?ey.eraj prizes, and jailed towards the coast of Nova Scotia, on purpose tode- Sitroy the whale and cod fisheries in that neighbourhood. When near Sable island, they fell in with the Milford fj-igate, carrying ihirty-two guns, with which it jvas im possible to avoid an engagement. Acannonade accord ingly to.ok place, from ten o'clock in the .morning until suHrset ; but the engagement was neither so close nor so hot as that with the Spleb^y, and Paul at length escaped by passing tfirough the flats, and entered a little harbour nextday, where he destroyed the .fishery and vesjsels. After this he set sail for lie Madame, where he made twp descents, at the same, time destroying the fisheries, and jbyrning all the vessels he could not carry away with l^im. Having accopiplished .this service, he returned to Rhpde island, after an absence of six weejcs and Ave days front the Delaware ; during which interval he had t^ken sixteen prizes, without including those destroyed. The Americgins were at this period so unprovided with able commanders at sea, that every adventurer that boldly stepped forward was sure of employ. At this period Paul Jones's vigilance was indefatigable, he seemed now to live quite another life from what he had done bpfore, ,and his success enabled hitn to procure consideration and attention. He now proposed to the Comtnander in Chief, Hopkins, who had remjiiued a fyk 288 PAUL JONES. long while- inactive in harbour, the following scheme, and yhich consisted in the destrnction of the enemy's fisheries at lie Royale; and of restoring to liberty more than 300 American prisoners detained there in the coal mines. Three vessels were destined for this service, the Alfred, the Hampden, and the Providence; but ihe Hampden, having received considerable damage in con- srsquence of running on a rock, could not accompany him. He, however, embarked on board the Alfred, and taking the Providence by way of consort, he set sail, on the 2d of November, 1776. The first he made .prize of a vessel from Liverpool, and soon after the Mellish, a large armed vessel, having two British naval officers on board, and a captain belonging to the land service, with a company of soldiers. This ship was carrying ten thousand complete suits of uniform to Canada, for the army posted there under the orders of Generals Carleton and Burgoyne. Nothing could be more seasonable or welcome to the American service than this capture; and they were so sensible of it that the congress ordered their secretary to transmit the public thanks of the country to him, his officers, and the men serving under his command. The Providence having now left the Alfred during the night, without the least pretext whatever, he remained alone, and that too during the stormy season, on the enemy's coast; but, notwithstanding this, and that he was also greatly embarrassed with many prisoners, here- solved not to renounce his project. He accordingly ef fected a descent, destroyed a transport of great value, and also burned the magazines and buildings destined for the whale and cod fishery. In addition to this, he took three transports and a vessel laden with ling and furs, near lie Royale; these prizes were escorted by the Flora frigate, which happen ed lo be at a small distance, but which was concealed from him by a fog. Having taken a privateer from 39 PAUL JONES. 289 Liverpool, mounting sixteen guns, in the course of next day, he instantly returned with his prizes towards the United States; but, when in the latitude of Boston, fell in with the Milford frigate, which he unwillingly en gaged. Towards night, however, he placed the Alfred between the enemy and his prizes, and having given the necessary instructions to the latter, to make for the nearest port, he changed his course, set up lights, and by this stratagem saved the vessels he had captured, as the frigate continued in chase of him. Next day- he was fortunate enough to escape, after a very serious action, which was not termiuated until dark, and even then in consequence of a hard gale of wind. Having returned to Boston, December 1, 1776,, the intelligence of the uniforms he had taken on board the Mellish reanimated the- courage of the army under General Washington, which at that period happened to be almost destitute of clothiag. Besides, it may be said, that this unexpected succour contributed not a little to the success of the affair at Trentown against the Hes sians, which took place immediately after his arrival. He now paid out of his own purse the wages due to the crews ofthe Alfred and the Providence, and lent the rest of his money to the congress. That assembly transmitted him orders from Philadelphia, on the 5th of February, to undertake a secret expedition of great im portance, the design of which was, to lay the island of St.' Christopher, and the north side of Jamaica, under conlributioQ ; after which they were to attack Pensaeola. This pri^ect was first conceived by himself, and then communicated to Mr. Morris, afterwards minister of finance ; bnt such was the jealousy of Hopkins, the com mander in chief, that it was never carried into execu tion. Hopkins was suspended, for this, and dismissed from the service. The season being too far advanced for the exftcutioa of VOL. 11. 2 o 290 PAUL JONES. the scheme in the West Indies, Paul Jones received orders to take the command of the Amphytrite, a French vessel, destined to sail from Portsmouth, in New Hampshire, to France, and make for Halifax harbour, where its entrance, called Partridge island, afforded shelter to two British frigates, which he was directed to cut out, or destroy, as he might find most convenient to his strength. It was now the depth of winter, and when he arrived off the coast, the British vessels, he found, were with drawn. He determined not to lay long here ; but, before he departed, he sent his cutter and long-boat into the harbour, to discover, if possible, the situation of any considerable British settlement on the coast. Returned from this expedition he was ordered to France, whence they were to pass into Holland, and take possession of the Indienne, a large frigate, con structing there for the congress. Some difficulties, however, ensued, and he was ordered to prepare the Ranger, a vessel mounting eighteen guns. After his first sailing from America on this expedition, a scheme wes formed by a number of the seamen to take the ship from him, and pilot her to England, when an Irishman on board discovered the plot. The men were all called over, and charged with it, but denied any con cern in, or knowledge of it. The informer was then put in irons; bul Jones relied so much on the man's asser tion, that he returned, and had all the people ordered on shore, and, on a more strict examination, upwards of ninety were dismissed for refusing to swear allegiance to the congress. When General Burgoyne and his army were obliged to surrender at Saratoga, it was Paul Jones who was the first to carry this interesting intelligence to Nantz, whither he arrived on the 2nd of December, 1777. In the course of his voyage he took two prizes, forming PAUL JONES. ' 391 part of a convoy from the Mediterranean, under the protection of the Invincible, a seventy-four gun ship, under the guns of which one of them was taken. In the month of January, 1778, he repaired to Paris, to make the necessary arrangements with the American ministers relative to the equipment of the Indienne; but, as the recent intelligence relative to the capture of Burgoyne had determined the court of prance to recog nise the independence of America by means of a treaty of alliance, and as the English ambassador at the Hague, in consequence of obtaining possession of the papers of an American agent, found that the Indienne was the property of congress, he acquiesced in the opinion of the American ministers ; and it was deter mined lo cede the property to his Most Christian Majesty, this being the most likely method of preserv ing the ship. He then returned on board the Ranger, and, as he had received information from America, relative lo the force and stations of the English fleet in that quarter, he im mediately transmitted a letter to Mr. Deane, one of the American ministers at Paris, communicating the plan of an expedition with a squadron of ten sail of the line, a few frigates, and a small body of land forces, with a view of completely destroying the enemy's naval power acting against the United States. This scheme was not adopted until it was too late, and then of course became impracticable. In the mean time he took several American vessels under his convoy, from Nantz to the Bay of Quiberon, where M. la Motte Piquet was lying at anchor with six sail of the line, a few frigates, and several merchantmen, which he was to take under his protection to the west ward of Cape Finisterre. M. de la Fayette was on board this fleet, which was provided with clothing, ammu nition, and military stores for America, He reached the bay, February 13, 1778, and sent to 392 PAUL JONES. demand of the admiral, if he would return his salute; and this compliment was immediately agreed to, although neither the admiral nor Jones knew at that period, that a treaty of alliance had been signed between France and America seven days before. This was the first salute received by the American flag from any power, and occasioned considerable dispute in the English par liament. He now set sail from the bay of Quiberon to Brest, but did not enter the road ; on the contrary, he anchored at Cammeret, where he was detained by contrary winds until the French ambassador at the Court of St. James's had announced the treaty lately concluded between his Most Christian Majesty and the United States. On this, he immediately sailed into Brest-water, and saluted the Count lyOrvilliers, who returned the salute, and received him with all the honours due to an admiral, on board his flag ship. La Bretagne. Jones was now acting a very conspicuous part; on the theatre of the world, and in the midst of the greatest revolution that ever agitated the political justice of two great countries. Admiral D'Orvilliers, to whom he eommunicated a project of making a descent on some part of England, with a view of destroying the shipping; and it was also his intention to make some person of dis tinction prisoner to detain as a hostage, in order to effect an exchange with the American prisoners in England, offered him on this occasion a captain's commission in the French marine, that, in case he met with any disaster, he might claim the protection of his Most Christian Majesty; but, however advantageous this was, he determined to decline the acceptance, because, in the first place, be was not authorized by congress to change his flag; and, in the second, such a conduct might have rendered his attachment to America suspected. He accordingly sailed from Brest, and advanced towards Ireland, neglecting the capture of a number of PAUL JONES. 293 vessels within his reach, as he did not wi«b to diminish the strength of his crew. Near to the entrance into Carnckfergus, he, however, seized on a fishing-boat, manned with six persons, who proved to be pilots. The Drake, a twenty gun ship, happened to be then in the road, and even within sight, and he imagined it possible to obtain possession of her by surprise during the night. With this view, he immediately gave orders for making the necessary preparations; but the mate, who had drank too much brandy,, did not let go the anchor .according to orders, which prevented the Ranger from rmning foul of the Drake, according to his intentions. As he had reason to believe that his appearance had not hilherio given any alarm, he deemed it prudent to cut his cable, and return into St. George's Channel. Here he remained buffetted about by the winds during three days, until the weather having become more favourable, he determined a second time to attempt a descent; this praject, however, greatly alarmed his lieutenants; they were poor, they said, and their object was gain, not honour; they accordingly excited disobedience among the ship's company, by persuading them that they bad a right to determine whether the measures adopted by the commodore were welt concerted or not. In this place it must be recollected, that, in conse quence of his behaviour towards the peace of the Earl of Selkirk's family, he had received a severe reproof for bis insolence, and, as has been before related in this narrative, was finally discharged. His return to this place was probably for the purpose of retaliation, which shows his revengeful spirit. He happened to be at this period within sight of Whitehaven, in Cumberland, at the mouth of the Solway Frith. This is a considerable harbour, in which there then were about 400 sail, some of them vessels of 250 tons burden ; and he had determined to take ad vantage of the ebb-tide, when the shipping was dry, t© 294 PAUL JONES. destroy them. To effect this, it was necessary to land about midnight, with a party of resolute men, and seize on the fort and battery which defended the port. His two lieutenants, being averse to the enterprise, and yet being unwilling to discover. their true motives, feigned illness. On' this he determined to take the command in person, and with much difficulty prevailed on thirty volunteers to follow him. With this handful of men, and two small boats, he quitted the Ranger, at eleven o'clock at night, and rowed towards the harbour ; but, it being farther off than they imagined, and the tide against them, day broke before they had effected a landing. He now sent the smallest of the boats towards the northern side of the harbour to set fire to the vessels, while himself advanced with the other to the south, to take possession of the fort and battery, the first of which was taken by assault, he himself being the first to enter it through one of the embrasures. They then nailed up the thirty-six cannon mounted on the batteries, and ad vanced towards the south, with a view of burning all the vessels, when, to his infinite astonishment, he beheld the other boat returning without having done any thing. On this, he thought it best to unite his forces, with a view of effecting, at least, some part of his enterprise. In short, they set fire to some of the vessels, and they soon burned with great fierceness, and began to com municate ; but, as it was now eight o'clock in the morn ing, and the inhabitants began to approach near the invaders in crowds, he could no longer defer his retreat, which was made in good order. On his return on board the Ranger, the wind being favourable, he set sail for the coast of Scotland. It was now his intention to take the Earl of Selkirk prisoner, and detain his lordship as a hostage, in conformity to the project already men tioned. It was with this view, that about noon of the same day, he landed on that nobleman's estate, with two PAUL JONES, 29.5 officers and a few men. In the course of their progress, he fell in with some of the inhabitants, who, taking him for an Englishman, observed, that Lord Selkirk was then in London, but that her ladyship and several ladies were at the castle. On this, he determined to return ; but this conduct was not conformable to the wishes of his people, who were disposed to pillage, burn, and destroy every thing they could. Although he was not disposed in this instance to such horrid proceedings, it was yet necessary to recur to such means as should satisfy their cupidity, and, at the same time, provide for Lady Selkirk's safety. It im mediately appeared to him to be the most proper mode to give orders to the two officers to repair to the castle with the men, who were to remain on the outside under arras, whife they themselves entered alone. They were tlfen instructed to enter, and demand the family plate, in a polite manner, accepting whatever was offered to them, and then .to return, without making any farther inquiries, or attempting to search for more. In this he was punctually obeyed, and the plate was delivered to them. Next day, April 24, 1778, he prepared to return to Carrickfergus, to attack the Drake in open day; but the lieutenants were averse to the project; and the crew of the Ranger became so mutinous, that he ran no small risk of being either killed or thrown into the sea; and but two days before, he was on the point of being abandoned, and left ashore at Whitehaven. In the mean time, the captain of the Drake sloop of war, having heen informed of their descent at White haven, prepared to attack him; and, while every thing was getting ready, he dispatched an officer on board his boat, with a spy-glass, in order to reconnoitre the Ranger. On this, Jones immediately masked his guns> kept his men out of sight, and disguised the vessel ih such a manner as to resemble a merchantman; in con- 296 PAUL JONES. sequence of this the crew, of the boat were deceived and taken. This trifling success produced the effects of en chantment on his sailors, who were no longer averse from giving her battle. The Drake, having fired a gun to recal her boat, hoisted her. anchor, and came out, attended by a num ber of yachts and pleasure-boats, with ladies and gen tlemen on board : but, when the engagement became serious, they thought proper to withdraw to a respectful distance. No sooner did the enemy make his appearance, than he lay to, determined not to engage until she came within pistol-shot. The engagement was accordingly sustained with great vivacity on both sides during an hour and five minutes, when, the English captain and lieutenant being both mortally wounded, the English flag was lowered, and Paul took possession of her. The Drake was greatly damaged in her masts and tack ling, and lost forty-two men either killed or wounded during the action. He had before also taken several other prizes: but, as his compliment of men had only amoU'Qted to 123, he retained no more than two of them, which arrived in safety at Brest, where he himself an chored with the Ranger and Drake on the 7th of May, after an absence of twenty-eight days, during which he had taken upwards of 200 prisoners. This expedition was of great detriment to Great Britain, as she was not only qbliged to fortify her ports, but also to permit the arming of the Irish volunteers, as Lord Mountmorris demonstrated in a speech in parliament that year. Al the time he had been obliged to permit his people to take Lady Selkirk's plate, he determined to redeem it out of his own funds the moment it should he sold, and restore it to the faimily. Accordingly, on his arrival at Brest, be instantly dispatched a most pathetic letter to her ladyship, in which he detailed the motives of his expedition, artd the cruel necessity he was under, in cotosequence of the conduct of the English in America, 39 PAUL JONES. 297 to inflict the punishment of retaliation. This was sent open to the postmaster-general, that it might be shown to the government of England and its ministers; and the Court of St. James's was at length induced to re nounce the sanguinary acts of its parliament, and ex change those very Americans whom they called traitors, pirates, and felons, against the prisoners of war, whom Jones had taken and carried to France. During the course of the war, he found it impossible to restore the plate belonging to the Selkirk family : he, however, purchased it at a great price, and at length found means to send it by land from L'Orient to Calais, by means of M. de Calonne, who transmitted him a very flattering letter on the occasion : in short, he at length received a very obliging letter from the Earl of Selkirk, acknowledging the receipt of the plate. He had no sooner firrived at Brest, than Admiral the Count D'Orvilliers transmitted an account of his expe dition to the minister of the marine, in consequence of which it was intimated to Dr. Franklin, that his Majesty was desirous he should repair to Versailles, as he was re solved to employ him on a secret expedition, for which purpose he would give him the Indienne, with some other frigates, with troops, Stc* for the purpose of ef fecting a descent. He was instantly informed of this by the ambassador, who observed to him at the same time, that this must be considered as a profound secret, it being of so important a nature, that it had been deemed proper lo withhold a communication of it even to his colleagues. ,' Paul Jones immediately repaired to Paris, where M. de Sartine received him with the most distinguished politeness, making him, at the same time, the most flattering promise's; and the Prince de Nassau was sent into Holland to give instructions for the necessary arrangements for arming and equipping the frigate intended for him.' But, in a short time after this, VOL. II. 2 P 298 PAUL JONES. hostilities took place between France and England, in consequence of the action with La Belle Poule. This not a little embarrassed the minister of the marine, and the difficulty was not diminished by the intellig(Ence brought by the prince, who asserted, that the Dutch would not permit the Indienne to be equipped. As M.de Sartine had written to the three American ministers, and obtained their consent for the commodore remaining in Europe, he offered to serve on board the grand fleet: he also Communicated several plans for crippling the power of England; such as that of de stroying her trade and settlements on the coast of Africa, and in Hudson's Bay; of annihilating their fisheries in Newfoundland ; intercepting their East and West India, and, above all, the Baltic fleet, which was escorted by a single frigate, as he had learned by certain information from England. The minister adopted the last of these plans, and he accordingly repaired to Brest, to take, the command of one of the frigates at that port, with two others, and a cutter, &c. then at St. Maloe's; but he found on his arrival, that the ad miral had appointed a French officer to the vessel in- question ; and as there was not a single moment to be lost, the senior officer of the frigates at St. Maloe's was dispatched against the Baltic fleet, which he missed, by not steering sufficiently near to the coast of England to intercept it. Being greatly disgusted with a series of delays, that ensued during nine moinths, he at length repaired to Versailles, with an intention of returning lo America, if be should not immediately obtain a command. . But he recollected the saying of Old Richard, " if you wish that, your affairs should be prosperous, superintend them in person." This induced him to promise, that if the minister,, should at length comply with his request, he should call his own ship " Old Richiard." Accordingly, on, obtaining Le Duras'.he called her the PAUL JONES. 399 Bon Homme Richard. She was a very small and very old and infirm vessel, that had made four voyages to the East Indies. While the necessary arrangements were making at court, a naval commissary purchased at Nantz a mer chantman, called La Pallas, and a brig, named La Vengeance, but neither of thein was calculated for war: lo these was added Le Cerf, a very fine cutter, with the Alliance, a new frigate, belonging to the United States; but as the guns had not as yet arrived from Angouleme, the Good Man Richard was armed from an old battery of twelve pounders; and, as the expedition was intend ed against the enemy's ports, Liverpool, Sic, Paul mounted six old eighteen pounders in the gun-room, so that she «night, in some measure^ be called a forty gun ship. As it was found impossible to procure a sufficient number of American sailors, he determined to supply the deficiency by enrolling English ones, who happened to be prisoners of war in France; and, in addition to these, a certain number of peasants was levied, so that they might be said to have had as had a crew as was ever shipped on board any vessel. Aocording to the first arrangement his little squadron was to have beeii joined by two fire-ships, and 500 men of Walsh's Irish regiment; but the minister did not keep his word, for he neither procured for him the fire- ships, nor the soldiers, so that it became impossible for him to fulfil the plan he had concerted. He now received orders to escort a fleet of transports and merchantmen frpm L'Orient, destined for different ports, between that and Bpurdeaux; and after that, he was IP chase away the English cruisers frcm the Bay pf Biscay, and then to return for further orders. By this time he had received intimation from England, that eight East Indiamen were soon expected on the coast of Ireland, near Limerick. This was an object of great .attention : and as there were two privateers at port 300 PAUL JONES. L'Orient ready for sea, Le Monsieur of forty guns and Le Granville of fourteen, the captains of which offered to place themselves under his orders, he accepted the proposition. The squadron set sail from the road of Groays, on the Mth of August, 1779; but they had no sooner proceeded to the north of the mouth of the channel, than Le Mon sieur and Le Granville abandoned him during the night, and Le Cerf soon after imitated their conduct. He was then extremely anxious to cruise for a fortnight in the latitude of Limerick; but the captain of the Alliance, after pbjecting to this, also left him during the night; and as he had now with him only the Pallas and the Vengeance, be was obliged to renounce his original in tention. He then took two prizes on the coast of Ire land ; and, within sight of Scotland, came up with and seized two privateers, of twenty-two guns each, which, with a brigantine, he sent to Bergen in Norway, accord ing to the orders he had received from Dr. Franklin. These prizes, however, were restored to the English by the" King of Denmark. Towards the latter end of August, Jones was several days hovering on the coast of Ireland, where he made several small prizes. He was then in daily expectation of a reinforcement from Brest, on the arrival of which, he intended to enter the river Shannon, and seize the Indiamen laying there ; but the appearance of the fleet under Sir John Lockhart Ross prevented the intended junction. From hence he got into Bantry Bay, where he lay a short lime, hoping to intercept the victuallers, from Cork to North America; but in this he did not succeed. When he entered the north sea, he captured several vessels; and learned by his prisoners, as well as by the newspapers, that the capital of Scotland and the port of Leith were l^ft totally defenceless. He also understood at the same time, that his information relative lo the PAUL JONES. 301 eight Indiamen was correct ; they having entered Lime rick three days after he had been obliged to leave the neighbourhood of that port. As there were only a twenty gun ship and two cutters in Leith roads, Jones cleemed it practicable to lay these two places under contribution. He had indeed no other force lo execute this project, than the Richard, the Pallas, and the Vengeance; but he well knew, that, in order to perforin a brilliant action, it is not always ne cessary to possess great means. He therefore held out the prospect of great booty to the captains under his command; and, as to himself, he was satisfied with the idea of making a diversion in favour of the Count D'Orvilliers, who was then in the channel. He now distributed red clothes to his men, and put some of them on board the prizes, so as to give them the appearance of transports full of troops. All the ne cessary arrangements were also taken to carry the enter prise into execution ; but, about k quarter of an hour before the descent was to have been made, a sudden tempest arose, and drove them out of the Forth, or Edinburgh Frith, and so violent was the storm, that one of his prizes was lost. This did not, however, deter hitn, notwithstanding the smaUness of his forces, from form ing different enterprises of a similar nature : but he could not induce the captains of the Pallas and Ven geance to second his views. He was therefore obliged to content himself with spreading alarm on the coast, and destroying the shipping, which he did as far as Hull. On the morning of the 23d of September, while he was cruising in the latitude of Flamborough-head, which he had appointed as a place of rendezvous for his little squadron, and where he hoped to be rejoined by the Alliance and Le Cerf, and also to fall in with the Baltic fleet, this convoy accordingly appeared, at a lime when he had been abandoned by several of his 302 PAUL JONES. consorts; had lost two boats with their crews, who had run away on the coast of Ireland ; and when a third, with eighteen men on board, was in chase of a mer chantman to windward, leaving him with only a scanty crew, and a single lieutenant, with some inferior officers on board. It was about two o'clock in the afternoon that the Baltic fleet appeared in view; he then happened to have the wind of it, and was about two leagues distant from the coast of England. He learned from his prisoners, that the convoy was escorted by the Serapis, a new vessel, that could mount fifty-six guns, but then carried only forty-four, on two decks, the lower battery carry- ino- eiehteen-pounders ; and the Countess of Scarbo- rough, a new twenty-two gun ship. It being supposed that an enemy was on the coast, the red flag was hoisted on Scarborough castle, on Wednes day the 2Sd of September ; and the Cumberland militia, which was quartered there, immediately beat to arms, and from the houses on shore, a sea-fight was plainly discernible on the following day ; the action was so severe that the firing could not be counted. On lhe Friday, six sail was discovered about two leagues from shore, in a most shattered condition. They were no sooner descried than the armed vessels stood out to sea, while the trade took refuge under the cannon of Scar borough castle. As there was but little wind, he could not come up with the enemy before night. The moon did not rise until eight, and at the close of day the Serapis and Countess of Scarborough tacked and stood in for the fortress. Jones discovered this manoeuvre by means of his night-glass. On this he immediately altered his course six points, with a view of cutting off the enemy; which was no sooner perceived by the Pallas, than it was supposed his crew had mutinied, which induced her captain to haul his wind, and stand out to sea, while the PAUL JONES. d(V^ Alliance lay to, to windward, at a considerable distance; and, as the captain of this vessel had never paid any at tention whfatever to the signals of the Richard since her leaving France, he was obliged to run all risks and enter into action with the Richard only, to prevent the enemy's escape. He accordingly began the engagement at seven o'clock at night, within pistol-shot of the Serapis, and sustained the'brunt of it for nearly a whole hour at that distance, exposed, not only to her fire, but also to that of the Countess of Scarborough, which raked the Richard, by means of the broadsides she fired into her stern. In this extremity, having to contend with three tiijies his own strength, the Richard being in imminent damger of going to the bottom, and her guns being no longer in a condition to return the enemy's fire, he had recourse to a dangerous expedient, to grapple with the Serapis, in order, on the one hand, to render her superiority useless, and, on the other, to cover themselves from the fire of her consort. This manoeuvre succeeded most wottder- derfully, and he fastened the Serapis, with his own hands, to the Richard. On this, the captain of the Countess of Searborc^ugh, ceased tP fire upon him, well knowitng that he must at the same time damage the Serapisi . That vessel being to windward at the moment Jpne* had grappled, instantly dropped her anchor, hoping by this t© disengage herself from him; but this did not answer her expectations, and the engagement, from that moment, consisted of the discharge of great guns, swi vels, musquetry, and grenades. The English at first- lestified a desire to board the Richard, but they no sooner saw the danger than they desisted. The English, however,- possessed' the advantage of their two batteries, besides the guns on their forecastle and quarter-deck, while Paul's cannon were either burst or abandoned, ex- 304 PAUL JONES. cepting four pieces on the forecastle, which were also relinquished during some minutes. Mr. MeaSe, the officer who commanded these guns, had been dan gerously wounded on the head, and having, at that period, no greater object lo occupy his attention, Paul himself took his post, A few sailors came to his as sistance of their own accord, and served the two guns next to the enemy with surprising courage and address. .A short time after this, he received suflicient assistance lo be able to remove one ofthe forecastle guns from the opposite side; but ihey had not strength sufficient to remove the other, so that they could only bring three to bear upon the enemy during the remainder of the action. The moon, which has been already observed, rose at eight, beheld the two vessels surrounded by flame, in consequence of the explosion of the cannon. It so happened at this period, that the main-mast of the Se rapis, which was painted yellow, appeared extremely distinct, so as to form an excellent mark; on this, he pointed one of his guns at it, taking care to ram home the shot. In the mean time, the two other pieces were admirably servedi against the Serapis, and swept its fore castle, by means of an oblique fire. The tops also seconded them bravely, by means of musquetry and swivels, and also threw a multitude of grenades so as greatly to annoy the enemy. By these means they were driven from their quarters, notwithstanding their superiority in point of men and artillery. The captain of the Serapis, after consulting with his officers, re solved to strike; but an unlucky accident, which oc curred on board the Richard, prevented this : a bullet having destroyed one of the pumps, the carpenter was seized with a panic, and told the gunner, and another petty officer, that the Richard was sinking. Some one observed at the same time, that both the com modore and the lieutenant were killed ; in consequence 40 PAUL jon:es- 305 of which the gunner, considering himself as com manding officer, ran instantly to the quaiter-deck, in order to haul dp)vn the American colours, which he would have actually done, had not the flag-staff been carried away at the time the Richard grappled with the Serapis. The captain of the Serapis on hearing the gunner express his wishes to surrender, in consequence of his supposing that they were sinking, instantly exclaimed to Jones, "Do you ask for quarter? — Do you ask for quarter?" Paul was so occupied at this period, in serving the three pieces of cannpn on the forecastle, that he remained totally, ignorant of what had occurred on deck. He replied, however, "L do not dream of sur rendering, but I am determined to make you strike !" In this dilemma what did the lieutenant do, but proceeded' directly to tear the stripes from the stump they had been nailed to. The commodore caught him in this disgrace ful act, and shot him instantly with a boarding pistol. The Eqglish commander, however, conceived some faint hopes, in consequence of what had been said, that the Richard was actually sinking; but when he perceiv ed that her fire did not diminish, he immediately ordered his' men from the forecastle, where they were too much exposed, and stationed them below, where they kept up such a tremendous discharge against the Richard, that it at once indicated vengeance and despair. It has already been observed, that when Jones com menced the action, the Pallas was at a great distance to windward, while the Alliance lay to in the same po sition. When the captain of the former perceived that the engagement took place, he spoke to his consort ; but they lost a great deal of time, and it was not until now that they came within gun-shot of the Countess of Scar borough, and a kind of running fight took place be tween the latter and the Pallas. The Alliance foltowed them, and, on passing the commodore, fired a broad- voL. II. 29 306 PAUL JONES. side, which, as he was closely engaged with the enemy^ did more harm to the commodore than to them. The battle still continued with uncommon ardour be tween both, and the Serapis, whose rigging burned, and her mainmast was cut away, by degrees, by Jones's bullets; while the heavier metal of the English drove in one of the sides of the Richard, and met with little or no re sistance. In short, their helm was rendered useless; and the poop was only supported by an old and shattered piece of timber, which alone prevented it from giving way. At length, after a short engagement, the Countess of Scarborough surrendered to the Pallas. It was then tbat the captain of the latter asked the commander of the Alliance, " Whether he would take charge of the prize, or sail and give succour to the commodore?" On this, the Alliance began to stand backwards and for wards under her topsails, until, having got to the wind ward, she came down, and discharged a second broad side against the fore-part of the Serapis, and the hind- part of the Richard. On this the commodore, and several other persons, begged for God's sake that they would cease firing, and send a few men on board of them ; but he disobeyed, and fired another broadside as he passed along ; after which he kept at a most respect ful distance, and took great care not to expose himself during the remainder of the action, without receiving a single shot, or having a man wounded during the whole engagement. The idea that the Richard was sinking had taken such possession of the gunner and carpenter's minds, that they actually opened the scuttles, and made all the prisoners, to the number of a hundred, sally forth, in opposition to the commander's reiterated orders. This event might have proved fatal, had he not taken advantage of their affright to station tbem at the pumps, where they dis played surprising zeal, appearing actually to forget their captivity; for there was nothing to prevent their PAUL JONES. 307 going ou board -the Serapis; or it was in their power to put an end to the engagemeht in an instant, by either killing Jones, or throwing him into the sea. As the Richard's three quarter-deck guns continued to play, without interruption, on the Serapis, raked her hinder parts, and damaged her mast in such a manner, that it was only supported from falling by the yards of their own ship, while the tops poured in a continual discharge; the fire of the English began to deaden in such a manner as to bereave them of all hope of success. A circumstance, however, occurred, that contributed not a little to the victory of the Richard : this was the extraordinary intrepidity and presence of mind of a Scotch sailor, posted in the main-top: who, of bis own accord, seized a lighted match, and a basket of hand- grenades, with which he advanced along the main yard, until he had arrived exactly above the Serapis's deck. As the flames of their parapets and shrouds, added to the light of the moon, enabled him to distin guish objects, the moment he perceived two or three persons assembled together, he instantly discharged a hand-grenade among them : he had even address enough to drop several through their scuttles, and one of them set fire lo the cartridge of an eighleen-pounder belonging to the lower deck, the discharge of which scorched several of the crew. On this, the captain of the Serapis came upon the quarter-deck, lowered his flag, and asked for quarter, at the very moment his mainmast had fallen into the sea. He then came on board with his officers, and presented the commodore with his sword. While this was trans acting, eight or ten men belonging to the Richard seized on the Serapis's shallop, which had been at anchor during the engagement, and made off. It was more than eleven o'clock when the battle ended; it had consequently lasted more than four hours. The Richard had no more than 322 men, good, bad, and 308 PAUL JONES. indifferent, on board, at the commencement of the en- g.igement ; and sixty of these, posted in the gun-room wben the gun burst, having been of no further service during the action, could not be properly consideredas forming part of the crew opposed to the Serapis, which had received a supply of English sailors while in Den mark; and it appeared, indeed, by the muster-roll, that there were upwards of 400 men on board her when the first gun was fired. Her superiority was still more con siderable in respect lo guns, without mentioning her greater weight of metal, which surpassed Jones's beyond all comparison. Next morning the weather was hazy, and not a single sail was to be seen. They then examined the Richard, to see if it were posssible to carry her into any port. This proving wholly impracticable, all the boats were employed in carrying the wounded on boar-d the other vessels. This occupied much of their Cime ; and on the -succeeding day, notwithstanding all their pumps had been at work, the hold was entirely full of water, and the vessel soon after sunk. On this occasion, the com modore could only save the signal-flags, and he lost all hisjproperty, amounting to more than 25,000 livres. After this victory, the commodore instantly assumed tlie command of the Serapis, on which be erected jury- masts; but the sea was so tempestuous that it was ten days before they reached the Texel. No sooner was his arrival known, than forty-two ves sels, forming differeat squadrons toff frigates, were fitted out from the various ports of Great Britain against him, and two of these were stationed during three months at the mouths of the Texel and the Fly. At length, the wind becoming favourable, on the 27th of February, 1779, the Alliance set sail, after having lost all her anchors, one only excepted. He, however, had the good fortune to escape, although the Alliance passed the Straits of Dover within sight of the English PAUL JONES. 309 squadron in the Downs. After getting clear of the Channel, he soon reached the latitude of 'Cape Finisterre," and entered the port of "GorUnna, Jainuaay l6, 1780. On 'his return to France, he found that the French commissary bad mad^a private sale of his prizes to the king without consulting him. On this, he repaired to Versailles, along with I>r. Franklin, but was received with great coolness by the minister of the marine. On this account, he declined asking him to present him to his majesty. This honour was conferred on him, however, next day by the Prince de Beauveau, captain of the guards. The public received him at the opera, and all the public places where he appeared, with the most lively enthusiasm ; this, added to the very favourable reception he received from his majesty, afforded bim singular Satisfaction; and the minister of the marine from that moment paid him the most marked attention. The minister of the marine, a short time after this, lent him the Ariel, a king's ship, carrying twenty guns, with Wihioh he sailed, October 8th, 1780, for America. The wind was at first favourable ; but he was soon after in danger of foundering on the Penmarks, and escaped only by culling away his main and mizzen-masts. As soon as the storm abated, they erected jury-masts, and returned lo refit. In short, it was the 18th of December before he could proceed for Philadelphia. DuriUg the voyage, he fell in with an English twenty gun ship, called the Triumph, and, partly by stratagem, and partly by hard fighting, forced her to strike her flag ; bul, while they were about to take possession of her, the captain, taking advantage of her superior sailing, made off, and escaped. On his arrival in America, the con gress, on the representation of the Chevalier de la Luzerne, passed a law to enable him lo accept the mili tary order of France. The French minister, on ,this occasion, gave an entertainment, to which all the mem bers of congress, and the principal inhabitants of 310 THOMAS HUDSON. Philadelphia, were invited ; after which he was invested, in their presence, with the decorations ofthe order. ^ After this he repaired to St. Domingo, where the go vernor, M. de Bellecombe, showed him many marks of favour and esteem. From heuc^he went to Philadel phia, where the marks of the French esteem was only increased by the additional consideration of the Ame rican's gratitude. His bealth being impaired^ he re mained here till the latter end of 1783, when, by an act of congress, dated at Prince Town, November 1, of tbat yes^r, he obtained permission to come lo Europe to receive his share of the prize-money due to him, and to his officers, for their captures from the belligerent powers at war with France and America. This took him two years to settle, and he returned back in March, 1785. After ^his, be purchased and resided upon an estate near Kentucky ; but his restless disposition again led him out from his retirement, wben he heard of the differences between the Russians and Turks. With them he seemed to have lost his usual suceess ; for though his equipment from Cronstadt consisted principally of Russian sailors educated in the British navy, having no officers to organize them, his operations in the Black Sea were not remarkable enough to be recounted. It was the end of that war before he came into any action. Upon peace he retired again to America, where he died at Kentucky in the summer of 1801, aged 53 years. THOMAS HUDSON. xxuDsoN was a native of Leeds in Yorkshire;, and in the earlier part of his life, filled a respectable situation as clerk'in agovernment office in London: while in this employment, he came in possession of a considerable fortune by the death of an aunt; upon which, he retired ^^^m^l EiT-g-i-av-od -1% 'yAy/////'7'^^/M- //'r/^/.-' . ///j/rrt////o, llM,,yui.llvJ£olnn.U-ryiliH,ital according to the suin« they should discharge : and for enabling them to raise such Slims for purchasing annuities, exchanging for ready money new ex chequer bills, carrying on their trade, &c. they might, by such means as they should think proper, raise such sums of money as in a general court of the company should be judged necessary. The company 312 THOMAS HUDSOIH. ventured the whole of his fortune in that disastrous project. Misfortune now became his intimate companion— the news of the failure of his darling scheme, arrived at the were alsp empowered to raise money on the contracts, bonds, or obli gations under their common seal, on the credit of their public stock. But if the sub-governor, deputy-governor, or other members of the company should purchase lands or revenues of the crown upon ac count of the corporation, or lend money by loan or anticipation on any branch of the revenue, other than such part only on which a credit of loan was granted by parliament, such sub-governor, or other member of the company, should forfeit triple the value so lent. The South Sea Company never had any forts or garrisons to main tain, and therefore were entirely exempted from one great expense, to which, other joint-stock companies for foreign trade are subject. But they, had an immense capital divided among an immense number of proprietors. It was r^aturally to be expected, therefore, that folly negligeiice, and profusion, should prevail in the whole management of their affairs. Their stock-jobbing speculations were succeeded by mercantile projects, which. Dr. Smith observes, were not much better conducted. At length, in the year 1722, this company petitioned p^liaijn^nt to be allowed to divide their immense capital of more than 33,890,000/. the whole of which had been li?nt to government, into two equ^l parts :. the one half, or upwards of 16,900,000/. to be put upon tl^e same footing with other government annuities, and not to be subject tO) thp: debts cqiltracted, or losses incurred, by the directors of the com- paity, in th« prosecution of their mercantile projects.,; the other half \o reoiain as, before, a trading stock,, and to be subject to tho^e debts and losses. The petition was too, reasonable not to be granted. In 1733 they agi^in petitiprved the parlianient, that three-fourth? of their trading stock,, might be turned into annuity stock, and only one fourth remi^in as trading stock or exposed to the hazards arising from the bad management of.their directors. Both their annuity and trading stocks had by lhi?tini^,,be«n reduced more thfin 2,000,000/. each, by several different payments from government : so that this fourth amounted only to 3,.66?,78j^. 8^, Gd, In 1748 all th? demands of the company upon the King.9i?pain, in consequence of .the Assiento contract, were by tJ»e treaty .^f Alx-lafQljapelle, given upfpr what was supposed an equi valent ; afl.end .was, put to their trade, in the Spanish West Indies, tho l-Cfpainder, pf their trading stock was turned into annuity stock, and the company erased in every respect to be a trading company. 40 THOMAS HUDSON. 31)^ time when he had to witness the decease pf an affec tionate wife. These severe reverses were too much for him : he left his favourite residence, in a state of bank ruptcy, and made the best of his way for London. From this period he became in a manner insane; and Tom of Ten Thousand (as he used to call himself), was like Poor Joe — all alone ! The peculiarity of his dress, and deformity of figure, attracted particular notice ; wrapped in a rug, and supported by a crutch, without either shoes or stock ings, did this poor creature perambulate, even in the coldest weather, the fields about Chelsea, craving as sistance. Sterne says, with much truth and ifeeling, that The Lord tempers the wind for the shorn lamb. The fatal South Sea scheme, transacted in the year 1720, was exe cuted upon the last-mentioned statute. The company had at first set out with good success ; and the value of their stock, for the first five years, had risen faster than that of any other company ; and his majesty, after purchasing 10,000/. stock, had condescended to be their governor. Things were in this situation, when taking advantage of the above statute, the South Sea bubble was projected ; the pre tended design of which was, to raise a fund for carrying on a trade to the South Sea, and purchasing annuities, &c. paid to the other com panies : and proposals were printed and distributed, showing the ad vantages of the design, and inviting persons into it. The sum neces sary fffl: carrying it on, together v»ith tlie profits that were to arise from it, were divided into a certain number of shares or subscriptions, to be purchased by persons disposed to adventure therein. And the better to carry on the deception, the directors engaged to make very large dividends, and actually declared that every 100/. original stock would yield SO/, per annum ; which occasioned so great a rise of the stock, that a share of 100/. was sold for upwardsr of 800/. This was in the month of July, but before the end of September, it fell to ISO/. by which multitudes were ruined, and such a scene of distress occa sioned as is scarcely to be conceived. Most of the directors were severely fined, to the loss of nearly all their property ; even those who had no share in the deception, because they ought to have opposed and prevented it. — Maehemie's Geographical E'ncychpadia, vol. \. p. 121, VOL, II. 2 K 314 ALEXANDER CRUDEN. Let us hope, therefore, that the chilling blasts of winter, were rendered as congenial to Poor Hudson as the balmy breezes of a summer's day. After many years of misery. Death took this "son of misfortune" from his earthly troubles, in the year 1767, at a very advanced age. ALEXANDER CRUDEN. It has been justly said by one of our greatest bards, that " Great wit to madness oft is near allied. And thin partitions do the bounds divide." These lines may very truly be applied to the eccentric and learned Alexander Cruden, whose literary labour* claini for him the veneration of all the students of the sacred . writings. He was the second son of Williain Cruden, merchant, and one of the bailies, of Aberdeen, an officer similar to that of alderman in England. Alexander was born in ^1701, and received his edu cation at the grammar-school of Aberdeen, where he had for his school-fellows the late Earl Marischal, and his brother the celebrated Field-marshal Keith. In due time Cruden entered as a student of Marischal- college, and from his close attendance at the divinity lectures, he 'appears to have had thoughts of embracing the clerical profession. This intention was, however, frustrated, by the me lancholy change which took place about this time ; though he retained as long as he lived the impression that he was appointed by Heaven to preach the gospel and to reform mankind. It is uncertain to what cause that wildness and incoherence which now began lo appear in his words and actions, and which, with few intervals, accompanied him to his grave, are to be ALEXANDER CRlTDEN. 315 ascribed. Some thought that they were occasioned by the bile of a mad dog, but nothing can be gathered from the history of this dreadful distemper which favours such an opinion. Others derived his insanity from dis appointment in love, but whether this acted as a cause or confirmation of the malady is uncertain. The object of his affection was the daughter of a clergyman of Aberdeen. Cruden courted ber With ardour and perseverance ; but the lady thought proper to reject his addresses, and his behaviour becoming outrageous and troublesome, her father ordered his doors to be shut against him. This only served to strengthen his passion, and his friends soon found it necessary to confine him for a considerable time. Meanwhile the young lady became pregnant, and, as it was with too much reason surmised, in consequence of a crimjnal in tercourse with her own brother. She was sent into the country, whence she never returned. That Cruden shared in the general horror produced by this event may easily be conceived. He never mentioned the name of the unhappy woman but with the bitterest. grief and most tender compassion. On his release from confinement, he relinquished the pursuit of his studies at Aberdeen, and resolved to leave his native country. In the year 1722, he repaired to London, and engaged in several families as private tutor to young persons at school, or who were in tended for the university. In this employment he spent some years in the Isle of Man, In the year 1732, he again resided in London, as corrector ofthe press, and bookseller ; his shop was under the Royal Exchange, and while in this situation the following remarkable in cident happened. A gentleman from Aberdeen, wishing to serve Cruden, offered to introduce him to a merchant near the Exchange, a near relation ofthe young lady to whom he had been attached. They knocked at the door of the merchant, and who should open it but the very female herself, who, unknown to Cruden or his friend. 316 ALEXANDER CRUDEN. had there found an asylum. Cruden started back with visible signs of wonder and agony, and grasping hit friend's hand, wildly exclaimed, " Ah ! she has still her fine black eyes !" All hopes of intimacy with this family were now at an end ; he did not then or ever afterwards enter the house, or court the acquaintance of the owner, who was a younger brother of the lady. The following year he began to compile the great work which he had long meditated, " A complete Con cordance to the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testament," a work that required extraordinary labour and perseverance. Cruden was well qualified for such an undertaking, for habits of industry were familiar lo him, and inclination led him to form the plan, and in deed to execute the whole, before he received any en couragement from the public. The first edition was published in 17S7, and was dedicated to Queen Caroline, who had given the authnr spme reason to expect a gra tuity on the presentation of the book to her. Unfortu nately for Cruden, he lost his patronessi a very few days before the publication of the work, by the death of the queen. His affairs were embarrassed ; the time he had bestowed upon his bppk was not' productive of im mediate profit, and his reward was no Ipnger tp be expected ; for that he did expect a reward from her majesty appeared by visible symptoms of the keenest disappointment. He now disposed of his stock in trade and shut up his shop. Without employment, without friends, and with out hope, he again became a prey to his malady, tind it was found necessary to confine him in a private mad-house at Bethnal-green. As sopn as he was released, he tppk re venge pn his keepers, and on those who were the cause of his confinement, by publishing a pamphlet, intituled "The London Citizen materially injured, giving an ac count of his adventures during the time of bis severe and long campaign at Bethnal-green, for nine weeks and six days, the citizen being sent thither in March, 1738, by ALEXANDER CRUDEN. 317 Robert Wightman, a notoriously conceited, whimsical man, where he was chained, hand-cuffed, strait-waist- coated, and imprisoned, &c." He also commenced an action agaiarsl Dr. Monro, and other defendants, which was tried at Westminster-hall, July 17, 1738, when a verdict was given in favour of the defendants. After the verdict was given, Cruden said, " I trust in God." The chief justice. Sir William Lee, replied, " I wish you had trusted more in God, and not have come hither/' Cruden had recourse again to his pen, and published an account of the trial, with remarks on the economy of private mad-houses, which he dedicated to' the king. His principal occupation after this was correcting the press, and under his inspection several very accurate editions of the Greek and Roman classics were pub lished. He rendered himself useful to the booksellers and printers in various ways. His manners were inof fensive ; he was always to be trusted, and performed his engagements with strict fidelity. In this kind of em ployment he spent several years, until another return of his disorder obliged his friends to shut him up a third time in a mad-house. When he was released he pub lished his case under the whimsical title of "The Ad ventures of Alexander the Cori'ector." Three parts afterwards appeared under the same title. It is rather difficult to characterize these performances. They are a faithful transcript of a mild mind, unequal, whimsical, serious, and jocose. His madness was sui generis. Nothing like it can be found in the annals of medicine, nOf can it be accounted for on the known principles of physiology. The faculty are seldom called in, and sel dom attend to cases like that of Cruden : the world either laughed at or pitied him. In his worst paroxysms he was perfectly harmless, and it is more than probable that the severity of his confinement unnecessarily aggra vated his disorder. 318 ALEXANDER CRUDEN. At his last release in 1753, he undertook what was more difficult to effect than alibis former attempts. He endeavoured to persuade one or two of his friends who had confined him, to submit to be imprisoned in New gate, as a compensation for the injuries they had brought upon him. To his sister he proposed what he thought very mild terms; she was to have her choice of four prisons; Newgate, Reading, and Aylesbury gaols; and the prison in Windsor-castle, !^inding that his per suasions were of no avail, he commenced an action against her. and three others, and stated his damages at ten thousand pounds. The cause was tried in February 1754, and verdict given in favour of the defendants. Cruden had now no other remedy than an appeal to the public: he accordingly published the account of this trial in a sixpenny pamphlet, dedicated to the king. He went to St. James's palace to present it, but he was pre vented, and denied the honour of knighthood, to which, al the time, he aspired. His frenzy was now at its height. He called himself ". Alexander the Corrector," and gave out that he was commissioned by Heaven to reform the manners of the age, and particularly to restore a due observance of the sabbath. To turn the popular opinion in his favour, he prod u6ed and printed certain prophecies of eminent mi nisters and others, all anonymous, or with the initials only of names. The substance of these predictions was, that Cruden was lo be a second Joseph, to be a great man at court, and to perform great things for the spiritual Israel in this spiritual Egypt. Furnished with such cre dentials, he went to Oxford and Cambridge, and ex horted the ladies and gentlemen whom he found in the public walks on the sabbath, to go home and keep th^ day holy. His' advice, however, was not welcomed as he wished. On one occasion, indeed, he narrowly escaped corporal chastisement for having been too bold in his addresses to a young lady, who happened to be ALEXANDER CRUDEN. 319 walking with a student in Clare-hall walks. He gene rally followed up his advice with a denunciation of eiernal wrath in case of non-complianfce. On Cruden's return to London, his ambition increased: for ambition he certainly indulged, under the idea that he was destined to a superior station in life. The gene ral election approaching, he determined to stand^can- didate for the city of London, and was accordingly nominated in a common hall by Mr. Sheriff Chitty, whom he had importuned to perform this office for him. It may perhaps be thought remarkable that Cruden had the satisfaction to see several hands held up for him • but he declined the poll, which was instituted by the other party. He had actually received promises of support; and, as he himself observed, was comforted by the reflection, that if he had not the hands, he had the hearts of the citizens. The following is one of the ad vertisements published by him on this occasion. It is too curious not to be preserved, as it affords a specimen of his manner of speaking and writing when his frenzy was at its height. " Gentlemen of the Livery, "I have acquainted the sheriffs of my humbly proposing to be a candidate for one of the representatives of the city of London: which may be looked upon as an extraordinary step. This is not de nied, but I trust I am under the direction of a gracious Providence, and I desire to be entirely resigned to the will of God, the supreme disposer of all things. In the appendix to Alexander the Corrector's adventures, I have acquainted you with some of my motives for bei^g a candidate, which are such as I hope will be approved by every good man, as they are by my own conscience. " If there is any just ground to hope that God will be pleased to make the Corrector an instrument to reform the nation, and particu larly to promote the reformation, the peace and prosperity of this great city, and to bring its inhabitants tb a more religious temper and conduct, no good man in such, an extraordinary case will deny the "Corrector his vote : and the Corrector's election may be the means to pave the way to his being a Joseph, and an useful, prosperous man. " May God be pleased to give a happy turn to the minds of the 320 ALEXANDER CRUDEN. electors to act from the best principles, and to choose those who will be faithful to their trust, and study to promote the temporal and eter nal happiness of the people. " My earnest prayers are, put up from time to time for your happi ness in this world, and the world to come, through Jesus Christ. " I am, very respectfully, " Gentlemen, " Your most obedient, " And affectionate humble servant, " Alex. Cruden." " NortKs Coffee-house, near Guildhall, "Jpril25, 1754." About this lime Cruden paid his addresses to a lady; but he had occasion to lament, that in this, as in every other great design, he could not command success. Amid this series of wild attempts, he devoted his best hours to study. He was continually making additions to his Concordance, the second edition of which was published in 176I. At this time he was corrector ofthe press to the Public Advertiser. He was indeed inces santly employed ; and apportioned his time so judici ously, that only when be appeared in public he could be said to do nothing. The business of the printing- office was rarely concluded before one o'clock in the morning, when the paper was put to press. Cruden seldom slept more than four or five hours, and before six in the morning he might always be found turning over his bible, adding to, amending, and improving his Concordance with scrupulous attention. In this manner was he engaged till evening, when he returned to the printing-office. This assiduous attention to useful ob jects would, it was hoped by his friends, restore his mind to a stale of calm regularity, and this was, in some de gree, the case. His next appearance in public was in a character which did infinite honour to his heart. In 1762, Richard Potter, a sailor, was tried, and capitally condemned at the Old Bailey, for forging, or rather for uttering, 41 ALEXANDER CRUDEN. 321 knowing it to be forged, a seaman's will, a crime which at that time, as well as" now, was rarely pardoned. It appeared, however, from the evidence, that Potter was a poor illiterate creature, and, ignorant of the nature of the crime committed, had acted merely as the tool of another. Fortunately for him, Cruden happened to be in court, and was so firmly convinced that Potter was a proper object of royal clemency, that he determined to interfere in his behalf. To satisfy himself more full^, he visited Potter in Newgate, examined him, and found that his crime was the crime of ignorance, unaccom panied with any evil intention. But it was not only to save him from the sentence of the law that Cruden meditated. He prayed with him, exhorted him, in structed him in the principles of religion, and awakened in him a proper sense of the wicl^^lness of his past life, and the enormity of the crime Vor which he was con demned : in a word, he made a convert of a poor wretch who had scarcely ever heard of a God. He then began to devise means to obtain a pardon, and, improbable as is appeared, his repeated applications succeeded, and Potter's sentence was changed into transportation. Cruden accompanied his petition to the Earl of Halifax, then secretary of state, with a copy of his second edition of the Concordance, lo which was prefixed an elegant Latin dedication to his lordship. The tenderness with which Cruden visited, exhorted, fed, and clothed his pupil, tfhe anxiety he felt, and the unceasing im portunity of his applications to every person that could be useful to Potter, produce a sincere respect for the character of this singular man, and are sufficient to re concile us to all his oddities. The success Cruden had experienced in reforming this poor criminal, induced him to continue his labours among the other felons in Newgate. He visited them every day, gave them new testaments, catechisms, &c. instructed them, and bestowed small pecuniary rewardi VOL, II. 2 s 322 ALEXANDER CRUDEN. ,'¦ f'- ; . , > « ' •- '¦-'¦' on the most apt scholar. His labour, however, was lost; the books were soon exchanged for money, and the tribney was spent in drinking; and the benevolent Cruden discontinued his practice when he found that it produced no better effects. A regard for the eternal welfare of his fellow-creatiires ' was a predominant feature ih his 'charactier ; and it cannot be doubled that had it not been for the malady with which he was af flicted, he would h'ave been a most useful minister of religion, and a most valuable member of society. He was particularly elated when he had succeeded in rescuing any wretched object from the barbarity of igno- ranfce, pr the practice cf wickedness. Of this we have anpther instance, but at what period it happened cannot now be ascertained. Returning one Sunday evening from a place of divine worship, he accidentally met with a; man whose looks betrayed anxiety, sorrow, melan choly, and, as Cruden imagined, despair. He imme diately accosted the man, and drew from him a confes sion that the extreme poverty of his family and other Causes' had driven him to the desperate resolution of committing suicide. Cruden expostulated with hiih, convinced him of the wickedness of his intention, and adhiinistered such friendly consolation, accompanied with pecuniary assistance, and a promise of future sup- fort, that the poor man became cheerful, resigned, and hopeful. In Acts of this kind Cruden delightei^. ' At the time wben the whole nation was agitated by the disputes between the government and Wilkes, Cfiidieii Wrote a small pamphlet against t(hat gentleman, Wbotii he nfever could hear named with patience. This aversion he testified in k way peculiar to himself, by ef facing No. 45, vyherever he fotind it challced on doors or windbw-shu'tters. His instrumeiit was a large piece bY ^pobg^ which he carried in his pocket, partlv for this purpose, and partly that ho words oflfiensive to good mbfals* triight' be alloived to d^isgrace the walls^ ALEXANDER CRUDEN. 323 -VI ¦ ' ¦"''m. , ,. : , doors. Sec. ofthe metropolis. ^Thisemployment often rendered his walks through ihe city extremely tedious. _In the year 1769, he visited Aberdeen, the place of his nativity, and in a public hall delivered a lecture on the cause of reformation ; contended that he was born to reform the age; and exhorted nil ranks to amend their ways. In this advice there was nothing improper or ab surd — but Crudei:}'s manner was always at variance with his matter, and he met with no better success there than at other places. Many anecdotes ^rp related of his, labours during his residence at Ab^rdeep.^^, Among others he printed the fourth comm?ipdment jn the form of a hand-bill, which he presented to all pejspns witjaout distinction, whom he met in the streets.on Su.ndf^y. To a young clergyman wliom he thought too spruce and , conceited, he very gravely and formally pfesent|ed a little catechistp, used in Scotland, called the Mother's Catechistn, dedicated to the young and ignorant. , IJ^ always had his pockets full of leliigipus tracts fqi yoking , people 5 and these he bestowed with pleasure on such as promised to read them. \ ^ ,, , ,,., „^ ,„„ After residing about a year at Aberdeei^, lie returned to London, and took lodgings in Camden-street, Isling ton, where he died. In the morning qf the 1st of No vember, 1770, he was found dead on his knees, appa rently in the posture of prayer. He had complained for some days of an asthmatic affection,'but it did not seem to be attended with danger. As he never married, he bequeathed his moderate savings to his relations, except a certain sum to the city of Aberdeen, to be employed , in tlie purchase of religious books for the use of the poor; and he founded a bursary, or exhibition, of fiye pounds per annum, to assist in educating a student in , Mar'iscbal-college. This exhibition was to be obtained ^ on certain terms specified in his will, one of which was a perfect acquaintance with Vincent's Catechism. , , „ In private life Cruden was' courteous and affable : 324 LORD CAMELEORD. prone to give his opinions, and firm in all his religious persuasions. He had not, however, an intolerant spirit, and often censured with severity the principles and prac tices of narrow-minded men. To the poor he was as liberal of his money as of his advice ; and seldom did he separate the one from the other. His concern for them must have been sincere, for interest he could have none ; and his generosity must have been pure, for he often gave more than he retained for his own uses. To such young men as were recommended to him, especially If they were from Aberdeen, he acted like a father, an affectionate friend, or tutor. In conversation and in writing his style was stiff and awkward. He does not appear to have had a prompt memory, and his words came slowly; Among men of genius he cannot be classed ; but in his greatest labours he experienced no fatigue, and the utility of his literary projects will not admit of a dispute. His Concordance was his favourite work; and it is probable that the attention he bestowed upon it was favourable to the state of his mind, though it could not altogether prevent the return of that frenzy which gave a certain colour to all his actions, and sug gested to him those whimsical plans of reformation, and those hopes of superiority, which were equally useless to himself and unprofitable to others. LORD CAMELFORD. vV E cannot survey the circumstances of the life of this eccentric and unfortunate nobleman without regretting that the virtues and good qualities which he occasionally manifested, were obscured by passions often dangerous to the peace and welfare of society. At tlie same time these mischiefs were not the result of a bad heart; for when reason and reflection recovered the dominion which LORD CAMELFORD. .325 the love of every species of extravagance had usurped in his mind, he thought no sacrifice too great, to repair the injuries which the gratification of his humour had occasioned. He exhibited a truly singular compound of human virtues and frailties ; being distinguished for ec centric boldness and intrepidity of spirit; for many acts of noble, bul oddly irregular, beneficence ; for a love of frolic ; and a passion for national and scientific pursuits ; at one time, for uncommon dignity, good sense, and en largement of sentiments; at another, for unreasonable positiveness; for liberality ot expense without foolish vanity or mad profusion; so that those who studied his character with the greatest attention, knew not whether they ought lo admire his virtues and rectitude of under standing, or to lament his dangerous eccentricities. Thomas Pitt, Lord Camelford', was the great grandson of the fatnous Governor Pitt, who acquired the greater part of an ample fortune in India, by the advantage ous purchase of a diamond, which was sold in Europe with great profit lo the Duke of Orleans, regent of France, He was allied to some of the first families in the kingdom ; his father, who was elevated to the peer age, in 1784, being the nephew of the late Earl of Chatham^ and his sister having married Lord Grenville. Lord Camelford was born February 26th, 1775. In his spirit and temper, when a boy, there appeared some thing which, though vigorous and manly, was, however, peculiar and unmanageable. He received at Berne, in Switzerland, the first rudiments of his education, which he afterwards completed at the Charter-rhouse. In com pliance with a predilection of his own, he was suffered, at an early age, lo enter the royal navy, as a midshipman. In this capacity he sailed in the year 1789, in the Guar-. dian frigate, com'mahded by the late gallant Captain Riou, and laden with stores for the new colony of con victs settled at Botany Bay! The calamity which befel that ship was well calculated to inure the youthful sea- 326 LORD C AMijLFb RD .' man to'the perils of the element which he had chosen fir lb ^ theatre of his professional life. At that early pej-ipd'he nianifesled the same contempt of danger which so particulcirly distiiigui'shedthe wlible of his ca reer. It is well known that when all endeavours to save the vessel appeared to be fruitless, her comrnander gave p'eirnission to such of the crew as chbse to avail them selves of it, to consult their safety and betake themselves to the boEtts. On this occasion Lord Cainelford was one of those whd'to the number of ninety resolutely resolved t6 remain in the ship, and to shaJ-e her fate'witli their gallant cbihtnander. After a passage, little less than nliraculous, in the wieck to the Cape of Good Hope, his lordship, in September,*^ 1790, arrived at Harwich in the Prince of Oraiige packet. So far from be'ing daunted b}' the hardships and dangers he had encountered in the Guardian, Lord Camelford, soon after his return, solicited an appoint- ment in the voyage or discovery which was then fitting out under the comrnand ofthe late Captain Vancouver. He accomjjanied that officer in the ship Discovery, diiring part of his circumnavigation ; but in cbnse'quence oi'his refractoriness and disobedience of orders, the result rather of a certain peculiarity of temper, than of either badness of heart or want of understanding, he put Captain Vancouver under the necessity or treating him with a severity of discipline, which he would hotendiire. He accordingly quitted the Discovery in the Indian ' Seas, and entered on board the Resistance, commanded by Sir Edward Pakehhaiii^ by whom he was appointed lieutenant. During his absence his father died, and he consequently succeeded to the title and family estates. On his return hotne, in October, 179^, be sent a chal lenge to Captain Vancouver, for the ill treatment he alleged he had received while undeir his command. Tbie captain replied, that his lordship's misbehaviour hud obliged him to resort to the measures of which he LORD CjA^LJi'ORD. ?fei7 complained, and that they were absolutely necessary for the preservation of discipline. At the same time, the captain offered to submit the affair lo the judgment of any flag-officer in his Majesty's navy, and if the latter conceived that, by the laws pf honour, he was liable to be called upon, he would willingly give his lordship any satisfaction he required. This method of settling the dispute was by no means congenial to the fiery dispo sition of Lord Camelford, who now threatened the cap- tarn with personal chastisement. It was not long before an opportunity presented itself for the execution of his menace ; for meeting with Vancouver in Bond-street, he was only prevented from striking him by the inter ference of his brother. The chagrin of this unmerited disgrace is said to have prayed with such violence on the spirits of that meritorious officer, as to accelerate his death, which happened not long afterwards. Having attained the rank of master and commander, his lordship was appointed to the command of the Favorite sloop. That vessel and the Perdrix were lying in English Harbour, Antigua, on the 13lh of January, 1798. At this time Captain Fahie of the Per drix, was absent at St. Kitts, and had left his first lieu tenant Mr. Peterson in charge of his ship. LordCamel- foid, who was consequently ^he commanding officer at English ^arbour, issued an order, w,hiqh Mr. Peterson refused to obey, conceiving that his lordship had no right of command over the vessel of a senior officer. The two ships were haiiled alongside each other in the 5oqk-yard to he repaired, and the companies of each vessel collected rpund their respective officers at lhe com mencement of the altercation. .High words ensued J the .lieutenant still jrefused to o^ey, and soon afterwards twelve of the crejy of the Perdrix arrived at the spot armed. These men Mr. Peterson drew up in a lipe, at^4 placed hiinself at tjheir head with his sword drawn. Lord Camelford immediately .called out h'ff armed 328 LORD CAMELFORD. marines, and ranged them in a line opposite Lieutenant Peterson's men, at the distance of, about four yards- His lordship retired, but soon returned with a pistol, borrowed from an officer in the dock-yard, and advanc ing towards the lieutenant, asked him whether he still persisted in not obeying his orders. "Yes, I do per sist," was his reply ; on which Lord Camelford imme diately put the pistol to his breast, and shot him through the'body. The unfortunate Peterson fell backward, and neither uttered a word nor moved afterwards. After this decisive measure, the crews retired quietly to their respective ships, and Lord Camelford surrendered him self to Captain Matson, of the Beaver sloop. This fatal event excited the most lively sensation at Antigua, especially as Lieutenant Peterson was a native of a neighbouring island, of a respectable family, and much esteemed. The populace of St. John's were re strained from personal violence against his lordship, only by the most solemn assurances, that a judicial inves tigation should be instituted. The verdict of the coroner's jury summoned to inquire into the circum stances ofthe death ofthe lieutenant, was that he "lost his life in a mutiny." In the Beaver sloop. Lord Camelford was conveyed lo Fort Royal Bay, Martinique, where a court martial as sembled on board the Invincible. The court continued to sit from the 20th to the 25th of January, when they came to the following determination : "At a Court Martial held on board his Majesty's ship the Invincible, in Fort Royal Bay, Martinique, January 20lh, 1798, and held by adjournment every day after, Sunday excepted, until the 25th : — Present William Cayley, Esq. captain of his Majesty's ship Invincible and senior captain of his Majesty's ships and vessels in Fort Royal Bay, Martinique ; Captains Jemmet Mainwaring, Richard Brown, Charles Ekins, and Alexander S. Burrows. The Court being duly sworn according to act of parliament, 41 LORD CAMELFORD. ^Si) in pursuance of an order from Henry Hervey, Esq. rear-admiral of the red, and commander in chief of his Majesty's ships and vessels at Barbadoes and the Lee ward Islands, proceeded lo try the Right Hon, Lord Camelford, acting commander of his Majesty's sloop Favorite, for the death of Lieutenant Peterson, of his Majesty's ship Perdri.v, on the evening of the 13th of January, in the naval yard Antigua; and having heard the whole of the evidence adduced on the occasion, and what the prisoner had to offer in his defence, and maturely and deliberately considered the same, and being fully sensible ofthe necessity of prompt measures in cases of mutiny and disobedience of orders, the Court are unanimously of opinion, that the very extra ordinary and manifest disobedience of Lieutenant Peter son to the lawful commands of Lord Camelford, the senior officer at English Harbour at that time, and the violent measures taken by Lieutenant Peterson to resist the same, by arming the Perdrix's ship's company, were acts of mutiny highly injurious to his Majesty's service ; ;lhe C(jurt do therefore unanimously adjudge, that the siiid Lord Camelford be honourably acquitted, and he lis hereby unanimously and honourably acquitted ac cordingly." After this acquittal, his lordship leassumed the com- imaud of his ship, vphich he soon afterwards resigned, together with the naval profession. Hispersonal appe»r- ance while in the service, was marked with the same eccentricity by which he was distinguished through lifc. His dress consisted of a lieutenant's plain coat, witi>out shoulder-knots, and the buttons of which were as green with verdigrease as the ship's bottom. His head was .closely shaved, and he wore an enormous gold-laced, cocked hat. In bis professional duties he was a severe disciplinarian, and to his honour be it mentioned, he was particularly attentive to the comfort and relief of the sick. VOL. n. * T 330 LORD CAMELFORD. His lordship had not long returned to England, when he conceived an idea which could scarcely have" entered into the head of any other person. This was nothing less than to repair to Paris, and in the midst of their capital to attack the rulers of the hostile country. In pursuance of this plan, on the night of Friday the I8th of January, 1799, he took a place in one of the night coaches to Dover, where he arrived early the following morning, and went to the City of London Inn. After taking his breakfast, he walked about the pier, and inquired for a boat to convey him to Deal. A man named Adams, offered to take him thither for a guinea. Lord Camelford called him aside, and after some conversation, told him he thought he should have occasion to go to the other side of the water, and that he wished to be landed at Calais, as he had some watches and muslins which he wished to dispose' of in France. He then bargained for what he should pay to go to Calais. The boatman asked fifteen guineas, but his lordship told him his goods would not afford a larger sum than ten. At length, it was agreed that he should pay twelve guineas. Some other conversation passed, in the course of which Lord Camelford observed tbat Turnbull, (a soldier who shortly before had robbed the mint) had made a bungling business of it, and did not know how to set about an affair of that kind, or he might have effected his escape. Having appointed six o'clock in the evening to go off, they parted. Adams was to call for him at the inn. During this interval, Adams. consulted on the business with his brother, who had a share inthe boat, and they both agreed to acquaint Mr. Newport, the collector, with the conversation which had passed with the stranger. Mr. Newport accordingly planned that the perSon should be suffered to enter the boat, and then be seized. At the time appointed, Adams called at the inn, and his passenger accompanied him to the water side. He LORD CAMELFORD. 331 recommended him to put on one of his great coats as he would be cold, which he did. Lord Camelford then entered the boat, in which were four men, and havino- seated himself, Mr. Newport seiaed him, saying, " You are my prisoner !" He surrendered without opposition, and was immediately taken to the custom-house, where, on being asked his name, he replied, "Camelford," Those, however, who held him in custody, wer? totally ignorant of the rank of iheir prisoner, nor did they know who he was till their arrival vvith him at the Secretary of State's office in London. When taken, they found on him a brace of pistols, and a two-edged dagger, about eight inches in length, and rather curved. In his pocket he had also a letter in French, addressed to some person at Paris. On Saturday the 18th of January, about eleven at night, he was put into a post-chaise, and the next morn ing -was escorted by Mr. Newport, and the two Adams' whose boat he had hired, to the Duke of Portland's office, where he was recognised. A privy-council was immediately summoned, and Mr. Pitt dispatched a mes senger to Lord Grenville, who was at Dropmore, re questing him to come instantly to town. The privy- council met about six, and examined Mr. Newport the collector, and the two boatmen. At ten. Lord Gren ville arrived in town, and had a long conference with Mr, Pitt, but did not see Lord Camelford, who was committed to the custody of Johnson, a king's mes senger. His lordship, after several examinations, was dis charged from custody ; the lords of the council being fully satisfied that his intentions were inch only as he had represented, and that he had been influenced by no other motive, than the wish to render a service to his country. His Majesty's pardon was issued under the great seal, to discharge his lordship from all the penal ties of an act, passed during the preceding session. 3^ LORD CAMELFORD. which, ivithout reference to motives, made the mere act of embarking for France a capital crime. It was not long after this extraordinary whim, that his lordship again obtruded himself upon the notice of the public, though in a different manner. On the night of the 2d of April, 1799, during the represe;itation of the farce of the Devil to Pay, at Drury-lane Theatre, a riot took place in the box-lobby, occasioned by the entrance of several gentlemen, who appeared to be somewhat in toxicated, and who began to break the windows in the doors of the boxes. They were proceeding to demolish the chandeliers, when the ringleader was taken into custody by one of the constables belonging to the theatre. Lord Camelford was, at the same time, taken into custody, and likewise conducted to the watchhouse, being charged by a Mr. Humphries with assaulting and wounding him. His lordship being well known to the constable of the night, the latter took his word for his appearance the next morning at the Police-office in Bow-street. Mr. Humphries there stated, that he went to look into one of the boxes for some friends, when his lordship came and pushed him away. He remonstrated against this rude conduct; when Lord Camelford, instead of making an apology, struck him a violent blow on the , face, which knocked him down some stairs near the box-door ; and when he got up, his lordship again knocked him down the stairs, and afterwards gave him several violent blows on the face and head. His lord ship denied the charge, and asserted that Mr. Hum phries had first assaulted him, by endeavouring to push him from the box-door, but the evidence against him being confirmed by the testimony of one of the box- keepers, and a fruit woman belonging to the theatre, the magistrate observed, that he was bound to believe it, and called upon- his lordship for bail, to answer the com plaint at the Westminster Sessions. Two gentlemen LORD CAMELFORD. 333 who attended his lordship, offered to become ball, but not being housekeepers, they were rejected by the ma gistrate. Application was then made to the master of the Spring-garden coft'ee-house, who became bail for bis lordship. The magistrate, by the desire of Lord Camelford, applied to Mr. Humphries, to know if he would be satisfied with an apology; but the latter de clined it, saying he was determined to bring it into court for the sake of public justice. He was then bound over to prosecute, and afterwards preferred a bill of in dictment, which was found. Soon after, he gave notice to his lordship, that he would not follow it up, but would bring an action against him in the Court of King's Bench for the assault. The cause accordingly came on to be tried before Lord Kenyon and a special jury, on the l6th of May. Mr. Gibbs, who was counsel for the plaintiff, stated the case of his client, as follows : On the 2d of April, the nephews of the late Mr. Montgomery Campbell, the East India Director, who were at Eaton school, were on a visit in town, and in the evening were taken to Drury- lane Theatre, whither Mr, Humphries went for the pur pose of meeting them. He went to the front boxes by the way of Vinegar-yard. It was necessary to ascend about four steps to get into the lobby : these the plain tiff had ascended, and was looking through the glass of the door of one of the boxes, to see whether his com- pany was there. At that moment Lord Camelford ad vanced, and pushed him away. He inquired the rea son of this conduct, when his lordship, without any other provocation, struck him with his fist in the face, and knocked him down the steps. He got up, and again asked the cause of this treatment, but the only answer he received, was another blow, which again knocked him down the steps. Mr. Humphries, as soon as he was able to rise, again requested to know the reason of such strange conduct, told him his own name, and 334 LORD CAMELFORD. 'desired to know who it was that so grossly insulted him. Having repeated his question, and no reply being made, he told him he was a scoundrel. Lord Camelford in stantly returned to the attack, and again knocked him down ; and at last left him with one of his eyes almost beaten out, and wounded over the eye near the temple. For this assault Mr. Humphries conceiving himself entitled to large damages, demanded redress of the jury. Mr. Gibbs then proceeded to call his witnesses. — James Bennet the box-keeper stated, that before the first blow was struck, he saw the two gentlemen looking through the glass door .of the box, and heard one of them say, he had as much right to look through as the other, on which he was immediately knocked down. He corroborated all the other particulars. Being asked whether Lord Camelford sirucki; or only pushed Mr. Humphries, he repeated it was a blow he gave, and said that Mr. Humphries, after being knocked down, in quired in the mildest to.ne of voice, the reason of his conduct. On his re-examination, he said the defendant was a tall, powerful man, nearly six feet high, and the plaintiff, a short man, and comparatively weak. His testimony was confirmed by Catherine Brovvn, a fruit- woman, and Mr. Joseph Cooper, who had gone into the^house that night at half-price. The personal injury sustained by Mr. Humphries, was proved by Mr.Borlase, the surgeon, who had attended him, Mr. Erskine for the defendant stated, that his lordship had been uniformly desirous to refer the affair to private arbitration ; but that in the shape in which the ques tion was then brought forward, it was impossible for the jury to discover who had provoked the quarrel. The fact) was, these gentlemen weie both standing up, and lookinginto the boxes, when a dispute arose, but which had given the first provocation there was no evidence to prove. Mr. Erskine seemed chiefly to rely upon the LORD CAMELFORD. 335 argument, that the 'plaintiff after receiving the first blows, ought to have appealed to the by-standers instead of provoking the defendant by the expression he had used. After some observations from Lord Kenyon, the jury retired a very short lime, and returned with a ver dict for the plaintiff, damages five hundred pounds. To detail all the adventures in which Lord Camelford was concerned, would far exceed our limits. The fol lowing account of one out of the many nocturnal frolics with' which he diverted himself, will serve to show the eccentricity of his character. Returning home one inorning about one o'clock, accompanied by his friend Captain Barrie, and passing through Cavendish- square, they took it into their heads to chastise the guardians ofthe night, for not exercising due vigilance. Four watchmen whom they found asleep at their posts, were soon awakened by the powerful impression made by the assailants on their shoulders. Two of them started up, but were soon extended on the ground ; meanwhile the other two, springing their rattles, brought a whole host of their colleagues to the attack. A contest of , an hour etisued, when they at length succeeded in taking their fashionable antagonists into custody, after many blows and bruises had been inflicted on both sides. The captive heroes guarded by nearly twenty watchmen, all armed, were conveyed to the watch-hbusc, where his lordship seemed to feel himself quite at home. The captain, who had been the, greatest sufferer in the fray, by no means likedhis birth, or, the treatment he had re ceived. He. furiously threatened to cut a port-hole throiigh the side of the cabin, and was proceeding to execute his menace, when a second scuffle ensued; but being overpowered by the number of his enemies, he was obliged to make himself contented With his situation. The next day the watchmen carried their prisoners in triumph to the Police-office in Marlborongh-street, where they were gratified with a present of a guinea a- 336 LORD CAMELFORD. piece, and his lordship and the captain being discharged, returned home to refit the damages their rigging had sus tained in the unequal encounter. This, however, was far from being the only night his lordship passed in a watch-house. He was often an in mate of those at the west end of the town, and on such occasions, he generally prevailed, either by force, or more persuasive methods, on the constable of the night to resign his place to him. He would then, with the utmost gravity, examine all delinquents that were brought in by the watch, and rejoiced in the opportunity of ex ercising the lenity of his dispositiota, by invariably di recting the offenders to be discharged. In a word, there was no whim, no caprice, however eccentric and irre gular, but what he determined to gratify, let the conse quences and the cost be what they might. In 1801, when the return of peace was celebrated by a general illumination, no persuasions could induce Lord Camelford to suffer lights to be placed in the windows of his apartments, at a grocer's in New Bond-street. In vain his landlord represented the inconveniences that would infallibly result from this singularity; his lordship continued inexorable. The mob assailed the house, and a shower of stones was discharged at the windows. Irritated by this attack; his lordship sallied out armed with a pistt^l, which he however prudently exchanged for a stout cudgel. With this weapon he maintained a sharp contest for a considerable time, till overpowered by numbers, he was severely beaten, and after being rolled in the kennel, was obliged to retreat in a de plorable condition. The windows were completely de molished. It is said, that on the succeeding nights of illumination, his lordship had in waiting a party of sailors, ready to let them loose on his opponents in case of a repetition ofthe outrage. With that rugged and unbending disposition, which bis lordship appeared to possess, those who enjoyed his 41 LORD CAMfiLFORD. §^7 intimate acquaintance can testify, that he combined a high degree iof sensibility and benevolence. The fol lowing circumstances prove that his character was not de&litute of amiable qualities.— He always manifested uncommon affection for the two children of his sister. For the gratification and amusement of these boys, he puTchased them a couple of ponies, together with all the necessary accoutrements of corresponding dimensions, and it was one of his favourite recreations to take them out with him in the vicinity of the metropolis. On these little excursions, if he perceived any labourers at work, or perhaps taking their frugal nepaSt in the fields, he wsed to stop, and seating himself on the bank beside them, he would engage them in conversation. By his affability, he commonly obtained a knowledge of their circumstances, their difficulties, and the little secrets of their families. Never on these occasions did distress plead in vain, and never did his lordship part from those whom he considered deserving objects of his bounty, without leaving behind him something to alleviate theij- wants: thus affording an example which il is hoped was not lost on his youthful companions. On his re* turu home his little favourites were always the first ob» jects oif his care. He would himself take off their boots and spurs, and lhe attended to their ease and coUifort be fore he Would occupy himself with any other concerns. In order to try the disposition of those whom he con sidered his friends. Lord Camelfoid has been knoWn to represent himself to be greatly in want of money, and to request the loan of one or two thousand pounds. Some of those to whom he applied gave him the sum re quired, but which hJB lordship in a few d^ys returned, at the same time informing them, that he only wished to ascertain on whom be could rely for assistance iu Case of any emergency. The presence of his lordship was often known to hav« a powerful effect in repressing the impertinence of the VOL. 11. 2 u 338 LORD CAMELFORD. petit maitre, and the insolence and contumely of the coffee-house buck; and, indeed, in inspiring all with a ¦cautious selection of language, lest they should after wards be called to expiate a slip pf the tpngue with their blood. Of the terror which the very name of Lord Camelford struck lo the minds of the would-be- gentlemen of the day, the following is a ludicrous ex ample, while it instances in his lordship a degree of mo deration, which, from his general character, we should scarcely have supposed him to possess. Entering one evening the coffee-house in Conduit- street, which he frequented, meanly attired as he often was, he sat down to peruse the paper of the day. Sopn after came in a dashing fellow, a first-rate blood, who threw himself into the opposite seat of the same box with his lordship, and in a most consequential tone hallooe^d put, " Waiter I bring a pint of Madeira, and a couple of wax candles, and put them into the next box." He then drew to himself Lord Camelford's candle, and set himself to read. His lordship glanced at him a lopk of indignation, but again directed his attention to his paper. The waiter soon after re-appeared, and, with a multitude of obsequious bows, announced his having completed the commands of the gentleman. Who im mediately lounged round into his box. Lord Camelford having finished his paragraph, called out, mimicking the tone of the buck, "Waiter! bring me a pair' of snuffers," These were quickly brought, when his lord^ ship laid down his paper, walked round lo the other box, snuffed out both the candles, and leisurely returned to his seat. Boiling with rage and fury, the indignant beau roared out, "Waiter! waiter! waiter! who the devil is this fellow, that dares thus to insult a gentleman? Who is he? What is he? What do they call him?" " Lord Camelford, sir," said the waiter. " Who ? Lord Camelford!" returned the former, in a tone of voice scarcely audible ; horror struck at the recollection of his LORD CAMELFORD. 339 own impertinence, and almost doubting whether he was still in existence. " Lord Camelford ! ! ! What have I to pay ?" On being told, he laid down his score, and actually stole away without daring to taste his Madeira. His irritable disposition which had involved him in numberless quarrels and disputes, at length paved the way to the final and fatal catastrophe. Lord Camelford had for some time been acquainted with a Mrs. Sim mons, who had formerly been in the keeping pf Mr. Best, a friend of his lordship. Some officious person had represented to him, that Best had said something to this woman to his prejudice. This information so much incensed his lordship that, on the 6th of March, meet ing with Mr. Best at the Prince of Wales's coffee-house, where his lordship usually dined, he went up to him, and said, loud enough to be beard by all who were present: " I find, sir, that yon have spoken of me in the most unwarrantable terms." Mr. Best replied, that he was quite unconscious of having deserved such a charge. Lord Camelford replied, that he was not ignorant of what he had said to Mrs. Simmons, and declared bim to be " a scoundrel, a liar, and a ruffian." The use of epithets like these admitted but of one course, accord ing to the laws of honour, and a meeting was immedi ately proposed for the following morning. Each of the parlyes having appointed his second, it was left to them to fix the time and place. In the course of the evening Mr. Best transmitted to Lord Camelford the strongest assurances that the information he had received was unfounded, and ihat as he had acted under a false impression, he should be satisfied if he would retract the expressions he had made use of; but this his lordship absolutely refused to do. Mr. Best then left the coffee-house in con- |iderable agitation, and a note was soon after de livered to his lordship, which the people of the boose suspected to contain a challenge. A regular information 840 LORD CAMELFORD. was dcoordingly lodged at Marlborough-street ; but notwiihstanding this precaution, such was the tardiness of the officers of the police, that no steps were taken to prevent the intend;ed! meeting till near two o'clock the following morning, when some persons were sta tioned at Lord Camelford's door, but it was then too late. From the coffee-house Lord Camelford went on Tu«s- day night to his lodgings in Bond street. Here he in- affrted in his will the following declaration, which strongly marks the nobleness of his disposition, — "There are many other matters, which at another lime I might be inclined to mention, but 1 will say nothing more at present, than that in the present contest I am fully and entirely the aggressor, as well in the spirit as in the letter of the word ; should I therefore lose my life in a contest of my own seeking, I moat solemnly forbid any of my friends or relalions, let them be of whatsoever description they may, from instituting any vexatious proceedings against my antagonist; and should, not- w>ithsitianding the above declaraiion on my part, the laws of the land be put in force against him, I desire that this pan of my will may be made known to the king, in order that his royal heart may be moved to extend his mercy towards bim." His lordship quitted his lodgings between one and two on the morning of Wednesday, the 7th of March, aiud sJept atr a taverfli, with a view to avoid the officers of the police. Agreeably to the appointment made by their seconds, his lordship and Mr. Best met early in the morning at a coffee-house in Oxford-Street, and here Mr, Best made another effort to prevail on him to retract the expressions he bad used, " Camelford," said he,. " we have been friends, and I know the unsuspecting generosity of your aature. Upon my honour, you have been imposed upon by a strumpet. Do not insist on e»- pi'cssions under which one of us must fall." To this LORD CAMELFORD. 5^11 remonstrance Lord Camelford replied : " Best this; is child's play ; the thing must goon." It has nevertheless been asserted, that after reflecting ' OB lhe whole affair. Lord Camelford in his heart ac- q^uitted Mr. Best, and that he acknowledged, in coafi- dgnce, to his second, that he himself was in the wrong; that Best was a man of honour, but that he could not pjevail on him^lf to retract words he had once used. The reason of the obstinacy with which he rejected all advances towards a reconciliation, was, that his lordship entertained an idea, that his antagonist was the best shot in England, and he was apprehensive lest bis reputation might suffer, if he made any concession, however slight, to such a person. Accordingly his lordship, and Mr. Best on horseback, took the road to Kensington followed by a post-chaise in which were the two seconds. On their arrival at the Horse and Grpom, about a quarter before eight, the parlies dismounted, and proceeded along the path lead ing, to the fields behind Holland House. The seconds measured the ground, and they took their stations at the distance of thirty paces,, which measured exactly twenty-nine yards. Lord Camelford fired first, but without effect. A space af s^everal seconds intervened, and from lhe manner and attitude of Mr. Best, the people who viewed the transaction at a distance, imagined that he was asking whether his lordship was satisfied. Mr. Best then fired, and bis lordship instantly fell at full length. The seconds, together with Mr. Best, immediately ran to his assistance, when he is said to have seized the latter hy the hand, and to have ex claimed, " Best,, I am a dead man : you have killed me, but I freely forgive you." The report of the pistols had alarmed several persons who were at work near the spot, and who hastened towards the place, wben Mr. Best and his seconds thought it prudent to provide for their own safety. One of Lord Holland's gardeners now ap- 342 LORD CAMELFORD. proached, and called to his fellow-labourers to stop' them. On his arrival. Lord Camelford's second, who had been supporting him as well as he was able, ran for a surgeon, and Mr. Thompson of Kensington soon af terwards came to his assistance. His' lordship then asked the man why he ha!d called out fo stop the gen tlemen, and declared that " he did not wish them lo be stopped ; that he was himself the aggressor, that he for gave the gentleman who had shot him, and hoped God would forgive him too." Me'anwhile a chair was procured, and his lordship was carried to Little Holland House, the residence of Mr. Ottey ; messengers were dispatched for Mr. Knight and Mr. Home, and an express was sent to acquaint the Rev. Mr, Cockburne, his lordsht^'s cousin, with the melancholy catastrophe. That gentleman, after sending information of the circumstance to the' noble relatives of his lordship, hastened to the place. Mr. Knight the surgeon, and Captain Barrie, his lord ship's most intimate friend, were by his bed-side, and Mr. Home arriving in a few minutes, his clothes were cut off, and the wound being examined by the surgeons, was immediately pronounced to be mortal. Lord Camelford continued in agonies of pain during the first day ; towards the evening his sufferings some what abated, and by the help of laudanum he got some sleep in the night, so that, in the morning he found himself much relieved. During the second day his hopes revived considerably, and he conversed with some cheerfulness; yet the surgeons, who were unre mitting in their attentions, Would nbt give his friends the slightest hopes. To the Rev. Mr. Cockburne, who re mained with him till he expired} his lordship expressed his confidence in the mercy of God ; he said, he re ceived much comfort in reflecting, that however he might have acted, he had never really felt ill-will towards any man. In the moments of his greatest pain he cried out, that he sincerel}' hoped the agonites he LORD CAMELFORD. 343 then endured might expiate the sins he had committed " 1 wish," says Mr. Cockburne, « with all my soul, that the unthinking votaries of dissipation and infidelity could have been present at the death-bed of this popr man; could have heard his expression of contrition after misconduct, and of reliance on the mercy of his Creator, could have heard his dying exhortation to one of his intimate friends, to live in future a life of peace und virtue : I think it would have made impressions on their minds, as it did on mine, not easily to be effaced." He lingered free from acute pain from Thursday till Saturday evening, about half past eight, when a mor tification having taken place he expired, apparently without sense of pain. Thus died Thomas Lord Camelford, in the prime and full vigour of life. He was a man says the Rev. Mr. Cockburne, whose real character was but little kubwn to the world; his imperfections and his follies were very often brought before the public, but the conterbalancing virtues he manifested, were but little heard of. Though too violent to those whom he imagined to have wronged him, yet to his acquaintance he was mild, affable, and courteous; a stern adversary, but the kindest and most generous of friends. Slow and cautious in determining upon any important step, while deliberating, he was most attentive to the advice of others, and easily brought over to their opinion; when, however, his resolutions were once taken, it was almost impossible to turn him from his purpose. That warmth of disposition, which prompted him so unhappily to great improprieties, prompted him also to the most lively efforts of active benevolence. From the many prisons in the metropolis, from the various receptacles of human misery, he re ceived numberless petitions; and no petition ever came in vain. He was often the dupe of the designing and crafty supplicant, but he was more often the reliever of real sorrow, and the soother of unmerited woe. Con- 344 LORD CAMKyrORD, stantly would he make use of that influence, whicii rank and fortune gave him with the government, to interfere in behalf of those malefactors whose crimes had s>ub- jected them to punishment, but in whose cases appeared circumstances of alleviation. He was passionately fond of science, and though his mind, while a young seaman, had been little cultivated, yet in his later years he bad acquired a prodigious fund of ioform«tion, upon almost every subject connected with literature. In early life he bad gloried much in puzzling the chaplains of the ships io which he served, and to enable him to gain such triumphs, he had read all the sceptical books he could prociue; and thus his mind bec.ime involuntarily tainted with infidelity. As his judgment grew more matured, he discovered of himself the fallacy of his own reasonings, he became convinced of the importance of religion, and Christianity was the constant subject of his reflections, his reading and conversation. On the morning after his decease, an inquest was taken at the White Horse, Kensington, before George Hodgsoti, Esq. the coroner for Middlesex, when the jury, after viewing the body, unanimously returned a verdict of wilful murder, against some person or persons unkmown. A bill of indictment was consequently preferred against Mr. Best and the seconds, but it was thrown out by the grand jury. On Sunday, March the lllh, the body of Lord Camel ford was opened, wben it appeared that the ball had penetrated the right breast, between the fourth aod fifth ribs, breaking the latter, and making its way through the right lobe of the lungs, into the sixth dorsal vertebra, where it lodged, having completely divided the spinal marrow. In the chest there were upwards of six quarts of extravasated blood, which had compiested the lungs so as to pfevent them friom performing theiir functions. From the time of receiving the wound, all the parts below the divided spinal marrow, were motionless and 42 LORD CAMELFORD. 345 insensible; and as his lordship could not expectorate, the'leftlung became filled with mucus, which ultimately produced suffocation and death. The body was removed to Camelford House, whence on the 17th it was conveyed to the vault in Saint Anne's church, Soho, till arrangements were made for its re moval to Switzerland, in compliance with his lordship's desire. The coffin was covered with rose coloured velvet, with a profusion of silver clasps; there were two plates, the upper contained the arms, colpured, and underneath the fpllowing inscription : "The Right Hon. Lord Camel ford, died the 10th March, 1804, aged 29 years." The lower plate conlained only the coronet. The day before his death. Lord Camelford wrote with his own hand a codicil to his will, in which, in the most particular manner, he described the place where he wished his body to be buried, and assigned his reasons for this extraordinary request. He prefaced his wish by stating that persons in general have a strong attachment to the country which gave them birth, and on their death-bed usually desire that their remains may be con veyed to their native land, however great the distance, for the, purpose of interment. Although it might appear singular, bis desire was the very reverse of this, and he begged that his dying request might be literally fulfilled. " 1 wish my body," says he, " to be removed as soon as may be convenient to a country far distant, to a spot not near the haunts of men, bqt where the surrounding scenery may smile upon my remains." This place is situated on th^ borders of the lake of St. Pierre, in the canton of Berne, in Switzerland, and three trees stand upon the particular spot. He desired that the centre tree might be tpken up, and on his body being there de posited, immediately replaced, and that no monument or Btone might mark the place of his iaterment. His lordship add?, that " at the foot of this tree he formerly passed mapy hours in solitude contemplating the mutar VOt. II. 2 X 346 ISAAC BARROW. bility of human affairs." As a compensation to the pro. prietors of the spot described, he left them one thousand pounds. In another part of his will he desired that his relations might not wear mourning for him. His lordship bequeathed the principal part of his for tune to his sister Lady Grenville, who was the sole executrix, together with the family estates, producing nearly 20,000/. per annum ; and afterwards in default of issue to the Earl of Chatham's family, who are next in the entail. The title is extinct. Exclusive of be quests to Captain Barrie and Mr. Accum, the chemist, who assisted him in his laboratory, his lordship left con siderable sums to be devoted to charitable purposes. ISAAC BARROW. This eminent mathematician and divine, was born at London, in October, 1630. He was first placed in the Charter-house, and afterwards removed to a school at Felsted, in Essex, whence be was sent to Cambridge, where he entered of Trinity College. When King Charles advanced him lo the dignity of master, his Majesty was pleased to say, " He had given it to the best scholar in England :" and he did not speak from report, but from his own knowledge. The doctor being then his chaplain, he used frequently to converse with him, and, in his humorous way, to call him an " unfair preacher," because he exhausted every subject, and left nothing for others to say after him. He was appointed Gresham professor of geometry, 1662, and was elected Fellow of the Royal Society, in 1663. He resigned his Gresham professorship on being appointed Lucasian professor of mathematics at Cambridge, 1664, which chair he resigned to his illustrious pupil. Sir Isaac, then Mr. Newton, in 1669. He was created D. D. Iq 167O, ISAAC BARROW. 347 and two years afterwards was appointed Master of Trinity College. In 1,675, he served the office of vice- chancellor. He died on the 4th of May, 1677, and was interred in Westminster-abbey, where a monument with his bust was afterwards erected. He was a man of considerable courage and eccentric humour, as the following anecdotes will illustrate ; — Being once on -a visit at a gentleman's house in the country, where he was walking in the garden, before day light (for he was a very early riser) a fierce mastiff, that used to be chained up all day and let loose at night, set upon him with great fury. The doctor caught him by the throat, and throwing him down, lay upon him; once he had a mind to kill him, but he altered his reso lution on recollecting that this would be unjust, as the dog only did his duty ; at length he called so loud that he was heard by some of the family, who came out and freed both from their disagreeable situation. ,As a proof of his wit the following is recorded : — Meeting Lord Rochester one day at court, his lordship, by way of banter, thus accosted him : — " Doctor, I am yours to my shoe-tie." Barrow, seeing liis aim, re turned his salute as obsequiously, with " My lord, I'm yours to the ground." Rochester improving his blow, quickly returned it, with " Doctor, I'm yours to the centre ;" which was as smartly followed by Barrow, with "My lord, I'm yours to the antipodes:" upon, which Rochester, scorning to be foiled by a musty old piece of divinity (as he used to call him), exclaimed> " Doctor, .I'm yours to the lowest pit of hell !" on which Barrow, turning on his heel, answered, " There, my lord, I leave you." Dr. Barrow was not only remarkable for the excellence but also for the extraordinary length of his sermons, which he always transcribed three, or four times, finding it extremely difficult to please himself. Dr. Pope gives us the following instances. He was once requested by 348 ISAAC BARROW. the Bishop of Rochester, who was iilso Dean of West minster, to preach at the abbey, and was at the same time desired not to be long, for the auditory loved short sermons and were used lo them. He replied that he would show his lordship his sermon, and taking it from his pocket pul it into the bishop's hands. The text was, " He that uttereth slander is a liar;" and the sermon was divided into two parts, one treating of slander, the other of lies. The bishop desired him to content him self with preaching only the first part, to which he con sented not without some reluctance, and that alone took up an hour and a half. On another occasion he preached upon the invitation of the same prelate at the abbey on a holiday. The servants of the church, who on all holidays, Sundays excepted, were used to show the tombs and effigies in wax of the kings and queens, fearing lest they should lose that time in hearing which they thought they could more profitably employ in receiving, became impatient, and caused the organ to be struck up against bim, nor would they suffer it to cease till they had obliged him. to dismount from the pulpit. But the longest sermon he was known to have preached, was one on the subject of charity, before the lord mayor and aldermen at the Spital, in speaking which he spent three hours and a half. Being tisked when he had finished if he was not tired, he replied, "Yes indeed^ I began to be weary with standing so Jong." ^ In person Dr. Barrow was low of stature, slender, of a pale complexion, and extremely negligent in dress; which inattention exposed him to some incoOveniencies and was apt to prejudice his bearers against him, where he was not known. Of this Dr. Pope gives a very re markable instance in the following words : " Dr. Wil- kins, then minister of St. Lawrence Jewry, being forced by some indisposition to keep his chamber, desired Dr. Barrow to give him a sermon, the next Sunday, which he readily consented to do. Accordingly, at the time ISAAC BARROW. 349 appointed he came, with an aspect pale and meagre, and unpromising, slovenly and carelessly dressed, his collar unbuttoned, his hair uncombed, &c. Thus ac coutred he mounts the pulpit and begins his prayer. Immediately all the congregation was in an uproar, as if the church were falling, and they scampering to save their lives, each shifting for himself with great preci pitation. There was such a noise of pattens of serving- maids and ordinary women, and of unlocking of pews and cracking of seats, caused by the younger sort hastily climbing over them, that I confess, I thoiight all the congregation were mad ; but the good doctor seeming not to take notice of this disturbance, proceeds, names his text and preached his sermon to two or three gathered or rather left together, of which number, as it fortunately happened, Mr. Baxter, the eminent nonconformist, was one. He afterwards paid Dr. Wilkins a visit and com mended the sermon, saying, he had never heard a better discourse. I asked the doctor what he thought when he saw the congregation running away from him, *I thought,' said he, ' they did not like me or my sermon, and I have no reason to be angry with them for that.' "There were then in the parish a company of formal, grave, and wealthy citizens, who having been many years under celebrated ministers, had a great opinion of their own skill in divinity and their ability to judge of the quality of a sermon. Many of these went in a body to Dr. Wilkins to expostulate with him for suffering such an ignorant, scandalous fellow, meaning Dr. Barrow, to have the use of his pulpit. Mr. Baxter just then hap pened to be with Dr. Wilkins, who suffered his pa rishioners to run themselves out of breath in their abuse of Dr. Barrow, and when they had done speaking he replied : ' The person that you thus despise is a pious man, an eminent schplar, and an excellent preacher; fpr the. truth pf the last I appeal to Mr. Baxter, who heard lhe sermon you so vilify. I am sure you believe 360 HENRY CONSTANTINE JENNINGS. Mr. Baxter a competent judge, and that he will pro nounce according to truth.' Mr. Baxter very candidly gave the sermon the praise it deserved, and said that Dr. Barrow preached so well, that he could willingly have been his auditor all day long. On hearing this high encomium pronounced by such a person, they became ashamed, confounded, and spieechless. At length, after some pause, they confessed one after another, they did not hear one word of the sermon, but were led to dislike the preacher by his unpromising garb and appearance. After they had recovered a little from their shame, they earnestly desired Dr. Wilkins tp prevail on Dr. Barrow lo preach again, engaging to make him amends .by bringing their wives and children, their man-servants, and maid-servants, in a word, their whole" families to hear him, and to enjoin them jiot to leave the church till the blessing was pronounced. Dr. Wilkins promised lo use his utmost endeavour for their satisfaction, and accordingly solicited Dr. Barrow to appear once more in his pulpit, but in vain, for no persuasions could induce him to comply with the request of such con ceited, hypocritical coxcombs." HENRY CONSTANTINE JENNINGS. X HIS gentleman was descended of' one of the first families in England; by the female line coming direct from George Duke of Clarence, brother to Edward IV. and Richard HI. Kings of England. The Countess of Salisbury beheaded for treason in the reign of Henry VIII. was the daughter of the Duke of, Clarence, and besides Cardinal Pole had several children ; from pne of which Mr. Jennings traced his pedigree. ' He embarked in early life with a considerable fortune, which he greatly impaired through a vitiated taste for ^yy9Ln7r/i///^/7' f'/z^f'T^c. ry.nyu-j m, zs^^inn.^ ^ r'^iy,7,ii:-7.-s.zo,y,^n, syyz^e^ HENRY CONSTANTINE JENNINGS. 351 the fine arts; in which he never was outdone by any competitor. In the way of curiosities nothing came amiss to him; paintings, drawings, prints, fossils, minerals, siiells, bronzes, carvings in ivory and wood, cameos, intaglios, miniatures, &c. of every description, graced his antique old-fashioned cabinets. On one occasion he had the temerity to give one thousand guineas for a representation of Alcibiades' dog, in marble, from which circumstance for many years after, he went by the -name of " Dog Jennings/' though it appeared Mr. Jennings was not altogether in the wrong, as the dog was afterwards disposed of, at a considerable profit on the first purchase : some years since, Mr. Jennings acquired an addition to his fortune, by the demise of a friend, who left him a considerable income on condition of his adding the name of Nowell to his surname; but though he adopted the addition, he never was called by any other than the name of JenningSi His mode of living, kept pace with his other singu larities : he was abstemious to a degree; and with re spect to exercise, he was not only a great advocate for it, but practised it to a degree scarcely credible, for upwards of half a century. He possessed a long and ponderous wooden instru ment, capped with lead at both ends; before bed time, he exercised himself with this formidable weapon, until he acquired a comfortable warmth, which enabled him to retire to rest with a genial glow. In the morning, he got up between seven aud eight o'clock ; and, in his own express words, "flourished his broad sword exactly three hundred times; 1 then," adds he, "mount my chaise horse, composed of leather, and inflated with wind like a pair of bellows, on which I take exactly one thousand gallops !" He then retired to enjoy, what always appeared to every one, a most miserable and uncomfortable breakfast. Had this gentleman possessed the revenue of a pritice. 352 HENRY CONSTANTINE JENNINGS. it would have been inadequate to the eager desire he had to purchase the multitude of curiosities that were daily brought him from all quarters of the town ; but what with one bargain, and what with another, he was fain at last to bargain for a room in the state-house of the King's Bench; where he removed himself, with his ark of curiosities about five years back, and yet so much was he possessed of the true mania of vertu, that be would rather be deprived of liberty at the agf of eighty, than part with one of his precious gems to procure his en largement. At the time of his confinement, Mr. Jen nings received full eight hundred pounds a year from some plantations he owned in the West ladies, which he never could be prevailed on to mortgage or otherwise encumber; and at the time of bis death, had a case before the House of Lords, wherein he laid claim to a barony and considerable estate in right of descent and inheritance from one of his family. The fate of Mr. Jennings has been eminently singular, and the flux and reflux, the eyer-varying ebbs and flows of bis fortune appear so strange .as to be almost para doxical. At an early period of life we behold him mingling in the crowd of wealthy pilgrims, who repaired to Italy about half a century ago, to pay their devotions at the shrine of taste and vertu. After keeping company with foreign princes and princesses he associates with the first nobility in his native country, and then by a fatal reverse, spends some years of his life, partly within the walls of a provincial, and partly of a town gaol. Recovering as if by magic, from bis embarrassments, we next behold him emerging above the horizon of distress, and throwing away a second fortune at Newmarket, where he became the dupe of titled and untitled jockeys. Sudden and inevitable ruin now seems to overtake bim, and he is apparently lost for ever ; but lo ! in the course of a very short period, he once more revisits the circles, 42 LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MORDAITNT. .353 of fashion, and sits enthroned in a temple, surrounded by the most rare and brilliant productions of nature, with pictures, and statues, and gems, and shells, and books, and goddesses, perpetually before his eyes! Again the scene changes : the wand of some envious necromancer seems to be waved over his venerable head ; and the acquisitions of ages, the wreck of his estates, every thing most precious in his eyes; his very "household goods," are all seized by the unholy hands of vilebailifs : and he himself, after languishing for twn pr three years in a prispn, at length dies unheeded, unattended, and almpst unknpwn, within the purlieus of the King's Bench, in the year 1918. , Jennings, even in death, determined tp prove sin gular, abhorring the idea pf his corpse being consigned to the cold earth, he resolved to have recourse to the ancient rite pf cremation. This was a circumstance so generally known, that his neighbours supposed he had an oven within his house, for the express purpose of re ducing his body to ashes. LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT. John Mordaunt was a natural son of the late Earl of Peterborough ; and, together with an elder brother by the -same mother, was, at an early age, put out to nurse. Harry, the eldest, was a pining, spiritless child; while John, the subject of this memoir, was active, lively, and of an uncommonly fine form. Harry took a sedentary turn, and being tender in constitution, could not partake of those gymnastic ex ercises which John delighted in, and in which he, on all occasions, took the lead. In fact, Harry was more calculated for scholastic researches, in which he made the ordinary progress of a school-b'oy; and would pro- vot. II. ¦ 2 Y 354 LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT. bably have done under ^Imamater, had not his father, with the view of providing for him handsomely, and at a distance from the -family in general, shipped him off as a cadet to Bengal. John was too wild to learn much ; his whole time was devoted to truancy : and, as he often said, " one half of his days were spent in being flogged for the other half." Hence he was in no danger of a professorship, if we except those arts in which the celebrated Breslaw, Jones, &c. took their degrees ! In such John was completely at home ; and they were certainly of some use to him, as will be hereafter seen. When John was taken from school he was about as learned as when he first was sent there. However, when this was ascertained, and a quarrel was com menced on the occasion, he very handsomely slept forth to exculpate his master, whose attention he declared to be unparalleled; and, slipping off his cloliJes, exhibited the earnestness of the good man's endeavours,- hu mourously observing, that "as nothing could be got into his brains, his master had done his best to impress his instructions on the opposite seat of learning." At the time that John was to pass muster before the India Directors, be was out of the way; and it was nearly too late when he was found al marhles in Dean's- y^rd. No time was lost in coaching him up to LeadenT b^lI-Street, where, being more bent on his pastime than on the grave questions put by his examiners, he was near being rejected as an idiot, when one of the, quorum, wljo knpw the youth's turn well, and who probably wished to see John appointed, asked him if he under-: ^tpofl cribbage? John's spul was instantly roused, his eyes glistened, and regardless of every matter relative. to his appointment, he pulled out a pack of cards, m gre^y as scarcely to be distinguished, and offered "to. pl^y the gentleman /or any sum he chose."' / The youth now ffelt himself at home, and speedily LIEUTBNANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT. 355 convinced them that, however ignorant he might be of the classics, he was a match for any of them at cards. He was passed, and dispatched to Portsmouth, where he w'as to embark in an India ship, ready to sail with the first fair wind ; but as that was not to be had for some days, the person who had charge of him put him un board, and returned to town. John's gaiety of disposition soon made him the fiddle of the crew ; all on board loved him. He was elegantin his make, graceful in his movements (though he never couid be made to walk a minuet by his dancing master,) of a very animated countenance, strongly marked with good nature, spirit, and dignity. Notwithstanding the rigid restrictions laid down by the person who had shipped him, such were the quali ties of bur young adventurer, ihat none could resist his wishes. The kindness he experienced, added to the novelty of the Scencj inade him completely happy, and attached him more to his new companions than to his native soil. He could not bear to mope about the ship whilst waiting for a wind, and frequently leht a pull in the boats, which occasionally were sent for provisions, 8tc. One day, however, John strayed into the town, and got into company with some girls, who soon eased him not only of his money, but of his bbckles, hand kerchief, and every thing that could possibly be dis pensed with. At this unlucky moment the wind being feir, the signal was made for sailing, and the boat's erew were compelled, after a short but active search, to put off, with heavy hearts, thinking they had seen the hst of their favourite. ' John came down to the beach too late. The boat was just arriving at the ship, which was lying-to for her, and sailed immediately from the Mpther-bank. What #as to be done ? He had no money, and not a soul would liut 6€ on sncb a trip without being previously well paid. The matter was, to all appearance, come to 356 LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT. the worst, when seeing two watermen at cards, in the stern-sheets of a boat, he was led by an irresistible im pulse lo see bow matters went on. The owner of the boat was losing his money at all- fours, when John requested he might play a hand or two for him, offering to abide himself by any loss during his own play. The man agreed, and John not only won back the losings, but eased his opponent of all his money. The waterman was asked to take him on board,, but no promise of money could tempt him : " It was too far," and " mayhap might never get a penny by it," " had been served so before ;" and all the host of ob jections common among interested persons, were raised. At length the waterman, taking hold of Jphn's button, drew him aside frpm the many whp were then laughing at his misfprtune, and said, he had observed, that in dealing the cards there seemed to be something uncom mon ; besides, that he bad turned up Jack plaguy often ; " now young'ae," added he, " I've a notion that didn't come by nature, and if so be, you'll show me how to do it, I will take you aboard at all risks." The bargain was struck, the man being instructed how; to turn up Jack, with the aid of three pf his friends,. sailed and rowed with such effect, as to get within notice of the vessel before dark. The sails were backed, and Jphn facetiously observed, as he quilted the boat, " Now, my honest friend, you have turned up Jack in earnest," meaning that the waterman had fairly fulfilled bis promise, by putting him (John Mordaunt) on board. On his arrival at Madras, John was received with open arms by all his countrymen, according to the prac tice of those days, when unbounded hospitality Was prevalent. His letters of introduction, which had been prudently given in charge to the captain of the ship, were delivered ; and there appears no doubt but he might "have speedily obtained some important situation ; but General Sir John Clavering, who was then com- LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT. 357 mander-in-chief in India, and who was, accordingl}', second in council at Calcutta, having promised to pro vide for him, John went on to Bengal, where he was appointed, an honourable aid-de-camp to that officer, still retaining his rank on the Madras establishment, where he was afterwards subjected to much ill-will and obloquy. The general had no doubt been pre-informed of the gross ignorance under vyhich our hero laboured, and was determined to put his abilities to an early test. Ac cordingly, after a few days entrance on his appoint ment, John was desired to write a letter, conformably to leading points furnished by the general to one of the colonels commanding at an upper station. John very readily undertook the office, and in a short time returned to the general's apartment with the letter, written accord ing to the data. Sir John did all he could to unravel the various pot hook combinations, and to arrange them into any thmg like penmanship, but in vain. The orthography was not a whit better. The general was amazed; but being willing to know how John might have expressed.what was intrusted to him to communicate, as the only means of obtaining that knowledge, desired him to read what he had written. In this reasonable expectation the general was, however^ completely foiled, his protege very de liberately saying, " that was no ^artof his duty ; he had obeyed the general's orders by writing the letter ; it was the business of the colonel to whom it was addressed, to read it." It is truly wonderful, that under the consciousness of being so very deficient in this branch, and in a circle which is so eminent for superior education, such as the society in India may fairly claim to be, Mordaunt should have taken so little, if any, pains to improve himself. He surpassed in almost every thing he under took, yet seemingly more by intuition, than by any 358 HECTENAMT-GOLONEI/- MORDAUNT. study or effort to excel. This ignorance with regard to writing, was the rnore remarkable, as he generally con versed with perfect propriety, ofteuy indeed, with ele gance of dictidn, and with a precise appropriation of bis words to the particular occasion; He spoke the Hindoo language fluently, ahd was a tolerable Persian scholar, yet he could not write two lines of English correctly. A person once had occasion to borrow a horse from him for a day or tWOj and received the fol lowing, note with the animal 1 " You may kip the hos as long as you lick." This excellence of temper, under All the jokes to which this unhappy deficiency subjected hira,,was Won derful. He knew his failing, and allowed it to Stand as a butt for lhe amusement of his friends ; but was highly offended at the attempt of any one whomhe did not feel a partiality for, to excite a laugh a! his expense; and more than oncey iw my hearing, has astonished perions of that description into the ffliosl fcofflplete burailiiy. Once in particular/ a v^ry worthy- young man of the name of James P , who was rather of the more silly order of beings> thinking he could take the liberty of playing vvith, or rather upon him, in a large company, called to MordaUnt, desiring him to say what was the Latin for agoose? The answer waS briefly, "Idon't know the Latin for it, but the E/iglish for it is James P ." It shoitld have been premised, that the foregoing question Was put to Mordaiint, in consequence of his having, in a note, sent to a person who had offended him, required " an immediate afiser by the bearer." The gentleman addressed. Wishing to terminate the milter amicably, construed the word literally, supposing he meant amer for a Latin word, and sent kgottse by the bearer ; stating also, that he would partake of it the next day. This, to a man of Mordaunt's disposition, was the high road to reconciliation> ihodgh to nine persons LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT. S50 in ten, and especially tp those labouring under such a desperate defipiency in point of orthography, it would have appeared highly insulting. It may readily be supposed, that Mordaunt was more ornamental than useful in General Clavering's office. Howeiver> the latter could not help esteeming him ; and had he lived, would pfobably have effected Mordaunt's removal from the Madras to the Bengal army ; but the general dying, no other person felt so bold, or so inw terested for him, as to labour at thai; which, though not unprecedented, was so hostile to the sentiments of the latter establishment. The Madras officers never failed to notice, sometimes indeed in rather harsh terms, thj in justice of an officer being on their rolls, whp never joined his regiment toy nearly twenty years, and whose whole time was passed in the lap of'dissipation. Being on a party of pleasure ta the northward, and near fo Liicknow, the capital of Oude, and the residence of the late Nabob Vizier Asoph ul Doulah, Mprdauntof course had the curiosity to see both the prince and his court. The free open temper of Asoph pleased Mor daunt, whose figure and manner made a great impressipm on his illustrious host. The latter was fond of hunting and shooting ; lo cock- fighting indeed he was so pai^tial, that he has even neglected due attendance to business of importance with the several residents, while engaged in a main with "his dear friend Mordaunt,'' who was completely skilled in that branch of barbarity. Though perhaps it is not a very faithful resemblance, yet there is sufficient of character, and some other good points, io the portrait intended to represent Mordaunt, in the celebrated picture of the cock-pit, executed by Zoffani, while at the Nabob's court, to give some idea of the manly, dignified, apd elegant person of the sub ject of -this memoir. He is therein represented as in the act of handing a cock, on which he bets highly, in op- 360 LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT. positipn to a bird of his highness the Nabob, who ia pourtrayed, in a loose undress, on the ppppsite side of the pit. The figures in question, however, possess some merit, from the insight they give in the open, independent, yet unassuming air of Mordaunt, and the familiar manner in which the Nabob stooped to join in diversions with him, and indeed with every European gentleman who wished to partake of such amusements as characterized that weak, idle, and contemptible prince.: Mordaunt became such a favourite, that he was re tained by the vizier, at his court, in capacity of aid-de camp, though he never attended but according. to his own fancy ; and, then, generally, either lo shoot, or to gamble with him. The various applications and sarcasms directed against Mordaunt, as an absentee from his corps for so many years, and at the distance of full two thousand miles, were alike disregarded by himself, and by the supreme government, of which all the individuals were personally attached to him. Some persons did not hesitate to assert, that he was kept by Mr. Hastings as a spy over the vizier, in consequence of the high favour and confidence the latter reposed in him : but those who could entertain such an opinion, must be in extreme error ; for neither the conduct nor the dispositions of Mordaunt ever gave the smallest opening for such an inference. He was candid, free, and generous ; and, would have abruptly revolted at any commission which might impose it, either directly or circuitbusly, as a duty on him, to betray the secrets of the man who treated him with kindness and respect. Mordaunt was in the receipt of a handsome salary, and possessed many distinguished privileges under the patronage of the vizier, who often used to refer Euro peans to him. on occasions requiring his advice, though now and then he used to have recourse to the same ex cuse when he did not wish to comply. On every such LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT. 361 occasion Mordaunt was friendly, and on some rendered great service. Of this we have several instances. Zoffani, the celebrated painter, in a humorous moment, had painted the Nabob at full length, but in high cari cature. The picture being at Colonel Marline's, where old Zoffani resided, and the colonel's house being fre quented by vast numbers of the natives, especially of those who, when lhe Nabpb wanted money, took his jewels to the cplpnel's to be pledged, it was not long before the prince was informed of the joke. In the first moments of irritation, he was disposed to intake the painter a head shorter, and to dismiss the colonel, who was his chief engineer, and had the. charge of his arsenal, but as nothing could be done without his "dear friend Mordaunt," a message was dispatched requiring his immediate attendance, " on matters of the utmost importance." This being a very stale nipde pf summpn- ing Mprdaunt, who would attend, or rather visit, only when it pleased himself, would have probably been dis regarded, had not the messenger stated that the Nabob was incensed against Marline and Zoffani. Mordaunt found the Nabob foaming with rage, and about to proceed, with a host of rabble attendants, to the colonel's : however, he got the story out of the Nabob as well as he could, and argued him into a state of calmness, suffictenf to let his purpose be suspended until the next day. So soon as cOuld be done with safety, Mordaunt retired ; and, as privately as possible, sent a note to Zofftini, with intelligence of the intended visit. No time was lost; and the laughable caricature was in a few hours changed, by the magic pencil of Zpffani, into a superb portrait highly ornamented, and so inima- tably resemblant of the Vizier, that it has been preferred to all which have been taken at sittings. The Vizier did not fail to come, his mind full of anxiety for the honour of his dignified person, attended by Mordaunt, VOL, II. 2 z 362 LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT. whose feelings for his friend's fate were speedily dissi pated when, on entering the portrait-chamber, the pic ture in question shone forth so superbly, as to astonish the Vizier, and to sully even the splendour which his whole equipage displayed on the occasion. Asoph was delighted, hurried the picture home, gave Zoffani ten thousand rupees for it, and ordered the person who had informed him of the supposed caricature, to have his nose and ears cut off. Mordaunt, however, was equally successfnl in obtaining the poor fellow's pardon ; and, as the Nabob would not detain him as a serv^ant, very generously made him one of his own pensioners. At another time, the hajam, or barber, who cut his excellency's hair, happened to draw blood, by going a little into the quick. This is considered as an offence of the highest atrocity, because crowned heads, throughout India, become degraded, if one drop of their blood be spilt by a barber ; over whom a drawn sword is always held while performing his duty, to remind him of his fate in case of the-sli^htest incision. The Nabob, actuated by the common prejudice above described, had ordered the barber to be baked to death in an oven, when Mordaunt applied for his pardon. He could only obtain it ccndi^idn^ly ; and tp be sure, the cpn.ditipn was bpth ludicrpus and ivhimsical. Bal loons werejust invented when this happened, and Colonel Marline, being very ingenious, had made one which had taken up a considerable weight fOr short distances. The Nabob changed suddenly from great wrath to a sudden laugh, which Continued so long as lo alarm Mor daunt; whose pleasure was extreme when he heard that, instead of being baked, the barber was to mount in the balloon, and to brv,sh through the air, according as chance might direct him. It was accordingly settled, and the balloon being sent off from his highness's fore court, the poor barber was carried more' dead than alive, at a prodigious rate, to LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT. 363 Poliergurge, distant about five miles from the city of Lucknow. Mordaunt was little acquainted with the small sword, but was an excellent marksman, either with ball or small shot. With the latter he was scarcely ever seen to miss, and I have known him to come off winner when he has wagered to kill twenty snipes in as many shots; although he missed one bird, he made up for it by killing two that were sprung at the same moment, and which, flying across each other's directicns, were shpt at the point of intersectipn. He was one of three who, during one day in the year 1786, shot such a quantity of game, chiefly snipes and teal, as, loaded a small boat, which cpnveyed the birds frpm Gpwgantchy tp Calcutta. His favourite sport was liger-shopting, in which he was often Very successful, being vigorous, spirited, and expert ; all which qualifications are indispensably requisite in that noble branch of the chace. With respect to his use of a pistol, it was wonderful. He was often competed with, but wiihout the smallest chance of his losing. So confident was he of his own success that he frequently laid five lo one on himself, and several times the colonel has hit a common brass- headed nail at fifteen yards distance. A curious circumstance happened to him while at Lucknow. An officer had taken pffence at something he had said, and talked much of calling him to an account. He went to Mordaunt's with a friend, and there detailed the cause of his visit, in terms not clothed in all the politeness a dictionary could have helped him to. He was heard very patiently ; and after a very short expla nation, found himself to be in the wrong. Mordaunt convinced him of his error, and reprimanded him for his manner of delivering himself on the occasion. After the matter was concluded, and they were perfectly reconciled, a friend happened to drop in to take a few shots, when the ability displayed by Mordaunt made his 364 LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT. visitor look pale ; he afterwards coiifessed, that it was well all vvas settled. Yei, strange to say, when a few years after, Mordaunt and another gentleman engaged in a quarrel of a very serious nature, with a t)iird, whom they had accused of some improper conduct at cards, he missed his adversary who, on the other hand, wounded both Mordaunt and his friend desperately. This was not owing to agitation,- but as Mordaunt expressed, in very curious terms, at "the moment of missing, to the pistol being too highly charged. He was acquainted with all the ordinary tricks in the shuffling, cutting, and dealing of cards. Of this an instance is well known. Mordaunt observed, that one of his adversaries, at whist, was remarkably fortunate in his own deals ; and, as he was rather a suspicious character, thought it needful to watch him. When Mordaunt came to deal he gave himself thirteen trumps ! This excited the curiosity of all, but particularly of the gentleman in question, who was very pointed in his ob servations in the singularity of the case. Mordaunt' briefly said, "Sir, this was to show that you should not have all the fun to yourself;" and, rising from his seat, left the black-leg to ruminate on the obvious necessity of quitting India. Here, however, Mordaunt's goodness of heart was prevalent: for he obtained a promise from the whole party to keep the secret, provided the offender instantly left the country; which he accordingly did by the first conveyance. It was well known that Mordaunt could arrange the cards according to his pleasure; yet such was the general, I may say universal, opinion of his honour, that no one hesitated to play with him, sober or otherwise, for their usual stakes. His decision, in cases of differences, was generally final ; and many references have been made to him, by letter, from very distant situations, regarding points in gaming. LIEUTBNANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT. 365 With respect to the ordinary rules of arithmetic, no man could be more ignorant than Mordaunt; at least he never showed the knowledge of any thing relating thereto. He kept no books, but all his money concerns were on scraps, and under terms and figures intelligible only to himself. He had many extensive claims on the Nabob, and he had immense losses and gains to register iu the I, O, U, way. Yet even the most intricate cases never puzzled him ; and, at settling times, he was rarely, if ever, found to be in error. This was one of the points in which he was apt to be peremptory ; for no sponer did he hear a claim stated, which did npt tally vvith his pwn peculiar mode of accounting, than he condemned it in round terms, and would scarcely hear the attempt to substantiate what he so decidedly denied. His spirited detestation of any attempt at the undue exercise of authority was manifested on various occa sions ; in one especially. A fives-court had been built by subscription, near the resident's house at Lucknow, and was considered as public property. A succeeding re sident, who lately died immensely rich, took the liberty of pulling it down, as it interfered with that privacy he sought as a married man.' On that point nobody would have differed from him; but, as it was done without consent of, or even notice to the proprietor, or to the society then at the place, such an arbitrary proceeding haturally gave offence. None liked to stand forth, until Mordaunt, who was, at the time of despoliation, at Calcutta, returned, and insisted on another fives-court being built at the resident's expense, on a site more con venient to all parties. A hew court was accordingly built for four of a side; it was ninety feet over all, besides twelve feet beyond ; the front wall was seventy feel high, and the court was forty feet broad ; the inside was covered with black plaster, highly polished, and the floor terraced in a very superior manner. -366 LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT. Mordaunt was so much master of his racket, and was so vigorous, that he would always wager on hitting the line from the over-all, a distance of thirty yards, once in three times. He could beat most people with a common round ruler. If he ever did indulge in mischief il was at this game, when his best friends were sure to receive some smart tokens of remembrance. He used to be terribly severe on a very worthy, good-natured civilian, Marcus Sack- ville Taylor, deputy to Colonel, afterwards Major-gene ral Palmer, who was for some years the resident at the Nabob's court. Being on a brotherly fooling, Taylor used to take these unpleasant raps, as every body else did, io good humour; and endeavoured, though not with equal suc cess, to pay Mordaunt in his own coin. One evening he received so many, and such forcible repetitions of the joke, that he requested Mordaunt to discontinue it. The latter, however, did not desist, but soon after gave Taylor such a blow, as to exasperate him highly, and induced him, in rather a vindictive tone, to declare if he were hit again, his racket should be thrown al Mor daunt's head. This threat produced a whimsical scene; fbr Mordaunt coolly told bim, that if he threw his racket he would give him a good drubbing. Taylor no sooner heard the reply, than he was fired with indignation, an^ said, ihat " as between gentlemen suppositions were considered as facts, Mordaunt might consider the racket he threw to the ground, as being thrown at his head." " Very well, Sackville," answered Mordaunt very dryly, " then you may consider this aim I have taken with my racket, as being with a pistol, and that I have shot you dead!" Taylor was proceeding with his intentions, when Mordaunt observing to him, that as he was, according to his own suppositions, dead, of course he could not speak, and therefore nothing further could be said or heard on his part. The whole party present, who weie chagrined LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT. .367 to see the smallest difference between two worthy men, joined in the laugh with Mordaunt, and in silencing his dead opponent, who was speedily restored to life and to good humour. This curious controversy, afterwards called the meta physical duel, was often significantly qiioted, or alluded to, on occasions where matters, that went to extremity in the cabinet, ended tamely in the field. Mordaunt never allowed the Nabob to treat him with the least disrespect, or with hauteur; indeed, such was the estimation in which he was held by that prince, that in all probability the latter never felt any disposition towards exerting his authority. Something may be gathered from the following anecdote. The Nabob wanted some alterations to be made in the howdah of his state ele phant, and asked Mordaunt's opinion as to the best mode of securing it. The latter very laconically told the Nabob he understopd npthing pf the matter, he having been bprn and bred a gentleman ; but that prn- bably his blacksmith (pointing to Colonel Marline) could inform him how the howdah ought to be fastened. This sneer, no doubt, gratified Mordaunt, who, though extremely intimate with Marline, and in the habit of addressing him by various ludicrous but sarcastic nick names, seemed not to relish that fondness for money, and those practices of which he was said to be guilty. Marline was very rich, and had built two houses near Lucknow, both of them complete fortifications, and capable of holding out a long time against such popular commotions as were hourly to be expected. He lent money to the rich natives, taking their own or their wives trinkets in pledge. He was besides very exten sively concerned in trade to very remote parts of India. He built several ships, and was on the whole a very useful man. He died immensely rich; but being very little acquainted with the English language, though near forty years in our service, he made such a will 308 LIEUTENANT-COLONEL MORpAUNT. as might be expected from a man so circumstanced, and who prided himself in being his own lawyer. The con sequence has been, that the manifold contradictions and equivocal expressions it abounded with, occasioned the whole estate to be thrown into chancery, from whence it will, probably, never make its escape. Marquis Cornwallis was either unwilling lo compel Mordaunt to return to the Madras establishment, or was prevailed on by the Vizier to let him remain on his staff. The marquis one day, seeing Mordaunt at his levee, asked him, " if he did not long to join his own regi ment ?" " No, my lord," answered Mordaunt, " not in the'least." "But," resumed the marquis, "your services may be wanted, perhaps." " Indeed, my lord," re plied Mordaunt, " I cannot do you half the service there, that I can in keeping the Vizier amused, while you ease him of his money." As a bon vivant, as master of the revels, or at the head of his own table, few could give greater variety or more complete satisfaction than Mordaunt. He stood on little ceremony, especially at his own house; and, at his friend's, never allowed any thing to incommode him, from a bashful reserve. Whatever was, in his opinion, wrong, he did not hesitate to condemn. These observations were very quick, and generally not devoid of humour. His old friend. Captain Waugh, dining with him one day, made such a hole in a fine goose as to excite the attention of Mordaunt; who, turning lo his head servant, ordered aloud, that " when ever Captain Waugh dined at his house, there should always be two geese on the table ; one for the captain, and the other for the company," * * The following anecdote will exhibit that the above directions were not misapplied. Captain Waugh commanded' one of the six battalions which, under the immortal Goodard, penetrated throngh the heart of the Mahratta 43 LIEUTBNANT-COLONEL MORDAUNT, 369 After the arrival of the two brothers, Harry and John, in Bengal, they had but little intercourse. Harry seemed to be jealous and envious of his brother's quali- fications^ and of the general partiality in his favour ; which was by no means the case with himself. He was haughty, reserved^ tenacious^ and satirical ; con sequently was not very likely to be respected, or relished as a companion. His emabiatedj bilious appearance, was not calculated to prepossess either sex in his behalf: indeed the ladies could not bear liim. Johh always Heated him With particular consideration ; but wheii having attempted to oppose, or to argue against bim, used briefly t .'^ ' i/ •, EugTavecL y B. Co per W^IB 'Jii AH ID) 1 'D IL IS IS S , yy/iL "\ _ / y//rAy ^/- ' /ly/./'/ IW>/L!!-,;lii/J,Sobins k CAllnTii: I'resy Z.'n.-frn WYBRAND LOLKES, 375 tradesman, was a constant attendant at his own parish church ; and as much as possible would enforce the atte^ndance of his nephews and nieces, their children, and his own servants, upon divine worship. There is a circumstance of his munificence which ought not to be omitted,— ^it was his custom upon the birth of all his niece's children lo present the mother with a gold ccral or pap boat, and a purse of fifty guineas. He retained his health until within a day or two of his death, and his faculties to the last. As he lived so he died — a devbut Christian, a sincere friend, a gopd master, and an hpnest man ; he was just withput au sterity, liberal withput profusion, free without intem perance, and lively without excess; in fine, he lived merry and wise, and died universally revered and la mented on the 19th of October, 1767, in the 84th year of his age, and was buried agreeably tp his will,- in bis oak cpffin, in the church-yard cf Barking, in Essex. The fpllowing inscription was engraved on his tomb stone : — r "Here lieth interPd the body of Mr; Daniel Day, Blocb and Pump-maker, of the Parish of St. John, Wapping, .who departed this life, October the 19th, 1767, aged 84 years. Death from this world hath set me free From all my pain and misery." WYBRAND LOLKES. Wybrano Lolkes was a native of Hdlland, and born ^t Jelst in West Friesland, in the year 1730, of parents in but indifferent circumstances, his father being a fisherman, who beside this most extraordinary little creature, had to support a family of seven other children. 376 WYBRAND LOLKES. all of whom were of ordinary stature, as were both the father and motherj Wybrand Lolkes at an early age, exhibited proofs of a taste for mechanism ; and when of sufficient age, was, by the interest of some friends; placed with an eminent watch and clock-maker at Am sterdam, to learn that business ; he continued to serve this master for four years after the expiration of his ap prenticeship, and then removed to Rotterdam, where he carried on the business of a watch-maker, on his own Account, and where he first became acquainted, and afterwards married the person who accompanied him to England. His trade of a watch-maker, however, failing, he came to the resolution of exhibiting his person pub licly as a show; ahd by attending the several Dutch fairs obtained a handsome competency. Impelled by curiosity and in hopes of gain, he came to Englandj and was visited at Harwich (Where be first landed) by crowds pf people; encouraged by thiseirly success, he proceeded to London, and on applying to the lite Mr^ Philip Aslleyi obtained an engagement at a weekly salary of five guineas. He first appeared at the Amphi- theatre> Westminster-bridge^ on Easter.Monday, 1790, and continued to exhibit every evening during the whole seasOb. He alivafi was accompanied by bis wife, who came on the stage with him hand in hand, but though he elevated his arm, she was compelled to stoop con siderably to meet the ppoffered honcnuh At this time he was sixty years of age, measured only twenty-seven inches in height, and weighed exactly fifty-six pounds. Mynheer Lolkes was a fond husband ; he well knew the value of his partner, and repaid her care of him with the most fervent affection; for he was not one of those iiien> who dre April when they vfo6, DfecemUer whtn they wed." He had by this wife three children, one of which a 43 WILLIAM HOGARTH. 377 son, lived to the age of twenty-three, and was five feet seven inches in height. This little man, notwithstanding his clumsy and awk ward appearance, was remarkably agile, and possessed uncommon strength, and could with the greatest ease spring from the ground into a chair of ordinary height. He was rather of a morose temper and extremely vain of himself, and while discoursing in broken English was extremely, as he imagined, dignified. He continued in England but one season, and through the help of a good benefit, returned to his native country, with his pockets belter furnished than when he left it. WILLIAM HOGARTH. J- HIS great and original genius was descended from a family settled in Westmoreland. His grandfather, a plain yeoman, had three sons, the youngest of whom, after keeping a school in the country, went at an early age to Ldndon, where he resumed his former occupa tion. He married in London, and one of the fruits of this union, was the celebrated William Hogarth, who was born in 1698, in the parish of St. Bartholomew, London. Though the father was a man of some learning him self, he does" not seem to have been anxious to give his son the same qualification. His outset in life was not the most promising. He was bound apprentice to a silver smith, to learn the single brahoh of engraving arms and cyphers on metal, but before his time was expired he felt that the impulse of his genius directed him to painting. This was manifested on various occasions. One Sunday, he set out with two or three companions on an excur sion to Highgate, and the weather being hot, they went into a public house, where they had not been long VOL. II. 3 B 378 WILLIAM HOGARTH. before a quarrel arose between some persons in the sam® room. One of the disputants struck the other on the head with a quart pot, and cut bim very much. The blood running down the man's face, together with the agony of the wound, which had distorted his features into a most hideous grin, presented Hogarth, who seemed thus early to he apprized of the path which nature intended him to pursue, with too laughable a subject to be overlooked. He took out his pencil, and on the spot produced a most ludicrous figure. Tbis piece was the more valuable, as it exhibited an exact likeness of the man, with the portrait of his antagonist, and the figures in caricature of the principal persons col lected round them. His apprenticeship had no sooner expired, than, he entered into the academy in St, Martin's-lane, and studied drawing from the life, "in which," as Mr. Wal pole observes, " he never attained to great excellence. It was, character, the passions, the soul, that his genius. was givetj him to copy. In colouring he proved no greater master: his force lay in expression,, not in tints and chiaro scuro." At this period pf his life Hogarth wag dppmed tP ex perience the distresses^ whiqh never fail tp result frpm the^ unipn of indigence and ambition. While he was laying the foundation of his future celebrity, he was exposed to all the contempt that penury can produce. It is said that, being one day at a, Ipsp for so trifling a sum as.. twenty shillings, in order to be revenged of Uis, landlady who strove to compel him to payra,^pt, he drew ber as "gly as pbssible, a,nd in that single portrait gave macks of the dawn of superior genius. Un,like njany who are desirous of burying in oblivion the scantiness of their early fqrtunes, Hogarth was always fondof contrasting the necessities of his youth, with the affluence of his maturer age. " I remember the time," he, would say, " when 1 ,have gone moping into the city w.ithout a WILLIAM HOG-ARTH. 379 shilling in my pocket; but as soon as^I had received ten guineas there for a plate, I have returned home, put on my swdrd_, and sallied out again with all the tonfidence bf a man, who had ten thousand pounds in his pocket." Hogarth began business on his own account about 17S0. His first employment appears to have been the engraving of arms and shop-bills. He next agreed to design and furnish plates for booksellers, but except a set of plates, executed in 1726 for a duodecimo edition of Hudibras, none of his early productions could claim the least notice. On the success of those plates, however, Hogarth commenced painter, and a painter of portraits— 'the most ill-suited employment for a man whose turn cer tainly was not flattery, and whose talents were not adapted to look on vanity without a sneer. Yet his facility in catching a likeness, and the method he chose of painting families and cpnversation pieces in small, then a novelty, drew to hini a prodigious business for feOine time. This however did not continue, either be cause he resolved to follow the real bent of bis disposi tion, or his customers apprehended that a Satirist was too fo'rttiidable a confessor fOr the votaries of self love. It Was his custom lo sketch out on the spot any re markable face which particularly struck him, and bf Which he Wished to preserve the reriiembrance. A gen tleman being once in his company at the Bedford Coffee house, Covent-garden, observed hini drawing something with a pencil bn his nail. Inquiring what had been the artist's employment, he w-as shown a whimsical miniature of the cbilntenanCe of a person who was then at a sttiall distance; in the early part Of Mr. Hogarth's life, it ha;ppened that a nobleman who Was uncomlnonly ugly iind de formed, came to sit to bim for his picture. It w4s executed with a skill that did honour to the artist's abili ties; but the likeness v(^as rigidly observed, withbut the 380 W^lLLTAM HOGARTH. slightest attention to compliment or flattery. The peer, disgusted at this counterpart of his dear self, never entertained an idea of sending for a reflector, that would only insult him with his deformities. The artist suffered some time to elapse before he applied for his money ; but afterwards made many unsuccessful applications for payment. At length he contrived an expedient, which alarmed the nobleman's' pride, and thus answered h^s purpose. He sent him the following card : — ".Mr. Hogarth's dutiful respects to Lord — — ; finding that he does not mean to have the picture which was drawn for him, is in formed again of Mr. H.'s necessity for the money ; if therefore his lordship. does not send for k in three days, it will be disposed of, with the addition of a tail and sothe other little appendages to Mr. Hare, the famous wild beast man; Mr. H. having given that gentleman a conditional promise of it for an exhibition picture, on his lordship's refusal." This intimation produced the desired effect. His lordship sent for the obnoxious picture and committed it to the flames. On another occasion a nobleman, not remarkable for generosity, sent for Hogarth and desired that he would jrepresent on one of the compartments on a staircase, Pharaoh and his host drowned in the Red Sea. At the same time he hinted that no great price would be given for the performance. Hogarth however agreed. Soon afterwards he applied for payment to his employer, who seeing that the space allotted fpr the picture had only been daubed over with red, declared he had no idea of paying a painter when he bad proceeded no farther than to lay his ground. "Ground!" exclaimed Ho garth, " There is no ground in the case, my lord. The red you perceive is the Red Sea. Pharaoh and his host are drowned as you desired, and cannot be made objects of sight, for the sea covers them all." In 1730 Hogarth formed a matrimonial connexion WILLIAM HOGARTH. 381 with the only daughter pf Sir James Thprnhill.* This union was a stolen one and consequently without the approbation of the father, who, considering the youth pf his child, then barely eighteen, and the slender fi.nances pf her husband, whp had not emerged from obscurity, was not easily reconciled to the match. Our artist about this time began his series of prints entitled the Harlot's Progress, and was advised by Lady Thornhill to have some of the scenes in it placed in the way of his father-in-law. Accordingly Mrs. Hogarth undertook early pne morning to convey some of them into his dining-room. On his rising he inquired whence they came, and being told by whom they were intro duced, he observed: "Very well; the man who can furnish representations like these, can also maintain a wife without a portion/' This remark was designed as an excuse for keeping his own purse-strings close, but it was not long before he became both reconciled and ge- * This gentleman, the celebrated painter of the Cupola of St. Paul's, and of the Halls of Greenwich Hospital, and Blenheim, was born in 1675. He practised originally as a House Painter, but afterwards applied to historical subjects, and with so much success, that he equalled the best painters of his time. In 1719, he was appointed Historical Painter to George L and a few months afterwards re ceived the honour of knighthood. He was employed in several ex tensive works, but the advantages he derived from them was not always equal to his merit, or Tiis labour. The taste of the age was not favourable to genius ; the artist being paid in proportion to the space covered, rather than to the value of the painting. Thus, for the dome of St. Paul's, Sir James was paid 40*. per square yard ; and for ,the Hall of Blenheim, 25s. While painting that of St. Paul's, he approached so nearly to the edge of the scaffold, to observe the effect of his work, that he was saved from being dashed to pieces by his servant, who, seeing his danger, instantaneously cast a ppt of colour at the figures, which caused him to rush forward for their preservation, and was thus the means of preserving him from destruction. He died at his seat at Thornhill, near Weymouth, in 1734, leaving a son and a daughter ; the latter of whom was married to the celebrated Hogarth. Dugdale's New British Traveller, vol. ii. p. 259. WILLIAM HOUARTH. nerous to the yoiing couple. Another still murebetieficiai Sfifect of this exercise of his talents, was; that it in- irttduced him to the notice of the publifc and laid d solid faundatiort for his future fame. StJofi after his marriage, Hogarth h!ad sunlmer lodg ings at South Lanibeth; and being intimate with Tyersj the proprietor of Vauxhall Gardens> he contributed td the improvement of that agreeable place, fey the hint of embellishing it with paintings, some of which werfe sketched by his own truly comic penciK A gdid ticket of admission for himself and his friendfe, bespoke the gratitnde of the prbprietor for his assistance. The Harlot's Progress was succeeded by the Rake's Progress, and other performances of a like desbri'ptiodj which must be too well known to every reader to render any character of them necessary in this place* These were sold by him at his house in Leicester-fields, where wealth attd reputation rewarded his exertibns. Soon after the conclusion of the peace of Aix la Chapelle, Hogarth availed himself of. that opportunity to visit France, tn that country he manifested a nar rowness of sentiment which frequently adheres to per sons whose prejudices have not been retnoved by educa tion or travel. He wlis dissatisfied with every thing he saw. if an elegant circumstance either in the furniture or the ornaments of a room was pointed out as deserving approbation> his constant reply was : "What then ? But it is French ! Their houses are aU, gilt and b' ¦• ' t." In the streets he Wa4 often rudely clamorous. A tattered bag. Or a pair of silk stockings vvith hole's in thein, drew from him a lorreht of imprudent language. In vain was he advised to be more cautious in his public reitiarks, as many Scotch and Irish refugees were pften within hearing tlf these refiroaChes, and wbuld rejoice> at least, in the pppprtunity to get the'painter mobbed. He laughed at the admonition, abused the person who offered it as a pusillanimous wretch, unworthy of living WILLIAM HOGARTH. 388 in a free country, and made him the butt of his ridicule for several evenings afterwards. This unseasonabte pleasantry was however completely extinguished by an unexpected event. Hogarth was taking a sketch bf the gate of Calais, when he was seized and carried as a spy before the governor of the town. After a rigorous examination, the innocence cf his designs was rendered perfectly ap parent by the ether sketches that he had abput him, and which were by no means such as could serve the purpose pf an engineer. He was neverthekss, told by the com mandant, that, had not the peace been actually signed', , he should have heen obliged to bang him up immedi ately on the r^mpaats. Two guards were then provided' to convey him on ship-board, nor did they quit him till he was three miles from the shore. They then spun bim round like a top on the deck ; and told him he was at liberty to proceed on his voyage wiihout farthei' at tendance and molestation. Hogarth was far from being pleased with the slighles.t allusion to this affair, but the leading circumstance of it his own pencil has recorded in his picture entitled '< 0 the Roast Beef of Old England."" In 1753 our artist appeared to the worM in the cha racter of an author, and published a quarto volume under the title of The Anah/sis of Beauty, ia the com position of which he was assisted by Dr. Hoadly, Mr. Ralph, and Dr. Morrel. This book, Mr. Walpole re marks, had many sensible hints and observations, but it did not carry the conviction nor meet with the universal acquiescence he expected. As he treated his contem- poratiea with scorn,, they triumphed over his pubKca- tioo, and irritated for the purpose of exppsinghim. Hogarlh certainly had one failing in common with naiosti people who attain to wealth and eminence, without tW a*d of a. liberal education. He affected to despise every kJad of knowledgCj which he did not possess, and having established has fame-with little or no obligations 884 WILLIAM HOGARTH. to literature, he either conceived it to be needless, or decried it because it lay out of his reach. Till this cele brated artist commenced author, he did not seem to have discovered that even spelling was a necessary qualification, though he had ventured in one of his pieces to ridicule the deficiency of Rich in that particular. With respect to flattery, no one could be more open to illusions than Hogarth. The following anecdote will evince how much easir it is to detect ill-placed or hy perbolic adulation when applied to others than to our selves. Being at dinner with the celebrated Cheselden, he was informed that Mr. Freke, surgeon of St. Bartho lomew's Hospital asserted, that Greene was as eminent in musical composition as Handel. " That fellow Freke," exclaimed Hogarth, " is always shppting his bplt ab surdly in one way or the other ! Handel is a giant in music; Greene only a light Florimel kind of a com poser." — " Ay," rejoined the artist's informant, " but at the same time Mr. Freke, declared that you were as good a portrait painter as Vandyke." — " There he was in the right," replied Hogarth ; " and so by God, I am, give me my time, and let me choose my subject !" With Dr. Hoadly, chancellor of Winchester, Hogarth was always on terms of the strictest friendship, and fre quently visited him at his various residences in Hamp shire. The doctor's fondness for theatrical exhibitions was so great, that few visitors could remain long in his house, before they were solicited to accept a part in some interlude or other. He himself with Garrick and Hogarth once performed a ludicrous parody on the scene in Julius Cassar, in which the Ghost appears to Brutus. Hogarth personated the spectre, but so unre- tentive was his memory, that though his speech consist ed only of two lines, he was unable to get them by heart. At length they adopted the following expedient. The words he was to pronounce were inscribed on the outside of an illuminated paper-lantern, in such large 44 WILLIAM HOGARTH. 385 letters, that he could read them when he entered with it in his hand on the stage. On this occasion, Hogftrth painted a scene representing a suttling booth with the DacA; (Duke) of Cumberland's head by way of sign, and also prepared ihe play-bill, with characteristic ornaments. Our artist was one of the most absent of men. At table he would sometimes turn round his chair as if he had finished eating, and as suddenly return it and fall to his meal again. He once directed a letter to Dr. Hoadly thus — '¦- " To the Doctor at Chelsea." This epistle, fortunately, did not miscarry, and it was preserved by the divine as a pleasant memorial of his friend's extraordinary inattention. Another no less remarkable instance of Hogarth's absence is on record. Soon after he set up his carriage, he had occasion .to pay a visit to the lord-mayor. When he went the weather was fine ; but he was detained by business till a violent shower of rain came on. Being let out of the Mansion-house by a different door from that at which he had entered, and seeing the rain, he immediately began to call for a hackney-coach. ^Not one could be procured at any of the neighbouring stands, on which our artist sallied forth to brave the storm, and actually reached his house in Leicester-fields- without bestowing a thought on his own carriage, till Mrs. Hogarth, astonished to see him so wet and bemired, asked where he had left it. The indulgence of Hogarth's satirical talent at length began to involve him in disagreeable circumstances. In a picture called the Miser's Feast, he thought proper lo pillory Sir Isaac Shard, a gentleman proverbially ava ricious. His son, a high spirited young man, just re turned from his travels, hearing ,of this, called at the painter's to see the picture, and among other questions VOL. u. ' 3 c 386 W^ILLIAM HOGARTH. asked the cicerone, if that odd figure was intended for any particular person. On his replying that it was thotight to be very much like one Sir Isaac Shard, the gentleman immediately drew his eword, and slashed the canvas. Hogarth immediately appeared in the most violent passion ; but Mr. Shard calmly justified what he had done-, saying that it was a very unwarrantable licence; that he was the son of the injured party, and was ready to defend any suit at law which the artist might think fit to institute. ¦ No such measure was, however, adopted by Hogarth, who might perhaps have experienced from it a loss still more unpleasant than that of his picture. This inclination to satire is said to have once cost him a legacy. It seems that the figure of the Old Maid, in his print of Morning, was' taken either from an acquaint ance, or a relation of the painter. At first she was well eno^ugh satisfied with the resemblance ; but some de signing people teaching her to be angry, she struck the painter out of her will, which had been made consider ably in his favour. Hogarth used to boast, tbat he could take a likeness in three minutes : but the most extraordinary effort of his genius in this line, was perhaps his drawing of Heniy Fielding, made with a pen some time after the death of that celebrated writer. He often promised to sit to his friend Hogarth, for whose good qualities and superior genius, he always entertained so high an esteem, that he has left in his works many beautiful memorials of hi^ affection. It so happened, however, that no picture of Fielding was ever drawn ; but yet, as if it was intended that some traces of his countenance should be perpetu ated, and that too by the very artist whom be himself preferred tp all others, after Hogarth had long tried to produce a likeness of him from memory, and just as he was despairing of success for want of some rules to go by in the dimensions and outlines of the face, chance WILLIAM HOGARTH. 3g7 . threw the grand disideratum in the way. A lady, with a pair of scissars, had cut a profile which gave the dis tances and proportions of his face sufficiently to restore his lost ideas of him. Delighted with an opportunity of paying this last tribute to the memory of an author whom he admired, Hogarth caught at this outline with pleasure, and worked with all the attachment of friend ship, till he finished the drawing placed at the head of Fielding's works, and, which was acknowledged by all, who had ever seen the original, to present a correspond ing image of the man. This is the authentic relation of Mr. Murphy, hula different account of this portrait has heen given. Mr. G^rriok, it is said, dressed himself in a suit of bis old friend's clothes, and presented himself to the painter in the attitude and with the features of Fielding. Garrick however, interfered no farther in this business than by urging Hogarth to atiempt the likeness as a necessary accompaniment to Fielding's works. The artist began and finished the head in the presence of his wife and another fady, having no assistance but from his own meinory, which on such occasions was remarkably tenacious. About the yefer 1757, Hogarth's brother-in-law, Mr. Thornhill, resigned his place of serjeant-painter to the king in favor of our artist, who soon afterwards ventured ttpon an experiment which involved him in some dis grace. <'From a contempt of the ignorant virtuosi of the age," says Mr. Walpole, " and from indignation at the impudent tricks of picture-dealers, whom he con tinually saw recommending and vending vile copies to bubble collectors, and from having never studied, in deed having seen few good pictures of the Italian masters, he persuaded himself that the praises bestowed OH those glorious works were nothing but the effects of prejudice. He talked this language till he believed it ; and having often heard it asserted, as is true, that tirne 388 WILLIAM HOGARTH. gives a mellowness to colours and improves them, he not only denied the proposition^ but maintained that pictures only grew black and worse by age, not dis tinguishing between the degrees in which the propo sition may be true or false. He went farther. He de termined to rival the ancients, and unfortunately chose one of the finest pictures in England as the object of his competition. This was the celebrated Sigismunda of Sir Luke Schaub, said to be painted by Correggio pro bably by Furino, but no matter by whom. It is impos sible to see the picture, or read Dryden's inimitable tale, and not feel that the same soul animated both. After many essays, Hbgarlh at last produced his Sigismunda, but no more like Sigismunda than I to Hercules.. Not to mention the wretchedness of the colouring, it was the representation of a maudlin strumpet just turned out of keeping, and with eyes red with ragC' and usquebaugh, tearing off the ornaments her keeper had given ber. None of the sober grief, no dignity of suppressed an guish, no involuntary tear, no settled meditation pn the fate she meant to meet, no amorous warmth, turned holy by despair; in short all was wanting that should have been there ; all was there that such a story would have banished from a mind capable of conceiving such com plicated woe ; woe so sternly felt, and yet so tenderlJ^ Hogarth's performance was more ridiculous than any thing he had ever ridiculed. He set the price of four hundred pounds on it, and had it returned on his hands by the person for whom it was painted. He took sub scriptions for a plate of it, but had the sense, at last, to suppress it." From this failure of Hogarth may be deduced this useful lesson, that men, even of superlative genius, cannot step beyond the bounds in which nature designed them to move, without betraying the weakness of their understanding and covering themselves with confusion, ridicule, and contempt. WILLIAM HOGARTH. 389 The last memorable event in the life of our artist was his quarrel with Mr. Wilkes. Though Hogarth did not commence direct hostilities on thar gentleman, he, at least, gave the first offence by an attack on his party and friends. This conduct was the more surprising as he had all his life avoided dipping his pencil in political contests, and had early refused a very lucrative offer that was made to engage him in a set of prints against the head of a court-party. It has, however, been sur mised that his conduct on this occasion was guided by the expectation of obtaining an addition to his salary as serjeant-painter. Be this as it may, in September, 1762, Hogarth published his print of The Times, which satir ized Lord Temple and Mr. Pitt, afterwards Earl of Chatham. This called forth the pen of Mr. Wilkes, who in the next number of the North Briton, in vindi cating his friends, made a direct attack on the King's serjeant-painter. Wilkes, Churchill and Hogarth had been intimate fiiends, and such they might have continued, had not the demon of politics and party sown discord among them and dissolved their union. No enemies are so in veterate as those who have once been united in the bonds of friendship. So it proved in this case; tlie breach once made, daily grew wider and wider. In re venge for the animadversions of Mr. Wilkes in the North Briton, Hogarth exhibited a caricature of the writer. Churchill then engaged in the war, and pub lished an epistle lo Hogarth, in which the severest strokes fell on a defect which the painter had neither caused nor could amend — his age, though it was neither remarkable nor decrepid. In revenge for this epistle Hosarth caricatured Churchill under the form of a canonical bear with a club and a pot of porter. " Never," says Mr. Walpole, " did two angry men of their abili ties throw mud with less dexterity." At the time these hostilities were carrying on in a 390 WILLIAM HOGARTH. manner so virulent and so disgraceful to all the parlies, the health of Hogarth was visibly declining. In 1762 be complained of an»inward pain, which brought on a general decay that proved incurable. The last year of his life he employed in retouching his plates, with; the assistance of several engravers whom he took with him to bis house at Chiswick, where he for many years re sided during the summer. In 1764., a few months befo-re he was seized with the malady which was the immediate cause of his death, he proposed to his matchless pencil the work he has entitled Finds or the Tail Piece, the first idea of which is said to have been started in company while the convivial glass was circulating round his own table. '^ My next under taking," said Hogarth, " shall be the end of all things." " If that is the case," replied one of his friends, "your business will be finished ; for there will be an end ofthe painter." " There will so," answered Hogarth, with a deep sigh, " and therefore the sooner my Work is done the better." He accordingly began the next day, and prosecuted his design with a diligence which seemed to indicate an apprehension that he should not live till he had completed it. This howbver he did with the utmost ingenuitj', grasping every object which could denote the end of all things — a broken bottle — an old broom worn to'the stump — the butt end of an old iBusket— -a cracked bell — a bow unstrung — a crown tumbled in pieces — towers in ruins — the sign-post of a tavern, called the World's End tumbling — the moon in her wane — the map of the globe burning— a gibbet falling, the body gone, and the chain which held it dropping down — Phoebus and his horses dead in the clouds — a vessel wrecked- Time, with his hour-glass and scythe broken, a tobacco pipe in his mouthi the last whiff of smoke going out— a play book opened, with Exeunt omnes, stamped in the corner — an. empty purse — ^and a statute of bankruptcy taken out against nature — "So far, so good," exclaimed William hogarth. 391 Hogarth. " Nothing remains but this"— taking his pencil in a sort of prophetic fury, and dashing off the similitude of a painter's pallet broken — " Finis !" cried he, " the deed is done — all is over !" It is remarkable that he died about a month after the completion of this tail piece, and it is also well known that he never after wards took a pencil in his hand. It is worth observing that in " Independence," a poem which was not published by Churchill till the last Week in September, 1764, he considers his antagonist as a departed genius : — Hogarth would draw him (envy must allow) E'en to the life, w«s Hogarth living now. The sporting satirist little imagined that the power of pleasing was soon to cease in both. Hogarth died wilhin four weeks after the publication of this poem, and Churchill survived him only nine days. On the 25th of October, our artist was conVeyed from Chiswick lo Leicester-fields, in a very weak condition, but remarkably cheerful. On retiring to bed the same night he was suddenly taken ill, and expired in the space of two hours. His body was interred in Chiswick ciiurch-yard, where a monument is erected to his memory, with the following inscription by his friend Garrick : — Farewell, great painter of mankind. Who reach'd the noblest point of art ; Whose pictur'd morals charm the mind. And through the eye correct the heart. If genius fire thee, reader, stay ; If nature move thee, drop a tear ; If neither touch thee, turn away. For Hogarth's honour'd dust lies here. The following character of Hogarth has been given by Prince Hoare, Esq. in his " Stale of the Arts," pub lished in 1807. " Of Hogarth but one opinion can be 392 JOHN JAMES HEIDEGGER. entertained ; a phoenix in the art, which probably never before appeared in any country, he was in painting a moral satirist. As Shakspeare wrote to the passions connected with moral sentiment, so did Hogarth paint for the instinct of every age, and through the eye to correct the heart. In subjects of sportive fancy, and in domestic or familiar history, the native and charac teristic powers of Hogarth were singularly eminent ; but bis eulogy has been so often written, and lately so amplv displayed by a learned and noble author, the Earl of Oxford, that it would be here superfluous ; yet it may be allowable to remark, that in the conspicuous promi nence of the intellectual and moral properties of his art, in the wit, humour, and patriotism of his scenes, his powers in other professional points have been chiefly overlooked. The picture of the boys playing on the tomb-stone, at the same time, that it lays claim to some ofthe highest moral historic'merit, is an instance ofthe most skilful, and it may be added, grand compositions. In the series of Marriage-a-la-Mode, several of the sub jects are painted with a breadth, force, and clearness of colour, which have seldom been surpassed ; but the breakfast table is the most striking instance of these merits." JOHN JAMES HEIDEGGER. Jb Bw characters have a juster claim to a place in our collection than John James Heidegger. He was the son of a clergyman of Zurich, in , Switzerland, where he was born about the year 1659. Arrived at years of manhood, he married, but left his country in conse quence of an intrigue. Having visited the principal courts of Europe, in the humble station of a domestic, he acquired a taste for elegant pleasures : which, joined 44 JOHN JAMES HEIDEG&ER. ;393 to a strong inclination for voluptuousness, by degrees qualified him for the management of public amusements. In 1708, Heidegger came to England, where, by his address and ingenuity, he soon obtained the chief direc tion of the opera house and masquerades. In this situ ation he is said to have accumulated a fortune of five thousand pounds per annum. He possessed an ex traordinary memory, and great facility of writing operas; but his person, though tall and well made, was uncom monly disagreeable, from the excessive ugliness of his ¦face, which was scarcely human. Heidegger was one of the first to joke on his own ugliness, and once laid a wager with Lord Chesterfield, that, within a certain time, his lordship would not be able to produce so hideous a face in all London. After a strict search, a woman was found whose, features were, at first sight, thought even stronger than those of the Count, as he was ludicrously called ; but on clapping her head-dress upon him, he was universally allowed to be the ugliest. This singular man who, in the twelfth number of the Taller, is humorously styled a Surgeon, in allusion to his preparing the singers at the opera house, lived on terms of great familiarity with the nobility of the time, who, however, sometimes made him pay dearly for it. Of this the following curious anecdote is recorded : The facetious Duke of Montague, (the memorable author of the bottle-conjuror at the Hay-market,) gave an entertainment at the Devil Tavern, to several of the nobility and gentry, selecting the most convivial, and a few hard drinkers, who were in the plot. Heidegger was invited, and in a few hours after dinner was so drunk, that he was carried out of the room, and laid in sensible upon a bed : a profound sleep ensued, when Mrs. Salmon's daughter was introduced, who took a mould from his face in plaisler of Paris : from, this a ;mask was made ; and a few days before the next mas- VOL. II. 3d 394 JOHN JAMES HEIDEGGER. querade, at which the king promised to be present, with the Countess of Yarmouth, the duke made application to Heidegger's valet de chambre, to know what sort of clothes he was likely to wear; and then procuring a similar dress, and a person of the same stature, he gave him his instructions. On the evening of the masque rade, as soon as his majesty was seated, (who was always knoWn by the conductor of the enlFrtaiiiment, and by the officers of the court, though concealed by his dress from the rest of the company,) Heidegger, as usual, ordered the music to play " God save the King ;" but his back was no sooner turned, than the false Hei degger, Ordered therti to play, " Over the water lo Charley." The whole company were instantly thunder struck, and all the courtiers, not in the plot, were thrtotfrh into a stupid constertihtion. Heidegger flew to the music gallery, swore, stamped, raved, accused the musicians bf drunkenness, or bf being suborned lo rilih him. The king and the countess laughed so immode rately, that they hazarded a discovery. While Hei degger stood in the gallery, " God save the King'^ was , the tune ; but when, after setting matters to rights, he retired to one of the dancing rooms, to observe if decorum Was kept by the company, the counterfeit stepped forward, ahd placing himself upon the flobr of the theatre, just before the music giallery, called out in an audible voice, imitating Heidegger, saying they were blbc'kheads, had not he just tbld them to play " Charley over the w'ater ?" A pause ensued ; the niu- sfcians, who'knew his character, in their turn, thought him either drunk or toad : but as he continued his voci ferations, Charley was played again. At this repetition of the Supposed affront, some of the officers of the guards were for ascending the gallery, and kicking the musicians out ; but the then Duke of Cumberland, who could hardly contain himself, interposed. The company were thrown into the greatest' confusion ; — "Shame' CORNELIUS KETEL. 395 sliame!" resounded from all parts, and Heidegger once more flew' in a violent rage to that part of the theatre facing the gallery. Here the Duke of Montague art fully addressing himself to him, told him "the king was in a violent passion; that his best way was to go instantly and make an apology, for certainly the mu sicians were mad, and afterwards discharge theni." Almost in the same instant he ordered the false Heideg ger to do the same. The scene now became truly comic before the king. Heidegger had no sooner made a gentle apology for the insolence of his musicians, but the false Heidegger advanced, and in a plaintive tone cried out, "Indeed, sire, it was not my faujt, but that devil's in my likeness." Poor Heidegger turned round, stared, staggered, grew pale, .and could not utter a word. Th^e duke then humanely whispered in his ear the sum of his plot, aijid the cpnnterfeil was ordered to take off his mask. Here ended the frolic; but Heidegger swore he would never attend any public amusement, if the wax-wprk woman did not bre^Jt th.e mould, and mel.t d.Q^n the mask befpre his ,/ace. Whatever may have been the faults or foibles of "Heidegger, they .vvexe far exceeded by his charity, which was abu,i^<^ant. ^e died in Jthe yettr ,1749, at the adf v,anced age of ninety ye^rs. CORNELIUS KETEL. This whimsical painter w^as a native of Gouda, in the Netherlands. Be early -pr-osecu-ted Jiis art with great ardour, under the direction of an uncle, who was a tolerable proficient in painting, ,but a better scholar. Ketel, after having practised in France and in his own country, embarked in 1573 for England, and was there entertained in London by a sculptor and archit^tjl, a 396 OLD BOOTS. friend of his uncle. Here his works grew into esteem, and he was much employed by the merchants of the metropolis in paintfTiig portraits, but was seldom engaged on history, to which his inclination chiefly led him. Having, however, painted an allegorical piece, of Strength vanquished by Wisdom, it was purchased by a young me rchant and presented toSirChristopherHatton. This circumstance led to Ketel's introduction -to court, after which he executed portraits of the first characters of the age, and had the honour of painting Queen Eliza beth herself. Nothing is so dangerous to persons of weak minds as prosperity, and this seems to have been exemplified in Ketel. Not satisfied with the glory he bad acquired by his various performances, several of which were of an historical nature, he formed a scheme of making him self known by a method of painting entirely new. Lay ing aside his brush, he painted only with his fingers, and began with his own portrait. The whim took, so tbat he repeated the practice; and it is pretended that these fantastic works were executed with great purity and beauty of colouring. The folly of the artist kept pace with his success, so that at last his fingers appeared to be tools of too easy a kind, and he undertook to paint with his feet. Even in this ridiculous caprice he was indulged with the ap plause of the public The performances of Ketel are strongly coloured, and with a full pencil, and are always as large, or rather larger than nature. He re turned to Holland, and died in the year l602. OLD BOOTS. Xhe real name of this very conspicuous personage it is impossible to ascertain, being, in his life-time, only .Eii^TavecLby K. . Cooper. J-- / /z 7ZZ /y/z-cvz vz/' z/za/'z/y^l- /z,^ Ma 'zc^/z^ /// yyy^/yu/zyyc-y I^ailsTied tl) ZItoMns k yy/r-i,ni Z'j-e.ss,Zontl-'?iyj.-.:iyS-u. BETTY BOLAINE. .397 known by the significant appellation of Olo Boots. He was, however, born about the year 1692, and, for some length of time, filled the important office of boot cleaner at an inn at Rippon iu Yorkshire. He was a perfect " lusus natitra;" dame Nature forming him in one of her freakish humours. He was blessed with such a plenitude of nose and chin, and so tenderly endear ing were the}', that they used to embrace each other ; and by habits, he could hold a piece of money between them. Among the variety of human countenances, none perhaps ever excited more public curiosity, than that of Old Boots. He always went into the rooms with a boot-jack and a pair of slippers; and the urbanity of his manners was always pleasing to the company, who frequently gave him money, on condition that he would hold it between his nose and chin; which re quest he always complied with, and boYe off the trea sure with great satisfaction. He was one of those fortunate beings who cpuld daily accomplish that — which thousands of persons are ineffectually striving all their lives to attain — he could " make both ends meet!" He died 1 76*2, at the age of 70. BETTY BOLAINE, Xhe subject of the following article, au extraordinary, and once well known, character in Kent, was born in Canterbury, io the year 1723, where her father Noah Bolaine had acquired an independence in the profession of an apothecary. Her education was suitable to her father's situation, but neither that, nor her family's example, could prevent her from showing those marks of the insanity of avarice and meanness, of which she very early showed many extraordinary instances. She was then said to be pretty, and a coquette in her 398 BETTY BOLAINE. manner, hence it is not wonderful if she attracted many admirers, though at the same time she was so slovenly in her dress as to be the observation of all her ac quaintance. At eighteen she lost her father, wlio bequeathed her 15,000/. in good property, and 5000/. to his niece Miss Ann Bolaine. Miss Betty had now as many suitors us a young lady of her fortune might be expected to have, but not enough to suit her avarice. For it is even reported she advertised under disguised names for a partner, thereby seeking fresh connexions, as the former ones dismissed themselves, finding she only jilted them for the presents they made her. On these occasions she vauntingly boasted of her conquests, and the number of strings she had to her bow, occasionally showing the rich presents she had received. Avarice has been aptly compared to a gull' that swal lows all but returns nothing, and this habit of taking favours at that time brought her into a dilemma that might iiave been fatal to her freedom, had she not had very extraordinary precaution in the final part of the affair. It happened whilst on a visit at the house of a Mrs. De Laporte in London in the year 1745, when the city trained bands were daily mustered, that a rich grocer, a captain of one of the companies, became desperately enamoured of her, on account, it is said, of her livelj' dancing at the lordrmayor's ball. Thisgentleman, on the impulse ofthe moment, hastily offered her marriage. But Miss Betty was too wary to be caught easily, though aiccording to report she had done as well to have acceded to his offer. However she kept him long at bay, receiving his presents, as they suited her covetous turn, and having her ready furniahed apartment in town paid for by him. Whether he was in love with her person, oriinost wiith her fortune, their parting may give leave to guess. The gentleman finding entreaties in vain BETTY BOLAIKE. 399 to bring his design to issue, actually one morning en ticed ber into a hackney coach, aod by the help of his brother, whom Ue had persuaded to assist him, brought her to the Fleet, where marriages were at that time legally performed. But here she totally refused her band, and made such a noise that the passengers inter fered, and some butchers out of the market rescued her from the parson's clutches, who had already began muttering the office over his book. The captain, mor tified at her refusal, though she had promised him its performance at a distant period, made his farewell-bow and left ber. This adventure gave her a distaste for London, and she returned to Canterbury. Mr. Slade, a gentleman of great fortune at Feversham, was soon after this her admirer, and offered her a coach and livery ; but Miss Bolaine was too good a judge of the world to part with her independeacy and right of augmenting it her oum way, on such unstable grounds as this gentleman's pro mises. To him succeeded an attorney of Canterbury, who, by some lucky intrigue, not only won ber affec tions, but cajoled her to give him a bond of forfeiture of €00/. should she afterwards change her mind. She must have been greatly prejudiced in favour of this lawyer, to grant him such a proof of the stability of her inclinations, if we may judge by her former and subse quent transactions. Whether her affections were sincere or otherwise, it is certain she took uncommon pains to convince him of their reality ; yet the lawyer must have sometimes found that love had not any share in the connexion : aod miss, thinking that jealousy was a necessary proof of affection, she made an objection to every thing he proposed or did, she followed him every where with a suspicious eye, seeking fresh objects for reproach, to exert himself in afterwards. — ^^His house became a desert^ and his life was spent in restless anxiety and^ domestic 400 BETTY BOLAINE. strife. Her jealousy carried every thing to an extie- mrty ; even his clients in the office were objects of Miss Bolaine's aversion, who, male or female, were reproached by her with the most opprobrious epithets. She al ways made an objection to his going any where without her, which her grotesque appearance rendered very objectionable, even at that time, while " youth was in her train." We cannot help inserting here an anecdote of her penurious meanness at this period, on the best authority. At an assembly al Canterbury, when large hoop-petti coats were universally worn, the ladies complaining of the inconvenience of the fashion, agreed to lay aside their hoops for a while. Miss Bolaine objected to this proposal, fearing her saving contrivances would make her laughed at. However, her objections were over come by her companions; and instead pf a cane hoop, she exhibited a straw one, stitched with packthread and red t^pe, and covered- by an old dirty apron of her father's. This was the accoutrement of Miss Bolaine, a lady of 20,000/. fortune, and the mistress of a lawyer of extensive practice in the county of Kent. It may be wondered here how her protector could support such treatment; but the prospect of her fortune, which was constantly increasing, and the expectation of a fresh accumulation from the falling in of her mother's, who was very aged, no doubt, sweetened all his bitterness : and, in fact, she duped him so far as to make him be lieve she was going to stab herself for the love of him seizing a blunt knife, and violently sticking it against her bodice, where she knew it could not penetrate. This action produced what she wished ; for it made the lawyer agree to give up his bond, on condition she named the day of their union for life. A licence was procured ; and on the morning of their intended mar riage he gave her the bond, as she was dressing herself, as he thought to go to church with him. Relying on BETTY BOLAINE. 401 appearances,, he set out first for St. Peter's with her promise of immediately following him ; where, after waiting more than two hours, he retired at last, amidst the ridicule of the spectators who witnessed his disap pointment and mortification : while she at home de stroyed the bond, exulting in the idea of having out witted a lawyer. This action dissolved that connexion, and she re turned to her mother, who, poor good creature ! was the reverse of her daughter. Her usage of this, vene rable parent is too atrocious to be laid before our readers: suffice it to say, that raising her baud against her was the least offence she disgraced herself by ; for this penurious wretch daily left her mother to starve in the midst of plenty; and even when the poor old lady resigned her breath, the only eatable that was found in the house was a few musty beans. By her death, SOOO/. more devolved to her by her father's will, and 1500/. to her brother, a very worthy character, whose name ought not to be mentioned with hers. Her mother, during the time of her widowhood, had accumulated 500/. which she bequeathed to her son; but Miss Bolaine, actuated by her usual covetous disposition and the opportunity she had, actually forged her mother's signature, by which she converted the total sum to her own use. Her brother was not ignorant of the fact, though he never stirred in the affair, but only showed a coolness which she never forgave ; for, years afterwards, she made a bold at tempt to murder him ! A fall from his horse having confined him to his room, under pretence of inquiring about his health, she made her way up stairs, when, after securing the door, she made two thrusts at him with a carving knife. By the help of Providence, weak as he was, he disarmed her, and turned her out of doors. Thus was she prevented from adding fratricide to the long catalogue of her crimes : aod the gentleman, though he never forgave it, passed it over in silence, un- VOI.. 11. 3 E 402 BETTY BOLAINE. willing to disgrace his family, by bringing her lo the punishment she merited. Miss Farnham, sister to the Countess of Denbigh, married Mr. Bolaine, by whom he had an amiable daughter, and left her an orphan. At his death, Mrs. Bolaine thought it prudent to keep on good terms with her sister-in-law, induced, no doubt, by the advantage she hoped her infant daughter might afterwards reap. But this solicitude proved fatal to the young lady; for her aunt was so delighted in causing pain and uneasiness in others, that after much oppression, this tender and beautiful girl went.into a deep decline, occasioned, as all their acquaintance said, by the caprice, terror, and severity of her way, which hastened her death, and re moved her mother soon afterwards, regretted and la mented by all her friends. One of Miss Bolaine's favourite amusements was making matches. As void of real friendsliip as sincerity, she took delight in bringing parties together, and making them miserable afterwards. Thus she secretly abetted and encouraged a young lady of considerable fortune, at Westgate, in a clandestine marriage below herself> and much against her parents' inclinations : but no sooner was the ceremony performed, than she hastened to Mr. Lloyd, and advised him by all means to disinherit his daughter for her disobedience. But that gentleman, discovering more than she thought he knew of her in- trigiies>.only forbade his children any further connexion ; and Miss Bolaine, from that moment, became a stranger at that house. The covetous insanity of saving pre vailed over every other consideration in her mind. About a twelvemonth after her brother's death, she went tb board at Westgate-court, allured, no doubt, by the riches of a gentleman who resided in that neighbour hood, a widower about forty years older than herself* hectic and consumptive. She soon worked herself in his good opinion, and persuaded bim to marry her. BETTY BOLAINE. 403 Though old, he was fond ; and artful, she was kind. The wedding clothes were made, a new chariot provided, and every thing ready, except the gentleman's settling the whole of his fortune on her ; but she, too wary to yield hers on any terms, declined the connexion for that time, yet consented to accept of terms of settlement. This connexion was a great affliction to the gentleman's family, as they found her actuated by nothing but a desire of gain, and depending too much on her power over him. She one morning, in a passion, pushed him violently down stairs, for having had the temerity to order some thing for his dinner. This coming to the knowledge of his friends, they contrived to get him out on an airing one dayj and never suffered him to return ; arid she was soon afterwards ejected from the house. Exasperated at this, she brought an action for a breach of promise of marriage, laying her damages at 2000/. which was tried by Judge Chappel, and she was nonsuited, as it was proved she tacitly had refused to marry him. Still dis contented, notwiihstanding this gentleman bequeathed her 50/. and the old chariot, she sent in to the family an enormous bill of expenses soon after his death, but , never obtained a shilling. It was surprising to every one how she could like to live any longer near the place of her nativity,; where her notoriety was too conspicuous to pass unnoticed. She next took a large house in Westgate, which she adver tised to let out. Her first tenant was a respectable' gen tleman, whose house was repairing; and she succeeded in wheedling him to pay the whole expenses of their joint house-keeping; but soon after his return home, she presented him with an extravagant bill, which im position, though against his JDtdgtnent, he was forced to comply with. She kept two servants at this time; ojie as penurious as herself endured her caprice, and almost starvation, near seven years ; the other younger, and not so patient, lost her place one day, for having the au- 404 BETTY BOLAINE. dacity to kindle a little fire, and eat too much of the scanty fare allowed for two days. Miss Bolaine on this occasion threatened lo stab the poor girl with her scissars ; but she luckily escaped through the kitchen window amidst the applause of the populace, who fol lowed her mistress with execration to the next ma gistrate, where the girl obtained her wages, and Miss Bolaine was severely reprimanded for her rash conduct. Notwithstanding this forbidding temper, she still re ceived some visits from the neighbouring gentlemen round Canterbury, amongst whom was one an exact counterpart with herself. His name was Box, and it is certain the love of money, not affection, induced this union. They existed in a large house, and with the help of a garden, which they cultivated together, made shift to supply themselves with every thing they wanted, which was but little, for even necessaries were denied, and they kept no servant. She found in him a man she could easily govern, a thorough patient slave, and one bit with the same madness of saving as herself. With this man she could eat a mouldy crust, with frowsy or stinking meat, sometimes picked up in the road, and cooked on cabbage stacks, burnt with turf, which was constantly stole from the commons by night. These, with dried furze bushes, and dead stalks from their garden, constantly supplied fuel for the year round, every day exhorting each other more and more to parsimony, and Miss Bolaine was so pleased with his saving ways, that she at last assumed his name, pleased to partake in the honour of such a penurious character. Thus for some years they lived, or rather starved together, not allbwing themselves the produce of their garden till it was spoiled for want of sale, but would mump any trifle from the neighbours, which they were sure to keep till it stunk, or was rotten. As to clothing> she was never known to buy any; for what she had spunged from her admirers, and what her mother. left, lasted her all her BETTY BOLAINE. 405 days. At this time, she was sometimes seen in a jacket crimped round her waist, and made of bed furniture, having monkies, mackaws, and frogs, depicted in needle work, with a black patched petticoat, which she called, being in mourning tor Sir Charles H. a distant relation. Their garden work becoming heavy, they came at last to the determination of having an assistant ; and fearing that he should not have enough to do, determined on bringing out their old chariot, which had nowjtood by mgre than twenty years, and getting a couple of horses to draw it; accordingl}"^ two old blind cart-horses were purchased for eight guineas, and two or three pounds of paint used to cover the injuries time' had made on the outside of this old fashioned vehicle. The first man they hired for four pounds a year, to be their fac-totum had no nose, and when equipped in the paraphernalia of a .discharged drummer, looked veiy grotesque on the box. He was soon succeeded by a boy, who likewise wore the drummer's coat, but not being strong enough to do every thing, a pauper out of the road supplied his place. This poor wretch having a scabby head, was advised to lose his hair; and an old wig of his master's, furbished up to the life, had a noble appearance : but Miss Bolaine, hinting that these expenses would ruin ' them, her paramour was obliged to mount the box him self, and pay lhe coachman ; who refusing to return the wig, was taken before a justice, whose sentence was, that he might keep it, as he had been prevailed on to have his hair cut off. To support all these extra ex penses. Miss Bolaine's fruitful invention now first thought of lending the coach out to hire: hand-bills were accord ingly issued, but her-caution would not suffer anyone to have it without having first secured a seat in it herself, lest, any ill-disposed person should run away with such a noble equipage. This saving pair resumed all the work again themselves. Miss frequently feeding the horses, or al least taking care they should not overfeed 406 BETTY BOLAINE. themsislves. By this economical plan the animals be came so lean, that they attracted the notice of the pas sengers, : which was often increased by the heavy loads they had to drag ; for Mr. Box having a house at St. Law rence, in the Isle of Thanet, which was let out furnished during the summer, many materials were often in motion towards this country house. One of these journeys caused much diversion, and it is much to be lamented that Jeffery Gambado was not on the road to see it. The lady was seated amidst pickle jars, crockery, glass, and tin ware, while the roof of the machine and the box bore a considerable share of lumber, the most promi nent of which was a ladder, warming pan, and sundry garden utensils. Mr. Box sat on one ofthe horses, which in the second street fell down by weakness, and immediately the whole pile overset by the other horse plunging,, and the crash alarmed all the neighbourhood; They had soon . plenty of assistance, and many jokes were cracked on the occasion by the standefs by ; how-' ever, with a deal of scolding between the pair of travel lers, they were at last set a-going, but not without being reproached, and told by the boys jeering, that the horses would die before night, which was somewhat verified that day, for as they arrived at Sarr, as was foifetold, the horse that stumbled dropped down dead. To hire they found too expensive, so sold the companion skeleton for a trifle, and the chariot itself for eight pounds; contenting themselves to finish the journey' on foot, and have the things brought after them in a cart. She performed her half yearly journeys to London on foot, not even permitting herself the indulgence of a cart; only a little nig, the name she called gin by, a small quantity of which, with what she could beg or purloin from her acquaintance at home, always supplied her. When it was winter, she constantly gave Mr. B. strict charge to lay in bed all day, observing, that be might thereby save his fuel till she came back. Her BETTY BOLAINE. 407 dishonesty and pilfering disposition discoveied itself on many occasions ; and it is wonderful she never had her deserts for it one time or another. At the Btink, where she attended for her half yearly dividends, she once re ceived a 10/. note more than her due. It was in Vain the clerk that paid her, remonstrated letter after letter ; she would refund nothing; but when the next half yearly assets came to be paid her, she was shamed out of part of the sum, for no more in the whole than eight guineas and a half were ever refunded. This observable pair were fond of bathing in hot weather, but could not think of payiing for the use of a machine a shilling a turn, so they adopted anothei- mode, which was singular and peculiar to themselves. After sauntering a long way among the sands uwder the cliffs, the lady wrapped herself in an old horse rug from her stables, took to the briny waves, as did her gentfc- nian, exulting in the idea of having saved two shillingst. After dressing, this rug was carefully hid under some stones for the next occasion, and in their stroll home they carefully loaded themselves with abundance of cow's dung, which they observed the poor cottager^ burn with peat or turf. Their dispositions being so exactly alike^ it is no wonder she gained such an ascendency over him as to command his fortilne, which she entirely alienated from his son by his will to herself, leaving him oitly one shilling! Her demeanour towards the conclusion of his life gave him so much uneasiness, that he complained; but as he had made over his property to her many years before, to secure it from his creditors, having been a bankrupt, it was passed out of his reach ; however, he made a will, as before observed, and it is a fact too notorious to be denied, that he had nothing duridg his l,a8t illflness but cow heel broth; and some time before he expired, she drew the bed ftoni uuder him, leaving the body on the sacking, with the marks of blowis and 408 BETTY BOLAINE. scratches. He was no sooner a corpse, than she shut up the house, and set off on foot for St. Lawrence, where she secured all the property, and "at her return the next night, ordered the bell tp be tolled only a few strokes, and it being a rule with her never to pay for any thing she could avoid, persuaded a relation of his to order the funeral, which thinking he inight be in her will, fool ishly did ; nor did she ever pay it, or even buy a black rag to cover her, but borrowed a black bonnet of one, and a bit of black crape of another person, which she never returned : she even converted the black gloves and hat bands to her own use. A single circumstance of her unnatural and covetous disposition cannot be avoided here, as it shows her heart was callous lo common feel ings. When the undertaker's men brought the coffin, she refused to let them put the body in, saying she would do that herself. This seeming strange, when they came to secure it with screws, they had the curi osity to peep into it, and lo their astonishment found the corpse robbed of the shroud ; thus she sent him out of the world as naked as he came into it. Neither did she pay any regard to that part of his will which related to his place of interment ; for instead of interring him at St. Lawrence, in his grandfather's vault, she sent him off, unattended, to Ramsgate, where, when the hearse arrived with the body, they found no grave dug, nor any preparation whiateVer for his inter ment. He was therefore for the moment placed in the church, and afterwards buried, at the expense of a friend, in the church-yard. As his certificate had never been signed, many claims were made on Miss Bolaine, who sometimes asserted, and sometimes denied, being married to him. These clamours at last brought her to ask advice of counsel, when on being told her repeated contradictions had placed her in danger of the pillory, she coarsely abused the gentleman, saying, she had once been too many for a lawyer, and she would abide 45 BETTY BOLAINE. 409 the consequences, let it con>e to what it.might, rather than part with her money. She then sold every thing, and the creditors, after having harassed themselves a long tinje for nothing, at last gave up the pursuit, and left her in undisturbed possession of the property. After this affair she, had the addKss to get possession of a large furnished house to keep for the proprietors, who were obliged to be abroad on affairs of consequence, which she took the liberty to let out more than two years and a half, without paying either rent or taxes. She then returned to her own house, which had by this time so gone out of repair, that she caught the rain in dishes even in her bed-room, which served her for drink, for she never wanted water for any other occasion. A country wench was sent one day by the neighbours, to hire herself to her for a cook-maid, but Betty drove her from the door, saying, " She wondered at the people's impudence, seeing she had not any thing to eat herself." Yet her industry vi^as so great, that she seldom remained at home, even if the weather was bad. A considerable time was spent in strolling about the streets. About ten o'clock she generally made her way to old Phillips', a shoemaker's in Wincheap, who always supplied her with water for breakfast, when she ate what crusts she. had picked up in the streets in her way thither. After this she would sit till dinner time over a small pan of coals in the cobler's shop, when two days out of seven poor Phillips would find the dinner, and when he did not, she went to the houses of those "that she had inspired with the idea of the great sums she would leave them in her will. The number of the friends she made by these inuendoes was very considerable; and several were of the first quality in Canterbury. Her apology usually concluded with, " Well, I'm sure I am lucky to catch you just at dinner time, for as they say, one volunteer is better than two pressed men." After dinner, being liberal of nothing but her company, she would make. her vol. Ji. 3 I 410 BETTY BOLAINE. excuse, and withdraw to make the same promises some where else for a dish of tea ; and if not asked to slay supper, the next time she called was sure to relate how b»ngry and restless she was the last night she was at their house ; but if they gave her a glass of any liquor, she always blessed it with — " Well, the Lord will pay you when I am dead : I shan't forget this civility of your's," Notwithstanding her forbidding appearance, she re ceived many valuable presents; and though some were of perishable matters, yet she never had the heart to touch them, but even let them spoil ; and after she was dead, such a warehouse was found as perhaps could not be equalled for variety of things in decay. Many, of the gifts were of considerable value, and she had the artifice to excite a kind of emulation among her friends, by relating how fond she was of such a thing, and how " generous it was lo send such a poor woman. as she such a quantity, and so fine." Thus every one was ready 10 help her, little dreaming that n reverend black coat would clear all before him ! As lo articles of dress, she was never known tb buy any for the last forty years of her life, except in one singular instance, and then it could not be truly called buying, for a. young tradesman in the linen line gatre her out of pity a new one ; when from motives of gratitude, and to encourage him, as she said, she took another, but forgot to pay for itj but, this was not the only instance of the failure of her memory, only it passed over, like many other iristanees of the kind, in hopes «f future ample remuneration. Her washing was carried on in as singular a manner, as her extensive acquaintance made it easy to her, by taking one rag to each at a time, so thai in the tonrse of a short time, ail Oaaterbuny and the vicinity bad assisted her in this necessary article; apd if any refused or excused themselves from cleaning her nasty things, or she thought were backward, she would BETTY BOLAINE. 411 then throw out hints, like, " If people would stand in their own light, she could not help it; she could but be sorry for them, that they were so blind to their own in terest, but perhaps they might soon repent of their error, when it was too late ; and they were surely very bad people that would not wait for God's time." Thus, by holding out such prospects of rewarding her friends, she contrived to slip through life with more ease, though by less honourable means, than the rest of the world. Mumping and beggary must certainly haive antrac- lions which have never been discovered but by the pro^ feasors, and this was the case with Betty Bolaine. Bits of candle, pinches of snuff, and mtttcbesy she was daily borrowing ; so that it cost her nothing for Ihose aretetes, and as for fuel, as we observed befbre, the streets swp^ plied her with all she wanted, for tfce short time she con demned herself to be in her wretched dwelling. She was never known but onee to be indisposed; and after Dr. P. had attended her for a long time, she was quite en raged at his assurance in bringing her in a bill cf #te guineas. She called on him one day with a guine*,but his daughter refused it, and the debt was not disch'Strged till after her deith. Wherever she visited, her friends were always sure to miss trifles, as thread, needles, tape, strgar, 8tc. dhd her dishonesty did not stop' (here, for she was more liban once detected in bad practices ; but those were passed over all on the old score of future re- tnuneratlon. A Mrs, H.> a lady whose expeetflillions were very coirsiderable from her, refusing to connive at her iheanness ra stealing meat oai ot a butcher's shop in Canterbury, was threatened with the entire obliteration ol her name in her will, if s'he ever spoke of the affair again.. This lady had possessed her confidence, and put up with her caprices more than twenty-fi>ve years, making hei house her home wben in London, yet re fused her the loan of a few pounds to save tier goods 412 BKTTY BOLAINE. from execution ; and Mrs, H. not knowing the depth of her duplicity, brooked a deal more of her caprice, and suffered her depredations after this, no doubt, in hopes of being in her will at last. Her mind, as she increased in years, seemed to give way to pilfering, and she might have had serious con sequences lo suffer, but she always had the good, luck not to be severely noticed, only sometimes hissed and hooted for it, which she never seemed to mind. Her general appearance was wretched in the extreme, and indicative of the greatest poverty; she would pick up crumbs shaken from a table-cloth at a door, and refuse a shilling, if sent out to her as alms, in a disdainful manner, saying, " she wanted no charity," though she would gladly have received the mouldy clearings of a cupboard, could she have remained unknown. We have observed that she never bought any clothps;; the covering of her head was as curious as the rest of her habiliments, which were the concomitants of penury. Her upper bonnet (for she wore two) consisted of thirty- six pieces of black stuff, curiously joined together; the under one was an old chip hat she once found on a dung hill in a garden, and which she was remembered to have worn nineteen years at least. Over this covering some times she would throw pieces of gauze, silk brocade, and tiffany, to make herself fine, as she thought ; in this manner she once paid a wedding visit to a lady, who perceived she had no heels to her shoes, and that tl^ey were packed together with cord, and her pattens were not even a pair; in this manner did she calf every Sunday evening on the Dean of Canterbury, stumping through the hall, and up the great stair-case into the drawing-room, more like a moving dunghill than any other thing, regardless of the observations of any pec- son there. Finding her, hair grow grey, she bethought her of a Bolable device to cover that, defect, for Betty did not BETTY BOLAINE. 413 wish to be thought so old as she was ; so she rummaged up old Box's wig, which not curling to her; likings she put it in a pan covered with brown paper, and took it to the oven. The baker, wishing to know what dainty old Betty was going to treat herself with, took up the cover to see, when he discovered the old caxon : he soon clq^^ed it, satisfied that, his customer had brqught him nothing fit to eat. However, tl>e wig was worn under these bonnets, and with her dirty face, and ragged ap pearance, made her Ipok grotesque, and an objectiof, risibility tp all. The house she lived in was large, but she occupied only two small rooms below, in which was crammed four beds, and so much old furniture, as made the. place look like a broker's shop. -On the worst of these beds she slept, to save the better ones. Her covering was only rags, and there were evident marks that she very often got into bed without taking off her rigging, for dress it surely could not be called. She lived in this wretched manner till the 5ih of June, 1805, when she was taken ill while drinking tea at a friend's house; that Triend saw her home; after admi nistering some cordial to her, and not coming out as usual next morning, was found a lifeless corpse, with most of her clothes on, and a hard piece of brown crust near her, which seemed to have fallen from her hand. Almost the last words she uttered contained a gross falsehood, for, on being asked if she had any thing comfortable to drink, she answered she had nothing ; while at the same time she had four dozen and a half of excellent old Madeira wine, a present from some friend, which her ill-timed parsimony still forbade her tb use. On being asked if she woiild have any person to sit up by her in the night, she replied, she would have none; most likely thinking of the expense of a bit of candle.' Thus expired, in her 83d year. Miss Betty Bolaine, a woman who had been a torment to herself, a reproach to her friends, and the greatest robber; fbr she had all 414 THOMAS BLOOO. her life-time robbed herself of every necessary enjoyment, but the solitary gratification of hoarding up money. As is usual in cases of sudden death, a coroner's jury was summoned, whose verdict was, that Miss Bolaine died by the visitation of God. The funeral was per formed at seven o'clock in the morning, and was a scene of horrid confusion and noise ; for as she lived unrespected, she died unlamented ; and what is remark able, not a single individual complimented her memory with so much as to wear black even on that day. There is some evidence in the minds of her friends that she meant to deceive the person to whom she has left the bulk of her property, and that she had made another will subsequent to the one now in force, but by some management il was never found. By this will she be queathed to the Rev. Dr. W , prebend of Canter bury, with whom she had been but very shortly ac quainted, the whole of her property, which was estimated to exceed 20,000/. In her life-time she was never known to give to any charity, but by her will she gave 100/. to the Kent and Canterbury Hospital, a few other legacies of five guineas lo distant relations, and about one dozen single guineas to acquaintances ; the remainder she totally forgot. ' THOMAS BLOOD. This desperado was, according to some accounts, the son of a blacksmith in Ireland ; hut from others his father appears to have heen concerned in iron works, and to have acquired an easy fortune in that kingdom. He was born about the year 1^8., came over to England while very young, and married in Lancashire, the daughter of Mr. Holcraft, a gentleman of good charac ter in that county. THOMAS BLOOD. 415 He returned afterwards to Ireland ; and though his family owed the best part of what they had to the pure favour of the crown, yet he struck in with the prevailing party, served as lieutenant with the parlia ment forces, and obtained an assignment of land for his pay ; besides which, Henry Cromwell, when he go verned that country, had so good an opinion of him, as to put him into the commission of the peace, though scarcely twenty-two years of age. These favours, and the turn of his education, in all probability gave him such an inclination to the republican party as was not to be altered; and after the restoration of Charles II. various circumstances contributed to increase his disaf fection to the government. The Act of Settlement in Ireland, and the subsequent proceedings certainly af fected him deeply in his fortune, and he believed un justly, which easily led him to turn his thoughts any way that promised redress. He knew there were multi tudes in the same condition that had been old soldiers, and were equally capable of contriving, concealing, and carrying into execution, a, plot for altering and subvert ing any form of government, of which 421 would gratify them with the sight, thongh they might come a little before the usual hour,. In this enterprise Blood had. engaged three accomplices, named Desbo- rough, Kelsy, and Perrot. Accordingly two of them came, accompanied by the doctor, about eight in the morning, and the third held their horses that waited for them at the outer gate of the Tower ready saddled ; they had no other apparatus but a wallet and a wooden mallet, which there was no great difficulty to secrete. Edwards received them vvith great civility, and im mediately admitted them into his office ; but as it is usual for the keeper of the regalia, when he shows them, to lock himself up in a kind of grate with open bars, that tho^e things of considerable value may be seen but nqt soiled, the old man had no sooner opened the door of this place, than the doctor and his companions fol lowed him close, and without giving him time lo ask questions, silenced him, by knocking him down with the wopden mallet. They then instantly flattened the bows pf the crown to make it more portable, seized the scepter and dove, put them together into the wallet, and were preparing to make their escape; when, unfortu nately for them, the old man's son, who had not been at bome for ten years before, came from sea in the very instant ; and being told that his father was with some friends that would be very glad to see him at the jewel- office, he posted thither immediately, and met Blood and his companions as they werejust coming out ; who, instead of returning and securing him, as in gopd policy they should have done, hurried away with the crown and globe, but not having time to file the scepter, which was too long to go into the bag, they left it behind. Old Edwards, who was not so much hurt as the villains had apprehended, by this time recovered his legs, and cried out murder, which being heard by his 422 THOMAS BLOOD. daughter, she ran out and gave an alarm ; and Blood and Perrot, being observed making off with uncommon haste, were justly suspected. They had advanced be yond the main guard; when the alarm being given to the warder at the draw- bridge, he put himself in a posture to stop their progress. Blood discharged a pistol al the warder, who, though unhurt, fell to the ground through fear ; by which they got safe to the little ward-house gate, where the sentinel, though he saw the warder to all appearance shot, made no resist ance against Blood and his associates, who now passed the draw-bridge, and through the outer gate upon the wharf. At this place they were overtaken by one Captain Beekman, who had pursued them from Edwards's house. Blood immediately discharged a pistol at Beckman's head ; but he stooping down at the instant, the shot missed him, and he seized Blood, who had the crown under his cloak. Blood struggled a long while to pre serve his prize : and when it was at length wrested from him, he said, " It was a gallant attempt, how unsuc cessful soever ; for it was for a crown ?" Before Blood was taken, Perrot had been seized by another person; and young Edwards observing a man that was bloody, in the scuffle, was going to run him through the body ; but was prevented by Captain Beekman. Hunt, Blood's sonrin-law, leaped on his horse, with two more of the parly, and rode- away ; but a cart, standing empty in the street, chanced to turn short, and Hunt ran against a pole that stuck out. On recovering his legs, he was remounting ; but was known by a cobler, who was running to inquire the disaster, and who said, " This is Tom Hunt, who was in that bloody attempt on the Duke of Ormond." A constable being on the spot, immediately seized him, and carried him before Justice Smith, who, upon his confident denial of being the THOMAS BLOOD. 423 same Hunt, was about 'to discharge him ;. but the hue and cry coming from the Tower, he was committed to safe custody. Young Edwards proposed to Lieutenant Rainsford lo mount some of his soldiers upon the horses that were left, and send them to follow the rest that escaped; but he bade him follow them himself, it wfis his business, and led the horses into the tower as forfeited to the lieutenant. In the struggle for the crown, the great pearl and a fine diamond fell out, and were lost for a time, with some smaller stones. But the pearl was found by Cathe rine Maddox, a poor sweeping woman to one of the warders, and the diamond by a barber's apprentice, and both faithfully restored. Other smaller stones were by several persons picked up and brought in. The fine ruby belonging to the sceptre was found in Perrot's pocket ; so that not any considerable thing was wanting. The crown only was bruised, and sent to repair. Upon this disappointment Blood's spirits failed him J and while he remained a prisoner in the gaol of the Tower, he appeared not only silent and reserved, but ill- tempered, and sullen. He soon changed his temper, however, when, contrary to all reason, probability, and his own expectation, he was informed the king intended to see and examine him himself. This was brought about by the Duke of Buckingham, then the great fa vourite and first minister, who infused into his majesty, over whom he had for some lime a great ascendency', the curiosity of seeing so extraordinary a person, whose crime, great as it Was, argued a prodigious force of mind, and made it probable, that, if so disposed, he might be capable of making large discoveries. These insinuations had such an effect upon the king, that he consented to what the duke desired, which in the end proved disadvantageous to them all ; for it brought dis credit on the royal character, an indelible load of infamy 424 THOMAS BLOOD. upon the duke, and this afterwards produced Blood's ruin : such are the consequences of inconsiderate ac tions in persons in high stations, who ought to be always jealous of their dignity, and of doing what may hazard the wounding public opinion, upon which that dignity is chiefly founded. Colonel Blood was no sopner acquainted that he was tp be introduced to the royal presence, than he conceiv ed immediately he stood indebted for this honour to the notion the king, or some about him, bad of his courage, and therefore was not at all at a loss about the part he was to act, and on the acting Well of which his life en tirely depended. The cunning of this boldest of all thieves was equal to his intrepidity. He told the king on his examination, that he had undertaken to kill him ; and that he went with that purpose to a place in the river where he bathed ; but was struck )vith so profound an awe upon the sight pf his (naked) majesty, that his resplution failed him, and he entirely laid aside his design : that he be longed to a band of ruffians equally desperate with him self, who had bound themselves by the strongest oaths to revenge the death of any of their associates. Though he omitted nothing that might create a belief of his contemning death, yet he expressed infinite awe and re spect for a monarch who had condescended to treat him with such unusual indulgence. It was foreseen by the Duke of Ormond, as soon as he knew the king designed to examine him, that Blood had no cause to fear; and indeed such an impression had his story and behaviour made on the mittd of his sove reign, that he not only pardoned, bul set him at liberty, and gave him a pension of 500/. a year to subsist on. This conduct of his majesty towards so high and so no torious an offender, occasioned much speculation, and many conjectures. Of these some are still preserved, amongst which the sentiments of Sir Gilbert Talbot are 46 THOMAS BLOOD. 425 very sensible. He seems to think the king's apprehen- sipns determined him. Anpther writer suggests, that the Duke of Buckingham having put him on the first design, to prevent its becoming public, was obliged topro- cure his pardon for the second; but it is more probable that he insinuated his interest with some desperate mal contents tbem in Holland, whom he could induce tp come home and live peaceably. At least this is certain, tbat on the breakiing out of the war soon after, a pro clamation was published, requiring such persons tb come over; upon which Desborough, Kelsey, and many more came, surrendered, and had pardons, very probably at Blood's request; for with him they met almost every day, in a roiom kepit on purpose for them at White's coffee-house, near the Royal Exchange. His interesit was, for some time, very great at court, where he solicited the suits of many of the unfortunate people of his parly with success. This weakness in the king eoialdi not fail of giivrng great offence and occa sioned many severe censures to be thrown out against him. Among the rest it did' no* escape the sarcastic pen of Lord Rochester, who, tn hi« liistory pf the In"sipids, has these lines: — Blood that wears treason in his ftice, Vil'lain complete in parson's gown, Qow nwch is he at court in grace. For stealing Ormond and the crown ! Since loyalty does no man good. Let's steal' the king and outdo Blood'. After the disgrace of the ministry styled the Cabal, BTood^s interest at court began quickly to decline, and perhaps his pension also was ill p^id ; for we find hitn again amongst the malcontents, and acting in favour of papular measures that, were displeasing to the court. In the busy lime of plotting too, so active a person as Colonel Blood could not but have some share. He VOL. II. 3 H 426 THOMAS BLOOD. behaved, however, in anew manner, suitable to the great change of times; and instead of making attempts on the persons of great men, took up the character of a great man himself, and expressed an apprehension that attempts might be made upon him. In this manner he lived between nine and ten years, sometimes about the court, sometimes excluded from it, always uneasy, and engaged in some scheme or other of an untoward kind, till at last he was met with in his own way, and either circumvented by some of his own in struments, or drawn within the vortex of a sham plot, by some who were too cunning for this master in his profession. It seems there were certain people, who had formed a design of fixing an imputation of a most scandalous nature upon, the Duke of Buckingham, who was then at the head of a vigorous opposition against the court, and who, notwithstanding he always courted and protected the fanatics, had not, in respect to his moral character, so fair a reputation as to render any charge of that kind incredible. But whether this was conducted by Colonel Blood, whether a counter-plot was set on foot to defeat *it, and entrap Blood, or whether some whisper, thrown out to alarm the duke, led his grace to secure himself by a contrivance of the same stamp, better concerted, and more effectually ex ecuted ; so much is certain, that the duke, who was formerly supposed so warm a patron to the colonel, thought it requisite, for his own safety, to contribute to .his ruin. What notion Blood waS desirous that the world should entertain of this affair, may be discovered from the case which he caused to be printed of it ; but the Court of King's Bench took the thing in so different a light, that he was convicted upon a criminal informa tion for the conspiracy, and committed to the King's Bench prison; and while in custody there, he was charged with an action of scandalum magnatitm, at the suit of the Duke of Buckingham, in which the damages THOMAS BLOOD. 427 were laid at 10,000/.; but, notwithstanding this. Blood found bail, and was discharged from his imprisonment. He then retired to his house in the Bowling-alley, in Westminster, in order to take such measures as were re quisite to deliver himself out of these difficulties; but finding fewer friends than he expected, and meeting with other and more heavy disappointments, he was so much affected by them, as to fall into a distemper that speedily threatened his life. He was attended in his sickness by a clergyman, who found him sensible, but reserved, declaring he was not at all afraid of death. In a few days he fell into a lethargy, and expired August 24, 1680. He was privately, but decently, interred in the chapel in Tothill-fields. Such was the notion entertained by the generality of the world of this man's subtlety and restless spirit, that they could neither be persuaded he would be quiet in his grave, nor would they permit him to retnain so; for a story being spread, that this dying, and being buried, was only a new trick of Colonel Blood's, preparatory to some more extrordinary exploit than any he had been concerned in, it became in a few days so current,.and so many circumstances were added to render it credible, that the coroner thought fit to interpose, ordered the body to be taken up again, and appointed a jury to sit upon it. But so strongly were they prepossessed with the idle fancy of its being all an amusement, that though they were his neighbours, knew him personally, and he had been only a few days dead, they could not for a long time agree whether it was or was not his body. An in timate acquaintance of his reminded them of looking at the thumb of his left hand, which, by an accident that happened to it, grew to twice] its natural size, and was commonly known to such as conversed with him. By this, and the various depositions of persons attending him in his last illness, they were at last convinced, and the coroner caused him lo be once more interred and left in his vault in quiet. 428 MRS. MONTAGUE. A HIS lady was the daughter of Matthew Robinson, Esq. late of West Layton in Yorkshire, and Horton in Kent, and sister to Lord Rokeby, of eccentric memory.* She was born about the year 1730. The care of her educa tion, was committed to her relation, the celebrated Dr. Conyers Middleton, the author of the life of Cicero, and other admired publicati^ons. Under a tutor of such abilities it is no wonder that Miss Robinson should have displayed an early propensity for literary pursuits; nay, it is even said that she had transcribed the whole of the Spectator at eight years of age. This report almost ex ceeds belief, though it has been attested by the best authority, and was always solemnly affirmed by Dr. Mousey, a particular friend of Dr. Middleton, as well as of the lady herself. From the respectability of her connexions Miss Ro binson was introduced to the acquaintance of many of the most distinguished characters of her time. With the amiable Lord Lyttleton she was on terms of the greatest intimacy, and had he been free from matri monial ties, she might have commanded his title and fortune. It is well known that she assisted this noble-, man in the composition of his Dialogues of the Dead, and some of the best portions of that work were ac knowledged by his lordship to have proceeded ffom her pen. It has been imagined that she was at one time attached to Pulteney, the celebrated Earl of Bath, She afterwards accompanied that nobleman and his lady on a tour through Germany. Miss Robinson conferred ber hand on Edward Mdh- tague, Esq. of Denton Casile in Northumberland, grand- ^ ft ., .. — * For the life of Lord Rokeby, see vol. i. p. 336. MRS. MONTAGUE. 429 son to the first Earl of Sandwich, whom she survived many years. We have already seen that the early promise of her literary genius was not disappointed in her maturer years. She was not only a good scholar but possessed a sound judgment and excellent taste. These led her to compose her Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakspeare, in answer to the frivolous objec tions of Voltaire. This performance, the only avowed production of her pen, must always rank with the best illustrations of the powers of the English bard. It is not an elaborate exposition of obscure passages, but a comprehensive survey of the sublimity of his genius, of his profound knowledge of human nature, and of the wonderful resources of his imagination. The French critic, with his usual asperity, presumes to censure the father of the British drama for defects which he does not possess, and exaggerates the improprieties that are to be found in his writings. The truth is, that the pro ductions of no mortal can boast of perfection ; that considerable allowance must be made for the complexion of the times when the poet lived ; and, lastly, that Voltaire, being not thoroughly acquainted with the English language, was by no means competent to the task he had undertaken, in thus sitting in judgment on the ornament and glory of our country. Many able judges of literary merit have pronounced an eulogium on Mrs. Montague's, performance, and even fastidious readers have perused it with pleasure : there is a neatness in the style, and clearness in the arrangement, and a benevolence in the tendency and design of her observations. But we will not conceal from our readers that the colossal Johnson growled, and vented his spleen in ill-natured expressions concerning it. We cannot, however, deem him an unerring oracle : he reprobated Gray, whose writings have attracted from the public no small degree of admiration. The epistolary correspondence of Mrs, Montague 430 MRS. MONTAGUE. possessed much playfulness of fancy; she, in this de partment, exceeded even her celebrated female name sake, whose letters, however doubtful their origin, were marked for appropriateness of spirit and gracefulness of expression" By some, the subject of this memoir had the palm of superiority assigned her. Her epistolary excellence particularly displayed itself in her corre spondence with Dr, Monsey, physician to Chelsea Col lege, to whom she wrote during her excursion through Germany. He lived to a very advanced age. The fol lowing is an extract of a letter of pleasantry from this lady to Dr. Monsey, dated January, 1785 : — " MY DEAR DOCTOK, " I flatter myself you do not love me less vehemently at ninety than you did at eighty-nine. Indeed I feel my passion for you in crease yearly : a miser does not love a new guinea, or an antiquary an old one, more than I do you ; like a virtuoso, I admire the verd antique on your character, and set a higher price on your affection every day. If the winter of the year Ijad been as pleasant as the winter of your age, I should have called on you at Chelsea before this time, but it has been so harsh and severe, tbat I durst not venture myself abroad under its influence," &c. In private life, Mrs. M., wns, an example of liberal discretion and rational benevolence. Her hand was extended to the protection of genius, and to the relief of distress. Her mansion was the resort of distin guished characters, and all were ready to pay the homage due to the endowments of her head, and to the amiable qualities of her heart. One singular instance of her benevolence must not be passed over unnoticed : for some yars previous to her decease, she annually en tertained, on the first day of May, with roast beef and plumb-pudding, the chimney-sweepers of the metropolis, in the court-yard. of her house, in Portman-square ! It was reported that her predilection for the sooty tribe originated in her having once lost a child, which she found amongst them. But this cannot be a fact, for she Engra'ved.'byB- Coopar. ''Jh:zzz/i/V{/i/y/: //v^ /(yjl7/z/z/y-zy/z/ .^ ,y//yyyy/zy. J^y/i'/:- ;' h/J,z: ¦:':;.:: .(• . '¦LS,":-: v-.j -¦7:,^.-7iy;r,:. j.y,y. PETER WILLIAMSON. 431 never had a family. The real cause was, her delight to do good ; and, in imitation of Jonas Hanway, she thought her regards were particularly due to this un fortunate class of society. Mrs, Montague died at her house in Portman-square, in the year 1800, having reached an advanced age. Notwithstanding the mean opinion of Mrs. Mon tague's Vindication, which Dr. Johnson professed to en tertain, and which was one of those into which he wa3 sometimes goaded either by peevishness or the impor tunity of his friends, we find him on another occasion expressing the fpllpwing, and which were prcbably his real sentiments concerning this lady: "She did not make a trade of her wit, but was a very extraordinary woman. She had. a constant stream of conversation, and it was always impregnated ; it had always meaning." But whatever pretensions she- might have to wit or talents, it is much more pleasing to be able to assert, that her virtues and the goodness of heart, which she displayed throughout a long life, deservedly entitle her lo the esteem and imitation of posterity. PETER WILLIAMSON. The life of this singularly unfortunate man cannot be better, or.more faithfully, detailed than in his own words ; we shall therefore nearly confine ourselves to a narra tive of his life and adventures, published by himself shortly after his return to this country in 1756. " I was born," says he, " within ten miles of the town of Aberdeen, in the north of Scotland,if not of rich, yet of reputable parents, ,who supported me in the best manner they could, as long as they had me under their inspec tion ; but fatally for me, and to their great grief, as it afterwards proved, I was sent to live with an aunt at 432 PETER WILLIAMSON. Aberdeen, where, at eight years of age, playing on the quay, with others of my companions, being of -a stout robust constitution, I was taken notice of by two fellows belonging to a vessel in the harbour, employed (as the trade then was) by some of the worthy merchants of the tovifn, in that villainous and execrable practice called Kidnapping; that is, stealing yoiing children from their parents, and selling them as slaves in the plantations abroad. I was easily cajoled on board the ship by them, where I wasi no sooner got, than they conducted me between the decks, to some others they had kidnapped in the same manner. At that lime, I had no sense of the fate that was destined for me, and spent the time in childish amusements with my fellow sufferers in the steerage, being never suffered to go upon deck whilst the vessel! lay in the harbour; which was till such time, as they had gorin their loading, with a compliment of unhappy youths, for carrying on their wicked commerce. "In about a month's time the ship set sail for America. When arrived at Philadelphia, the capital of Pennsylvania, the captain had soon people enough who came to buy us. He sold us at l6/. per head. What became of my unhappy companiaas, I never ktiew ; but it was my lot to be sold for the term of seven years, to one of my countrymen, a NoiTth Briton, who bad in his youth un dergone the same fate as myself, having been kidnapped fronoi St. Johnston n iim Scotland. "Hapipy was my lot in falling intpmy countryman's power. Having no> children of his own, and commise rating my unihappy condition, he took great care of me till I was fit for business; and about the twelfeh yeair of my age, set me about little trifles ; in which state I con tinued till) my fourteenth; year, when I was fit for harder woiBfc. During such my idle state, seeing ray fellow ser vants often reading and wiritioig, it excited in me an inclination lo learn, which I ioartimated to my master, telling him, I should be very willing to serve a year 46 PETER WiLLlAxMSON. 4B3 longer than the contract by which I wns bound, obliged me, if he would indulge me in going to school ; this he readily agreed to, saying, that winter would he the best time. It being then summer, I waited with impatience for the other season ; but to make some progress in my design, i got a primer, and learnt as much from my fel low servants as I could. Al school, where I went every winter for five years, I made a tolerable proficiency, and have ever since been improving myself at leisure hours. With this good master, I continued till I was seventeen years old, when he died, and as a reward for my faithful service, left me two hundred pounds currency, which was then about one hundred and twenty pounds sterlino- his best horse, saddle, and all his 'vearing apparel. " Being now my own master, having money in my pocket, and all other necessaries, I employed myself in jobbing about the country, working for any that would employ me, for near seven years; when thinking I had money sufficient to follow some better way of life, I re solved to settle, and married the daughter of a substan tial planter. My father-in-law, in drder to establish us in the world in an^easy, if not affluent manner, made me a deed of gift of a tract of land, that lay (unhappily for me, as it has since proved) on the frontiers of the province of Pennsylvania, near the forks of Delaware, in Berks county, containing about two hundred acres, thirty of which were vvell cleared and fit for immediate use, whereon was a good house and barn. The pldce pleasing me well, I settled on it; and though it cost me the major part of my money in buying Stdck, hotishold furniture, and implements for out-door work ; aftd happy as I was in a good wife, yet did my felicity last me not long : for in the year 1754, the Indians, in the French interest, who had for a long time before ravaged and de stroyed other parts of America, unmolested, I may very properly say, began now to be very troublesome on the frontiers of our province, where they generally appeared VQL. II. 3 I 434 PETER WILLIAMSON. in small skulking parties, committing great devastations. Terrible and shocking to human nature, were the bar barities daily committed by the savages, and are not to be paralleled in all all the volumes of,history ! Scarce did a day pass but some unbajfipy family or other fell victims to French chicanery and savage cruelty. Ter rible, indeed, it proved tome as well as many others; I that was now happy in an easy state of life, blessed with an affectionate and tender wife, became on a sudden one of the most unhappy of mankind ; scarce can I sustain the shock which for ever recoils on me, at think ing on the fatal 2nd of October, 1754, My wife that day went from home to visit some of her relations; as I staid up later than usual, expecting her return, none being in the house besides myself, how great was my surprise and terror, when about eleven o'clock at night, I heard the dismal war-cry, or war-whoop of the savages, which they make on such occasions, and may be ex pressed, woach, woach, ha, ha, bach, woachj and to my inexpressible grief, soon found my house was at tacked by them. I flew to my chamber window, and perceived them to be twelve in number. They making several attempts to come in, I asked them what they wanteds They gave me no answer, but continued beating, and trying to get the door open. Judge then the condition I must be in, knowing the merciless dis position of those savages, should I fall into their hands. To escape which dreadful misfortune, having my gun loaded in my hand, I threatened them with death, if they should not desist. But how vain. and fruitless are the efforts of one man against the united force of so many! and of such blood-thirsty monsters as I had here to deal with. One of them that could speak a little English,, threatened me in return, "That if I did not come out, they would burn me alive in the house." Telling me farther, what I unhappily perceived ; " that they were no friends to the English, but if / would come PETER WILLIAMSON. 43-5 Out and surrender myself prisoner, they would not kill me." My terrpr and distraction at hearing this is not to be expressed by words, nor easily imagined by any per son, unless in the same condition. Distracted as I was in such deplorable circumstances, I chose to rely on the uncertainty of their promises, rather than meet with certain death by rejecting them; and accordingly went out of the house with' my gun in my hand, not knowing what I did, or that I had it. Immediately on my ap proach they rushed on me like so many tygers, ahd in stantly disarmed me. Having me thus in their power, the merciless villains bound me to a tree near the door; they then went into the house, and plundered and de stroyed every thing there was in it, carrying off what moveables they could ; the rest, together with the house, which they set fire to, was consumed before my eyes. " The barbarians not satisfied with this, set -fire to my barn, stable, and out-houses, wherein were about two hundred bushels of wheat, six cows, four horses, and five sheep, which underwent the same fate, being all entirely consumed to ashes. During the conflagration, to describe the thoughts, the fear.s, and misery that I felt, is utterly impossible, as it is even now to mention what I feel at the remembrance thereof. " Having thus finished the execrable business, about which they came, one of the monsters came to me with a tomahawk in his hand, threatening me with the worst of deaths, if I would not willingly go with them, and be contented with their way of living. This I seemingly agreed to, promising to do every thing for them that lay in my pOwer; trusting to Providence for the lime when I might be delivered out of their hands. Upon tbis they untied me, and gave me a great load to carry, under which I travelled all that night with them, full of the most terrible apprehensions, and oppressed with the- greatest anxiety of mind, lest my unhappy wife should likewise have fallen a prey to those cruel monsters. At 436 PETER WILLIAMSON. day-break, my infernal masters ordered me to lay down ray load, when tying my hands again round a tree with a small cord, they forced the' blood out at my fingers' ends. They then kindled a fire near the tree whereto I was bound, which filled me with the most dreadful agonies, concluding I was going to be made a sacrifice to their barbarity. " The fire being made, ihey for some time danced round me after their manner, with various odd motions and antic gestures, whooping, hollowing, and crying, in a frightful manner, as is their custom. Having satisfied themselves in this sort of their mirth, they proceeded in a more tragical manner; taking the burning coals and sticks, flaming with fire al the ends, holding them to my face, head, hands, and feet, with monstrous pleasure and satisfaction ; and at the same time threatening to burn me entirely if I made the least noise or cried out. At length they sat down round the fire, and roasted their meat, of which they had robbed my dwelling. When, they had prepared it and satisfied their voracious ap petites, they offered some to me: though it may be easily imagined I had but little appetite to eat after the tortures and miseries I had undergone ; yet I was forced to seem pleased with what they offered me, lest by refusing it, they had again reassumed their hellish practices. " When lhe sun was set, they put out the fire and covered the ashes with leaves, as is their usual custom, that the white people might not discover any traces or signs of their having been there. "Going from thence along by the river Susquehana, for the space of six miles, loaded as I was before, we arrived at a spot near the Apalatin mountains, or Blue Hills, where they hid their plunder under logs of wood. From thence did these monsters proceed to a neighbour ing house occupied by one Jaqob Snider and his un happy family consisting of his wife, five children, and PETER WILLIAMSON. 437 a young man his servant. They soon got admittance into the unfortunate man's house, where they immedi ately, without the least remorse, scalped both parents and children : plundered the house of every thing that was moveable, and set fire to the same, where the poor creatures met their final doom amidst the flames. " 1'hinkiiig the young man belonging to this unhappy family, would be pf some service to them, in carrying part of their plunder, they spared his life, and loaded him and myself with what they had here got, and again marched to the Blue Hills, where they stowed their goods as before.— My fellow sufferer could not long bear the cruel treatment which we were both obliged to suffer, and complaining bitterly to me of his being un able to proceed any farther, 1 endeavoured to console him as much as lay in my power, to bear up under bis afflictions, and wait with patience till by the Divine as sistance, we should be delivered out of their clutches; but all in vain, for he still continued his moans and tears, which one of the savages perceiving, as we travelled on, instantly came up to us, and with his tomahawk, gave him a blow on the head, which felled the unhappy youth to the ground, where they immediately scalped and left him. " When provisions became scarce, they made their way towards Susquehana; where, still to add to the many barbarities they had already committed, passing near another house, inhabited by an old man, whose name was John Adams, with his wife and four small children ; and meeting with no resistance, they immedi ately scalped the unhappy mother and her children be fore the unhappy old man's eyes ; then proceeded in their hellish purpose of burning and destroying his house, barn, corn, hay, cattle, and every thing the poor man, a few hours before, was master of. Halving saved what they thought proper from the flames, they gave the old man, feeble, weak, and in the miserable condition he 438 PETER WILLIAMSON. then was, as well as myself, burthens to carry, and loading themselves likewise with bread and meat, pur sued their journey on towards the Great Swamp; where, being arrived, they lay for eight or nine days, sometimes diverting themselves in exercising the most barbarous cruellies on their unhappy victim, the old man. One night after he had been thus tormented, whilst he and I were sitting together, condoling each other at the misfortunes and miseries we daily suffered, twenty-five other Indians arrived, bringing with them twenty scalps and three prisoners, who had unhappily fallen into their hands in Cannocojigge, a small town near the river Susquehana, chiefly inhabited by the Irish. These prisoners gave jus some shocking accounts of the murders and devastations committed in their parts. This party, who now joined us, had it not, I found, in their power to begin their wickedness as soon as those who visited my habitation ; the first of their tragedies being on the 25th day of October, 1724, when John Lewis, with his wife and three small children, fell sacrifices to their cruelty, and were miserably scalped and murdered; his house, barn, and every thing he possessed being burnt and de stroyed. On the 28th, Jacob Miller, with his wife, and six of his family, together with every thing on his plan tation, underwent the same fate. The 30th, the house, mill, barn, twenty head of cattle, two teams of horses, and every thing belonging to the unhappy George Folke, met with the like treatment, hiinself, wife, and all his miserable family, consisting of nine in number, being inhumanly scalped, then cut in pieces, and given to the swine, which devoured them. I shall give another instance of the numberless and unheard-of bar barities they related of these savages, and proceed to their own tragical end. In short, one ofthe substantial traders belonging to the province, having business that called him some miles up the country, fell into the hands of these devils, who not only scalped him, but PETER WILLIAMSON. 439 immediately roasted him before he was dead ; then like cannibals, for want of other food, eat his whole body, and of his head made, what they called, an Indian pudding. "The three prisoners that were brought with these additional forces, constantly repining at their lot, and almost dead with their excessive hard treatment, con trived at last to make their escape; bul being far from their own settlements, and not knowing the country, were soon after met by some others of the tribes, or nations at war with us, and brought back. The poor creatures, almost famished for want of sustenance, hav ing had none during the time of their elopement, were no sooner in the clutches ofthe barbarians, than two of them were tied to a tree, and a great fire made round them, where they remained till they were terribly scprched and burnt; when one of the villains, with his scalping knife, ript open their bellies, took out their entrails, and burnt them .before their eyes, whilst the others were cutting, piercing, aud tearing the flesh from their breasts, hands, arms, and legs, with red hot irons, till they were dead. The third unhappy victim was re served a few hours longer, to be, if possible, sacrificed in a more cruel manner; his arms were tied close tobis body, and a hole being dug, deep enough for him fo stand upright, he was put therein, and earth rammed and beat in, all round his body up to his neck, so that his head only appeared above ground ; they then scalped him, and there let him remain for three or four hours, in the greate'st agonies ; after which they ma.de a small fire near his head, causing. him to suffer the most excruciating torments imaginable; whilst the poor crea ture could only cry for mer^ in killing him immedi ately, for his brains were boiling in his head : inexorable to all his plaints, they continued the fire, whilst, shock ing to behold! his eyes gushed out*of their sockets; and such agonizing torments did the unhappy creature 440 PETER WILLIAMSON. suffer for near two hours, till he was quite dead. They ihen cut off his head and buried it with the other bodies ; my task being to dig the graves, which, feeble and ter rified as I was, the dread of suffering the same fate en abled me lo do. "A great snow now falling, the barbarians were a little fearful, lest the white people should, by their traces, find out their skulking retreats, which obliged them to make the best of their way to their winter quarters, about two hundred miles farther from any plantations or inha bitants where, after a long and painful journey, being almost starved, I arrived with this infernal crew. " As soon as the snow was quite gone, and no traces of their footsteps could be perceived, they set forth on their journey towards the back parts of the province of Pennsylvania ; all leaving their wives and children behind in their wigwams. They were now a formidable body, amounting to near one hundred and fifty. My duty was lo carry what they thought proper to load me with, but they never intrusted me with a gun. We marched on several days without any thing particular occurring, almost famished for want of provisions ; for my part, I had nothing but a few stalks of Indian corn, which I was glad to eat dry: nor did the Indians them selves fare much better, for as we drew near the planta tions they were afraid to kill any game, lest the noise of , their guns should alarm the inhabitants. "When we again arrived at the Blue Hills, about thirty miles from Cannocojigge, we encamped for three days, though God knows we had neither tents nor any thing else to defend us from the inclemency ofthe air, having nothing to lie on by night but the grass. " During our stay here, a sort of council of war was held, when it was agreed to divide themselves into companies of about twenty men each ; after which every captain marched with his party where he thought proper. I still belonged to my old masters, but was left 47 PETER WILLIAMSON. 441 behind on the mountains with ten Indians, to stay till the rest should return ; not thinking it proper to carry me nearer to Cannocojigge, or the other plantations. " Here being left, I began to pieditateon ray escape, -and though I knew the country round extremely well, yet was I very cautious of giving the least suspicion of such my intentions. However, the third day after the grand body hud left us, my companions, or keepers, thought proper to visit the mountains, in search of game for their subsistence, leaving me bound in such a manner that I could not escape : at night when they re turned, having unbound me, we all sat dawn together to supper on what they had killed, and soon after (being greatly fatigued with their day's excursion) they com posed themselves to rest, as usual. Inow tried various ways to^ee whethej; il was a scheme to prove my inten tions or not; but a,fter making a noise &^§ walking about, sometimes touching them with my feet, I found there was no fallacy. My heart then exulted with joy at seeing a time come that I might in all probability be I delivered from niy captivity : but this joy was soon damped by the dreadi of being discovered by them, or taken by any other straggling parties. To prevent which, I resolved, if possible, to get one of their guns, ^nd if discovered, to die in my defence, rather than be taken : for that'purpose I made varioiis efforts to get one from under their heads, (wljere they always secured tliem) but in vain. Frustrated in this my first essay towards regaining ray liberty, I dreaded the thoughts of carrying my design into execution : yet, after a little considera tion, and trusting myself lo the divine protection^ I set forwards naked and defenceless as I was. " I was struck with th^ greatest terror and amaze at hearing the wood cry, ap it is called, and may be ex pressed Jo-hau ! Jo-hau ! yyrhich the savages I had left; were making, accompanied with the most hideous cries ^{id bowlings they could utter. The more my terror VOL. II. 3 K 442 PETER WILLIAMSON. increased the faster did I push on, and scarce knowing where I trod, drove through the woods with the utmost precipitation, someiimes falling and bruising myself, cutting my feet and legs against the stones in a miser able manner. But though faint and maimed as I was, I continued my flight till break of day, when, without / having any thing to sustain nature, but a little corn left, I crept into a hollow tree, in which I lay very snug, and returned my prayers and thanks to the Divine Being, that had thus fsir favoured my escape. But my repose was in a few hours destroyed, at hearing the voices of the savages near the place where I was hid, threatening and talking how they would use me, if they got me again. However they at last left the spot, where I heard them, and I remained in my circular asylum all that day without further molestation. " At night I ventured forwards again. The third day I concealed myself in like manner, and at night I travel led on in the same deplorable condition. But bow shall I describe the fear, terror, and shock that I felt on the fourth night, when, by the rustling I made among the leaves, a party of Indians, that lay round a small fire, which I did not perceive, started from the ground, and seizing their arms, run from the fire amongst the woods. Whether to move forwards, or rest where I was, I knew not, so distracted was my imagination. In this melan choly state revolving in my thoughts the now inevitable fate I thought waited on me, to my great consternation and joy I was relieved by a parcel of swine that made towards the place where. I guessed the savages to be; who, on seeing the hogs, conjectured that their alarm had been occasioned by tbem, and very merrily returned to the fire and lay down to sleep, as before. As soon as I perceived my enemies so disposed of, I pursued- ray j-ourney, and afterwards I lay down under a great log, and slept undisturbed till about noon, when, getting up, T reached the summit of a great hill, with some difficulty. PETER WILLIAMSON. 443 and looking out if I could spy any habitations of white people, to my unutterable joy I saw some, which I guessed to be about ten miles distance. "This pleasure was in some measure abated, by not being able to get among them that night, In the morn ing, as soon as I awoke, I continued my journey towards the nearest cleared lands I had seen the day before, and about four o'clock in the afternoon arrived at the house of John Bell, an old acquaintance. "Great was the joy and satisfaction wherewith I was received and embraced by the whole family; but oh, what was my anguish and trouble, when on inquiring for my dear wife, I found she had been dead two months ! " Now returned, and once more at liberty to pursue my own inclinaticns, I was persuaded by my father- in-law, and friends, to follow some employment or other : but the plantation from whence I was taken, though an exceeding good one, could not tempt me to settle on it again. *.^ Into a regiment immediately under the command pf General Shirley, and in his son Captain Shirley's com pany, was it my lot to be placed for three years. This regiment was intended for the frontiers, to destroy the forts erected by the French, as soon as it should be completely furnished with arms, &c. at Boston, in New England, where it was ordered for that purpose. Being then very weak and infirm in body, though possessed of my usual resolution, it was thought adviseable to leave me for two months in winter quarters. At the end of which, being pretty well recruited in strength, I set out for Boston, to join the regimeint, with some others like wise left behind ; and after crossing the river Delawar.e, we arrived at New Jersey, and from thence piroceeded through the same by New York, Middletown, Mendon in C.Qnnectjcut, to Boston, where we arrived about thje 444 PETER WILLIAMSON. end of March, and fcund the regiment ready tp re ceive us. " In this city, learning toilitary discipHne, and Waiting fpr an opfjortunity of carrying our Schemes intP execu tion. We lay till the l^t of July ; during all which time great btnrages ahd deVaisfations Were cbmmitted by the savages in the baek parts of thfe prpvince. One instance pf which In particular, I shall relate, as being concerned in rewarding, according to desert, the Wicked authors thereof. " Jb^eph Long, Esq. a gentleman bf largfe fortune in these patts, whp had fprmetly been a gteat Warrlof among the Indians, and frequently joined in eipediiiohi with those in our interest against the others. His dlahy explbits and gifeal influence kcnong several of the natibrti. Were too Wfell knpwn Ip pass unrfeveh^ed by the savages, against Whoni he had exerted His abilities. Accordingly in April 1750, a body of them cattle doWb on hU^lantatiOn, sibont thirty in ilei frpm Bostbn, add skulking in the wppds for some time, at last seized aft op'- ^oftuniiy tio attack his hbiise, in whith utthdppily {)r6v- iflg successful, they isceilped, mangled, and but tb pieieis* thfe unfortunate gfefntli^nian, His Wife, ^nd nine servants> atid theh made a general conflagration of his houses, bkrhfe, cattle, ttnd every thing he possessed. With the mangled bodies. " Alarmed &nd terrified at this inhuman butchery, thfe Weigh bourhipod, as well as the pebple of Boston, quickly assetobled themselves, V6 think of prpper me&surfestobfe Irevenged bn^ese eietetftble ttionsters. Among the first of thoste who offered (hetoselves tb gb against thfe savages. Was James 'Cr'iWfbrd, Esq. who w&S then al BOst'dti, ind heard of this tragedy. " As i had been so long among thenl-, afnd pretty well iiciqu^ifited with their dianhers and cust&ms, ahd par"- tiicularly Iheir skulking places in the woodp, I was re- iPETfiR W/LtlAMSON. 445 commended to hiiri as one proper fpr his expedition ; he immediately applied tp my pfficers, and got liberty for me. " Being quickly Arhied and provided, we hastened forward for Mr. Long's plantation, the 29th, and after traVfeliihg the rtiOSt renfipte and intrieafe paths through the wppds, arrived there the 2hd of May, dnbious of Out success, and almost despairing of meeting with the Savages, as We had not heard, or could discover nothing of them in our march. In the afternoon, some of our men being sent to the top 6f a hill to look out for them soon perceived iC great smoke in a part of the low' grounds. This we imttiediately and rightly conjectured to proceed from a fire riidde by theni. We aceofdingly put Ourselves into regular order and ttiafched forwards, resolved, let their number haVe been wbat it inight, to give them battlfe. " Arriving within a tfiile pf the plaCe, Captain Craw ford, whose anxiety and pain made hitn quidker sighted than any pf the rest, spph perceived them, and guessed their number to be about fifty. Upon this we halted, ktiA secreted pnrselves as well as We opuld> till ^wel've o'clpck at night. At which tinle, suppbsing them tP b6 at r€st. We divided our men into tW<> divisions; fifty in Sfteh, ahd marched on; When, doming within twenty y&rds bf them, the captain fired his gun. Which was imtuediately followed by both divisions in successipn, who, instantly rushing Oh them with bayonets fixed, killed every niatt of them. " Great as our joy was, and flushed With success as we Were> tit this sudden victory, no heart among us but what Was ready to melt at the sight of an unhappy yoUng lady, whom our, captain Was to h*ve been married to. What must the thoughts, torments, and sensiitlonis of our brave capt&ih then be, if even we, who knew her not, Were §0 sensibly affected i " Her tender body and delidate limbs cut, bruised, and 446 PETER WILLIAMSON. torn with stones and boughs of trees, as she had been dragged along, and all. besmeared with blood. " The captain for a long time could do nothing but gaze upon, and clasp ,her to his bosom, crying, raving, and tearing his hair, like one bereft of his senses. " Finding among the villains' plunder the unhappy lady's clothes, he gently put some of them about her, and, after various trials and much time spent, recovered her. dissipated spirits, the. re-possession of which she first manifested by eagerly fixing her eyes on her dear deliverer, and blessing the Almighty , and him for her miraculous deliverance. "The account she gave of their disastrous fate and dire catastrophe, besides what I have already mentioned, was, that the savages had no sooner seen all consumed, but they hurried off with her and her brother, pushing and sometimes dragging them on, for four or five miles, when they stopped ; and stripping her naked, treated her in a shocking manner; whilst others were stripping and cruelly whipping her unhappy brother. After which, they in the same manner pursued their journey, regard less of the tears, prayers, or: entreaties of this wretched pair ; but, with the most infernal pleasure, laughed and r^oiced at the calamities and distresses they had brought them to, and saw them suffer, till they arrived at the place where we found ihem : where they had that day butchered her beloved brother in the following exe crable-manner : they first scalped him alive, and, after mocking his agonising groans and tprments fpr spme hpurs, ripped ppen his belly, intp which they put splin ters and chips of pine-trees, and set fire thereto; the same (on account of the turpentine wherewith these trees abound) burned with great quickness and fury for a little time, during which he remained in a manner alive, and she could sometimes perceive him to move his head and groan : they then piled a great quantity of wood rpund his body, and cnnsumed it tp ashes. PETER WILLIAMSON. 447 " Thus did these barbarians put an end Ip the being pf this unhappy ypung gentleman, whp was pnly twenty- two years of age when he met his calamitous fate. " She continued her relation by acquainting us, that the next day was to have seen her perish in the like manner, after suffering worse than even such a terrible death. But it pleased the Almighty to permit us to rescue hpr, anc( entirely extirpate this crew of devils !" After this expedition, Williamson again joined his regiment at Oswego, in whicii town he continued till it was captured by the French in August, 1756, when the French, and Indians in their interest, committed the most heart-rending barbarities and cruelties,* * The loss of the two small forts, called Ontario and Oswego, was a considerable national misfortune. They were erected on the south side of the great lake Ontario', standing on the opposite sides,' at the mouth of the Onondago river, that discharges itself into the lake, and constituted a post of great importance, where vessels had been built, to cruise upon the lake, which is a kind of inland sea, and interrupt the commerce as well as the motions and designs of the enemy. The gar rison, as we have already observed, consisted of fourteen hundred men, chiefly militia and new raised recruits, under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Mercer, an bfScer of courage and experience : but the situation of the forts was very ill chosen ; the materials mostly timber or Ibgs bf wood ; the defences wretchedly contrived, and 'un finished; and, in a word, the place altogether untenable against any regular approach. ' Such were the forts which the enemy wisfely re solved to reduce. Being under no apprehension for crown point,they assembled a body of troops, consisting of thirteen hundred regulars, seventeen hundred Canadians, and a considerable number of Indian auxiliaries, under the' command ofthe Marquis de Montcalm, a vigi lant and enterprising officer, to whom the conduct of the siege was intrusted by the Marquis de Vaudreuil, governor and lieutenant-gene ral of Neiv France. The first step taken by Montcalm was to block up Oswego by water with two large armed vessels, and post a strong body of Canadians on the road between Albany and the forts, to cut off all communication of succour and intelligence. In the mean time, he embarked his artillery and stores uponthelake, and landed them in the bay of Nixouri, the place of general rendezvous. At anotlier ereek, within half a league of Oswego, he erfected a battery for the protection of his vessels, and on the twelfth day of Augusti at mid- 448 PETER WILLIAMSON. Williamson was one of the perspus taken prisoners at Oswegp; and was in November, 1756, brought from night, after his di^positipns had been matje, he opened the trepches befpre Fort Ontario. The garrison having fired away all their shells and ammunition, spiked up the cannon, and deserting the fort, retired next day across the river into Oswego, which was even more exposed than the other, especially when the enemy had taken possession of Ontario, froip whence they immediately began to fire without intermis- sioii. Colopel Mercer bein^, on the thirteenth, killed by a cannon ball, the fort de^titpte of all pover, the officers divided in opinjon, ^nd the garrison in confusion, they next day demanded a capitulation, and surrendered prisoners of war, on condition that they should be exempt- fed from plunder, conducted to Montreal, and treated with humanity. These conditions, however, the marquis did not punctually observe. The British officers and soldier? were insulted by the savage In,diains, who robbed them oftheir clothes and baggage, massacred several men a$ they stood defenceless on the parade, assa^^i^atpd ]Lieutepant d^ la Court as he Jay wpunded in his tent, under the protectipn,pf aJ"rench pifiper,, and barbarously scalped all the sick people in the hospital : finally, Montcalm, in direct vtol^tipti of the articles^ as wpll as in cpp- tempt qf common humanity, deliveried up abpve twenty men of tjie ' garrison to the Indians, in jieu, of JJie same nun>her t^iey h^d lost (lu ring thp siege ; and, in all probability, these tnisera|fle captives were put to death by those barbarians yrith the most ^^Jfgruciatjng tprtiires, according tp the execrable (iustom ofthe country, Those yjho coun tenance the perpetration pf cruelties, at wliich human ;iature shudder; with horror, ought to be branded as infamous to ^11 post^rit.y. ^;ij(;h, how^.y^r, w.ere the trophies th^t, in the course pf the .^iiie^lcan ;^ar, distinguisl)^^ thq opier^ations of a people who pique themselves upon politeness, apj^ t|i^ virtues of humanity. The pri^p^ers taken at Oswego, aft^r ^^ying been thus barbarously treated, w^reconveyed in batteaux to ;^(Ipnlreal, wherje they had jio reason to ppipplain pf Hiejr req^ptipp ; sind befpre the entl pf );h,e ye^r^ they were exchanged. Tlie viptprs immediately demolisjieid ,thp tt^q forts (if Jihey deserye^ tjiat denppijn^tipp), in ^bich Jbgy found pne hundred and twenty-ope pieces p/ artillery, fourteen mortars, with a great quantity pf apimuni- tjpn, warlike stores, and prgyifiioAS, hesWes .two ^lopps, ^nd two hun- drfi4 fettjeaux, vvhichlikewig? .fell intp t>.e,ir h.?p<}5,. Sucli an import ant pjagqeipe, deposited in a place a.ltpgether inde;fen?i,h|p, and wji)t,ho^t the reach of imn)e vicissitudes of his ow.n fortune, checquered with uncommon calamities, nor the good'in- tention of his narrative, could protect him from the re sentment of some merchants pf Aberdeen, near the , place pf his nativity, where he went in quest pf his rielatipns; because, in the intrcductipn tp his narrative, he had npticed the manner in which he had been illegally hurried away pn bpard ship, and spld for a slave. For that publicatipn he was imprisoned, and 350 copies of his bppk (the pnly means he had of obtaining his suste nance), were taken from him, and his enlargement only granted him on his signing a paper, disclaiming two or three pages of his book. However, as he soon after found a few of his relatives, he got the attestations of some, and affidavits of others, proving he was the perr son taken away as mentioned in the narrative. The precise period when Williamson paid the debt of nature, is uncertain. He exhibited himself, in Loncbpn in 176Q and 17d, habited in the dress of a Delaware North American Indian, as represented in the annexed portrait of this unfortunate man. 1 THOMAS PETT. This poor man was a native of Warwickshire, and brought up without any learning. At the age of ten years he came to London vfith a solitary shilling in his pocket. ^ In London he was quite a stranger, and as he VOL. II. Sh 450 THOMAS PETT. had neither friends nor relations, he picked up bones and bread about the streets, and such offal as the town affords. At last he became indebted lo the hutnantty of an old woman that sold pies, for his preservation in a severe fit of illness, till she got him into St. Bartholo- inew's Hospital. After he came out, he engaged himi self for an errand-boy to a tallow-chandler> but his mistress expressed much dishke at his rustic manners and awkward gait, and for which, after a short time, she dismissed him one cold winter's evening, with this ob servation, "Your master hired you in my absence, ahd I'll pack you off in his." But this very much displeased the honest candle-maker, who did not desert Tom, but soon after put him apprentice to a butcher, in the Bdrough of Soutbiwark. He behaved so well during the period of his tibie to this master, that the tallow-chandler, when the seven years had expired, recoftltnehded him to Mr. Pring, a respectable master butcher in Clare-m^rketi with whom he lived some years. Pett's gnaxim was) thtt honesty, though the best poliey, was not the shortest road to fortune and wealth, but that it was far the suresti Yet Tom looked out for squalls, and thbhgh hardly honest, kept company ^ith Cohant a bruising butcher of that tnarket. For the firfet five years he WAs engaged at 25/. a year, meat and drink included. The aJeitiumul^iion of money, and the abridgment of expense, were 'the two sole ob jects of bis thoughts. He had fredu'ced all his expenses to these three heads: lodging, clothing, and washing. As to the first, he fixed on a dark back garret, the light of which he increased by openings in the brick-work, as, he observed, the value of iJ^f sun-beams outweighed the inconveniences of winter's winds. As to dress, every, article was herself to allow the Spanish troops that were to cross the river Saale.by the bridge at Rudolstadt, to supply themselves with bread, beer, and other provisions, at a reasonable price. 454 GQUNTKSSr OF SCHWARZBURG. in that place. At the same time she took the precau tion to have the bridge which stood close to the town demolished in all haste, and re-constructed over the river al a considerable distance, that the too great proximity of the city might be no temptation to her ra- pacioqs guests. The inhabitants too of all the places through which the army was to pass, were informed that they might send their most valuable effects lo the castle of Rudolstadt. Meanwhile the Spanish general, at tended by Prince Henry of Brunswickand his sons, ap proached the city. By a messenger whom they dis patched before, they announced their intention of breakfasting with the Countess of Schwarzburg. So modest a request, madie^af the head of an army, was hot to be rejected. The answer returned was, that they should be suppliad with what lhe house afforded ; that his excellency might come, and be assured of a welcome reception. However, she did nbt neglect at the same time to remind the Spanish general of the safeguard, and to urge the conscientious observance of it. A friendly reception and a well furnished table, welcomed the arrival of the duke at the castle. He was obliged to confess, that the Thuringian ladies had an excellent notion of cOokery, and did honour to the laws of hos pitality.. But scarcely had they taken their seats, when a messenger out of breath called the countess from the hall,. He informed her, that the Spanish soldiers had used violence in some villages on the way, and had driven off the cattle belonging to the peasants. Cathet r-ipie was a true mother to her people; whatever the pooresit of her subjects unjustly suffered, wounded her to the quick. Full of indignation at this breach of faith, yet not forsaken by her presence of mind, she ordered her whole retinue to arm themselves immediately in private, and to bolt and bar all the gates of the castle ; whieh done, she returned to the hall, and rejoined the princes, who were still at table. Here she cpinplained COUNTESS OF» SCHWARKRURG. 465 to thehi, in the most moving terms, of the usage she had met with, and how badly the imperial word wa* kept. They told her, laughing, that this was the custom in war, and that such trifling disorders of .soldiers in marching through a place were not to^be minded. "That we shall presently see," replied she, resolutely. "My poor subjects must have their own again, or by God !" raising her voicein a threatening tone, "princes' blood for oxen's blood !" With this emphatic declara- tionshe quitted the room, which in a few moments was filled with armed men, who, sword in hand, yet with great reverencp, plantingthemselves behind the chairs of the princes, took the places of the waiters^ On the entrance of these fieTce«»loPking fellows, iherDuke of Alva changed colour, and the guests all:gazed at one another in silence and affright. Cut off from the army, sur rounded by a resolute body of men, what had they to do, but to summon up their patience, and to aplpease the^^ffeffldedlady on the best terms they could. Henry , of Brunswick was 'the first that collected his spiritis 5 and smothered bis feelings by bursting into a loud fit &f kughter;: thus seizing the most reasonable way of coming off, by 'turniflg all that had passed into asubjeeit it>f mirth ! concluding: with a warm panegyrieMOtt tbti patrjlotic concern and the determined intrepidity the countess ihadfshown. He entreated her to makcberself feasy, and undertook to pievaiil on^the Dulbeof Alva to CionSi^Ht to whatever should be found reasonable ; which be jjnsMBedi'afiely'eifected by inducing the latter iQi^Bpatcb on the spot an order to the army to restore the cattle without delay to the persons from whom they had been stolen. On the return of the courier with a certificate that compensatipn had been made for all damages, the Countess of Schwarzburg polVtiely thanked her guests fpr the honour they bad done her castle, jand t^/ey, ip return, very courteously tipok theii- leave. It was this transaction,^ no dotibt, that ^irpcured for 456 DANIEL qUERTON. Catherine the surname of the Heroic. She; is likewise highly extolled for the active fortitude she displayed in promoting the reformation. throughoutrtherdomin-ions; iwhich had already been introduced by her ¦husband> Count Henry XXXVII., as well as tor her resolutfe per- severaneeiin suppressing monastic institutions, and-ibi- proving the system of education. Numbers of 'Pro testant preachers, who had sustained persecution- on account of religion, fled to. her for protection and sup port, which she granted them in the fullest extent. Among these was i certain Caspar Aguila, parish-priest at Saalfield, "who, in his younger years, had attended the emperor's army to the. Netherlands in quality of chaplain; and, because he there refused ito baptize a cannon ball, was fastened to the mouth of a mortar by the licentious soldiers, to be shot into the air ; a fate which he happily avoided only by the accident) of the powder not catching fire. He was now for the second time in imminent danger of his life, and; a price of j5000 florins was set upon his head, because the emperor was enraged against him for having attacked one of his measures from the pulpit. Catherine bad^bim privately brought to her castle, at the request of {the people cf Saalfield, where she kept him many months concealed, and caused him to be attended with the greatest assiduity, till the storm was blown over, and he could venture to appear in public. She died, universally honoured and lamented, in the 58th year of her age, and the 29th of her reign. Her remains were deposited in thei church of Rudolstadt. DANIEL CUERTON. This extraordinary character was born in Old-street, St. Luke's, and was by trade a 'ladies' shoemaker. For the last sixie'en years he maintrained himself by keeping 47 DANIEL CUERTON. 457 an old iron shop in James-street, near Grosvenor-square, and about four or five years before his death, he removed to John-street, Goodge-street, Tottenham-court-road, where he closed his earthly career, in the year 1803, aged 54 years. He weighed about eighteen stone, horseman's weight ; was very broad across ihe shoulders, chest, and back, had short fat thick thighs, and was about five feet six inches high. Notwithstanding he was very fat, he was remarkably active, I shall enumerate here some of. the most astonishing feats of this man : he would take a glass or pot up with his elbows, put his hands under his arm pits, and in this way "drink his beer, punch, &c. and if any one would pay for the pot, he would in this position, with his elbows, hammer a quart or pint pot together, as if it had been flattened with a large hammer. He could appear the largest or the smallest man across the chest in the company, if there were twenty persons present, and put on the coat of a boy of fourteen years of age, and it would ap parently fit him. Such an astonishing way had he of compressing himself, that he would measure round under the arm pits, with three handkerchiefs tied together, and yet the. same measure applied again at the same place, would measure round him and three other stout men, being four persons in the whole. How he did this none could tell, but it seemed he had an art of drawing his bowels up to his chest, and greatly swelling himself at pleasure. He vvould sit down on the ground, with his hands tied behind him, and bear a stout man across each shoulder, one on his hack, with a boy on his back, in all. four persons, besides himself; in this posture he would get up very nimbly, and actively dance every step of a quick hornpipe, and whilstle it himself all the time, for the space of ten or fifteen minutes. With his hands bound behind him, he would, without any aid, raise a large mahogany table, with his fore teeth, that would dine tyvelve people on, balance it steadily, and VOL. 11. 3 m 458 DANIEL CUERTON. with it break the ceiling, if desired, all to pieces. This remarkable man was well known by the free-masons at the west end of London, and for several years belonged to the lodge. No. 8, held at the King's-arms coffee house. Lower Brook-street, Grosvenor-square. He was a very generous man, ever ready to assist the poor, un fortunate, and distressed, with his purse, victuals, clothes, &c. and was always a ready advocate, and>the first sub scriber to a poor person's petition, when he was satisfied the person was a deserving object, whether man or woman. In the latter part of his time, he became much reduced in his circumstances, occasioned by many heavy losses in trade. Poor Cuerton, in the days of his adversity, through extreme modesty, was always studious to conceal his distress, and whenever his situation was brought into question, his usual reply would be, he had known better days, and he did not like to be troublesome to any body. He latterly contracted the baneful habit of drinking great quantity of the juniper juiCe; this he made his constant beverage, the first thing in the morning, and the last at night. He used formerly to drink a great deal of porter, and eat very hearty, particularly at supper. He died almost in want, yet he had a great desire, when near his end, of being buried as a free mason ; but that society paid no attention to his request, although his widow made it known to them. He was a hearty, merry, good natured companion, when he had health and money, and has paid many a reckoning for strangers, rather than hear any quarrelling or disputes, in the house where he happened to be. He never went to church or any place of worship, for several years past, as he was deaf, but it was always remarked, he could hear very well at a public house. He had been the con stant promoter of greasy chins, and full bowls of punch, and used to enjoy them in an uncommon manner. _4^W' Pii Enij^Ta .^edl-.yR-. Cooper. A "7 .Tyi/zz/Z/y^//: ¦/y I 7z //////• ^?/' ///^'(yz//z7'y/.y/y/,/'. Z^lbUsJlid hu J.Soliins k- yA:y,,i! /•i-,-ss I,-i:,/.'n,X-.-i.jjS-;ii. 459 JENNY DARNEY. Xhis remarkably inoffensive ppor woman was well known in the southern part of the county of Cumber land. She was one of the many " singles" whom Fate decreed should pass her probationary life secluded from the " busy hum of tpen." We have not been able to learn any particulars respecting her family, friends, or name; for when questioned on those subjects, she was, very reserved. The country people knew her by the name of Jenny Damey, from the manner, it is presumed, in whiqh s.hp used tj^ mend her clothes. Her garb was entirely of her own manufacture. She collected the small parcels of wool which lie, about the fields in shee(p farms, spun it on a rock and spindle of her own making.; and as she could not find any other method of making the yarn into cloth, she used to knit it on wooden needles, apd by that means procured a warm comfort able dress. In the life-time of the late Charles Lutwidge, Esq. of HoUn Rook, she took possession of an old collage, or rather cow-house, on his estate, in which she was suffered to continue till her death. Her intellects seemed at certain times greatly deranged ; but her actions harm- \^8^ and ,her language inoffensive. On that score, she was caressed by all the villagers, who supplied her with eatables, &c. for money she utterly refused. She seemed a person of much shrewdness, and her understanding was above the common level ; this was improved by a tolerable education. She chose the spot where she lived, to pass the remainder of her days unknown to her friends, and in a great measure from a distaste of a wicked world, to "prepare herself" as she often in her quiet hours said, " for a better." At the time of her death, she was neatly 100 years old. 460 CHRISTIAN JACOBSEN DRAKENBERG. Jenny Darney was another of the many proofs to what great age persons who live a retired and abstemious life, mostly attain. "Man," as Goldsmith truly says, " wants but little here below." The wretched miser, notwithstanding the gnawing anxiety of his sordid soul, and scarcely allowing himself a meal's victuals in a week, spins out his existence to more than ordinary du ration. It is in striving to prolong life, by indulging in' the " good things'' of this world, that man too often prematurely cuts short the thread of life. CHRISTIAN JACOBSEN DRAKENBERG. This astonishing old man was a boatswain in the Danish navy; he was born in the year 1626, and died the 24th of June, 1770. Historians have not heen very particular with respect to his manners in life; it appear^, therefore, that this veteran was more remarkable for longevity, than for any peculiarity or heroism ; it is, however, acknowledged that he was exceedingly face tious and entertaining — his company was courted by many country gentlemen, for the sake of hearing bim relate some pleasant stories. When he arrived to the age of 139, he was constantly seen at Denmark, where he used to walk about, with all the vigour and spirit of youth, and, by means of his pleasantry and good nature, afforded great entertainment to the inhabitants. As the early part of his youth had been spent in the British service, on board the navy, in Queen Anne's wars, he was, of course, deemed such an experienced man, and so capable of deciding matters of ambiguity, that, whenever any doubts arose concerning past times, he was always referred to in order to make them clear : he was generally arbitrator in all points of difficulty; and whenever wagers were laid about the dates of any CHRISTIAN JACOBSEN DRAKENBERG. 461 .^ former transactions, Drakenberg was the man who was always appointed judge. Even in the latter part of his life, this man was re nowned for the amazing strength of his faculties: he retained his memory so wonderfully towards the most advanced period of his life, that he never was known to forget his jokes, or relate a story twice lo the same per son. His narratives chiefly consisted of the whimsical and marvellous, it being his delight to raise a laugh, by exposing the extravagant follies of mankind, and in creating astonishment and surprise, by expatiating on all the strange accidents of life ; j'et, to do our hero justice, he most honourably avoided all base invective and per sonality, in every relation ; nor was he ever known to wound the peace of an individual, or calumniate an honest, nay, nor a dubious character, by wanton slander and vile defamation ; his stories were perfectly harmless, and, in respect to decency, so inoffensive, that even ladies wished to be his auditors. Drakenberg lived exceedingly temperate — he ab stained from an excess of liquor — dainties he never de sired, and a plain dish was the utmost of his ambition ; this moderation was doubtless the cause of his longevity ; he usfd continual exercise, and preferred walking to riding. ..Towards the latter part of his life, when his ac quaintance would seem to envy the length of his days, and wish that they might see as. many, he would often shake his head, and make this reply— " Were you to live as long as I, friend, you may see more sorrow than is the general lot of mankind. I have buried my most dear relations; and all those endearing connexions which I had formed in my youth, are now no more— they are dissolved by death ! The remembrance is somewhat painful— I am astonished then to hear how any one can desire to witness the dissolution of their friends, the end ofall their dearest relations." 462 GlLLES DE LAVAL. Drakenberg, like the generality of men who are re nowned for long-dated lives, died suddenly, without much pain; the candle of his days shone bright, while it lasted; it avoided those many puffs which generally ex tinguish others, before they are advanced to the socket — it perished of itself! And though of one hundred and forty- four years extent, yet so soon passeth it away, that still it may be said, " Ott't, out, brief candle," GILLES DE LAVAL. About the year 1440, an instance of depravity in an individual was detected, so horrid and so singular, that, were it not confirmed by the most authentic records, sanctioned by the testimony of all cotemporary writers, it might be justly considered as fabulous. Gilles de Laval, Lord of Rais, sprung from one of the most ancient and most illustrious families in Brittany, suc ceeded to ihe titles and estates of his ancestors, at the early age of twenty. This young nobleman possessed many accomplishments both of body and mind; his person was majestic, his countenance insinuating; he was endued with courage, and with wit; but he was pro digal, fanatic, voluptuous, and debauched. An annual income of three hundred thousand livres proved insuf ficient to defray his expenses. His retinue dis(>layed a motley mixture of chaplains ^nd courtesans ; priests and panders ; choristers and comedians. His chapel, richly embellished with gold, silver, and precious stones, was served by ecclesiastics who bore the title of deans, and whose superior wore the episcopal mitre. All the theatrical exhibitions then in vogue were performed at his residence. In short, his expenses Were so numerous that they soon exhausted his fortune. Honoured in his youth with the office of Mareschal of France, in a short GILLES DE LAVAL. 463 lime he had not wherewithal lo support the dignity of his rank. The want of money induced him to expose his estates to sale ; but his relations, alarmed at seeing him dissipate, in superfluous expenses, the patrimony of his ancestors, implored the interference of the king, who issued an edict, that was afterwards confirmed by a sentence of the parliament, forbidding him to alienate his territorial possessions. The Duke of Brittany, who, previous to the publication of the edict, had purchased, at an inferior price, the lordships of Ingrande and Chantoc^, sent his son to the king tb request he vould withdraw the prohibition ; this, however, Charles pe remptorily refused. Gilles being thus deprived of every resource which could enable him to continue his prodi gality, applied himself to the study of alchemy. He collected all the impostors who boasted of their skill in this occult science; but he was speedily con vinced of the vanity of their professions, and all his at tempts to discover the grand secret of the philosopher's stone proving fruitless, he changed lhe course of his pursuits, had recourse to magic, and invoked the assist ance of the devil. A physician of Poictou gave him some lessons in necromancy, and after robbing him, ran away. He was next introduced by a priest of the diocese of St. Malo, lo the acqualntanee of an Italian named Prelati, with whom he renewed his infernal incantations, promising Satan to give him whatever he should require, excepting only his soul and his life. It must be ob served, that while he was offering up the most abomin able sacrifices, such as the heart, the hands, the eyes, and the blood of a murdered infant, he continued his pious exercises with his chaplains! These enormities becoming public, the Duke of Brittany was compelled to issue an order for apprehending him and bringing him to trial. His judges were the Bishop of Nantes, Chan cellor pf Brittany, the vicarof the inquisition of France, and Peter L'Hospital, president of the parliament of 464 GILLES DE LAVAL. Brittany. Gilles, on his first examination, observed that all ecclesiastics were " simoniacs and'whoremasters, and that he would rather be hanged by the neck than make any reply to such judges." But as the trial pro ceeded he was constrained to change his tone. The monstrous acts of cruelly which had marked his abomi nable gratifications exceeded every thing which tyrants the most sanguinary and ferocious had ever practised or conceived. Rape and murder had formed his principal enjoyments ; the latter by a refinement of depravity un exampled in the annals of infamy, was made to heighten the gratifications of the former; it was proved that he had polluted and massacred at the same instant, no less than a hundred children of both sexes, at his castles of Machecou and Chantoc^. The purity of the historical page will not admit of any farther account of the horrid crimes perpetrated by this monster in human shape. He was condemned to be burned, and died, says the co- temporary writers, in a very christian-like rnanner. Before he was conducted to the place of execution, he said to his infamous associate Prelati, who suffered with him, " Adieu, friend Francis, we shall never see each other more in this world, I pray God to give you patience ; and be assured that if you place your hopes in God, we shall meet in the delights of Paradise." It is affirmed that the mareschal, previous to his death, con fessed crimes still more enormous than those which we have noticed ; though what those crimes could be, it is impossible for human imagination to conceive. He was executed at Nantes ; and his punishment was so far mi tigated, that he was strangled before the pile was lighted. When his body was half consumed by the flames, it was delivered to his family for interment. It is pretended that the Duke of Brittany, who was then at Nantes, attended the execution. near 465 JEDEDIAH BUXTON. Ihis famous calculator, was born at Elmeton Chesterfield, in Derbyshire, in 1704. His grandfather, John Buxton, was vTc&r of Elmeton ; and his father, William Buxton, was schoolmaster in the same parish; yet, notwithstanding the profession of his father, Jede- diah's education seems to have been totally neglected, for he was never taught either to read or write. How he came first lo know the relative proportions of numbers, their denominations and powers, he never could re member ; but upon these his attention was constantly riveted, and he scarcely took any notice ofexternal ob jects, except with respect to their numbers. If any space of time was mentioned before him, he would soon after say that it contained so many minutes; and, if any distance, he would assign the number- of hair-breadths in it, even when no question was asked him by the company. His power of abstraction was so great, that no noise whatever could disturb him ; and, when asked -any question, he would immediately, reply, and return to his calculation wilhol^ any confusion, or the loss of more time than the answer required. A person who had heard of his astonishing capacity, meeting \*ith him accidentally, in order to try his calcu- latit^ powers, proposed to him the following question: In a body whose three sides are 23,145,789 yards, 5,642,732 yards, and 54,965 yards, how many cubical eighths of an inch? After once naming the several figures distinctly, one after the other, in order to assure himself of the several dimensions, this self-taught cal culator fell to work amidst more than a hundred of his fellow-labourers; and the proposer of the question, leaving him for about five hours, returned and found Jedediah ready with his answer, which was exactly righl. ? OL. II, 3 N 466 JEDEDIAH BUXTON. A variety of questions, he would solve in very little time, by the mere force of memory. He would multiply any number of figures, either by the whole or any part of them, and at different times, and store up the various products in his memory, so as to give the answers several months after. He would work at several ques tions; first begin one, and work ft half through; then another, and so on, working in this manner six or eight questions, and would either, as soon as finished, or several months after, tell the result. This extraordinary man would stride over a piece of land, and tell the content of it with as much exactness as if he had mea sured it by the chain. His perpetual application lo figures prevented him from making the smallest acqui sition in any other branch of knowledge ; for, beyond mere calculations his ideas were as confined perhaps as those of a hoy at ten years of age in the same class of life. The only objects of Jedediah's curiosity, next tO figareSj were the king and royal family ; and his desire to see them was so strong, that in the spring of 1754, he walked up to London for that purpose, but was obliged to return disappointed, as his majesty had removed to Kensington. He was taken to isee the tragedy of Ri chard III. at Drury-lane; and it was expected that the novelty of every thing iu this place, together with the splendour of the surrounding objects, would have fixed him in astonishment, or that his passions would in some degree have been roused by the action of the performers. Instead of this, during the d anises, his attention was en gaged in reckoning the number of steps. After a fine piece of music, he declared that the innumerable sounds produced by the instruments perplexed him beyond measure ; but he counted the words uttered by Mr. Garrick in the whole course of the entertainment, and affirmed that in this he had perfectly succeeded. Heir to no fortune, and educated to no particular pro- VALENTIN El GREATRAKES. 467 fession, Jedediah Buxton supported himself by the labour of his hands. His talents, had they been properly cul tivated might have qualified him for acting a distin guished part on the theatre of life; he nevertheless pursued the "noiseless tenor of his way," content if he could satisfy the wants of nature, and procure a daily sustenance fpr himself and family. W^hen he was asked to calculate a question, he would sit down, take off his old brown hat, and resting upon his stick, which was generally a very crooked one, in that attitude he would fall lo work. He commonly wore on his head a linen or woollen cap, and had a handkerchief carelessly thrown round his neck. If the enjoyments of this singular man were few, they seem at least to have been fully equivalent, to his desires. Though the powers of his mind raised him far above his humble companions, who earned their bread 'in like manner by the sweat of their brow, yet ambitious thoughts never interrupted his repose, nor did he, on his return from London, regret the loss of any of the pleasures he had left behind him. Buxton was inarried and had several children. He died in the year 1775, aged 70 years. VALENTINE GREATRAKES, IV^AS the son of William Greafrakes, Esq. of Affane, in the County of Waterford, by a daughter of Sir Ed ward Harris, Knt. one of the justices of the King's Bench, in Ireland. He was born at Affane, February 14, 1628, and received a classical education at the free school at Lismore, where he continued till he was thir teen years of age, when he returned home, in ordeu tp prepare himself for entering^ Trinity-college, Dublin. At this time the rebellion broke out, and owing to the 468 VALENTINE GREATRAKES. distracted state of the nation, he was obliged, with his mother, wlro had several other smaller children, to fly for refuge into England, where they were relieved by his uncle, Edward Harris ; after whose death, young Great- rakes was committed to the care of John Daniel Getseus, a German, and then minister of Stoke Gabriel, in the county of Devon, who for seven years instructed him in Theology, Philosophy, and other sciences. About the year 1634, he returned to his native country, but was so exceedingly affected by the niiserable and reduced state it was in, ihat he retired to the casile of Caperquin, where he spent a year in serious conteniplation on the vicissitudes of state and fortune. In the year 1649, he became lieutenant in the regiment of Roger Lord Brog- hill, afterwards Earl of Orrery, then acting in Munster against the Irish papists; but when the regiment was disbanded in 1656, he retired to his estate at Affane, and was soon after appointed clerk of the peace for the county of Cork, register for transplantation, and justice of the peace. About the year 1662, Greatrakes began to conceive himself possessed of an extraordinary virtue, in being able to remove the king's evil, or other diseases, by touching, or stroking the parts affected with his hand. This imagination he concealed for some time, buf at last revealed it to his wife, who ridiculed the idea. Re solved however to make a trial, he beigan with one William Maher, who was brought to the house by his father for the purpose of receiving some assistance from Mrs. Greatrakes, a lady who was always ready to relieve the sick and indigent, as far as lay in her power. This Jboy was sorely afflicted with the king's evil, but as it was reported, was to all appearance cured by Mr. Greatrakes laying bis hands on the parts affected. Several other persons having applied to be cured in the same manner, of different. disorders, he acquired considerable fame in his neighbourhood. But being cited into the Bishop'$- VALENTINE GREATRAKES. 469 court at Lismore, and not producing a licence for prac tising, he was prohibited from laying his hands on any person for the future, but still continued to do so till January, 1665-6, when he went to England at the re quest of the Earl of Orrery, in order to cure the lady of the Lord Viscount Conway, of Ragley in Warwickshire, of a continual violent head-ach. He staid at Ragley about a month, but failed in his endeavours to relieve thisiady, notwithstanding he is said to have performed several miraculous cures in those parts, and at Worcester, and was sent fpr tp Whitehall by his majesty's prders ; and is likewise said tp have wrpught many remarkable cures there in the presence pf several eminent and skil ful perspns. An accpunt pf his cures in Warwickshire, was pub lished at Oxfprd, by Mr. Stubbe, whp maintained " that Mr. Greatrakes was ppssessed pf a peculiar tem perament, as his bpdy was cpmposed of some particular ferments, the effluvia whereof being introduced, some times by a light, sometimes by a violent friction, restore the temperament of the debilitated parts, re-invigorate the blood, and dissipate all ^eterc/§eneous ferments out of the bodies ofthe diseased, by the eyes, nose, mouth, hands and feet." This publication was a " Letter, ad dressed to the Hon J Robert Boyle," who, in a private letter to the author, expressed his displeasure at being thus publicly addressed on such a subject, particularly as Mr. Stubbe endeavoured to show that Greatrakes's gift was miraculous. Mr. Glanville also imputed his cures to a sanative quality inherent in his constitution; and others (perhaps with greater probability) to the force of imagination in his patients. Mr. Boyle, having seen Greatrakes's performances in Aprill, 1666, attested some of his remarkable cures. This extraordinary man afforded' much matter for the press, and various- pamphlets were published pro and con. ; particularly one in quarto, supposed to have beeti 470 VALENTINE GREATRAKES. written by Mr. David Lloyd, reader ofthe Charter-house, under the title of " Wonders no Miracles, or Mr. Va^ lentine Greatrakes's Gift of Healirjg examined, upon oc casion of a sad effect of his stroking, March the 7th, 1665, at one Mr. Cressell's house, in Charter-house-yard, in a letter to a Rev. Divine, living near l^at' place." This attack obliged Greatrakes to vindicate himself; and accordingly he published a list of his " strange cures." It is a truth that this man's reputation rose to a prodigi ous height, but afterwards declined almost as fast, for the expectations of the multitude that resorted to him were not always answered. The Rev. Mr. Granger seems inclined to attribute the wonderful cures reported to have been performed by Greatrakes to the force of imagination, and to corrobo rate his opinion, mentions the following facts ; — " I was myself a witness," says he, " of the powerful workings of the imagination in the populace, when the waters of Glastonbury were at the height of their reputatipn. The virtues of the spring there were supposed to be su pernatural and lo have been discovered by a revelation made in a dream to one Matthew Chancellor. The people did not only expect to be cured of such distem pers as were in their nature incurable, but even to re cover their lost eyes and their mutilated limbs. The fol lowing story which scarcely exceeds what I observed upon the spot was told me by a gentleman of character. An old woman in the workhouse at Yeovil, who had long been a cripple and made use of crutches, was strongly inclined to drink of the Glastonbury waters, which she was assured would cure her of her lameness. The master of the workhouse procured her several bottles of water, which had such an effect that she soon laid aside one crutch, and not long after the other. This was extolled as a miraculous cure ; but the man pro-' tested lo his friends that he had imposed upon her, and fetchfd the water from an ordinary spring. I need not MARGARET LAMBURN. 471 inform the reader that when the force of imagination had spent itself, she relapsed into her former infirmity." Greatrakes possessed a high character for humility, virtue and piety, and died about the year 1680. The history pf Greatrakes reminds us of an impostor who not many years before deluded the public in a similar manner. In the reign of Charles I. an accusa tion was brought before the court of Star Chamber, and afterwards before the College of Physicians, against one John Leverett, a gardener, who undertook to cure all diseases, but especially the king's evil, by way of touching or stroking with the hand. He used to speak with great contempt of the royal touch, and grossly im posed upon numbers of credulous people. He assei%ed that he was the seventh son of a seventh son, and pro fanely said that he felt virtue go out of him ; so that he Was more weakened by touching thirty or forty in a day, than if-he had dug eight roods of* ground.^ Healso affirmed that he was much more affected if he touched a woman than if he touched a man. The censors of the college adjudged him an impostor. MARGARET LAMBURN. XHis hertoic woman, was, with her husband, in the relihue of Mary Queen of Scots, by whose untimely death, he died of grief. Margaret resolved to avenge the death of her queen and husband upon Elizabeth, and to accomplish her purpose, she assumed a man's habit, and repaired to the English court, assuming the name of Anthony Sparke. She carried with her a brace of pistols ; one to kill Elizabeth, and the other to shoot herself, to avoid the digrace of a public execution. But her de sign happened to miscarry, by art accident which pre served Elizabeth's life. One day as she was pushing 472 MARGARET LAMBURN. through the crowd to come up to her majestyi who was then walking in her garden^ she dropped one of her pistols. This being 'observed, shiQwas seized and brought before the queen, who asked her name, country and quality ? Margaret undauntedly replied, " Madam though I ap pear in this habit, I am a woman ; my name is Margaret Lamburn : I was several years in the service of Queen Marv, my mistress, whoni you have unjustly put to death ; and by her death you have caused that'of my husband, who died of grief to see so innocent a queen perish so iniquitously. Now, as I had the greatest love and affection for these victims of your cruelly and in justice, I was resolved to avenge their deaths by killing yo«. I acknowledge I have suffered many struggles within my own breast, atjd have endeavoured to divert my resolution from this design; but all in vain : I found myself compelled to prove, by experience, the truth of that maxim, that neither reason nor force can hinder a woman from vengeance, when she is compelled thereto by love." '^' After calmly listening to Margaret's discourse, .Eliza beth replied, " You are then persuaded that in this ac-- tion you have done your duty, and satisfied the demands which your love for your mistress and for your husband reqiftred of you ; but what think you now it is my duty to do to you ?" " Madam," said Margaret, with- a steady unembarrassed countenance, "I wijjtell you plainly, my opinion, provided you will please to let me know whether you put this question in the quality of a queen, or that of a judge," Her majesty declared that, " it was in that of a queen." "Then," said Margaret, "your majesty ought ,to grant me a pardon." " But what assurance or security can you give me," said Elizabeth, " that you will not make another atiempt upon my life f" " Madam," replied the spirited Lamburn, " a favour giv^n under such restraints is no more a favour; and in so doing your majesty would act against me as a 48 MATTHEVr HOPKINS. 473 judge." The queen, turning to some of her cpuncil, said, " I have been thirty years a queen, but dp not remember ever to have. had such a lecture read to me befpre." She then prpnounced a free and unqualified pardon, and granted Margaret safe conduct till she got out of the kingdom. MATTHEW HOPKINS: J HE frequency of accusations of witchcraft and exe cutions for that supposed crime, during the seventeenth century, may be traced back to the publication of our weak and witch-ridden monarch James I. entitled !)«•- monologia or a discourse on witchcraft. Fortunately for the present age, the belief in' the arts of necromancy, magic> and sorcery is now exploded from the enlightened classes of society, and confined only to individuals the most illiterate and the most credulous. Of the mischiefs resulting from such notions, the subjoined account of the havoc committed by one person only, affords ample evidence. The reader, while he peruses it with astonish ment and horror, will not fail to discover in it a signal example of the retributive justice of Providence. Matthew Hopkins resided at Manningtree, in Essex, and was witch-finder for the associated counties of Essexj Suffolk, Norfolk, and Huntingdonshire. Inthe •years l644> 1645, and 1646, and accompanied by one. John Stern, he brought many to the fatal tree as reputed witches. He hanged in one year no less than sixty re puted witches of his own county of Essex. The old, the ignorant and the indigent, such as could neither plead their own cause, nor hire an advocate, were the miser able victims of this wretch's credulity, spleen, and ava rice. He pretended to be a great critic in special marks, which were only moles, scorbutic spots, or warts, that VOL. II, S o 474 MATTHEW HOPKINS; frequently grow large and pendulous in old age ; but were absurdly supposed to be teats to suckle imps. His ultimate method of proof was- by tying together the thumbs and toes of the suspected person, about whose waist was fastened a cord, the ends of which were held on the banks of a river by two men, in whose power it was to strain or. slacken it. Swimming, upon this ex periment, was deemed a sufficient proof of guilt ; for which King James (who is said to have recommended, if he did not invent it) assigned a ridiculous reason ; that " as some persons had renounced their baptism by water,' so the water refuses to receive them." Sometimes those who were accused of diabolical practices, were tied neck and heels, and tossed into a pond : if they floated or swam they were consequently guilty, and therefore taken out and burnt; if they were innocent they were only drowned. At last the wretched Hopkins was doomed to undergo the experiment which had so cruelly been tried upon others : he was thrown into the water according to his own mode ; but unfortunately for himself he swam : he was therefore taken out, and condemned to be hung for a wizzard. Dr, ZaCh. Grey, says, that he had seen an account of between three and four thousand persons, who suffered death for witchcraft in the king's dominions, from 1643 to the restoration of Charles II. /f,. In a letter from Sergeant Widdrinton to Lord White- locke, mention is made of another fellow of the same prc^ fession as Hopkins. This wretch received twenty shil lings a head for every witch that he discovered, and thereby obtained rewards amounting to thirty pounds. Dr. Grey supposes, with great reason, that Hopkins is the man meant in the following lines by Butler : — " Has not the present parliament A ledger to the devil sent ? EDWARD ALLEYN. 475 Fully impower'd to treat about ^Finding revolted witches out ? And has, not lie within a year, Hang'd threescore of theniin one shire ? Some only for not being drown'd : And some for sitting above ground Whole days and nights upon their breeches. And feeling pain were hang'd for witches : And some for putting knavish tricks Upon grten goose and turkey-chicks, Or pigs that suddenly deceas'd Of griefs unnat'ral as he guess'd. Who after prov'd himself a witch, Arid made a rod for his o\vn breech." Hudibras, P. IL Canto HI, In an old print pf this execrable character he is re presented with two witches. One of them named Holt is supposed, to say: "My Impes are 1. Ilemauzyr; 2. Pye-wackett ; 3. Pecke in th£ Crown; 4. Griezell Grie- diegutt." Four animals attend; Jarmara, a black dog; Sacke and Sugar, a hare ; Newes, a ferret ; Vinegar Tom, a bull-headed greyhound. This print is in the Pepysian library. EDWARD ALLEYN. JCiDWARD Alleyn, a celebrated actor in the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and King James, and founder of the College at Dulwich in Suri"y, was born in London, in the parish of St. Botolph, Septenaber 1, 1566, as appears from a memorandum in bis own writing. Dr. Fuller says, that he was bred a stage-player; and that his father would have given him a liberal education, but that he was averse to a serious course of life. He was, however, a youth of excellent capacity, of a cheerful temper, a tenacious memory, a sweet elocution, and in 476 EDWARD ALLEYN. his person of a stately port and aspect, and was a man of great benevolence and piety; so devout, that when he received his quarterly accounts, he acknowledged it all to be the gift of God, and resolved to dedicate it to the use of his fellow-creatures. From various authorities it appears that he must have been on the stage some lime before 1592; for he was then in high favour with the town, and greatly applauded by the best judges, par ticularly by Ben Jonson. He had been accustomed to the stage from a very early period of life, and had acquired such a compre hensive knowledge in his profession, that Shakspeare is supposed by some, to have formed his instructions to the player in Hamlet, from hints communicated by him ; and from observations on the various beauties exhibited in the different characters which he sustained. In the course of his theatrical pursuits, he became proprietor of the Fortune playhouse in Golden-lane; where he per formed with a company under his own engagement, and sought the favour of the public, in a spirit of generous emulation and opposition to our great dramatic bard. He was also master of a playhouse in White-cross- street, built at his own expense, by which he is said to have amassed considerable wealth. He was also keeper of the king's wild beasts, or master of the royal bear garden, which was frequented by vast crowds of spec tators ; and the profits arising from these sports, are said to have amounted to five hundred pounds per annum. He was thrice married ; and the portions of his two firsl wives, who left him no issue to inherit, might probably contribute to this benefaction. It may seem surprising, how one of Mr. Alleyn's pro fession should be enabled to erect such an edifice as Dulwich College, and liberally endow it for the mainte nance of so many persons. But it must be observed that he had some paternal fortune, which, though small, might lay a foundation for his future affluence ; ^nd, it EDWARD ALLEYN. 477 is to be presumed, that the profits he received from acting, to one of his provident and managing disposi tion, and who by his professional excellence drew after him such crowds of spectators, must have considerably improved his fprtune. Dpnations such as Mr. Alleyn's, have been frequently thought to proceed more from vanitj' and ostentation than real piety ; but Mr. Alleyn's has been ascribed to a very singular cause; for the devil is said to have been the first promoter of it. Mr. Aubrey mentions a tradi tion, " that Mr. Alleyn, playing a demon with six others in one ofShakspeare's plays, was, in the midst of the^ piece, surprised by an apparition ofthe devil ; which so worked on his fancy, that he made a vow, which he per formed by building Dulwich College." He began the foundation of this college, under the direction of the famous Inigo Jones, in l6l4; and on the buildings, gar dens, &c. finished in l6l7, he is said lo have expended about 10,000i. »/ '' After the college was built, he met with some difficulty in obtaining a charter for settling his lands in mortmain ; for he proposed to endow it with 800/.. per annum, for the maintenance of one master, one warden, and four felloBTs, three of whom were to be clergymen, and the fourth a skilful organist ; also six poor men, and as many women ; besides twelve popr bpys, to be educated till the age of fourteen or sixteen, and then put oQt tp spine trade or calling. The obstruction he met with, arose from the Lord Chancellor Bacon, who wished King James to settle part of those lands for the support of two academical lectures ; and he wrote a letter to the Mar quis of Buckingham, dated August 18, l6l8, entreating him to usebis interest with his Majesty for that purpose. Mr. Alleyn's solicitation was however at last complied with, aqd he obtained the royal licence, giving him full power to lay the foundation of his intended hospital at Dulwich, called " The CoUege of God's Gift." The rules 478 EDWARD ALLEYN. prescribed for this foundation are, that all future bene factions are excluded ; and, visitors are to be the church wardens of St. Botolph, Bishopsgate; St. Giles's,Crip- plegate; and St, Saviour's Southwark; who, upon any difference arising between them, are lo refer the decision of it to the Archbishop of Canterbury. He was himself the, first master of his college, so that to use the words of Mr. Haywood, one of. his contemporaries, " He was so mingled with humility; and charity, . that he became/ his own pensioner, humbly submitting himself to that proportion of diet and clothes; \y hi ch he had bestowed on others." .There is no reason to think heever repented of this distribution of his substance, but on the contrary, that he was entirely satisfied, as appears from the. fol lowing memorial in his own writing found among his papers.: "May 26, 1620, my wife and I acknowledged the fine at the Common Pleas bar, of all oun lands to the college : blessed be God that he. has given us. life to do it." His wife died in the year l623, and about two years afterwards he married Constance Kinchtoe, who survived him, and received remarkable proofs of his af fection,, if we may judge of it by his will, in which he left her considerable property... He died November 25, 1626, in the 6lst year of his age, and was buried in the chapel of his new collegCi , . >.'¦'• In this college, by the statutes, the warden succeeds the master, and takes upon him the office immediately; on the master's death. The founder directed that the master and warden shall both be of the name of Allen, or Alleyn, and every person of that name is eligible to become a candidate. Celibacy is a sine qua non. The election is in the surviving fellows, who choose two persons. Two rolls of paper are then put into a box, and each candidate takes one, and the person who takes the paper upon which the .words "God'&iGift" are written, is the warden elected. .The late masiter, Wil liam ;AlleM, Esq. enjoyed his situation upwards of fifty- EDWARD ALLEYN, 479 (w6 years. The revenues of this college are large and iri- creasing',' The master's apartments in the college are extremely grand ; at his taking possession of the place he is obliged to ptirchase the furniture, which is as elegant as cian be imagined: and being lord of the manor, he lives in all the state of a mitred abbot. Not withstanding the singular severity of the rules, by which both he and the warden are to remain unmarried, yet there is always a sufficient number of candidates for the office, aniong those of the name of Alleyn. ' The college consists of a front and two wings ; the chapel which occupies the eastern end of the former contains a copy of Raphael's Transfiguration, by Julio Romana. There is a small library of books, chiefly of 'our own language; amongst these was a collefclion of old plays, which Mr. Garrick obtained of the college, 'by ah exchange of mbdern publications. The plays, however, are not withdrsiWn from the public use, having been since deposited in the'British Museum. In 1811, the splendid Bourgeois collection of paintings was re moved lo this college. Shortl}' after which an elegant gallery was erected, after a design by Mr. Soane, pre senting the most unique objects of any structure in the kingdom. It serves at once as a mausoleum of Sir Francis Bourgeois, and of his friends Mr. and Mrs. Des Enfans, and as a picture gallery of the finest specimens of the greatest masters in the various schools of painting. Such was the desire of its founder: he left by his last will 10,000/. to build and secure to the public the exhi bition of this gallery, which consists of the prodi gious nuipber of 371 pictures, worth at least 50,000/. directing that an adjoining mausoleum should be pro vided for the reception of his own bpdy, and thpse pf his friends abpVe named. Here are exquisite and even numerpus specimens cf Lepnardi da Vinci, Raphael, Ccrregip, Andrea del Sarto, Titian, the Carraccis, Carlo Dolci, Guido, Rubens, Rembrandt, Paul Potter, Tinioret, 480 EDWARD ALLEYN, Parmegiano, Guercino, Vandyke, Teniers, Guyp, Claude, Poussin, Berghem, Wouvermans, and, inshort, of almost every master whose works are desirable in a public col lection. The mausoleum is fitted up like a chapel or oratory, and is a masterpiece of effect. It receives its light from the roof, through a lanthorn of orange- ' coloured glass, which producing the gloom of candle light, augments -or creates a solemnity that is highly im pressive. The three bodies are deposited in sarcophagi, which are placed in the recesses; that of Sir Francis standing behind an elegant altar'piece. These noble bequests were made to the excellent establishment of Dulwich College; the master, wardens, and fellows of which are the executors and irdstees of the donor for the public. The entire arrangement is indeed a subject for public gratulation. Here is now a permanent gal lery of chef d'OiUvres for students, bequeathed for theii' use tp liberal and public-spirited ccnservators, and situ ated within four miles of the metropolis in as interest ing a village, and near as beautiful scenery as any in the kingdom. END OF VOL. 11. J. Kol)!n», and Co. Albion Press, London. t 1 ¦•'* 'I ^ f^ 'IS< vWA* ft a ^'" M ' fysdrnfyiyy- f\ywyy;u^^^ -' ^ JihfMMy^y^y\K Vife: Il * \> K c ^ >'^ :i^ ^N i,-l1 n ^^1 Rl'"4''!